Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Phineas and Ferb or any of the movie or book references in this parody fic.
Isabella, one fine new July morning, saw Candace Flynn's first status update—People are going crazy at work with the Fourth of July coming up on Wednesday.
Oh, the Fourth of July! Isabella had earned five new patches in honor of the day, including, among others, the Patriotic Pledging Allegiance to the United States' Flag Twenty Times in a Row patch and Ignoring Any and All Brits for One Day patch. She read Linda Flynn-Fletcher's reply—And why is that?
To which Candace Flynn responded matter-of-factly—Apparently for every occasion there's a flower, and so we have a bunch of different kinds of flowers that are red, white, and blue that are put into bunches. I don't see why they're so popular.
Isabella Garcia-Shapiro cheerfully commented—They sound pretty, Candace!
Milly Jones and Adyson Sweetwater like this.
Candace Flynn said, to Isabella's surprise and wrinkled brow—Of course they do, if you're a blind bat. They look pretty ugly.
Tiana Webber, who Isabelle recognized as Phineas's aunt—emphasis and blush on the Phineas part—, finished the convo—Don't let your boss hear you say that, Candace. You're sounding like a disloyal employee!
Jeremy Johnson has created the event 4th of July Pool Party!
For once, Phineas and Ferb wouldn't be the ones throwing the party, but then they'd still be there, so it was okay.
Coltrane Laker voiced a collective opinion—Sounds awesome! Can't wait to be there!
Stacy Hirano was next—We're going to have a magnificent garden party.
Coltrane Laker was left relatively speechless, making Isabella giggle—. . . and you're not invited.
Isabella kept an eye on the convo as she nearly tripped on Pinky on the way down her stairs; "Oops! Sorry, Pinky," she squealed apologetically. She looked up from petting her undisturbed-yet-extremely-shaky-dog to a ping of Stacy Hirano—I really felt quite distressed of not receiving an invitation.
Coltrane Laker, confused as often males are (and oblivious, Isabella sighed)—Stacy, I was just finishing the quote. . . . You girls are so complicated.
Candace Flynn from across the street (or at her job, according to her Wi-Fi check-in)—Better believe it, bucko. :)
Irving Grindbore has created the group Phineas and Ferb Lovers!
Isabella sat at her kitchen table eating a bowl of cinnamon-sugar cereal and going through Facebook. She thought to herself That sounds like a group I'd be a part of!
Buford van Stomm's opinion of the group was less than favorable—ppulation, fanboy.
Irving Grindbore commented—Shush it. Being a fanboy is hard work, I should have you know. OHHHH, MY PICTURES ARE DONE!
Irving Grindbore has added 64 pictures to the album Phineas and Ferb!
Irving Grindbore likes this.
"Isa! Are you going over to Phineas and Ferb's?" Vivian, Isabella's talkative, warm mother asked. She was busy cooking a new recipe for her supper club and also balancing a conversation with both her daughter and her friend Linda over the phone. "Linda says they are waiting for you."
"I'll be right there!" Isabella washed off her dishes with alarming speed and checked the newest convo quickly, which had Albert Grindbore saying—Seriously, Irving, why do you obsess about those boys? You look like a teenage girl with no life—before feeling self-conscious and running out the door just the same.
Isabella checked Irving Grindbore's last word after she crossed the street, and she did so with a satisfied smile—You're just jealous because I get to hang out with Phineas and Ferb!
Isabella Garcia-Shapiro likes this.
"Hey, guys! Whatcha doin'?" Isabelle wondered as she crossed the Flynn-Fletcher backyard to join the boys. Both Phineas and Ferb, gangly teenagers, were sitting against their favorite old tree. They looked up from their phones; Ferb waved courteously and Phineas said, "Oh, just checking Facebook before our next project. I wanna show you something, Isabella. C'mere."
Isabella blushed hard but Phineas didn't notice because he concentrated on his fingers pulling up a status. "See this?" he said.
The blush disappeared as Isabella read, puzzled, Heinz Doofenshmirtz's latest status update—Why doesn't Perry the Platypus accept my friend request? Ugh.
"Isn't that Vanessa's dad?" inquired Isabella.
