I'm With the Banned
A Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends Fanfic
by
C. "Sparky" Read

Chapter One

Surprisingly, Terrence really didn't mean to spike the edge of Laney Petridge's skirt to the back of her chair with the point of his compass during Geometry; it had truly been an accident brought on by a mixture of carelessness, distraction, and preoccupation with the events at the junkyard the night previous. Accused of fixing the Extremasaur fights, the thirteen-year old had been informed of his lifetime ban from the junkyard by the Gatekid as he made his hasty, and damp, retreat. It wasn't fair! None of that was his fault! Neither was Laney's semi-flashing of the class when she stood up and her elastic-waisted skirt slipped down to her knees in front of the whole class, exposing her Hot Topic GIR ("I loooove candy!") undies; but he'd been sent for a week's detention just the same.

Terrence flung open the door to Vice Principal Healey's Detention Chamber (otherwise known as the Health classroom), stomped in, flung it shut behind him, and threw himself noisily at his usual desk in the back. There was no doubt as to the owner of said desk, as it was liberally decorated with stylized Sharpie skulls, eyeballs, snakes, and various dead, dying, and often decapitated cartoon animals; not to mention the large "TERRENCE" that had been carved into the back of the chair with a grapefruit spoon the boy had stolen from the drawer at home.

Vice Principal Healey, as usual, didn't grace Terrence's arrival with even a short glance; she went on reading the magazine before her as if nothing had happened at all. Ignoring her right back, Terrence took in the few other occupants of the room.

The single female offender he knew well: Chick (short for" Hey You There Chick") was a perpetually bored, rather stoned-looking stocky eighth-grade girl wearing black-and-white-striped kneehighs, black cutoffs, a ratty black tee over a longsleeved white leotard top, army boots that looked much too big for her, and black lipstick and eyeliner that both rather looked like they were drawn on by Terrence's trusty Sharpie. Chick was weird, even by Terrence's standards; in fact he didn't really consider her a "girl" so much as a walking piece of graffitti. She was currently jabbing the eraser end of a pencil up her right nostril disinterestedly.

To her left was the infamous "Angry Flute Guy" - in fact, Terrence had never even heard anyone give him a name, so, like everyone else, he just referred to him as "That Angry Flute Guy." Angry Flute Guy was tall, skinny, thoroughly punk rock, and was given his moniker because he played the flute in the school band and tolerated no snide comments. He was surly and argumentative 24/7, and reacted to even the barest hinting that playing the flute might not be one-hundred-percent macho with a level of violent rage that would frighten Satan himself. Actually, he seemed to react that way to just about anything at all. Terrence avoided him on principle, and was In The Know that the bandmember was in detention all week for jamming a tuba down over the head of a kid who may or may not have made a very vague comment suggesting that Angry Flute Guy's shoes might have looked rather new.

The final member of the Detention Chamber, however, came as quite a surprise: it was Darryl Fergus, the creator of the electric Extremasaur that Terrence had had such a close encounter with the night previous. Fergus was a short redhead who wore thick glasses and stereotypically nerdy attire and who looked down his nose at everyone and who somehow managed to convince the principal to allow him to play his accordion at every single stinking school function. Accordion. Everyone in school hated that stupid accordion; Fergus even kept it in his locker, bringing it to and from school every single day, just in the event that he might find a way to weasel airtime out of the principal. Fergus was the president of the Scandinavian Club and therefore often launched impromptu demonstrations in the quad at peculiar times of day (this could be why the Scandinavian Club didn't have much of a charter).

In any case, it was strange to see Fergus in detention; and the moment Vice Principal Healy left the room to check on what the Science Club was up to next door (it had suddenly emitted a peculiar aroma), Terrence sprang out of his chair to loom over the redhead, scowling.

"Hey Turdguts," he glowered at the short boy, balling up his fists. "What're you in for? Your stupid runty Extremasaur clog up the toilet in the teacher's lounge?" Terrence had lost all former admiration for the champion Extremasaur.

