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Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1: EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED. 

ANNE

୨୧

If you thought I wanted to meet the neighbor boy, you were sorely mistaken. My plans for the night were to do chores (maybe whilst humming some Taylor Swift songs—I liked her, but I liked all the music I heard on the radio) and then go to bed... if that was alright with Marilla and Matthew, of course. I would've done whatever they wanted. I needed their approval. I needed to have a home with them. So, naturally, when Marilla asked me to go over and greet the neighbor boy, I did so with a cheery disposition. I had only had a home at Green Gables for about two weeks, so I was still unsure of how wanted I was there, despite their reassurance. I was just beginning to feel desired.

Interrupting my spiraling thoughts, Marilla asked, "Anne, are you done with your meal?"

I responded, my voice crescendoing with every word, "Yes, Marilla. Thank you so much. It was delightful and exquisite and wonderful and magnificent and marvelous and—!"

"Good Lord," muttered Marilla. "Well, Anne, how would you like to say hi to the neighbor boy? He's right next door at 8617. He's about your age, tall, smart... I think you'd have much in common." Marilla wistfully smiled as if there were something she wasn't telling me. I was curious but didn't ask what she was holding back.

This seemed like a little bit of a strange request to me, but I happily obliged. I said, "Yes, I'll make myself known with him. It would be nice to have another friendly face besides darling Diana."

Jerry, my lifelong friend from the orphanage sat at the table. We'd been at the orphanage for a years together, but as I was taken in by different families, we were separated time and time again. It was miraculous that we were finally reunited forever. He chimed in, "A boy, huh? Is he cute? Do you like him?" wagging his eyebrows, as though he hadn't heard Marilla until then.

"How would I know? I haven't met him. Use common sense, I beg."

Jerry threw his roll at me.

After supper, I walked to the beige medium-sized house on 8617 Cavendish Road. I tugged Matthew's old, brown, ripped jacket that was huge on me around my shoulders. I rang the doorbell and stepped backwards too quickly, leading me to trip on a rock and fall down like an idiot just when the boy answered the door. He exclaimed immediately and helped me to my feet. I didn't need help, but I didn't want to say that. Then, his tabby cat bolted out the front door. He ran after the cat, and I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there, turning around, my eyebrows raised.

"Gatsby, no!" shouted the boy. They traveled up and down the sidewalk. It was a humorous scene to an unconcerned person, but I loved animals and was quite worried. When Gatsby ran up his driveway, where I was, I scooped him up in my arms. At first, he seemed distressed, trying to break free of my grasp, but he calmed down. I took the liberty of leading Gatsby inside and closing the door behind him.

The still-unnamed boy approached me. I chuckled. "Not an outside cat, eh?"

"Uh, thank you." He smiled at me. "No, he is not. Well, he was, but we're fostering him. Put an ad out on Facebook to see who may want him. Poor baby. He's a kitten born into the stray life."

"Oh, thank you for fostering him! The Great Gatsby?"

"Dad named him. I thought the book was ok, but he loves it," he explained.

"I loved the writing style, but to each their own." We awkwardly stared at each other for a moment. I was waiting for him to tell me his name. "I'm Anne."

"Beautiful, classic name. Persuasion, Boleyn, Hathaway, et cetera. I'm Gil." He grinned. Finally, a name to the face.

"Gil?" I thought everyone with the name Gil was... middle-aged.

"My uncle's name. Well, Gilbert, to be exact."

"I like Gilbert so much better than Gil. It sounds refined and poetic," I mused.

"Everyone calls me Gil. Gilbert is so old. Is Anne short for anything?" A twinkle appeared in his eyes. I almost felt uncomfortable with how closely he studied my face, even from a distance.

"Well, Gilbert, I guess we'll never know." I sighed, and his eyebrows knotted, so I continued, "I'm an orphan. There's no information about me. Well, former orphan. The Cuthberts next door are my new family. Oh, it seems I've forgotten to tell you I'm your neighbor. Anyway, who knows if Anne is even my name? It could be Stella or Jacqueline or Rosemary or Lacy."

"You seem oddly at peace with that," Gilbert noticed. He had a certain inquisitiveness in his expression. 

"Well, my imagination is my coping mechanism. For example, I imagine that I'm really a character in a Jane Austen novel, sort of to take the pain away. This happening to Anne is hurtful, but this happening to... say, Augusta, doesn't affect me at all. I'll just put my trauma on her. It's only a matter of time before she finds her dream prince, though she doesn't need him, which is extremely exciting for her!"

"Oh, I see. What is this prince's name?" He quirked an eyebrow and grinned.

"I don't know what you're implying, but it's certainly not Gilbert." I raised my head, my chin high.

"Well, well, well, Miss Snobby-pants. Would you like to come in... Augusta?" He gestured to his house.

"Oh, no. Augusta isn't I. She's a different person. What's the point of the whole character-coping thing if she's still associated with me? As for the invitation, I... yeah, sure. Accept."

"You don't seem very sure." He furrowed his eyebrows.

"No, I am. What's the time?"

He pulled out his phone. His lock screen was Gatsby with an older man I assumed was his dad. "5:30."

"Oh, yes, I have time."

Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "Ladies first."

I frowned. "No. Feminism is equality to men, not superiority. Why shouldn't you go first?"

"Well, you're closer to the door." He shrugged.

"Oh." I spun around and walked inside. "Well, would you look at that?"

Gilbert closed the door behind us. His house was beige and had sad colors for paint, but there were lovely, candid photos hanging on the solemn walls. I examined every little inch of his house.

Gilbert looked at me pensively. "Um, will you please wait here?"

"Ok. Uh... may I sit down?"

"Yeah, of course. Make yourself at home."

When I sat down, he disappeared down the hallway. I heard his muffled voice from the living room. A few minutes later, he was back.

"I'm sorry. That was awfully rude," he apologized.

"No, it's fine. Um... were you talking to someone in there?" I wasn't sure if this boy I just met was keeping someone captive in his house.

His eyes widened. "That... was my dad." He looked at the ground and sat on the sofa.

"Oh. Is he alright?" I asked, and we locked eyes.

He didn't answer. He smiled and queried, "How long have you been in Avonlea?"

I made a mental note: don't ask about Gilbert's father. "I've been in Avonlea for around two weeks. I'm starting school on Monday."

"What grade are you going into?"

I paused. "I don't really know. I haven't gone to school much. I had a pitiful attempt at homeschooling when I stayed with Mrs. Hammond, but that was horrible."

"Mrs. Hammond?" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Oh, the woman who took me in before the Cuthberts. Anyways, I know people my age are usually in 8th grade, but I've missed a lot of school. I could be put back several grades, which," I said, huffing, "would certainly set back my dreams of going to college a few years."

"I don't think they'd set you back; you seem really smart. And grammatically correct." He chuckled. "You just might have to study. I would if I were you."

"Oh, well, thank you. What grade will you enter?" I smiled.

"Grade 10."

I tilted my head. "What? You look a lot younger than you should be."

"I'm turning 15 in two months. I like looking my age..."

I leaned forward. Gilbert had brownish-hazel eyes, curly, dark hair, smooth skin, and a very nice jawline. Upon a closer look, I determined he did look 14. He was just short for his age. He was still taller than me, though.

"Okay, Gilbert Blythe. You could pass as a 14-year-old."

"Well, I'm concerned. How old did you think I was?" He flashed a showy smirk, his eyes dazzling. Oh, what a character.

"About a year or two younger," I responded. "I was confused as to how a person my age could be going into the 10th grade."

"Maybe I'm brilliant," he said simply, shrugging.

I looked him over. "I don't think so."

He blinked quickly. "Ok. No need to be mean."

We watched the television for a little while, then Gilbert seemed distracted, so I got ready to leave, knowing something was up with his father, though I didn't know what it is. He asked me what my number was, so we could stay in touch. I didn't have a number. 

"Um, hold on." He disappeared down the hallway, but into a different room than the one his father was in. I heard things falling to the ground, and a frustrated "ugh, where is it?" before he came out again and had an old bright blue watch in his hand. "This is my old smartwatch I had when I was a kid. It came with unlimited service. You can have it. You need to call people and stuff. I put my number in it for you."

I shook my head. "No, I can't accept that."

"Anne, it's a fifteen-dollar watch from Costco I had when I was, like, ten. I haven't touched it in years. Take it." He held his hand out.

I shook my head once again. "Marilla says we don't accept charity."

"Oh, for God's sake, take it. It's a freaking cyan kiddie watch. It's not charity; it's a gift from a friend."

A smile tugged on my lips. "We're friends?"

"Yes, Anne, yes we are." He nodded. "If you don't mind."

I finally took the watch reluctantly. "Ok. Good luck with Gatsby. Thank you. I'll message you tonight?"

"Yes, that sounds good! Bye."

"Bye, Gilbert."

As I walked home under the bright stars dancing across the dark canvas that stretched across the heavens, matching my joyful mood, the weather was getting colder and colder. I couldn't wait to snuggle in my blanket, but, first, I sat right down on the sidewalk before Green Gables. I admired the twinkling lights in the sky, my head perched on my knees. I decided to call Gilbert that instant, just to see if the watch worked.

"Hello?" he answered. I put it on speaker.

"Ok, it works."

He chuckled, and I imagined him throwing his head back. "Anne?"

"Yes, this is Anne." I pushed my hair behind my ears.

"Oh, you're so obsessed with me."

I scoffed. "You wish! Hey, look at the sky right now."

I saw him looking out the window next door, and he saw me sitting. "Anne, it's so cold out there. What are you doing?"

"Looking at the stars, obviously."

Gilbert's gaze directed toward the sky. "They're... stars."

"They are stars. You have excellent observation skills. No, they're beautiful!"

He hummed. "I... guess."

"Gilbert!" I shouted.

"God, I could've heard you scream without the call. I'm joking, Anne," he said, snickering.

"Oh, you are so lucky," I told him as he continued to giggle immaturely. "It's getting freezing out here, and I can both talk to you and watch the stars from my bedroom. Yes, I have a bedroom! Well, I share it with Jerry."

"Jerry?"

"Oh, my... brother, I think. We haven't sorted out the terminology, but I like that: brother. I'm gonna go inside and talk to dear Marilla and Matthew. Goodbye."

"Goodbye for the second time this evening."

We hung up, and the second I walked through the door, Marilla had septillions of questions. "How was it? Was he nice? Did you have a good time? How's his father? Do you think he's handsome? What is that on your wrist?" And so on and so on.

I slipped my shoes off and hung my coat on the coat rack. "It went very well. We're friends." I purposefully ignored some questions.

"Oh, that's great. Now, warm yourself up for a moment then do the dishes."

"Yes, Marilla."

As I "warmed myself up," I opened different apps on my watch. It was very simple, but things like Google were downloaded.

Jerry, who was outside in the farm, (yes, we had a farm. Everyone in Avonlea did) raking and sweeping, came inside and asked, "What is that?"

I said as quietly as possible, "A watch. My friend gave it to me."

"Pretty girl Diana?"

She was so pretty. "Gilbert. Our neighbor."

"Oh. You like him?"

"Will you stop with that? No." I rolled my eyes.

"Ok, ok."

I shrugged. "I mean, yeah, he's funny and smart, but he's also arrogant and lame. And, yes, he smells like apples, but he's a teenage boy, which is not a point in his favor."

