Chapter 2 - But I like Carrots!

"Pa, wake up now. I've set your breakfast on the side table, with some water and your medicine too. Be sure to take it. Now, let me tidy you up before I head off to school." Gilbert, now a lad of thirteen and feeling quite grown-up, spoke with a gentle authority as he carefully wiped his father's face with a damp washcloth, smoothing back the hair that had once been so full and vibrant. It had been a few days since their return from Alberta, and Gilbert was grateful to be back in the familiar surroundings of Avonlea. The hospital had been a lonely place for a boy with no siblings or companions, and he had spent every waking moment by his father's side, reading aloud from novels and trying to keep up their spirits. But despite his efforts, his father had only grown weaker by the day.

Gilbert felt a flutter of excitement at the thought of seeing his friends again, though the prospect of returning to school also brought a slight pang of unease. He would have to start with a younger reader, having missed three years of schooling, but he tried not to dwell on it. Instead, he focused on the gratitude he felt for having spent those years caring for his father.

"Gilbert, you're far too good to me," his father murmured, his voice tinged with affection. "Now, off you go and have a splendid day at school, my boy."

"See you, Pa! Don't forget your medicine!" Gilbert called out as he dashed out the door, leaving his father chuckling softly to himself.

As Gilbert approached the old schoolhouse, a mix of anticipation and nerves settled in his chest. He was eager to see his friends again, though less thrilled at the prospect of facing Mr. Philips, who was known far and wide for his stern and disagreeable manner. Upon entering the school, Gilbert was warmly greeted by his old mates—Moody, Charlie, Fred, and the rest—all shaking his hand and pulling him toward his desk. But then, a flash of vibrant red caught his eye.

There she was, a girl he had never seen before, her hair a brilliant shade of auburn that seemed to glow in the morning light. She was full of energy, speaking at a rapid pace with Miss Diana Barry. Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, Gilbert quickly ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his vest before walking over to them.

"Diana Barry! Who's your friend?" he asked, trying to sound casual but with a grin and a playful wink.

"Anne Shirley," Diana replied, smiling.

"Nice to meet you, Anne Shirley," Gilbert said, still grinning.

"Hello," Anne replied, lifting her nose slightly in the air, her tone cool and indifferent.

"Told you he was dreamy," Diana whispered in her best friend's ear.

Anne's cheeks flushed the same shade as her hair. "Well, Diana, I suppose I cannot deny it, but he does seem a touch overconfident," she remarked with a hint of disapproval.

Diana giggled. "I can't argue with you there, Anne. Before he left for Alberta, he teased us girls something awful! And he was the leader of the boys in everything—always top of the class. I do feel sorry for him and his father, though."

Anne cast a curious glance at Diana, but before she could inquire further, the lesson began, and she quickly pulled out her reader, focusing her attention on the page.

—

Gilbert couldn't take his eyes off the curious girl sitting across the room. He had never seen hair quite like hers—so vivid and fiery, it seemed to catch the sunlight and hold it.

"Psst… Psst…" he whispered, trying to capture her attention.

But Anne resolutely ignored him, keeping her gaze fixed on her reader.

Why is she ignoring me? Gilbert wondered, a mix of curiosity and frustration bubbling within him. I must find out more about her. Who is this mysterious girl, and why can't I stop thinking about her?

Determined to get a reaction, Gilbert began tossing tiny pieces of parchment at the back of her head. But she did not flinch, her posture remaining as straight and unyielding as ever.

And then, as if compelled by some unseen force, Gilbert acted before he even realized what he was doing.

Everything happened in a blur.

He had no control over his own body. In one swift motion he got up, went beside her, pulled her long, lovely braid and said, "Carrots!". *"You mean, hateful boy!" she exclaimed passionately. "How dare you!". And then-thwack! Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert's head and cracked it-slate not head-clear across.

The class fell into a gasp. Gilbert, turning red instantly regretted his actions.

Mr. Phillips marched down the aisle, his eyes narrowing as he reached Anne's desk. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder, his voice dripping with disapproval.

"Anne Shirley, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his tone sharp and unforgiving. Anne stared straight ahead, her lips pressed into a thin line. How could she possibly explain in front of everyone that she had been called "carrots"? The humiliation was too much to bear. It was Gilbert who spoke up, his voice steady.

