Hello, fellow FanFictionites! sKetchdiva here, bringing you an all new version of Duncan Gets Desperate! Only much...much cooler. I DO NOT own TDA, any TDA characters or plots!! Just the way I have Duncan thinking about all the crap that goes on at the film lot!

Enjoy, minions!

PEACE

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Ocean's Fate - or Whine

When she first stepped off the boat, I knew she was the girl for me. I mean, at first glance, she seemed like a snotty, uptight chick who considered organizing her sock drawer fun. But after a double-take, my heart exploded. I'd never felt like this in my life.

She grabbed the host's hand, and he helped her onto the dock. "Thank you," she said politely with a social smile. She waved to the other contestants, but it felt like she and me were the only people on the island. I'd never believed in love-at-first-sight, until I saw her. She was the first to run over and check on the crazy girl after she did a chin-bash, sounding utterly concerned. No one else jumped up to help. She was also the first to try and comfort the fat twin after the she and her skinny clone were split onto different teams. She seemed so...perfect.

I hung around her, lurking in the shadows. She never caught me staring at her hair, her eyes, her legs, her face. I hid in the trees as she walked by, jumping behind her cabin as she trumped up the steps. I didn't know what was wrong with me, since I'd had a heart of stone and ice before I arrived. I ended up telling myself later that day that she wasn't my type, anyway, and she probly didn't want to have anything to do with a criminal like me.

So I basically gave up, though I hadn't even talked to her. I made snide comments, rude remarks, sexual, badass gestures. She seemed repulsed by my behavior, like I thought she'd act upon actually meeting me. But I couldn't help but wonder what things would be like if I'd been nice. She treated me like a Neanderthal because I was acting like one. Who knows? Maybe she would've treated me like a decent, respectable person if I'd acted like one. Too late.

But, to my surprise, she didn't really hate the way I behaved around her, because after I'd been sentenced to solitary confinement for pissing off the camp's cook, Chef Hatchet, she'd brought me dinner from the mess hall.

She and I snuck into Chef's kitchen not long after, filling a sack with decent food from his fridge. We hauled it all back to the other campers, pigging out. She'd run outside around forty-five minutes later, so I walked out to check on her. She'd gotten sick from being excited and eating too much, but besides that, I think that night'd been the best night of my life. Know why? 'Cause she kissed me.

Feeling her lips against mine for the first time ever shocked me for a split second. But then all became right and I felt as though we were one.

...Jeez. I sound all sappy and cheezy.

It had been as normal as things could get around here at Total Drama Action. Aka, a living hell. At breakfast, Heather had called me a vandal as I carved my initials into the table in the mess hall. While I had my hand on my cheek propping my head up, I barely acknowledged her calling Harold a nerd. I would've laughed and snickered a "damn right", but I was too depressed. I thought I could get by, with Courtney gone. Apparently I can't. I mean, it's not exactly like things had left off on a good note.

I just didn't get it. Back at Camp Wawanakwa, we'd grown to really adore each other. Then when Chris announced at the reunion that Princess wouldn't be coming along for the TDA ride, everything fell apart. She and I had tried to keep our relationship intact. The first day I got here, I was lonely. I paced around wishing she was here with me, but had no way of contacting her, since Chris wouldn't let me near a phone. He'd actually taken all our cells away when we arrived.

I spent the next week or so sulking, till I got to know Gwen a little better. She'd chosen me first to be on her team, and that made me feel appreciated. Also, I was the second-in-command guy, meaning that if she went, it'd be my team. We hung around, pointing out our badass similarities and really getting along. I kinda think of her as my sister. She's a lot like my little sister, actually.

We got really close, best buds, if you'd like to think of it that way. I didn't have any guy friends anymore, what with DJ being too big of a wuss and Geoff going all girl-nuts about Bridgette. Besides, they weren't around anymore.

One time a few weeks ago, Gwen and I had walked out to this bridge over a stream we'd stumbled across after dismantling Chef's bus. It was about eight o'clock, and we both leaned over the edge, staring up at the sky.

"Is it just me," Gwen had said, pointing up at the stars, "or does that constellation look like Harold's pancake butt? With the spaghetti legs attached? See?"

I wasn't really listening. My Courtney thoughts had just about driven me to insanity that day, so I just let myself think about her freely (something I usually tried to avoid doing). I rested my chin in my hand and put an elbow on the bridge railing. I had a goofy smile spread across my face, lost in a Princess memory.

Gwen scoffed next to me, hands on her hips. "Ugh! I just gave you the perfect setup for a dig, and you leave me hanging?" Then she smirked teasingly and said, "What's yer damage?"

"You think Courtney might be looking at the stars now?" I blurted out, unaware I'd really spoken. I just spewed out what had been on my mind.

Gwen made a mock-gagging noise, making fun of me, I guess.

I didn't really care. That's what buddies do, they joke around. I just kept gazing up, swearing I saw a constellation that looked like Princess.

Gwen looked at me, surprised by what a love-sick puppy I was acting like. She laughed. "Wow. Who knew you were such a sucker for the A-type?" When I didn't respond, she grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand out from underneath my chin to get my attention.

I blinked, coming back to reality. I smirked and said, "Oh, you wanna make something of it?" jokingly, and faux-punched her in the arm.

She scoffed again, saying. "Ah, you can do better than that!"

So we started to wrestle. Something I really liked about Gwen was, was that she wasn't all froo-froo and girlie. I mean, Court would never wanna wrestle. We grunted and laughed as we tried to pin one another to the ground, and I ended up landing on top of Gwen.

"Oooh," I said triumphantly, having her trapped under me. Then I realized what'd just happened, and I frowned, scrambling to my feet.

She looked shocked for a second, but shook it off when I helped her up.

I rubbed the back of my neck uncomfortably and glanced away, feeling awkward. "Uh...sorry...about that."

She shrugged quickly. "Yeah, okay. Fine."

I felt like I'd just screwed things up, so I offered to run back to the trailers and collect everyone's underwear to string up the flag pole. That seemed to clear up the weirdness, and we went back to being normal. I'd never considered hooking up with Gwen, honestly. Courtney would always be the girl for me. Period. End of story. Bye-bye. See ya later.

