It Happened One Detention
Summary: A follow-up to the episode, "Little Ditch, Big Glitch." I always wondered exactly how Team Samurai + Malcolm would have dealt with being thrown into detention together...particularly if Principal Pratchert took it over. Here's my take. Vague Malcolm/Sydney, less vague Sam/Jennifer and Amp/Yoli (although neither girl appears in this).
Disclaimer: Well, you know the routine. I don't own the characters, and I don't know who does.
"This bites," Sam Collins groused to his three life-long best friends one Monday afternoon as the four of them sat, posture drooping, in the small, cramped, uncomfortable desks of the detention hall, waiting for the allotted after-school penance to begin.
"You know we deserved it, Sam," Sydney Forester reminded him sternly. "We did cut class, after all."
"Aw, Syd, it's not like we would have learned anything if we'd been there," Tanker huffed. "When's the last time you learned anything from Mrs. Larson's bio videos?"
Sydney looked horrified.
"You shouldn't say things like that about someone battling for their life in the hospital!"
At this, an uncomfortable hush fell over the clump of desks.
"Poor Mrs. Larson," Amp sighed. "Who would have thought she was allergic to snake venom?"
"Uh...Amp?" Sam spoke up hesitantly, choking back a laugh.
"I wonder what she was thinking, working with those snakes with no protective gear..." Sydney mused with a sigh.
"Maybe she forgot they were snakes, and thought they were puppies, or something," Tanker snorted, referring to Mrs. Larson's severe forgetfulness, which seemed to grow only worse over the years. Just that past week, Tanker had been called Malcolm by that same teacher, and hadn't liked it.
As though catching on to the path the narration had taken, Sam glanced up at another student, seated carefully as far from the four friends as was possible, without being partially out the window.
"At least Malcolm's suffering in here, too," he sighed, as though this were scant consolation.
"Yeah," Tanker agreed, scowling at the dark-haired youth.
"I don't like to wish ill on others," Sydney began, leaning in closer to Tanker, Amp, and Sam, "but it does feel good to know that he's being punished for his constant skipping, for once. I mean, I fully accept that we're paying for our stupid move, but it's a lot easier when I know that Malcolm isn't out there, getting away with hardly ever being in class."
"I know what you mean, Syd. I mean, everyone knows he does it, but since Principal Pratchert can't prove it, they can't punish him for it," Sam added, shaking his head.
"It's too bad, too," Tanker noted glumly. "Bet he wouldn't keep doing it, if he didn't keep getting off scot-free."
Sam shrugged.
"Yeah, but what can we do?"
"You can hush up before the four of you get yourselves another day of detention," a stern voice from the front of the classroom suggested.
Sam's eyes widened. Beside him, he heard Tanker and Amp groan in dismay.
"Principal Pratchert?!" Sydney exclaimed with all the dismay that Sam felt.
"In the flesh," the dark-skinned man grinned at her.
"But...but...where's Mr. Peters?!" Malcolm demanded, seeming to be rather close to tears. It was a well-known fact, even to those who had never been in a detention before, that Mr. Peters, having been thrown into the detention hall several times in his youth, was remarkably easy on the students who found themselves there. Usually, he would leave a few minutes in to go for coffee, and leave the students to conduct themselves as they wished, returning only a few minutes before it was time to dismiss the young deviants.
"Mr. Peters is off sick with intestinal flu, Malcolm," Principal Pratchert informed the boy, who promptly bid goodbye to any chance of getting more work done on his current art project. If Pratchert was taking over, the whole room would probably be sitting in silence for the entire two hours, hands folded on their desks, five minutes added to the sentence every time someone moved or made a peep. Damn Kilokhan for hypnotizing him into confessing to the theft of the principal's hall passes! Oh, he would have his vengeance. That, he would. Malcolm internally shook his fist at the heavens in fury.
It is fairly safe to say that Sam, Sydney, Tanker, and Amp were looking forward to the two hours to come with every bit as much loathing as Malcolm was. It was a beautiful day, and they could be outside, enjoying the fresh air. And Principal Pratchert deciding to take over definitely only made matters worse. At least Mr. Peters might have let them open a window...
"And since I'm taking over today, you can all expect things to be a little different. Who all do we have here?"
He peered out over the classroom.
"Only the five of you, huh? Well, that makes things a lot easier."
"U-um...easier?" Sam choked slightly.
"Yes, Mr. Collins. Today, instead of all of you sitting here, wasting time, you're gonna help out around the school."
"What?!" Tanker exclaimed.
"Small odd jobs. Just to make various people's lives a little easier," the principal explained.
"That's not fair!" Malcolm protested.
"For once, I agree with Frink," Tanker muttered.
"Oh, come on," Sydney broke in, nudging Tanker with her elbow. "It's better than sitting here, just waiting for two hours to be up."
Principal Pratchert beamed.
"Exactly! Thank you, Sydney."
"Yeah, I guess it's a good idea," Sam said doubtfully.
"Alright! If we're all agreed-" Principal Pratchert began, slapping his hands together.
"We're not all agreed," Tanker and Malcolm chorused together, then turned to glare at one another.
"-then let's get started," the teacher finished. "One of our cafeteria kitchen staff is ill, and there are plenty of dishes to be washed."
A collective groan of protest rose from the five teens as they rose to their feet and started toward the front of the room.
"Sam, Tanker, and Amp will do that."
Sydney blinked.
