The aging projector clipped and clacked as the film began rolling through its reels, loud enough to challenge the volume of the audio it put out.

It was begging to be trashed. Polyneux had just recently acquired two brand new, VHS player and television A/V cart combinations, which meant that teachers could pick from a wider variety of films to show their students, and the kids were more likely to get a surprise movie day in class than before.

There was only one reason the projector was dragged out now, and that was to present a film that was not available on VHS tape. There was only one type of such video: Mandatory Government Specials.

After a copyright screen that read 1959, the video rolled into a a black and white video of a confused looking baby with a blank backdrop on the darkened.

"This is the human body," narrated the disembodied, overacting voice of the 1950s film, as the projector displayed its video on the darkened Gym wall. "A beautiful, miraculous thing. For hundreds of years, scientists have studied what it is that make us... well, us!" It was at this point the narrator chuckled to himself. "From birth, it will grow into two very different shapes, depending on the sex of the baby, in a process we like to call, 'The Puberty.'"

The baby on screen looked the camera face on with a judgemental scowl before the video faded into a grayscale shot of the outside of a senior high school that didn't look all that different from Polyneux. The video then cut to the shot of the doors opening, and boys in double collard shirts and girls in identical long skirts filed out the doors in two perfectly straight lines, toothless smiles plastered on their faces. "Ah, the high school. Eighth graders such as yourself will be entering such a wonderful place next year. But as you cross the threshold that takes you one step closer to adulthood, there are a few things to consider about your role in the continuation of humanity-Well, who is this strapping young man, right here?"

The last of the students to exit the doors had the door swing back into his face, as there was nobody left to hold it open for him. Looking slightly annoyed as he pushed his way out, the actor quickly recovered and waved to the camera with a friendly smile.

"Why, it's Marty McSlacks. Say hello to the viewers at home, Marty!"

The boy gave the camera confused look, then proceeded to mouth the word 'hello', despite the fact that there was no microphone around, and his voice couldn't be picked up. A post-editing caption quickly appeared beneath him that said 'Marty says "Hello!"'

"Marty is a fine example of an everyday boy, such as yourselves. He gets his homework and chores done on time or earlier, and he talks to his parents and teachers with the most respectful tongue."

As the narrator spoke, the boy looked up and down the set with uncertainty.

"Yes, children, Marty might not be the brightest student, or the funniest of his peers, and he definitely isn't the coolest, but he is a regular student, alright. Very regular."

The boy acting as Marty slowly turned back to the camera and narrowed his eyes, as if insulted.

"But like all teenagers, Marty has a problem. Marty is going through 'The Puberty'."

Marty looked offscreen, and made an expression like he'd just seen the director wave at him to gesture, and dramatically slapped his hands to his cheeks as if he'd just been told some earth-shattering news.

"And his attitude about girls has changed, along with it. Now, who is that, running up the hill behind him, now?"

Marty looked at the camera confused before turning around, just as a blackened silhouette appears behind him, right of the frame. A girl with a long, straight ponytail, headband, turtleneck sweater and ankle-length skirt marched towards the camera, joining him at his right side.

"Why, I do believe it's Penny Pencilskirt, Marty's mathematics classmate! Like a lot of girls, Penny is bright, and even helps Marty with some of his equations. She has big dreams, and wants to be an engineer someday. What a gal. If she's fortunate and keeps her grades up, she'll pass with her diploma right alongside Marty, and she might just end up as a teacher for the local elementary school."

Overhearing the narration, Penny's smile wilted, and she narrowed her eyes, starting to mouth something that looked a lot like a rant the camera for which the documentary subtitled: "I am very excited and very lucky!"

"But in the meantime, she must attend high school, and she must go through the girl's version of 'The Puberty'."

Like Marty, Penny slaped her cheeks dramatically at the camera, too. She then suddenly took on a smile and began to whisper something into Marty's ear, as the boy listened with interest.

"What is it that Penny is saying? Why... I think she is asking him on a date. Oh, what a naughty girl!" the narrator says with a warm chuckle. "It's not even a Sadie Hawkin's dance! Tradition broken aside, it seems like Marty is very much interested in Penny, and in this date."

Marty nodded at Penny with a smile.

"And he accepts her proposal! We'll fast forward now to the date night to see how Marty has prepared!"

Then there was a pause where both teens stared at the camera, with Penny tapping her foot on the ground. The narrator whispered something to the camera man. "Psst! I said, 'fast forward!'"