Vanessa Doofenshmirtz commented in confirmation—He doesn't like you, Dad. He doesn't want to be your friend.
Isabella's, Phineas's, and Ferb's own thoughts about this were voiced by Heinz Doofenshmirtz—How do you know that?
Vanessa Doofenshmirtz's next comment—Dad, he's your nemesis. It's kind of a given that he's not going to want to be your friend.
Heinz Doofenshmirtz added more mystery—There's a chance. . . .
Phineas Flynn chose this time to intervene—Are y'all talking about our Perry?
Vanessa Doofenshmirtz said—Yep.
"Um, so that's not totally weird at all," Isabella chirped nervously.
Ferb nodded and Phineas Flynn finished with—Okay . . . .
Irving Grindbore has added Isabella Garcia-Shapiro to the group Phineas and Ferb Lovers!
Isabella Garcia-Shapiro looked a little worriedly at Phineas and Ferb, but neither seemed to notice. They were too busy building another elaborate project that would no doubt help the Fireside Girls get another patch, get Candace wanting to bust them, and disappear before their mom got home—Okay. . . .
Milly Jones, Adyson Sweetwater and two others like this.
Oh, they would, wouldn't they?
The day before the annual Johnson Fourth of July, Hawkeye Johnson updated them—Just got back from the store and got stuff for the party tomorrow. Hope I didn't forget anything!
Isabella, busy feeding Pinky, heard her mother type fast on her computer. Putting the dog food (and special Fireside-Girl-made doggie treats, which were supposed to only be on special occasions given to the jumpy little doggy) away, Isabelle checked her phone—Vivian Garcia-Shapiro—Oh, did you want me to bring bean salad for tomorrow? Because I make a very good bean salad, you know. A very good one. I'll make one, I just hope that the jalapeños won't make it too spicy for everyone though I do like it very spicy, very spicy indeed. I grow up with them and I've grown to love the spiciness; we used to grow them.
Isabella Garcia-Shapiro typed, eyeing the empty coffeemaker, which worked hard throughout the day besides the morning—Do you want to ease off the coffee, Mom?
Vivian Garcia-Shapiro yelled across the room and also said for everyone on the Interwebs to know—Good idea, Isa.
That night, Isabella, finished singing her hairbrush-in-the-mirror-song, flopped onto her bed and said, "Well, Pinky, let's see what's new on Facebook." She'd spent the entire evening busy with her Fireside Girl troop tie-dying bandannas into stripes and stars. She saw that Phineas Flynn posted—Just a couple more hours until America's birthday!
Oh, his statuses were so cute.
Ferb Fletcher informed her further, to her giggling—He was going to go berserk making a cake and everything but we decided that the fireworks will be enough.
Candace Flynn, never one to miss an important imparting of info, demanded the presence of Mrs. Flynn-Fletcher—MOM THEY'RE USING FIREWORKS. MOM. MOM. CHAT SAYS YOU'RE ONLINE. MOM.
Linda Flynn-Fletcher kept up the convo—I do see your desperate plea for me to bust your brothers, Candace. Boys, do you have fireworks?
Isabella figured that since she couldn't be in their presence and see their facial expressions, their Facebook interactions would have to work. She read Ferb Fletcher's new reply—Yes, but we're firing them off according to the directions on the box.
Linda Flynn-Fletcher's consent—All right, just be careful.
"Those will be great fireworks, Pinky," Isabella said cheerfully. She pet her shivering chihuahua, who panted in agreement. Meanwhile, Candace Flynn had the anticipated reaction—THAT'S IT, MOM? SERIOUSLY?
To which her father, Lawrence Fletcher, added a nostalgic reminiscence—Back in my day we had something called sparklers.
Candace Flynn pointed out—Dad, you didn't even come to America until a few years ago. . .
Lawrence Fletcher finished that convo with—Oh, that's right. . .
Isabella waited a few more minutes, but since there were no more new notifications, messages, or comments on that particular conversation initiated by her crush, she set her cellphone on its charger and picked up the last Hunger Games book, Mockingjay. She only had a few chapters left. She hoped it ended happily . . . so she laid back against her pillow, under her covers, all cozy, and picked up the book to read. . .
