DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything from Tiny Toon Adventures, including characters, locations, references, or the Acme Warner Bros. logo. All rights go to Warner Bros. and Steven Spielberg's Amblin Entertainment.
Edited by my friend, Redtop1995. Many thanks.
Chapter 36
The Winter Exams (Part II)
~Dec. 19th~
Professor Road Runner's Outwitting exam left Hamton's brain feeling as though it had been sucked dry of all ideas. Outsmarting mad scientists, tricking master criminals, getting the last laugh on annoyingly smug hall monitors. So many unique personalities and unpredictable circumstances, and a different plan needed to pull off each clever turnabout.
By the time 2:00 reached 2:30, Hamton could hardly believe that such a short exam could've demanded so much. Professor Road Runner apparently thought the time limit would give students a realistic feel of having to think up plans while under pressure, so as to get the gist on the off-chance they do it outside of school. Perhaps the reason Hamton found this exam especially taxing was because he hardly ever outwitted anyone. He preferred solving problems indirectly, and outwitting often involved direct contact and creative, on-the-spot thinking — something Buster and Babs were masters at.
Although, Hamton did take pride in the one time he managed to scare Monty out of fighting him, even though it was the stage props that did most of the work. And speaking of stage props. . . .
In the Props and Physical Comedy exam, Hamton felt comfortable as he and his friends demonstrated classic gags and comedy acts. Professor Porky Pig watched cheerily as his students demonstrated bullseye splats, smashing each other's heads with mallets, skateboard slips, dancing with canes and those stupid hats, and such physical miracles like turning their bodies into bizarre shapes, dethatching hands and heads, and swallowing bowling balls whole — extra credit to those who spat them out and knocked down a stack of bowling pins.
For the third time that day (many people groaned), Hamton and his class had Daffy Duck at the charge for an exam, this time for Spotlight Stealing. All in all, a simple explanatory review, such as listing the Seven Guaranteed Ways to Public Humiliation, Pathetic Pleading, or how to charm your way out of trouble — bribing not permitted.
3:30 left people groaning with exhaustion. It had been seven-and-a-half hours since the exams began and people were starting to show fatigue. Plucky was dramatically demonstrating his tiredness by rolling his eyes and acting like a zombie with the ability to complain. Hamton, however, felt wide awake and determined to go on. Perhaps he had his month-long mission to earn Fifi's gift to thank for his energy.
Either way, his mind turned to his upcoming Wisecracks exam. Not exactly his best class. . . .
"How's it goin', Dr. Quack?" Babs asked Plucky a few minutes later in the next classroom. Principal Bugs Bunny observed the two, nodding his head and smirking at the young Toons. "Have you given anybody molting yet, or has anyone contracted webfeet?"
"Oh, ha ha," said Plucky, half amused. "Let me guess, you're a dance instructor? You must be world-renowned. Top record for most broken toes! Wouldn't be surprising with feet that size!"
Bugs Bunny smirked and rolled his eyes, tapping his own overly-large rabbit feet.
This, among other clever quips, was exchanged from the students with apparent ease. When it came time for his turn, Hamton did not do as well as he hoped. The reason for this was because Bugs teamed him up with Fifi. As if having the whole class's attention wasn't stressful enough. . . .
"Um . . . uh . . ."
Hamton stuttered while trying to think up something witty and droll, but the idea of even remotely insulting Fifi was repulsive to him, and thus he struggled.
Surprisingly, however, Fifi seemed to have just as much trouble thinking up insults as he did. The most witty thing she managed to get out was, "Uh . . . zhere must a mud hole around here, with eh . . . you being here. . . ."
Hamton didn't understand this. Fifi usually always had something clever to say; It often gave a flair to her French accent. Whatever the reason, though, she, like Hamton, didn't seem to enjoy this exchange of wily remarks.
But near the end of their turn, when Bugs announced the one-minute mark, both unintentionally managed to save themselves with:
"Ah, thank goodness," said Fifi bracingly. "Drab like zis should be saved for funerals."
"No kidding," said Hamton, "it's so quiet, our audience must've died."
"With a smell like mine, zat would be no surprise."
"Or literally laughing themselves faint. I mean, have you seen me perform?"
Hamton and Fifi both stepped off to the side to watch Gogo and Furrball have their turn. It was the closest Hamton had been to Fifi since their Destruction exam, and the exchange had been little more than them acting like themselves.
