Glass Shard Beach, NJ
April 24, 1969
"C'mon, Ford, help me out here!" Stan pleads as the two enter their school's locker room, "I've got one month before our one-year anniversary, and I can't think of anything to get Carla! I need something that will wow her! Something amazing! Something that will really -" Stan cuts himself off and glares at his brother. "I know that look, Poindexter. And if you dare tell me to get her flowers again, I swear I will find the thorniest, most prickly bouquet of roses in all of Glass Shard Beach and use them to beat you over the head with!"
Ford holds one hand up in mock surrender even as he uses the other to open his locker. "Alright, alright! No more flower suggestions. Though you might still consider them in addition to whatever you decide to give her."
"Nope! No flowers!" Stan insists as he turns to his own locker and pulls out his gym clothes. He tosses them onto the bench and continues, "That girl knows way too much about flowers and I'm pretty much guaranteed to pick the wrong ones somehow no matter what I get her. Plus, Carla says there's this whole flower language thing. I don't know why anyone would want to use flowers to insult someone, but it can be done apparently. I'm not chancing it!"
The other teen rolls his eyes. "You worry too much. If Carla was so easily offended, she'd have dumped you a long time ago," Ford states. He holds his chin in thought, only half-aware that he is saying the words aloud, "Though the idea of using flowers to communicate is interesting. I'll bet there are some books in the library that cover the topic."
"Stop being such a nerd." Stan pulls his t-shirt off and carelessly throws it inside his locker. After tugging his gym shirt on, he adds, "And none of this helps me with my problem."
Stanford pulls his own gym shirt from a hanger in his locker and replaces it with the button-down he'd been wearing. "I don't know what you want me to tell you. I've already listed the usual suspects." The teenager sits down on the bench and begins untying his shoes. "You didn't like jewelry."
"I'm broke and the cheap stuff is tacky."
"You didn't like chocolates."
Stanley snorts and toes off his sneakers. "If you knew how we spent Valentines, you'd understand that one."
Ford looks up at his brother with raised eyebrows.
Stan just shakes his head and smiles. "It went well enough, but Carla and I both agree we'd rather have a regular chocolate bar than anything that comes out of those silly heart-shaped boxes. Handing over a Milton bar doesn't seem too romantic."
Ford shrugs in response and places his shoes in the bottom of his locker. "And you just shot down flowers. For the third time."
"And I explained why," Stan says.
"You do realize it's not my job to plan your anniversary for you, don't you?" Ford asks in annoyance while exchanging his pants for gym shorts, "I don't know why you're even asking me. I'm not the one that's had a girlfriend for nearly a year." He folds his slacks and places them neatly on the second shelf before grabbing his tennis shoes and closing his locker.
Stan shucks off his jeans and throws them on top of his discarded shirt. "C'mon, Sixer, you seriously telling me that big ol' brain of yours doesn't have anything in it that can help me? You've known Carla almost as long as I have!"
"Stanley, I don't have any experience with romantic overtures or dating. I can't just magically know the answer to everything, let alone the sort of answers you're looking for."
Stan pauses and watches his twin for a moment as Ford ties his laces with a smidge more aggression than he normally would. "Sorry. You're right. Just... If you think of anything?"
Stanford's shoulders relax a bit. "I'll let you know," he promises. Fully dressed for P.E. class, he stands up and leans against his closed locker as he waits for Stanley to finish changing. This is one class he's not in any hurry to get to.
"Thanks."
"By the way," Ford says, "in case she hasn't told you yet, I'll be borrowing her Saturday. We've got a Galaxy Trek marathon planned." He grins as Stan grumbles in response.
"She mentioned. Why do you both have to be such nerds?" he gripes as he yanks up his shorts.
"And going back to the flower language thing, I still think it could be an interesting experiment to try conversing via flowers." He stares up at the ceiling as he ponders, "...Do you think Carla would agree to try with me?"
Stan freezes and blinks. "Ford? Ford did you just - Did you really just ask me if -" he sputters for a few seconds, drawing a confused look from his twin. It's Stanford's completely bewildered expression that does it. Stan doubles over in a fit of laughter. The loose, half-done knot he managed before falling victim to his merriment isn't enough to keep his gym shorts secured around his narrow hips and they end up pooled at his feet.
"What?" Ford asks with a frown, "You don't think she'd be interested?"
Stanley gasps for breath and forces himself to calm down enough to say, "'Interested,' Poindexter?" He favors his brother with a mischievous grin and raised eyebrows.
Ford's confusion only continues to grow. "Yes, 'interested': to be excited, enthusiastic, or engaged."