So, turns out, that during Geoff and Bridgette's sucky Aftermath show, Geoff'd played Courtney a tape of me and Gwen wrestling. She'd gotten a hold of Chris later that night, demanding him to let her talk to me, or she'd sue. Of course, Chris complied, and I got an earful of Princess heartlessly breaking up with me. "How could you do this?!" and "I can't believe you!" was yelled a lot. I didn't really say anything. I just frowned as she talked, mumbling, "Okay. I get it. I'm sorry," at the end of her rant.

Now, three weeks later, I sat at the lunch table with the H-bombs, and Big Loud and Proud. Hooray for me, right? I can't believe I actually have to lead these losers.

"We have to all stop acting like babies, or every one of us is goin' home," LeShawna was saying. I narrowed my eyes at her. Like I was acting like a baby.

"C'mon, you guys," Heather said. I chuckled mentally at her bald head. Ha. I'll always love Lindsay for that. "What LeShawna did was for the best. Nobody needs a day at the spa like she does. In fact, you could write a tell-all book about her hairdo called Weave Got Problems."

"Nobody's gonna argue with her?" LeShawna demanded.

"Sounds like an entertaining read," Harold mumbled, crossing his arms over his boney chest.

LeShawna glowered and said, "I'm going back to the trailer." She stood with her fists clenched, stomping out of the mess hall.

"Try not to let the door hit your butt on the way out," I called after her. After what she did a few episodes ago, she should be glad I'm even talking to her. I can't believe she blubbered like that just to get us to feel sorry for her and let her have the reward. What a brat. And I thought my Princess was bratty. Dammit, Duncan! I thought. Don't think about her! I gnawed on my cheek.

"Door?" Heather snapped. "It's a tent, Idiot Boy."

I glared. "Uh, it's a figure of speech."

"What you should've said," Harold wheezed, "was, 'Don't let the flap flutter–'"

"Shut up, Harold," Heather and I both barked at the same time.

The eggs and bacon Chef'd made actually looked good, so I decided to take the risk and shovel it down, since I was starving. I absentmindedly listened to the Grips as I chewed, only half paying attention. They were babbling about being glad to still be in the game, wired jaws, normal people... Then Owen jumped up and said, "Sorry, y'guys. But there's a great smell comin' from Chef's steam table and seconds are'a wastin'!" He did a handstand on the table he was sitting at with his team and flew through the air, right through the cut-out window to the kitchen.

I stared at him, surprised. The guy can really move.

Out of nowhere, we all heard fabric ripping apart, and glanced up to see Chris McLean cutting a huge square out of the top of the tent. A rope dropped through, and he coolly slid down it, landing firmly on the ground.

"What an entrance!" Beth shouted cheerfully. Pffft. What's to be happy about?

"Consider it a hint as to this week's movie genre," he said, pointing around the room, his other hand still grasping the rope.

"Is it lame-o, rock-climbing, wannabe host movies?" I asked jerkishly, arms folded.

"N-n-nooo," he replied stubbornly. "This week, we're paying tribute to the action-packed, bank heist, gangster caper film!" Oh, happy day.

"Uh, Chris?" Justin raised a finger. "Our team is missing a player."

"So is ours," Heather said before I could. "But we don't care." I shook my head in agreement. Nope. Definitely don't.

"Owen and LeShawna are gone, people," Chris said seriously. "Because, rescuing them is the first part of your challenge!"

Beth, Lindsay, and Justin gasped, God knows why.

I yawned along with them. "Oh, pardon me." Seriously, rescuing LeShawna? Ain't gonna happen, man.

"They've both been locked up in state-of-the-art safes," he explained unnecessarily. "Along with all the tools each team will need to commit a movie-perfect bank robbery." He rubbed his hands together maliciously, probly day-dreaming this whole thing out in his head. "Yer job, is to crack the safes, rescue your teammates, grab the equipment, and try to be the first ones to rob the First National Bank of Chris." He gripped the rope again, winking at us all. "Let's kick it, gangstas!" Then someone from above pulled him up, and he slipped through the opening he'd made.

"Is he serious?" I barked.

Heather glanced at me and said, "I'm not rescuing LeShawna."

I nodded. "Me either." The Grips had already run outside to try and find the safes.

"Then it's settled," Heather said, standing and resting her hands on the table. "Finally, we're agreeing on something."

"But wait," Harold protested. "Chris said that there's suitable equipment to rob a bank in LeShawna's containment unit. We have to retrieve them, meaning her, too."

I rolled my eyes, Heather sitting back down. "Oh, please. You don't care about the weapons and crap – you just wanna save yer precious LeShawna."

Heather smiled evilly and cocked a brow at him. "Yeah. That's totally it."

Harold blushed, but quickly controlled it. "Nuh-uh! She's a traitor! But we need the equipment in order to win the challenge. Are you two really willing to throw away our chance at winning just because you're upset at LeShawna?"

Heather and I exchanged quick, blank glances. "Sure are," she chirped, me saying, "Yep."

"Fine." He huffed and stood, nerdily storming out the tent, tripping a couple times.

I stared after him for a minute, frowning. Heather did, too. "Eh, maybe we should go," I mumbled, standing stiffly.

She hesitated, but followed anyway. "I guess."

We walked side-by-side, alone, to set thirteen. It was easy finding where to go though Chris didn't tell us crap about how to get there – duh, the challenges always happened in the sets, and I'm pretty sure we're doing episode thirteen right now. Lucky Thirteen. Whoo.

"So..." Heather's eyes were timidly downcast as she rubbed the inside of her left elbow with her right hand. "...do you miss Courtney?"

My eye twitched, and I had to force myself not to growl. Why'd she have to bring her up? I cleared my throat. "Uh...well, yeah. A lot."

"Really?" She glanced at me with a small smile. It wasn't teasing or anything. It was sincere, which shocked the hell outta me.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I wish she were here." It felt weird opening up to a chick who wasn't Princess. I mean, I'd never opened up to anyone beside Court. At the same time it felt good, too. I felt like a small amount of weight had been lifted from my shoulders, getting my feelings off my chest. Nothing's interesting without Courtney here. Everything's boring as hell, pointless, idiotic. And if she were here, I know she'd speak all our thoughts and bitch at Chris during his lameass explanations. I smiled as I walked. Yeah, she'd totally do that.

"You know, you could always give her a shout-out once the cameras are rolling," Heather told me quietly.

