Logan stormed back into the theatre, past Veronica. As she opened her mouth to ask, he stopped abruptly, pointed at her and spoke menacingly, "Not. One. Word, Mars. So help me, not one word."

She held her hands up defensively, and allowed him to pass by without comment.

Echolls stopped in front of Ms. Harding, "Congratulations. I'm now officially in Hell, and your devious scheme was sanctioned by my father. But lady, I really don't want to be here. So, please, don't expect me to try too hard. Okay?"

Cristen just smiled at him. "Well, Mr. Echolls, I'm just glad you've joined us. Please, find a seat." She gestured at the circle of chairs onstage. She glared at the class in the audience seats. "That goes for everybody; we're reading, people!"

A few misguided souls let out whoops of enthusiasm, undiminished by the looks of evil sent their way by the tiny blonde detective and entrapped Echolls heir.

As Veronica passed by Logan on her way to the stage, he tugged at her elbow. Veronica looked up at him, raising one eyebrow. "Okay, I realize I'm in attire that normally would not grace my wardrobe. However, if you think you can paw me like those brainless-"

"Mars," Logan said quietly, "look, I really can't be here… if there's one thing I don't want to be in life, it's my father."

She snorted. "Echolls, unless you sign contracts to make some movies with very questionable dialogue carried on special effects and a name, I think you're okay… besides, Daddy dearest is a movie actor. Remember? He told me himself that he couldn't cut it on a real stage. Shakespeare, he is not."

Logan growled, and ground his teeth. "Fine, just… whatever. Shut up, alright?" He released her elbow, and stormed in front of her up the stage.

"Careful, Logan," Veronica taunted, traipsing behind him. "If your dialogue lapses any more, critics may just believe you're as clever as I know you are."

The look Logan sent the tiny blonde would have made the leader of the PCH motorcycle gang back off.

Veronica frowned. "Logan…" she said quietly, realizing that he wasn't playing the part of jester. This serious Logan was a rare creature and meant that he was really affected.

"Mars," he said in abrupt, quiet tones, "Don't. Don't you dare. Don't start pulling your punches now."

Veronica frowned. Clearly, her one-time friend and long-time enemy wanted some form of normalcy. "Fine," she said in the same manner, "Call it professional courtesy…" She took a deep breath, and spoke again, in a voice that wouldn't carry. "Did you manage to learn anything actually interesting or useful while you went tete-a-tete with the Vice Principal?"

"Mars, unlike you, I am not Mata Hari."

"Funny," she stated, dead-pan. "I mean, did he actually divulge anything we need to know?"

"Like what? If Harding can be killed with silver bullet or stake?"

"I like your way of thinking, but no. I mean, what manner of torture are we subjected to in this mockery of free will. Is the play a drama? History? Thriller? Do I get to stab you repeatedly with whatI'll assure law enforcement officers I thought was a collapsible dagger?"

"I doubt it. Clemmons said something about a romantic comedy."

Veronica's face blanched, and her eyes widened.

"Whatsa matter, Mars? You forgot your-"

"Logan," she interrupted, "as much as I'd like your usual witless, baseless, base and hypocritical repartee regarding my sexual practices, this is more dire. You do know what a romantic comedy is, right?"

Logan shrugged. "I saw one once, fell asleep halfway through. But I vaguely recall cheesy plot lines, and second-rate dialogue."

"Okay, for the remedial class, I'll outline why this is bad. We are the leads. Romantic comedies are ruled by the 3 G's."

"Guns, guts, and gratuitous sex?"

"That's an action movie. Romantic comedies rely on this line: Guy Gets the Girl." She let sink in what she meant, waiting for the male lead to start freaking out. She was both impressed and alarmed when Logan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then smiled. "…did you by any chance just have a brain hemorrhage?"

"Mars… let's make a deal. Once we find out who's responsible for our humiliation, we take them down. I'm in charge of social ruin, you focus on the practical voodoo you do so well."

Veronica raised her eyebrows. "How could I do that?" she responded, her eyes wide with faux innocence.

"Use your imagination… just don't put a bong in their locker; I'd be hurt if you used a repeat prank."

"…me? Would I do something like that?"She glanced at her pinkness. "Do I look like I'm capable of a horrible, all-consuming destruction of all things practical?"

Logan smirked. "The pink cheerleader routine, while disgustingly saccharine, doesn't fool me. Your horns are holding up your halo, Mars." His voice volume had risen slightly, and the two fell easily into their habit of mutual mockery.

"Odd. Here, I thought you were the horny one!"

"Why Ronnie, of course I am. You stole my halo years ago. I've got nothing to balance my devilish charm."

"I always knew you were unbalanced."

"Oh, come on!" one of the girls- a short-haired brunette with violently pink streaks broke in. "If I have to hear you two flirting-"

Dick laughed. "Ghost-world, you are seriously out of it! Those two are, like, Darth Vader and Luke!" He thought a moment. "Only Ronnie's, like, Vader's mini-me."