"Oh, sorry..." The camera man replied. He then began to spin himself and the incredibly heavy camera set up in a circle, saying "fast forward, fast foward" over and over again. Once the camera was finally spinning at a fast enough speed to give the lamest illusion of time passing, he let go of the machine and fell over, dizzy, as the two teenage actors ran off screen. As the camera slowed down, it showed them bent over the dizzy cameraman with concerned expressions as he lay on the ground. But sure enough, the cameraman gave them a thumbs up.

The scene finally cut away to a night time scene of a car, viewed by the dashboard. Marty came in stage left, opening the door for Penny and allowing her to get inside, before he himself rounded the back of the car and got into the right side.

"Marty and Penny have just completed their date, and it is getting late-nearly 6:30pm. The sun is setting, and Marty has decided he very much likes Penny. The best way for Marty to end this first date, is with a handshake, and a promise of two more. But Marty is feeling adventurous tonight. And he has the inkling that Penny likes him very much too. Up until this point, he has been nothing but a gentleman. But as he stares into her industrial gray eyes, he feels like he can't help himself. He moves in for a kiss."

The video showed Marty and Penny awkwardly moving closer to each other, the actors giving each other grossed out looks as they squeezed their eyes shut and puckered their lips just enough to touch each other's with the barest pressure.

"Now let's see what that kiss looks like from the inside!"

At this point, the scene cuts sharply to a real, inside-mouth view of two people kissing-much more passionately than these teenagers.

Every single boy in Mr. Workout's gym darkened class cried out with disgust, some pulling their shirts over their eyes, others simply covering them with their hands and turning away.

"Ew!"

"That's disgusting!"

"I'm gonna barf!"

"That's what kissing looks like?!"

The narrator, of course, made it worse by audibly describing the kiss for those who had turned away. "Watch carefully as the boy's tongue crosses over the girls', his lips pulling on hers, his mouth dominating hers..."

"I can taste my cereal again..." muttered Tom Banes, sitting on Robot's left belching behind his hands.

At last, the scene cuts away from the graphic mouth camera back to Marty and Penny, the girl suddenly backing away towards the passenger side door. "But what is this? Penny has pulled away. Something has gone wrong. Can you guess what it is?"

"THAT WAS NASTY, THAT'S WHY!" shouted a boy from the audience.

"Hush, Jacobs!" Mr. Workout called from the front of the room. "Don't make me have you to do laps!"

"Oh... oh no! It's worse than I thought!" the narrator gasps, as dramatic music suddenly kicks on, like the prelude to a horror movie. "Marty has... has..."

Penny made the expression as if screaming bloody murder, whereas her voice was dubbed over with a pre-recorded tape of a woman screaming.

As the video cut in and zoomed on Marty's equally 'horrified' face, a title font with a dripping design faded onto screen.

... "BAD BREATH."

The Wilhelm scream sounded, and suddenly, the scene displaying Marty and Penny cut to a pause, and still in the film, the screen itself was ripped in half down the middle. Out from behind it stepped a heavily muscular old man with chiseled features, a square chin, and a general's cap, all while sporting a machine gun loading belt across his chest. His friendliness was made more apparent by giving the camera an aggressive look.

"So remember, fine young citizens: Don't let real life turn into one of those B-Horror movies you love so much! Oral hygiene is not a laughing matter! It is a key element in the many processes that bring about a new generation after yourself! Twice a day, after you brush and floss, make sure to finish off the job by rinsing with U.S.D.A Approved, Totally-Not-Tested-On-Monkeys-" he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a travel-sized bottle with a label on it that bore his own face-"Peroxide-Free Mouthwash. SO BUY IT!" he shouted, moving so close to the camera that the screen was taken up by the shot of his own pearly whites.

After that, the video cut to white and began to clip and clack even louder, signifying that the movie was over. Mr. Workout hurried to the projector and, after a moment fumbling with the controls, managed to shut it off. He then wandered over to the lights for the gym and, without a courtesy warning, turned them back on.

The industrial beams made most of the kids wince and shut their eyes, while everybody else blinked and rubbed their own until they could see clearly again. Workout sighed, and turned to his class. "Alright, now are there any questions about the film we just saw?"

Boys turned and looked at each other, friends whispering in each other's ears, including Tom and Robot. Slowly, as they were permitted to speak, the bleachers came alive with questions. A few of the boys waited patiently with their hands raised in the air, desperation on being called on, while the majority spoke out over the crowd.

"Yeah-"

"I have a lot of questions-"

"Who was that at the end?"

"What does this have to do with why we suddenly like girls now?"

"I'm still confused about how my body works-"

"I STILL DON'T GET WHAT GIRLS HAVE TO DO WITH BABIES!" shouted one poor boy above all of them. His embarrassing admission was shared by a number of boys who were too shy to articulate, but ended up being a reflection of the sentiment of the room as it suddenly went quiet again.