I tiled my head to one side, brows raised. "Huh." I hadn't even thought of that. But wouldn't it seem kinda desperate? Calling out to a chick who'd dumped me and clearly wasn't taking me back? "I dunno, though. Court's not one to forgive easily. Man, I don't even know what I did."

"It's Weird Goth Girl." Heather wrinkled her nose and scowled. "She manages to screw everything up."

"Hey," I boomed defensively. "You don't know anything about her. Knock of the 'tude."

"W-w-whooa," she dragged out, rolling her eyes. "Oh-kaaay."

We finally got to the set, and Harold was outside with his ear pressed against the safe. He was turning the dial slowly, concentrating.

I went over and kicked the metal, which made a clang ringing sound that hopefully hurt his ear.

"Dang!" he shouted, cupping his hands over his ears. Then he glanced at me and Heather, giving us a dirty look. "Whaddo you guys want?"

"We wanna win," I snapped. "So move." I pushed him out of the way and tried messing with the dial. I am, after all, an experienced criminal.

"Yer doing it all wrong," Heather yelled, shoving on me to move. She got in front of the knob and starting spinning it the same way I had.

"Hello?" LeShawna called shakily from inside.

"We're here, LeShawna!" Harold shouted back excitedly.

Heather and I rolled our eyes at him.

"Ugh, it smells rank in here," LeShawna said through the door.

"I'll get you out!" Harold shooed Heather away, leaning with the side of his head against the door again, slowly turning the knob. He was obviously getting us nowhere after ten minutes of doing that.

"Let me do it," Heather hissed with her hands on her hips.

"Were you the captain of Picky Steve's Lock-Picking Camp?" he wheezed. "Huh? No."

She slapped his hand off the dial, and he stared at her, offended. She pursed her lips, listening to the cogs inside the door while she messed with it.

Then he whacked her hand back, and they started in with this big, dorky, smacking drama-fest.

Well...okay. I put my hands in my pockets and turned around, heading for the confessional. I didn't necessarily feel like standing outside in the sun while they fought, and I wasn't in the mood to act all captainy and take over. I sat down in the pink salon chair they always had set up by the counter in the confessional, flipped the camera on, and started complaining. "The H-bombs – Harold and Heather – are so busy trying to figure out who's the world's biggest dweeb, that they totally forgot I'm an experienced criminal." I pouted fakely. "Frankly...it was a little insulting." I leaned in to shut the camera off, but decided to do one more thing, first. "Okay, if you guys show this next part on air, I'll kill you." Jabbing a finger at the lens, I threatened, "I know where you are, Bill. I could easily kill you, too, Chris. Anyways..." I drummed my fingers on the counter. "...could you tell Courtney that I miss her? Tell her I'm sorry." Then I reached over and turned off the camcorder. With a sigh, I stood and left.

To my slight disappointment, Heather and Harold were still beating on each other when I got back to the safe. I think they hadn't even noticed I'd left. I had my back against the door, arms crossed, glaring. She had him in a headlock, then he hooked her lip with his finger, and they tumbled over.

I almost laughed. This is too funny. I glanced over and saw Justin, Beth and Lindsay trying to open their safe.

"Do you think it's like cracking an egg?" Lindsay asked Justin.

I shook my head. I might like her for what she did to Heather, but she's still dumb as hell.

"My boyfriend has a bad habit of cracking his knuckles..." Beth blabbed. "Some people say it's gross, I think it's kinda adorable!"

Rolling my eyes, I looked back at the H-bombs.

They had actually stopped squabbling, and now Harold had a cup to the door, listening through it. I never got how that cup thing worked... He was all scraped up, a couple bandages on his sickly face. His shirt was ripped in several places, too. I gotta hand it to Heather, she can fight.

She tapped her foot impatiently next to him, glowering.

"I need concentration and quiet!" Harold wailed. "The numbers aren't talking to me."

"Maybe they don't speak moron!" Heather shoved him hard, and resumed trying to open the stupid, useless safe her way. It was amusing to watch them fight. Very, very amusing. Heather breathed out, frustrated, and stood from her crouched position sharply. "The obvious way to do this..." She gestured to the door. "...is to think of combinations Chris would've come up with." She smiled and put her fingers up. "What is his favorite thing in the whole world?"

Duh. "Chris," I said bleakly with a shrug.

"Exactly! His birthday." She bent and scrolled in his birthday, which I was surprised she knew. She entered it and yanked on the big wheel, trying to get it to turn.

Harold ran up and went, "EEEEEEH!" like a game show buzzer when it didn't work.

"Okay, then," she said, putting in a different combo. "His measurements."

That didn't work, either, so Harold did another "EEEEEEH!"

She bumped him back with her hip and thought for a moment, a hand on her chin. "The...bar code number on his favorite hair gel?"

"EEEEEEH!"

"STOP doing that," she shrieked, spinning to face Harold.

Fifteen feet away, Lindsay and Beth were actually jumping on their vault wheel...handle...thing to try and break it off.

"A bobby pin?" Harold said incredulously when Heather started picking at the lock with a girlie hair accessory. Like Heather could use hair accessories.

"It worked on my sisters' diaries!" she grumbled.

"Yer pathetic!"

"Yer patherticER!"

"You're BOTH losers," I said, chillaxing against the wall.

All of a sudden, the three of us heard clashing and banging, then Owen crashed his way out of his vault, tearing out the heavy, metal door and flinging it across the lot. Heather, Harold and I gaped. He rubbed his eyes and said, "Chicken?"

"Check it out." I jerked my chin at him. "It's the Incredible Bulk."

Then the Grips ran by with him, and their bag of bank-robbing stuff.

"Great, now they're in the lead," I snapped. "Can you tell me why we're even trying to get LeShawna out? I don't need a bunch of stupid prop equipment to rob a bank."

"Then...what exactly are we waiting for?" Heather asked evilly, eying the vault.

"We can't just leave LeShawna," Harold whined while Heather and I ran off to the dude trailer.

She easily kept up as I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, hoping the others hadn't gotten to the bank yet. I skidded across the dirt, shifting directions and heading into the trailer, her following, and Harold a few hundred feet behind.

