Boy Genius
A Back To The Future/"Girl Genius" Crossover
By Flaming Trails
Prologue
Dear Professors Foglio,
Greetings from Agatha Heterodyne and her companions. I've been following the news on your class on my life with great interest. I'm very glad to see that there's someone willing to give the facts on me, not just sensationalistic rumors. (Zeetha and Krosp appreciate this too, although Krosp thinks he should look more regal. Trust me, you've got him dead on.)
I noticed that you've reached the time period when I was with Master Payne's Circus of Adventure. As you know, my cousin, Emmett Von Braun, and his friends are due to appear soon. I've recently conversed with Emmett about this, and both he and I feel that, in preparation, you should prepare a series of lectures to help explain his role more fully. To whit, enclosed is the script of Emmett's story, suitable for illustration and publication in your fine textbooks.
I hope your classes are going well. I'm glad Transylvania Polygnostic University had a place for one of us. If Dr. Merlot gives you any trouble, just write me and I'll come and set him straight. I've been dying to do that for YEARS.
Sincerely,
Agatha Heterodyne
Chapter 1
Monday, February 2nd, 1895
Hill Valley
1:18 P.M.
"Now, class, today we'll be learning how to repair and build simple steam engines. The basic principles involved in creating steam engines are. . . ."
Emmett Lathrop Von Braun allowed his mind to drift. Professor Sixton was a good teacher, but he had a tendency to drone on about things. No doubt he was about to explain each principle six times, just to make sure that everyone understood it. Emmett knew that soon the rest of the class would be in the same trance he was in. Besides, he already knew the basic principles of steam engines. He'd been secretly studying them outside of class, hoping to improve his performance. It was very simple, really – you used a heat source, usually a coal furnace, to vaporize a large amount of water, and then you fed the resulting steam through –
A hiss of pain escaped his lips. Emmett winced as he felt the beginnings of one of his famous migraines come on. Damn it. . . . He closed his eyes tightly to shut out the outside world and cleared his mind. The pain slowly eased away. Emmett sighed and opened his eyes again. Luckily, no one had noticed his slight episode, being too focused on Professor Sixton. Or, more likely, they were so used to them, they didn't even care anymore.
Frustrated, Emmett glared down at his notepaper. Bloody headaches. Why do they only come when I'm doing anything related to this class? I'm fine – mostly – when it comes to languages, literature, and abstract mathematics. But when it comes to my science classes, I fall to pieces! I simply don't understand it.
Professor Sixton finally wrapped up his lecture. "All right, now for the practical application. Henry?" Henry, Professor Sixton's assistant, wheeled in a cart filled with miniaturized steam engines. "Your task today is to repair these engines. Don't worry, it's nothing complicated – just the odd piece out of place or fractured part. You shouldn't have any trouble."
"At least, us normal people shouldn't," one boy, with thin greasy hair and horrid teeth, said, winking at Emmett. The class tittered.
Professor Sixton gave the boy a stern look. "That will be enough, Mr. Needles. Everyone come up and fetch an engine – they're not too heavy."
The class rose in a disorganized jumble and headed for the front of the room. Emmett selected an engine at random and picked it up nervously. Will – will I actually be able to do it this time? Will I finally be able to fix something? He straightened his back. I have to try. Even if I get another one of those headaches, I have to try. I'm not going to fail this time.
He sat down at his desk, took off his coat, and rolled up his sleeves. Let's see now, what could it be, he thought, giving it a look-over. Hopefully it'll be something very simple – perhaps a broken piston? I'm sure I could manage something like that. Heck, perhaps I could even make some improvements –
He winced again as another jolt of pain hit him. Although it was annoying, it was also a good reminder that ingenuity wasn't appreciated in this class. You were expected to do just what the lesson taught you – no more, no less. It was the only way Professor Sixton was allowed to teach the class. In fact, it was the only way that the college could even exist. There could be no major redesigns of what already existed, no new ideas, nothing that could be construed in any way as possibly "Sparky."
Because if there was one thing Hill Valley hated, it was a Spark.
Emmett shook his head to clear it. Concentrate on the repair, he told himself sternly. You have to concentrate on getting this done right. He went back to examining the engine, doing his best to ignore the rapidly-growing pain in his head. The boiler looks all right – I wonder how it operates at such a small size? – the pistons – appear to be in – in good working order, steam – steam feed pipes – acceptable – ex-except – are those – sstressss –
"OWWWW! AUGH! OWWWW!"