*"It was my fault, Mr. Phillips. I teased her."

But Mr. Phillips paid him no mind, his focus solely on Anne.

"I'm disappointed to see such a display of temper in my classroom," he intoned, as though the very act of attending his school should have instilled perfect behavior in every child. "Anne, you will stand on the platform in front of the blackboard for the rest of the afternoon."

Anne's heart sank. She would have chosen any other punishment over this public shaming, even a whipping. Her spirit, already wounded, quivered under the weight of it. With a face as white as chalk, she rose from her seat and walked to the front of the room, every step a battle against her overwhelming sense of indignation.

Mr. Phillips picked up a piece of chalk and wrote above her head in bold letters:

"Ann Shirley must learn to control her temper."

He read the words aloud, ensuring that even the youngest pupils, who could scarcely read, would grasp her supposed offense.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Anne stood beneath that cruel proclamation. She did not shed a tear or bow her head in shame. Her pride and fury sustained her, keeping her upright and defiant. She faced the room with blazing eyes, meeting Diana's worried glances, Charlie Sloane's attempts at silent encouragement, and Josie Pye's smug smirks. But as for Gilbert Blythe, she refused to even acknowledge his existence. She would never forgive him for this! She would never speak to him again!

When the final bell rang, Anne marched out of the schoolhouse, her head held high despite the turmoil within her. Gilbert, trying to make amends, hurried after her.

"Anne, I'm really sorry about your hair," he whispered earnestly as they reached the porch. "I didn't mean to upset you. Please, don't be mad at me."

But Anne, her heart still burning with wounded pride, swept past him without a word, her resolve as unyielding as ever.

"Anne, please!" Gilbert implored, his voice filled with earnestness. "You have insulted me about the very thing that torments me most!" Anne cried, her voice trembling with emotion. "I know my hair is ugly and wretched. I was cursed with these freckles and this red hair. But for you to insult me in front of the entire school and call me 'Carrots'—it was utterly unbearable!" With that, Anne spun on her heel and stormed away, her eyes blazing with indignation.

"But… But Anne, I—Your hair is—BUT I LIKE CARROTS!" Gilbert finally blurted out, his voice tinged with desperation. But Anne was already too far away to hear him, though her friend Diana Barry gave him a puzzled look before hurrying after Anne.

Gilbert felt his heart sink. Never before had he felt so utterly wretched. He was unaccustomed to being ignored or disliked—especially by girls. They usually blushed and fluttered their lashes at him, even when he playfully tugged at their pigtails. They would offer him baked goods and carefully crafted bookmarks. He had never much cared for such attentions before, but wouldn't it be something special to receive such tokens from Anne?

"Oof, Blythe, did she bruise that big head of yours? Redheads and their tempers, I tell you!" Fred snickered. Gilbert rolled his eyes and gave him a light shove.

Fred brushed it off with a grin. "Don't mind it, Gilbert. You know how girls are—always a bit emotional and reactionary in their ways. And any friend of Diana Barry is bound to be as odd as she is."

"It was my fault, Fred! Not hers! I deserved it!" Gilbert's eyes darkened as he spoke, his voice rising with uncharacteristic intensity.

Fred, startled by his friend's reaction, quickly held up his hands in surrender. "Calm down, Blythe, it was just a joke."

The two boys exchanged an awkward glance and then walked home in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.

Gilbert rushed home, his mind swirling with thoughts of the strange red-haired girl and the sting of his bruised ego. "Gilbert! Are you home?" his father's voice called out from his room. Gilbert composed himself and hurried to his father's side, a flicker of worry crossing his face.

"Dad! Are you all right?" he asked, his voice edged with concern.

"Relax, boy," John replied, studying his son with a knowing look. Something was clearly amiss. "Now, how was school?" he inquired.

Gilbert hesitated, trying to concoct a plausible story, but one look into his father's eyes told him there was no use in hiding the truth. "Well, there was this girl—Diana Barry's new friend. Anne Shirley," he began, noticing the way his father's eyes widened slightly but remained silent, encouraging him to continue. "She has red hair and a fiery temper. She's smart, too, but I made a mess of things. I wanted to talk to her, but she ignored me. I'm not proud of this, but… oh, Dad, I pulled her braid and called her Carrots. And then she—she broke a slate over my head."

