(Scene switches to Preposterocity, 12:00 p.m., midday, or noon, whatever...)
Narrator: "Phew, finally got to the good stuff! Anyway—ahem!—It was a typical day in our fair city—"
"Ha-ha! Take that, Word Girl!"
"Ha! You missed!"
Narrator: "Yup. Very typical… It was Word Girl against Tobey's giant robot army, and the two opposing teams are lined up and facing each other in their special fighting poses…"
Both hero and machine glared at one another menacingly. Tobey, at the time, was on a building roof, safe and undisturbed.
Narrator: "…And we're off! The robots make the first move."
One of Tobey's robots lifted up an arm to swing at Word Girl but she was too smart and saw it coming; she took and broke off the arm and swung it around her, severing the heads of eight other robots. Tobey looked at her in awe as she flew around, smashing and punching and kicking the other thirty robots. When he realized that she was defeating his robots in a rapid manner, he shook his head violently to snap out of his brief admiration. He had to defeat Word Girl now before it's too late! Mischievously, Tobey pulled out his master remote and immediately saw the big red button that said "You Better Press This Button If You Want To Defeat Word Girl Before It's Too Late!" and, when he pressed it, all the robot's eyes turned violent red and began to make a go for Word Girl. But, to his surprise and discomfort, all of Tobey's remaining robots started to malfunction, causing them all to instantly shut down. He held up his hands to his head. "Ugh, noooooo! Curse those inconceivable malfunctions!"he shouted in his British voice. Word Girl, seeing that the victory was her's, grabbed Captain Huggy Face (her sidekick), and flew up to Tobey and landed on the building top next to him, "Well, Tobey, looks like next time you should think before you destroy."
"I don't understand," Tobey went on, looking at the remote and then the robot wreckage and back again. "I had checked and rechecked for any flaws before I had left the house."
"Sorry to interrupt but we do need to call your mother," Word Girl said a little smugly. She pulled out her super-duper special Word Girl cell phone. Tobey gasped in horror. "No! Not Mother! Please!" He begged on his knees and he lost his arrogant demeanor. "Can't I just learn my lesson and walk away?" However, Word Girl was firm. "You had plenty of times to learn and walk away. I'm sorry, Tobey, but I have no choice." She made a move to press the speed dial number.
"Not unless I can help it!" Tobey declared viciously and he lunged to jump onto her to grab the cell phone, but, having super speed, Word Girl just sidestepped to the right and he missed completely. He tried to catch himself but couldn't, and he tripped and fell from the building's edge! Word Girl, filled with Anxiety, dived after him, with Huggy on her back, and scooped him up a few feet from the pavement. Tobey, dangling from his collar, was apparently annoyed. Word Girl exhaled in exasperation. "Geez, Tobey, you scared me. You made me fill with Anxiety." Huggy chirped in confusion. "Oh, well, Anxiety means to fill with worry, nervousness, or concern. Like when Tobey had fallen from that building; that event had made me fill with worry for his safety. Isn't that definition right, Tobey?" she added with a new wave of annoyance.
"Yes, yes, I know what Anxiety means! I'm not a half-witted fool!" Tobey shook in irritation. Word Girl put him down. "Well, you sure act like one." The boy genius, dusting himself off and adjusting his black thick glasses, contradicted that claim, "Not all the time! Remember when I had turned good? That was the day of the Young Inventor's Challenge and Friendly Competition. Oh, that was a glorious Saturday…" he slowed and fantasized over the memory. "I remember the way you looked at me when we were defining 'demonstrate' to that little girl. You even thought that I had given up my dastardly deeds permanently. I believe I had 'demonstrated' wit that day."
"Until you found out that you didn't win the competition and blew your head off and started using your entrée as a destructive-making machine," Word Girl answered flatly. She secretly rummaged through her cape and pressed the speed dial number for Tobey's mother.
"How could that little scrap metal that was supposedly a kitchen utensil be better than my remarkable robot?"he exclaimed. "I could I lose to an egg slicer?"
"It also cored apples," she replied a matter-of-factly.
"Silence!That matter shall never be mentioned again, do you hear?"
"Geez, well I'm not the one who brought it up in the first place, you know," retorted Word Girl, folding her arms. "And don't act like I'm the one accountable for that day's events." Tobey fumed but then tapped his fingers together mischievously. "'Accountable', eh? What about 'responsible', or 'blamed', or—ooh!—'liable'?"
