A/N Hey, readers! Good to be back. If you remember from the Contest awhile back, the three winners got to submit story ideas for me to write about, so this is the first one of those! The idea was originally mine, but was selected by Shenokzo as her prize for winning Contest #1. I don't know how long exactly this story will be, but it'll probably be anywhere from 4-6 chapters. Tomorrow I'll publish the first official chapter for the winning story of Contest #3, and the story for Contest #2 will come later because it's a one-shot (also because I haven't written it yet :\ ).
One piece of background is that this story takes place around the time Ms. O read through the case file for "All Mixed Up!", as shown in my fanfic of the same name. It's not really a sequel though, so if you haven't read the other story, that's okay. (However, I would love it if you did read my other stories! ;) )

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Odd Squad. Just the stories I write about it.

SECOND DISCLAIMER: The story may be conceived and written by me, but Shenokzo has complete final say in what is published.

So without further ado, happy reading! :)

Chapter 1

"...okay, and what time will you be over? ...Uh-huh, uh-huh...three o'clock is perfect. Great, see you then!" Ms. O hangs up, then dials the number for Shmumbers, Inc. "Hello? Yes, this is Ms. O from Odd Squad, and I'd like to place an order—what? ...Yes, I know I already ordered a juice box shipment this morning, but this is different. I'd like to place an order for ten jumbo-size jars of jellybeans...no, I do not want to round that up to a dozen! I said ten jars, not twelve, ten! And if you don't get my order right, I'll have to demand to speak with your manager—no, your CEO about this!" She sighs. Why couldn't the silly employee people ever follow her directions? Didn't Yucks ever tell them who she was? "When can you have them delivered? ...Okay that's great, a whole hour earlier than I'd hoped for...uh-huh...yes I can pay for this! Now is that all? Good, and it better be on time!"

Ms. O slams the purple phone back into its holder with an exasperated grunt. "Some people," she mutters. They don't understand. In a few hours' time, she'll be hosting possibly one of the most important guests Odd Squad has seen in the past few decades, and there will be lots to discuss. This meeting has to be perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Not that there's a whole lot to do. Other than ordering jellybeans and telling the rest of the squad to be on their best behavior, there's not a whole lot Ms. O can do to prepare. Her guest has already seen headquarters, obviously, and knows some of its members from before, so there's no reason to try and make a huge first impression. But she wants to make sure her guest knows she remembers their interests and can entertain like a good hostess.

The hours tick by. Ms. O was told by her guest to wait in her office, and they would meet her there. Obvious why, of course, but that doesn't stop Ms. O from getting bored. Even her juice boxes seem bland, probably because she's so nervous. To pass the time, Ms. O eventually pulls out the case file "All Mixed Up!" and reads through it, reading out loud to Agent Ori when he drops by. When that's done and Ori is on his way, Ms. O moves to one of the couches and waits anxiously. What if her guest decides not to come after all? Yet sure enough, when three o'clock comes around, the doors to Management's private tube open, and out pops a purple ball.

Ms. O—Oprah—smiles as the figure stands up. "Welcome back to Odd Squad, boss."

The former Ms. O laughs. "Don't be ridiculous, Oprah. You're Ms. O now, and you've been so for thirty-two years. Please, call me by my real name."

Oprah purses her lips. She remembers her former boss's name, of course. After all, there's only one O name she knows of that adds up to 77. But it feels foreign as it rolls off her tongue. "Olesya?"

"That's the one!" Olesya makes her way over to the couch and sits down next to her successor. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply through her nose. "Ahh. I missed this place. Retirement has made me nostalgic."

Meanwhile, Oprah is surprised at how much her old boss has changed since 1983. Like O'Donahue, Olesya hasn't aged in retirement, and is still her nine-year-old self. But unlike O'Donahue, she's ditched her eighties attire entirely. Always one to dress for the decade, she wears a simple pink- and white-striped sweater dress with purple leggings, silver flats, and a silvery-purple infinity scarf. Her once-permed hair is now sleek and straight, and it hangs over one shoulder in a side braid. In addition to her clothes, Olesya's character has also changed. She no longer has that aura of extreme annoyance and bad-temperedness from her days as the boss, but rather is relaxed, friendly, humble, and quick to smile.

"I see you got me jellybeans," Olesya says with a nod toward the ten jars stacked on the coffee table. She chuckles and unscrews one of the jars. "Never could give these up. I'm such a horrible quitter."

Oprah scoffs. "Oh, please. Have you seen my juice bar?"

Olesya glances over her shoulder. "Ah. Yeah, I don't see you quitting the juice anytime soon." They both laugh.

All afternoon the two girls talk, eat jellybeans, drink juice boxes, and talk some more. There's a lot to catch up on. Olesya has many questions for Oprah, including what Odd Squad is like nowadays, who her best agents are, which cases are the most memorable, etc. Oprah has questions too, including what her 32-year-long retirement has been like, what she does with her life nowadays, and what she misses most about Odd Squad. Eventually the conversation topic shifts to Olesya's early years working on the squad, something Oprah has never thought to ask about before.

"So when did you get recruited?" Oprah asks, sipping from her juice box.

Olesya thinks for a moment. "Let's see...I don't remember the exact year, but I think it was just before the Civil War. Around 1859, I believe. My parents had just died and—" she laughs at Oprah's stricken look. "Sorry, I forgot you're not used to agents talking about their home life. But it's alright. I'm no longer an agent, so the whole equality thing doesn't apply to me anymore."

Oprah raises an eyebrow. "What about the badge under your scarf?"

"Under my—oh!" Olesya glances down at her scarf in surprise, where the dull gold glint of a badge could just barely be seen. "Wow, good eye, Oprah. Yes, I suppose you're right. Once an agent, always an agent, especially if it keeps me young." They both laugh at that. "Anyhow, my parents emigrated from China to California for the gold rush, and they had me around 1850, I think. A couple years later my mom got sick with the flu or something and died, and my dad was killed in a mining accident not long after that."

"That's horrible!"

Olesya shrugs. "Yeah. I don't really remember them, though, so it's okay. I guess after that I was sent to an orphanage. It was run by some Russian woman from Alaska, who apparently didn't like my Chinese name. I don't even know what it was now. So she renamed me Olga, but she and the other kids at the orphanage all called me Olesya. It's some sort of nickname in Russian, and it stuck, so ever since then I've been Olesya."

"Hmm." Oprah ponders that for a little bit. Good thing she didn't keep the name Olga, she thinks with a smile. "So how did Odd Squad find you, then?"

"Oh, they always scout the orphanages for recruits," Olesya explains, "especially those with O names. No issues with clingy parents, you understand. I caught their eye, one thing led to another, and next thing you know I'm an agent. Eventually I transferred through a couple squads until I ended up at this one. Nothing remarkable about that. Now, if you wanna hear a real story from me, that'd be about how I became Ms. O."

The current Ms. O purses her lips. "Yeah, I remember Old Missie retiring and promoting you in her place. But you never told me about what happened, did you?" She smiles wryly. "Lemme guess, there was a villain called the Patternista involved."

Olesya giggles. "Yep."

"And you discovered it was really Old Missie in disguise, testing you to see if you were good enough to be Ms. O."

"Nope."

Oprah nearly drops her juice box. "No?!"

Olesya rolls her eyes, and Oprah catches a hint of the former Ms. O. "Are we gonna continue this back-and-forth thing, or are you gonna let me tell the story?"

"Do I have to tell you my answer?"

"Nope, because the answer is always both. Good job on remembering." Smiling, Olesya sits back against the purple octagon couch cushion and pops a jellybean in her mouth. "The year was 1925..."