John stared at his son in disbelief for a moment before bursting into hearty laughter. "YOU WHAT?" he managed to say between laughs. After a moment, he calmed himself and asked, "You did apologize, didn't you?"

"Yes, but she wouldn't accept it. I even pleaded with her, but she said her hair was the bane of her existence and that it was terribly insulting to call her Carrots. And then, Dad, I did the most embarrassing thing… UGH!" Gilbert buried his face in his hands.

"What did you do, son?" John asked, his tone a mix of concern and amusement.

"I—I told her I liked carrots...UGH! I don't think she heard me, but Diana Barry definitely did." Gilbert admitted, his face flushing with embarrassment.

John, once again, was overcome with laughter, but his mirth quickly turned into a harsh coughing fit.

"DAD!" Gilbert cried, his concern returning in full force.

"I-I'm fine, boy," John managed, waving off his son's worry. "But listen, Gilbert, I want to tell you something." Gilbert hesitated, then sat back down, his eyes fixed on his father.

"Your mother and I didn't exactly get off on the right foot when we first met," John began, causing Gilbert's eyebrows to rise in surprise. His father rarely spoke of his mother, and this was certainly not the kind of story he expected. He always assumed his parents just, 'clicked'. "I, too, once upset a fiery redhead. I walked into her father's shop, saw Ella, and fell head over heels—"

"Dad, I'm not in love!" Gilbert protested, his cheeks reddening further.

"Never said you were. Anyhow, hush, boy, and listen," John said, smiling. "I wanted her attention so badly that I did the most foolish thing. I told her that her hair looked like a fox. She called me rude and slapped me right across the head. Thankfully, there were no slates nearby." Gilbert rolled his eyes. "She refused to speak to me after that. But slowly, through little gestures, I won her forgiveness, and we became friends. And soon enough, we were more. She used to share her books with me, though I was never smart enough to understand them the way she did. Your mother was as sharp as a whip! You get your brains from her, Gilbert," John said, ruffling his son's hair affectionately.

"Now, Gilbert, this whole situation with Anne Shirley will blow over in time. Just try to be kind to her, show her some understanding. Try to be her friend, and she'll forgive you eventually."

Gilbert nodded thoughtfully.

"Now, go fetch one of your mother's books from the shelf over there and read to me," John suggested.

Gilbert obliged, settling into the familiar routine of reading aloud until his father drifted off to sleep.

*Anne Of Green Gables (Chapter 15: A Tempest in the School Teapot)

Author's Note

Drop a review! I always look for what people think and some constructive criticism. And I'd like to thank OzDiva, one of my AOGG/AWAE Fanfic writing icons, (especially for Marilla x John) on her review! It's motivated me to keep on writing :)

Also Shirbert writing hack: LISTEN TO HOZIER FOR INSPO! Literally I feel like his songs specially Would That I and Work Song (which, nobody can convince me that it's not what Gilbert was thinking when he was dying with fever in book 3) feel like Gilbert's thoughts about Anne. I can't physically think of anything or anyone else besides them when I listen to Hozier, I feel like I'm living in Avonlea when he comes on.

This chapter was of course heavily inspired from the slate scene, I wanted to keep it similar! I wanted to mirror Anne and Gilbert's relationship with Ella and John, I feel like I really wanted to kind of push that as much as John loved and still loves Marilla, why he cannot truly move on from another woman who had caught his heart (maybe in another fic I will put Marilla and John together though, I loved writing them together so much!).

I wanted to kind of push Fred's opinions on Diana as of now to be those of a typical schoolboy. Like Gilbert and Anne I kind of wanted them to go wayyyy back. I think it's cute.

I also wanted to make Gilbert more similar to how he is in the books. I love AWAE Gilbert, but I wanted to include more character growth. He's kind of full of himself right now, not a total Mr. Darcy but still shocked that someone doesn't like him, and that a girl isn't immediately swooned by him.

Next Chapter Out soon!