Undergrads Season 2: Turn for the Better
Episode 1
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: The Undergrads Cartoon and its 13 episodes belong to Paul Williams and MTV. I own only a few original characters and the name of the town it happens in. My Co-author, Scott Joadin, has helped in writing this endeavor.
Authors note: This story is a counterpoint to an existing fantasy crossover I already have going. It will consist of 12 to 13 "episodes" comprisng several chapters each. This story will be a purely canonical exercise with no "fantasy crap" in it. Star Wars stuff, however…
P.S. The name of this college town is supposed to be fictional, and in tone with a running joke in the existing series. I've placed the campus in Western Upstate New York out of choice, although the eastern Midwest or Ontario may also have been a basis for the canon setting.
Synopsis: Nitz is back at State U for his second year of University. The good news is that his friends are there to give him an anchor in reality. The bad news is that he's still doing his futile obsessing over Kimmy Burton with delusions of an actual relationship. As for the Ugly news… well, let's say that certain people actually want to have some peace and quiet in his mess, and are willing to go to great lengths to attain it.
Stanley Hall Dormitory, Room 567, State U Campus, Yewtown, Western New York State; Tuesday, September 5th, 2000.
As Parker 'Nitz' Eugene Walsh unpacked his things from a cardboard box on his cot, he reflected that he could have done worse when it came to a dorm room. Although this dual-occupancy dormitory differed very little from his room at Chilton hall (in that a corner bathroom, small closet, old plank flooring, crumbling plaster and toothpaste plugging old holes in the wall were all here), it differed in that he had a roommate that promised to be a much better than when he'd shared a room with Cal.
Speaking of Cal…
"So, Nitz guy, are we all clear on how to behave in the dorm?" Asked Cal. He may be wearing the housecoat of authority, but he was still Cal Evans, flip-flops and all. "No ladies after 8 AM, no loud music, and the trashcans are to be emptied regularly. Oh…" He reached into his robe pocket and took out a Do Not Disturb knob-hanger "And you have to put one of these on your door when you have a lady in the room this year."
"Got it, Cal." Nitz said without paying attention too much of it. The part about 'Ladies', however…
Nitz wasn't entirely sure how he had accomplished it, but he was finally in an actual relationship with Kimmy Burton. He'd attended a lot of her protests and rallies over the summer (even if he found the causes behind a few of them to be quite silly), and besides, they'd had sex… even though he didn't remember much of that particular 'Screw Week' evening. That had to count for something, didn't it?
What Parker didn't know was that, in the realm of obsessions and particularly the romantic subset of such known as infatuation or as 'a crush', there are three discernable levels of said 'crush'. The first stage, often found in pre-teens and young teenagers, is known as the "Innocent" stage, marked by non-sexual attraction to the person and references to young Canids. The next stage was that of the "Annoying" Stage, usually appearing at the same time as teenage hormones. Symptoms include love-sickness, following the object of your attention around and generally becoming, as the name suggests, annoying.
The third stage has several monikers, but mostly it is referred to as "Plain Crazy", wherein the afflicted person begins to pursue or even stalk the target in a threatening manner, begins to obsess about the target, and otherwise require the attention of law enforcement and counselling services.
Parker Walsh was currently well beyond stage #1. As for Stage #3… well, that remains to be seen.
Nitz took the sign and pocketed it. "Thanks Cal. Maybe I'll even use it one day. By the way, do you know when my new roomy will be in?"
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "I think that's him, Nitz guy."
Nitz ceased his unpacking and walked over to open the door. On the other side was a man, about the same age as our main characters, with brassy blond hair, a ruddy complexion, and bristly stubble on his chin. The man took a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and began reading it. "Are you Parker Walsh?" He asked Nitz.
"Yeah, that's me. And you're my new roommate, right?" Parker made to usher him in, when he noticed that there were a number of boxes behind the new arrival. "If you need help moving stuff in, I can give you a hand."
"The name's Peter. Peter Krol." He looked back at his boxes and back to Nitz. "And I do think that I will need some help."
As the mutual unpacking session commenced and after Cal went on his merry way, he wondered how other people were handling their new roommates.
2 seconds later, Room 501, Stanley Hall.
Louise Birch, back home, was not usually known for an unflinching resolve in the face of danger and almost certain death. Actually, in being a resident of Staten Island, the "Lost Borough" of NYC and frequent visitor the other, rougher boroughs in her teens, cowardice was something of a survival tactic. But it did count as bravery, Louise supposed, for her not having soiled her underthings after a two-and-a-half foot long sword bayonet spun through the air and stuck in the wall with a thwack (and from the vibrations, an interior stud)… four inches from her right ear.