Workout sighed. This happened practically every year since he'd begun teaching P.E., and it never got easier. To make up for the fact that the only video he was permitted to show brushed over the process of reproduction, he offered his frankness. "Look, we're not supposed to get into 'that stuff' until you kids are in health class in high school-government policy."

"But..." started Tom Banes, brave enough to speak up. "What if we already have dates-"

Cut off by the shrill sound of the bell, Tom never got to finish his point, as Mr. Workout clapped his hands together three times. "Ah-ah, time's up! Period is over. But if any of you still have questions, you can visit my office at the end of 8th, and I'll be happy to give you any answers that I can."

Somewhat relieved, the boys trickled down from the bleachers, backpacks and books in hands.

"And don't forget!" Workout called after them, his hand on a stack of crates. "You all get to take home a complimentary bottle of mouthwash!"

Since they were all still in their street clothes, they exited straight through the main gym doors and out through the hallway. Tom and Robot went as a pair, and like everyone else, each took a palm-sized bottle of the mouthwash as Workout passed it to them.

Entering the flooded hallway, where anything could be said without recourse, dozens of the boys began muttering curse-laced rants about the film they'd seen and its uselessness. Tom and Robot hung back, against the wall by the trophy case as they waited for Cubey to get out of his class nearby, and talk.

It was four days after The Gab had been hijacked by the proverbial ghost writer, Andy Fields. And while talk of the urban legend suddenly popped up like kernels in a bag of popcorn, nobody had gathered significant evidence to suggest they knew who the writer actually was. Not even Robot Jones. Having switched from trying to tell if Andy was ever even real, to discovering the identity of the very real ghost writer, all he'd managed to do so far was look up blueprints from Polyneux's first decade in existence-long before additions had been made to the school to make it as huge as it was now.

The Yogman's base was located in a part of the school that didn't exist on current blueprints, but Cubey had an itch that said that that room probably showed up on older prints, from before certain walls had been put up. He and Mitch had used up two of their lunch periods-for which Robot considered this an I.O.U.-worthy favor-to dig through the library texts to find the one they were looking for.

Even if the Yogmans had nothing to do with the ghost writer, they might find their sticky typewriter soon enough. However, seeing as Robot's gym-peer, Tom, wasn't involved in the investigation, the automaton thought it was best if he didn't bring up anything until he had a breakthrough.

"So..." Robot said to Tom, breaking their momentary silence. "I was not aware that you were dating someone."

Robot's taller, yet somehow equally childlike friend turned and looked at him with surprise. "Huh?"

The automaton smirked and folded his arms. "It is unlikely for a human to ask a question pertaining to a scenario unless they are dealing with such scenario."

Tom turned bright red in the face. Even though his increased height hadn't helped him get on the basketball team, he'd taken to wearing sweat clothes-a blue name-brand hoodie and white stripped black pants, specifically. Combined with a slightly deeper voice and letting his hair grow out just another inch, the teen was nothing remotely close to a heartthrob, but he was more charming than he ever was two years ago. "Alright, so... it's not even really official yet. I don't know," he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Still, that's great, Tom!" Robot said, tapping him on the shoulder with his elbow. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, man," Tom replied, honestly. "But I just hope it all works out."

Robot frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"All we've done so far is hold hands sometimes. I know she's had another boyfriend before, and I don't think I'll know what to do when she expects me to... you know... kiss her." He held up the bottle of mouthwash. "How is this supposed to help me know how to do it?"

"Surely, it can't be that hard," Robot explained, considering the question rationally. "Humans partake in the act of kissing all the time-I'd dare speculate that there's hardly any effort involved."

"Ha!" cried a voice. "Like you would know the first thing about kissing!"

Robot turned his head and beheld Lenny Yogman, standing proudly in the middle of a clearing in the hallway. It was rare to see one of the Yogmans in a well-lit area, right next to a wall-length window, and it made it suddenly obvious now what affects puberty were taking on him. Lenny wasn't as tall as Tom, but he'd gained an inch or two in the past two years. His once smooth face was broken out in acne, and there was the faintest hint of a mustache on his upper lip-though it could have been a manifestation of sweat and dirt.

By this time, even Tom knew of the Yogmans, and their reputation for targeting Robot as someone to bully. "What are you doing out of your vent?" Tom asked, confused.

"Scavenging for bits of food, perhaps," Robot muttered.

Despite his growth, Lenny still didn't eat much, and it was apparent by how thin he was, and how his clothes from 6th grade hung looser on his body. For whatever reason, maybe even lack of food at home, Robot couldn't find it in himself to care. This guy couldn't be bothered to care about anybody but himself.

