Rule 21 – Never overlook your other options

And just when you thought there was no hope: another update!

If you'll recall, when we left Courtney, Duncan had locked her out of the weekly episode viewing, which allowed her to make a deal with Heather in which she'd exchange a wig for information about Duncan's past. And now, we learn her fate…

It was an impossible feat.

As Heather sauntered away, a single thought descended upon Courtney with all the grace of a careening boulder: she had just made a deal with the devil. It had seemed like a strategic business contract as the words exited her mouth, but now that she thought about it, perhaps this hadn't been the best idea. Courtney didn't have the first clue where to start searching for a wig (of all things). Besides, what if she failed? She'd entered into a binding contract; her reputation was on the line! Not to mention she was liable to wake up one morning with her hair cut off and glued to Heather's scalp if she didn't come up with something.

As she followed Heather's path out to the lounge, it dawned upon her that she was playing with fire. It would be in her best interest to back out now, before Heather made it out of her sight and the opportunity was gone for good. She opened her mouth to call out. But…

The CIT hated herself for it, but she really did want to know what had landed Duncan in juvy. More than she would ever admit aloud. She wanted (needed!) to know what had happened, since it was obviously such a critical part of whom he was. And she only needed to understand this because some analytical Nazi part of her was thoroughly convinced that understanding Duncan was the first step toward kicking her convoluted feelings towards him in the face. With steel-toed boots.

Courtney's mouth snapped shut as Heather turned a corner, a twitch of her hand indicating that she had barely managed to repress a hair-flip of triumph.

The brunette huffed and turned around, setting off in the opposite direction. Returning to the dining hall to view the latest episode wasn't an option since Duncan had locked the door. And, taking a mental inventory of the tables, she concluded that the entire cast was in there with him, the grand exception being Heather. And herself.

But Courtney was determined to make use of this time (after all, if she sat alone doing nothing, didn't that mean Duncan had won?) and subsequently set off, destination not in mind but hopefully in formulation. She'd read that wandering labyrinths was soothing and encouraged brain function, and if Playa wasn't a labyrinth she didn't know what was.

Courtney began to make her way through the paradise labyrinth, taking turns on a whim as she debated her situation. A few minutes into her journey of thought and discovery, she realized that, if it came down to it, she could make Heather a wig out of hair from the showers. If she were nice about it, she might even be able to convince Lindsay or Sadie to do the dirty work for her. The wig would be multi-toned and ratty, but wasn't that what Heather deserved anyway?

Doors and unfamiliar hall décor were passing her on either side, but her brainstorming was going far too well to turn back. What if Chris had a horse on the island? Sure, it wasn't exactly a horse-conducive habitat, but sad as it was, she wouldn't put it past Chris to have a pony cooped up somewhere for him to ride around on when his Napoleonic complex kicked in. He certainly had the inferiority aspect of it—why else would anyone use so much hair gel? And if Courtney asked the right questions, she could probably figure out if and where they were keeping the poor thing. Most wigs were made out of horsehair anyway, so it wouldn't be so strange to clip off a portion of its mane. She told herself this, anyway, and Playa's profound silence wholeheartedly agreed with her.

The main building was awfully quiet with all the ex-campers confined in one room. Really, this was the perfect time for action. Chris was busy admiring his cinematographic handiwork, Chef was attempting to handle a technological piece of equipment as amazingly state-of-the-art as Chef was not, and all her peers were morbidly fascinated with the final four's escapades. (Not like they were that great anyway or even deserved to be there, she was sure to point out.)

Courtney's footsteps made a pleasant echo as she turned onto yet another unfamiliar hallway. But her stride came to a jarring halt as the silence was interrupted by chatter, the jostling of various items, and the sounds of imminent electrical malfunction.

"Would you help me with this chainsaw? My upper-body strength is pretty much zero and I really don't want to drop this thing on my foot."

Seconds away from rounding the corner, Courtney doubled back and pressed herself against the wall, simultaneously congratulating herself on having excellent reflexes. That voice sounded harmless enough, though, and if someone needed her help, well who was she t—?

"Sure," a second voice responded to the first. "Just let me drop these headphones, 10 meters of rope, three…four…five candles, a box of Sharpies, this grabber-clampy thing—"

Courtney, realizing she remained unspotted and therefore wouldn't have to encounter a chainsaw, breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn't have to explain her unexplainable wandering that led her there and turned to go. One chainsaw in 24 hours was more than enough, and these interns wouldn't be any help to her quest for a wig unless they were open to donating their own (which Courtney seriously doubted). She turned to leave.

