A/N: I wrote this half (or third) of this story as an entry for the IDreamOfJimmy Forum's Fanfiction challenge for the month of January. This story is omitted from the "Most Reviews" circut and hopefully will be finished in the next few days.
I do not, haven't ever, or ever will own Jimmy Neutron, which totally sucks.
I stood in Principal Willoughby's office with my hands clasped together and brought into a praying position near my chin. Well, kneeled actually.
"Please, let me in the school chorus!" I begged. I tried to muster up a few silvery tears. Perhaps they would sway the rotund, old man. "I've just gotta prove to my father that I'm not useless!"
"Sheen," the geezer began, "I'm sure that there is some way, other than my precious choir, that you can prove you aren't useless. Write the Great American Novel, or something."
"F. Scott Iguana doesn't write anymore! He turned a horrible, sickly, green color, so I just had to feed him!" I begged taking a grasp at the man's ankle and shaking it like there was no tomorrow once I seized it.
"You won't get in the school chorus with that nails-on-chalkboard voice of yours," Principal Willoughby said as he wriggled free of my clutch. "Get a tutor or something."
"A TUTOR?!" I gaped as I rose from my knees. My feet backed me out of the tiny office slowly as I tried to regain sane thought. I continued on in reverse until I hit Bolbi as he walked by, "shish-kabobby" in hand.
"Sheeny back up! Sheeny back up good," the foreign boy said after he pulled his (very pointy) shish-stick from my lower spine.
"Get lost, Bolbi!" I pointed a finger over my shoulder to emphasize my words.
"Losing," he said as he walked with a dazed expression into the Kindergarten Hallway.
"Hey, Sheen," said a voice on my left. My heart jumped in shock as my body took the position of the vagrant, puss-spitting monkey from Ultra Lord Episode 924, "When Math Teachers Go Bad."
"Calm down," said Carl from Jimmy's side. "It's only Jim and I."
"Me," corrected Jimmy.
"I'm here too!" Carl wailed as I let my fighting position melt into one of slight embarrassed.
"I meant that you have your sentence grammatically incorrect. You should have said 'Jimmy and me'," Jimmy completed.
"TOO CONFUSING!" I yelled just before I fell over onto the floor. My back ached as Jimmy and Carl picked me up in silence; my daily "brain fart," as we had come to call them, had developed a common routine amongst those around me.
"So, what'd Principal Willoughby have to say?" Carl asked; he remembers everything. Good and bad.
"I got shot down again! They seem not to want my special brand of Twonkie-soothing talent," I said as the medication from that REALLY long needle that my dad shoved into me so very forcefully this morning began to take effect.
"Maybe you should get a tutor," Carl suggested as we began to advance home. After all, Ultra Lord was on in an hour.
"NO TUTOR!" Perhaps I need a stronger dosage.
"Why not?" Carl eyed Jimmy mischievously. Jimmy's lips spread to a smile. "Yeah, why not? Your tutor could be Libby."
I felt as my cheeks burned red; for a Mexican I sure show embarrassed easily.
"Where am I?" I heard from the Kindergarten Hallway as the Three Amigops passed by. Bolbi sometimes worries me.
"I'm not getting a music tutor, guys. Firstly, no Estevez gets a tutor for anything." Carl and Jimmy both grew matching, confused expressions as we passed through the school entryway. "Not for anything non-academic anyway."
"Oh."
"Well, you didn't mention that." Jimmy stepped down the front stairs with Carl and me in tow.
"What about that tutor you got when Yoo Yee kidnapped Libby?" Carl said turning to me.
"That was different; Libby's life was on the line! And, I couldn't let that fruit in pajamas steal my seat as the Chosen One," I said as I reached my right leg behind my neck. My left ear felt the chill of my toe.
Jimmy and Carl stared at me, both wide-eyed. "Ok, that's creepy," Carl stated.
Jimmy nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I know we've seen it a zillion times, but that still kind of creeps me out. Seeing that part of your jeans was never on the top of my priority list."
"I have stated before and I will state it again; I pledge allegiance to my pants!" I said as I released my leg from its grip around the back of my neck. "But, if I don't get into the choir, how am I gonna impress my dad! I don't think I can bear having only one thing on my life-long list of accomplishments!"