"What does a robot know about romance?" Lenny went on, like he was deaf to the insult. "Assuming that you'll ever woo that peg leg Shannon into making out with you."

Robot felt steam build up inside him from someone yet again throwing Shannon's name out there, but carried on the conversation. "Said as if you yourself are a Romeo among heathens."

"Actually," he said, taking off his cap and running a hand through the thin, short layer of hair on his head. "I heard the conversation shift to talk of female companionship, and I couldn't help but interject that I myself have recently acquired a lady friend-one of whom I've had the pleasure of kissing many a time."

"You are so full of it!" a familiar voice yelled at him from behind. Tom and Robot gladly saw that it was Cubey, having just emerged from his class, his algebra textbook under arm. "The day a girl gladly plants her lips on your rashy face will be the day the world stops, and spins backwards!"

Lenny chuckled. "Aww, did I make the little Cube Master envious?"

"I'm not envious of a lie! If you are so proud of this 'lady friend,'" Cubey said, emphasizing Lenny's premature elitist speak, "Let's see some proof of her!"

"In due time," Lenny replied, his grin not loosening. "See you gentlemen later."

Will the sinister air the benign snake at Clara's party lacked, Lenny slithered back into a passing hallway crowd, and disappeared before the boys' eyes.

"What a rat," Cubey commented. "I'm thinking about borrowing my dad's welding kit and sealing him inside the vents."

"Shouldn't Denny be with him?" asked Tom. "It seems weird to see those two apart."

"True," Cubey said, as they began walking to the cafeteria. "Maybe hearing his brother's crock about a girlfriend was too much for even Denny to handle."

"I'd love to see that. Right, Robot?" Tom asked. "Uh, Robot?"

Robot, who'd gone totally quiet, looked at the boys thoughtfully. "In the grand scheme of things, what are the odds that Lenny was being truthful?"

Cubey stopped dead center. "Oh, come on, Robot! Don't let that Yogman get into your head again! It was a bluff, and you know it!"

"Do I, though?" asked Robot. "Stranger things have been occurring lately."

Tom winced. "You're not really wrong."

Cubey, on the other hand, wouldn't have it. "Hold on. What's gotten into you all of the sudden?"

Robot folded his arms across his chest and looked away, embarrassed. "Nothing... just... um, disturbed by the precise mathematical probability in every scenario in the universe that Lenny might have been being frank-even if it's total crap," he added at the end hastily.

"Whatever," Cubey answered, finally dropping it. "Come on, let's go find Mitch. I can't wait to tell him about this one!"

Robot followed, but remained quiet. It seemed like no matter how numb the automaton got to casual insults, Lenny knew exactly what to say to make Robot feel insecure. If this were two years ago, Robot might not care less what Lenny thought about his romantic life, but things were different now. Between Socks hitching himself to Clara, and Cubey's increasing efforts to get Pam to notice him, or even Tom's revealing he was seeing someone, it seemed like every boy in his graduating class was in a race to be in a relationship.

It was inane to believe that Lenny Yogman, one of two boys who made antisocial behavior a career, might actually have a girlfriend. And the image of Lenny having received his first kiss before Robot himself made the little automaton want to bury his head in six feet of dirt and snow on the campus lawn and call the entire mission over.

But worse than that was the realization Robot made about trying to reason to Tom that kissing couldn't be that difficult. When he thought about it, Robot realized his only evidence for coming to that conclusion was that Socks-a boy who didn't have the most impressive academic record-had a girlfriend. And said girlfriend was apparently satisfied with his kissing enough to continue doing it in public, right in front of the whole school.

Despite how badly he wanted to make up with Socks, guiltily, Robot found himself already thinking of him as an example of why a boy didn't have to be very smart in order to be successful. What kind of best friend does that?

As they rounded the corner, Robot nearly screeched to a halt. To the left of him was Shannon Westerburg, who met his eyes, and immediately dropped her smile.

Speaking of things that make me want to bury my head in dirt... Robot thought, nervously.

They made eye contact for a moment before Robot looked away, figuring that if she had had nothing to say to him yesterday, that it would be the same today.

So he did a complete double take when she called his name.

"Robot," said Shannon flatly. "Back stairwell, end of 8th period."

Robot's body had continued to move forward, but his head had twisted backwards to keep eye contact with Shannon as he moved further down the hall and away. Despite the jarring nature of the request, Robot found himself nodding back at her silently.

When he swiveled his head back around, Cubey and Tom looked disconcerted. "What was that all about?" asked Cubey.

"I... don't know," Robot told him. And he really didn't. Aside from confronting him about what he'd done for her back at Clara's party, Robot wasn't sure what she wanted from him. Did that last heart-to-heart they'd had at her house really change something between them? Is that why she defended him in the hallway back on Monday?