I yanked open some drawers, thinking. Okay...gotta make something that looks like a gun... I grabbed a couple things out of Harold's top drawer, tossing them over my shoulder to Heather. Also, a bunch of random magazines and fliers that looked useless. I pulled out some socks (CLEAN socks), too. Gotta have scary ski masks.

Harold ran in, breathless, while I cut holes in them. "Those are my lucky socks!" he complained.

I shoved the cut sock over his big, dorkalicious head, cutting up some for me and Heather, too.

"Were," he corrected dryly.

I started cutting out some misc. letters from his stupid books, pamphlets, whatever they are...gluing them to a new piece of paper.

"You cut up my karate magazines for a stick-up note?!" Harold screeched.

Pissed that he wouldn't shut up, I lifted up his mask, splopped some glue on his forehead, and jammed a doodle of him I'd made into his face. I stepped back and looked at it. Man, I was good with sketching. I walked back over to the table and grabbed some deodorant, some kinda funky creme, and tape.

"Not my foot spray and deodorant!" he begged. "I need those!"

Heather came up next to me with her arms folded. "It's true, there are limits."

I rolled my eyes, wrapping the stuff all together with the gray tape, anyway. I twirled the newly made "gun" around on my finger with a cocky, smug grin, Heather saying, "You're an evil genius."

Harold nodded.

"I know," I admitted, throwing her a mask and pulling one on, myself. I shoved the gun in my pants, folded up the note I'd made and shoved it in my front pocket, and also shoved my iPod into my back pocket. Hey, ya never know when you might wanna listen to toonage.

We all walked coolly up to the bank, disguised and armed. It almost felt like we were walking in slow-motion – were we? I pushed through the doors of the cardboard bank, stomping up and banging on the counter. The ceiling and floors were a dark charcoal, while the walls had paneling slashed through the middle and were a reddish brown. There were those stupid, velvet ropes that your mom always told you not to swing on, and green leather couches set up along the walls. The teller area was a tan/gold, bars in the windows.

"Yoo-hoo?" I called. "Anyone home? This is a robbery."

Chris popped up from behind the counter, making the three of us jump. "WELCOME, GAFFERS!" Well, I jumped...the H-bombs crouched down with their arms over their heads like something was about to blow up. I slapped a palm to my forehead. What a couple of wussies. "You've beaten the Grips to the scene, sooo...you'll get first crack at the teller!"

I frowned, confused. "How it that possible? They were way ahead of us."

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Last I heard, they were having some problems with Owen. ANYWAY, you reenter the building, and the teller will be here for you to rob."

I picked the H-bombs up by their shirts, standing them awkwardly. "Let's move." We walked outside, shut the door, opened the door, and there was the teller chick, like Chris had said. I stepped up and pointed my fake gun at her. Her back was turned, so I couldn't see how hot she truly was. I mean, she's got a rockin' body, duh. She had sweet, mocha skin, long, slender thighs, a skinny waist... I ran my eyes up and down her legs, resting on her butt. W-w-w-wow. So I put on a cool, sexy façade. "Afternoon, ma'am," I said silkily. "That's a great sett'a legs you got there. But right now I'd like to focus on those lovely hands of yours." I set a sack Harold'd brought on the counter. "I need them to start filling this pillowcase with cash."

Her voice was oddly familiar... "Anything else I can do for you today...?" Then she turned and pulled off a long, blonde wig. "Duncan?"

It didn't register at first. I blinked. Was it...was it really her? I was too stunned to do anything. My brain went into embarrass-yourself mode, and I fainted.

Damn it.

"I think he's dead."

"He's not dead."

"Sure looks dead." Faintly, I felt someone poke me.

"He can't be dead, moron; he's breathing. God, Courtney. What'd you do to him?"

I became a little more alert at the sound of Princess' name. I tried to open my eyes, but let out a groan instead.

"Y'know," Harold said, "what if you tried to awake him like in those olden movies? Where the fair maiden kis–"

"Shut the hell up, Harold," Heather barked.

I let out a chuckle. "Eh, you guys are funny." And this guy's loopy...

"Ugh, finally, he speaks," Heather announced. "Can you move?"

"I think so," I sighed. Aw, but I was so comfy. Did I have to?

"Seriously, get up. You're crushing me."

My eyes sprang open, and I hopped out of Heather's lap, trying not to eeeeew at the fact that I was basically cuddling her. I leaned back on my hands and stared at her with a freaked expression.

She gave me a weird look and stood, looming over me with Harold.

My gaze went slowly from her...to the beautiful piece of work across the room. My eyes locked onto hers, but she folded her arms and turned away, smiling smugly at Chris. I glared. So that's how it's gonna be, huh?

Chris was holding a sheet of paper, reading it slowly, almost like every word he read stabbed him in the chest. "Teams, it is my..." He looked at Courtney and cringed, hiding behind the paper. "...honor...to report that Courtney is back for the duration of the game."

She smiled at me and wiggled her fingers in a chickish wave.

I kept staring at her. I mean, who wouldn't? She's the most gorgeous thing on the planet, and she used to be mine. And all because she misconstrued my friendship with Gwen, she's up for grabs. But...why's she waving? Does she wanna get back together? Did she realize she's wrong?

"And we're all..." Chris paused and squinted at the paper. "...exceedingly happy about it."

Heather put her hands on her hips and glowered. "She got booted out fair and square."

"Sorry, Heather," Princess said tauntingly. Ooh, she has the voice of a thousand angels. "But myself, and the law firm of Flechman and Flechman, Cohen and Strouse would beg to differ. We filed a wrongful dismissal lawsuit against the producers...and won."

Harold elbowed me lightly once I was standing. "Good news, eh, Duncan?"

I squished my palm to his face and shoved him away, feeling myself blush.

"So! Courtney," Chris said, bringing all the attention back to him, "since you were our bank teller in the challenge – great job, by the way – you get to decide which team deserves to win first prize. Yer bag of l-l-loooot." He tossed her a small bag of what I guessed was money. Whoa! Actual money! Maybe this isn't such a bad place, after all!

Princess caught it with ease, saying, "The choice is obvious." She turned to my team and held out the bag. "It's Duncan– I mean...the Gaffers...."

Heather pushed me forward with a small, go-get-her smirk.

I frowned and hesitantly walked up to Court's window.

"...since they were the only team that managed to get to my wicket. Congratulations."