Neither of them listened to the comments that caused the other classmates to chortle. Hamton kept glancing at Fifi out of the corner of his eyes, and Fifi did the same to him. It was both delightful and frustrating. Though he felt happy being this close to her, Hamton's mind kept going back to the goal he had set at the beginning of December, and again he had to force it out of his mind, else he become distracted.
Facing Buster, Montana Max grinned wickedly. "Yo mama's so —"
"HOLD IT!" shouted Bugs Bunny, causing the whole class to jump. "No Yo-Mama jokes, Monty!"
"Why the heck not!" snapped the rich boy. "This exam's about egging people on! Why not egg them on somewhere sensitive?"
"Because jokes like that are insensitive!" Bugs reprimanded. "Wisecracks, Monty, are for the sake of comedy at convenient moments. Quips that are clever to say but merely serve as a remark so that others may get a chuckle. If your idea of comedy is offending people's feelings, OR their mothers, then you better get yourself a new idea, and fast! Shouldn't be too hard. Given your wealth, you could probably just go buy it."
The entire class laughed at this remark, save for the rich boy it was aimed at.
Monty's face burned a violent red. With teeth bared and shaking fists, he looked as though he were fighting to keep down words of the utmost vulgarity.
The school day had gone on longer than normal, and this fact was shared amongst everyone. Everywhere Hamton looked, he could make out a tired, sagging face, half-open eyelids, or a slight slouch to a person's gait. But the final exam, Exploding Cakes, was finally here and the sense of near completion seemed to invigorate everyone into the final push of this very long day.
Walking down the hall with friends by his side, Hamton's mind was full of the day's events. Fragments from exams flitted and mixed together like a scrapbook, but of all the things he thought of, those that involved Fifi kept cropping up without cease. They were becoming painful to suppress and it was getting harder not to think about the Du Coeur perfume, thus Hamton resorted to pinching himself as a kind of negative reinforcement.
"Come on," he thought, wincing at the self-inflicted sting to his arm "one more exam. You've almost made it! Come on, Hamton, keep going!"
When he and the class entered the cafeteria, most of the tables and chairs were pushed off to the sides and those that remained held ingredients, tools, and a collection of explosives piled loosely on top of each other.
Professor Yosemite Sam began partnering people off at once, with 4:00 being only three minutes away and the whole exam lasting two full hours.
Exploding Cakes had been the exam Hamton was least anxious for, and a part of him, the part that dearly loved food — a part that was no longer as strong as it used to be — wanted to be thrilled at the idea of baking a sugary, explosive confection.
But that, sadly, was not to be.
"Hamton!" Yosemite Sam said in his gruff voice. "You're with Monty! All right everyone, get cracking'! Y'all got only two hours to surprise me, so no lolly-gaggin or chitter-chatterin'!"
Everyone in Hamton's class rushed to grab an apron and wash their hands, everyone except for Hamton, who stood motionless and wide-eyed.
"M...Monty?" he asked disbelievingly.
"That's right, you walking bag of pork fat!" shouted the buck-toothed rich boy. "Hurry up and get ready! We got bakin' to do!"
For the first time in Hamton's living memory, he wished he wasn't baking a cake, even one meant for a passing grade.
"So, what do you want to make, Monty?" asked Hamton, trying his utmost to be polite.
"What are you asking me for? You're the master chef here!" spat Monty, spinning a wooden spoon around his index finger. "Just do anything and show me what to do!"
Fair enough. "Okay, then. Let's see. . . ."
Deciding on a super-sized pound cake stuffed full of dynamite, Hamton gathered the ingredients and tools and set to work at a nearby countertop. Monty didn't help at all as Hamton mixed the batter, nor did he assist with placing in the Acme Dine-Safe Dynamite. Not that Hamton cared about the lack of teamwork or anything, but it wasn't exactly enjoyable. It was like having a nasty-tempered bulldog watch you from the sidelines.
Nevertheless, this silent neglect suited Hamton. The cake's preparation went smoothly and the exam, for the most part, was going well. That is, until Monty started to talk.
"So, Hamton," said Monty, his voice firm but not totally aggressive. "You look like you have something on your mind. You're not afraid of a little dynamite, are you?"
"No," said Hamton truthfully, smoothing the batter with a rubber spatula.
"But aren't you happy that you get to go home and relax after this is done? You can go sit on your couch and do nothing. Not have anything to do or worry about."
Hamton stopped working and turned to Monty, an eyebrow raised. It wasn't just the fact that Monty was talking to him as though he were a person; there was something about the greedy boy's tone that didn't sit well.