"Or I could just say that the only one that could be held accountable is you, Tobey!" she added fiercely. "And—" she was cut off, for something had picked up by her super hearing powers. "Your ride is here," she mumbled to herself.
"What was that?" the boy inquired a little roughly.
"I said your ride is here," Word Girl repeated aloud.
"W-w-WHAT?" Aghast, Tobey started sputtering and suddenly felt very sick inside. He hated when Mother came to pick him up from one of his destructive rampages. His mother would always shadow over him, give him a very stern look, and then tug on his ear all the way to the car. The pain was always unbearable. Later, he would go immediately into the living room, sit on his usual spot on the couch, and wait for the long lecture that always follows afterwards. After that, he marches straight up to his room, slams the door, and writes up a revenge plan on scraps of paper he finds lying around his room to be- yet again- shortly defeated by Word Girl, and so on. It was the never-ending cycle of vengeance for him, an existence he never managed to dispose of. It was an existence in which he, Theodore Tobey McAllister the Third, believes is the only way to spend time with Word Girl…
Tobey has had a crush on Word Girl for the longest time. He could never get over how graceful, so beautiful, so unnaturally smart she is. The way she defines words is so fluent and incredibly done, the way her dark, glossy locks flow in the wind when she flies at the speed of sound, the way she cunningly corners bad guys and punishes them in cruel, unthinkable ways, just like the punishment he was about to face: the wrath of his mother. Composing himself, he answered as casually as he could, "W-what ride? I don't see any ride, do you?" he humorously looked about the area with his hand to his forehead to cover the radiant sunlight. Word Girl rolled her eyes. "Oh, it'll come. Believe me." And, sure enough, a small green car came up the street on which they were standing on. Inside was Mother; she seemed quite infuriated. Tobey started to hyperventilate.
"Full of Anxiety now, aren't you?" Word Girl inquired with triumph. He exclaimed, hysterically, "Me? Worried? Are you insane? Of course I'm not worried! Why would I be worried?" Just then, they heard a slam of a car door. Word Girl stifled a laugh while Tobey looked out in disbelief. "Because here comes your mother." Mrs. McAllister, a broad woman with lighter blonde hair than her son's, came down the road toward her petrified son. This wasn't the first time her son was caught in something like this, and, each and every time, she would hope that it was the last. That hope was far from fulfilled, and, each and every time, they would repeat the same routine. She was beyond the point of frustration, in fact, she seemed to be accustomed to it by now, almost expecting it. This numb, empty feeling she almost always possesses would and will never go away, as long as Tobey keeps building robots, as long as he keeps using them for destruction, as long as he yearns to be with Word Girl…
Tobey shut his eyes tightly, waiting for that ever-familiar tug on his right ear. He was used to that familiar tug so much that the pain had gotten slightly less painful, but hurts, nevertheless. Word Girl, hiccoughing from laughter behind the hand that was covering her mouth, managed to choke out, "Afternoon, Mrs. McAllister!" Mrs. McAllister took hold of Tobey's ear, pulling his ear and himself toward the car. The pain was unbearable.
"Ow, ow, ow, OW! Seriously," Tobey said to no one in particular. He was used to that: being unheard or unnoticed by others. Being one of the less popular people, Tobey doesn't have any friends, at least in his own mind. He constantly tries to earn his respect from the others by regularly trying to show that he is superior to everyone, including Word Girl; which was mainly the reason why he relentlessly tells her other synonyms of words and such. By being superior, he could have Word Girl and everyone else in the city bowing down to him and never think less of him again. But that was a long way off. For now, he had to endure yet another defeat and modify means of attack. There just has to be a way to defeat Word Girl once and for all, but how...?...
Tobey pondered this all the way to the car. When Mrs. McAllister slammed Tobey's door, he looked up out the window to see Word Girl smiling cockily at him, waving a hand. He glared furiously back at her; she only smiled even bigger. Tobey started to roll down the window like mad and Word Girl, who had long anticipated this moment because it was so entertaining, waited for him to shout the ever-famous—
"I'll get you yet, Word Girl, if it's the last thing I dooooooooooooooooooooo!" The car's wheels screeched as the vehicle disappeared down the road and around the corner toward Tobey's house. Word Girl chuckled to herself. "Oh, that Tobey; will he ever learn…?" Captain Huggy Face, squealing in laughter in monkey form, jumped onto his best friend's back. She looked back to him, "Looks like our job here is done, CHF," and took a triumphant pose.