When I reached out and took the bag, our hands brushed together. I know it's a total teenage, stereotypical cliché, but it felt like a jolt of butterflies, electricity, and all that crap buzzed through me when our fingertips touched. "Thank you?" I squeaked, it sounding like a question.

"I've seen manlier men trying on women's shoes," I heard Heather say under her breath. I didn't care.

"So, this means the Killer Grips win second prize!" Chris shouted happily.

"What's second prize?" Justin asked from the Grips' side.

"COURTNEY! For the rest of the game!"

Even though Courtney and I didn't have many relationship points left, it felt like everything shattered. I wanted her to be on my team! No fair! He can't do that!

"Or..." I usually hated it when Chris said "or", but right now I was metaphorically sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting for him to spit it out. "...until she's eliminated." I slumped. Stupid Chris.

He walked out and stood between us two teams. "So, Grips, Gaffers, your getaway cars are waiting. Better get a move on before the cops arrive!" We all stood there and glared at him, thinking he'd continue. Then he threw a finger toward the exit and yelled, "That means gooooooo!"

We all sprinted out the door, the teams sticking together. I don't know if it was intentional, but Courtney ended up running right in front of me. I couldn't keep my eyes from grazing over her legs. Oh muh gawd, they're hot.

"Getaway cars are always cool," Harold said as he ran next to me. "That's the rule of heist movies."

"I'm hoping for a Porsche," I heard Beth say.

I panted as we ran up the fake mountain where we'd had to set up our sets in episode three. There were two big piles of crap and spare car parts on the ground about ten feet apart. My team's was green, and the Grips' was red. I stared at the pile, ticked off.

"What's all this junk?" Justin asked, speaking my mind.

A horned honked six times, playing I wanna be famous, like in the TDA theme song, and Chris drove up in a long, red car. I had no idea in hell what kind of car it was, but it was grandpa-ish and stupid. "These are your getaway cars," he told us. "Just waiting to be assembled."

"That is sooo not hot," Heather grumbled.

"If the vehicles were ready to go, it wouldn't be much of a challenge now, would it?"

All eight of us groaned, and he zoomed off. Dust blew in our faces when his tires screeched along the dirt. He didn't get far before he crashed into a set building. "Aw, CRAP!"

I grinned at his exit, clapping my hands once. "Okay, let's get to work."

"Ugh, this looks hard," Heather groaned, kicking a wheel.

"Yeah, that's why chicks don't work in auto repair shops." I got down on my knees and started digging through the pile of junk, looking for tools. "Hey, H-bombs, see any wrenches?" I called to them.

"No," Harold wheezed apologetically.

"Mmm-mmm." Heather shook her head.

I sighed. "Great." Then I heard a cling, and glanced over to see a silver wrench on the ground next to my leg. I looked up at my team. They were wandering around aimlessly. Huh. Then I looked to the Grips, feeling like someone was watching me. Courtney's hair fell back down around her shoulders, like she'd just turned her head quickly in order to avoid eye-contact. She was facing away from me, snapping at Lindsay.

"No, that goes there!" She snatched it from the blonde and shoved the piece she was talking about into a different hole.

"Hey, thanks," I said, swinging the wrench around.

Princess glanced at me, annoyed. "Whatever," she sneered.

I frowned. Man, she sure knows how to crush a guy's spirits. I shook off the slimey feeling, though, working in high-speed. I ran around the pile and found a couple seats, making sure the bottom of our "getaway car" (go kart) was well put together so I could attach them. I gave Harold the job of finding me parts, and Heather offered to clean off the kart a little...make it look better. I bolted a couple of tires on, grumbling at the small engine I found buried in the junk. I tried dusting it off, it broken in a couple places. But with a few minor tweaks and adjustments, I thought it was good enough to drive for a while. I screwed the sides on, Heather put the flag in, I put in the stick shift, drilled the grill on, shoved the axle into place, the sprockets, chains and uni-hubs...

Harold rolled over the fourth tire I needed, which I quickly prepared the spindle for. "They're not even getaway cars!" he complained.

I glanced over my shoulder. Wow, I do great work. It truly looked awesome. Awesome for a go kart, anyways.

"They're go karts!"

Oh, when'd he figure that out? I rolled my eyes, followed by a grunt of effort. I was about ready to slide the tire into place. "Stop whining and give me the lug nuts."

"Yer not bad at this," Heather said, satisfied by my mad skills (as Harold would say), but I would totally never say that out loud. EVER.

"It's just like stippin' a car," I said brightly, bouncing the tire. "Except in reverse." I actually had the guts to glance over at Courtney again (which I hadn't done since she gave me the wrench).

She stood there helplessly, confused and pissed off beyond all reasons. Holding a tailpipe clenched in her dainty hands, she growled at it.

I dunno why, but the chickdom of this situation was so hot. She was the clueless girl who didn't get cars, and it had my heart racing. I gazed at her lovingly. This is the part where the guy who has the crush on the girl should jump in and save the day, teaching her everything he knows. But instead, the guy crushes his hand between the spindle and wheel he was carelessly putting on while retardedly distracted. I cried out, trying to mute it by gritting my teeth. I bit my lip as I listened to her addictive bitching.

She turned to Justin and yelled, "Ignore the sideshow, and start putting together the chaise!"

He put his hands palm-out, shaking his head. "Is there something I can do where I won't get grease on my epidermis?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You're kidding, right?" she asked blankly.

"Hand modeling is one of the things that put me on the map," he told her silkily.

"Obviously, that would be the map of Uselessville! How did I get stuck over here?!" She looked around the lot with a scowl. "Where're the others, anyway?"

He shrugged, slinking off.

I would've helped her – really, I would've – but the H-bombs were counting on me, and I was the captain. I couldn't waste time helping the other team win, even if it were made up of a zillion Courtneys. You know what would be among those zillion Courtneys? TWO zillion boobs. I almost drooled at that thought. "Finished," I breathed, wiping oil and sludge off my hands. First thing I do when we win, is take a shower. I looked over the kart, making sure it wouldn't fall apart as we drove. I sat down in the driver's seat smugly, spun the 3/8 of an inch bronze bushing onto the steering rod, and snapped the wheel on. I started the engine and revved it twice. I smirked at Harold and Heather. "Hop in."