Emmett clutched at his scalp, screaming as the pain hit him full force. His fellow students looked up, attracted by the noise. Needles giggled and elbowed his friend Biff Tannen. "And so the show starts!"
"Mr. Von Braun!" Professor Sixton jogged over to Emmett's desk. "Not again! Henry, fetch me a cold cloth." He put his hands on Emmett's shoulders. "Relax, Emmett. Clear your head."
Emmett released his scalp and let his head thud onto the desk, whimpering as the pain finally began to ease. He could hear some of his classmates snickering. "Yup, crazy Emmett at it again."
"Why does he even bother? He's never going to make it through at this rate," Tannen said.
Emmett lifted his head a little. "I love the work," he replied, glaring at Tannen.
"Loving and doing are two different things, Von Braun."
Emmett was prevented from answering by Henry pushing him back in his chair and pressing a cold cloth to his head. Much as he hated to admit it, though, his classmate was right. As much as Emmett loved science and building, he seemed utterly unable to do anything related to the subject. He couldn't even theorize on anything related to science without getting a blinding headache. It was extremely frustrating, to say the least.
Professor Sixton shushed the class. "Feeling better Emmett?" Emmet nodded, gently pushing away Henry's hand. "Good. I'll excuse you from this lesson. We don't want anything else bad to happen."
Emmett caught onto Sixton's unspoken message. "Wait a minute! I – I think I had it this time! I bet I could repair it before being incapacitated again! It looks to be a problem with the – ow – steam feed pipes!" he said quickly, pausing as his headache began to reassert itself.
Sixton patted his shoulder soothingly. "Repair it, maybe. But repair it correctly? Emmett, you have to admit, it's a longshot. Especially given your – um – previous track record."
"I didn't mean for that clock to explode! I just made a mistake!"
"Yes, but I don't want anyone getting hurt if you make a mistake here. Hot steam is very dangerous. I'd hate to have to send you to the nurse. Again."
The class laughed. Cheeks burning red, Emmett put his head on the desk again. "I'm not trying to be – to put it colloquially – a screw-up," he mumbled into the wood.
Needles roughly poked him in the ribs. "Well, Von Braun, it's all that you seem to be good for."
"Leave him alone, Mr. Needles," Sixton said sternly. "All of you, get back to work." The other boys grumbled and went back to fixing their own engines. Sixton looked over at Emmett. "By the way, the problem was with the steam feed pipes. They're starting to warp and crack from age." Emmett looked up at him, surprised. "I still don't think you should attempt to repair it, but hey – it's progress, right?"
Emmett smiled slightly and nodded. "Yes, it is. Thank you sir." Sixton smiled and went back to making the rounds. Emmett sighed and eyed the engine before him. Why do you mock me so? he thought angrily. Why let me come that close?
Finally, after exactly one hour, 33 minutes, and 29 seconds of frustrated hell for Emmett, class was over. Emmett quickly gathered his materials and fled the classroom. He had learned from experience that if he didn't move fast, he became an easy target for his bulkier classmates. He didn't particularly feel like getting beaten up today.
He pushed his way through the crowds on campus, heading for the front gate. One of the guards met him there, an imposing bald fellow aptly named Strickland. "Student ID number?" he demanded.
"85558515," Emmett rattled off.
Strickland nodded and checked his pocket watch. "Leaving early today," he noted. "I hope you're not turning into a slacker."
"No sir, one of my teachers is ill. His class was canceled today."
"I see. Well, you're free to go," Strickland said, opening the gate. Unconvincingly, he added, "Have a nice day."
"You too, sir." Emmett sighed as he walked out the front gate and onto the street. Whew. Glad that's over with. Strickland makes me nervous sometimes. Good thing he's a guard, not a teacher.
Emmett walked up the street and entered the town square, wondering what to do now. The square was busy at this time of day – the streets were full of people visiting the shops or the courthouse, lounging in the park, chatting with friends, and attempting to control any overeager children. Occasionally a horse or carriage would trot down the road. Hill Valley was a small town by most people's standards, but it was a busy one.
The sound of guitar music caught Emmett's attention. Looking around, he noticed a large group of people gathered in front of Madame Wells's "Clothes for Gentlemen." Oddly enough, none of them appeared to be looking in the window. Intrigued, Emmett jogged over and joined the crowd.