Stanley laughs harder still for a handful of seconds before regaining something of his composure, though he is slightly out of breath and the intermittent chuckle continues to escape him. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Stan decides to be blunt and spell it out for his brother. "Ford, you are literally talking about giving Carla flowers right now. And with a list of words like those, are you sure you aren't trying to steal my girlfriend?"
Ford's face flushes pink. "You know I didn't mean it like that," he gives his twin's shoulder a shove, "Quit being an ass!"
Stanley stumbles a few steps but his amusement remains. "Hey! Hey! I'm not the one trying to seduce to other people's girlfriends!"
The twins' squabble gets interrupted before Stanford can reply.
"Ugh, you still pretending you actually found someone desperate enough to date you, Pines?" The voice of the intruder is, unfortunately, one they know well.
Stanford stiffens. Stanley bristles.
"What do you want, Crampelter?" Stan demands.
Benjamin Crampelter crosses his arms with a huff. "How about for you to stop trying to sell everyone on the idea of your imaginary girlfriend? No one's buying that tripe. It's past time you gave up the gig."
"Look, Benny Boy, I don't know why you seem to think I have to answer to you, but I don't. If I wanna talk about my girl, I'm going to. And I really don't care whether you believe me or not!"
The blond teenager scoffs. "Everyone knows you're the biggest liar in the whole school. I live right next door to you, Pines, and I've never seen this Carla girl you're always on about. If half of what all you've claimed about her was true, I'd've met her by now. Stop embarrassing yourself and just admit she doesn't exist already."
Stan rolls his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause you're the first person on my list of people I want to introduce my girlfriend to," his words practically drip sarcasm as they leave his lips. Stanley smirks as he continues, "Besides, not my fault you're too scared of Pops to stick around much."
Ford ducks his head in a half-hearted attempt to hide the sudden smirk painting his own features. The day the bully had made the mistake of entering Filbrick Pines' pawnshop is likely something all three of them would remember for the rest of their lives.
Benjamin pales but recovers quickly. "How about putting your money where your big mouth is?" he demands, "Junior Prom is just over a week away. Twenty bucks say you show up without so much as a date!"
At this point, several of the other boys in the locker room begin to show interest in the conversation.
Stan eyes his nemesis critically. "A quick twenty bucks just for bringing a date?" he asks, "Thought you were set on proving that Carla wasn't real."
Crampelter snorts and says, "Pines, if you can not only get a date, but convince me the girl is Carla Won't-Shut-Up-About-Her McCorkle, I'll give you fifty."
Stan grins and brings his hands together with a clap before rubbing his palms eagerly. "Now we're talkin'! Not you, though, Crampelter. You don't get to judge. You wouldn't admit my date was Carla even if you damn well knew she was." He turns to scan the gathered crowd. "You! Alex! You can be the judge. You've been payin' attention, right?"
Alex Buckley shrugs. "You mean about the bet or your girl?"
"Carla," Stan clarifies, "She's about this tall, brown hair, blues eyes, large hips -"
Alex interrupts, wearing a wry expression, "Fantastic gams, likes to wear flowers in her hair, and won't let you drive your own car because you're a menace on the road?" The last comment earns a short round of snickering from nearly everyone in the room. "Yeah, Stan, we've all heard. Personally, I think Ben is making a fool's bet here - because there's no way you'd have spent the whole year yapping about her if she wasn't real, let alone have gotten Ford to play along - but he ain't the only one who's tired of listening to you go on."
Stan flushes a little at the general air of agreement from the surrounding teens. "Oh, uh, yep. That sounds about right." He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously and pretends he doesn't hear Ford's quiet laughter.
Bet set, the group disperses soon after and most of the boys return to their previous activities. Stan can just make out a few different whispered conversations about side bets already being made.
Ford clears his throat. "Well, you've made a bet you'd be hard pressed to lose, but I thought you were broke?"
"Oh, right," Stan looks at his twin and asks, "Can you spot me fifteen? Pretty sure I've got at least a five left in my wallet."
Stanford gives a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, but I want twenty back regardless of whether or not Alex confirms to everybody that Carla does, in fact, exist."
The teenager shrugs. "Still nets me forty-five bucks I didn't have before. Thanks, Poindexter," Stanley says with a wide grin and pats Ford on the shoulder.
Ford snags Stan's arm when his brother starts to head for the locker room's exit.
Stan looks back at him and blinks. "Sixer?"
Stanford allows himself an amused smirk. "Stanley," he returns before pointing behind himself at Stan's still-open locker and the gym shorts that lay forgotten on the floor in front of it, "Pants."
His brother's face takes on an entertainingly red hue. "I knew that."
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