Jerry looked around. "Fine. I dropped it. You're the one talking about him now."

"Good. Because he's not cute. He's short."

"Whatever."

"And I don't like his attitude!" I shouted as Jerry left.

Ok, fine, maybe Gilbert was just a tad bit cute, but, nonetheless, he had problems.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2: EAT ME ALIVE.
GILBERT

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Anne was an interesting person, to say the least. I was still thinking about her several days later. And, even worse, I was telling my dad about her constantly.

We hadn't hung out since our meeting each other. On Monday, our paths crossed. We left our houses at the same time. "Anne!" I hollered, waving.

She ran up to me. Jerry, whom I had seen before out in the front yard, walked slowly behind her unenthusiastically. "Hi! I texted you that I got evaluated and I'm going into 8th after all, right?"

She looked so pretty, her hair gleaming in the sunlight. "You did," I replied.

"Oh, what a relief! Do I look ok?" she asked, a nervous laugh going along with the question. She was wearing a small, white, worn-out T-shirt which appeared to have bright, vivid colors painted on by herself and big jeans with a rust-colored belt that went around her waist at least two times.

"Um, you look..." I stopped myself from saying beautiful. "Very nice."

"Thank you!" Anne was about to say more, but Jerry coughed.

"Let's get going, Anne," murmured Jerry, sighing.

Anne stepped aside so Jerry could fit beside her on the sidewalk. "Fine. Let's go. Do you want to walk with us to school, Gilbert?"

She asked so politely, how could I and why would I say no? "Sure."

Somehow, Jerry fell behind again, obviously unhappy about it. "You know, she says you're too short," muttered Jerry.

"I am?" I looked at her with arched eyebrows. How dare she? "You're at my nose. People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

"I'm younger than you, so that's not a fair argument. I should be at your collarbone."

"According to what veritable source?"

"Jerry, for one. He's taller than you."

"Sabrina Carpenter is taller than Danny DeVito." I shrugged.

"Wait, the 'Espresso' girl and who?" she asked.

Crap. I forgot she'd only heard songs on the radio and TV only when Mrs. Hammond so felt like watching random 70's British comedies. "Uh, nevermind."

"I do love 'Feather,'" Anne said. "And 'Bed Chem...'"

"Woah!" I exclaimed. "That's..."

She scrunched her eyebrows. "What?"

"Um... nevermind again." I also forgot she was only 13.

"Ok..." She gave me a sharp look. "Oh, Diana said she might sign up for drama this year." I knew all about Diana. I knew a lot about Anne's life, for we were texting and calling constantly over the past few days.

"Oh? Are you considering joining too?" I asked. "I think you'd be great at it. It might dive into expanding your natural theatrics."

She smiled. "I'll consider that. I want to join every club I can!"

"Well, some of them are run by losers," I said. "Like, creepy nerds who want pictures of your feet."

"Oh, uh, thanks, I guess?" Laughter escaped Anne's mouth, bright and free and wild. It sounded beautiful. I had no choice but to laugh with her. She was dreamy.

Suddenly, as we approached the schoolhouse, she looked down at her watch, grabbed my arm, and ran, her hair a blur of golden flames flying through the wind. I had to run as well or I would trip. "We can't be late!" she exclaimed, her harmonious voice blending with giggles that dared to elude her mouth.

"I really don't care," murmured Jerry. I forgot he was there.

Just about all the children in Avonlea from five to nineteen years old were entering the building. The youngest children entered through a different set of doors than the older kids, like us, did. God love poor Jerry, for he was still trailing behind me and Anne.

The schoolhouse looked abandoned compared to the other schools in bigger cities. Anne shrugged her backpack off her shoulders and rummaged through it. She held a piece of paper that told her what her classes were. With no further words spoken, she put her backpack on again, went her own direction, and jogged down the hallway. I would've offered to help her find her classes, but she was so stubborn, she probably wouldn't have accepted my help in the first place. I looked at Jerry.

"Anne seems happy," Jerry told me quietly.

"I hope she is. I want nothing but the best for her."

"No. I mean, with you."

Why did my cheeks feel so hot instantly? I grinned. "Um... oh." I know, I was so brilliant. "Well, gotta go. Uh, bye."

"Bye?" He confusedly waved at me as I ambled my way through the school to my first class.

⋆˚✿˖°

After a long first day of sophomore year, I went home with a backpackful of homework and assignments. After I took my shoes off and hung my backpack and coat up, I went to the bedroom where my dad was, greeting Gatsby on the way. Still, nobody was interested in adopting him. Slowly, the door creaked open.

"Hey, Dad," I said, sitting on the chair by his bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Chemo brain isn't doing me well," he whispered, smiling faintly. "I can't remember what I had for lunch."

"Why don't you ask Mrs. Kincannon?" I suggested.

"It's not that important. I'll be fine," he said, though we both knew that probably wasn't true. I still hadn't come to terms with that yet. "How was school?"

"There's not much to tell, I'm afraid. I tried out for the hockey team. I walked with Anne to school... oh, yeah, and her brother, Jerry."

My father loved it when I talked to him. It kept him distracted from the reality of stage 4 cancer. I could hardly bear to see him in bed every day, sometimes in the hospital, looking grey and weak and frail and helpless. It gave me a headache, but I needed to spend the remaining time he had with him. I loved my father.

"Oh, yeah?" croaked Dad. "How are Anne and...?"

"Jerry," I provided. "They're doing well."

My father coughed. "Listen to me. Bash is going to stay with us. He's going to arrive in a few days. Do you understand?"

Bash was my dad's late best friend's son. My dad and his best friend met when he was on vacation, where she lived. Bash was like a brother to me, even if we only got together on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

"I understand." I was angry about the whole situation. I hated that Bash needed to stay with us, even though he was one of my favorite people. I wouldn't let that show to my dad. He had enough to worry about.

Gatsby jumped up on Dad's lap, and he groaned. "Oh, hi, little man."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Later that night, I saw Anne through my window out on the sidewalk staring at the stars again. This time, I joined her. Even if I had no invitation, I could annoy and tease her—AKA the best type of flirting to stubborn, confident girls. I put on my sweatshirt before walking out the door and sitting next to her.

"Well, hello, Anne," I said as I sat down. My right leg almost touched her left leg, and that was enough chemistry to drive a fellow better than me wild. It felt like sparks were flying.

She rolled her eyes upon seeing me. "Hello."

I smirked. "Oh, where's the love you showed me this morning?"

"This is why I roll my eyes." Anne shook her head.

"You're watching the stars again?" I asked.

"They're too beautiful to ignore. And I know I could just view them from my window, but I like the coolness of the air," she explained.

Coincidentally, (wink, wink) my arm touched hers, and the chill of her body seeped through my sweatshirt. She was cold. I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and handed it to her.

"What is this?" She raised her eyebrows.

"A sweatshirt, duh."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

I chuckled. "You're always cold. At this point, just keep it."

"With no due respect, I don't want to be wearing a big sweatshirt that smells like a sweaty, stinky teenage boy," Anne said.

"But I'm a fragrant, hygienic teenage boy. Smell it. I'll bet you five dollars it smells fine. Plus, it washes."

She reluctantly put her nose to the fabric. "You're right, but I'm not giving you the five dollars." She put it on, and my face automatically twisted into a toothy smile. I didn't even care about how cold I was.

I had to force myself to look at the stars. I wasn't sly. Anne called me out on it. "You're the obsessed one. It's no big deal. It's just a sweatshirt."

Silence fell between us. It was magical in a way I couldn't explain. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anne looking at me with a tad of confusion.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I asked, my eyes falling on her again. She was irresistible.

"Um... I'm surprised I'm so comfortable with you. I haven't had the best past, and that's always impacted my ability to quickly open up to people. I mean, I understand why I've grown so close to Diana in such a short period of time. We're kindred spirits. But you and I are not. We're so very different. Somehow, I enjoy your company all the same." I could tell she was embarrassed—she couldn't even look at me.

"Well, you and Matthew are kindred spirits, but you're different. Maybe we are, too."

Anne crossed her arms. "Well, what do you think about these stars?"

I spent a minute thoughtfully noticing the stars. I answered, "They kind of look like your freckles."

She scoffed. "That's ridiculous! The stars are lovely and splendid, and my freckles are horrid, ugly monsters from the depths of Hell!"

"No, no, no. Don't look at it that way. Think about it like the stars loved you so much before you were born, they kissed you, and now you have constellations on your face."

Anne resisted a smile. She snickered and blushed. "That is so cheesy."

"Do you like your freckles better if you think about them like that?" Somehow, we were inching closer to each other.

Anne paused. "Well, that is rather romantic."

"See?" I bumped my arm into hers intentionally, swaying.

"Yeah, yeah. Uh, I should probably go back inside." She watched me with a strange expression on her face, like I actually helped. She sighed slowly.

"Well, alright." I stood up and offered my hand to her. Of course, she didn't take it. "Goodbye, Anne."

"Goodbye, Gilbert. Wait, I did audition for drama," she told me.

"Oh, great!"

She chuckled. "Alright, bye."

"Bye, Anne," I farewelled as I walked into the house that wasn't my home anymore. It was like a painful reminder of what my life used to be, like a ghost that wouldn't stop haunting me.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3: LOVESONG.
ANNE

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I no longer felt so dirty as I used to. Being in the orphanage for so long made me feel filthy and tainted, but loving friends and family were starting to heal my heart. Going to church and school brought forth a certain brightness in me. As it was becoming usual, Gilbert and Jerry and I walked to school. It was so wonderful, being able to talk to someone who seemingly believed in me. In some strange way, I felt like Gilbert saw me wholly and thought no less of me for it.

I was talking with Gilbert when I looked up at him and noticed a pimple on his chin. Had that been there the previous day?

"What is it you're staring at?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

My heart pounded. "Nothing. Anyway, do you know Josie Pye?"

Gilbert bit his lip. I found that attractive, then mentally beat myself up for it. "Josie Pye... I believe I've heard the name."

"Ugh, do not get me started on her! She is relentlessly mean." I shook my head.

Gilbert crossed his arms. "She's mean to you?"

"She was sent to this earth to torture me."

"Do you want me to talk to her?"

"Oh, God, no. No way. I'll deal with it."

"Well, you're strong enough to get through it by yourself, but let me know if you want my help."

I frowned. "Your help would be social suicide."

"Well, alright, then."

⋆˚✿˖°

At lunchtime, it was announced that the drama club's callback sheet was on the cafeteria wall. Apparently, not only the drama club had their sheets out, but baseball, competitive math, hockey, et cetera all did as well. Gilbert was mixed in the crowd of kids gathering around to see how they did. Diana was next to me, and our eyes met at the same time. Our faces broke out into wide smiles. "We got callbacks!" we exclaimed.

Gilbert's head rose to look at us. I saw him flash me a grin. Diana spun around. "Oh, you're looking at Gil Blythe?"

"Oh, Diana, we're friends."

"And he just happens to be that handsome?"

"Whether he is or isn't handsome doesn't matter. I can't control what my neighbor looks like."

"That's true enough."

Just then, Gilbert approached us. He stood awkwardly beside Diana. "Anne."

My body felt warm as the blood rushed to my cheeks. I clenched my fists. Why was I so nervous around him all of a sudden? I didn't like this. I didn't like how close I felt to him when we'd known each other just a little over a week. I swallowed, too aware of my body and the noises it made. "Gilbert."

