20. A Dream That’s Not A Dream （Part 2）

George fidgetedwith 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 maybenot 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.

Olson nodded, leaning into him. “What did you need help with?”

George gasped. “My cereal! It’s probably all soggy now. Mom says I have to finish it.”

Olson sighed. “I told you—”

“I know, I know!” George stood and hauled Olson to his feet. They both made it through the front door; Olson kicked off his shoes. George dragged him into the kitchen.

“Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Worster,” Olson said.

George’s parents smiled at him; George’s mom angled alook at George. “You can’t always depend on Olson to clean up your messes,” she said reprovingly. “Don’t take him for granted.”

“I’m not!” George said.

“But I’ll be there!” Olson protested.

Mom gave Olson alook, too. “That is why you shouldn’t let George push you around.”

“Hey,” George said. “I don’t push Olson around.”

Mom’s expression became even more serious. “One day, when you both present as alpha, beta, or omega, you’ll have to be careful. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Especially where bonding marks are concerned. Those are for life, you hear me?”

George looked at Mom’s wrists, where she wore Dad’s bonding marks. “Can I bond with Olson?”

Olson sucked in a sharp breath.

Mom frowned. “That’s a question for Olson to answer, but only when he’s much, much older. Bonding marks are permanent, George. I don’t want either of you to have regrets. So neither of you are going to answer that question right now. You’re too young.”

“I won’t regret it.” George puffed out his chest. “Olson is my best friend.”

“I won’t regret it, either,” Olson said shyly.

They exchanged a look, and Georgeknew by the look in Olson’s eyes that Olson’s answer was yes.

“Still no,” Mom said firmly. “The promise will mean a lot more when you’re both older and you know exactly what you’re promising in a bonding mark.”

Even so, George didn’t like that he couldn’t claim Olson yet. He stared at the ring on Mom’s finger, and an idea struck him.

While Olson ate George’s leftover cereal, George sneaked away to look in the drawer of odds and ends.

He found a white twist-tie that was almost as good as new, with only a couple of kinks in it. He wrapped it around his own ring finger to make sure it fit.

Then he plucked it off, and hurried back to Olson. “I know what we can be,” George said. “If we can’t be bondmates yet.”

“What?” Olson had milk dripping down his chin.

Pleased that he’d found a loophole, George presented his ring with a flourish. “Will you marry me?”

Mom made a strangled sound.

Olson gasped. “Yes!”

George’s heart swelled. Olson stuck his hand out, and George hurried to put his twist-tie ring on Olson’s finger. It took a bit of fumbling because the thin edges caught against Olson’s skin, but they managed to shove it down all the way, until it was sitting at the base of Olson’s finger.

Olson beamed. “We’re gonna get married!”

“Yes we are!” They clung to each other, bouncing excitedly.

Mom smacked her forehead. “Marriage comesafter bonding. And it’s definitely not something you promise someone when you’re ten.”

“You didn’t say that! So now we’re—fi... finsies?” George wrinkled his nose.

“Fiancés,” Olson said, his grey eyes gleaming. “I’m gonna tell my dads!”

“Oh, gods,” Mom muttered. “I better text them first.”

She’d better! George was going to have ahusband.