PLEASE READ!

THIS IDEA TO WRITE THIS FANFICTION WAS FROM A NOVEL CALLED THE GOOD DREAM BY DONNA VANLIERE! NOT ALL OF THE CONTENT IS MY IDEA! I just changed a few characters' names around to make it fit this story. The main plot/idea of this story was created by Donna VanLiere, not me. I highly reccomend reading the novel! :) I know that some of you may be thinking: "Create your own story ideas, not take someone elses. And yes, I always create my own story ideas. But after reading The Good Dream, I knew that I had to share this BTR fanfiction idea with you!

Narrator's POV:

"You worthless sack of shit!" The 6-year-old boy's father roared after he had bopped him in the nose hard.

The boy's head felt like it was loose on his neck and there was a roar in his chest. He tried to forget about the situation he was in by thinking about the times he had with his mother, who was dead now.

She would tell him stories and play hide-and-go seek, or maybe they would go downtown and meet a few celebrities. They lived in Hollywood afterall.

"How much do I love you?" His mother would ask quite often.

He'd point to the sky and she'd grin.

"To the stars and back. That's right! How much do you love me?"

He'd look at a tree. "To that tree and back? That's only five feet away!" He shrieked when she crounched down as if to chase him. He ran but then fell seconds later, laughing. She jumped on top of him and held him down. "How much do you love me again?"

"To the stars and back two times!" The boy exclaimed.

"That's more like it." His mother would hold him tight.

But that was two long years ago. Nothing but a memory now. The boy's father stormed off into his room, hollering sinful words at his son. The boy runs out of the shack and by now tears are streaming down his face. Not only was he in pain, but he was starving too. And I mean starving, and he had to do something about it. In his mind, he can hear his father yelling at him to stay near the shack, but his mother's voice shouts at him to keep running. About seven or eight minutes pass before he came to a stop. This part of Hollywood was mainly just trees and a few houses here and there. This was a very small part of Hollywood though. The last time he was this far from the shack was when him and his mother were picking buttercups and daisies and sticking them out of the pockets of her dress, the one with the faded blue flowers on it.

A beautiful, medium-sized, light blue house with a veranda lies in front of him. He runs towards the house and hides behind a patch of tomatoes. He crouches low and listens for any sound. Something wet pushes against his arm and he jumps, turning on it. A little blue-and-black eyed Alaskan Klee Kai sways with the wag of his tail, and he pushes his arm again, nuzzling his head under the boy's hand. He pets his head and he licks his face, making him smile.

A tomato dangles in front of him and he pulls it from the vine, pushing it into his mouth. Red juice drips down his chin, and the dog busies himself cleaning it. A tiny row of onions is next to the tomatoes and the boy pulls one from the ground and peels off the first muddied layer, revealing the slick white head. He gnaws into it and shoves the rest in his mouth. He notices cucumbers on their vines and steps over the beans to get them. His pockets bulge with the cucumber, two more unions, and a handful of peas.

The boy looks over his shoulder to make sure no one has seen him and grabs another tomato when he hears a sliding glass door open.

"Fox! Where are you?" A young man with short brown hair calls from the door. Fortunately, the boy is hiding behind the tomato patch and other vegetables. The Alaskan Klee Kai, apparently "Fox", darts away and comes to the man.

"There you are! Who's a good boy, huh?" The man says and chuckles. Then the boy hears a sliding glass door close. That was the his chance to run back to the shack.

1 day later

James Maslow's POV:

I walk out into my backyard to check how my plants are doing before it got too dark outside. One tomato vine is broken and dangling like a puppet from the weight of the tomatoes. "Did you do this?" I ask Fox. He lies down by my feet and wags his tail. I pick the two drooping tomatoes and snap off the limb, tossing it aside. Fox nudges his head under my hand and I smooth out the black and white fur, brushing away bits of grass and leaves. "You and your making up. You need to stay out of my garden, pooch."

I quickly hoe and weed and pick Japanese beetles off the tomato plants before picking a peck of peas and gathering the cucumbers. Carlos' brother, Javi, says that gardening is a girly thing, but I always ignored him. Fox runs alongside the garden's edge and lies down in the grass. "You better stay there," I tell him, "You come over here and break my tomato vines again, and I'll take away your hedgehog chewtoy for a week. Or maybe 5 days, no 3..." My mom said I always talk to the dog too much, but there's always something in those large, deep eyes that ask, "How's your day? Where are you going? What are you doing now?" and I have to answer him.

Heat leaks down my back. I feel manly but at the same time disgusting. "You want some pickles, Fox?" He wags his tail and I pat his head. "If I'd ask you if you wanted arsenic you would have gotten just as excited."

I snack on crackers with peanut butter on them for dinner, along with some cheese. Mom would disapprove. "Crackers don't make a dinner," she'd say. "You need something to strengthen you."

But that was how I became overweight when I was a child. "You need an extra plate of mash potatoes. It'll strengthen you."

After dinner, I lay my plate at the bottom of the sink and immediately head to bed. I needed to get to bed early because I had a table read at 8:00 AM tomorrow for the show. As I drift, I hear Fox start to bark and I groan. "Please don't make me get out of bed." I beg him. Whether he would stop or not, I was too tired to get up anyway.