"I still don't get you guys," Tom commented, looking over his shoulder as if afraid Shannon had heard him.

Cubey gave Robot a questioning look, like even he could use some explaining.

Robot sighed. "I still don't understand us, either."

"I do not think the boys were satisfied with the information the video provided," Robot explained. "In fact, it only seemed to encourage a fear about kissing that they didn't have before."

Robot had sat down on the floor of that stairwell at the end of 8th period, expecting to talk about the party. What ended up being discussed was nothing remotely close. Shannon had just come back from her own gym class video, with a rant on her mind. It was only after Robot had gotten into the story of the boys' video that she was struck with interest, and let Robot describe it in detail.

"Sounds stupid," Shannon commented, sitting on the last few steps of the stairs and turning over the little bottle Robot had shown her in her hands. For mouthwash, the back had an incredibly long list of hard-to-pronounce ingredients that Shannon thought was oddly long for something like this. And the front was no better. Since the video's release in the 1950s, the person on the front of the bottle had changed from the General to someone the kids of the 1980s would be more familiar with. The one Robot had received was adorned with the image of Mr. T, and beneath him was the caption: 'I Pity the Fool that Don't Take Care of His Teeth!'

"Crimany," said Shannon, rubbing her temples. Although she herself had been taking different measures to tend to her fear of bad breath, she could see how lame this was. "Well, if it's any consolation, the video we got wasn't much better. Ours didn't even have boys in it. It was just a woman in a chair in a pink room, talking about 'self esteem' and 'being strong' and stuff like that," she said, while emphasizing the saccharine nature of the woman's voice. "Then we all got handed out Swiss army knives."

Shannon pulled the complimentary sample, adorned with pictures of pink and purple flowers, from her pencil case and held it out before Robot, who's pupils grew large. "Oooo... how shiny."

"Yeah, but what the heck am I gonna do with this thing?" Shannon asked. "Stab a guy who gets too close to me?"

"True, true," Robot replied. He looked away, trying to look nonchalant before saying, "Trade?"

Shannon looked up, almost blushing, as if Robot had read her mind. "Mm, sure," she said, handing Robot the knife and keeping the mouthwash. Both were equally useless, but they had more of a purpose for each other.

"I do not understand why they felt like they needed to give boys and girls two separate films in the first place," Robot said. "Aren't girls interested in dating too?"

Shannon shrugged. "Adults are weird like that. They act like they need to tell guys one thing and girls another."

"But the messages totally contradict each other!" Robot said, feeling his face grow hot as he was insulted. "How could society function if girls are told to make war, and boys to make love?"

There was a pause, and Robot felt his face grow suddenly very warm, at the realization of what he'd just said. He clasped his hands over his mouth and gave the girl he was sitting across from a horrified look.

"Oh..."

"Smooth," Shannon snorted.

The robot unclasped his mouth and spoke frankly. "I hate double meanings."

Shannon stood up and stretched her limbs, her metal knee clicking in a way that made it sound like it needed to be lubed. "Look, don't think so hard about it. Double standards are just a part of society. It's stupid, but everybody knows it."

"If they know it is 'stupid'," Robot asked, "Then why do they keep perpetuating it?"

"It's like my Granddad says: Hard to charge uphill facing the wind." She leaned down and re-stacked her books and pencil case before shoving them neatly under her arm. "Well, I gotta go. Already missed the bus and mom'll start wondering where I am if I don't start walking now."

As Shannon started trotting up the stairs, Robot tossed the knife into his chassis and stood up eagerly. "Wait! Don't you..."

The girl paused and turned around. "Don't you... what?"

Suddenly, the programming that allowed Robot to articulate words went blank. He knew what he had wanted to say: Do you want me to walk you home? Like we did when we were in sixth?

But walking a girl home was the act of a boy pursuing a girl for romantic reasons. There was no reason Robot could think to justify offering to do such a thing. He wasn't even sure why he felt like he wanted to. He was positive that Shannon could get home safely by herself.

"Don't you want to... talk again?" Robot said, slowly. "Like this, sometime?"

Shannon blinked. "Uh, sure... sometime."

Robot watched her up the stairs and disappear behind the stairwell door, the echo of the slamming following him all the way to the bottom. The automaton didn't know how it was possible to feel so unsure of how he was feeling.

In his hesitation to find something to replace the idea of walking her home, another question had formed in his head, and it almost made him sick that he even considered it.

If boys and girls were equally concerned about dating-despite what the different videos would have them believe-wouldn't it make sense that girls would be as worried about their kissing performance as the boys?

And if that was so, wouldn't it make sense if they... practiced?

