45 Days to Save the Bad Boy

Nine

The rest of the week went well.  I brought Ms. Scott cookies on Wednesday, and they weren’t even a little burnt.  She loved them.  For lunch on Wednesday the gang brought me to McDonalds.  I’d never been outside of school for lunch before.  Thursday I braved the outdoors for half an hour of lunch.  I was freezing the whole time and I’m not sure it was worth it, but I did it.  On Friday, Breton came to my house after school and we watched Doctor Who while arguing whether or not Eleven was better than Ten.  Neither of us won that, because they’re both awesome.  No one replied to the message on my table, so I still didn’t know who wrote to me first.  I suppose that was a good thing, I couldn’t strangle them if I didn’t know who they were. 

I didn’t make any serious progress in Operation 45D, but I did check out those people who had watched Breton walk down the hallway.  To my embarrassment, they were all just girls who were attracted to him.  I apologized profusely for thinking they wanted to kill him, but they were still mad at me.

“Sorry, so sorry!  Too many action movies,” I said over and over, backing slowly out of the hallway.  They continued to glare at me until I turned the corner and ran like Hercules was after me.  He’s not exactly the nicest minor Greek god, you know.

Operation 45D was a very embarrassing subject for me.  You see, right after I had accused the girls of plotting murder, I saw someone talking to Breton.  The person raised their fist and I ran as fast as I could, jumping on their back and grabbing their arm.

“NO!” I screamed.  The guy spun around, trying to get me off his back.

“Georgie, get off!” he said.  I slowly slid off his back.

“Dallas?”  He turned around.  “Sorry.  Um, I don’t like fist bumps?”  Because of course, that’s why he had raised a fist.  Epic fail Georgie, absolutely epic fail.

“What do you have against fist bumps?” Breton asked in amusement.

“Someone tried to give me a fist bump once, but they punched me in the face,” I informed the boys.  “True story.”

“I wasn’t trying to punch him.  Or kill him,” Dallas said with a meaningful look.  I had forgotten that he had read George.

“My bad!” I squeaked.  “Sorry!”  You can bet I ran away from there fast.

Aside from those two incidental disasters, everything went smoothly.  And on Saturday I made a very important discovery.

Breton, Dallas, and I were sitting in my living room watching TV.  Breton and I were trying to convince Dallas that Doctor Who was a good show, but he didn’t care.

“I can’t believe Breton Joel likes this show,” he said in disgust.  “You’re no longer my idol.”

“This show is amazing!” I protested.  “There’s nothing wrong with watching it!”

“Yeah, the character development is great, the aliens are super cool, and how can you not like the TARDIS?” Breton coaxed.

“It’s a box.  Whoopie!” Dallas said sarcastically.  I pouted at him.  

“It’s not just a box!” I argued.

“No, it’s a box.  He even said it himself.”

“Well, yes, it’s a box, but it’s not just a box.  There’s a difference,” I told him.  “Breton, back me up.”

“Sorry Georgie, my phone’s ringing.  When I get back, we’ll team up and show him it’s the greatest show ever.”

I whined and wheedled and bribed Dallas to just watch one episode so he could see how awesome it is, but he refused, and when I tried to force him to watch it he stole the remote from me.  I’m surrounded by people who are both taller and stronger than me.  I need just one weak, short friend.  Finally, I pulled out the big guns.