"Um, sir? Then what do we do?"
The principal turned to her.
"Sydney, you and Malcolm will be doing something a little different. Our school is currently hosting an after-school fun-time play shop, on a volunteer basis, for parents to send their kids to after school for a few hours. You two will help out with that."
"Surrounded...by...screaming...whining...brats...for two...hours..." Malcolm whispered brokenly, eyes wide with horror.
"At least we aren't washing dishes with Mrs. Starkey," Sydney reminded him consolingly. "You know what a perfectionist she can be with her dishes."
He turned to glare at her.
"Shut up."
Sydney turned to gaze entreatingly at the principal.
"Can I go with Sam, Tanker, and Amp?"
He smiled kindly at her.
"Now, Sydney, just give the fun-time play shop a chance. I think you'll have fun,"
"Or I'll lose my mind and run screaming from the room," she added under her breath, catching Malcolm's eye.
"You two stay here, while I take these three to Mrs. Starkey," Principal Pratchert instructed the soon-to-be babysitters.
"Bye, Sydney," Amp called to her with a sympathetic expression.
"Yeah, see ya, Syd," Sam added, his tone very similar to the sort that one might use to bid farewell to a terminally ill patient for the last time.
"Just hold on, Sydney," Tanker whispered to her. "It can't last forever."
"All right, all right. That's enough," Principal Pratchert admonished, leading the trio of young men from the detention hall.
Sydney let out a breath shakily.
"Wow...why do I get the feeling that this afternoon is going to go on forever?"
"Alright!" Sam exclaimed ten minutes later, adjusting his hairnet and pulling on his rubber gloves. "Is everyone ready?"
Following suit with hairnets and gloves, Amp and Tanker nodded, both leaping into position before the sink filled with soapy water and the massive stack of dirty dishes next to it.
"Let's..." Sam began slowly, drawing the word out.
"...SANITIZE, GUYS!" the three teens shouted together, heedless of the strange looks they were receiving from the rest of the cafeteria staff.
With that, they dove into their work with more zeal than discretion, and as such, the sound of breaking dishes echoed through the large industrial kitchen several times that afternoon.
"Y'know," Amp spoke up, gathering up one such casualty, "all things considered, this could be worse."
"True," Sam agreed.
"Yeah; Malcolm could be here," Tanker suggested with a shudder.
"Oh, c'mon. He's not that bad," Sam protested.
"I'm sure Sydney thinks different right now," Amp said glumly, and the three boys shared a moment of silence in remembrance of the most horrifying fate that had befallen their friend.
If Sam, Tanker, and Amp could have seen, rather than just imagining, Sydney's exact fate, they might have chosen to send in the National Guard rather than simply observing a moment of silence.
At that moment, the unfortunate Miss Forester was half-kneeling before a child-size sink sprinkled with various bright colours of polka-dots, trying vainly to scrub a large splotch of red finger-paint from the front of her light brown jumper-dress, while at the same time attempting to tell one particularly insistent little girl the story of a beautiful young princess with the same appearance and name as that same little girl, and also trying to safely pry from around her neck of a little boy who had demanded a piggy- back ride RIGHT NOW, and was not taking no for an answer.
"...And it was at this point that the beautiful young princess Kelly met a charming and handsome young prince named Rowan..." Sydney continued with the story, trying futilely to infuse her voice with some degree of interest while still shouting above the din of the playroom, packed with upwards of three-dozen small children. The result of these three-dozen children was, as one might guess, complete and utter Bedlam. 'Where's a strait jacket when you need one?' the newly assigned baby-sitter wondered exhaustedly.
"Steve," Kelly interrupted, frowning at her.
"Right, right, a handsome young prince named Steve," Sydney sighed, giving the large red stain on her front one final desperate scrub before tossing the soap-soaked rag to the side and wincing as an angry shout of,
"I'll get you for that, Forester!" rang through the air.
"Sorry, Malcolm," she called tiredly. "Hey, while I've got your attention, do you want to help me here? Maybe you could give this little guy a piggy- back ride?"
"No!" that same little guy exclaimed, clinging more tightly to the young woman's neck. "He's a vampire!"
"Peter," she choked, "please let go. I can't breathe."
"I wanna wear your hat!" another little boy announced, tugging at her hand.
"Fine. Here," she said, dragging off her hat with her other hand and shoving it onto the child's head.
"Yaay!" he cheered, skipping away.
"I'm not a vampire," Malcolm informed no one in particular, crossing his arms and scowling moodily at the world.
"Of course you're not," Sydney agreed, patting him comfortingly on the arm. "You just look a lot like one."
"Hey!" Malcolm protested.
This, however, was swallowed up entirely by young Kelly's shriek of,
"I want more story!"
"Okay, Kelly, okay. Let me just put down Peter, and we'll finish your story," Sydney hastened to assure the little girl, whose large green eyes were steadily filling with angry tears. One more second, and...
"NO!" Kelly howled. "NOW!"
"Malcolm!" Sydney tossed pleadingly in his direction. "Can you finish her story?"
"No," he replied quite calmly from his little wooden chair painted a bright red and pulled up to a washable-top table that came up to about his knees.
"I hate you, Malcolm."
"I know," he assured her with an evil smirk.
Sydney shook her head in defeat.
"Alright, Kelly, after Princess Kelly met Prince Steve, they both fell madly in love right away. Then, with the power of love, they vanquished the evil witch. Then they travelled back to Prince Steve's kingdom, and got married," Sydney explained quickly.