She put her hand to hilt of the still-humming blade, steadying it. And then she brushed some of the plaster it had dislodged from her navy-blue-sweatered shoulder. Turning back to the woman who had thrown the implement, Louise gave her a remarkably calm look. "I think we started out on the wrong foot."
The bayonet thrower, on the other hand, was likely as far from calm as one could get without actually going onto hysterics. Jessica Liang stood there, arm still outstretched from the throw and mouth gaping; her face pale in shock that she had actually thrown one of her "collector's items" at another human being. Louise figured she wasn't going to be talking for another couple of minutes at least, so she decided to try to fill this uncomfortable silence with a nice, slow repetition of everything she had said up to that point. "Alright, let's start again. My name is Louise Birch. I am your official roommate this year and I hope we can become friends. The rules for not pissing me off are as follows: No loud music is to be played at odd hours, no piles of unwashed laundry are to be left strewn about the floor and absolutely no men…"
Jessica (hereby known and referred to as 'Jesse') seemed visibly shaken from her pallor as she screwed her eyes shut. Coincidentally, this was the same place in the speech where she had thrown the implement.
"In the room after 7 in the morning." Finished Louise, finally getting an idea of what had set the young woman off. "Alright… so it's men that's the sore point in this little talk." She turned back to the weapon lodged in the wall. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I think that I'll need some help yanking this letter-opener out of the wall." Beginning to tug at the hilt of the weapon, Louise glanced back at the other woman again. "Well?"
Jesse came forward quickly, and began to help pull at the bayonet. "I'm really, really sorry about this! I swear that I've never done this before!" For a minute she considered something. "You won't tell the RA, will you?"
With their combined pulling strength, the blade eventually popped out of its hole in the wall. "Ordinarily…" Louise began, getting off of her bed and inspecting the blade of the gilt-hilted bayonet against the light. "A stunt like that would land the perp a quick ride in a cop car. But it seems to me that the only reason you did what you did is because you were pretty on edge to begin with." She crossed to the bed opposite and put the bayonet down upon the blanket. "Although… next time you probably shouldn't throw something quite so valuable as a British sword bayonet from the Napoleonic war."
"You're a collector?" Asked Jesse, somewhat astonished that the other woman could describe the object that easily, and therefore, possibly, shared an interest of hers.
"No. But it helps when one or two of your ancestors were conscripted. It's the muzzle holes in the guard that gives it away. It's very distinctive, especially when most others had the rings through the back quillion." She shrugged, and walked back to her bed, where she sat. "Now that that's finished, may I ask you your name, oh Mistress of the Flying Blade?" She cocked her head to one side and put her chin in her hand as she crossed her legs.
Jesse could not quite believe that there could be a person more casual, more level-headed or just plain flippant than the self-image she had so carefully crafted for herself. There had to be somthing she was missing. "You do realize that a sword just missed your head, right? Weren't you scared at all?" Jesse asked, wondering if she had lucked onto another roommate who was funny in the head.
"Terrified. And I consider it a miracle that I didn't shit myself just now. Again, your name if you please."
"It's Jessica Liang, Jesse for short. And about the reason I exploded… I get a little ticked when the subjects of guys comes up. Last year didn't go so hot." Jesse slumped down to sit beside her boxes after replying and held her head in her hands.
"Does this have anything to do with someone leaving you 'in a bad way' or forcing themselves on you?" Sensitivity, apparently, was not her strong point. But she hated people moping for reasons she didn't understand. And she wanted to understand as much stuff as possible.
This question got Jesse's attention quickly, her head snapping up. "What? Hell no! Nothing like that!" Then she settled back down. "But hey, that might have been an improvement on my situation. Dumb bastard stood me up and it wasn't even anything blatantly romantic!" She took time to settle down and breath again. "Look… I don't want to impose, but if I start ranting about someone called 'Parker' or 'Nitz' anytime soon, I'd appreciate it if you... I don't know, were in the room or something, just so I don't feel like I'm yelling at thin air."
"Oh, don't worry, I'll listen. It might even be enlightening." She leant over and began digging though an open bag. What she pulled out was a big orange bag with an anthropomorphic African cat on the front. "Cheesy for your thoughts?"
Having a roomy that has a junk-food store and is willing to share it is a pretty good sign, all in all.
Later that afternoon, Alpha-Alpha Fraternity House, CSJCC Campus
Craig Patterson, head of the New York chapter of the Alpha-Alpha Fraternity, was supposed to be giving the orientation speech. However, it would have helped immensely if he could actually find the new members. They hadn't met him in the TV room like he had asked them to and these young kids were usually good like that, so where could they be?