At 4:34 in the morning, after a horrified state of sad panic, Isabella Garcia-Shapiro posted in a calmer manner—Wow, these Hunger Games books are amazing. Thanks for lending them to me, Adyson.
Adyson Sweetwater likes this.
Adyson Sweetwater, obviously, didn't understand the finer points of sarcasm. For she said—No prob! Always here to help a fellow tribute!
Isabella went to sleep feeling haunted, and work up with frizzy bedhead. Listening to Phineas and the Ferbtones and brushing her humidized hair, she read what Candace Flynn ignorantly said—What's the Hunger Games?
Adyson Sweetwater was quick to jump on this one. Isabella herself would've undertaken the task, if she wasn't sleep-deprived and emotionally-drained—Have you been living under a rock, Candace?
Within a few seconds, Baljeet Tjinder jumped on the ship—Even Buford has read them, and Buford doesn't read anything!
Stacy Hirano stepped in enthusiastically—They're wholly AWESOME!
Isabella inwardly applauded and then Buford van Stomm contributed—yu sirsuly hav't red them?
Django Brown add, probably being a mouthpiece for all of the commentators who couldn't speak for their brain cells had died—Wow. . .
Even someone Isabelle vaguely remembered, Wendy 'I'm Going To Beat Candace Flynn In Getting That Mr. Slushy Dawg Job' Li, commented, even if her statement was unhelpful to the conversation—OH MY GOSH YOU'RE SO WEIRD YOU HAVEN'T READ THEM.
Isabella, trying to find her cheerful self back, went and sang in the shower, and then dressed in her most patriotic. As she walked down the stairs singing 'The Star-Spangled Banner' under her breath, she read Candace Flynn's comment—I thought I deleted you off of my friend list, *deletes you off while wearing a satisfied smile*
Then, of all people, Suzy Johnson . . .—Jeremy said that he only likes girls who read them! BWUAHAHAHAHAHHAA I READ THEM.
Stacy Hirano, ever a best friend, said mournfully—Oh, now they're just being mean.
Jeremy Johnson brought the much-needed honesty into the conversation—I never said that, Suzy.
Candace Flynn likes this.
The grand finale of Isabella's latest status post? Suzy Johnson—Bubbles!
Irving Grindbore posted on Isabella Garcia-Shapiro's wall: Hey, Isabella, you didn't reply to me on chat. I want to talk about Phineas and Ferb with you!
Isabella had been ignoring Irving on chat, but she'd been busy! She read three books, and earned five and a half patches, and organized a segment of the Johnson Fourth of July party, and bathed Pinky, and—and—Irving wasn't someone she wanted to talk about Phineas and Ferb with. They each had different views on the boys; Irving had them both equally set on pedestals, while Isabella liked Phineas and was almost on bro-status with Ferb. Irving just wouldn't understand.
And Buford van Stomm ejaculated—yOU did;t have 2 tag thm ugh your so weird.
Isabella found that even in the morning, Jenny Brown was capable of—11:11! I wish that all of the children in all the world would have a happy 4th of July!
Her brother, Django Brown, addressed the obvious—Jenny, America's the only place where we celebrate the 4th of July.
Jenny Brown, unrepressable—I know, I still want everyone to have a happy 4th of July!
Django Brown—. . . .
Which Candace Flynn resounded loud and clear—. . . . .
Isabelle was greatly perplexed as to why Heinz Doofenshmirtz was on her newsfeed with—Ugh, it's finally the Fourth of July and kids are shooting off fireworks at the break of dawn! Why.—Not something to want to wake up to.
It was PAST the break of dawn, but Ferb Fletcher ignored that and pointed out what a good teenage kid he was—At least I shoot off fireworks in the evening.
"Ooooh, Vanessa's dad! Why's he my Facebook friend?" Isabella said to herself in a dawned voice as she peeked out the window at the nice July morning. She waved to Ferb at his laptop in his living room's window. She received a message then from Irving Grindbore, but didn't open it, too interested in this particular convo. She checked Heinz Doofenshmirtz's response—You're shooting off fireworks? UGH, kids these days.