"And what then?" Kelly pressed.
"Er...they had two beautiful children."
"And a pony!"
"And a pony," the curly-haired teen sighed. "Well! End of story, so now, if you'll excuse me, I have a piggy-back ride to deliver."
With that, Sydney climbed from the ground, adjusted her hold on Peter so that his arms clasped around her neck were no longer totally cutting off her air supply, and skipped away, the little boy tugging on her hair and shouting, "Faster, horsey! Faster!" as she went.
Malcolm watched her go with a smirk that somehow missed out on some of its ordinary malice. The sight of her trying to take care of three children at once was somehow too adorable to sneer at. Particularly when that little dress of hers flipped up almost to her waist as she 'galloped' about the room. Shaking his head, he returned to his sketch, somewhat awkwardly done as a result of both chair and table being several times too small for any ordinary teenage boy, and at least one time too small for Malcolm.
As he turned, his gaze met that of a pair of curious green eyes, their tears of anger evaporated.
"Can I help you?" he demanded coldly of the little blonde girl.
"You like her, don't you?" Kelly chirped.
"No," Malcolm returned indignantly.
"I think you do," Kelly argued. "You were looking at her."
"I was gloating over her misfortune, if you must know," the dark-haired teen informed the child icily.
"Then why were you checking out her legs?" the little boy now wearing Sydney's hat demanded. This little boy presented rather ridiculous spectacle, with a floppy brown hat covering his eyes and most of his nose, sandy hair poking out from the bottom, framing what could be seen of his face: his mouth, stretched into a rakish grin.
"I was not!" Malcolm sputtered, flushing slightly.
"Sure, sure," the little behatted fellow grinned before turning and sidling away, followed closely by Kelly.
"And once again," Malcolm grumbled, "Collins and his other two goons get the easy job."
"Get moving, you little twerps, or I'll take the hide off your backsides!" Mrs. Starkey bellowed, brandishing her ladle menacingly.
"Ow..." Sam whimpered as the Kitchen Utensil of Death connected repeatedly with the side of his head.
"Serves you right, Collins. The Principal's paying you to wash dishes, not stand around and look pretty," the cafeteria worker growled sternly.
"Principal Pratchert isn't paying us," Amp informed her. "We're in detention."
"That man's getting vicious with his detentions," Mrs. Starkey noted sadly.
"Tell me about it," Tanker sighed. "Sydney has to go look after kids in the play center."
"Well, that isn't so bad," she shrugged.
"She's with Malcolm," Sam continued slowly, his expression the picture of solemnity.
"No!" Mrs. Starkey gasped sarcastically.
"Mrs. Starkey!" Tanker exclaimed reproachfully. "It's a big deal! Malcolm hates all of us! He's probably being awful to her!"
"And she's probably too busy to notice," Mrs. Starkey finished with another shrug. In her own mind, she reflected that she'd never seen Malcolm picking specifically on Sydney, and in fact, some of the boy's more civil conversations had been with her. It had occurred to Mrs. Starkey more than once that the two would probably hit it off decently, if they ever had the opportunity to talk one-on-one, without Sam or Tanker there. To be sure, Sam tried to be halfway polite to Malcolm, but for reasons cheerleader related, Malcolm never responded with anything but coldness. Tanker...well, to have those two in the same room was dangerous. The mere fact that Malcolm knew Sydney only as 'a friend of Sam and Tanker' meant that they had little opportunity to interact as two civil, civilised people.
However, Mrs. Starkey, being wise in her years, knew that Tanker, Sydney's very possessive sort-of-maybe-some-day boyfriend, would not appreciate the observation that his sort-of-maybe-some-day girlfriend could get along well with his enemy.
But, this was no time for dramatic inner monologue. There were dishes to be washed, and she was more than ready to have her three temporary lackeys wash them.
"Get back to the dishes, or I'll use your skins to make a new jacket!" she barked, smirking in satisfaction as the three young men scurried away to do her bidding.
It was good, being the head honcho...
"I hate children," Sydney announced as she dropped exhaustedly into the tiny chair beside the one that Malcolm was currently occupying.
"Really," he murmured boredly, working busily away at the sketch laid out on the little crayon table in front of him.
"Enjoying an arts-and-crafts time?" she inquired sweetly. "I could send some of the other children over to join you..."
"You wouldn't dare..."
"Why not? I'm sure there's some more finger-paint around here somewhere."
"I will kill you if you send those brats over here with finger-paint," he growled, fixing her with a menacing glare, the menace of which seemed to be lost on her as she dissolved into giggles.
"Of course I won't," she assured him. "But you know, that would look pretty good with a few streaks of blue finger-paint smeared across it."
"Why are you here?" he demanded.
"Ginny told me to take a breather," she replied.
"Ginny?"
"The girl in charge. The head sitter."
"Oh. I wondered where everyone else was. It seemed like we were being left to do everything."
She glared at him.
"And exactly what have YOU done? Besides staking out a chair and laughing at my misfortune?"
"What else should I be doing?"
"Um...helping out?!"
He sighed, closing his sketchbook.
"I'm not good with children, Sydney. You heard that one little boy. They think I'm a vampire."
"That's only because they know you don't like them. Children can sense these things, you know."
"That hasn't stopped them from climbing all over you."
"That's because I didn't hate children until today," she sighed.