"Alright you slugs, let's get one thing straight: Alpha-Alpha is the greatest frat this side of Buffalo..." Oh no, it couldn't be. Rocko was supposed to be out doing something, anything! A bar, a strip club, a brothel, prison; anywhere but here! He'd been pushed out the door with forty dollars in hand and instruction to splurge, so what was he doing back here? Craig began striding toward the direction of the voice in what may accurately be called a huff.
Meanwhile, Rocko was busy drilling the new members like a sergeant. "The first rule of Alpha Alpha is that complete loyalty to the frat must be observed! The second is dedication: for you to get into AA, you'll need to be willing to do anything for the honour of the frat, up to and including... killing the president!"
The young men, not quite sure of what they had just heard, looked sideways at each other. Surely that couldn't have been what it had sounded like. "Uh... what was that last part, sir? I'm afraid my hearing was never very good." One nervous young man asked.
"I said... no, on second thought, that'd get you hanged. But what's important is that you have to show how dedicated you are. And in my book that means hazing, hazing, hazing! You'll be doing so much weird and potentially dangerous crap, you'll…" But then, Rocko was interrupted as Craig finally found them.
"Brother Rocko... what, exactly, are you doing?" Craig asked, although he already had a faint idea.
"Just preparing to whip these wimps into shape, Sir! Alpha Alpha takes nothing but the best, Sir!" Rocko proclaimed as he turned to face the newly arrived frat leader. Craig wondered if maybe Rocko was taking the whole military thing a bit too seriously after that bad experience with the ROTC program.
"Listen Brother Rocko; as head of this house, I'm supposed to be one giving the orientation. So why don't you let me do that while you go supervise the guys unloading the beer from the trucks for the party?" Alcohol, Craig knew, was the key to influencing Rocko.
Rocko's eyes lit up. "Sir!" He saluted in an exaggerated flourish, and hurried out the door. Craig relaxed a bit, but tensed back up when he heard Rocko call back to the newbies. "And don't forget, hazing instructions tomorrow night at 10!"
Sighing in annoyance, Craig turned to the recruits. "You must excuse Brother Rocko. He gets... overzealous on this particular subject. And before any of you ask, it is not fraternity policy to engage in hazing. Actually, there's a rule that expressly forbids it." One of the young men timidly raised their hand. "Yes, Mister...?"
"Schreiber, Sir. I was just wondering what we should do if this man persists in acting like this. Should we inform someone: you or the campus counsellor... or the police?"
"Look, if he attempts anything, just alert me and try to go along as far as you can. If it goes too far, however, you should probably inform security before he causes too much trouble." It may have not been the most comprehensive, or even good, advice that he ever gave, but in the face of the advice that he wanted to give it was probably the least insulting to Mr. Rocko Gambiani.
2 days Later - State U Campus Bookstore
A job, Kimberly Burton reflected, was a job, no matter whether it was in a glass tower being paid multible hundreds of thousands (of dollars) or working in a dusty archive earning just enough to get by with reasonable comfort.
Her parents, both "successful" members of the upper middle class, admired her dedication to her theatre aspirations and to her various causes. However, they were uncomfortable in her seeming refusal to use that dedication to settle on a career (or at least one that would ensure her financial security). Therefore, until she was able to ensure that her desired path would lead to a steady income or else supplemented her studies with a degree that would ensure same, they were cutting off half her yearly funds. As such, she had taken a part-time job in order to pay for her textbooks and part of her tuition.
For her, that ment invoices, cashier duty and more textbooks than even she normally wanted to deal with.
"Alright, there's those 2nd level Chem textbooks coming in today, the Archaeology Field Manuels, the Bio texts have to be sorted... 12000 State U hip flasks? Hey, Sarah, do you know anything about these flasks?" Kimmy turned to ask her co-worker, a young African-American woman about the sheer amount of drinking vessels ordered.
Sarah came over and looked at the invoce on the clipboard. "Oh, those. I think they're for the big raffle at the football game in November; we just get to sell any leftover inventory. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but with the start of the rush season, non text product sometimes gets forgo... Kimmy?"
"Yeah?" Asked Kimmy.
"Remember telling me about that guy you slept with? Brown hair, big nose, cap, wears alot of denim?"
"He's here, isn't he?" Asked Kimmy with some dread.
"Yep. Stalker: 10 O'clock high." Sarah nodded towards the front doors, where the aforementioned young man, introduced earlier as Parker "Nitz" Walsh was just now walking in.