"What do you want, Monty?" Hamton asked, a little annoyed.
"Oh, I just want to make sure you get us a good grade, that's all."
"Well, I assure you that I'm quite capable of baking any kind of cake."
"Good, good..." Monty said coolly with a nod.
There was definitely something wrong here, Hamton thought. Monty usually scowled or shouted by now, but he was calm and discreet, which only made him feel more dangerous.
"Anyway, Hamton?" Monty went on. "I hear that you're still taking jobs here at school."
"Yeah...?" Hamton said simply, still trying to smooth the cake of any uneven spots.
"So, what loser did you scam into giving up their money?" Monty asked, now sounding amused, as though he actually expected Hamton to sink that low.
"I didn't scam anyone!" said Hamton sharply. "Pete Puma asked me if I would like to help and I —"
"Pete?" Monty repeated. "That braindead janitor?"
Hamton didn't reply.
"Well, count me impressed. I didn't think you would manage to find anyone to work for after my little payoff and slideshow. You do remember the slideshow, don't ya, Hammy?"
"Vividly," Hamton said stiffy, thinking of that terrible day and the way Fifi had scowled at him.
When the oversized cake was ready to be placed in the cafeteria's largest oven, Hamton alone carried it over. It would take longer than the other cakes to bake so as not to ignite the dynamite inside. Never minding how storing the TNT at such a temperature didn't set them off, Hamton kneeled in front of the oven and watched the cake bake, determinedly not looking at Monty.
Hamton tapped his foot, waiting, feeling the heat of the oven leak through its crack in the door's opening.
He took this opportunity in his downtime to glance over at his friends. Babs and Plucky were teamed up and apparently arguing on using shredded carrots for their cake's garnish.
"Will you just lay off them for once!" Plucky moaned impatiently. "Just because you're a rabbit doesn't mean you have to eat them all the time!"
"Yeah, well, I don't hear you thinking of any good garnishes!" Babs retorted.
Buster was, once again, teamed up with Elmyra, and was trying to keep as far a distance from her as possible. Strangely, however, Elmyra seemed far more content with wiping flour off her pet rock than trying to catch Buster in a headlock.
Shirley was meditating in midair, floating in front of her oven with Gogo, who was also meditating in midair, but did so upside-down.
Fifi and Furrball were working together, and when he looked at them, they both gave him friendly smiles. Though it was difficult, Hamton managed to return it with a small one of his own. What he would have given to be partnered with them, with anyone else. . . .
"So, Hamton," came Monty from behind.
Sighing, Hamton turned and asked, "Yeah, Monty?"
"You remember your little trip to my mansion last week?"
"Vividly," Hamton said bluntly.
"Good. Anyway, since then, I've been thinking. . ."
"Yeah. . .?"
"Well, stop me if I'm wrong, but I'm guessing that you must've been pretty desperate to do all that for five-hundred bucks."
Annoyed, Hamton didn't answer, but turned to look back at their pound cake through the oven's window. The batter still hadn't turned brown.
"You could buy a lot of stuff with that money," Monty mused from the side. "Which makes me wonder..." he paused, "anything you plan to use it on?"
"Obviously," said Hamton, still determinedly looking anywhere but at Monty.
"Well?" Monty asked impatiently. "What are you thinking of buying, fatty? A second refrigerator to make room for all the food you pig out on? Pun intended."
Hamton rolled his eyes. Monty would have to do better than fat jokes if he wanted to get under his skin. He had enough on his plate to bother worrying what Monty threw at him.
The cake inside the oven was just beginning to turn light yellow. It would take about an hour more before it was anywhere near ready.
"Well," said Hamton, standing up straight. "I think we should make a light frosting for the cake's top, you know, for good effect. What do you think?"
Monty didn't answer. He was busy counting a wad of hundred-dollar bills.
Smiling mildly, Hamton walked past Monty and stopped at the counter.
When the frosting was nearly finished, Hamton felt it wise to go check on the cake again. When he got there, Monty was standing directly in front of the oven, blocking the window.
"Uh...Monty?" asked Hamton. "Can you please move? We need to check on the cake."
"I'll move when I get some answers!" he snapped.
Hamton groaned. He had a funny feeling something like this would happen. "Monty, we're in the middle of an exam. Please, take some seriousness in —"
"I don't give two cents about this exam!" spat Monty, literally sending specks of spit into Hamton's face. "You are going to answer everything I —"
"MONTY!"
Yosemite Sam marched over beside his pupil and scowled. "What in tarnation is going on over here?"
