A/N: I'd like to apologize in advance for this chapter's quality. If you guys are checking my profile page for updates on my stories, you'll know that my laptop...has seen better days. That means that I can't manage long chapters right now, which means no "Out of the Way" updates for right now. What this means going forward is that I'll have to type out all my short stories and chapters on my smartphone, which isn't something I'm really used to. Just bear with me until everything gets fixed. I don't like it any less or more than you guys probably do.

G is for "Gift"

Rated K

Clyde: 12

Lynn: 13 ( for now, at least ;-) )

"Man, just where is that sewing kit?"

It was the first time Clyde McBride had said anything out in the open in, give or take, an hour. The question was more biting than the burn of the carpet that dug into the flesh of his shins and knees as he crawled around the living room, looking under furniture in search the prize of his excursion.

He supposed that's what he deserved for deciding to go with cargo shorts today.

But seriously, he could've sworn that he last saw it on the dining room table sometime yesterday, right next to the bowl of fake fruits. He was quick to blame Nepurrtiti and her tendency to knock off things from high places, but that would've meant that he could've easily found the sewing kit on the floor.

Presently, his raid underneath the couch was going off...with a hitch. With the aid of the flashlight setting on his smartphone, the wide expanse of the couch's underbelly and its unremarkable litter were revealed. Unfortunately, no sewing kits were found among the bottle caps, paperclips, crumbs, and half-eaten candy (so that's where his apple-flavored lollipop from last Halloween ended up!). A frustrated groan came out of Clyde's mouth, followed by a hiss of pain from the throbbing ache that resided in his neck from all the craning and twisting it had done to grant his vision access to all the nooks and crannies he had come across in the last sixty minutes.

The part of him that suffered the most, however, was his conscience. Honestly, it shamed him that he had as little as half a mind to throw in the towel and just give up on his search—it didn't help that he was going through all of this because of a promise he had made to Lincoln shortly before he had started looking. Still, none of that meant that he couldn't take a little break.

Just a little one, of course.

It took him longer than it normally should've to heave himself off the floor before collapsing on the couch in the boneless heap. Even still, it wasn't like his overworked muscles and sore limbs were doing him any favors.

'At least my homework's done. I guess I can continue searching after I eat dinner in about an hour.'

Though Clyde was partially focused on filling his belly with delicious food, he was more pressed to fill his head with thoughts to spur him on and to not give in. It wasn't just enough to concentrate on the likelihood of a happy ending if he found his sewing kit. What mattered the most was reminding himself how he'd be letting his friends down if he called it quits.

He had to think back to his phone conversation to Lincoln in order to do that—it would hopefully spark his resolution to do whatever he could to make Lynn Loud smile.

"Sorry, Clyde, I can't hang out today."

If not for the fact that he using one of his hands to hold the phone to his ear while he sat at his desk, Clyde would've used both hands to facepalm.

The bad news couldn't have come at a worse time.

Clyde had just knocked off a five-page report on the Gettysburg Address a week before it was due and brushed up on about two hours worth of thermodynamics studying for his test in two days. Hearing that his best buddy couldn't engage him in any fun (probably due to him being swamped with his own workload of schoolwork) was the last thing he wanted to hear with so much free time on his hands.

"Really?" he asked. "Are you sure you can't reconsider?"

"'Fraid not. We're all busy planning Lynn's surprise birthday party tomorrow."

Clyde sat in silence for a second, waiting for his brain to process the information. Then, when he recalled what the date was for tomorrow, everything made sense. Clyde may not have been an official member of the Loud family, but he was almost always invited to any of the Louds' social gatherings whenever possible, birthdays included. Even so, it was almost easy to forget that Lynn's birthday was on April 15th.

"Right," Clyde said. "I almost forgot. Tell her I wish her a happy birthday."

"Thanks, but you could always just tell her yourself. You're invited to her party."

Clyde sighed. "I wish I could, but I can't. Tomorrow, my dads and I are going over to my Nana's house for a visit. I can't just bail on her."

"Yeah, I understand. I'll make sure to tell her."