"Cover for me!" Kimmy whispered hurredly as she dived under the closed flip-up portion of the counter. Luckily, Nitz was being his usual oblivious self, and had not noticed that Kimmy was present..
"Excuse me?" Nitz asked tenetively.
"May I help you, Sir?" Asked Sarah in her best "bright and cheery and don't piss off the customer" voice.
"Yeah. My name is Parker Wash and I believe I have a textbook bundle reserved."
"I think it's just below the counter. Hold on." Sarah knelt down, throwing Kimmy a covert "OK" guesture and grabbed the plastic-wrapped bundle off of a shelf.
"here it is: Anthropology, Environmental Studies, Art History, History... Yep, it's for you." It said so on the sticky attacted to it. "That'll be... 322.17."
"Yeesh." Nitz cringed as he handed over his credit card. He hadn't expected them to cost this much, but he needed them. And then he remembered another question he'd meant to ask. "Uh... Is there a Kimberly Burton employed here? I heard she was?
"Sorry, you just missed her. But I will tell her you asked." Sarah was able to keep a straight face as Nitz starred at her in dissapointment and then took his books and left after thanking her for her time.
About five seconds Kimmy came out from under the counter, still looking around tensely. "Is he gone?"
"Long gone." Sarah assured her. However, questions had to be asked. "You know, what I don't get is why this thing he apparently thinks you guys have doesn't actually exist. He seems nice enough." Sarah knew that the nuttier kinds of stalkers often exhuded normality on command, but Walsh just didn't seem to have that dangerously obsessive edge to him.
"It's a long story. The root of it is that... I guess he's always seen me as something desireable yet unattainable. I was available, I was attractive, thus he pursued me as some sort of 'quest' or something. Back home I never paid him any attention, and even here I barely gave him any notice. I was always busy with some cause or another and whenever he tried to help, he was never really 'in to it'." Kimmy sighed. "And the worst part of it is that I'm too scared of losing whatever friendship we might yet still have by telling him that he has the wrong impression about us."
Sarah raised her right eyebrow. "And I gather he got that wrong impression after you slept with him."
"Well... yes. But there were extenuating circumstances, you undestand." Kimmy offered in half-explanation
"I'd understand better if I knew what they were, if you catch my meaning." Sarah couldn't help but want to feel sorry for her, but the thought of an otherwise capable faminsitic woman worrying over the emotions of a man she didn't give two hoots about romantically was pretty pathetic.
"First of all, I was drunk out of my mind; no one told me that they'd doubled the proof on the punch! And second, the man I had a crush on for all of two years, that very night I discovered that not only was he gay, which I would usually have no problem with, but that he was in a stable relationship." In short, she had been shocked by discovery of her own selective blindness.
"And then Nitz was there and there was some wierd howling and then... well, if I hadn't been on the Pill, things would have gotten very complicated." Kimmy finished off with a lot less pizazz than she would have liked.
"And now you're feeling guilty and are desperately thinking of how to let him down easy, is that it?" This was a big goddamned mess and one she didn't want to get involved in too deeply.
"Yes." Kimmy was quiet, almost ashamed of herself.
"Alright. Now, will you finish those invoices before we go off-duty? I'd like to start tommorows classes without inventory on the brain." How could such an apparently avid activist, a girl who was so adamant about everything and anything, be such a doormat in her personal life?
Well, it certainly wasn't her problem.
Meanwhile, Stanley Hall Mail Room
Calvin Evans, despite first impressions, was a very complex indivudual. On first sight he appeared to be, in the truest sense of the word, a 'mental defective'. The man had an extemely innocent, even naive countenance and with his high pitiched voice and near-effeminate manner, one would not easily guess his normal pass-time.
Normally, that included having unprotected, intimate relationships with as many campus-age females as possible within any set 72-hour period.
But underneath that, he actually had a brain. He was getting very good grades in his English and Literature classes, particulary for his unique interpretations of various written works and poetry and a knack for freeform poetry of his own.
It would have helped all of his pursuits, however, to have an attention span greater than that of a loaf of the white bread for which his partiular ethno-social background was named.
Upon taking his letters from their cubbyhole, he flipped through them. The first was from one of his former paramours, and so was the second... as well was the third, the fourth and even the fifth. In fact, it was only after 12 envelopes that he found one that was from someone inside his own genepool. His parents had sent their first letter of the year and, not quite up to speed on the whole 'e-mail' thing, insisted on sending it manually.
Cal put the other letters in his housecoat pocket... and eventually forgot about them.
Well, that was the first chapter of Episode 1. Constructive criticism and even flames are welcome.