The first voice laughed. "Okay, point taken. Duncan hijacked a lot of junk to pull off his stunt last night. Just wait until it's time to try and repair that hole he left in the floor."

But then again, at the prospect of getting details on the events of last night, Courtney paused and ventured so far as to peek back around the corner.

"I'm allergic to woodchips and violence," the second intern pouted. A walkie-talkie slid off the top of her pile and landed on the floor with a clatter, and Courtney found herself assuming obstreperosity followed this intern everywhere—not unlike a certain delinquent she knew. And this intern didn't even need a megaphone.

"And I'd rather be hammering than heavy-lifting," the other replied, eyeing the chainsaw on her back with distaste, "but we both know this has to happen before we do anything else." Courtney could identify with this girl. The immense logic of her words was rivaled only by her altitudinous height; she towered over the other intern and her pile of stuff like Mt. Everest.

Regretfully, the brunette found she was inching around the corner, hoping they would go on and say something else Duncan-related.

"Yeah, yeah, yea—hey, do you…hear something?"

Altitudinous paused and cocked her head to the side. "No… don't think s—" A piercing scream came from the direction of the ballroom, and though she didn't flinch, Altitudinous wryly changed her answer. "Yes. I definitely heard something."

The scream had been prompted by a sudden lack of light throughout the building, foreshadowed only by the faint sizzle of electrical malfunction.

Obstreperosity grunted in response, standing still in the stark blackness of the hallway so as not to lose control of her pile. "Uh, did you run into a light switch or something?" she asked (loudly). "Did I? I can't really see my left elbow…"

"No."

"Then what just happened?"

There was a pause in which Altitudinous presumably considered the situation. "My guess is this is a power outage like we saw last night. The backup generators should kick in any moment. Duncan's fault, really."

Obstreperosity's angry muttering carried all the way to Courtney's end of the hallway. It sounded suspiciously like, "Stupid punk delinquent and his punk, six-pack abs… Punk."

The same thought had passed through Courtney's mind on more than one occasion, though hearing it come from someone else's mouth was somewhat unnerving. She felt she had a claim to the complex feelings brought on by Duncan's punk six-pack abs and didn't like the thought that they might be shared.

"So," Altitudinous picked up as it became evident that the lights weren't coming back to life any time soon, "you think you have a flashlight in that heap of garbage you're holding?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure there's a pack of green glowsticks under the pizza box."

The sounds of struggling and falling items commenced, but Courtney quickly grew bored of not being able to see anything and turned to go. It was then that she realized, heart heavy, that she had no idea where she was or how to get back to ballroom, not even counting the fact that she was standing in what was nearly pitch-black darkness.

What was going on in the ballroom right now?, she wondered. They were supposed to be watching the latest episode, but a power outage would have put a kink in those plans. Perhaps someone was taking care of Lindsay—that was Courtney's best guess as to who had screamed, anyway. It had sounded like her, and really, who else would be afraid of a lampless ballroom? The gigantic windows let in enough light that electricity was hardly needed anyway, especially at the current sunlit hour.

"Are you sure there're glowsticks in here?" Altitudinous asked, gingerly rifling through the contents in her partner's arms. "I don't see any… glowing sticks."

The other sighed in exasperation. "Well, they aren't lit already. You'll have to break them. Right now they look like normal sticks."

"Because that narrows it down so much," Altitudinous replied. A few more clunks and rustles later and a sound of success reached Courtney. "Would you hold this a sec?"

Courtney's expression flattened, and she wasn't even holding 35 kilos of Duncan's discarded tools.

"How am I supposed to do th—?" Obstreperosity began to ask before the foil-encased glowsticks were held up against her mouth, accompanied by a very sincere Please? She muttered a few more unhappy things before biting down on the crinkling package with more ferocity than was necessary.

Altitudinous chuckled lightly to herself. "It'll only be for a second," she assured her, "just so I can get this horrible chainsaw off my back…" An obstreperous thunking sound indicated that the chainsaw had met the ground. "I'll take that back now," she sung.

Altitudinous held out her arm to retrieve the glowsticks but instead oofed with strain as she found herself burdened by half of Obstreperosity's pile. "…I deserved that."