"Dick, there are so many things wrong with that!" the 'ghost world' girl insisted, glaring up at the 6-foot-something surfer. "But the only one I can sue you over is, my name is Mac. Mac! One syllable! It ought to be easier for you to remember than your lines, anyway. Again, Mac; not ghost-world."

The surfer glared back down at Mac. "Dude, chica! Just because you play my wife doesn't mean that you have to nag at me all day!"

Duncan snorted. "If the married peanut gallery would please tone down the character exercises, we're about to start reading."

"Sweet!" Dick exclaimed, heading towards his seat and dragging the tiny Mac behind him, the girl barely keeping on her feet.

Veronica stared at the sight, amazed. "Um… why is Dick hanging out with a non-09'er? Anyone?"

"Harding's orders," Meg spoke up, handing Veronica a script. "She saw that Dick was being a jerk to Mac—big surprise, right?—so she threatened to do irreparable damage to his surf-board and flunk him so hard, he wouldn't graduate for another two years if he didn't hang out with her, and 'get in character'. They even run lines, now. It's getting interesting… and now that the impossible has been shown as possible in theatre, good money is that your and Logan's sparks will ignite the stage."

"I think the question," Veronica responded as Meg handed scripts to Duncan, "is, will they find any evidence of whosever brains were behind this drastic casting decision."

Meg shrugged. "It's make-or-break for the casting decision, I guess."

"My money's on the latter."

"I don't know, Veronica," Meg said with a small smile. "This script was, literally, written for you and Logan. Give it a try. You might like it."

"Meg… you know that Logan and I are at each other's throats as soon as we're within maiming distance. Didn't you think it was a bad idea when you heard it?"

"Honestly? When the script came to me, the first thing I thought of was the flames that ignited around you and Logan when you were friends. As Ms. Harding says, you two have chemistry. The way you take the time to insult each other as best as possible, the tense way both of you remark on each others' love lives… maybe the script writer saw that, had an idea, and ran with it. You've got to admit, you two are suggestive, Veronica."

The tiny blonde was speechless.

"Mars!" Logan shouted from a circle of chairs upstage, "Time to rain down Hell on the theatre gods for casting us together!"

Meg smiled. "Just so you know, I'm rooting for you, Veronica."

"Meg," Veronica said gently, "I say this with respect, compassion, and friendship. I think you need a CT-scan."

Meg grinned. "You should have heard what Vice Principal Clemmons told Miss Harding when she stated the casting decision. He agreed with you, but he didn't temper his expression of it."

"…so, why cast us?"

Meg shrugged. "Probably because you two are the play; it was written for you. And Harding decided she wanted to do something other than 'Grease'."

Veronica sighed. "I'd rather see you as Sandy than me as… what's my character's name?"

"The original script had your name being Katerina. Now…"

Veronica flipped through the pages. She glanced up at Meg. "I think there's a typo; it calls me 'Veronica'."

Meg sighed. "Tell you what. Let's just get through the first reading. If it doesn't flow, we'll talk together to Miss Harding, okay?"

"Mars!" Logan demanded from the circle, "If I have to endure this torture, you sure as hell are going to suffer too!"

Veronica snorted as she stormed her way to the back of the lit hardwood stage. 'Wouldn't Miss Moraguchi be proud?' she thought of her kindergarten teacher. 'She always thought I was a great actor when our class played 'The Three Billy Goats Gruff'… ' She pulled up a chair from the wings, and was about to sit down when Harding cleared her throat. Veronica looked up. "Yes?"

"Class rule," Duncan supplied with a grimace. "Character couples sit together to read."

"Character…" Veronica repeated, and groaned as she spotted her seat—smack in between Duncan and Logan. "Why," she demanded, changing seats and sulking, "does God hate me?"

"…spawn of Hell, ring any bells?" Logan suggested.

"Logan, your being the spawn of Hell shouldn't affect me," Veronica answered without thinking it through, looking again through her papers.

Echolls sighed. "Would you at least put some mental energy into it?" he complained, his script crackling as he folded the papers back. "Your lack of insight in insults insults me."

"…said the man that started with a daily harassment routine of pregnancy, delinquency, and depravity? Logan, if you're going to complain, don't be such a hypocrite. You haven't put any serious effort into insulting me for months, now. If anyone expresses disappointment, it should be me."

"You would know."

A terse silence settled over the theatre group. Mars and Echolls looked up, and found their fellow thespians staring at them. Synchronously, the two teens demanded, "What?"

Dick turned to Mac. "How much to get into the pool?"

The computer geek smirked. "$50 buy-in."

"I didn't hear that," Harding volunteered, folding her own script copy back to the first page. "Alright, everybody, Act one, Scene one. I'm narrator. Veronica? Are you ready?"

Veronica shot her new teacher a glare-o-death before quickly flipping the pages to the required spot.

Harding cleared her throat, and began reading. "Passion. Mistakes. They tend to go hand in hand, especially in a town on the coast of California…"