Narrator: "Hey, hey, I'm the one who wraps things up around here! I have only one job and I intend to keep it, thank you very much."
"Sorry," Word Girl, who had looked up at the Narrator outside of the screen, was a little taken aback.
Narrator: "Thank you—ahem—!So the city is saved from another raid of Tobey's robots, all is well, and Tobey had 'tugged his ear' into another corner because of it."
"Nice," sarcastically said Word Girl.
Narrator: "See? Now that's how it's done."
"Yeah. Sure. Hey, does anyone know what time it is?" She looked toward Huggy for help, but then looked up again when the Narrator spoke.
Narrator: "Uh…it's 2:27."
"Two twenty-seven? We are almost late for art class! WOOORRRRRRD UP!" and with that, they blasted though the sky as a very brilliant yellow beam.
Narrator: "And there goes our hero, zooming off toward the building which taught art, her most horrifying subject, toward the building that taught little amateur artists like Word Girl how to paint a rock—"
"Hey!"Word Girl yelled from off-screen.
Narrator: "He, he, he. Just doing my job."
(Scene switches to the building that taught the unbearable art class. What fun…)
Narrator: "Later, in art class…"
Word Girl had arrived in the classroom transformed back to her secret identity, Becky Botsford, an average ten-year-old little girl with terrible art abilities. She was currently painting on a canvas next to Bob, Captain Huggy Face as his secret identity, wearing only a diaper. Becky was wearing her usual signature outfit, a maroon skirt and headband, a green sweater, and high stockings. She turned to Bob, "Hey, Bob? Does this look like a tree to you?" Bob, smiling, turned to her painting, but his smile soon turned into a frown as he tried to make out the tree in the big blob taking up the entire canvas. He turned the canvas sideways, then upside-down as he scratched his head in confusion.
"You could've just said no-as usual," Becky added, a little crestfallen. Just then, the art teacher, Ms. Champlain, started to speak in her usual slow pace, "Class, put your paintbrushes down so that we may observe the beautiful view outside." Everyone did as they were told and turned toward the window. Outside, there was a serene view of the beautiful blue sky with white clouds leisurely floating past; the peaceful dappled green forest blending in behind the tall skyscrapers, the works of a masterpiece, while the afternoon sun shined from behind through it all. Silhouettes of some birds fluttered past the scene, giving the scene life and a nature-feeling thing. "Now, class, close your eyes and take a deep soothing breath," Ms. Champlain continued, and everyone obeyed without any resentment, but knowing what she was about to say next. "That, is the—"
"—smell of art," the class stated at the same time as Ms. Champlain; they knew all their teacher's versions of saying that everything had a sense of art in it.
"Oh really? I thought it smelled more like a fresh spring afternoon with a mixed smell of marigolds speckled with dew," Violet said with a pinch of concern. She is Becky's art and poem-lover best friend. Her usual far-off look was dazing out of the window, but it appeared as if she was seeing something else that nobody else could see. As much as Becky likes her, she never understood Violet's strange mind of colors and seeing things as something more besides of what they actually are. It's because of this peculiar sense that makes her Ms. Champlain's favorite student. Ms. Champlain smiled at Violet. "That is the smell of art. The 'smell' is different for everyone." Becky looked back at the view. She scrunched up her nose, "It smells like city pollution to me." The teacher turned her head and looked at Becky in an unhappy way. "Like I said," she restated slightly troubled, "the smell is different for everyone."
The rest of the period consisted of the class learning a new type of art: abstract. Abstract is, as Ms. Champlain explained, when artistic content depends on internal form rather than clear representation. This must be the hardest type of art for Becky. What? Internal form? What's that? Becky did not understand, and out of confusion and bewilderment she pitifully watched everyone else as they began to refill their plates with paint to begin on their soon-would-be masterpiece.