"Yes. Yes, you did," Obstreperosity said, obviously proud of herself for lightening her load.

"So how do you plan on cracking those glowsticks now?"

Courtney could have banged her head against the wall as she stood witness to their inanity, but it was a train wreck she couldn't turn away from. And there was still the lingering promise that said train wreck would lead to more information on Duncan's escapades…

"Okay," Obstreperosity began, an idea pricking along the edges of her voice. "Use your teeth to open the package, at least."

There was a violent ripping sound from Altitudinous. "Done. And to crack them…?"

Just use your teeth again! Courtney wanted to scream at them. But that would have been far too easy. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness now, and she could see the comical outlines of two figures struggling against the gravity of dozens of miscellaneous objects.

"Empty them onto the floor—we can crunch them between our feet like bugs!" Obstreperosity directed.

There was the sound of six or so glowsticks hitting the floor. They came to light slowly as the pair danced and trampled and squeezed the glowsticks between their shoes, their snapping and splintering a distorted echo of the electric malfunction that had prompted their use in the first place.

Courtney, leaning against the wall, glanced down at her feet to find that one of the green pipes had rolled its way over to her corner. Crouching down to pick it up, she couldn't help but connect the fluorescent green to the color of Duncan's Mohawk. He'd probably picked that pack of glowsticks on purpose.

With a quick glance around the corner, Courtney saw that the interns were still occupied with their stomping. And while it would have been kind to fling the wayward glowstick back to its owners, the resourceful side of her (turned incrementally more rebellious by a certain boy she knew) wondered if it might not come in handy to have a glowstick on hand if these random power outages were to become routine. It couldn't hurt anything, at the very least.

She tucked her head back around the corner, grabbing both ends of the glow stick in either hand, ready to snap it and make her escape from the dark labyrinth she was trapped in. Whose stupid idea had it been anyway to go wandering about aimlessly when she had a wig to find? Oh, right: HERS.

"Hey!" Obstreperosity shouted. "Hey, you!"

The breath caught in Courtney's throat as she pressed herself flat against the wall. Crap, had they seen her? Stealing from them, nonetheless! Not unless one of them had 20/20 visual acuity, and that had a 30 to 35 percent chance at best. But still, in the darkness? That was impossible! And yet…

"Come here!"

Courtney shook herself, steeling her nerves. They couldn't do anything to her. She technically wasn't doing anything wrong. Sure, she was nabbing a harmless glowstick, but she could certainly blame the whole situation on Duncan—she already knew they were sympathetic to the cause. She stood up from her crouch with resignation, tucking the un-cracked glowstick into her front jacket pocket.

"You're that camera guy, right?" Obstreperosity cried joyously as a new figure emerged on the other end of the hallway, vaguely lit by the glowing at her feet. "The one Duncan almost mauled?"

"Yeah…" called a feeble male voice, which Courtney recognized as the pathetic tone of Camera-Crony, who had indeed almost been mauled by Duncan on more than one occasion. The CIT breathed a small sigh of relief and relaxed back into her hiding spot. "And my name's—"

"Help us open this door, wouldja?" Obstreperosity directed, gesturing to the wooden door they'd been struggling in front of for quite some time now.

Camera-Crony's next words came out in some combination of a whine and an argument. "But I'm on my way to the generator!" He held up a toolbox that looked to be quite heavy, if the great effort he used to carry it was any indication. "I have to fix the lights before—"

"Lights, schmights!" Obstreperosity interrupted once again, shrugging lightheartedly. "That's what glowsticks are for! This'll only take a second, and then you can be on your merry way."

Altitudinous didn't say anything, but the stare she gave him, coupled with the eerie green glow coming from the ground below her feet, must have convinced him to shut his mouth and cooperate.

"Fine," he huffed after a moment, kicking his feet as if he wanted to yell at the pair but didn't dare open his mouth. "Where's the key?"

"Belt loop," Altitudinous answered, craning her neck around to assure that yes, the key ring was still hanging from the back loop. And at the astonished expression on Camera-Crony's face, she barked, "Well, you don't have to be so awkward about it. At least it's not in my pocket!"

Crony chuckled uneasily, quickly snatching the ring while Obstreperosity looked on in amusement. "What do you guys need in here anyway?" he grumbled, jiggling key after key in the door's lock.

"It's the silver one," Obstreperosity offered.

"Which silver one?"