"Monty won't move aside so we can check —" but Hamton was cut off when Monty hoisted him up by the loops of his overalls.
"Shut your trap, you pink, fat-festered —"
"MONTY!" snapped Yosemite Sam. "This here's an exam, and I don't tolerant no lip flappin' or tongue stabbin! Move aside and get back to work! And what are YOU lot starin' at! I'd watch my cakes if I was you!"
The entire class had turned to watch the uproar Monty was causing. Jumping at their teacher's crude suggestion, they all turned their heads back to their work, but Hamton saw many eyes darting back and forth to where he was standing, all wondering what the commotion had been about.
Grinding his teeth so hard that white powder leaked from his mouth, Monty stomped aside and watched as Yosemite Sam walked back to his chair, undoubtably thinking of ways to choke the teacher with his oversized cowboy hat.
Hamton quickly took the chance to lean in and check on the cake. It was nearing its ideal golden brown, and the scent from inside was buttery with a hint of gunpowder.
A couple minutes later, Hamton pulled on some oven mitts and withdrew the cake. It was steaming lightly and weighed as much as a small anvil.
"Hey, Monty?" Hamton strained, "Can you give me some help? Monty?"
But Monty didn't come. For whatever reason, he was lingering around the supply table.
"Hey, Monty! Can you give me a hand?" Hamton called once more, but again Monty wouldn't move away from the table.
Hamton felt the strain in his back intensify. The heat from his oven mitts were starting to grow hot. With a deep breath, Hamton staggered over to the counter, feeling like a toothpick ready to snap. With a gasp, he heaved the cake up and set it down hard onto the counter's metal tray. It was so heavy that it made a dent.
In the moment it took for Hamton to catch his breath, Monty walked over, a cool and relaxed look on his face.
"What - were you - doing?" asked Hamton, breathing heavy in frustration.
"I was getting the match sticks," Monty replied simply, holding out a small box. "I couldn't decide which ones to bring over."
Annoyance boiled in Hamton's head, which must've shown on his face because Monty gave a pleased sneer.
"Great," Hamton said shortly. "Well, we have to let the cake to cool before we can put the icing on, so —"
"Great, I'll leave it to you," said Monty lazily, and then, dropping the match box onto the counter, he started to fiddle with the matches by making shapes out of them. "So, anyway, about that money you've been —"
"Actually, you know what?" Hamton said quickly, "I think I've forgotten something for the icing. I'll be right back."
Hamton walked away quickly to the supply table and just stood there, glancing at the remaining ingredients, knowing perfectly well that the icing for the cake was fully mixed and ready in the nearby refrigerator. He kept resolutely silent until the exam's time was up. He made excuses every time Monty tried to discuss the subject of Hamton's jobs.
Struggling, he alone carried the hefty pound cake and placed it next to the others for grading. He did not return to where Monty was standing when the class gathered for the critique. Instead, he joined Furrball and Fifi.
Professor Yosemite Sam started his review with the spirit of a critic who was very hard to satisfy.
He snorted at Buster and Elmyra's Chocolate Bunny Cake. That is, until it blew into small pieces from its imbedded firecrackers. He scratched his head in confusion at Shirley's and Gogo's lemon confetti cake, which Shirley made collapse in on itself and then burst into lemon-scented confetti. Yosemite Sam backed away from Babs' and Plucky's cake, which looked like it had been pulled out of the ground. When it exploded, half of it flew upward and landed on Yosemite Sam's head.
"Well, gotta give you points for an attempt at humor," he grumbled.
"More like for luck," Buster whispered to Hamton and his other friends. "Babs is terrible at baking."
"That's, like, nothing!" Shirley whispered back, the sides of her beak curling upward. "You should see the meals Plucky tries to make me." She gave a shudder, but then calmed and gave a thoughtful look. "Although, at least it's not radioactive anymore..."
Fifi's and Furrball's cake did all right, Hamton thought. It was a marble cake with Fifi's signature lace icing and a dusting of chocolate powder on top. When Furrball dropped the lit match atop the cake, it began to fizzle and spark, and then. . . .
BOOM.
Cake chunks flew everywhere. Wiping his face free of frosting, Hamton blinked rapidly, now realizing that the chocolate powder on top had actually been...
"Whoo-yee!" cried Yosemite Sam happily. "Blending gun powder with the cake's color. Decorative AND explosive!"
When Hamton's and Monty's turn came, Hamton held the matches out to Monty. "Want to do the honors?"