He grinned charmingly, and that made things worse. "Good job on the callbacks. I knew you could do it."

I felt as though I were suffocating, like there wasn't enough air to breathe. "Thank you."

He nodded and looked me up and down. "I made the hockey team for the fifth year in a row."

I was wholly proud of him. "Oh, that's so impressive! Good job!"

"Thanks. Um, are we walking home together?"

I shot a glance at Diana. She smirked at me suggestively. I looked at my shoes. "Yeah, sure."

His face brightened. "Great!"

There was an unspoken question that hung among Diana, Gilbert, and me. I eyed Diana. She had the courage to ask what we'd all been thinking.

"Gil, would you like to eat lunch with me and Anne?" she questioned, her expression a mix between ugh-he's-a-third-wheel and you-guys-are-so-cute-together-can-i-be-your-maid-of-honor.

Gilbert's gaze shifted between me and Diana. "Sure. Is that ok with you, Anne?"

"Yes, it's ok with me."

Diana, Gilbert, and I walked to my favorite lunch table. The table was by the window, so one could see the comforting sun streaming through, but it wasn't in one's eyes. We sat down. I was seated across from Gilbert and Diana. There was room for one more person. The seat beside mine was vacant.

"Anne, have you decided what monologue you're doing yet?" Diana asked, her fork digging into her tray. She bought her lunch at school because she wanted to fit in.

"I'm thinking of when Elizabeth rejects Mr. Darcy," I replied.

"That's a beautiful scene," said Gilbert.

I almost choked on my pasta. "You know what I'm talking about?"

"I can appreciate marvelous art, Anne," he answered, chuckling.

"Boys usually scoff at Jane Austen."

"Maybe I'm a man, then," commented Gilbert, smirking crookedly.

I took one look at him and said, "No. You're not."

He frowned and dropped his plastic spork. "Well, you're not a woman."

"I never claimed to be."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

School had ended, and Gilbert was walking me home. Jerry had gotten tired of being a "third wheel," so he walked home by taking the shortcut. I, personally, enjoyed the relaxation and scenery of taking the long way home, but Jerry didn't care for it.

My thoughts were louder than Gilbert's voice. I wasn't too stressed, but I was just thinking. Thinking about his and my relationship, thinking about Josie Pye's calling me an "orphan slut," thinking about my assignments, thinking about—

"Earth to Anne?" Gilbert shouted, waving a hand before my face. His eyebrows were contorted, and it was becoming his signature look.

I blinked and gazed at him. "Uh, sorry. What were you saying?"

He seemed puzzled. "It doesn't matter. Penny for your thoughts? Full disclosure: I don't have a penny. The penny is purely metaphorical."

I picked at the skin surrounding my thumb nail. "Um... well, at the moment, I'm thinking about drama callbacks."

"Oh, maybe you can practice on me," he suggested. Then, in a British accent, he said, "I can be your Mr. Darcy, dear Lizzie."

I rolled my eyes. "What would a boy like you know about being as gentlemanly as Darcy?"

"I have tricks up my sleeves, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert."

"What are those tricks? Putrid body odor, unquenchable hunger, and being a horrid know-it-all?" I laughed, shaking my head.

"I'm charming, handsome, intelligent, et cetera, and tons of girls are lining up for a taste of this, I'll have you know." 

I chuckled. "Oh, yes, because every girl dreams of a ravenous, odorous, snobby Mr. Darcy who markets himself as 'charming, handsome, intelligent, et cetera.'"

"Oh, Anne, not only am I the best Mr. Darcy, but I'm also the best boyfriend," he said.

I was caught off-guard by this. "You've dated?"

Then, the tension I so detested fell between us. Gilbert looked to and fro, glancing between me and the path ahead of us. "No... but if I fell in love, I'd treat whatever girl I'd be dating so well."

Against my will, my mouth dared to turn its corners up. I kept my gaze on my moving feet. "You would?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look at me. "Yes. She'd be... showered with affection constantly. I'd buy her flowers and—woah!"

Since I was embarrassed, I wasn't looking at Gilbert, but at the ground; because of this I tripped on a rock. Almost immediately, he caught me. His hazel eyes appeared to be amused. "This is the second time you've fallen around me, Anne."

My breaths came out short and heavy. I pushed him off me. "Your help is needless."

Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "You're saying that you'd rather tumble to the rocky ground and scrape your hands than accept my gracious help?"

I hesitated. "No... okay, fine, thank you, Gilbert."

The sadist whose name was Gilbert cupped a hand to his ear. "What did you say?"

"I'm not repeating myself." I sneaked a peek at him and grinned.

"Eh, good enough for me," he mumbled, snickering.

"Hey, has anyone shown interest in Gatsby yet?" I questioned.

Gilbert sighed. "No. I even asked Mrs. Lynde."

"Oh, God!" I exclaimed. "What did she say?"

"She gave me an hour-and-a-half-long lecture on how I must respect my elders. I didn't say a single disrespectful word."

I broke into a fit of giggles. "That certainly sounds like Mrs. Lynde."

"I should hope so, because that lecture took away my homework time." He shook his head.

"Ignoring the Lynde-induced tragedy, what are you going to do with Gatsby?"

Gilbert shrugged. "I think I might just keep him. He's an awesome little dude. I'm growing fond of him."

My face brightened. I'm sure my eyes were evidently twinkling. "Gilbert Blythe, cat guy? That is so adorable! Um, maybe... I know you have a lot on your plate, so perhaps I can coparent him with you? I would volunteer at the church for a job, buy some of his food, toys, collars, anything he needs, I would give him love and take care of him, but he'd live at your house because Matthew is allergic to cats. What do you say?"

Gilbert seemed to really like this idea. He bumped into me as we neared his house and whispered, "It appears we have a deal. Welcome to kitten parenthood, Anne."

The moment he finished talking, he grabbed my hand—just ignore that fairytale feeling, I thought—, and we ran inside his home. Even though we were indoors, our hands remained intertwined, which made my heartbeat speed up at a concerning pace. I didn't like that. I pulled my hand away.

Gilbert went down the hall to talk to his father, and, despite the former's protests, Mr. Blythe was walking leisurely with his son. Gilbert had one hand supporting his father's back in case he fell. I instantly stood from my seat. I was speechless. I never knew his father was ill.

Mr. Blythe ambled right up to me. He was a nearly bald, tall man with a soft, warm face. His grey eyes were welcoming and comforting, but pain showed through them. I assumed he was in his sixties, which would've made Gilbert a child of older parents. "So, this is Anne?" He glanced to his left at Gilbert for confirmation.

I outstretched my hand, waiting for him to shake it. "I'm Anne, yes. It's so wonderful to meet you!"

He slowly shook my hand. "John Blythe. Nice to meet you, too. Gil, here, has told me good things about you. You're the Cuthberts' kid?"

I beamed with pride at being "the Cuthberts' kid." I told him, "Yes, I am."

"Ooh, if you don't mind me asking, how is Mar?" Mr. Blythe grinned eagerly.

He must mean Marilla. Are they good friends? "Marilla is doing well," I answered. 

"Will you say hi to her for me?" Mr. Blythe asked.

Just as I promised I would, he wobbled, and Gilbert swiftly steadied him. "Ok, Dad. How about we get you back to your room?"

I didn't know what to do in this scenario, so I stood there like an idiot while Gilbert guided Mr. Blythe to his room. When I began to take the atmosphere of the living room in, Gilbert was back.

"Sorry," he apologized.

I turned around to face him. "Gilbert, don't worry. Don't apologize. Now, where is the great Gatsby Blythe-Cuthbert?" Even saying Blythe-Cuthbert made me squirmy. What was wrong with me?

Gilbert blushed. "I think he's under my bed."

"May I see our child?" I asked, chuckling. 

"Uh, sure. Just follow me."

Gilbert's room smelled faintly of apples and waffles and sweat. What an odd combination. He had a large bookshelf for a small room. Almost as if I were being controlled, I went straight for the bookshelf. He had several classics and numerous books I'd never heard of. I picked up a book with a blue, cartoonish cover on it.

"Ah, 8-year-old-me's favorite book series: Diary of a Wimpy Kid," he commented. "I need to give some of these away. Better yet, sell them so I can make a pretty penny."

I noted this and shelfed the book once again. "I've been reading older books since I was a very young child. I've never read books like Diary of a Wimpy Kid."

"Shakespeare at six could make you go into an existential crisis," he remarked. He groaned as he bent down, peeking under his bed. He clicked his tongue. "Gatsby," he sang. Once the kitten made his public presence, Gilbert invited me to sit down on the bed beside him. I complied, and Gatsby instantaneously crawled into my lap. His grey fur was so soft, it was irresistible.

 "He's chosen you, it seems," said Gilbert, smiling.

I pet Gatsby lovingly. "Oh, aren't animals the best? So pure and kind..."

Then, Gatsby's gaze locked on Gilbert's sweatshirt's strings. He launched from my lap and onto Gilbert's and swatted at the strings. I didn't take that personally, but I did find it amusing. "At least he wants me for me. He wants you for your sweatshirt."

Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "He wants you for your cuddles."

Suddenly, the front door clicked open, and an unknown voice called out, "Gilbert, Mr. John?"

Gilbert sprang from his seat and rushed out to the living room. I followed, unsure of what was happening. Gilbert threw his arms around a large man. "Bash!" his muffled voice exclaimed.

The man who was apparently Bash returned his hug. "Gilbert! It's good to see you!"

As they broke from their hug, Bash saw me. "Who's your lady friend?"

Gilbert stammered and looked back at me. "Uh, Anne, this is Bash. Bash, this is Anne. Bash is a family friend, and Anne is... um... my friend."

Bash smirked. "Oh, really? Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Anne."

What was going on? I felt clueless. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Bash?" I attempted to sound confident, but I ended up sounding doubtful.

"Are you sure about that, Miss Anne?" Bash chuckled. He had beautiful, smooth, dark skin, and I was sure I was staring. He also had a mysterious accent, and I wondered from where he was.

"Uh, yes. Thank you." I turned to Gilbert. "It's getting late. Thanks for having me over, but I think I'll head home. Take good care of our son, ok?"

Bash's eyebrows shot straight up.

"Ok. Want me to walk you home?" asked Gilbert.

"No, entertain your guest. Bye, Gilbert."

"Bye, Anne."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4: IT'S NICE TO HAVE A FRIEND.
GILBERT

୨୧

What a mess. I was not expecting two of the most important people in my life to meet Anne all in one day. And what a way to do it! She probably thought we were insane.

On top of... well, everything surrounding my family, I had my very first hockey practice the day after Bash came. During our daily walk to school, I told Anne about the hockey practice.

"Well, I know next to nothing about hockey... considering, what's the proper response?" She laughed, kicking the autumn leaves on the path with her boot.

I tilted my head. "It was kind of a segue to invite you to my practice..."

She smiled. "Are we becoming good friends, Gilbert?"

It wasn't quite up to me alone. "I... hope?"

Anne tucked her hair behind her ears (a trademark mannerism of hers) and said, "I'll come to your practice."

I grinned and glanced at her—wait, was she wearing the sweatshirt I gave her? Grey with red lettering that said Toronto? Yes, that was mine. My heart jumped. 

"What is it?" She narrowed her eyes. 