Robot's face burned again. He wasn't worried about what his mouth tasted like-though he did wonder if a girl would be turned off by the taste of his last sip of oil. He was more worried what a practiced girl kisser would think if, far fetched as he realized it was, they every should lock lips with himself.

There was only one thing to do, and it made his gears spin and his head feel light. He was going to have to research.

With nobody home for another few hours, Robot seized his opportunity and opened up the index on his mother's computer, plugged his head into it. His own internal database didn't have anything on kissing other than a definition, and he was not about to let his mother know what he was looking up.

With a pause, his fingers hung over the keys before he worked up the courage to type in the search bar:

how to kiss

Suddenly, Robot was overwhelmed with flurry of windows of text, movie clips, still images, and a ton of articles on the subject. He pushed aside the Hollywood media and focused on the text. Some articles were scientific, some opinionated, and some very strange-including one that included visual diagrams on 'alternative' ways to for a couple to kiss that, at least to Robot, didn't look pleasurable in the slightest. Robot skimmed the articles that argued the best locations to have it happen, which way the noses of the kissers should be pointed-which was irrelevant, since he didn't have one, what to do with the tongue, and how long it should last. But it still wasn't really what he was looking for. Shaking his head, he narrowed down his search again with the added keyword 'basic'.

The Basics of Philematology: The Science of Kissing

Step 1...

Now we're getting somewhere,

Robot thought, excitedly, as he began downloading the article.

Later, up in his room, Robot opened up his closet and moved aside two boxes of random spare factory parts, and room fixtures, including wires and a broken lamp. With those out of the way, he opened up box of toys for study-an assortment of playthings that belonged to himself, and second hand ones that had been given for the purpose of absorbing and understanding the way human children his own age play. It had been a handful of years since he'd played with anything in the box, and the last time he'd dragged it out was little over a year ago, when he had used the contents of a Hairy Harry toy to give himself the illusion of having hair-the result of which had been public humiliation.

He dug until he found what he was looking for-a Raggedy Ann doll, complete with red yarn hair, smiling face, and print blue dress with a white lace apron. He only remembered seeing the doll once as a child, and pretty much ignoring it-not necessarily because it was a doll, and dolls were typically for girls, but for the fact that it didn't really do anything except sit there, and Robot was more interested in toys that moved or beeped or made noise.

He brushed a bit of dust off of the doll's dress, and gazed at it thoughtfully. It wasn't very big-but neither was he-and wasn't too small. And its face was flat, with features such as its black eyes, simple triangle nose, and stitched on lips printed onto the fabric of the head. But with no better substitute at Robot's disposal, it would have to do.

He set the doll down on the worn out, olive green couch in his room, propped up by the crook of the arm and the far right cushion. He then sorted through his collection of cassette tapes until he found one that would be most appropriate for the occasion-a female, slow song singer, something Stacey had given him to show him the kind of music girls liked, but that he'd never listen to out of personal enjoyment.

Robot slid the tape into the door of the cassette player of the stereo, and shut it. Soon, the house's electric hum was taken over by romantic music that filled every inch of the room.

The little automaton went to his dresser, digging through a pile of clothes he owned, but rarely wore, and beneath a haphazardly folded sweater, pulled out two identical, small light bulbs, attached to little battery packs. Robot picked them up because they were good backups if his flashlight died during a power outage, and he was stuck in the home. But they were more desirable than flashlights at the moment for makeshift candlelight.

He looked at himself in his full body mirror quickly, making sure there were no obvious smudges on his face or chest, no bits of lint trapped in his joints. He then turned on the light bulbs, and set them up on the floor, next to the couch. Turning off his room lights, the little glow of light coming from the standing light bulbs were all that illuminated the room.

He sat himself on the edge of the left of the couch, one leg folded, the other hanging off of the edge, watching the doll. Despite his efforts to get out of the habit of talking to inanimate objects, in this lighting, he could just trick his imagination long enough to picture a small, pretty, and very much alive girl sitting across from him.

"I am glad that you could visit on such short notice," Robot said to the doll, wearing his most seductive smile. "My parental units are not due home for another two hours, and I was hoping we would get to spend some time alone together."

The doll sat there, neither commenting, nor protesting the things Robot was saying.

He scooted a little closer. "As I'm sure you are aware, it is quite taboo for a robot to have a human in romantic company," he told the doll-something true, and that he felt like he'd never have the guts to tell Shannon. "But I find that it only makes what you and I have more exciting."

And Robot scooted a little closer, again. But this time, the movement on the couch caused the doll to loosen from its position, and tumble over, head first, onto the ground, just in front of the second light.