Isabella felt pleased for Ferb's sake when Vanessa Doofenshmirtz said—He's just trying to have a little fun, Dad.
Heinz Doofenshmirtz was on the opposite side of the spectrum from Isabella—Don't be encouraging him, Vanessa!
Isabella felt very pleased with Vanessa Doofenshmirtz for doing that—Just defending him from you, Dad.
Then Heinz Doofenshmirtz let loose a bombshell—Why, do you like him?
Candace Flynn, Isabella Garcia-Shapiro, and Phineas Flynn like this.
Isabella hurriedly searched outside the window for a facial expression exchange from Ferb, ignoring another message from Irving. All she saw was a faint blush and a thumb's up for her eyes to see. She gave him one as well, and Heinz Doofenshmirtz was horrified—Hey, what's with all these kids liking this? Go away! SHOO!
Vanessa Doofenshmirtz, however, to Isabella's indignation, friend-zoned herself—If I didn't like him, I wouldn't be friends with him, now would I, Dad?
Heinz Doofenshmirtz replied with Isabella's sentiments emoji-fied—ಠ_ಠ
Ferb Fletcher recovered from this soon after. Isabella found him on Facebook while she was listening to Phineas ramble on and on about fireworks and inquire about the whereabouts of Perry—Yet another Fourth of July. I wonder what weird thing shall happen this year.
Linda Flynn-Fletcher and Tiana Webber like this.
"What does he mean by that?" Isabella asked Phineas, ignoring an Irving message, just as Tiana Webber did the same—What do you mean by that?—electronically, of course.
"Ferb can explain," Phineas said. He pointed to the phone, where Ferb Fletcher enlightened all—Every Fourth of July I have celebrated has always been a bit weird.
Tiana Webber likes this.
And Stacy Hirano made known to all her thoughts concerning this exciting ominous event—FASCINATING.
Irving Grindbore posted on Isabella Garcia-Shapiro's wall—Isabella? You're not replying to the seventeen messages I sent you! Are you there?
Candace Flynn, after sniffing around her brothers' work that holiday, slithered to her room to tell all—Off of work today! *does dance*
Jeremy Johnson likes this.
Increasing thunderclouds loomed over the Tri-State area on what was earlier a fair July morning. It worried many, because the Johnson house was flat and one-story, and thus their back- and front-yard proved to be the venue. Jeremy Johnson gave the party's guests a general service announcement—Getting ready for the party and it's looking like it might rain. Eugh.
Isabella had left Phineas and Ferb's and was busy supervising the stitching of their American Flag for their Sewing Like Betsy Ross patches. "Those clouds look ominous, chief," a worried little Gretchen commented.
Isabella showed Gretchen Candace Flynn's comment, letting her know her thoughts—I'm sure it'll pass.
Coltrane Laker added on Facebook—Yeah, it can't rain. We've got fireworks to watch!
Suzy Johnson and Ferb Fletcher like this.
"No amount of likes can change the weather, chief," wise little Gretchen said forebodingly before taking up a needle again.
Isabella Garcia-Shapiro, before putting a leash on Pinky to take him to the Johnsons' party, posted—The Fireside Girls and I have finished making our American flag and it is currently flying in my front yard.
Phineas Flynn, Gretchen Roberts, Vivian Garcia-Shapiro and seven others like this.
Jeremy Johnson, the host, said—Yay! People are showing up. If only the clouds will go away. . . .
Isabella wisely put on her pink raincoat, ignored Irving's persistent messaging, and read Linda Flynn-Fletcher's—I'm sure that they'll go away soon, Jeremy.
To which Hawkeye Johnson, their lovely hostess, replied—We all hope so, Linda.
Candace Flynn posted on Jenny Brown's wall from the Johnsons'—Promise me it won't rain.
Jenny Brown wasn't there yet, or else her words would've been said in person—Well, the flowers and birds need the water. . . .
Candace Flynn wanted reassurance—PROMISE ME.
Jenny Brown was uncertain but willing to be helpful—All right, it won't rain?
