As if on cue, the girls heard a booming voice.
“Aaaargh!Juuu-liiiii-et!”shoutedLordRedbrick.
Hearing her father’s call, Juliet jumped. She lost her footing on the tree branch, and her toe sent a red apple flying. It crashed into a ceramic planter on the ground at Lord Redbrick’s feet. Juliet grasped another branch and swung through the air. She landed gracefully right on the spot where the planter had shattered.
“Hi, Dad,” she said casually.
“Juliet! Do you want to get smashed to bits?” Lord Redbrick scolded her. He worried about his only daughter, wanting to keep her safe and sound in the garden. Unfortunately, Juliet’s love of adventure made for constant tension between them.
“But, Dad, that orchid will put the Blue garden to shame,” Juliet said excitedly. “I could get it. It’s just across the alley—”
“This feud is none of your consternation,” Lord Redbrick interrupted. He liked to use big words, but he didn’t always use them correctly.
“Yes, it is,” Juliet replied. “I am a Red, after all.”
Lord Redbrick smiled tenderly at Juliet and said, “Oh, honestly, you are just as impulsivated as your mother.” Lord Redbrick stared off into space for a moment, remembering Juliet’s mother, who had gotten smashed in a gardening accident long ago. But before Juliet could take advantage of her father’s change in sentiment, he added, “Now, back where you belong.”
“I can’t just stay tucked away on that pedestal all the time,” Juliet complained, reluctantly returning to her pedestal in the center of a lush green grotto that Mr. Capulet had lovingly made by hand.
“Going into that alley, you could chip yourself!” Lord Redbrick continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “Or worse!”
“So what if I got a little chipped?” Juliet replied. It just wasn’t fair! She loved her father, but she hated his rules. Sometimes she felt trapped in the Red garden.
“Mark my words, young lady. You get a chip now, you’ll regret it when you’re older! Just look at all my scratches and chips!” Lord Redbrick pointed to his arms and legs. They were covered with dents and dings from a lifetime of garden mishaps.
“But I like your scratches and chips, Dad! They’re you!” Juliet replied. To her, Lord Redbrick’s scarred exterior meant that he had been somewhere and done something exciting.
“Well, they are not you!” Lord Redbrick exclaimed, exasperated. “When will you realize that you’re delicate?”
“I’m not delicate!” Juliet cried out, frustrated.
“She’s definitely not delicate,” Nanette the frog chimed in.
“Stubborn girl,” Lord Redbrick muttered as he walked away. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.
“I’ll show him who’s delicate,” Juliet said under her breath. She looked up at the Cupid’s Arrow orchid growing through the roof of the old greenhouse, and a smile crossed her face.
At the same time that Juliet was eyeing the orchid for the Red garden, Gnomeo was getting ready for a lawn mower race in the alley. While Benny and Shroom made the final adjustments to the Blue lawn mower, Gnomeo stole a glance at his competition.
Tybalt was a tough-looking gnome who, much to his embarrassment, had a colorful flower painted on his broad chest. Gnomeo knew he would have to be careful with Tybalt. While most of the gnomes took the rivalry between their two gardens seriously, they didn’t really want to see anyone—or any gnome—get hurt. But Tybalt was a bully who longed for nothing more than to win to make himself look good. Gnomeo was positive that Tybalt would resort to all manner of dirty trickery to be sure he came out ahead.
Tybalt’s crew wasn’t much better. Fawn was a doe-eyed, dim-witted concrete deer who would do anything Tybalt told him to do. He was the bully’s biggest fan. There was also a gang of small bargain-basement gnomes collectively known as the goons who hung around Tybalt constantly. And at the moment, they were crawling all over Tybalt’s shiny red lawn mower, making sure it was ready to race.
By the time Gnomeo and Tybalt pulled their lawn mowers up to the starting line, a large crowd had gathered to watch.
“Tybalt, go! Tybalt, go! Tybalt, go!” the Reds chanted.
“Gnomeo! Gnomeo! Gnomeo!” the Blues chanted back loudly.
Gnomeo revved his engine. He had to win this race!
Tybalt sat atop his mower, soaking in the cheers of the screaming Red crowd. “Still stuck with your dad’s old rattletrap!” he taunted Gnomeo.
Gnomeo stared Tybalt in the eye but refused to rise to the bait. “Start us up, Dolly!” he called to a pretty girl gnome.