Quickly, Robot got up and came to its side. "Oh, don't go!" he said, picking it up and holding it in his outstretched arms. "I didn't mean to be so fresh. You and I have something special, it's not just about the taboo aspect of it. Believe me. I like you for who you are-your scarlet locks, your deep, dark eyes, your little smile..." As he spoke, he stroked the doll's yarn-made curls and stared at it intensely. "Please..." he whispered, "Give me a chance to prove it to you."

He set the doll on his lap, and pushed his claws through the back of its hair. Repeating what he'd learned from the article, he closed his eyes...

"Electro, I thought you were going to sort the recycling and set the bin on the curb!" said Mrs. Jones, rolling up to her home and noticing only the trash bin sitting out by the street.

Her husband, who'd left before her that morning and was only returning home now, glared at her with tired eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I thought you were going to do this! The pickup is probably gone already!"

"That was Robot's job," Mr. Jones said, calmly. "I agreed to do his share of cleaning for the weekend if he took care of the trash and recycling."

"Oh, that boy is getting on my last nerve!" Rosetta said, with deep annoyance breaking through the usual monotone of her voice. "Ever since he started school this year, he's let his chores fall to the wayside, while he runs around all weekend. I am going to have a serious talk with him about keeping up with his responsibilities!"

Mr. and Mrs. Jones let themselves into their home, with Electro staying downstairs to finish the chore Robot had neglected, and Mrs. Jones heading upstairs.

She stayed quiet until she was right outside his door, hitting the 'open' button without a moment of hesitation. "Robot Jones, we need to-wh-what-what on Earth?!"

"MOM?" Robot shouted, pulling his lips off of the doll and staring at her in horror. The romantic music was still playing on the stereo in the far corner of the room, and aside from the light spilling in from the hallway, the room was still dark, with the mood lighting made by the little light bulbs on the floor. Having no idea what to do first, he thrust the doll behind his back. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HOME?!"

"Don't shout at me! What are you doing? What is all this?!" she boomed.

"WHY DON'T YOU EVER KNOCK?" Robot shouted in frustration. "I'VE TOLD YOU ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY SEVEN TIMES, NOW!"

Hearing the commotion upstairs, it didn't take long for Mr. Jones to hurry and see what was going on. The sight did not please him either. "What are you both shouting about..." he said, trailing off at what he saw of Robot's room. "What... WHAT IS THAT?" He pointed to the doll behind Robot's back.

"It's nothing, just please, shut the door!" Robot shouted. The feeling of the doll's fabric on his lips was still there, and it nauseated him to be seeing his parents with that sensation still there.

"Alright, alright!" Mrs. Jones said. "Sorry!"

Panicked, Mr. Jones reached for the door button, but he hit it so hard, he crushed the button with his fist. Realizing what he'd done, in a blind panic, he reached for the right side wall of the doorway and tried pulling it across like a curtain, but ended up just tearing off the shiny metal guard of the door frame, leaving circuits sparking, ripped in half. "I-I-I-I-I-I-"

"JUST GO!" Robot shouted. He dropped the doll and picked up the couch in his hands. Using a great deal of his strength, he flung it across the room, right at the door way. The couch slammed with the car crash against the metal walls and landing horizontally in the ruined doorway, Robot's parents backing away just in time to not get dusted by the broken wood of the couch legs snapping as it landed.

After the shock of it, the little automaton sighed, hurried over to his stereo, and shut the music off.

"Robot, is this something we should talk about?" asked Mom unit, sounding concerned.

Robot groaned. "Nooooo." He shook his head. Please just accept it and leave... please...

Alas, no higher power heard his pleas. "Is this part of why you've been spending so much time away from home?"

"No! Actually," Robot said, figuring that going silent wasn't going to help the situation. "It's... just a quick, irrelevant study on the processes involved in the... human ritual of courtship... that's all."

"Oh," answered Mom unit quietly.

Not sure what he was going to say after this, it was a relief when Robot finally heard the rolling wheel sounds that meant his parents were gone. He then leaned against the wall by the stereo, sliding down onto his backside and sighing. The throw had taken a lot of his energy.

When they reached the first level again, Mrs. Jones had to speed to catch up to her husband as he headed for the back of the house. "Hold on... Electro! Are you not aware of the significance of what has just occurred?"

"What significance?" Mr. Jones answered back, not turning around. "I do not know what you are suggesting."

"Are your eyes not working properly?!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed. "Your son has begun to study the intimacy between males and females! I believe it's time you had a conversation with him."

"Negative."

Mrs. Jones put the breaks on her wheels, and came to a dead stop. "What... what do you mean, 'negative'? Electro, we have talked about this! We knew this day was coming! This is an important part of the responsibility of a father to his son!"