"Thanks."

Clyde slumped in his chair and frowned. This was just perfect—missing out on his friend today and a party tomorrow wasn't how he imagined he'd be spending his time. Despite his efforts to keep his angst bottled up as best as he could, the disappointment in his voice must've been too obvious for Lincoln to ignore.

"Aw, c'mon, Clyde. Don't you start feeling down, too. It's just one party. We can always hang out after you come back from your grandmother's house."

"Yeah, I guess you're...hold on." Clyde leaned back in his chair, his face fixed in pensive concentration. "What do you mean by that?"

"Mean by what?"

"When you told me not to start feeling down. You said it as if someone else is feeling the blues."

"Yeah. Believe it or not, it's Lynn."

Clyde's lips formed a frown from disbelief. He didn't take Lincoln as much of a joker (at least not on Luan's level), meaning that he should've taken his word at face value, but it still struck him as odd that out of anyone he knew, Lynn would be the one to have any reason to feel sad.

"Lynn?" he asked. "Why would the soon-to-be birthday girl be down in the dumps before her fourteenth birthday?"

"Her first softball mitt got torn up," Lincoln began to explain. "She's had it ever since she was six, and it was pretty much on its last leg. Yesterday, we found Charles digging into her closet with the ruined mitt in his mouth. We salvaged what we could, but the damage was pretty much done. She's been a little bummed out about it ever since."

By the end of the story, Clyde was no longer wrapped up in incredulous wonder. Instead, all he could do was wonder exactly how Lynn must've been feeling—at least, far beyond Lincoln's general explanation. She wore her love for sports on her sleeve, so having a sporty memento of sorts get ruined must've dealt her a heavy blow.

And before her birthday, of all days.

Now, Clyde wished he was able able to show up to the party even more. He didn't have any idea what he could do to cheer Lynn up on her big day, but he honestly didn't care—he'd wing it if could have that chance. Still, a direct resolution was the option deserved the most. But honestly, what could he do? It wasn't like he could take the mitt and just patch it up before...before…

…

…

A smile touched on Clyde's face. "Hey, Lincoln?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's that mitt? Does Lynn still have it?"

"Nah. We tossed it out. Why do you ask?"

Clyde felt a breadth of panic beating in his chest with the flurry of beaten bongo drums until the sensation petered out when he remembered that today was Tuesday and all of the trash around the neighborhood got picked up on Sundays and Thursdays. That still meant that he had a chance to make this work.

"Uh, so you still have the trash bag with the mitt in it lying around?" he asked.

"Yep."

Clyde's grin widened, and his jovial enthusiasm made him jump to his feet and pace around his room like an anxious man waiting for his wife to deliver their firstborn child.

"Okay, so I just need you rummage through that trash and find the mitt. I can swing by your place later to pick it up."

"May I ask why?"

"Let's just say that I've got the perfect gift for Lynn. If everything falls into place, I can have it ready for you by tomorrow. Talk to you later, buddy."

With that, Clyde hung up, tossed his phone on his bed, and made a beeline to the kitchen. Last he checked, his dad's sewing kit was there and he was gonna need it for the task ahead.

That had most certainly done the trick, faster than Clyde would've imagined.

He thought that he would've been resolved to keep searching after just a few minutes of rest, but that wasn't the case—he was back at it almost immediately, going back to the kitchen to recheck where he had searched before.

Thinking about it conjured up another possibility for success in case he couldn't pull through—although he thought that he was adequate when it came to a needle and thread, he knew that Leni would be able to get the job down way better than him. All he'd have to do is call up Lincoln again and ask him if he could get Leni to complete that task in his stead.

…

And yet...he really didn't want that to happen.

It may have been a little selfish of him want to cheer Lynn up on his own terms, but it didn't seem unfair to want to contribute to her happiness with his own gift when Leni probably had something else in mind, anyway.

Besides, he thought with a smirk, he still had plenty of time on his hands. How hard could this be?

ONE DAY LATER...