Standing in front of Madame Wells's shop was a boy about Emmett's age, although a good foot shorter, strumming a guitar and singing – a song about the Heterodyne Boys, Emmett realized. The teen's clothes were rather threadbare – the right knee on his trousers had worn out completely – and there was a hat in front of him, obviously for collecting money. Emmett felt a swell of pity. His family must be very poor if he has to do this. Assuming he even has a family.
Still, the teenager was very good at what he did. Everyone broke into applause as he finished his song. "Thank you, thank you! I'll be here all week! Tell your friends!" He held up his hat. "And please, remember to make a donation."
Most people laughed and dropped a coin or two into the hat before going on their way. Emmett walked up to the boy. "That was quite a performance," he grinned, pulling out a few coins of his own. "You're really good."
"Thanks. I've been practicing ever since I was little." He grinned as Emmett dropped his coins in, then checked the hat. His eyes widened. "Uh, sir, I think you put a little too much in."
Emmett blinked a little at being called "sir." "What makes you say that?"
"Well – that's – gold, isn't it?"
"Yes. Believe me, you're that good."
An astonished smile appeared on the teen's face. "Well – thanks," he said, eyes wide. "I never got that much from anyone before." He held out his hand. "I'm Marty McFly. I just came into town a couple of days ago."
"Emmett Von Braun," Emmett introduced himself, shaking hands. "You can call me Emmett."
"Okay. Thanks again, Emmett. Hopefully now I can afford to buy some new clothes – these are getting pretty worn out." Marty produced a money purse and emptied the change into it. "Then again, it might be a better idea to buy more food. . . ."
A carriage thundered by. Marty and Emmett both stared after it. "Wonder why he's in so much of a hurry," Emmett said.
"Got me. Maybe he's late for something." Marty frowned a little. "I know this is a small town, but I haven't seen any mechanical transportation around. Doesn't your ruling Spark do anything with that?"
"No, mostly because he's been dead for a number of years," Emmett deadpanned. Marty looked surprised. "There was a revolt when I was just a baby, and we managed to kill the Spark. Since then, we've dedicated our lives to ridding the town of any Spark influence. You won't see any clanks or anything like that around here. I think a few people would even dare to tell off Baron Wulfenbach if he came here."
Marty whistled. "Wow."
"Yes, we're a rather oddball town. I think the only reason Baron Wulfenbach hasn't come after us is because we killed the Spark before he set up his Peace, and we don't bother anyone else with our attitude. Don't worry though – as long as you don't mention anything about technology or Sparks, you should be fine."
Marty suddenly looked worried, glancing around at the passers-by. "But everyone seemed to like my Heterodyne Boys song. . . ."
"Oh, they're all right – even here they're seen as heroes." Emmett grinned. "My mother says that they even stopped here to make some final plans before going off to confront the Other. Everyone likes the Heterodyne boys."
"Lucky for me," Marty said with a slight grin. He put down his hat and picked up his guitar again. "Thanks for the warning. Are you gonna stick around for the next show? It's 'The Heterodyne Boys and The Race to the West Pole.'"
"I can't – I have homework," Emmett said sadly.
"Homework? You seem a little old for school."
"We have a college here – it's a remnant of the days of the Spark. From what I've heard, Hill Valley wanted to prove you could have one and not have it turn into a Spark-producing machine. They teach only the most basic classes."
"Oh. That's kind of – weird, isn't it?"
"I know. But it's better than having no college at all." Emmett smiled at Marty. "I'll stop by tomorrow and see if I can catch another act. You're quite the performer – and that tune you put it too, while unusual, is pretty catchy."
"Thanks. I made it up myself while on the road. Glad to hear that people like it." Marty strummed a few random notes. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Nice meeting you, Emmett."
"Same here, Marty. Good luck with your show." Emmett walked off, grinning. Well, that was nice! I haven't met someone that I felt that comfortable talking to for a while. Not since Holly anyway. I'll have to make a point of stopping by tomorrow and continuing the conversation.