"Syddie! Come play dress-up with us!" a high-pitched voice requested.
"But it doesn't look like it's going to be going away anytime soon. Coming, Kelly!" she shouted to the little girl, suppressing with great difficulty a pained whimper. Then she turned to Malcolm. "Hey, if I have to suffer through this, so do you."
With that snap decision, she dragged him from his chair and over to the large wooden chest surrounded by children that apparently comprised the Dress-Up Center.
"Oh, no!" Malcolm protested. "There is no way in Hell that you are going to get me to dress up!"
"And there's no way in hell I'm going through this alone," she rejoined. "And the kids want SOMEONE to play with them. So either we both do it, or YOU do it."
"Why can't Ginny do it?" he demanded.
"Because Ginny, and Sarah and Angie, are playing Spacemen and Aliens with the other twenty kids here."
"Well, that's good to know."
She looked at him strangely, blinking, and he immediately stifled the thought that the puzzlement in her dark eyes made her look absolutely adorable.
"What is?"
"That someone has it worse than we do," he replied with a smirk.
Sydney glanced over to where a woman, about mid to late twenties, and two girls of around sixteen, were currently being tackled to the ground and hit repeatedly in the stomach by little boys and girls armed with toy guns.
"You're right about that. NOTHING could be as bad as that."
Oh, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney...you were supposed to be the smart one! Don't you know that those words hold the power to place both you and your fellow babysitter within situations of unnamed peril, agony, and silliness?
You will learn, child. You will learn...
"I am NOT wearing that," Malcolm announced with a tone of finality five minutes later as he scornfully surveyed the object that the children were presenting him with.
"You are, too!" a little girl with her pale red hair fashioned into a sleek braid who had introduced herself as Blaine, shot back. "You're the prince! You need a prince hat!"
"It's a tiara!" the young man exclaimed, snatching the glittering piece of silver-painted plastic and shaking it so hard that the little blue plastic 'gems' embedded into it began to rattle.
"Well...we don't have a boy crown," Blaine shrugged. "Syddie! Put on your princess hat!"
"Oh...great," Sydney commented, forcing a smile as she slid the little tiara onto her head, hooking it under her mass of curls. "Well, as long as that little boy has my hat, I don't have anything else covering my head..."
"Why DO you wear hats all the time, anyway?" Malcolm asked, frowning.
"I don't really know," she replied, brow wrinkling slightly as she considered this. "Just a habit, I suppose."
"Mmm. You shouldn't," he said.
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"Hides your face too much."
"Is...is that bad?"
He shrugged again, more uneasily. Why had he said anything in the first place? It was just an observation. By God, this was why he didn't talk to people! A simple statement could bring about a barrage of questions.
"It's because he thinks you're pretty," Kelly announced before she, Blaine, Lori, Rebecca, Patti, Denise, and Iris erupted into giggles.
When the girls finally calmed down, Kelly took charge, as seemed to be her wont.
"Okay; Sydney, you're the princess who gets put into a deep sleep by an evil witch while you're out gathering apples," the little brunette announced.
"Why is a princess gathering apples?" Blaine wanted to know. "Wouldn't she send her servants to do it?" "She gave the servants a day off," Kelly explained with a cool dignity.
Blaine nodded.
"Okay!"
"I'm going to be the evil witch until you're asleep," Kelly continued. "And then all of us are going to be fairies."
"Wonderful," Malcolm muttered.
"And all the fairies are going to go find the handsome prince..." Here, Kelly broke off, gazing consideringly at Malcolm. "...Well, the prince, anyway, and they'll lead him to the princess's bedchamber."
"Let's keep this family entertainment," Ginny chuckled, overhearing as she happened past the Dress-Up station to the much more commonly used First-Aid station in search of a Band-Aid.
Both teens glared at her, their cheeks growing simultaneously warm.
Kelly frowned, confused by that silly adult's cryptic words, and then shook it off and continued.
"And then the handsome - the prince wakes the beautiful princess with a kiss of true love, and they live happily ever after!" she finished, clapping her hands delightedly at the romance of it all. It wasn't often they had a grown-up boy in here to play with them, and none of the little boys would ever be the prince. And anyway, these things were better when grown-ups acted them out, weren't they? They seemed more real. Not only that, but a grown-up boy certainly wouldn't mind kissing a pretty girl, would he?
"Absolutely not!" Malcolm exclaimed, breaking into her thoughts. "I refuse. Find some other idiot to be the prince."
"I heard yelling," Ginny announced, sidling over with a bandage stretching across her forehead and a stern expression in her eye. "Is everyone playing nice?"
"Yes, of course," Sydney assured her. "We were just about to start playing a game, weren't we, Malcolm?"
"Ow!" he yelped as her elbow dug into his ribs. "What was that for?"
She leaned in closer.
"If you treat the children badly, Ginny WILL tell the principal, and you'll be back here again next week. And while I think it would serve you right, and I'd like nothing more than to see you suffer at this point, it isn't fair to the children to stick them with you."
He opened his mouth to deliver an angry response, then closed it again, frowning as the sensibleness of her words hit him.
"Damnit!" he hissed before turning to Ginny. "Yes, we're going to play a game of Fairies and Princesses."
"How nice!" Ginny giggled, winking at Sydney. "Well, have fun."
With that, she turned to leave, and the game of fantasy and romance began, with it dwindling the sanity of both Malcolm and Sydney...