"Oh my gosh," Becky exclaimed to her monkey friend, "there's no way I could do this. I mean, internal form? What does that mean?" Bob chirped and shrugged at her. Becky peered over her left shoulder and found Violet already a little more than halfway done on her abstract painting. She squinted, then tilted her head to a side, then lifted an eyebrow at her friend's painting. Violet saw her looking and smiled sweetly at her best friend. "It's a young girl in a meadow with dandelions and violets and tulips and all types of flowers of different shades of colors around her, and when I'm done, I'm going to add in some clouds and sun rays reflecting off of everything." Smiling, she asked, "How's your painting coming along, Becky?"
"Oh! Um…It's going along fine! There's just sooo much to paint in such a short time," Becky flustered as she awkwardly tried to cover her still blank canvas. Yet Violet's smile never wavered. "Oh ok, but you better hurry. Class is almost over." Sure enough, there was only thirty minutes left of class, according to the big clock on the wall. I better hustle, Becky thought with Anxiety.
The clock seemed to tick louder and louder as the session went on. At last, Ms. Champlain addressed to the class, "Time's up class! If you did not finish your painting then it is to be assigned as homework. It will be due next art class." Becky gasped at Bob, "Next art class? That's next Saturday! That doesn't give me enough time to think up something to paint." Bob chirped reassuringly. "No I don't have time to do it at school during recess because we have to fight crime during that time!" He chirped, suggestively. "I barely have time afterschool either; crime to fight, remember?" Becky slumped in her chair and Bob chirped with sympathy and worry, patting his friend's back.
(Scene switches to a sidewalk on the way to Becky and Violet's neighborhood…)
Narrator: "Like I'm about to say... Ahem, later Becky, Bob, and Violet were strolling up the sidewalk toward Becky's house to drop her and Bob off…"
Violet was chattering on and on about her plans for her painting to Becky, who was not paying any attention to her—not that Violet noticed. "…And then I'm going to add clouds and sun rays and, oh, and I'm going to add all kinds of butterflies! What are you doing with your painting, Becky?"
"…So, when Ms. Champlain said internal form, she must have meant something…that represents something…other than itself!"
"Becky?"
Becky jerked out of her thoughts. "Huh? What?"
"I was just wondering what you are doing with your painting."
"Oh! Uh…" Becky pondered that for a bit. What was she going to do with her painting? Well, she did have 'til next Saturday to come up with something. That was a whole week from now, whole week to ponder about this! Maybe, she could put it off for just a few days…?
"Um, actually, Violet, I really have no idea what to paint yet."
Violet gasped. "But, all this time I thought you already started on your painting!" Becky frowned at herself and held on to her arm in guilt. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just that, I really don't get the whole 'internal form' thing." Violet nodded in comprehension. "Oh…I see. It's easy. Think of it as language arts. You just have to use a symbol or two of some sort to represent something else, like…Word Girl." (Becky slightly jerked in surprise at the mention of Word Girl's name- her secret identity.) "If you paint her in front of a star with bright, epic colors, then people would get the sensation that Word Girl must be a symbol of justice."
"Hmm…"
"Did that help?" Violet asked, earnestly.
"Yes, it did. That's kind of what I thought. Thank you, Violet."
Violet beamed. "No problem, Becky! Do you have an idea of what you may paint?" Her best friend shook her head, but was slightly more assured. "Not yet. I still have a week until we have to turn it in anyway." Violet frowned. "Okay…but don't leave it 'til the last minute," she warned, but Becky waved it off. "Don't worry, of course I won't leave it 'till the last minute." But Violet's expression remained creased into a frown. However, Becky was having her doubts at the moment. What if she didn't think of something to paint to turn in by next Saturday? What would she do then? Was she doomed to fail art class, the would-be-first class that she ever flunked in her entire life? What would her parents say? What would Ms. Champlain and all the kids in the class think of her? Rumors would surely spread, and so what would everyone in the whole school think? Her reputation would be ruined and she would never be able to face school again, and what then?
No! Becky thought. That will never happen to me. I just need to think this over during dinner tonight, yes, that's what I need to do. Also, I have all week to ponder over this. Seven whole days… This relaxed her. She had plenty of time. There was no reason whatsoever to worry over this…yet. Becky looked up toward the sky. It was a beautiful day; the sky was clear and there was barely a cloud in the sky. Yes, a whole week to ponder about this… A whole week….
Chapter 3 coming, so hang on! XD And please R&R! (Oh, and if anything is wrong with the characters' personalities in any way, please tell me and I'll try to make corrections! ^^
~*Snickerdoodle8P*~