"Oh no!" said Monty aggressively. "I'm not falling for that trick again! You light it, bacon fat!"
Hamton's friends shot Monty very bitter glares, but Hamton just smiled. "All right," he shrugged, striking the match.
He lit the fuse. Everyone watched the bright spark travel, zigzagging across the cake's top, and when it disappeared into the cake, everyone held their breath, ready for the explosion. Monty jumped into a trash can for safety.
Poof.
Confused muttering filled the cafeteria. Monty rose out of the trash, a used napkin stuck in his brown hair. Hamton beamed down at the cake, which was still perfectly intact.
Slowly, the large, golden brown confection divided and fell into perfect bread-shaped pieces, ready to serve and eat if only for the fact that they held bits of TNT.
"Appearance, excellent," said Professor Yosemite Sam. "Explosion was mild but fine, and the final presentation is perfect. Fine job."
It was as good as Hamton could've hoped, perhaps even better at seeing Monty climb out of the trash can, fuming and covered in filth.
Once the cafeteria was cleared of cake chunks (courtesy once again of Dizzy Devil) and all the utensils washed and put away, the tables and chairs were pushed back to their proper places and, prior to Professor Yosemite Sam's instruction, Hamton took a seat with all his classmates.
He glanced over at the windows. There was no sunlight remaining. The school grounds were dark and, along the school walls, the holiday lights Hamton had helped set up were already aglow. It truly had been a long day.
A couple minutes later, all the teachers in Acme Loo walked in, looking as relieved as the students in knowing that the Winter Exams were over. The last to enter was Principal Bugs Bunny. He joined his fellow staff and faced the tables full of students
"Congratulations, everyone," he said, his hands folded together. "It's been a long, hard day with plenty of long, hard exams. We should know, we appointed them," he added with a light smirk. "You all have done a lot in the last few hours and I just wanted to say how proud we teachers are to see the hard work you all put into your studies. We know we can press hard and ask for a lot, but that's only because we want you to be the best Toons you can be. And, to reward you, we, the teachers, would like to treat all of you to an end-of-the-semester dinner." Raising his hand to his mouth, he called, "Pete, wheel them in!"
The cafeteria doors opened and in walked Pete Puma, pushing a metal dolly stacked with pizza boxes. Instantly, the warm aroma of melted cheese and smooth sauce replaced the scent of cake and smoky gunpowder. A far more heavenly scent to be sure.
"Acme Presto Pizza," said Bugs, "has generously catered to our school, all expenses paid in spirit of the holidays."
" 'Cause they would never do it any other time of year," Daffy Duck muttered. "I certainly wouldn't."
Annoyed, eyes half closed, Bugs muttered, "Yes, thank you for that enlightening glimpse into your personality, Daffy. Anyway," he went on, his casual tone returning to normal, "help yourselves, kids. And congratulations again on finishing your exams."
Nobody needed telling twice. In a few minutes, the teachers and students were all seated at tables, enjoying a wide variety of pizza and drink. The only ones who weren't seated with the crowd were Pete and Hamton.
Without saying a word to his friends, Hamton quickly grabbed a single slice of cheese pizza and left the cafeteria to help Pete clean.
"You sure you don't want to go and eat some more, Hamton?" asked Pete. "I don't mind starting on my own."
"I ate a slice before I came. I should be fine until we get home. Besides, I had pizza two days ago, so I'm not missing much. Don't you want some, though, Pete? I can take care of things out here until you get back."
"Oh, that's okay," replied Pete. "Bugs let me have some before I brought the other pizzas in. What about Furrball? Is he going to help us clean?"
"Nah," Hamton shook his head. "Let him eat. He's helped me out enough. Besides," Hamton gave a light yawn, looking up at the clock, which read 6:10, "it has been a long day."
"Yeah, I bet it has," said Pete, grabbing another broom for Hamton to use. "I bet you're excited to be on break, though, Hamton. Can't wait for the holidays?"
It was a good thing Hamton's back was turned. He felt his eyes go wide and his face seemed to lose most of its feeling. The slice of pizza he had eaten may have solidified in his stomach.
"Hamton?" asked Pete. "You okay?"
Collecting his thoughts, Hamton turned and said, "Oh, uh...y-yeah. J-just a little tired. Exams, you know?"
"Oh, yes, I do know," Pete said, nodding. "I remember when I took them. After I finished, I thought buildings were growing out of the sky and the sun was under my feet! I was so tired."
All comments, positive or constructive, are welcome.