"What's that, Sheen?" Jimmy said with a sincere tone.
I rose up my hands and propped them on the sides of my head. "Memorizing every episode of Ultra Lord ever made! I know every single line by heart including the actions in which the current characters were doing, what weapons were used, in a battle what order the punches were thrown in, and so on! But my dad's not impressed by that kind of stuff anyway, so what's the point?!" My heart bled in sadness as I remembered the night before:
"Sheen," Dad looked at me with dark eyes as he held my sorry report card in his hand. "You need to get your grades up. Do you want to spend the rest of your life as a gas station attendant? I don't want to see mí hijo spend his life alone because he cannot support a familia."
My eyes trailed down to the floor as I thought of the stuttering report card. D, D, D, D, D, D. A giant lump formed in my heart and worked its way up through my throat. My eyes burned as the corners of my mouth gained twenty pounds and headed south. "I-I'm sorry, Dad. I really do try, but I can't concentrate. And with Jimmy's large hair in my way-"
"¿Tú miras el pizarron?"
"No, I get distracted by trying to count how many hairs he has and trying to calculate how much mousse he uses to get it in such a shape," I sniffled deeply and closed my eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad, but academics aren't my thing. I would like to be in the chorus but apparently I'm terrible."
"Who told you that?" Dad said with an astonished frown.
"Miss Fowl and Principal Willoughby," I replied.
Dad cupped my chin in his hand and gently raised my view to his eyes. "No one can tell my Sheen that he is useless and terrible. No one. Don't let anyone ever say such a thing to you, my son."
I looked into Dad's eyes and saw determination. But behind the thin layer I saw another part of my father's mind that I did not want to see. I saw that he thought the same of me that everyone else did.
"Sheen, I'm sure your dad would be proud of you no matter what happened," Jimmy said with the same expression of disappointment and determination that my father had given me only the night before.
"Try telling him that. He acts as though he's proud of me and stuff, but I can see through his charade," I said with a deep sigh.
"Then get a tutor. If you really wanted your dad to be proud of you, then accepting a little help from another to get you there wouldn't be all that bad," Carl said after we had crossed the street between the school and the sidewalk to our homes.
I sighed and pulled my defenses down. "Maybe a tutor would be the smart thing to do."
"Great, then I'll come over later around six and give you singing lessons," Carl said just before he put his hand to his stomach for support and released a great bellow of rigid song that frightened a flock of birds out of their perch in a nearby tree. I was pretty sure I heard a few cats scamper off in an alleyway at light speed: possibly faster.
"No, no, no," Jimmy said after he placed a soft karate chop to Carl's middle to cease the horrible sound. "I'll get you a circuit to the Ultra Shock Dance Teacher with all the best singers' techniques on it."
"Thanks for the offers, guys, but I think I should earn this rather than cheat it off. You know, conscience and stuff." I sighed deeply and looked to the sky.
"Then call Libby later and ask for lessons."
"Yeah, she's into that stuff. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to help you," Jimmy said backing up Carl's statement.
"No way!" I jumped in between the two and their destination, halting them in their tracks. "I'll never let my sweet Libby learn that I can't sing! Can you imagine what she'd think of me?! It would be like showing Elkie that picture of Carl from Ike's party!"
Carl quivered in fear. "W-which one?"
"The one with the bubbles!"
Carl sunk behind his hands that shielded his face. "You wouldn't," he whispered.
"Or, it would be like telling Betty that Jimmy's really four feet, five inches instead of four, six and a half like he's been telling everyone else!" I screeched as I pointed a bony finger at the genius who possessed a terrified expression.
"I don't wear lifts, it just looks that way because I have thick soled shoes!" Jimmy exclaimed.
"Dude, I never said you did," I slipped back to the right side of the pack and admitted Carl and Jimmy to continue on our journey to our respective homes.
Jimmy's eyes faded away for a second as he tried to come up with a solution to my unsolvable problem. "I can't think of anyone other than Libby that's talented enough to give you the go around in music."
"Neither can I. And if Libby really liked you then she shouldn't care if you can sing or not. She likes your Ultra Lord obsessing, overly ADD like, daily spasms just the way they are. You should never have to change for a girl. If you do, however, then it was never meant to be." Jeez, that Carl can sometimes pop my buttons with all this Zen philosophy that he dishes out.