He decided to take a look at his homework for the day. I don't have anything from Language Studies, that was canceled. . . . Just some reading on proofs in Abstract Mathematica. . . . And of course no homework from Basic Mechanics, that's all hands-on work. Emmett scowled as he recalled the steam engine. Damn it! I was so close today! I almost had it! Warped steam feed lines – all I would have had to do was straighten them out and check for cracks –
It annoyed him that he was getting a mild headache even just thinking about a simple repair. For Newton's sake, I'm not even trying to improve on the design. Although, really, it did seem pretty inefficient. You could probably tighten up a few things, put the exhaust pipe below the moving parts so it doesn't interfere, perhaps have one main steam feed – pipe th-that – branches out –
No, damn it! I'm not going to succumb this time! I'm going to do this! Steam feed pipe that – br-branches out – in-inside, and maybe an – al-al-alternate – heat – s-source – for the – boiler – cl-cleaner fuel – or s-s-solar p-p-poooowwww –
Monday, February 2nd
2:21 P.M.
"All right, everyone, this is 'The Heterodyne Boys and the Race for the West Pole!'"
Marty's expert fingers immediately found the proper chord and started playing. Marty grinned, swept up in the thrill of making music. This is what he lived for. After letting everyone get used to the tune for a moment, he began to sing:
"Now I'll bet you've heard the tales about the Heterodyne Boys
Bill and Barry, young geniuses, playing with their toys
Built themselves some constructs named Judy and Punch
Then Klaus came along and joined the bunch
And now they're all racing for the West Pole
Yeah, they're all racing for the West Pole
One time poor old Barry nearly fell down a hole
But yeah, they're all racing for the West Pole
Now this guy named Dr. Mongfish was so bad
Built lots of evil robots, was such a cad
His daughter Lucrezia was the same way
And when–"
"AAUUGGHH!"
Marty nearly jumped out of his skin, his fingers hitting the wrong notes as he lost his groove. "What the hell?" he said, looking around.
He quickly spotted the source of the scream – a young man on his knees in the middle of the street, clutching his head in pain. With a jolt, Marty recognized him as Emmett, the teen he'd been talking to only minutes before. "Holy shit, Emmett! Uh – sorry folks, this is going to take a minute." He set down his guitar and jogged over to the teenager. "Emmett! Are you all right?"
Emmett didn't respond. He had stopped screaming, although he was still clutching his scalp tightly. "Oww. . .okay, okay, I'll stop," he muttered to himself, tears welling in his eyes.
Marty dropped to his knees, starting a little at the feel of the cold stone against his skin. "Emmett? Buddy?"
Emmett finally noticed him as he looked up. His face turned bright red as he massaged his scalp. "Oh – hi Marty," he muttered, looking away.
"Emmett!"
Marty looked up to see a girl racing towards them, a worried look on her face. She dressed entirely in black, and had long black hair that made her skin seem unusually pale. She dropped to her knees beside Emmett as well, taking no notice of Marty. "Not again. Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm – I'm better now." Emmett shook his head. "You think that one of these days, I would learn. . . ."
The girl stroked Emmett's hair for a moment. "Yes, you would think so," she said teasingly. "But you never do."
She suddenly noticed Marty and frowned. "Hello. Who are you?"
"Name's Marty McFly. Who are you?"
"Holly Handlen. I'm a friend of Emmett here." Her grey eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you doing here? You weren't trying to beat him up, were you?"
"No!" Marty snapped, insulted. "I was playing some music when I heard him start screaming. Can't a guy be concerned for somebody?"
"It's okay, Holly," Emmett said, before Holly could respond. "He's telling the truth. You know that if he was trying to hurt or rob me, he'd be long gone by now."
"Good point." Holly blushed. "Sorry Mr. McFly. I'm a little protective of him. We've learned that most people won't hesitate to take advantage of him in this state."
"It's all right," Marty said, his own temper cooling. "I guess you would think the worst when there's a complete stranger by your friend's side."
Emmett had recovered enough to get back to his feet. He noticed that the new crowd Marty had gathered was starting to disperse. "You'd better get on with your show," he warned.
"It's okay – thanks to your little donation from before, I've got plenty." Marty helped Holly brush him off. "What happened to you anyway? I was talking to you just a little while ago, and you were fine then."
Emmett looked embarrassed. "Just a migraine," he said quietly. "I get them from time to time. I was trying to concentrate on a certain subject, to work through it, but I couldn't." Emmett turned to Holly, his expression almost pleading. "I had it, Holly. I know I did. I just couldn't think through the pain."
Holly patted his back fondly. "You really have to stop doing this to yourself, Emmett. It's not good for you."