"And it's not so much what we need in there," Altitudinous began, "as what we don't need out here. That's the prop room."

"And these," Obstreperosity continued, looking at the miscellaneous items in her hands, "are all props Duncan somehow got a hold of. Still can't quite figure out why he picked these from all the show props we have in there..."

The prop room... Courtney mused, peering around the corner again, more carefully this time, as Camera-Crony went through wrong key after wrong key. The... PROP room! Which stored all the props used in the show! Courtney felt the weight of her deal with Heather nearly evaporate. If they kept a chainsaw and glowsticks and grabber clamper thingies in there, which she'd never even seen used on the show, the odds of them have wigs in there, which she definitely remembered seeing at least once, were in her favor! Maybe no one's head was getting shaved after all.

A key clicked in the lock.

"Finally! What took you so long?"

"This key isn't even silver!"

"IS SO!"

"You're crazy!"

"YOU'RE COLORBLIND!"

"All right," Altitudinous interrupted, "Thank you, uh, guy. You're dismissed."

"My name is—"

"Dismissed. GO."

Courtney had to admire the girl's no nonsense attitude.

Camera-Crony slunk off with his toolbox, muttering about women and being unappreciated, as Altitudinous and Obstreperosity stumbled into the prop room with their piles of miscellanea and back out of it empty-handed, leaving the neon green glowsticks to illuminate the hallway when they were finished.

Courtney dashed out from her hiding spot the moment Altitudinous's ponytail disappeared around the corner, quickly swiping one of the already lit glowsticks from the floor for a light source. But despite her excellent state of fitness (from her daily Pilates routine and running from Chris's demonic imagination for six weeks), the weighted door clicked shut in her face just before she could catch it.

Literally face to face with the solution to her problem and no way to reach it, Courtney kicked the base of the (possibly titanium-laced) door in frustration. She tried knocking it down like a policeman, tried grabbing a bobby pin from her hair and picking the lock. She even tried weakening the hinges in hopes that the door might fall in—all to no avail.

She had to find a way to get herself into that prop room. If Duncan could do it, she could too, right?

Courtney glared at the door, an unattractive idea slowly forming in her head. If Duncan had done it once...

(The CIT kicked at the door a final time, cursing.)

...he could probably do it again.

They hadn't shown it, Duncan thought in amazement as the lights flickered back on and the credits rolled. They hadn't shown it.

It was taking all of Duncan's willpower not to jump up and dance. The world didn't know the reason behind his stint in juvy. In a parallel universe, the residents of Playa were responding to his confession with shock and horror, but in this one, they were merely clearing their tables and talking about what a badass he was. Playa didn't know, and Courtney definitely didn't know because he'd locked her out half an hour earlier. Speaking of…

"So Geoff," Duncan started, leaning over to his friend beside him, "on a scale of one to lethal, how mad do you think Courtney is that I locked her out?"

"Hard to say, bro," Geoff replied, giving him a sympathetic shrug. "Why don't you ask her?"

Duncan whirled around in time to see Bridgette unwedging a chair from its place in front of the door, allowing in a surprisingly composed-looking Courtney, and leading her back to the table. Unfortunately, Duncan couldn't gauge her degree of rage because she was frantically whispering to Bridgette—probably getting her opinion on his death sentence.

"Owen and Mr. Coconut are looking like safer company right about now," Duncan muttered, mentally bracing himself for the onslaught as the devil in a cardigan walked over.

"See you in hell, bro," Geoff responded, offering an emboldening fist-pound under the table.

"SO," Courtney said cheerily, resuming her place at the table, "how was the episode?"

Duncan furrowed his eyebrows. It was...a normal question. Who was she asking? She was smiling. Shouldn't she be yelling at him right now?

"Awesome!" Geoff replied, throwing his hands up in the air and ignoring Duncan's looks of uncertainty. "Duncan and Gwen and Heather and Owen got stranded on a desert island, and Owen went totally bonkers and started talking to a coconut!" Geoff had to take a moment to stifle his laughter. "It was hilarious! Too bad you missed it, Courtney."

"Yes," Courtney replied, her mouth pulling into a small smile. She held Duncan's gaze. "Too bad I missed it."

"It wasn't that great," Duncan announced, dismissing the whole idea with a role of his eyes (and a subtle yet violent kick to his oblivious friend's shin.) "I was doing you a favor."

Courtney looked unimpressed. "A favor."