I sighed as my defenses wore down. "Maybe you're right, Carl. Perhaps Libby is my only shot."
"Call her tonight and ask," Jimmy said as we neared his house on the Vortex side of the Cul-de-sac. "But my house is right here and Miss Fowl piled on the homework. I gotta get cracking. Also, my new renovations for the Flycycle make the old method of Goddard flying obsolete. I'll see you tomorrow, Sheen."
"See ya, Sheen, and good luck," Carl said with a supportive thumbs up as he and Jimmy crossed the street to their neighboring homes.
I continued on to my house in desolate silence. Maybe they were right, but then again, I could always go down to the ACMY across town and pay for the lessons they have there. This option seemed out of the picture as my heart began to sink with the realization that I have no money.
I reached the end of the cul-de-sac where my two-story home stood. I walked up the driveway and onto the porch. I paused as I considered sitting down on the bench that Dad had placed out there a few summers ago. Something about watching the sun set. All I ever saw from there was Jimmy's rocket as it launched into space every Monday. He said something about a probe on Venus that the International Space Station and Huston weren't quite so aware of.
I pushed on inside and let the cool relief of air conditioning wipe through my pores. Good old Dad and his love for rotary coils with original grease and such.
"Son? Is that you?" I heard a deep voice dripping with a Spanish accent call from the kitchen.
"Dad? What are you doing at home so early?" I asked as I passed through the foyer and living room to the kitchen in the back.
"One of my clients went to Jamaica for a month and forgot to tell me. I found that out just today because they called me a few minutes before I was supposed to be there. I had not enough time for another appointment and that was my last for the day. I'm off until tomorrow," Dad shrugged as he pulled a Purple Flurp from the fridge and poured it into a tall glass of ice for me.
"Thanks, Dad," I said as I took the violet fluid and downed it in a few gulps.
"So, tell me son, what do you want to do today?" he asked with a small sparkle in his eye.
"I don't know. I have a lot of homework and I really want to raise my grades to make you proud of me," I said after I finished the glass. Only purple tinted ice was left when I placed the cup on the counter.
"Aye, yae, yae. You should know that I would rather have you happy than have a straight-A student," Dad said as he reached over and tousled my hair.
"But I really want to prove to you that I'm not worthless, Dad," I said while I straightened my tediously spiked hair into its original glory.
Dad's face fell and took on an aged wrinkle. His eyes traveled to the tiled countertop as he wiped a damp towel along its face. "Hijo, I understand, but you said yourself that academics are not your thing. Maybe you should play baseball or something."
"Maybe you're right," I said and my eyes fell. I turned and slowly climbed the stairs to my room in silence keeping my eyes fixated on my feet the entire time.
Once inside the sanctity of my Ultra Lord decked room I threw my back pack and accompanying Ultra Lord onto the floor at the foot of my bed and threw myself face down onto the soft bed that stood off the center of the wall.
At first I doubted Libby as my tutor, but now I had a paradox plaguing me. It was either my father or my Libby. One or both of them had to be let down.
Multiple scenarios ran through my mind at light speed as I evaluated the problem before me. Singing was my best shot at getting my dad happy. Not only would it be easy to conquer, but also I enjoyed it already, and I wished to be on the school choir. But if I did employ my dear Libby and take lessons from her then I would be faced with the ever arduous load of learning to sing and succeeding. If I didn't succeed at Libby's hand then I would have let down Libby, my Dad, and myself.
I knew that academics weren't my thing and the only time I ever won at a sport was when Jimmy Neutronized our bats and gloves that time I was in the Retroville Nine. I can't make art to save my life. And even when I do it's always about Ultra Lord, something –or someone- that Dad is not impressed with. I'm not one set out for joining a club lest it be the Ultra Lord fan club (though I'm already enrolled in forty-seven clubs to date) or the Your-Best-Friend-Saves-the-World-Every-Other-Week-After-He-Puts-It-In-Danger-When-One-of-His-Stupid-Inventions-Goes-Horribly-Wrong Club, and even then Dad wouldn't be proud of me.
I was at an impasse as my eyes began to cloud over.
Maybe Carl was right.
A/N: ¿Té gusta?
iloveslinky
