You rose early that morning, and set to work immediately on the chores. Farm work was hard, but nothing you couldn't handle. Being able to wear pants was definitely a plus- far more practical. You were already brushing out the coat of the third and last horse when you heard Matthew come into the barn with buckets of slop for the pigs.

"Morning, Oliver." He nodded to you, opening the pig pen and dumping the feed in the trough.

"Good morning sir." You replied. Being called anything other than (Y/N) would take some getting used to. You took a step back to admire your work.

"She's looking good," he grinned softly, making his way over and giving the horse a pat on the neck. "After you're finished here, Marilla asked if you might like to come up to the house for breakfast. Make sure to wash up first, though, she's a real stickler for that." He nodded, and even chuckled a bit, then left you to finish up.

After cleaning up a bit, you descended the stairs of the rustic little house down into the dining room, where breakfast was waiting for you on the table. "This looks divine, Ms. Cuthbert." You said quietly, having a seat opposite her.

She looked at you for a moment, then grinned softly. "Thank you."

Breakfast was very quiet. These people seemed nice enough, but weren't much for conversation. It was different, but a good sort. You enjoyed the peace. Back at the orphanage, you had become accustomed to constant noise. This was a pleasant aberration.

"There's a town picnic at the lake this afternoon," Ms. Cuthbert began, cracking an egg with the back of her spoon. "Since you're part of this family now, we wondered if you might like to go with us."

You couldn't stop a huge smile from sliding across your face. "Yes!" you exclaimed, probably a bit too eagerly. Clearing your throat, you tried again. "That's very kind of you. I would very much like that." Part of the family now. That was the best thing you'd ever heard.

"Everyone is going to be there, so I expect your absolute best behavior. Understand?" Her tone sounded stern, but her features were soft. She could tell you were excited.

"Yes, ma'am. Of course." You found it difficult to stop yourself from smiling, looking down at your plate. After breakfast, you collected the plates and rinsed them for Ms. Cuthbert, and hurried upstairs to get cleaned up. You'd always wanted to go to a picnic- it was like something right out of a Jane Austen novel. Fine foods and teas, discussion of literature and political science, the girls with their frilly dresses and parasols and the boys in their Sunday best. You felt a bit disappointed as you remembered that you couldn't wear a beautiful dress, or put ribbons in your hair. You sighed, taking one of your favorite books from the vanity table in hopes of at least accomplishing some light reading betwixt intelligent conversation. Your stomach twisted slightly- this facade was coming naturally so far, but now you'd actually have to convince your peers.

The ride to the picnic was wonderful- you'd never seen such a beautiful landscape in your life. Rows of apple trees cast a blanket of white blossoms on the ground, and the wildflowers were in bloom, soaking up the last rays of summer. The dull roar of the distant ocean was enveloped in birdsong. It was bliss. As you approached the lake, Matthew drew the reins back and you hopped first from the wagon seat to offer Ms. Cuthbert your hand to help her down. You'd always been polite, but now you'd have to make a point to be chivalrous, too.

There were already a lot of people here, and you could immediately feel dozens of eyes on you. Your heart began to pound- somehow you weren't prepared for this. Matthew seemed to pick up on your nervousness, and placed a hand on your shoulder for reassurance. A group of girls sitting in the grass giggled as you walked by, and you quickly looked away, feeling the heat of an embarrassed blush in your cheeks. A group of boys about your age stopped their roughhousing to look at you as well. The twisting in your stomach came back.

"Who's the runt?" A tall boy in a brown cap and suspenders turned to ask his friends, chucking a rock into the lake in a poor attempt to skip it.

"An orphan. The Cuthberts brought him in from Nova Scotia yesterday." another answered.

"An orphan? That's pretty risky of them. Kid could be a psycho or something."

The whispers and snickering went on. Marilla and Matthew had been stopped by a man whom they addressed as George Barry, and engaged with him in conversation. You weren't quite sure what to do- you didn't want to be rude, but they also probably wouldn't notice if you slipped away, either. You spotted a grassy knoll over by a tall oak tree and sat down, taking out your book. This week you were (re)reading November Boughs by Walt Whitman.

After only getting through a few pages, you heard a twig crunch somewhere in your vicinity. You looked up to see three boys towering over you. The tallest among them, the one you heard talking about you when you arrived, held a skipping rock in his hand and menacingly tossed it up in the air and caught it again. You swallowed, blinking nervously.

"You know, it's bad manners not to introduce yourself." He knelt down next to you, still tossing the rock up and catching it. His eyes were a pale green and he had sandy blonde hair; he could have been conventionally attractive, probably, if he didn't have such a punchable face.

You calmly dogeared the page of your book, closing the cover and looking him dead in the eyes. "I could say the same for you." There was a moment of tense silence, and neither of your stares wavered. You extended your hand for him to shake. "Oliver."

"Billy." he replied, slapping his hand into yours and shaking it a bit too forcefully. More silence. You stood up, which was probably a mistake, since he did the same. You suddenly felt very, very small.

"You know, school doesn't start until next week." He looked at the book in your hands, taking a step closer to you.

You rolled your eyes. "I don't go to schoo- hey!" before you could finish, Billy snatched the book out of your hand, and tossed it to one of his friends. They all started laughing boisterously, making a game out of chucking your book at each other and over your head. This went on for a few minutes and you quickly grew annoyed, and attempted to intercept it, only to get shoved to the ground considerably hard.

"Hey, guys." A calm, collected voice spoke up from behind the three boys and they instantly fell silent. Billy frantically shoved your book into another boy's hand, and cleared his throat.

"Uh, h-hey Gilbert." Billy stammered, swallowing. "I thought you were in Alberta until next week?"

The curly-haired boy, who you presumed was Gilbert, walked into the middle of the group. Still, he was calm. "I got back early. I thought I'd ought to swing by and see what my pals were up to." There was absolute silence. You could have cut the tension with a knife. Gilbert's gaze drifted over to you, still on the ground, and your heart dropped into your stomach.

Billy cleared his throat awkwardly again. "We were just getting to know the new kid."

"I see that," Gilbert nodded. He approached you, and to your surprise, gently extended his hand to help you up. In a daze, you hesitated, but accepted the help and allowed him to pull you up. One of the boys sheepishly handed Gilbert the book as you brushed yourself off. "I guess I'll see you at school, guys." Gilbert turned back to them, and they nodded, uttered variants of "Yeah, see you," and literally could not get out of there fast enough. You smirked a bit as you watched them trip over each other.

Gilbert averted his gaze back to you. "Walt Whitman. A great read." He smiled kindly as he returned your book. "I'm sorry about those guys. Are you alright?"

"I'm okay, thank you." You nodded, too nervous to make eye contact. Just he was about to reply, you noticed Ms. Cuthbert waving and calling to you in the distance. She looked a bit flustered, like she'd been trying to get your attention for a long time. "I'm really sorry, but I've got to go." You turned on your heel, still feeling a bit shaken from what had just transpired. You were overwhelmed, and felt eager to leave. "I'm sorry, thank you again!" You called behind you as you rushed over to Matthew and Marilla.

"Hey wait, what's your name?" Gilbert called after you, but you were already out of earshot.

Ms. Cuthbert was much more talkative on the ride home, going on about how much the Barrys' girl Diana had grown over the summer, and how that Rachel Lynde seemed much more nosy than usual today. You were in a trance, gazing dreamily at the clouds overhead, rosy and champagne-colored in the evening light. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get those big brown doe eyes out of your head.