Page 76 of The Feral Alpha
A DREAM THAT’S NOT A DREAM (PART 2)
George fidgeted with the spoon in his cereal bowl. “I wanna go meet Olson!”
“Finish your cereal first,” his mom said sternly. “You poured that much. Either you finish it now, or you put it in the fridge and finish it when you get home. We don’t waste food in this house.”
George wrinkled his nose. The cereal was going to get soggy if he left it for hours in the fridge. When he got home, it would’ve all become mush. And he didn’t like drinking grainy cereal-y milk.
Olson was right. George should’ve poured the cereal more carefully. He didn’t let his mom pour it because he was ten now and he could do everything!
He scowled at the remaining milk and cereal, his stomach full to bursting. “Can I call Olson to come over and help me finish it?”
Mom pursed her lips. “Well, you can. But don’t make him eat if he’s not hungry. I don’t want either of you throwing up everywhere.”
George whooped. It would solve everything if Olson came over here. He raced to his phone and dialed Olson’s number, wriggling while he waited for his best friend to answer.
“H’lo?” Olson sounded sleepy.
“Olson! I need your help. I can’t finish my cereal.”
“Mmph.” Was Olson rolling over in bed?
“Please,” George begged. “Now?”
There was a loud bump, and cussing that’d get Olson in trouble if anyone heard. “Motherfucking ow!”
“Olson!” George yelped. “What happened?”
“Fell off the bed.” Olson sounded grumpy now. “You have to rub my head better. It hurts.”
“Okay, come over, I’ll rub you better.”
More grumbling. “I’m getting dressed.”
“Yay!” George wriggled excitedly. He couldn’t wait to see Olson again. “Hurry, hurry!”
“I’m gonna fall over and hit something else,” Olson grumbled.
“Okay maybe not hurry.” George raced to the living room window, pressing his face against the glass pane. “Are you out of your house yet?”
“Putting on my shoes.” More fumbling sounds. “Dad! Papa! I’m going to George’s, he needs help.”
George heard Olson’s parents hugging him and telling him to be safe. Then the door slammed. “I’m coming over.”
“I can’t wait.” George listened to Olson’s footsteps through the phone, then his huffing.
Then he saw Olson running down the street, and his heart leaped.
He flung himself out the front door, tackling Olson when he crossed the lawn. Both of them rolled on the grass.
“Hey! You’re gonna give me more bruises,” Olson whined.
George sat up. “Where do you hurt? I’ll kiss it better.”
Olson pointed at the side of his head, scrunching up his face. So George held his head carefully and pressed a kiss to his hair.
“I need more,” Olson said. “It still hurts.”
George kissed his hair several times. Then he rubbed it gently and hugged Olson, and Olson melted into his arms. “Better?” George whispered.