They both looked pleasantly surprised, beaming that we were the first to leave. Harold sat next to me, Heather on the other side of him.

I revved the engine again a few times to make sure it really worked, and let go of the brake, speeding off. The tires squealed, and we flew right past Courtney and her pile. I couldn't help but feel bad for her; she was alone, and she's a chick, so it only makes it ten times worse. Hey, I'm not sexist! I came to a halt, shifting the kart into park, and looked back at her. I was gonna say something reassuring, but Harold did a fist-pump next to me and said, "Ha! We're so gonna win! Great work, Duncan!"

Then Heather agreed with an, "Awesome team captain!"

I swallowed my niceness. Hey, I have a reputation to keep up with, here. I'm not gonna go ga-ga for a bratty girl. "Hey, Courtney!" I called back to her. "Maybe you'll get to see more than just the back of me when the teams merge!" I gave Harold a playful nudge with a devious smirk.

She glanced back at Justin, so, so, so, so pissed. "At this point," she gasped, wiping grease off her face. "I take it!"

Huh. At least it wasn't a bitchy remark like, "Shove it, ogre!" or "In your perverted dreams!"

I smirked wider. God, all this clueless chick stuff is sexy.

"Let's go, Casanova," Heather instructed, jabbing a finger at the dirt road ahead.

I yanked the shifter into drive, the kart making a few clangy, nails-on-a-chalkboard noises before lurching forward. I sped past all Chris' fake, prop trees, heading down the cliff. I inhaled deeply, saying, "Man, I love driving." Too bad my license was suspended back home. Yikes. Funny, I had to work so hard to get it in Ontario, just to have it taken away that afternoon. Like, two hours later.

"Wonder how LeShawna's doing..." Harold said loudly over the roar of the engine, twiddling his fingers.

"Eh, who cares?" The wind blew against my face, blowing back my hair, almost making me feel high. I just love that feeling. I leaned over the wheel as I drove. You take away a man's license, and you take away his will to live. Hey, I was planning on putting all those cows back!

"I wonder where we're actually headed?" Heather looked over at me.

Hmm. I thought about that for a second. "Chris never said anything," I practically shouted. The engine was getting louder and louder, alerting me we didn't have much time till it died.

"Stupid ass." She crossed her arms, and I chuckled, Harold giggling.

"How fast do you think we're going?" he asked.

I shrugged, turning right. "I dunno. Probly seventy."

"Watch out!" Heather pointed to a rack of clothes that freakily appeared in front of us.

There was nowhere to turn and no way to stop in time. "AAAH!" we all bellowed. Aaaaand...we crashed through it.

I grimaced and pulled a pair of panties outta my face, laughing when I noticed Harold was wearing a bra. Heather laughed (while wearing a clown outfit), too as he tried to cover it up. I grabbed a baby hat thing off of my head and chucked it.

We rolled down the remainder of the cliff, finally on level ground. Then there was a semi-truck coming at us! OHMYGOD! "AAAAH!" I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing I would die. Mom, I thought, don't let Dad sell all my stuff. Give it to Johnny, Derik, Seth, Kyle and Dana – they'll want it. When we smashed through a huge poster instead of a truck, I sighed out in relief. I'd almost peed myself. OHMYGOD! NOW WE'RE GONNA FLY OFF A BROKEN BRIDG– Nope. That was a poster too. But the three of us screamed, anyway. Hey, it was scary, man. NOW WE'RE GONNA HIT SOME COP– Nope. NOW WE'RE OFF OBRIT, HEADING STRAIGHT INTO SATURN– Nope. NOW WE'RE GONNA HIT AN OLD MAN WITH AN EYEGLASS AND A HOOK!! But when the old geezer flew over our heads and we heard a thud behind us, I knew that he hadn't been a poster.

"Oh, shit!" I yelled, swiveling my head around. "Did I actually–?"

"Eyes on the road!" Heather commanded. I listened to her, eyes boggled, forgetting about the guy I probly killed. Chicks are deadly vicious when they're determined, man.

I drove around for an extra twenty minutes, looking for the finish line. "Damn it," I snapped, driving through the rows and rows of set buildings. "Where is it?"

"There!" Heather pointed to Chris and Chef waiting for us behind a line with a checkered flag.

"It looks like the Gaffers are about to make a clean getaway and win the challenge!" I heard Chris call from a couple hundred feet away. Yeah, he was far away, but he's so full of himself that his annoying voice carries.

I grinned. We're gonna win! Then the unthinkable happens (okay, I assumed it would), and the kart breaks down. It sputtered and choked, slowly coming to a stop.

"What's happening?" Heather shouted frantically.

"I think we're outta gas," I replied, tapping the fuel gauge I'd installed down by the gear shifter. Oh. I thought it'd been the engine...

"I may've spoken too soon, ladies and gentlemen," Chris yelled from afar, lowering a black blob that I figured was a pair of binoculars. "Talk about a real hold-up."

Harold stood up in his seat, looking over the back of the kart as I tried to make it drive. "They're gaining on us!" he gasped.

In my peripheral vision, I could make out Court and the others coming up fast. Their kart wasn't on ground, driving, but they had the body hiked up by their waists, just carrying it to the finish line.

I jiggled the shifter, trying to rev the engine ever-so coolly like I had before. Nothing works out for me, does it? I tried shutting it off and turning it back on again. Nothin'.

"Vrrrroooooooooooooooooom!" Owen shouted happily, the Grips running past us.

"Crap!" I tried the shifter again.

"That's obviously not working!!" Heather bitched.

"Fine, we'll push." I jumped out of my seat and walked around to the back, shoving on it to make it move.

"Push? Why can't you just go steal some gas, criminal?"

I glowered at her as Harold joined me in pushing. "It'll just take longer..." I'd actually thought about doing that for a split second.

She huffed, coming around to help Harold and me with a groan of complaint. The kart was a lot heavier then it had bad while I was putting it together.

"This is hard," Harold wheezed, whining.

"Try standing downwind of you without deodorant," she grumbled.

I trudged along. There went my happy mood.

"Faster, faster!" Courtney shrieked, her team picking up the pace by her lethal tone.

I was almost embarrassed for her, she sounded so egotistical and controlling. But that's one of the things I love about her, I guess.