"I know, but–"
"Hey! What is this?!"
All three heads jerked towards Madame Wells's shop. Madame Wells herself had appeared, and was scowling at Marty's guitar and hat. "Who is begging in front of my shop?" she demanded in a thick French accent. "You're driving away business!"
"Sorry, sorry, my fault," Marty said, quickly going to get his things.
Madame Wells glared at him. "Every day more riff-raff," she snapped. "Your whole family beg on the streets, boy?"
Marty stiffened. "No, ma'am," he said, keeping his voice under tight control. "Just me."
"He wasn't begging, he was putting on a show!" Emmett snapped. He didn't like Madame Wells anyway, and to see her treating someone who had helped him like that was intolerable. "A damn good one too! If anything, he was attracting business!"
"Shut up! If I want–"
Madame Wells stopped as she got her first good look at Emmett. A nervous smile appeared on her face. "Oh, hello Emmett dear. How's your mother?"
"She's fine," Emmett said shortly. "Look, please leave him alone. I've heard Marty's singing, and he's excellent. You should be paying him to bring people in."
Marty stared at Emmett, obviously shocked that he was doing this. Madame Wells, not noticing, looked Marty over uncertainly. "In those clothes?"
"I'm on the road a lot," Marty snapped, turning his attention back to her. "Things wear out."
"You couldn't spare one outfit from your shop?" Emmett added.
Madame Wells sniffed. "You shouldn't be associating with those kind of people anyway," she said haughtily. Marty was puzzled to see her glaring at Holly.
"If being part of your class means having to become a bitchy snob, I'll stay poor," Holly retorted, folding her arms. "And strangely enough, I believe my family's got more clout with the mayor than you'll ever have. Or have you forgotten how my mother saved his daughter's life?"
Madame Wells turned a shade of red so dark it was almost violet. "Stay away from me!" she snapped. "The whole lot of you!" Turning to Marty, she added, "And if I see you here again, I'll call the guard on you!" She stormed into her shop and slammed the door.
The teens looked at each other. Marty picked up his guitar and hat. "Well, that's the end of that," he shrugged.
Emmett put his face in his hand. "I'm sorry about that, Marty."
"Why are you sorry?" Marty asked, puzzled. "I've been kicked out of plenty of places for this. I'll just go and set up shop somewhere else now."
"Yes, but I feel I made things worse by trying to defend you. If I embarrassed you in any way–"
"Oh, no," Marty said, smiling. "I sing on the street – I think most people realize that I'm poor. And thanks for defending me like that. I haven't had anyone do that for me before."
Emmett smiled back. "You're quite welcome. You helped me when I had my headache, so I felt an obligation to help you as well."
"Hey, like I'm going to let such a well-paying customer suffer," Marty winked.
The three of them laughed. "So, what exactly brings you to Hill Valley Marty?" Holly asked, interested.
"My work – I'm a traveling minstrel," Marty said, holding up his guitar. "I go from town to town and sing. My speciality is stuff about the Heterodyne Boys."
"That's interesting. Does anyone else in your family join you?"
Marty's smile faded. "No," he said quietly. "I'm an orphan."
Holly looked horrified. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, turning pink. "I really shouldn't have asked that."
"No, it's okay. My parents died about a year ago in a town called Grass Valley. And my older brother and sister moved away long before that. I've been on my own for a while now."
Emmett and Holly looked at each other. "That sounds rather lonely," Emmett said sympathetically.
"It can be. But I've gotten used to it. I can take care of myself. And besides, I was always kinda the odd one out in my family anyway. It happens with five people."
"That sounds a little like my own situation," Emmett admitted. "I'm the odd one out in my family as well. I'm just missing the older brother."
"Aha! I knew I'd find you eventually!"
"The older sister, however. . . ."
A second girl joined them, this one dressed in pink. Her long brown hair was done up in two pigtails, which hung over her shoulders. "I take it your Language Studies professor is still ill."
"Yes, Professor Zemeckis is still sick," Emmett nodded. "I was heading home when I stopped to talk to Marty here." Turning to Marty, he added, "Marty, this is my sister Emily Von Braun. Emily, Marty McFly."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McFly," Emily said politely, extending her hand.
"Likewise," Marty said, shaking it. "And call me Marty, please. When I hear 'Mr. McFly,' I automatically think of my father." Emmett and Holly both winced slightly.