Summary: A follow-up to the episode, "Little Ditch, Big Glitch." I always wondered exactly how Team Samurai + Malcolm would have dealt with being thrown into detention together...particularly if Principal Pratchert took it over. Here's my take. Vague Malcolm/Sydney, less vague Sam/Jennifer and Amp/Yoli (although neither girl appears in this).
Disclaimer: Well, you know the routine. I don't own the characters, and I don't know who does.
"This bites," Sam Collins groused to his three life-long best friends one Monday afternoon as the four of them sat, posture drooping, in the small, cramped, uncomfortable desks of the detention hall, waiting for the allotted after-school penance to begin.
"You know we deserved it, Sam," Sydney Forester reminded him sternly. "We did cut class, after all."
"Aw, Syd, it's not like we would have learned anything if we'd been there," Tanker huffed. "When's the last time you learned anything from Mrs. Larson's bio videos?"
Sydney looked horrified.
"You shouldn't say things like that about someone battling for their life in the hospital!"
At this, an uncomfortable hush fell over the clump of desks.
"Poor Mrs. Larson," Amp sighed. "Who would have thought she was allergic to snake venom?"
"Uh...Amp?" Sam spoke up hesitantly, choking back a laugh.
"I wonder what she was thinking, working with those snakes with no protective gear..." Sydney mused with a sigh.
"Maybe she forgot they were snakes, and thought they were puppies, or something," Tanker snorted, referring to Mrs. Larson's severe forgetfulness, which seemed to grow only worse over the years. Just that past week, Tanker had been called Malcolm by that same teacher, and hadn't liked it.
As though catching on to the path the narration had taken, Sam glanced up at another student, seated carefully as far from the four friends as was possible, without being partially out the window.
"At least Malcolm's suffering in here, too," he sighed, as though this were scant consolation.
"Yeah," Tanker agreed, scowling at the dark-haired youth.
"I don't like to wish ill on others," Sydney began, leaning in closer to Tanker, Amp, and Sam, "but it does feel good to know that he's being punished for his constant skipping, for once. I mean, I fully accept that we're paying for our stupid move, but it's a lot easier when I know that Malcolm isn't out there, getting away with hardly ever being in class."
"I know what you mean, Syd. I mean, everyone knows he does it, but since Principal Pratchert can't prove it, they can't punish him for it," Sam added, shaking his head.
"It's too bad, too," Tanker noted glumly. "Bet he wouldn't keep doing it, if he didn't keep getting off scot-free."
Sam shrugged.
"Yeah, but what can we do?"
"You can hush up before the four of you get yourselves another day of detention," a stern voice from the front of the classroom suggested.
Sam's eyes widened. Beside him, he heard Tanker and Amp groan in dismay.
"Principal Pratchert?!" Sydney exclaimed with all the dismay that Sam felt.
"In the flesh," the dark-skinned man grinned at her.
"But...but...where's Mr. Peters?!" Malcolm demanded, seeming to be rather close to tears. It was a well-known fact, even to those who had never been in a detention before, that Mr. Peters, having been thrown into the detention hall several times in his youth, was remarkably easy on the students who found themselves there. Usually, he would leave a few minutes in to go for coffee, and leave the students to conduct themselves as they wished, returning only a few minutes before it was time to dismiss the young deviants.
"Mr. Peters is off sick with intestinal flu, Malcolm," Principal Pratchert informed the boy, who promptly bid goodbye to any chance of getting more work done on his current art project. If Pratchert was taking over, the whole room would probably be sitting in silence for the entire two hours, hands folded on their desks, five minutes added to the sentence every time someone moved or made a peep. Damn Kilokhan for hypnotizing him into confessing to the theft of the principal's hall passes! Oh, he would have his vengeance. That, he would. Malcolm internally shook his fist at the heavens in fury.
It is fairly safe to say that Sam, Sydney, Tanker, and Amp were looking forward to the two hours to come with every bit as much loathing as Malcolm was. It was a beautiful day, and they could be outside, enjoying the fresh air. And Principal Pratchert deciding to take over definitely only made matters worse. At least Mr. Peters might have let them open a window...
"And since I'm taking over today, you can all expect things to be a little different. Who all do we have here?"
He peered out over the classroom.
"Only the five of you, huh? Well, that makes things a lot easier."
"U-um...easier?" Sam choked slightly.
"Yes, Mr. Collins. Today, instead of all of you sitting here, wasting time, you're gonna help out around the school."
"What?!" Tanker exclaimed.
"Small odd jobs. Just to make various people's lives a little easier," the principal explained.
"That's not fair!" Malcolm protested.
"For once, I agree with Frink," Tanker muttered.
"Oh, come on," Sydney broke in, nudging Tanker with her elbow. "It's better than sitting here, just waiting for two hours to be up."
Principal Pratchert beamed.
"Exactly! Thank you, Sydney."
"Yeah, I guess it's a good idea," Sam said doubtfully.
"Alright! If we're all agreed-" Principal Pratchert began, slapping his hands together.
"We're not all agreed," Tanker and Malcolm chorused together, then turned to glare at one another.
"-then let's get started," the teacher finished. "One of our cafeteria kitchen staff is ill, and there are plenty of dishes to be washed."
A collective groan of protest rose from the five teens as they rose to their feet and started toward the front of the room.
"Sam, Tanker, and Amp will do that."
Sydney blinked.
