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Jun. 21st, 2014 09:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fry_sandhuSince the incident when Fry and Archie dug a big hole in the back lawn (to get worms for their worm farm), Archie's mum has preferred that the boys play on the front driveway. With its smooth bricks, and nice barred gate at the end, neither of the boys had any objection to this.
"You must wear your helmet." Mum says firmly, as Fry is about to go out one sunny Saturday afternoon. "If you're going to ride your bike."
"Why?" Fry complains. He hates having to wear hats of any sort, being still very sensitive to touch. It's bad enough having to wear clothes at this time of year.
"Because the driveway is hard and if you fall off you will bang your head." Mum says. "And your head is full of brains, which you need. So put your helmet on please."
Fry reluctantly puts it on. It's either that or not ride his bike, and he only just got the hang of it even with training wheels. It was Archie who showed him how to do that too; somehow it was easier watching someone more his own size do it than trying to follow Dad's instructions. Of course having just turned eight, Archie can ride without training wheels, to Fry's considerable admiration.
"Let's play police!" Archie yells to Fry, as he zooms down the drive on his big bike.
Fry hesitates. He likes police, but he never knows where to start with pretending.
"What will we investigate?" he asks.
"We could be traffic cops, and the cat is the robber?" Archie suggests, pointing to his large, puffy Persian cat.
The cat doesn't put up much interest to them racing up and down the drive in pursuit, much preferring to sit in the middle and stare at them in disdain. Eventually Fry decides the cat is cornered, and tries to read her her rights, which she replies to by licking her bottom and reserving her right to say nothing.
"What are you two weirdos doing?" asks a big boy, about eight or nine, at the gate, on his way to the park. Fry ignores him. Kids are always walking past to the park, and a lot of them go to Archie's school, so he assumes he's talking to him.
"Hallo Ryan." Archie says, riding over between Fry and the big boy.
"Hallleeeeeu Lord Baldy." Ryan says, grinning cheekily and affecting an imitation of Archie's Queen's English accent. "I say, look guys, Lord Baldy's got a chum."
A couple of other boys with Ryan giggle. Archie looks uncomfortable.
"Don't call me that." he mumbles.
"Oh I'm soooo sorry." Ryan says. "Lord Baldy wants us to use his full name, Lord Archiebald Blurgh-champ."
"It's pronounced 'beech-am'." Fry comments, straightening up from reading the cat her rights. "The 'p' is silent."
"What's that, Lord Baldy's pee is silent?" Ryan says. "Doesn't pssss like us common folks?"
The boys at the gate laugh louder. Archie goes red.
"C'mon Fry, let's go." he says.
But Fry has made his way up to the gate, and looks up at the big boy.
"He asked you not to call him that."
Ryan sniggers, and looks down at Fry.
"So?"
Fry can't quite think of an answer, and his eyes fall on the bike the big boy is riding, then he looks back up at his head.
"You must wear your helmet." he blurts.
Ryan stops laughing. "You what?"
"You must wear your helmet." Fry says. "If you want to ride your bike."
"So I can look like you?" Ryan says. "No thanks."
Fry frowns. "You must wear your helmet."
"You must wear your helmet." Ryan repeats, mockingly. "He's like a robot. A retarded robot."
Fry stares at the boy in increasing anger. And remembers something valuable he learned at school from Tommy, regarding the rules of playground insults. If someone says something horrible to you, you can upgrade it and send it back.
"Your mother's a retarded robot." he says.
Ryan isn't grinning now. Fry steps forward, noting his distance with his keen sense of space.
"Bet you think you're so big picking on us through a gate." he says.
Ryan's hand shoots out, and he grabs Fry hard by the arm. Fry pulls back hard, pushing off the gate with his foot, and twists before he lets go. There is a satisfying clang as Ryan's face meets the bars, and then Ryan starts to cry.
"Help, help, I'm stuck!" Ryan wails, blood dribbling down from his lip.
"Don't call me and Archie names again." Fry says, turning and walking off. "One day the gate will be open."
"I don't think we should have done that." Archie says, as they ride quickly off down the side of the house. "But thanks."
Sure enough, Ryan's dad bangs on the door later to complain about the state of Ryan's shirt. But he soon backs down when he sees the size of Fry.
"Jesus, Ryan, you're three years older than him, and you grabbed him through a gate? Serves you right if he pulled you back, you should have left him the fuck alone."