There was only so much that a basketball-shaped cake, sports-themed decor, and a house full of familiar faces—family and friends alike—could do to lift Lynn's spirits. She had an inkling that she'd be in for a surprise party today, so coming back home from soccer practice to be greeted with a house themed in her honor was a pleasant sight but one that didn't completely bowl her over with elation.

And honestly, that was where her giddiness had peaked.

It shamed her—much more than startled her—to feel as...numb as she had through all the singing, laughing, eating, and playing, even if it wasn't that much. There was no doubt that everyone had done their part to make her fourteenth birthday as great as any birthday she had had before, but it was clear that her dang itch from two days ago had yet to be scratched.

All day long, she tried telling herself that it was a dumb 'ol mitt, and that if she was going to acknowledge that she was fourteen now, that it meant that she couldn't sulk about her loss like she was a three-year-old. She could've given herself credit for not wearing her nagging dejection on her sleeve, but that would've just felt like condescending consolation for emotions that she shouldn't have.

Presently, the lively atmosphere winded down to a crawl, though the tense excitement in the air was palpable enough for Lynn to be affected—she supposed that it being time for opening presents would do that. She was at at the head of the table, a line of present-holding party guests and family members spilling out the living room. Lincoln was the first to approach her, and Lynn was privy to how the smile on his face made her insides bubble with anticipation.

Or maaaaaybe that was just gas—seven jalapeño/meatball subs and five slices of birthday cake were bound to have an effect on her.

Whatever it was, she almost felt her body move on its own as she reached out to grab that medium-sized, blue gift-wrapped box from Lincoln's hands.

"I've got a present for you that you'll get from me a little later," Lincoln said. "This one's from Clyde. Hope you like it."

With Lynn's head being preoccupied with wonder about the box's contents, the words nearly went out the other ear—had it not been for the mention of Clyde, they probably would've. She had long since noted that Clyde hadn't shown up to her party, yet he was still able to come around with a gift of his own.

The cheerful grin on Lynn's face only grew wider—she'd definitely have to thank Clyde the next time she saw him.

With almost as much energy as Lori usually gave into tearing open her presents, Lynn shredded the paper away with a few, frantic swipes of her fingernails, littering the carpet in streams of blue ribbons. The lid came next—she quickly discarded it over her shoulder, almost in the manner that a frisbee was tossed. She peered inside, only to find...a piece of paper?

Lynn's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, even as she was coming to terms with what she was looking at. Indeed, it was a piece of lined paper with words scribbled on it, leaning against an object that was shrouded in newspaper. The wrapped object held most of her interest, though the paper seemed to be important enough to be read first.

Perhaps, Lynn thought as she picked it up and brought it close to her face, that was the intention. But soon, that "perhaps" turned into a "definitely" as she breezes through the note:

"Happy birthday, Lynn. Sorry I couldn't show up for your big day. Still, it wouldn't feel right to not get you anything. That's when a little white-haired birdie told me about the bad mood you've been in lately. I hope this cheers you up. If it does, it was totally worth all the pricks in my fingers and money I had to spend on bandages."

She instinctively looked up at the "little white-haired birdie", who was oh-so conveniently a losing eye contact by looking away—there was a chance (and a great one, at that) that his sneaky smile meant that he was doing it on purpose. With a chuckle and a roll of her eyes, she put the letter off to the side and reached for the actual present.

It was high time she got to bottom what her nerdy brother and his nerdy best friend were in on.

There was hardly anything to write home about on the three-hour drives to his grandmother's house—leave it to Lincoln to turn that trend of monotony around with a text message when he was more than three quarters of the way there:

"i don't kno about u but I think lynn might have liked your gift"

The picture that the text was attached to, however, was what inspired his big, toothy grin to sprout across his face. In the center of it, pressing a small softball mitt against her cheek while smiling from ear-to-ear, was Lynn. It seemed that she didn't mind his somewhat sloppy stitching job, given how she appeared to be too thrilled to mind how loose strings jutted out from the material like weeds.

It also seemed like he was in for a pretty big bear hug the next time he saw her. The thought of that, for reasons Clyde couldn't quite put his finger on, made the rest of the trip just a little less boring.