But then, right before the Grips crossed the finish line and claimed victory, their kart collapsed, breaking into thousands of random pieces they'd shoved together.

She screamed, the H-bombs and I rolling our kart over the painted-on, white line. Chef waved his flag around as she shrieked. "I WILL NOT BE SECOND PLACE!"

Chris gave her a malicious, in-yo-face, almost gloating glare. "Wanna bet?"

She clenched her fists so hard, her knuckles turned white, and I thought her teeth would shatter if she ground them any harder.

The H-bombs and I parked the kart in front of the line, exchanging knuckle-touches and high-fives.

"First off," Chris announced, "I'd like to congratulate both teams for choosing to go green! But in the end, the Gaffers are the winners!"

I cheered, Heather and Harold doing the same joyously. I felt really smug, I'll admit that. Hell, it was my mad skills that won us the challenge. I should feel smug.

"That means," Chris went on, "I'll be seeing the Grips at tonight's Gilded Chris ceremony. And Gaffers...even though you committed the anything-but-perfect crime..." I shot him a scowl. "...you get to enjoy victory, and yer bag of loot."

"All right!" I said, snatching the bag of money from Heather.

I dumped the sack of moolah on the table in the corner of the dude trailer. Heather and Harold leaned over, gaping at all the cash. I threw my arms up and grinned. I'd never seen so much money in my life! Except for that one time at Bank of America...nevermind. "WE'RE RICH!" I shouted, hugging the thousands of dollars. "OH HO, LOOK AT ALL THIS–"

"'Nonnegotiable Chris Cash, accepted only in the Total Drama Action craft services tent, towards the purchase of water from the tap'?!" Heather yelled, crumpling the dollar she was reading off of.

Harold scratched the Chris printed on a piece of money in his hands. "Sometimes I really hate that smile of his."

"Are you kidding me?" I barked, reading some of the cash myself. "AARGH!" I grabbed multiple dollars between my fingers and shredded them, Heather staring at me afterward like I was a freak.

"Hmm." Harold gazed at the pile of ripped, green paper. "I'll be in the restroom." He sniffed, wiped his nose, turned, and walked out the door.

I grumbled, brushing it all off the table and into a garbage can. "Chris is such an ass!"

Heather picked the clown nose off her face and nodded. "I know." She glanced at me when I sighed, saying, "Hey, maybe you should go talk to Courtney."

I didn't take my eyes off the trash, suddenly feeling apprehensive. Jesus, there she goes with bringing her up again. But I hid my anxiety well under my badass façade. "Why should I?" I said flatly, pushing the can back into the corner of the room.

Heather tossed the rubber nose onto Geoff's old bunk, shrugging. "I don't know...just...I dunno why she wouldn't want to be with you. You're okay."

I turned and cocked an eyebrow at her, suspicious. When had Heather ever said anything nice? I mean, besides the "Awesome team captain!" thing and complimenting my car-building skills?

"You didn't do anything wrong," she said, sitting down at the table with me. "But maybe it's for the best, you know? She's not good enough for you."

I was stunned, my mouth stuck hanging open. I was dumbfounded. Confused. Astonished. Stupefied. I stuck a finger into my left ear and twisted it around. "What was that? I...I thought I heard you say something uplifting."

She groaned, rolling her eyes. "Jesus, Duncan, keep up. I'm not a bitch all the time. S'not that big a deal."

I chortled once. "You said 'snot'."

Sneering, she stood and tromped around the table. But I grabbed her wrist before she could actually get anywhere.

"Wait," I said, smirking. "Since I've caught you in a scarily abnormal good mood, what else nice do you have to say about me?" I had to ask. I didn't really think I had very good qualities, which was why I usually sulked around all day. Yeah, I'm an ass-kicking, juvenile delinquent, but that's pretty much everything everybody has on me.

Heather smirked back, sitting down again. "Okay, here's a deal: I'll tell you five nice things, if you tell me five nice things."

I rubbed the back of my neck, glancing around the room. "Can we make it two?"

She smacked my arm. "No, you asshead! Now hurry up before I get pissed at you."

"Fine, fine," I laughed, clearing my throat. "Uuhmm...you have..." I looked her over. Man, she's got an everything. "You have pretty eyes," I told her honestly. I mean, she does. But NOBODY'S eyes would EVER be as gorgeous and tear-jerking as Courtney's. NEVER EVER, EVER. And it's true – Heather has these cool, icy gray eyes that remind me of my pet cat, Spiky, who's a grayish blue.

Heather actually blushed, looking away. "You have good muscle definition," she mumbled.

I flexed my arms her way, making her laugh. "Yeah," I grunted breathlessly, holding out a bicep. "Feel this bad boy."

She poked my arm, giggling. "Rock hard."

"You better believe it."

"Next." She drummed her fingers on the table, an expectant, I'm waiting expression on her face.

"Hmm." I put my chin in my hand. "You're like...the queen of bitchiness. Props for that."

"That's the best you can come up with?" she barked with a glower.

"Shyeah." I leaned back and crossed my arms. "Next."

"Okay..." She smiled evilly, narrowing her eyes. "...you're the biggest asshole I know. Props for that, too. No offense."

"Oh, none taken," I replied, almost a little bored. I grabbed the box of Harold's Roseart crayons from the middle of the table and started doodling on the surface. "You've got hot legs."

She stuck one out over the table, an inch from my face. "Really?" she singsonged, running her hand along her pale calf.

I gulped, taking a shaky breath before composing myself. "Yeah." Believe me, Heather isn't my favorite person alive. Yes, she's totally freaking hot, but her meanness kinda decreases the intensity of it. Besides, I'm Courtney's guy...if she ever decides she wants me back. I just can't picture myself with anyone but her. She's my dream girl...and I think I might even love her.

Whoa, Duncan! I thought. Don't get carried away, man. Remember? SHE'S A BRAT. SHE dumped YOU. Why should you be waiting around for her like some kind of sissy? It's not like you know she's gonna eventually wanna hook up again.

Heather folded her long leg and put it back under the table. "My turn?"

I nodded while my inner-self badgered me about being a man and making my own decisions.

"Well, you're too good for Courtney. I said that already, but I'll add it to my five." Heather yawned. "Man, I'm so tired." She yawned again and leaned against my arm.