The entire party was assembled outside when it began to drop buckets. They all shoved under the Johnson roof, a squishy party. In Jeremy Johnson's words—Everyone arrives and then boom: it rains.
Stacy Hirano posted on Jenny Brown's wall—YOU SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES.
Jenny Brown, not able to control the weather, was helpless—What?
Isabella Garcia-Shapiro sat between a bunch of Fireside Girls and Phineas. Pinky ate up black bean salad from her paper plate and she held a glass of lemonade; her other hand was occupied in typing—My flag at home is getting wet. . .
To which sweet, sweet Phineas Flynn comforted ever so sweetly—Sorry to hear about that, Isabella.
Candace Flynn, on the other side of the room by Stacy and Jeremy, indignantly pointed out—Why don't you two just talk to each other? You're right next to each other.
Isabella blushed.
Later on in that party, the kids crowded around the window, and saw no predictable end in sight. Coltrane Laker checked the upcoming weather updates and posted—is glad that Jeremy's house has wifi so we can check up on the weather.
Jeremy Johnson was also on top of the weather checking business—I looked it up and it's supposed to get better.
The evening was finished after the rain let up (thank goodness) and the entire party piled out to watch Phineas and Ferb's ecstatic firework show. Isabella, thrilled by the whole thing, told Ferb it was amazing, and dared to kiss Phineas on the cheek in fervent acclaim. Then she'd run into the safety of her Fireside Girl troop to hide her red blush and managed to get home without running into Phineas again. In pajamas and flopping, cross-legged, on her bed, she read Ferb Fletcher's note—Well, at long last the rain let up and I thought that Phin and I did a good job with those fireworks!
Candace Flynn commented—I still can't believe Mom let you two get away with that.
Ferb Fletcher pointed out the obvious for once—I can't believe how bitter you're getting about this.
Isabella Garcia-Shapiro ignored the one-hundred-twenty-four new messages from Irving that he'd left her while she fiercely typed—Haven't you lived Candace for almost ten years, Ferb?—then she ignored Irving some more.
Ferb Fletcher said—You'd think that I would be used to her being like that by now.
Linda Flynn-Fletcher likes this.
Candace Flynn posted on Jeremy Johnson's wall—Despite the rain, I thought things went rather well. Great party!
Jeremy Johnson likes this.
The last late night post of that 4th of July was surprisingly from Lawrence Fletcher, Ferb's dad—Happy 4th of July, everyone! I hope you've enjoyed your couple hundred years without our rule!
His stepdaughter, Candace Flynn, commented—I like that we're free and all . . . . . but I still want a British accent.
Isabella could see Ferb by his laptop in his living room from her moonlit window. She sat there petting Pinky and brushing her hair and also finishing up a Facebook session. She waved at him and Ferb Fletcher, mostly for Isabella's amusement, wrote an instigation—Jealous, sister?
Candace Flynn's reply made Isabella laugh—No!
Ferb Fletcher was in a bantering mood—Yes, yes you are.
Apparently, so was Candace Flynn—Fine, a little, but that's it!
Ferb Fletcher's comeback?—You're jealous. :)
Whoa, he went with an emoticon! But Candace Flynn kept her cool, and even relented a little—Well, maybe a little. Okay, a lot.
Ferb Fletcher took that and went the humorous route—I like YOUR accent. It's sophisticated.
Candace Flynn was not amused—I haven't an accent, Ferb. Now shut up and go to sleep.
Ferb Fletcher gladly took the mutual surrender—All right. Night, Candace.—and he waved to Isabella before shutting the shade.
Candace Flynn finished with—Night, Ferb. :)
And Isabella, ignoring Irving's persistent messages, turned off Facebook, and went to sleep as well, Pinky snoring soundly at the foot of her bed.
Irving Grindbore posted on Isabella Garcia-Shapiro's wall—Isabella? You there?
There you go, guys! The movie quotes from chapter 3 were: Fowler from Chicken Run, Charlotte from the Princess and the Frog, Effie Trinket from THE HUNGER GAMES, and Dory from Finding Nemo! Congrats to all those who called the quotes! I hope you liked this chapter, and please, let me know what you thought of it!