But Fergus sat there serenely, his chin lifted haughtily and his small pudgy hands folded neatly on the desk before him. "Hardly," he drawled. "The Extremasaur in question remains crated at the junkyard until such time as I can return to collect him." Fergus sniffed loudly, then resumed, "Furthermore, I scorn the very illogicality of an electricity-based lifeform ever crawling, of its own accord, into a receptacle of water out of which it would be incapable of escaping under its own power." He looked sharply at Terrence. "Now kindly resume your seat; your trogladytic brainwaves are pitting my glasses."

Terrence was used to this: Fergus always talked like a dictionary and the other boy had learned not to dwell on it, as it brought on more confusing replies. But he refused to let the nerd weasel his way out of answering the original question. "So why are you in here?" he snapped, leaning on the desk, eyes narrowed.

Fergus sat stiffly, eyes half-shut, gazing off into space; but an obvious look of irritation had crossed his features. "I was framed, of course," was the eventual reply.

Terrence raised an eyebrow. "Framed, huh?" he commented, heavy on the sarcasm.

"I was!" Fergus blurted suddenly, eyes flying open, scowling at his classmate. "And the worst of it - the worst­ - is that that hooligan involved my precious Ilsa!"

Ilsa Adelsbjorn was the name of Fergus' beloved accordion.

Terrence raised the other eyebrow, intrigued. "Someone busted up your stupid accordion? Sweet."

Fergus glared. "It most certainly is not...'sweet,'" he countered sourly. "She'll never be the same."

"So? What happened to her - uhm, to it?"

Fergus fell into a petulant silence; then he pivoted slowly in his chair to cast an evil eye in Chick's direction. "That monochrome terror over there did it," he said.

"Did what?"

"Stuffed my poor helpless Ilsa under the hood of Vice Principal Healey's car."

At that revelation Angry Flute Guy made a stifled snorting sound; Terrence laughed out loud; and Hey You There Chick placed her pencil between her lip and her nose and tried to see how long she could hold it there.

"Well," said Terrence, recovering, "then how come Chick's in here too then, if she framed you and got away with it?"

Fergus shrugged. "I thought Chick was always in here," he said.

Terrence considered that. "Oh yeah."

Vice Principal Healey's footsteps echoed in the hallway and Terrence vaulted back into his seat in an impressive show of gymnastics before she appeared in the door.

He never did find out why Chick was in detention that week; he half-suspected that she hadn't done anything at all and simply had nothing better to do.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The next day in detention Terrence sat next to Fergus instead of his usual chair; and as soon as Mrs. Healey left the room he blurted:

"So your mom lets you keep that Extremasaur in the laundry room, or something?"

Fergus rolled his eyes. "Ordinarily, in the shed out back," he huffed. "But I am keeping the Ampichu at the junkyard for the time being."

"How come?"

Silence.

Suspicious, Terrence leaned closer. "You're leaving him at the junkyard to be messed with?" he pressed. "Doesn't seem safe."

Fergus' lips turned white, they were pressed so hard together. "If you must know," he said in a low voice after a pause, "I...I was banned from the junkyard."

"What? No way! Why?"

The short kid frowned at Terrence. "Because of you and your accomplices," he retorted. "That juvenile and those imaginary friends."

"Huh? What'd they do?" When Fergus continued to eye him, Terrence shrugged widely. "Hey, I went home, they're not my friends, and I dunno what they did after I left! My brother did get home real late...got in trouble...but he wouldn't say where he'd been."

"Oh, he was at the junkyard," glowered Fergus bitterly. "He and those imaginary idiots ran around breaking up all the fights and telling all the Extremasaurs to 'be free'! What an absurd idea! A free Extremasaur! Well my Ampichu was the only Extremasaur that didn't run away, so they figured I'd had something to do with it, trying to get myself a win by forfeit, so I got banned."

Terrence leaned back. "Well that's like what happened to me!" he exclaimed; but Fergus silenced him with a sharp look.

"It most certainly is not," he snapped. "Don't you ever compare yourself to me. We are vastly different."

Terrence shrugged. "Whatever." He picked at the edge of the desk he was sitting at. "Wish I could get back in there though," he mused wistfully. "Those were some seriously wicked fights. And...with the smashing...and the fires...and the explosions..." He sat up straight, fists clenched. "Ooooh... I gotta gets me back in there! There has to be a way!"