I couldn't repress a chuckle. "Nothing."

"Tell me." Anne elbowed me.

"Ow. It's the sweatshirt." I caved. She knew how to get what she wanted.

She let out a big laugh. "The sweatshirt? You're so full of yourself. This is the only one that kind-of fits me." I raised my eyebrows, as if to say Really?, and she continued, "Seriously. Get rid of your ego, Gilbert."

I'd seen her wearing Matthew's old jackets before, so this was probably a lie. Why was she covering for herself? I didn't want to push her, so I dropped it. "Ok."

"We didn't get to practice the Pride and Prejudice scene last night," Anne stated. "Callbacks are today, at noon."

I came close to holding her hand but decided against it. "You'll do great. I promise. I can be in the audience if you'd like."

She chortled. "Won't you be practicing for practice?"

I shook my head. "No pre-practice practicing for today, I'm afraid."

She shrugged. "Come if you want to, then."

It seemed like she wanted me to go to the callbacks. Between her wearing my sweatshirt and her basically inviting me to see the callbacks, this seemed like a beginning of something more. I was also very appreciative of Anne. She distracted me from everything going on in my life and made me happy. Happier than I'd been since I was a child. I was grateful for her friendship. I'd had no friends that were as close to me as Anne was.

⋆˚✿˖°

At lunchtime, I grabbed my tray as quickly as possible and navigated my way to the drama club for middle schoolers. I'm sure I looked like an absolute weirdo, speed-walking with my lunch tray among all the Avonlean children. It didn't matter. I was going to see Anne doing what she was passionate about.

I bumped into three people on my way to the school theatre, but I made it just in time. The girls and boys were getting ready for their callback auditions while I sat down in the audience next to Diana. In front of me sat a very tall woman with long, brown hair and a short, stubby man. I heard Anne talking to someone behind the curtain. She sounded extremely nervous. 

The woman in front of me called out, "Alright. Let's get this show on the road. Mary Lewis?" Her voice was shrill and demanding.

A blonde girl with bangs emerged from backstage. She was trembling. She looked down at her fidgeting hands. She recited a scene from Percy Jackson, and then she was off.

Different people declaimed different parts of different books. About seven people later, Anne was on stage. She was clearly anxious but masked it with a cheery smile. Our eyes met for a quick second, and she stood up straight as her gaze shifted to the intimidating woman in the front row. My macaroni and cheese suddenly didn't seem as important as watching Anne be a radiant Elizabeth Bennett.

Throughout the almost entirety of her monologue, we held eye contact. I was so proud watching her; I was proud that I was her friend. She was a sight to behold. She was surely giving Keira Knightley a run for her money. She was a fabulous actress, and I was captivated. I only then realized how pretty she really was, especially in that sweatshirt. She stumbled over her words a few times and acted like it never happened. I just nearly forgot the girl on the stage was Anne and not Elizabeth.

After the woman whose name was unbeknownst to me gave Anne feedback, we didn't watch her competition; we wanted time to hang out before our next class. She found me and Diana in the audience and grabbed our arms. "Thanks for watching me," Anne said as we stepped out into the hallway. 

I grunted as I barely missed dropping my half-eaten lunch tray. We sat down right outside to the right of the theatre. Anne examined my tray. "Are you going to eat that? I'm starving. I was so excited, I couldn't eat breakfast, and I've yet to eat lunch."

I chuckled. "I anticipated this, and that's why I grabbed a lot of food." I handed her my spork. "Dive in."

Diana muttered, "Sure. That's why. You know, you're not supposed to eat lunch outside the cafeteria." She raised her eyebrows.

"I don't see you bringing food for Anne," I replied.

Diana and I stopped our bickering as Anne stuffed her face. "Anne, you are amazing. Literally, you've amazed me."

Anne gulped a bite of mashed potatoes. "Thank you. I felt like I was going to die of anxiety! And Mrs. Bergeron was peering at me like she was trying to explode my brain with her gaze! Poor Gibson, he was shivering next to her."

"I assume the 6-foot-tall woman is Mrs. Bergerson? And the guy beside her is Gibson?" I asked.

Diana mouthed he knows nothing to Anne, and Anne rolled her eyes and laughed.

I scoffed. "Excuse me. I do know something. Just not about 8th grade drama club. Tell me, Diana, what is the Trendelenburg position?"

Diana furrowed her eyebrows. "What? You perv!"

The blood rushed to my cheeks. "I—I... It's a medical position, not... that!"

"I don't believe you," said Diana, crossing her arms.

I pulled my phone out—thank God no teacher or snitch was walking the halls at that time or I would've gotten my phone taken away for the school day, which isn't that bad, but the teacher's mere disappointment of me disobeying would've been punishment enough—and googled the Trendelenburg position. Before I could show Diana my phone, the school bell rang. We all stood up and, before we could leave, Anne took one of my hands and one of Diana's hands and said very earnestly, "Thank you for coming to watch me. It means so much to me." She dropped our hands. "I'd say more, but we better get going."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

My first hockey practice was on school grounds, so I was quickly changing into my gear in a bathroom stall while Anne stood outside the bathroom, telling me random facts. It was an odd scenario but I, in fact, did not know every second, 75 McDonald's burgers are sold. As I walked out, I held my helmet in one hand, my shoes in the other, and I had my jersey on.

"Ooh, you look professional," said Anne. "Are you ready to kick some hockey butt? Score some goals or... whatever?"

"Well, you're trying, which is better than all the guys I've been on teams with so far." We walked to the gym, and I sat down on the bench and put my skates on. She sat next to me and searched through her backpack. She grabbed a red notebook and a pencil and zipped her backpack up. "What's that for?" I asked.

"Doodling," Anne answered, her head high. "It's a very good way to spend the time."

I stood up as the other guys started to come. "Well, I'll take your word for it. I must go, fair maiden, for hockey awaits me. Keep busy and doodle."

I felt comfortable in hockey. I wasn't passionate about it, but it felt regular, and that comforted me. My feet glided against the ice naturally. As Anne watched from the bleachers, I couldn't help but glance at her occasionally. I wondered what she was drawing. Maybe a meadow?

The two hours passed, and my arms were so sore I wanted to cut them off. I'd rather face that ache than the heartbreak that awaited me at home. We skated away, and Anne packed up her things, seemingly very protective of her notebook. I sat down beside her, took my skates off, and returned to my tennis shoes.

"What did you draw?" I asked, my mouth quirking up into a smirk.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder. "Nothing."

"How did I do?"

Anne tilted her head. "You seemed focused. You almost fell, though."

"You saw that?" I groaned.

"Hey, makes you human," she said, shrugging.

"Thanks for coming," I whispered, my eyes roaming her face.

She pulled away from me, so I gave her space. "It's what friends do."

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

As we neared our houses, the sun began to set. Anne's face lit up, and, before darting inside Green Gables, she told me, "Stay right here!"

A few minutes later, she walked out with a huge ladder in her arms. She then set it against her house and began to climb up on top of her roof. "Come on!" she called.

I huffed. "What are you doing?"

She hollered back, "Just come up! Trust me!"

I shook my head as I did as I was told. We sat on the roof. "What, pray tell, are we doing?"

She rolled her eyes. "We're watching the sun set."

We didn't say anything else for a while. We observed orange and pink blending together in the sky. I decided to do something daring, to test my luck. I fake-yawned and stretched my arm around her. Anne shot me a hasty look, but she didn't pull away this time. My heart warmed.

Sometimes, all you need is a good friend to watch the sunset with.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 5: FOREVER WINTER.
ANNE

୨୧

A month had passed, Gilbert's birthday was approaching, and I had no idea of what to give him. I wanted to pull my hair out. What do you get a teenage boy? Deodorant? I was sitting at the desk in the office, and instead of writing my dozens of due assignments, I made a list of possible gifts for Gilbert while browsing Matthew's computer. A guitar was too expensive, he wasn't a serious gamer, and he didn't really camp. He wasn't too interested in DIY kits... nothing seemed like a good gift for Gilbert. My watch vibrated with a text from Diana: Any luck for a Gil gift yet?

I huffed and buried my face in my hands before voice-texting back, No. Ugh!!! This prompted Marilla to holler, "Anne, who are you talking to?"

I figured yelling back would be disrespectful, so I stood up, walked to the kitchen where Marilla was baking just to answer her, then walked back to my seat in the rickety chair. (I know, problems one has when one is blessed)

Why don't you make him a scrapbook or something meaningful like that? Diana texted.

I don't have any physical evidence of our friendship. I think there's one photo on Gilbert's Instagram, and that's it. Every gift idea was a strikeout.

I slumped back in my chair. My eyes ached from staring at the computer screen tiredly. I needed a break from this madness, or I felt I was going to fall asleep on the spot when I wasn't even tired.

I decided to go see Gatsby. I cleaned a few people's houses and pulled their weeds, so I had a little bit of money to buy things for him. Plus, maybe Gilbert would give me a hint as to what he wanted for his birthday.

I shoved the Gatsby goods in a tote bag, asked Marilla to see Gilbert, and made haste.

Gilbert answered the door, and he looked like he had just rolled out of bed, which was strange because, at school that day, he looked presentable. His hair was sticking up in every which direction, and he had a white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants on. His voice was scratchy, too, when he said my name.

I raised my eyebrows amusedly. My fists clenched. "Did you just wake up from a nap?"

"Your cat was screaming at me all night. So, yes, Anne, maybe I did sleep a little." He chuckled and shook his head, apparently unable to be stern with me.

"Well, I'm here to see my cat, then," I replied, holding my head high. "Why was he yelling at you? Did he have food?"

Gilbert stepped aside so I could enter his home. "He did have food. I have no idea why he was being so loud."

As he shut the door, I saw Gatsby walk without a care in the world from the hallway to me. I leaned down and pet him. "Oh, hi, pretty boy."

"Hello to you too, Anne," said Gilbert, a dorky smirk on his face. I, in response, stared at him with a look I hoped was menacing.

I scooped Gatsby in my arms. "So, your birthday is coming up soon," I mentioned discreetly.

"Yes, it is," confirmed Gilbert, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Um... anything you have your eye on?" I asked. I was trying to hard to be nonchalant. I shifted my weight from my left foot to my right foot as I put Gatsby down.

He chuckled. "Not really. Why, is a certain redhead wondering what to get me?"

"No, no, no. Um... Marilla was wondering—because Matthew! Matthew saw some cool farm equipment for you?"

Gilbert raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. "Yeah. Sure." He didn't believe me one bit.

"Oh, drop it!" My cheeks flushed scarlet and I turned my head. I plopped the bag on the sofa. "Look through this."

Gilbert searched the tote bag and said nothing until he found the collar. "This has the Anne touch, that's for sure."

"The Anne touch?"

"Yeah. Everything Anne," he said, poking a finger into my chest, "touches is special. It's so you. Like this bedazzled collar. That's you."

A smile crept upon my face. "I hand-glued every gem and got burnt twice by the hot glue gun."

"See? That's creativity, imagination, and Anne." He grinned.

"Not really. A lot of people bedazzle things. I just have dedication. That's it."

"No, you're different, Anne."

Wasn't that just funny? How I was too different for the people my age but too ordinary to make a difference. "I guess."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and picked up the can of Fancy Feast. "High quality," he joked.