Archie seized the opportunity the next day at school, and made a truce with Ryan not to tell the other kids that he got beaten up by a five year old, providing Ryan stopped calling him names. So it was, Fry decided in the end, worth it.
"You must wear your helmet." Mum says firmly, as Fry is about to go out one sunny Saturday afternoon. "If you're going to ride your bike."
"Why?" Fry complains. He hates having to wear hats of any sort, being still very sensitive to touch. It's bad enough having to wear clothes at this time of year.
"Because the driveway is hard and if you fall off you will bang your head." Mum says. "And your head is full of brains, which you need. So put your helmet on please."
Fry reluctantly puts it on. It's either that or not ride his bike, and he only just got the hang of it even with training wheels. It was Archie who showed him how to do that too; somehow it was easier watching someone more his own size do it than trying to follow Dad's instructions. Of course having just turned eight, Archie can ride without training wheels, to Fry's considerable admiration.
"Let's play police!" Archie yells to Fry, as he zooms down the drive on his big bike.
Fry hesitates. He likes police, but he never knows where to start with pretending.
"What will we investigate?" he asks.
"We could be traffic cops, and the cat is the robber?" Archie suggests, pointing to his large, puffy Persian cat.
The cat doesn't put up much interest to them racing up and down the drive in pursuit, much preferring to sit in the middle and stare at them in disdain. Eventually Fry decides the cat is cornered, and tries to read her her rights, which she replies to by licking her bottom and reserving her right to say nothing.
"What are you two weirdos doing?" asks a big boy, about eight or nine, at the gate, on his way to the park. Fry ignores him. Kids are always walking past to the park, and a lot of them go to Archie's school, so he assumes he's talking to him.
"Hallo Ryan." Archie says, riding over between Fry and the big boy.
"Hallleeeeeu Lord Baldy." Ryan says, grinning cheekily and affecting an imitation of Archie's Queen's English accent. "I say, look guys, Lord Baldy's got a chum."
A couple of other boys with Ryan giggle. Archie looks uncomfortable.
"Don't call me that." he mumbles.
"Oh I'm soooo sorry." Ryan says. "Lord Baldy wants us to use his full name, Lord Archiebald Blurgh-champ."
"It's pronounced 'beech-am'." Fry comments, straightening up from reading the cat her rights. "The 'p' is silent."
"What's that, Lord Baldy's pee is silent?" Ryan says. "Doesn't pssss like us common folks?"
The boys at the gate laugh louder. Archie goes red.
"C'mon Fry, let's go." he says.
But Fry has made his way up to the gate, and looks up at the big boy.
"He asked you not to call him that."
Ryan sniggers, and looks down at Fry.
"So?"
Fry can't quite think of an answer, and his eyes fall on the bike the big boy is riding, then he looks back up at his head.
"You must wear your helmet." he blurts.
Ryan stops laughing. "You what?"
"You must wear your helmet." Fry says. "If you want to ride your bike."
"So I can look like you?" Ryan says. "No thanks."
Fry frowns. "You must wear your helmet."
"You must wear your helmet." Ryan repeats, mockingly. "He's like a robot. A retarded robot."
Fry stares at the boy in increasing anger. And remembers something valuable he learned at school from Tommy, regarding the rules of playground insults. If someone says something horrible to you, you can upgrade it and send it back.
"Your mother's a retarded robot." he says.
Ryan isn't grinning now. Fry steps forward, noting his distance with his keen sense of space.
"Bet you think you're so big picking on us through a gate." he says.
Ryan's hand shoots out, and he grabs Fry hard by the arm. Fry pulls back hard, pushing off the gate with his foot, and twists before he lets go. There is a satisfying clang as Ryan's face meets the bars, and then Ryan starts to cry.
"Help, help, I'm stuck!" Ryan wails, blood dribbling down from his lip.
"Don't call me and Archie names again." Fry says, turning and walking off. "One day the gate will be open."
"I don't think we should have done that." Archie says, as they ride quickly off down the side of the house. "But thanks."
Sure enough, Ryan's dad bangs on the door later to complain about the state of Ryan's shirt. But he soon backs down when he sees the size of Fry.
"Jesus, Ryan, you're three years older than him, and you grabbed him through a gate? Serves you right if he pulled you back, you should have left him the fuck alone."
Archie seized the opportunity the next day at school, and made a truce with Ryan not to tell the other kids that he got beaten up by a five year old, providing Ryan stopped calling him names. So it was, Fry decided in the end, worth it.