Fergus huffed. "Good luck with that," he snorted. "I wish to gain re-entry as well, but it cannot be done. Once you receive a lifetime ban, you're out for good."

"We could sneak in!"

"Brilliant." The redhead gazed evenly at the other. "How?"

Terrence concentrated, gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes with the effort. "Well...uh...We could...hop the fence!"

"Barbed wire."

"Oh...right...I remember now...Well...how about...tunnelling?"

"Concrete slabs."

Terrence blinked. "Woah, really? I was wondering why the ground was so hard. Hm...Well then how about - "

"How about you give your poor undernourished brain a rest?" snapped Fergus, disgusted. "Really, it's a wonder you can dress yourself - even though it looks like you copied the wardrobe of a kid in a comic strip." While Terrence glanced down at his clothes in confusion Fergus frowned, tapping his temple. "But perhaps your enthusiasm is not so amiss. In fact..." He turned to eye Chick and Angry Flute Guy. "Haven't both of you also been banned from the junkyard?"

Chick of course said nothing but Angry Flute Guy turned red at the accusation and stood up, pointing a trembling finger at Fergus. "YOU LITTLE GEEK!" he shouted (in fact he was known for never speaking at a normal volume). "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?"

"Yeah they were both banned," Terrence spoke up after giving up trying to figure out what was wrong with his outfit. "Chick was caught superglueing Extremasaurs to the floors of their crates and Angry Flute Guy punched the leader of the junkyard band in the face like, twelve times. The band hasn't come back to play since."

At that Fergus got a shrewd look in his eye. "Is that so?" he said slowly. "Well then, I am starting to formulate a plan. Now, as I see it, the junkyard must be looking for a new source of entertainment. The four of us could form a band and - "

"Hey Flute Guy," blurted Terrence suddenly, ignoring Fergus. "Whatever happened to the junkyard band? I haven't seen them around."

"WHADDYA MEAN BY THAT?" yelled Flute Guy, glowering.

"Listen - " tried Fergus again. "I say we four form a band and audition - "

"Hey Chick!" Terrence went on. "You seen 'em?"

Chick leaned back and tried repeatedly to blow her short hair out of her face without using her hands.

"Would you listen to me?" snarled Fergus. "We could pose as a band, piece together an audition, get into the junkyard and - "

"So the band's gone then?" asked Terrence of no one in particular. "That sucks. They were really loud. So like, the junkyard needs a new band. I bet they're desperate."

"I am saying, why don't we play in a band - "

"Yup," Terrence went on, "I bet they'd take just about anybody who could play an instrument. Hey!" he blurted before Fergus could speak again. "We could pretend to be a band! Then they'll let us in!"

Fergus grit his teeth. "That's was my plan, you moron!" he growled.

Terrence looked affronted. "No it wasn't!" he pouted. "It was mine! Didn't you guys hear me?" He turned to the others. "Hey, who's plan was it, mine or Turdguts'?"

Chick pointed wordlessly at Terrence while staring openmouthed at the ceiling; and Angry Flute Guy shook with rage. "HEY DON'T STEAL OTHER PEOPLE'S IDEAS!" he bellowed at Fergus. Terrence looked smug.

"All right fine, it was your idea, now let's get on with it," hissed Fergus, trying to maintain his composure. "Now, what instrument do you play?" he asked Terrence.

"Electric guitar," replied Terrence proudly. "Uh...Mom wanted me to take lessons, but um...I haven't actually taken any yet or anything but - "

"That's fine," Fergus cut him off smoothly. "I shall bring my poor mended Ilsa of course, and we all know what Angry Flute Guy plays...but what about Hey You There Chick? Does she play anything?"

Terrence walked over to Chick. "Hey, Chick, Chick," he said, snapping his fingers in the girl's face trying to make her look at him. "We need you to pick an instrument. Hey. Psst. Hey Chick, come on. What're you good at?"

Suddenly, without taking her gaze from the ceiling, Chick seized a heavy textbook from the next desk and slammed Terrence in the head with it, sending him sprawling.

"She's good at hitting things," said Fergus, a hint of smugness in his voice. "Drums it is."