"I said, 'no'," Mr. Jones shot back at her, turning around for only a second to look his wife in the face. "I would talk to Robot about anything, but not that. If it is so important to you, than you do it."

"I would if he was my daughter, but he is not," Mrs. Jones explained. "It's not formally correct."

"To hell with formally correct!" Mr. Jones shouted back.

Upstairs, Robot's recovery from the humiliation of getting caught was cut short. He had gone over to the doorway, and began pulling the couch back to the place it had been before he threw it, thinking of quick ways to fix the snapped legs. That's when he heard the trickle of his parent's voices from downstairs. Normally it was impossible to hear them in his room unless they were right outside his door, but because the door was broken, he could hear the sounds of their voices all the way from upstairs. Curiously, he left his room, passing the broken door frame and inspecting its damage on the way out, and stepped into the upstairs den, hiding behind the left railing of the escalator.

Robot's parents weren't the kind to argue. As robots, they would sooner leave a room when the other was bothering them before even mentioning to the other that they had a problem-per their programming. Sure, they'd gotten into small disagreements every now and again, but they were usually resolved fairly quickly.

At least until recently. Maybe it was just because he was spending so much time out of home lately, but it seemed like they weren't getting along as well. Once or twice, Robot had come home to his mother snipping to his father about something, and his father ignoring her, or muttering a comeback under his breath. All of this was very unrobotic, and very unusual for robots of their age set.

So it was even more jarring to Robot to sit there and listen to their voices grow louder and louder, almost able to distinguish what they were saying through metal walls.

His parents were having a fight. A bonafide, emotional fight. He pressed his left antenna against the steely cool metal of the escalator and felt his joints loosen as acceptance took hold.

"How peculiar," came the voice that echoed the little automaton's thoughts.

Robot looked up and saw that the one who had spoken was none other than the R.T., the male artificial intelligence installed in the Jones' house. He was reachable through any of the computers, but currently, he looked down upon Robot from the big blue monitor in the den from which he had taught Robot a variety of robotic must-knows, including all eleven of the Rules of Robotics-the most important common programming for robots in the Western World.

It was also the only monitor from which he could speak without being called upon. Despite technically being yet another resident of the Jones house, the R.T. was a teacher, and Robot didn't treat him any differently because he was an AI. If he talked down to Robot, than Robot would not give him the respect that he demanded.

Robot glared up at the monitor. "What is peculiar?" he demanded.

"Oh, nothing," the R.T. said, with just enough emotion in his computerized voice to express sarcasm. "Just that in all the years I have served the JNZ company, I have never seen such a transformation of a group of robots from perfectly fine units into bickering, inefficient simpletons. I'd say that senior Grampz unit would have a comment about how this must be related to the increasing time you spend with the humans, but seeing as he hardly has the pleasure of speaking to his grandchild, I thought I would relay the idea."

Robot Jones thought he would explode, he was so mad. Instead of blowing up into a million tiny pieces, the automaton let the "Oh, shut up! You cannot speak for my grandfather about anything, and you are not about to stand there an insinuate that I don't care about him anymore because I have a life! Have you even spoken to him lately?"

The R.T. laughed haughtily. "Touch a steel nerve there, did I?"

"You cheeky, arrogant piece of circuit board!" Robot yelled at him. "You are lucky you haven't even been uninstalled yet! I finished taking lessons from you a year ago. You have no further use in this household-especially not to criticize my family! You are only here because my parents felt sorry for you!"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," the R.T. said, confidently. "I have become aware of a bill sent to the United States House of Representatives last week that proposes amending the Rules of Robotics yet again-this time, with a rule that states that all prior rules must be retaught to all units every single month."

Robot gave the monitor a confused look. "Every month? But that's totally unnecessary. Most robots these days have an eidetic memory."

"Do you think that I care?" the R.T. asked. "It keeps me in service." He laughed himself back into silence, the monitor's screen going black once more.

Stunned, Robot stood from his crouch behind the railing. Downstairs, his parents were still carrying on, and loud enough so that Robot could catch words like "changes" as they were pronounced. What about what had just happened in the bedroom had gotten them so upset?

Whatever it was, it only solidified Robot's decision that he was never going to tell his parents about Shannon. If seeing him make out with a stuffed toy had made them this angry, he couldn't imagine what they'd say if he came out, admitting to having used to be romantically interested in a human being.


In this chapter, after the boys are forced to watch a confusing and unhelpful video in class about high school relationships, Robot discovers there is a dread among the middle schoolers about their first kiss, and that even he may not necessarily be excluded from it. But why is Dad unit reluctant to give him 'the talk'?

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Whatever Happened to Robot Jones? © Greg Miller & Cartoon Network