"Well, you know, Gatsby deserves the best. However will he win Daisy Buchanan without a good diet?"

"He's a rather handsome dude, so that's in his favor." He pulled out another can and stacked it atop the other one.

"It's not much, just some food and a collar, but it's a good place to start, don't you think?"

"Definitely."

⋆˚✿˖°

The next day, I went to school. At lunchtime, Diana and I sat together, as per usual. However, some male teenaged dimwits started having a food fight. It, thankfully, didn't spread to our side of the cafeteria, but it was close enough to make us scoff. One of the boys at the table across from us scowled at the dimwits.

"Why don't you ask him?" said Diana.

"Ask whom for what?" I asked. I then took a sip of water and immediately started coughing.

Diana concernedly looked at me, patted my back, and replied, "Cole. That boy over there. He's an art geek, so he may know what to do for Gil's birthday."

"Art geek? Isn't that a little impolite?"

Diana shrugged. "The artists call themselves art geeks. There was a rumor, though, and... oh, I don't want to gossip."

Torture, to me, was someone starting a sentence and leaving it incomplete. "No, tell me."

She cautiously scanned the room. She told me in a low voice, "Someone started a rumor that Cole was gay, which is not good for someone living in a wholly conservative town. Now, he only hangs out with the artists because they're more liberal, and they're the only ones who bother to hang out with him."

"Oh, that's nonsense!" I stood and walked right over to Cole. I clasped my hands below my stomach. "Hello, there! Would you like to have lunch with me and my friend, Diana? I'm Anne."

He glanced at Diana. "Um, sure. I'm Cole."

We walked back to our table, and, immediately, we hit it off. I told him I was new to Avonlea, and he told me his experience living here his whole life. Eventually, I brought up Gilbert.

"Well, you could draw something for him," he suggested.

"I suck at drawing," I said.

"Suckitude is subjective, but I highly doubt it. Give me proof."

I dropped my backpack to the ground and pulled my notebook out. I flipped to the page where a sketch of him playing hockey lived. I created it during his practice. If he knew I drew him for no reason, his ego would be insane. I wasn't going to make him cockier than he already was. I handed it to Cole. I was half-expecting him to rip the page out, crumple it, and spit on it because it was awful. Alas, he didn't.

"Your friend is Gil Blythe?" He questioned, raising his eyebrows.

How did he know? "Yeah..."

He started chuckling. "You seem really nice. No offense, but how do you two know each other?"

"Gilbert's nice too!" I responded, like it was my it was my job to defend him. "He's my neighbor. He's very insightful and thoughtful."

"Really? I just thought he was another one of those hot, dumb jocks like Billy Andrews."

I laughed. I'd seen Billy Andrews. I would not want to be put in a room with him. "No way."

"By the way, you're an excellent artist. Maybe a little bit of shading and, you know, doing it on a sketchpad would make it have more depth."

My eyes widened. "You think this is good? Wow. Thank you."

To my irritation, the bell rang. I was glad to have made another friend. I greatly enjoyed Cole's company.

 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Gilbert's birthday fell on a weekend. That meant I asked Marilla to let me stay at his house the whole day. A sleepover, really, but I wouldn't have called it that. It was too girly, and he'd never go for that. Marilla thought I had scandalous intentions, though, so I had to call it a sleepover. After much asking, (definitely not begging for a stupid boy) I got what I wanted under the premise that I called her every thirty minutes. Then, I had to convince him.

I arrived at his doorstep with a giftbag in hand. A random candle (teenage boys are stinky) and my drawing. I worked long and hard on my drawing. I was self-conscious of it. What if he didn't like it? What if he thought it was corny and poorly drawn? I had forgotten I had rung the doorbell, so I was startled when he appeared before me.

"Oh, hi. Happy birthday." I wasn't sure what to do, so I awkwardly held my arms out like a damn bird flying. Or someone T-posing. 

Gilbert grinned. "Hey. Thank you. No party today, because my friends are busy."

"Oh, that's alright. I prefer us being alone." Oh, that sounded like it had some implications to it. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Anyway... you have plans?"

"No, come on in." He welcomed me inside his house and smiled.

"Want to have an all-day movie marathon or something?" Why was this so hard? Why was I so embarrassing? 

"Like a sleepover or whatever?"

A shiver ran through my legs and arms. It was cold in his house. "Yeah, I guess." I was so chalant.

"Ok, yeah, sounds great." Gilbert cleared his throat. "I mean, it sounds good."

"O...kay. Where should I put your present?"

"Hm... I think I should wait until after dinner to open it. So, the kitchen counter, there?"

I placed his gift on the counter and sat down next to him. "Do you have a cake?"

"Bash's getting me one right now."

Bash and I had scarcely interacted, but he seemed kind. "Oh, cool." Breaking news: apparently, I'm one of those girls who replies with "Cool" to everything now, I thought. "Um, what do you want to do?"

"Monopoly?"

"If you want to get your butt kicked." Yes, it sounded much less menacing and serious when I couldn't curse.

"Oh, game on, Shirley." He sprinted to the office and grabbed Monopoly.

I, in fact, wasn't the butt kicker, but the butt kickee. There was no way I could've won that game. He had incredible luck. 

"You cheated," I accused, my head rested on my hands. 

"You really think I'd cheat? 1. That's unethical, and I have never cheated on a test, on a girlfriend—not like I've had one—or a game. Unless piracy is considered cheating," he muttered. "And 2. I don't need to cheat. You very obviously are pretty bad at Monopoly."

"Why would being a pirate be considered cheating? Also, you're too young to be a pirate, aren't you?"

Gilbert let out a little snicker. "If you're a cop, you have to tell me."

"Oh, dear Lord, you've committed a crime?!"

He sighed and shook his head. He didn't seem irritated, though. "No, it means I've played a game for free when I should've paid."

"So you stole?" I spent all this time drawing and stressing for a shoplifter?

Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess."

"Have the authorities come?"

"A lot of people have emulators on their computers, Anne."

"Emulator?"

He rubbed his chin as though he had a beard—hah, he wished. "Have you ever played a video game?"

"I've seen people playing video games."

"Wanna try one out?"

"Sure," I said.

He got up from his seat and powered on a video game console. It projected onto his TV. He handed me a controller and, with no further explanation, said, "Try Mario Party. It's the best game for newbies."

"Um, okay. How do you play?"

"It'll explain."

After I got over my confusion as to why an anthropomorphic mushroom called Toad was handing me a star, I understood the game easily and won.

"It's rigged," Gilbert joked, scoffing. "The whole game was rooting for Daisy and beating up Yoshi!"

"I'm just that talented," I said, popping a Cheeto in my mouth.

He glanced at the clock, pulled out his phone, and frantically began typing. "Where's Bash?" he muttered. "It's been hours. Is he okay?"

"Maybe he ran into an old friend at Costco," I supposed.

"The nearest Costco is hours away. Uh, is it okay if I call him real quick?"

I figured I shouldn't say, "Really quickly," so I said, "Yeah, of course."

Gilbert dialed and held his phone to his ear. "Bash, Bash, what's up?"

I didn't know what was said until he hung up and said, with the color drained from his face, "It's my father."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 6: UNSTEADY.

GILBERT

୨୧

All the breath escaped from my body. I felt like an exhausted dead engine someone kept trying to start up. My ears rang, and my vision went fuzzy. A hand was placed on my bicep, and I recoiled. In my peripheral vision, I saw Anne. I could barely hear her saying something. Her words weren't words so much as they were sounds that had meaning behind them; I knew she was heartfully speaking, but I was too panicked to detect which words she was using and, therefore, what she meant. My sight was increasingly granulated, and soon, it was half-black. I closed my eyes, buried my head in my hands, and that somehow made things better.

"What?" I managed, my face burning, my voice a tiny squeak.

"How can I help you, Gilbert?" Anne asked, her voice still muffled by the deafening, horrid ringing sound.

I broke down completely. I grabbed her shoulders and bowed my head into her, and as I cried, my body shook. She understood me. Through the pits of my sorrow, she understood me. She wrapped her arms around my back, surrounding me in a comforting hug. After a good minute, my head rose, but I didn't let go of her shoulders and ceaselessly trembled.

I was helpless and ashamed of my relying on her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." What was she thinking? I was a useless mess, falling apart at an inconvenience.

She pulled my hands off her and took them in hers. "Don't be sorry. I'm here for you. We're friends through thick and thin."

Which was this time in my life? Thick morosity or thin optimism? A little, faithful voice in the back of my head whispered, It doesn't matter. She's here to help me through it, but I ignored it. How could any sliver of me have faith? I was partially resentful towards Anne for having happiness and partially angry at myself for thinking that. I looked deep in her eyes, the world quieting down as I calmed down. There was something in her, a light of honesty, that made my soul a little less doubtful. "Thick and thin."

Her thumbs softly caressed my palms. "What can I do? Should I leave or get you some water or hug you again or... I'll do whatever you want."

"I don't want to be left alone, but I don't want to talk," I answered, unsure of... everything. Who was I? What was I doing here, living? What was the point of anything? I had funeral arrangements to think about and the eulogy and returning to school and dealing with unsympathetic people who would never want to understand what I was going through. 

My head pounded. I stood, grabbing a water bottle, veering as I tried to make it to the kitchen. My hands and body slammed against the kitchen counter. Though I felt like emptying the bottle, I took only one Tylenol for my headache. I was unsteady in my body and mind, one of the two causing me to spill the pills all over the counter. I didn't care. I simply sighed. Just my luck. Slender, pale hands scooped them up.

"Anne, you can't take care of me. I'm fine." The voice that told her this was harsh, low, and foreign. It wasn't me.

"You're not fine, Gilbert. You're really not fine. I'm taking care of you because you need help, Bash isn't here right now, and I'm happy to do this. I don't mind in the slightest. I know what it's like to feel like a burden just for needing help, and I promise you, you're not a burden. You're someone I care about, and loved ones are never burdens. Sit back down if you want. I got this."

I sat on the sofa, staring at the clock. Every tick of the hand was louder than its predecessor. I closed my eyes, attempting to find peace. My eyes seemed impossible to open, my breaths heavier and slower. I knew I was falling asleep, and I thanked God.

⋆˚✿˖°

I woke up to a firm hand gently nudging me. I sharply sat straight up. "Where's Anne?" I blurted, panicked. I needed her to be okay. 

"She went home a while ago. She figured you needed some alone time. It's six in the morning," said Bash.

"I slept through the evening? I wasn't that tired," I mumbled, running my hands through my hair.

"Grief has certain effects on people," Bash responded. "It's time for school. You want a ride?"

"No, thanks. I'll just walk."

He eyed me. "You gonna change that shirt? You've got spittle on it."

I groaned, got a shirt from the laundry basket, went to the kitchen for a bit of privacy (but it didn't really matter), and changed my top. "Better?" I asked, returning to the living room.

Bash smiled and patted me on the back. "You'll be just fine, Blythe."

In the beginning of my walk to school, I heard rushed footsteps. Anne was there by my side before I knew it. She was the only thing in my life that didn't leave. It felt normal to tease her, and I craved normalcy. "You're definitely not an athlete."

She took a deep breath. "You're right about that. Are you still not in a talking mood? Keep in mind, the honest answer is the right answer."

"I'm feeling a little less like crap today. No spinning world or throbbing head. Talk to me."

"Alright." Anne gave me a warm smile. She reminded me of sunshine, and I was rain. She was welcoming and amiable and gregarious and benevolent, while I was gloomy and brooding and dismal and despondent. I didn't want to get in the way of her joy. Nobody needs a pessimistic jerk in their lives. Especially not someone as extraordinary as Anne. But, for some reason that remained to be seen, she wanted to be around me. "What's your favorite kind of music, hm?"

"I like classic rock. Journey, Van Halen, you know. What about you?"

Her grin stayed on her face. "I love indie, I'm finding. I discovered that watch you gave me can play music on Spotify, so I'm enjoying a lot of artists like Phoebe Bridgers and beabadoobee. Oh, I love 'Girl Song!' Have you heard it?" She sang a little for me, and I watched in amazement. She wasn't doing anything particularly showstopping, but she was being Anne, which was better, if you asked me.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

I was zoning out during class. My mind was spiraling. I didn't know what to do. There wasn't a certain situation I was concerned about. I just didn't know what to do in life. What was I to do when I got home? Did I have to work on the funeral arrangements? Oh, God, I wanted to go home and disappear until it didn't hurt anymore. But that was pathetic. I needed to deal with it and face life.

I guess the teacher asked a question and called on me, as I heard my name. "Huh?"

"What's the answer, Mr. Blythe?"

"Um... Russia," I said after glancing at the book on my desk. Apparently, that was the right answer. To what, I have no clue.

The minutes felt like hours, like they were mocking me. At lunchtime, Anne didn't sit next to Diana and Cole, but she sat next to me in the quietest corner of the cafeteria. 

"What are you thinking about?" 

"You don't want to hear me complain." I stabbed my macaroni and cheese noodle.

"Actually, in fact, Gilbert Blythe, I do." She raised her chin high and chuckled.

I sighed and shook my head. "What am I going to do about the funeral?"

"Bash isn't taking care of it?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

Why hadn't I thought of that? Was he taking care of it? "I don't know."

"Well, if you are, I'm happy to help you." She reached across the table and held my hand. Her delicate fingers clasped against my calloused ones made me feel the happiest I'd been that day. Anne was the best thing that could've happened to me.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

To my surprise, when schooltime was over, Anne was waiting for me. I was usually the one waiting for her. She was leaning against the wall.

"Do I pull off the James Dean, Dally Winston thing?" she threw her head back and laughed.

"You did the best you could while lacking a leather jacket and a cigar."

Being outside reminded me Anne was not sunshine. Sunshine obnoxiously glared in my face. Anne was not mocking me with her brightness like the sun was. Anne was considerate and thoughtful.

"Hey, I was thinking," began Anne, "that we could go get some coffee or something, give you a little break from home and overthinking. What do you say?"

I kicked the dirt under my feet, trying to act like this was a tough decision, genuinely smiling for the first time since... the unspeakable. She knew I didn't want to talk about the funeral or anything morbid, and she was fine with that. "I'd love to, but it's a bit of a long walk to The Coffeepot."

"It only gives us more time to talk, don't you think?" Her big sapphire eyes were sparkling, her sunset hair waving in the wind, her cheeks rosy from the weather. I wondered if she was an angel. It seemed plausible; she looked like one and acted like one and sounded like one. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I also, um, like your... hair," I muttered as we started toward The Coffeepot, hoping it wasn't too obvious that she was kind of my world then.

Anne looked at me like I was crazy. "My... hair?"

Embarrassedly, I replied, "Never mind."

Anne studied the scene before her. "Oh, Gilbert, isn't it marvelous, how the trees are swaying in the wind, so they appear as though they're dancing? And, oh, my heart is taken by the sky behind them! It's so perfect, it looks hand-painted by a professional artist who spent their life crafting this magnificent splendor!"

I took a moment to think about it, to examine the trees and sky. "The trees do look like they're dancing. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Tree are romantically waltzing."

"Oh, yes! Yes! You're not afraid to use your imagination, and I admire that so!"

I felt like I'd won some kind of award for dreaming with her. I loved Anne's enthusiasm and mind. "I suppose my imaginary friends, Violet and Greg, came from somewhere."

She seemed intrigued. "Tell me more."

"Oh, I don't remember. I just recently came across a journal entry from seven-year-old me," I said.

"You journaled?" Anne queried, sounding doubtful.

"I still do."

She scoffed. "Ah! I cannot imagine 'Gil Blythe, hockey jock' sitting in his room, twirling his hair, burning a vanilla candle, listening to Whitney Houston, journaling!"

"Don't get all your stereotypes from books, Anne. I sit in my room, I journal, and that is it." I waved a hand.

"Sure, sure, but you really don't seem like the type to journal." She seemed convinced I didn't own a diary.

"I'd read you a page, but you would somehow still be uncertain."

After some thirty minutes, she and I were at The Coffeepot. It was a mellow, not-so busy place filled with the right ambience that made me want to curl up with a book in front of a fireplace.

"Want me to place our order?" I asked, feeling pride in being with Anne in a public place. We obviously arrived together and were going to leave together. It was like we were on a date.

"Ah, I don't mind. I'll go with you. Don't want you angering the barista and making him spit in my tea." She looked up at me, and my soul felt less strangled and more relaxed.

We approached the man behind the counter, looking like a couple, almost. Except... Anne saw the man behind the counter, and her pupils got larger, her cheeks redder. She smiled. I had a slightly sickening feeling in my heart. The boy looked older than me, with curly, dark hair and green eyes. He had tan skin and full lips.

I cleared my throat. "Hi, uh, medium coffee, black," I uttered, my tone unfriendlier than I had expected. My jaw clenched.

Anne showed a very cordial and perfect grin to the boy—his nametag read Roy—and said, "I'll try a small cappuccino."

I narrowed my eyes and chuckled. "But you don't drink coffee, Anne."

"There's always a time to try new things, isn't there?"

I knew I was being a scumbag, but I couldn't stop. "Uh, let me try this. The Cuthberts don't let you drink coffee."

"Ok, I don't have to have coffee. I'm open-minded and flexible. I'll have a blueberry scone, please."

Stupid-name Roy said cheerfully, "No problem. Medium black coffee and a blueberry scone coming right up."

Anne turned to me and whispered, "Why don't you go sit down? I can cover the cost."

"Oh, that's okay. I'll cover it and stay right here."

She sighed and leaned on the counter. "So, Roy, is that your name? It sounds exotic." Oh, she had to be joking. In what universe did Roy sound exotic?

Roy was busy making my coffee. "Yeah, I'm Mexican and Irish."

"Oh, how fascinating." Hardly. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"School and coffee, my friend." That smug voice was so annoying.

"How come I haven't seen you around?" Anne's flirting was disgusting me.

Roy pivoted and poured my coffee into a mug. "Well, I just started working here last week, and I live in Charlottetown."

"Charlottetown's a fun place," I interjected. "In Charlottetown, there's a prison. Certain adults who are attracted to minors tend to go there. Speaking of which, my friend, Anne, here is thirteen years old. I know, sometimes she looks older, but she's thirteen."

Anne stammered. "I-I'm going to be fourteen in March."

"Hey, you're good, I'm sixteen," stated Roy. He handed Anne the bag with her scone in it and said, "Nice talking to you." I gave him my money, and even then, I didn't think he looked at me once.

Anne and I sat down at a little, round cherrywood table. I was expecting a lecture on my behavior, but Anne just brushed the hair out of her face, took a bite of her scone, and mumbled, "Oh, isn't he dreamy?"

"He's definitely a character," I mumbled.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 7: CRAZIER.
ANNE

୨୧

After months of careful practicing, I was getting ready to star in my first play. We were performing Emma by Jane Austen, and I was thrilled! I was playing the part of Jane Fairfax, which I wasn't ecstatic about, but I was excited to be any part of Emma. And Diana had the main role as Emma, and I was so happy for her.

Gilbert, for some reason, attended most of my rehearsals, except for the days when he had hockey practice. So, he was at the last rehearsal.

After the last rehearsal, Gilbert and I met in the hallway. My rehearsals were always after school, so we walked together after school.

"Ah, Shirley, you did great!" He smiled at me, the skin around his eyes crinkling. I loved when he smiled like that. It felt so genuine and pure.

A warmth took home in my chest. I felt bashful suddenly. "Thank you! You really think so?"

"Yeah! Jane Austen herself would be proud," Gilbert said, a poor attempt at flattery. "So, I was thinking... how about a celebratory dinner tonight? Just you and me? Bash is out on a date," he informed me, smirking, "and I think I'm getting better at cooking."

I snickered. "Better at cooking? Does that mean you're capable of not burning eggs?"

"Well, I can't make a steak dinner just yet."

"Good. Don't make me a steak dinner. A poor animal was ruthlessly slaughtered so you could eat steak. You're supporting that, and, quite frankly, no other animal but fish tastes... good."

He scoffed. "You love the burgers at Chuffy's."

I paused. "I am a lady of many layers. I am complex, and if that means supporting a small Avonlea business for a scrumptiously seasoned burger, so be it. But I refuse to eat a Thanksgiving turkey."

"Yeah, you're not layered. Just confusing." Gilbert shook his head.

"I can be two things at once, Gilbert Blythe. So, what's on the... menu?" I crossed my arms as we made our way to his house.

"I found a recipe for pretzel mustard chicken things online, but, considering your speech, I'm assuming something vegetarian would be more to your liking."

I looked up and replied, "Well, I'm intrigued. What are pretzel mustard chicken things?"

"You dip chicken in some mustard sauce and dip that in pretzel crumbs, I'm pretty sure," he answered.

"Oh, you'd definitely burn that."

He elbowed me. "Thanks for having faith in me, Anne. How about macaroni and cheese and salad? I even got you some Sprite."

"That sounds more up to par with your excellently horrible skills. Um, but you hate Sprite."

"I am more of a Coke man, but you're the Emma girl. Well, technically Jane girl, but whatever."

"Why isn't Diana coming, then?" I asked.

Gilbert swallowed. "Because I invited you."

I rolled my eyes. "Speak without useless tautologies, please."

He looked down at the path. "I was hoping it'd be just us," he murmured.

"Why?" I arched an eyebrow.

"I don't know." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

I sighed. "Okay." Silence engulfed us; I loathed silence. "Who's this girl with whom Bash is on a date?"

Gilbert chuckled. "How awkwardly phrased of you. Her name is Mary, and that's all he'd tell me."

We neared his house, and there was snow on the roof. It perfectly blanked the jagged surface, as satisfying as a 100% straight line. "How can someone not admire this magnificent sight? I just cannot fathom how people can go to work or school without taking in this wonder and twirling around in the snow!"

"Some people have... what do you say? No scope for imagination." He winked.

I dramatically pushed open the entry door and spread my arms wide. "I've always liked your house, Gilbert."

"I should hope so, because you've spent hours here with me."

Gatsby heard us come into the house and pranced toward us. He hopped and rubbed against my leg. "I only stick around for the precious kitty," I told Gilbert. "I hope you know that." I picked Gatsby up. 

"Naturally. Even a striking young man such as myself is not as cute as a cat."

"As long as you're aware." I only held Gatsby for a little while; he easily got fussy when held. I sat down at Gilbert's instruction to "make myself feel at home."

"Did you feed Mr. Gatsby today?" I asked, looking up at the ceiling fan while he was in the kitchen.

He replied, "Yes, indeed. Fed the cat, now I'm feeding you. Hah! Look at that. Keeping people alive, aren't I?"

I didn't know why, but I laughed even though his joke—if you could call it that—was unfunny. "I guess." I heard pots fall, and Gilbert's head disappeared from my view behind the kitchen counter. "Do you need help?" I hollered, turning my head to try to get a glimpse of him.

His curly hair stuck up, the only part of him I saw. It sounded like he shoved something in the cabinet, and it poured right back out. I decided to help before he answered, walking into the kitchen and pulling my hair up into a low ponytail with a rubber band that was on the counter. It hurt to get out of this hairstyle, but maybe I became a trendsetter that day. News flash: hair ties are out, and rubber bands are in. I pictured in my mind a Mean Girls-ish scene, where, instead of two large purple spots on their shirts, everyone wore rubber band ponytails, when Gilbert banged his head on the kitchen counter he then claimed was stupid in an attempt to stand.

"Wow. I..." he mumbled, staring at me like I were as beautiful as Keira Knightley.

I felt vulnerable, so, like clockwork, I got defensive. I grabbed a spatula as if it were an intimidating weapon and said, "Say whatever it is you're thinking or say nothing at all."

His eyes widened and he said, "I've never seen you before with your hair back. Your eyes... you can see them better now," his voice quiet.

I raised an eyebrow, and the strangest thing happened. He sounded and looked so sincere, and my heart fluttered. His eyes met mine, and the world faded away. My hands were clammy.  "Is that a good thing?" I asked, ashamed of how small my voice sounded and how quickly I was affected by Gilbert Blythe, of all people.

"Yeah," he said, taking a step toward me, a hesitant look on his face.

All I could think was, what is happening? What are we doing? Why in the world do I feel like this?! I was looking at the horizon of something life-changing emerging, something simultaneously wild and fiery and unpredictable and also soft and sweet and warm. I was trapped in a sea of gorgeous hazel eyes, and I didn't mind one bit. I watched him closely. He leaned in, ever so gentle... and... oh no. What is he doing? He's moving away and... oh. The macaroni. My heart sank. I didn't know what was going on, and my emotions were the definition of conflicted.

"Hah. Don't burn the macaroni," I tried to tease, but my voice was shaky. I leaned against the "stupid counter" like it were the only holding me up. It might've been. 

"I wasn't going to burn it, Anne," he mumbled, forcefully stirring the macaroni and cheese. His eyes were set on the pan.

"And don't hurt it."

"God." He shook his head, acting like he was so frustrated with me, but I saw a smile underneath that crazy hair.

"Don't bring Him into this unless you're asking, 'God, why am I so bad at cooking?'"

He glanced at me and grinned. "Maybe because some red-haired girl keeps distracting me."

"Must be Pippi Longstocking." In that instant, it felt like nothing between us had changed, like we were still the same Anne and Gilbert who bickered about the little things. I was unsure of whether or not I wanted us to change, and that petrified me.

"Hey," Gilbert said, his expression serious. "Really, I want you to listen to me." I nodded, and he continued, "Have you ever thought about trying out for Pippi?"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you want me to leave?"

He chuckled and said, "Never."

⋆˚✿˖°

Gilbert approached the table with a big pot of macaroni and cheese. Really, a big pot. Kind of gargantuan. I was wondering if he was going to feed some of that to Gatsby, because how could we eat all that? Alas, he scooped most of it into his bowl. Never underestimate a teenage boy's appetite. I noticed he forgot the salad, but that was alright. He made a second trip and got me a can of Sprite.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?" he asked me as he sat down.

My fork penetrated the noodle. When I was nervous, I moved my food around on my plate. I didn't know if the butterflies were from the play's being tomorrow or from... the boy sitting across from me, but I was panicking about both. "No," I lied.

Gilbert frowned when he saw what my silverware was doing. "So the noodle just chose death?"

I let out a chortle inadvertently. I immediately straightened my face out. "We've known each other for about half a year. How do you know me so well?"

He smirked and raised his eyebrows, amused. I knew he was about to mock me. That was the "Gilbert Blythe Mocking Face.™" "Maybe because I'm your kindred spirit! We should go hold hands and skip through meadows."

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. "Or I'm your hockey bro, and we should go... um... kiss girls and burp."

He laughed. "I need some clarification. What girls are we kissing? And do we burp while kissing them, before, or after?"

"Let's see," I answered, popping some macaroni in my mouth. "I hear all the boys like Megan Fox." Gilbert stayed silent, so I pressed the subject. "Come on. Who's your celebrity crush?"

Gilbert sighed and said, "It's basic, but I think Adriana Lima is pretty." He could see I didn't know who that was, so he showed me a photo on his phone. An odd feeling that was kind of like jealousy and dread combined settled over me. It was ridiculous; why was I envious of a famous woman who didn't know I existed? I had always been conscious of my appearance, but I felt hopeless as I stared at Gilbert's type who looked absolutely nothing like me. I didn't know why. I didn't even like him as more than a friend, but I felt the urge to rip out my red hair until I was bald. I was petty, and I felt like a bad person.

I said a complete untruth because I was angry. "Well, I think skinny, tall, pale guys with straight blond hair and icy blue eyes are good-looking."

"Roy, the barista."

I scoffed. "What does Roy, the barista have anything to do with this?!"

"You were flirting with him like it was your job a few months ago, and he's the opposite of everything you just said. Except, yeah, he's tall."

This was outrageous. Gilbert Blythe was ludicrous! "I was not flirting with him!"

"Yes, you were, and he was flirting right back. I saw it with my own two eyes. Right in front of me, some hot shot coffee maker was coming onto my..."

I arched an eyebrow. "Your what?!"

"You're so clueless," he mumbled.

The audacity! "I'm clueless? I'm clueless?! How dare you?! How am I clueless?!"

When Gilbert didn't answer with anything more than something that was intelligible and under his breath, I huffed and left his house. What did that mean? About what could I have possibly been clueless? I entered Green Gables with a slam of the door.

"Now, Anne, what is the matter?" Marilla asked. She, Jerry, and Matthew were sitting at the dining table, eating supper.

"Gilbert Blythe called me clueless!"

Jerry snickered, so I just ran up to my room and fell on my bed. Gilbert Blythe had no right to talk about Roy, much less call me clueless. Plus, neither of us had seen Roy in months. Why did he remember him? Was he bothered or something? I hated that I was still thinking about Gilbert. He was so good at staying in my head.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 8: SOMEONE TO CALL MINE.
GILBERT

୨୧

I didn't mean that. I never meant to call Anne clueless, but I was extremely frustrated with her. I was evidently... not pleased with her so nonchalantly giving a random coffee maker the mooniest look she could muster all those months ago, and she either didn't see it or didn't care. That stupid wannabe Starbucks employee was not exotic or interesting. Not any more so than I was.

I stared at my hands, processing how everything had unfolded. Anne had left just a while ago. I was still sat at the table when Bash came home chuckling. He hung his coat on the coatrack and walked over to me. "What's wrong, Blythe?" he asked, but he was glowing.

I shook my head. "Nothing." I didn't want to spoil his date that obviously had a very good outcome with my problems. Problems about my best near-aged, living friend whom I may have liked. I wasn't sure.

Bash then sat at my left. "No, no, let me guess. Anne." He snickered and scratched his chin.

I took a breath to reply and opened my mouth but exhaled through my nose as I pressed my lips together. I finally landed on the thought I wanted to articulate. "How do you know?" Was he implying she was trouble?

He grinned and answered, "What do you mean, how do I know? You always talk about her. Every. Day. 'Anne smiled at me today!' 'I made a joke, and Anne rolled her eyes.' 'I went to the library with Anne today.' 'Anne...' something. It's always 'Anne' something. With all you talk of her, you'd think you're living together."

I folded my hands, trying to fight the smirk that was creeping up on my lips. "We go to school together every day," I said in false irritation, but my face betrayed me.

"Yes, except for Saturdays and Sundays," Bash stated. "And, unless something's changed since I've been in school, the only times you'd see her are breaks, which aren't that often. School's not a social event."

I could feel my hands start to sweat. Because it was a social event to us. In a few classes, Anne took AP lessons. I was also offered that opportunity this year, but I declined because I wanted to see Anne. And in our extremely small town, "AP classes" were attending classes a grade or two up. And when Anne and I finished early in the classes we shared, we passed notes. We'd even gotten in trouble numerous times. But nothing made my day like reading Anne's pretty, loopy cursive in a comment that was most likely to the effect of: "Math is the worst, most evil and excruciating torment I've ever borne!!!" or "Do you think we're just book characters being written, our every move being decided by our writer? Maybe we're self-aware characters, the first ever, who, despite what our author writes, can make our own decisions? Free will is pretty cool, isn't it?" usually accompanied by a smiley or frowny face. And I was always ashamed that, for a fleeting moment that lasted just a millisecond, my first thought was something like, My greatest torment is not being able to spend every second of every day with you or I know what I wanna do with my free will: kiss you. But I was sure I didn't have a crush on her. I just had... hormones and thought she was attractive. Right? I wished I still had my dad. I would have asked him.

I couldn't battle the smile any longer. It was giving me away, telling Bash I was guilty of spending a lot more time with her than I should have. I kept my head down, not looking at him, as I said, "Yeah, so what?" But I didn't sound careless. I stammered over my words. I nodded, hoping all he could see was my forehead and a big, dark mop of hair. "I like her." Great, there I go stuttering again. "I mean, as a friend, as a person, as an esteemed, respected individual. She's... kind."

"That boy you tutored a few years ago, Moody... he's kind. He's still in your class, right? I never see you around him," Bash said, and I hated that he made a good point. But he wasn't entirely correct.

"No, Moody's in Anne's class," I informed him. "And... besides..." I finally lifted my head; thank God, I wasn't still smiling like a fool. "Anne's... clever." I took my time, pausing in between every few words, choosing the correct ones. Yes, there were correct words, and those were the ones that didn't scream, "I have a crush on Anne!" "She's kind, she's clever," I listed off, "and she's imaginative and creative and unlike anything I've really ever seen."

Judging by Bash's reaction, those were not the correct words. I was so grateful that he didn't tease me further about her. "So, what's this Anne dilemma you speak of?"

I gulped. "Just so you know, I'm an idiot."

Bash started to laugh hysterically. Jeez, it's not that funny, I thought. "Oh, yes. I know."

"So, we were talking about celebrity crushes," I began, reliving what happened just about thirty minutes before, "and I said mine was... well, it doesn't matter," I said, not wanting to be made fun of again. "She suddenly spat out that she liked guys who looked like the opposite of me. And I mentioned this barista she was flirting with a few months ago when we were there together. And, recently, I've seen her at the Coffeepot. Anne doesn't drink coffee. She wants to see Roy. That's his name. Anyway, Roy looks nothing like what she said her type was. We got into a fight from there, and I... may have called her clueless because she wasn't seeing that I was clearly upset about it. About him. I don't even know why I am, but she stormed out and left."

Bash sighed. "You are not making me miss my teenage years. So, who did you say was your celebrity crush?"

I didn't see how this was relevant. "Adriana Lima. You know, the supermodel from Brazil."