"Um, sir? Then what do we do?"
The principal turned to her.
"Sydney, you and Malcolm will be doing something a little different. Our school is currently hosting an after-school fun-time play shop, on a volunteer basis, for parents to send their kids to after school for a few hours. You two will help out with that."
"Surrounded...by...screaming...whining...brats...for two...hours..." Malcolm whispered brokenly, eyes wide with horror.
"At least we aren't washing dishes with Mrs. Starkey," Sydney reminded him consolingly. "You know what a perfectionist she can be with her dishes."
He turned to glare at her.
"Shut up."
Sydney turned to gaze entreatingly at the principal.
"Can I go with Sam, Tanker, and Amp?"
He smiled kindly at her.
"Now, Sydney, just give the fun-time play shop a chance. I think you'll have fun,"
"Or I'll lose my mind and run screaming from the room," she added under her breath, catching Malcolm's eye.
"You two stay here, while I take these three to Mrs. Starkey," Principal Pratchert instructed the soon-to-be babysitters.
"Bye, Sydney," Amp called to her with a sympathetic expression.
"Yeah, see ya, Syd," Sam added, his tone very similar to the sort that one might use to bid farewell to a terminally ill patient for the last time.
"Just hold on, Sydney," Tanker whispered to her. "It can't last forever."
"All right, all right. That's enough," Principal Pratchert admonished, leading the trio of young men from the detention hall.
Sydney let out a breath shakily.
"Wow...why do I get the feeling that this afternoon is going to go on forever?"
"Alright!" Sam exclaimed ten minutes later, adjusting his hairnet and pulling on his rubber gloves. "Is everyone ready?"
Following suit with hairnets and gloves, Amp and Tanker nodded, both leaping into position before the sink filled with soapy water and the massive stack of dirty dishes next to it.
"Let's..." Sam began slowly, drawing the word out.
"...SANITIZE, GUYS!" the three teens shouted together, heedless of the strange looks they were receiving from the rest of the cafeteria staff.
With that, they dove into their work with more zeal than discretion, and as such, the sound of breaking dishes echoed through the large industrial kitchen several times that afternoon.
"Y'know," Amp spoke up, gathering up one such casualty, "all things considered, this could be worse."
"True," Sam agreed.
"Yeah; Malcolm could be here," Tanker suggested with a shudder.
"Oh, c'mon. He's not that bad," Sam protested.
"I'm sure Sydney thinks different right now," Amp said glumly, and the three boys shared a moment of silence in remembrance of the most horrifying fate that had befallen their friend.
If Sam, Tanker, and Amp could have seen, rather than just imagining, Sydney's exact fate, they might have chosen to send in the National Guard rather than simply observing a moment of silence.
At that moment, the unfortunate Miss Forester was half-kneeling before a child-size sink sprinkled with various bright colours of polka-dots, trying vainly to scrub a large splotch of red finger-paint from the front of her light brown jumper-dress, while at the same time attempting to tell one particularly insistent little girl the story of a beautiful young princess with the same appearance and name as that same little girl, and also trying to safely pry from around her neck of a little boy who had demanded a piggy- back ride RIGHT NOW, and was not taking no for an answer.
"...And it was at this point that the beautiful young princess Kelly met a charming and handsome young prince named Rowan..." Sydney continued with the story, trying futilely to infuse her voice with some degree of interest while still shouting above the din of the playroom, packed with upwards of three-dozen small children. The result of these three-dozen children was, as one might guess, complete and utter Bedlam. 'Where's a strait jacket when you need one?' the newly assigned baby-sitter wondered exhaustedly.
"Steve," Kelly interrupted, frowning at her.
"Right, right, a handsome young prince named Steve," Sydney sighed, giving the large red stain on her front one final desperate scrub before tossing the soap-soaked rag to the side and wincing as an angry shout of,
"I'll get you for that, Forester!" rang through the air.
"Sorry, Malcolm," she called tiredly. "Hey, while I've got your attention, do you want to help me here? Maybe you could give this little guy a piggy- back ride?"
"No!" that same little guy exclaimed, clinging more tightly to the young woman's neck. "He's a vampire!"
"Peter," she choked, "please let go. I can't breathe."
"I wanna wear your hat!" another little boy announced, tugging at her hand.
"Fine. Here," she said, dragging off her hat with her other hand and shoving it onto the child's head.
"Yaay!" he cheered, skipping away.
"I'm not a vampire," Malcolm informed no one in particular, crossing his arms and scowling moodily at the world.
"Of course you're not," Sydney agreed, patting him comfortingly on the arm. "You just look a lot like one."
"Hey!" Malcolm protested.
This, however, was swallowed up entirely by young Kelly's shriek of,
"I want more story!"
"Okay, Kelly, okay. Let me just put down Peter, and we'll finish your story," Sydney hastened to assure the little girl, whose large green eyes were steadily filling with angry tears. One more second, and...
"NO!" Kelly howled. "NOW!"
"Malcolm!" Sydney tossed pleadingly in his direction. "Can you finish her story?"
"No," he replied quite calmly from his little wooden chair painted a bright red and pulled up to a washable-top table that came up to about his knees.
"I hate you, Malcolm."
"I know," he assured her with an evil smirk.
Sydney shook her head in defeat.
"Alright, Kelly, after Princess Kelly met Prince Steve, they both fell madly in love right away. Then, with the power of love, they vanquished the evil witch. Then they travelled back to Prince Steve's kingdom, and got married," Sydney explained quickly.
