Confused, Mike walked over to the ringing phone.

"Hello?" said Mike.

"Hey, handsome. Remember me?" asked Tori from the other side of the phone.

Chills ran down Mike's spine. "How could I forget?" he joked worriedly.

There was silence for a minute.

"H- how did you kn- know my n- number?" stuttered Mike nervously.

"I searched your name in the phone book," explained Tori. "Since you said that your name was Michael Nesmith, I knew that you were in the band 'The Monkees'. So, I looked up 'Michael Nesmith', and found your name almost immediately!"

Awkwardly, Mike stood near the phone without a word to say.

"Handsome? Are you still there?" asked Tori, hoping to hear his voice again.

"Yeah," replied Mike. "Say, you kind of have a 'crush' on me, don't you?"

Tori gasped gleefully. "Are you saying you want to go on a date with me?" screamed Tori joyfully.

"Whatever you say," murmured Mike under his breath. "How about we go to..."

"Your place? That's exactly what I was thinking!" exclaimed Tori happily.

"Okay, whatever," agreed Mike. "You can come over at..."

"6:30? Are you reading my mind, or is it just me?" yelled Tori cheerfully.

"CAN YOU PLEASE LET ME FINISH THE SENTENCE?" complained Mike.

"I'm so sorry, honey cakes," forgave Tori. "You can say whatever you want."

"I don't think I can say much else," replied Mike sickly. "Just one more thing."

"What's that, honey cakes?" asked Tori.

"Please, please, PLEASE stop calling me honey cakes!" begged Mike.

"I'm sorry about that too, honey buns," forgave Tori with a smile.

Mike didn't say a word to that comment, even though he felt as if he was going to hurl.

"I'll be at your place by 6:30 tonight, alright sweet cakes?" said Tori.

"Whatever you say," repeated Mike worriedly.

"Alright... Bye!" farewelled Tori with a kiss.

"Goodbye!" responded Mike. He hung up the phone quickly.

"Yuck!" complained Mike.

"What is it?" asked Micky.

"She kept interrupting me and making her own arrangements!" exclaimed Mike unhappily.

"Where are you two going to eat?" asked Davy.

"Here. At 6:30 tonight," answered Mike.

"6:30? That's in an hour!" yelled Peter. "How are we going to get this place cleaned up in an hour?"

"We'll just try our best," said Mike doubtfully.

"Alright, then. Let's start cleaning this place!" ordered Micky.

"Wait!" screamed Davy. "Who's going to cook the food?"

"Who's the best chef in this house?" asked Mike.

Everyone pointed at Peter.

"Come on! How come I can't cook this time?" nitpicked Micky.

"Remember Shah-Ku told you to eat healthier and you made a disgusting dinner for us?" reminded Davy.

"Sorry, but that was repulsive," agreed Peter.

"I don't remember any Shah-Ku guy," told Mike.

"You weren't here. I wish you would've eaten my fried goat milk burnt in oil, served with scraped mountain moss a gratin and a bit of my own peanut chavace," reminisced Micky with a sigh.

"I'm sorry Micky, but that is the worst sounding food I've ever heard of; except for the peanut chavace," confessed Mike almost happily.

"Alright. Peter, start cooking. The rest of us are going to clean up this joint!" ordered Davy.