Bash raised his eyebrows and replied, "Well, there you go," like it was obvious. "A tall, tan, dark haired, Brazilian woman like her couldn't be more different from the snow-white, red-haired, freckled Anne. She got mad because she thought you didn't think she was good-looking because that's your standard, so she said something just to spite you. That's what it sounds like to me, anyway."

But that wasn't true. Some celebrity wasn't my standard. Anne was. "To be completely honest, I only said Adriana Lima because she was the first person that came to mind. I was having trouble thinking of someone because Anne is so pretty, it's kind of hard to think of anyone else," I told him hesitantly. "Plus, why would she even care about my type? She spends time with me because we have fun together. She loves adventure."

Bash's eyes widened. "Uh-huh." It sounded like he was getting valuable, unheard-of information.

I wiped my eyes and groaned. "I need to apologize to her." And, as I said this, an idea came to me. On our weekly movie nights, the ones we had every Friday after school, Anne loved when we watched rom-coms. Maybe I can make it up to her in a Love Actually, Say Anything way, I told myself. Even though we were just friends. "How did your date go?"

His eyes shimmered, and I could tell he liked Mary, about whom I'd heard nothing. "It went very well. I have to not get my hopes up, but I think there's gonna be a second date."

"Who is she? How did you meet?" I asked, interested in this mystery woman and also excited for a change in the subject of the conversation.

"She works at Simons. I was heading to Charlottetown and, there, I saw these dresses on display. I was also... a little bored and so I went in. Mary and I got to talking and, before you know it, I'm asking her on a date, and she's saying yes." Bash bashfully smiled (yes, I recognized the humor in that phrase) and rubbed the back of his head, something I, too, did when I was nervous. He really liked Mary.

⋆˚✿˖°

Emma was the talk of the town. The very same Emma that Anne was going to be in. I was so proud for knowing her, not to mention being her friend. Mostly everyone was enraptured with Diana as Emma, but I knew Anne as Jane would steal the show. Every Avonlea production was a big deal, and I was sure almost all the residents of Avonlea would be there, in the small school theatre.

And, as everyone from Rachel Lynde to Minnie May Barry excitedly chattered about the upcoming play, I worked. I worked on a white sign with, I somewhat ashamedly admit, glittery letters. I worked on getting Prissy Andrews to drive me to Charlottetown just to see the florist. (By the way, nowadays, flowers are so expensive. I just wanted a simple bouquet, not to go bankrupt...) I wondered if this was grand enough. I wondered if she'd accept my apology. I didn't have much money, and the flowers just about took up all of it.

I worked until it was time to go to the school to see the play. On the ride, butterflies had their playday in my stomach. Not the we're so close, I can count Anne's freckles butterflies, but the I'm so anxious, can I barf now? butterflies.

Soon enough, I sat down in one of the seats in the theatre. My heart skipped a beat when I heard Anne's voice backstage, telling someone very angrily something about... peanut butter? I didn't know. Next, the backdrops were set up, and the actors emerged.

I was paying attention to Emma and the plot and the characters and the art of it all. I truly was.

Until.

Until I saw Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.

Until everything that wasn't Anne Shirley-Cuthbert under stage lights, doing what she loved in a beautiful Victorian dress and wig seemed insignificant.

Until the world stopped moving.

Anne made Jane Fairfax seem like a radiant, lively, vivacious character. She couldn't contain her huge beam as she acted alongside her best friend. I was bewitched by Anne. She was so jubilant on that stage.

And then our eyes met. Despite our fight the day before, she gave me just the tiniest smile. That was all I needed to feel like I was floating.

I was enchanted throughout the whole performance, a brunette, freckleless Anne still taking my breath away. My heart seemed to beat just for her. When it was time for the actors to bow, I swallowed and breathed in, trying to fight my fears. It was then or never. I held up my sign which was tucked underneath my seat. Anne read it and grinned, though she shook her head. Talk about mixed signals.

After the show, Anne immediately stepped off the stage and approached me. I stood to my feet, still holding my sign which read: "THIS IDIOT (ME) APOLOGIZES TO THE MOST WONDERFUL ACTRESS IN AVONLEA. Forgive me, please?"

We just stared at each other. After some silence, I said, "I have flowers, too." Anne quirked an eyebrow, and I set the sign in my chair, grabbed the bouquet from under my seat, and handed it to her.

Our fingers brushed as she took the bouquet uncertainly. Her face softened, and tears formed in her eyes as she glanced from me to the bouquet then back to me.

"Isn't it customary to give the actress flowers?" I said, attempting a playful smirk but failing, resulting in a heartfelt smile.

"Lead actress," Anne corrected me, and I chuckled.

It took all my bravery to mumble just loud enough for us to hear, "You're the lead to me."

Anne shifted the bouquet to her left hand so she could throw her arms around my neck. The hug was over as quickly as it started, but I was over the moon.

"Does this mean you forgive me?" I questioned.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and responded, "I'm sorry, too. We were both foolish and rash. Truce?"

I ran a hand through my hair and referenced the countless spelling bees we'd battled each other in at school. "T-R-U-C-E."

I heard my favorite sound on earth: Anne's laughter. Then, her face and voice turned pensive and serious as she whispered, "What do you think about a little adventure?"

"Adventure? Sign me up. What do you propose?"

"Well," she replied, "I was thinking... skipping the cast party to head down to the lake to just dangle our feet in."

It was late, it was winter, Anne was still in her costume, and the Cuthberts would kill me. "I'm in."

"Okay, here's the plan," she said, her voice hushed as she schemed. "You go pick a fight with Billy Andrews until he's yelling at you. Then, all the attention is on you two. As people gasp and are shocked, I escape quietly. When you see me leave, you say something like, 'I'm done with you, man!' and run away. Finally, we rush to the Lake of Shimmering Waters. Partners in crime, Bonnie and Clyde. What do you say?"

"I hope Billy doesn't punch me," I muttered.

"It's a diversion. You'll be fine." That wasn't too reassuring, but it was like I was incapable of saying no to this girl, so I went along with it.

I walked up to Billy, who was on Snapchat (and probably had been this whole time), and said in a raised voice, "Hey, dude. You're a jerk!"

Billy fell right into Anne's trap. "Excuse me?" He matched my tone, gathering looks from the audience.

"You're mean to everyone. Give it a rest." What I was saying was, in fact, true. "You hurt so many people because you're a narcissist and can't comprehend how other people are feeling."

Billy gave me a blank look. I wondered which third-grade spelling word was tripping him up: narcissist or comprehend. "Is this about that orphan girl?" he hollered, crossing his arms.

Crap. Anne didn't know what Billy said about her. She also didn't know how I punched him in the face multiple times, defending her. And, just my luck, she was still here. "This is about how you're a brute to everyone, even your friends! They're terrified of you." In that instant, as everyone watched us, Anne tossed her wig on the ground and sneaked out. I said, "You're not getting it, and I'm tired of putting up with you! Never dare speak to me again," grabbed her bouquet, and rushed out of the school.

I met Anne in the hallway, and we snickered as we ran. I looked at her for what I intended as only one second but ended up being several. The makeup had worn off a little, so I could faintly see her freckles again, but the mascara was still there. She exclaimed, and I followed suit. When we reached the cherry blossom tree we always passed on our walks to school, she slowed down. "You think we're good? Are they on our tail?" she asked in between pants, pretending to be a criminal who just got away with the crime they committed.

I had to stop myself from laughing at her lack of athletic skills. We'd only been running for a minute, maybe two. I could've gone so much longer, but I decelerated with her. "I think we're safe," I said, patting her on the back (an action I instantaneously regretted).

Anne groaned, exhausted from just a little bit of sprinting. She gazed at the sky. The stars were twinkling, the moon was shining, and, under the light of the stars and moon, she was breathtaking.

I looked down at my hand. I still held the bouquet I'd gotten her. Unlike Anne, I was a good runner. Apparently, she was looking at the flowers too. "You remembered to carry the flowers on our adventure," she noticed, her voice quiet.

"Of course I did." I gave them to her for the second time that night. I may have been imagining things, but as Anne took them, our fingers touched again, and hers lingered a lot longer than they needed to. I tentatively stepped closer to her, and she let me. Another step was taken with no resistance.

"We... we should get going before they start to look for us," Anne whispered, removing her hand from mine, and my bubble was burst.

"Yeah. Do you... know the way? To the lake."

She nodded and led me toward the Lake of Shimmering Waters, as she called it. "Why did Billy ask you about 'that orphan girl'?" she queried, our footsteps in synchronization.

"You'll get mad at me."

Right away, she responded, "I'm sure I will. Tell me anyway."

I sighed. "At practice, Billy was saying some things about you that you do not want to hear. I told him to stop; predictably, he kept going. It started as a verbal altercation. It turned physical."

"You shouldn't fight my battles, Gilbert."

"I know."

"I can stick up for myself."

"I know."

"And you should never be violent with anyone."

"I know."

"When did this happen?"

My eyes were set on the dirt beneath my feet. "About a month ago. And I didn't really hurt him. And I wasn't trying to fight your battles. I just... didn't want to hear him say the worst possible things about you. You mean too much to me, and it was infuriating me." Anne didn't respond, and we neared the lake. "I'm sorry. I hope you don't think less of me."

She sat down by the water. "As long as you don't ever initiate a physical fight again, I forgive you."

I sat by her and smiled. "Thank you."

Anne bumped her shoulder into mine. "Thank you for coming to the show and making that sweet sign and giving me the flowers I'm holding now. How did you know one of my favorite flowers is the lily?"

I shrugged. "I always listen when you speak."

She shot me a look with a meaning I couldn't really discern. Then her eyes fell to my lips, she got a little closer to me, and my heart hammered in my chest. She snapped out of it and shook her head, moving away. "Well, nonetheless, I really appreciate it, Gilbert."

I nodded. "It's what friends are for." But I wasn't sure that's what friends were for. I never saw Diana going out of her way to impress Anne. I never saw Diana make up reasons to spend time with Anne. And I surely never saw Diana look at Anne quite like that.

Anne began to untie her boots. She set her socks on the grass beside her. I raised my eyebrows. "Come on, dip your feet in!"

"It's freezing out here. The water's gotta be a lot colder than that. Your feet will turn into ice cubes," I reasoned, and she rolled her eyes.

"Live a little. The cold doesn't hurt."

"Actually, the cold does hurt. It's called hypothermia."

She lowered her feet down into the water and yelped. "Okay! That's cold. But, now, I'm proving a point."

"Do what you want. You can't convince me this time," I told her.

After some minutes bantering and sharing thoughts, I spoke, "Alright. I should probably be taking you home before you die from the weather, before Mr. and Miss Cuthbert kill me for watching their daughter die."

"We could have joint funerals," Anne mentioned, and I chortled.

"Oh, yeah. Definitely." I stood up and offered my hand, knowing Anne would never take it. She put her socks back on and tied her boots, standing up by herself, rendering my hand obsolete.

"You were amazing tonight," I said, resisting every urge in me that was begging to intertwine my fingers with hers.

We started toward our homes. "Thank you. Truly. You... I... I cherish your friendship, I do."

"As do I, yours."

We approached the two houses soon after that. I finally did lace our fingers together, staring at her intently to make sure it was okay. She gave me a grin of reassurance. "Good night, Gilbert."

"Good night, the best actress the world will ever see. Sleep well. Hey, dream of me." I winked at her, and she elbowed me. But really, I wondered if she ever dreamed of me. If she felt the same way.