"And what then?" Kelly pressed.
"Er...they had two beautiful children."
"And a pony!"
"And a pony," the curly-haired teen sighed. "Well! End of story, so now, if you'll excuse me, I have a piggy-back ride to deliver."
With that, Sydney climbed from the ground, adjusted her hold on Peter so that his arms clasped around her neck were no longer totally cutting off her air supply, and skipped away, the little boy tugging on her hair and shouting, "Faster, horsey! Faster!" as she went.
Malcolm watched her go with a smirk that somehow missed out on some of its ordinary malice. The sight of her trying to take care of three children at once was somehow too adorable to sneer at. Particularly when that little dress of hers flipped up almost to her waist as she 'galloped' about the room. Shaking his head, he returned to his sketch, somewhat awkwardly done as a result of both chair and table being several times too small for any ordinary teenage boy, and at least one time too small for Malcolm.
As he turned, his gaze met that of a pair of curious green eyes, their tears of anger evaporated.
"Can I help you?" he demanded coldly of the little blonde girl.
"You like her, don't you?" Kelly chirped.
"No," Malcolm returned indignantly.
"I think you do," Kelly argued. "You were looking at her."
"I was gloating over her misfortune, if you must know," the dark-haired teen informed the child icily.
"Then why were you checking out her legs?" the little boy now wearing Sydney's hat demanded. This little boy presented rather ridiculous spectacle, with a floppy brown hat covering his eyes and most of his nose, sandy hair poking out from the bottom, framing what could be seen of his face: his mouth, stretched into a rakish grin.
"I was not!" Malcolm sputtered, flushing slightly.
"Sure, sure," the little behatted fellow grinned before turning and sidling away, followed closely by Kelly.
"And once again," Malcolm grumbled, "Collins and his other two goons get the easy job."
"Get moving, you little twerps, or I'll take the hide off your backsides!" Mrs. Starkey bellowed, brandishing her ladle menacingly.
"Ow..." Sam whimpered as the Kitchen Utensil of Death connected repeatedly with the side of his head.
"Serves you right, Collins. The Principal's paying you to wash dishes, not stand around and look pretty," the cafeteria worker growled sternly.
"Principal Pratchert isn't paying us," Amp informed her. "We're in detention."
"That man's getting vicious with his detentions," Mrs. Starkey noted sadly.
"Tell me about it," Tanker sighed. "Sydney has to go look after kids in the play center."
"Well, that isn't so bad," she shrugged.
"She's with Malcolm," Sam continued slowly, his expression the picture of solemnity.
"No!" Mrs. Starkey gasped sarcastically.
"Mrs. Starkey!" Tanker exclaimed reproachfully. "It's a big deal! Malcolm hates all of us! He's probably being awful to her!"
"And she's probably too busy to notice," Mrs. Starkey finished with another shrug. In her own mind, she reflected that she'd never seen Malcolm picking specifically on Sydney, and in fact, some of the boy's more civil conversations had been with her. It had occurred to Mrs. Starkey more than once that the two would probably hit it off decently, if they ever had the opportunity to talk one-on-one, without Sam or Tanker there. To be sure, Sam tried to be halfway polite to Malcolm, but for reasons cheerleader related, Malcolm never responded with anything but coldness. Tanker...well, to have those two in the same room was dangerous. The mere fact that Malcolm knew Sydney only as 'a friend of Sam and Tanker' meant that they had little opportunity to interact as two civil, civilised people.
However, Mrs. Starkey, being wise in her years, knew that Tanker, Sydney's very possessive sort-of-maybe-some-day boyfriend, would not appreciate the observation that his sort-of-maybe-some-day girlfriend could get along well with his enemy.
But, this was no time for dramatic inner monologue. There were dishes to be washed, and she was more than ready to have her three temporary lackeys wash them.
"Get back to the dishes, or I'll use your skins to make a new jacket!" she barked, smirking in satisfaction as the three young men scurried away to do her bidding.
It was good, being the head honcho...
"I hate children," Sydney announced as she dropped exhaustedly into the tiny chair beside the one that Malcolm was currently occupying.
"Really," he murmured boredly, working busily away at the sketch laid out on the little crayon table in front of him.
"Enjoying an arts-and-crafts time?" she inquired sweetly. "I could send some of the other children over to join you..."
"You wouldn't dare..."
"Why not? I'm sure there's some more finger-paint around here somewhere."
"I will kill you if you send those brats over here with finger-paint," he growled, fixing her with a menacing glare, the menace of which seemed to be lost on her as she dissolved into giggles.
"Of course I won't," she assured him. "But you know, that would look pretty good with a few streaks of blue finger-paint smeared across it."
"Why are you here?" he demanded.
"Ginny told me to take a breather," she replied.
"Ginny?"
"The girl in charge. The head sitter."
"Oh. I wondered where everyone else was. It seemed like we were being left to do everything."
She glared at him.
"And exactly what have YOU done? Besides staking out a chair and laughing at my misfortune?"
"What else should I be doing?"
"Um...helping out?!"
He sighed, closing his sketchbook.
"I'm not good with children, Sydney. You heard that one little boy. They think I'm a vampire."
"That's only because they know you don't like them. Children can sense these things, you know."
"That hasn't stopped them from climbing all over you."
"That's because I didn't hate children until today," she sighed.
"Syddie! Come play dress-up with us!" a high-pitched voice requested.
"But it doesn't look like it's going to be going away anytime soon. Coming, Kelly!" she shouted to the little girl, suppressing with great difficulty a pained whimper. Then she turned to Malcolm. "Hey, if I have to suffer through this, so do you."
With that snap decision, she dragged him from his chair and over to the large wooden chest surrounded by children that apparently comprised the Dress-Up Center.
"Oh, no!" Malcolm protested. "There is no way in Hell that you are going to get me to dress up!"
"And there's no way in hell I'm going through this alone," she rejoined. "And the kids want SOMEONE to play with them. So either we both do it, or YOU do it."
"Why can't Ginny do it?" he demanded.
"Because Ginny, and Sarah and Angie, are playing Spacemen and Aliens with the other twenty kids here."
"Well, that's good to know."
She looked at him strangely, blinking, and he immediately stifled the thought that the puzzlement in her dark eyes made her look absolutely adorable.
"What is?"
"That someone has it worse than we do," he replied with a smirk.
Sydney glanced over to where a woman, about mid to late twenties, and two girls of around sixteen, were currently being tackled to the ground and hit repeatedly in the stomach by little boys and girls armed with toy guns.
"You're right about that. NOTHING could be as bad as that."
Oh, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney...you were supposed to be the smart one! Don't you know that those words hold the power to place both you and your fellow babysitter within situations of unnamed peril, agony, and silliness?
You will learn, child. You will learn...
"I am NOT wearing that," Malcolm announced with a tone of finality five minutes later as he scornfully surveyed the object that the children were presenting him with.
"You are, too!" a little girl with her pale red hair fashioned into a sleek braid who had introduced herself as Blaine, shot back. "You're the prince! You need a prince hat!"
"It's a tiara!" the young man exclaimed, snatching the glittering piece of silver-painted plastic and shaking it so hard that the little blue plastic 'gems' embedded into it began to rattle.
"Well...we don't have a boy crown," Blaine shrugged. "Syddie! Put on your princess hat!"
"Oh...great," Sydney commented, forcing a smile as she slid the little tiara onto her head, hooking it under her mass of curls. "Well, as long as that little boy has my hat, I don't have anything else covering my head..."
"Why DO you wear hats all the time, anyway?" Malcolm asked, frowning.
"I don't really know," she replied, brow wrinkling slightly as she considered this. "Just a habit, I suppose."
"Mmm. You shouldn't," he said.
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"Hides your face too much."
"Is...is that bad?"
He shrugged again, more uneasily. Why had he said anything in the first place? It was just an observation. By God, this was why he didn't talk to people! A simple statement could bring about a barrage of questions.
"It's because he thinks you're pretty," Kelly announced before she, Blaine, Lori, Rebecca, Patti, Denise, and Iris erupted into giggles.
When the girls finally calmed down, Kelly took charge, as seemed to be her wont.
"Okay; Sydney, you're the princess who gets put into a deep sleep by an evil witch while you're out gathering apples," the little brunette announced.
"Why is a princess gathering apples?" Blaine wanted to know. "Wouldn't she send her servants to do it?" "She gave the servants a day off," Kelly explained with a cool dignity.
Blaine nodded.
"Okay!"
"I'm going to be the evil witch until you're asleep," Kelly continued. "And then all of us are going to be fairies."
"Wonderful," Malcolm muttered.
"And all the fairies are going to go find the handsome prince..." Here, Kelly broke off, gazing consideringly at Malcolm. "...Well, the prince, anyway, and they'll lead him to the princess's bedchamber."
"Let's keep this family entertainment," Ginny chuckled, overhearing as she happened past the Dress-Up station to the much more commonly used First-Aid station in search of a Band-Aid.
Both teens glared at her, their cheeks growing simultaneously warm.
Kelly frowned, confused by that silly adult's cryptic words, and then shook it off and continued.
"And then the handsome - the prince wakes the beautiful princess with a kiss of true love, and they live happily ever after!" she finished, clapping her hands delightedly at the romance of it all. It wasn't often they had a grown-up boy in here to play with them, and none of the little boys would ever be the prince. And anyway, these things were better when grown-ups acted them out, weren't they? They seemed more real. Not only that, but a grown-up boy certainly wouldn't mind kissing a pretty girl, would he?
"Absolutely not!" Malcolm exclaimed, breaking into her thoughts. "I refuse. Find some other idiot to be the prince."
"I heard yelling," Ginny announced, sidling over with a bandage stretching across her forehead and a stern expression in her eye. "Is everyone playing nice?"
"Yes, of course," Sydney assured her. "We were just about to start playing a game, weren't we, Malcolm?"
"Ow!" he yelped as her elbow dug into his ribs. "What was that for?"
She leaned in closer.
"If you treat the children badly, Ginny WILL tell the principal, and you'll be back here again next week. And while I think it would serve you right, and I'd like nothing more than to see you suffer at this point, it isn't fair to the children to stick them with you."
He opened his mouth to deliver an angry response, then closed it again, frowning as the sensibleness of her words hit him.
"Damnit!" he hissed before turning to Ginny. "Yes, we're going to play a game of Fairies and Princesses."
"How nice!" Ginny giggled, winking at Sydney. "Well, have fun."
With that, she turned to leave, and the game of fantasy and romance began, with it dwindling the sanity of both Malcolm and Sydney...