Emily smiled understandingly. "I'm the same way with 'Miss Von Braun.'" She looked over at Emmett. "Seeking some male company for once?"
"You know I love sharing time with you and Holly," Emmett grinned. "I was attracted by Marty's musical talents; he's a minstrel. A very good one too."
"Yeah, your brother showed his appreciation, and we got to talking," Marty shrugged. "Then while I was starting a new song, I heard screaming, and–"
"Oh, Emmett, not again!" Emily interrupted, smacking her palm against her head.
"Emily, I had it this time!" Emmett insisted. "I really did! If I could just figure out a way to work through the pain, I'd be fine!"
Emily put a hand on Emmett's arm. "But you can't work through the pain. That's the problem."
"Emily, I – I just can't give it up. . . ."
"I know, but you can't keep torturing yourself like this either."
"Uh – can I ask what you're talking about?" Marty asked, puzzled. "Because that doesn't sound like a normal migraine to me."
"It isn't," Emmett groaned. "My migraines only occur when I'm concentrating on anything scientific. And, unfortunately for me, I was born with a thirst for science. What you saw before was me trying to get creative with something that happened in one of my classes today."
Marty grimaced. "You picked the wrong town to be born in, didn't you?"
"The wrong town? He picked the wrong family," Holly informed Marty. "Neither his mother nor his father like scientists at all."
"Well, Mother's more tolerant than Father," Emily said. "But then again, most people are more tolerant than Father."
"The whole of Europa Wulfenbach is more tolerant than Father," Emmett said. "I've – I've always just had these urges to build, to invent, to create. But I can't act on them. Either I get a terrible headache from attempting to concentrate, or on those rare occasions where I can actually build something, it invariably doesn't work. In fact, more often than not, it explodes." Emmett grabbed his hair in frustration. "I know what I want to do, I can see the plans in my head, but I can't execute them! It's like being trapped in some sort of prison!"
Marty discovered that he felt really bad for Emmett. The poor guy. I hate it when I get a creative block, and it sounds like he's got one 24-7! He frowned to himself. Jesus, when did I get so concerned about strangers? I've known him for what, a few minutes? Then again, he's really the only person to ever stay and talk to me after a show. And he's the only guy who ever defended my right to perform somewhere. And face it, McFly – when's the last time you got to hang out with anyone else your own age? Emmett's okay in my book. He gave his fellow teen a sympathetic look. "That sounds terrible, Emmett. I'm sorry."
Emmett sighed and let go of his hair. "It's all right. Perhaps it's a sort of defense mechanism my brain came up with to keep my safe in this town. Sparks can get killed around here."
Marty shook his head. "What the heck does this town have against Sparks? Are they really all that bad?"
Emily looked at him strangely. "You like Sparks?"
"My dad's fault," Marty said with a slight blush. "He was a huge fan of the Heterodyne Boys and Trelawney Thorpe and all the rest. He told me all the stories while I was growing up." He laughed. "He even made up a few of his own. I still remember 'The Heterodyne Boys and the Match Maker from Space.' That Darth Vader character was a riot. But yeah, I guess I stopped being afraid of them after hearing all those stories. I mean, I still have a very healthy respect for them – I mean, they are kind of insane – but I'm not really that afraid. There has to be other good ones out there, right?"
"I would hope so," Holly said, with a funny little smile. "People around here have the opposite view – all Sparks are pure evil, all Sparks should be killed, go back to the old ways before Sparks–"
"Ha," Emmett said bitterly. "Old ways. For a Spark-hating town, we use our fair share of technology."
"It's called hypocrisy, Emmett."
"Even still, when you take into account most people around here agree with my father about things. . . ." Emmett sighed. "I really was born into the wrong town. I love being around machines. Just wish I could build a few." Much quieter, he added, "Almost wish I was a Spark."
Despite the somber mood the conversation had taken, Marty had to grin. "You know, it's been forever since I got to talk to anyone my own age. This – this has been really great." His grin turned into a smirk. "Though you all seem like a bunch of characters, I have to admit."
Everyone laughed. "Oh, you don't know the half of it," Holly said, almost teasingly.
"I'd like to. I'd like to have some friends again."
"Well then, why don't you come with us and we'll give you the grand tour of the town," Emmett offered, shifting his books to wave an arm. "And you can tell us all about your music and your adventures on the road."
"I'm sold. Lead on."