I stiffened, eyes wide. Was she...was she making a move on me? Uh-uh. I can't deal with this today. I casually scooted to the left, pretending that the shift was just to get a better angle on the picture I was working on on the table.

"You're also good at sketching and stuff." She looked at my drawing over my shoulder. "What's it supposed to be?"

I reclined back in the booth and actually looked at it. I'd been too distracted, just randomly scribbling. It looked like... "I think it's a castle," I blurted out, gesturing to the tower. "I wasn't even really paying attention to what I was doing."

"Huh." Heather waved her fingers around the landscape. "I like the trees. Creepy." She glanced at me again. "Two more."

My god, can't it just be over? This was such a stupid idea. "Uh..." I broke my least favorite crayons in half. "You're smart?"

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, I guess, but I already knew that."

"It still counts."

"Keep going."

I thought again. What else was there to say? I scratched my goatee, thinking. "You're a really good runner. Especially in those wedges – dunno how the hell you do that."

She gazed at me, satisfied. Then she popped up and headed for the door.

"Hey, what about my fifth compliment?" I complained.

She turned with a hand on the knob. "You're an excellent kisser." With that, she smirked, pushed open the door, and left.

I stared at the open doorway, once again, stunned. How did she–? Oooooh, during that psycho killer challenge, yeah. Y-y-yuck. Not one of my most-treasured days. It's not like it had been...unpleasant or anything. It just hadn't felt...right. Nowhere near close to right.

Harold skipped in, humming. "You should see the Pokémon cards Beth's got!" he exclaimed vibrantly. He looked around the room, noticing Heather's absence and my dumbstruck expression. "What happened?"

I blew out a couple lungfuls of air I'd been subconsciously holding in. "A lot."

That night, I was on my way to the washroom to brush my teeth, when I bumped into the dreaded dumper. "Why, hello, Princess," I said, oh-so chipper. I tried acting like my usual, annoying self, like nothing was wrong, like I wasn't all broken on the inside, like I wasn't humiliated by her breaking up with me.

"What do you want?" Courtney grumbled.

I shrugged innocently. "Nothing. Just gonna go brush my teeth."

"Well, what a coincidence!" She beamed with fake, sarcastic surprise. "Wow!" Then she scowled deeply and scampered past me. "Yeah, whatever."

I ran up and walked along next to her. "No," I said as we stepped through the communal bathroom doorway, "I really do have to. They're all fuzzy and my mouth tastes like crap."

"Don't forget to brush your fangs," she muttered icily, squeezing bright blue Colgate onto her purple toothbrush.

I clenched my teeth around my Reach flosser, just staring at her in the mirror as she practiced oral hygiene. Then I decided to let that comment pass and give it another go. "Hey, you of all people should know I'm not a vampire – I was never able to jump through your two-story bedroom window, I don't watch you eerily while you sleep, like a stalker, and I don't munch on mountain lions in the middle of the night, later telling you about their wonderfully rich aroma and how much I desire to kill you, too."

That actually made her giggle, and I felt a bajillion times better, the tension between us easing up a little.

But she quickly sobered and went back to angrily brushing, shooting glances at me as I did the same.

I tossed my head back and gargled some Listerine, her just swishing with water. "Want some?" I held the bottle out to her after I spit, the green liquid sloshing around inside.

"Ugh, not from yours," she sneered, pushing it away snobbishly.

I rolled my eyes. "I don't suck it out of the bottle, Princess. You fill the cap, take some, and rinse the cap off. Easy and Duncan-Germ-free."

She wiped her hands on a towel hung next to the sink. "The answer's still no." She slowly ran a hairbrush through her shoulder-length, silky, chocolate-brown hair. All the way from the roots, to the tips. It was making me tired, watching. Then my eyes dragged down her body, and I became a little more alert. Hell, I wanna kill myself for thinking Heather is hot. Courtney is like...there are no words to describe how perfect Courtney is. Her light pink tank top was tight across her chest, reaching down to a little lower than her hips, a few inches before her boy shorts ended and creamy skin began.

I almost started hyperventilating, her shooting me a disgusted expression like I was a pervert.

"You can go now," she hissed, jerking her free thumb at the door.

"I'll help you brush your hair," I offered brilliantly, a big, stupid grin on my face.

She stared at me with her nose wrinkled like I was a complete tard. "No!"

I reached a hand out. "Can I just feel it?" My fingertips swept through her hair softly, and I shivered. Yeah, it's official. Courtney's perfect.

"Why are you touching me?!" she demanded incredulously, hopping out of grabbing-range, mouth agape and face bright red.

"Oh, uummm..." Well, that was...humiliating. Why can't I control these stupid, unwanted, wussy emotions?! I spun around and grabbed my stuff, practically sprinting out the door and into my trailer.

"Aaah!" Harold wheezed when I bumped into him, blue cards flying everywhere. "Dang! Watch where yer going!"

"Sorry," I said lamely, dropping my bathroom utilities in my dresser drawer. I glanced around, a brow raised. Usually this place it stanked-up and fuscusting by the time I get back from the washroom. "Where's Owen?"

"He got voted out," Harold replied, picking up the cards he'd dropped daintily while on his knees. "Chris'd told the Grips that Courtney had invincibility, but they voted for her, anyway. So only her choice was counted."

"I sure am gonna miss Owen," Justin butted in from the opposite side of the room, arms behind his head up in his bunk. "He's like the funny guy who makes the movie, y'know? As soon as she doesn't get immunity, we're taking Courtney out."

I ran my tongue over my teeth. "Huh." Climbing into my bed, I started sweating out all the embarrassment that had filled me minutes before. Jesus, what kinda person am I turning into? A goody-two-shoes? I shuddered, wrapping the blanket tighter around my body. I'm a badass, and badasses want girls, girls, girls. That, and of course to torture people, steal and destroy stuff. But when it comes to girls, my kind (I say "my kind", because I don't know any other way to describe myself and others like me) aren't deep into relationships. It's mostly about making out, and sex. The end. But something was going on inside of me...something I didn't want to happen. Was I falling in love, or am I just going through a funky, delayed stage of puberty? I could only hope that it was the second thing.

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Thank you bundles for reading my first chapter of "Duncan Can't Take it"! I hope you liked it, and I'll be posting chapter two soon! And please check out my deviantART! The link is in my profile!