"Yup," he said, regaining his suave demeanor. "It was really just 22 minutes of Owen being hungry, Gwen and Heather being bitches, and me being handsome. And let's face it," he joked, giving her his Whaddaya say we go back to my place? look. "You can see that anytime."

"Uh-huh," she drawled back, unconvinced. She then proceeded to beat to death the butterflies that had welled up in her stomach. Adopting the most civil tone she could muster, she proposed, "But, speaking of favors, there's something I'd like to ask you."

"Your room or mine?" Duncan inquired.

Her face twitched. "No."

"With or without a—?

"Don't push me."

"Hypocrite!"

"Hypocrite?" Courtney scoffed, her composure fracturing. "How does that make me a hypocrite?"

"You push people all the time."

"I do not!"

"Sure you do," Duncan continued. "You're all about—"

"DO YOU WANT TO HELP ME BREAK INTO THE PROP ROOM OR NOT?" she screeched. And then, embarrassed by her volume, she hastily glanced around, only to find that she and Duncan were the only two left in the room. Had they really been talking that long? Or perhaps they'd just scared everyone else away…?

She turned back to Duncan to find him staring at her, an expression of giddy disbelief written on his features.

"…Princess!" he breathed, scooting his chair closer to her own. "Did you just ask me to help you break a rule?"

Courtney crossed her arms but stayed resolutely rooted to the spot. "Perhaps."

"Are you sure you could live with the guilt that comes with not being perfect?" he prodded, a smirk spreading across his face.

"If you can remotely function with everything in your record, I'm sure I'll find a way," she replied sweetly, though her gaze was stiff.

Duncan pushed back from the table and kicked his feet up on the crisp tablecloth. "And remind me why you want to get into the prop room again?"

"I didn't tell you in the first place."

"And tell me why you want to get into the prop room again?" he amended.

Courtney stood up, pushed in her chair, and dusted some invisible crumbs off her blouse as she considered her reply. "Look, Duncan. I would like this to operate on a need-to-know basis. The door is locked, I need something that is in there, and you're the only person I know who's as good at getting into tricky situations as he is at getting out of them."

Duncan's chest puffed with pride at her last assertion. His mind, however, latched onto something else. "You need something out of the prop room?"

Courtney made a face. "Why else would I need to get into the prop room?"

He chuckled. "Well if you were looking for somewhere private to—"

"Are you in or not?" she snapped. She waited, unbreathing, as he took his feet off the table, stood, and considered the proposition.

A Frisbee thunked against one of the tall glass doors and was retrieved by Tyler half a minute later.

Duncan cleared his throat, pulling Courtney's attention back immediately. And then, walking over to the very same door, he declared, "I'll have to get back to you on that, Darling."

"Ugh, DUNCAN!" she shouted, palms balling into fists of their own accord.

"What?" the boy with the Mohawk asked innocently.

Courtney looked like she was in pain when she asked, rather fiercely, "Why can't you just say yes?"

"Oh, Princess." Duncan shook his head in faux disapproval. "You never make a deal without considering all your options."

Then he pulled open the door, tipped his imaginary hat in her direction, and slipped out into the sunlight, trying to figure out exactly what it was he had to lose.

Please, Duncan, I think we all know what the correct answer is.

From strayphoenix: So we're totally excited about this story again! It took me a long time to get over the disaster that was TDWT and, honestly, I haven't given TDROTI a chance yet, so Rina and I are happy living in our timeless little world of Playa de Losers shenanigans. LITERALLY in it. Those two interns sounding more familiar now? ;)

Summer means we work faster, so let's see if we can get another chapter or two out while we're in the surf and turf season. You know making two deals in the same day can't be the best decision Courtney's ever made...

Stay tuned for more summer, illegal shenanigans!

From Contemperina: Yeah, Easter Egg surprise in May! I hope it isn't totally lame that we wrote ourselves into our own story. At least we serve a functional purpose as characters, right?... And we've left you to guess which intern is which! I'm sure how obvious or not obvious that actually is.

We will be forever in love with Duncan, Courtney, and their tomfoolery, and I can't wait to give you all something more to read! You've been so patient with us, and we're really working to get you some material that's worthwhile to supplement your summer.

Until next time!

A million thanks to our many faithful readers, reviewers, and supporters in general, who somehow manage to remember what's going on in this story despite the absurdly long gaps between each installment.

Thanks for reading! Please review (: