DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING from The Amazing World of Gumball, including characters, places, or any other references that may appear in this story. Not a thing.
Chapter 36
The Speech
The hallway clock ticked away the school day's remaining hour, just as it had done time and again. The only other sound in the hall, besides the meditative timepiece, came from two pairs of footsteps: one from a kind, blue cat and the other from a cute paper bear whose arm was slung around the cat's shoulders as he helped her walk down the empty school corridor.
"Thanks, Gumball," said Teri, "but my leg is quite good now. You can let me go."
"You sure?" he asked.
"Yep. Totally sure. The nurse did a good job with the ironing."
"Well, okay, if you're sure."
Teri felt Gumball slowly let go of her hand and she slid back onto both feet with ease. Carefully, she tested her leg, double-checking to make sure it didn't crinkle.
"Yep, all better," she said, beaming. She and Gumball continued down the hall, Teri feeling extra happy and thankful for the cat's company. "Thanks again, Gumball. My leg may have crumpled if you hadn't helped me to the nurses' office."
"Do you mean that literally?" he asked concernedly.
"Mm-hmm," she complied with a serious nod. "I really got to watch myself next time."
"That and people should help out when these things happen." Gumball stared at the ground sourly. "I still can't believe nobody else came to help you."
"Eh, I'm not angry. It's not worth getting stressed out over such things. And besides," Teri smirked, "it can be a bit hard to see me in a crowd when I'm lying flat on the floor. I am paper-thin, after all."
The two arrived outside the gymnasium doors, both of which were open and showed Penny, Carmen, and Molly inside, practicing their cheer routine.
"Oh! Looks like I still have time!" said Teri excitedly.
"Yep, fourteen minutes," Gumball remarked. "More than enough time to cover all you need — at least, I think so." He held out her pompoms. "Good luck in the Pep Fest, Teri."
"Thanks, Gumball," she said, smiling and taking her pompoms. "It was really nice talking to you, by the way."
"Same with you," he responded. "So . . . are you still nervous about germs?"
"Of course, I am," said Teri, to which Gumball looked taken-aback. "But not nearly as much as before," she added with a giggle. "I'll try and look more on the bright side now. Life's too beautiful to stress out over such little things."
Gumball nodded to that. "One day at a time, Teri."
Teri nodded as well and saw Gumball turn to leave. The paper bear gave a little smile as he took his first step away, amazed by how much her perspective of both him and germs changed with just a ten-minute talk in the nurse's office. She'd have to think of a way to pay him back.
She turned around and stepped into the gym, prepared to join practice. But before she got too far in, she stopped at the sight of Penny, an idea popping into life inside her head.
Teri turned around again and rushed after Gumball, her pompoms swaying in her hands, her leg not failing her. "Hey, Gumball! Wait!"
Upon recess's completion, the students and faculty of Elmore Junior High all congregated in the gymnasium. Everyone's excitement was building up to aneurism-induced hysteria — and all for their football team, no less. And as for those who didn't really care for the sport, the prospect of going home to goof off was still something to smile about.
Long story short, the Pep Fest began at 3:00 and everything went as expected. The football players yelled like crazed gorillas as they charged inside the gym, tossing footballs and demonstrating many ways to cause concussions, all for the cheering glee of the students. Rocky skipped and sprinted around the gym while tossing candy and glow sticks to the crowd, their hands waving and catching as he passed by with his overstuffed garbage bag. Then, to everyone's growing spirit, the four cheerleaders — all together and happy — performed their cheer routine, pulling off flips, turns, and ending on a high note with applause. Teri, it seemed, was the most joyful. Her bright smile was matched only by the energy she put into her movements, much to her fellow cheerleader's surprise and amazement.
All went as planned . . . or, at least, most of it did. By this time, more than half the Pep Fest was finished and Principal Brown now stood at the gym's center, a microphone in hand, about to address something that came to his attention at the last moment.
The hairy principal watched as the cheerleaders retook their seats, then looked at Miss Simian who was sitting at the front with the other teachers, her arms crossed and a cruel smirk spread over her wrinkly face. The sight of his darling Lucy's smile sent both warmth as well as chills up Nigel's spine. He knew his Lucy was a good woman at heart (very deep down), but he couldn't deny that she could be troublesome when she wanted to be, especially in regards to the students. And speaking of which, it just so happened that Lucy called out on one particular student to do something most unexpected.
Nigel adjusted his glasses and looked over to the side where Gumball was waiting by the gym doors. The blue cat appeared rather calm, the way he bobbed back and forth on the balls of his feet, humming a quiet, impromptu melody. Nigel thought this behavior rather odd, considering what Lucy had assigned him to do, but decided to wait and see what would happen before making any judgement calls.
He cleared his throat, remembering what he had planned from the beginning. "Good afternoon, everyone," he said, his voice amplified through the microphone. "First of all, let me just say, thank you, our strong Mustangs, for that exciting display."
The school burst into applause, whooping and yelling enthusiasm for the football players, who were eating up the cheers with much smugness and gratification.
"And superb spirit from our cheerleaders," Brown added, from which a louder applause was heard for the four girls, smiling bashfully at their success.
"Yes. I can see we're all quite eager to cheer on our team as they play against Seymore tonight in a chance to get to the quarterfinals. Now, before we get to the next part for our Pep Fest, one of our students has something he'd like to say to us all in regards to our celebration. So, with no further ado. . ."
Everyone watched as Gumball Watterson walked forward and took the microphone from Nigel, who returned to sit beside Lucy Simian. Nigel glanced to her, noting the gleam in her yellow eyes and her cruel chuckle.
"This is going to be hilarious," he heard her say, making Nigel wonder what Lucy was forcing the poor cat to do and why.
The gym had gone totally quiet. Everyone stared at Gumball, looking curious. He was steady yet seemed tense, as though what he wanted to say was more important than anyone could understand.
He took a slow, steady breath, gripped the microphone in his hand, and stepped forward.
"Hi, everyone," he said in a friendly tone. "First off, I want to explain why I'm here and why I want to speak to all of you." He raised a hand and gestured to his teacher. "A while back ago, I can't remember when, Miss Simian assigned me an eight-hundred-word essay, one that I managed to finish today. We both have our reasons for it, as well as for me being here, but after much thought, I decided that what I wrote should be shared with all of you. So, if you don't mind, I have eight-hundred words to share. And don't worry, this won't take nearly as long as it sounds."
He cleared his throat and paused, his expression suddenly solemn. Sitting in the bleachers, Darwin, Anais, Penny, Carrie, and everyone else Gumball knew, watched on in curiosity.
He began with a sigh.
"It sucks to lose, doesn't it?" he asked.
More than a hundred eyebrows rose at this question — Miss Simian included.
"When it comes down to it, I think the majority of us would prefer it if things always went the way we expect them to. While it's no surprise that people can enjoy surprises, the ease and joy of watching our plans ascend and our hopes prevail — often with little to no grief — is the blissful ideal we all secretly strive for.
"It's a reasonable hope. We all do our best to reach the finish line with as few scrapes or stings as we can manage. It's only natural to want to avoid pain and disappointment.
"But, as any person will tell you, the sight of that finish line in the distance is, by far, easier to perceive than it is to reach.
"To this, most of you would probably exclaim, 'No kidding!' It's no secret that everything is easier said than done. We all know that, and I understand it, too. It doesn't matter whether it's obtaining a job, writing a novel, or trying to win a football game — as ironic as it sounds, the goal in the long-run seems to move farther away the more we strive to reach it. It's never as easy as we would like it to be. And so, what happens?
"We struggle. We go through so much that, after a while — maybe a few years or even just five minutes — we stop and ask ourselves a simple question. A question that plagues us much like the pain and drawbacks inflicted upon ourselves in hopes of reaching our goal. A question that has defeated the mightiest of spirits and left them to wonder aimlessly. And that question is . . .
"Is it worth it?
"Is the reward of completion enough to justify all the labor we had to go through just to make it as far as we did? Is the prize we seek at the end a treasure to cherish or an empty promise to bemoan and weigh upon our souls for the time lost in claiming it?
"It's a very troubling and very real question. We are all driven by our hopes, after all. They are the reasons we live, the reasons we breathe. If a struggle has no reward then why bother? Why waste what precious time we have when there is so much else that could be done? Hope, the very thing we hold onto, can tear us apart from the inside, make us feel small and alone, and ultimately leave us with nothing.
"So, I ask you again: Is it worth it?
"The answer is, surprisingly, simple."
Gumball smiled. "Of course it is.
"Now, before any of you laugh and call this speech of mine cheesy — which I'm sure many of you are bursting to do — let me just say, I know how it feels to struggle, how it feels to fail. In fact, so do all of you. Yes," Gumball nodded, looking directly at the reader, "all of you know.
"That's not to say I understand each of you personally, but on the whole, we've all faced these kinds of situations. We set our mind to something, we plan our route on how to get there, and then, somewhere along the way, perhaps even before we start, we hit a wall that throws us off our path.
"It's not a pleasant thing to feel. No. When that happens, we bombard ourselves with questions. Those question could lead to solutions, but those questions can also lead to doubt. And what comes of doubt? In the case of ourselves: defeat. We lose our focus, we lose our drive, and, in some ways, we lose ourselves.
"So where does the worth lay? Well, that answer is, surprisingly, also simple."
Gumball spread out his sweatered arms as though he wanted to embrace the whole crowd. "Us," he responded pleasantly.
"We, ourselves, are the answer, the cure to doubt and defeat. Life, for all its bullying, isn't as tough as those who walk it." He looked over to the football players. "Those who get knocked down and stand up again are the ones who've earned the right to succeed, regardless of whether the push came from nature, from an aggressor, or even from themselves.
"Yes, I know, life is still hard. Again, it's easier said than done, but trust me when I say it can be done, and it can be done by anyone! It could take a second try, a third try — heck, maybe a hundred-thousand tries! But should you stop even then? No. In persisting, you not only learn from your mistakes, but your spirit rises above the boundaries of challenge. You, yourself, are all the proof you need to show the world you are worthy. You don't have to be rich, or be a genius, or be a god to be awesome. You already are awesome! So, let me give you the advice on how to bring out your best.
"Live," Gumball responded calmly. "That's all. Just live and savor it. Stop worrying where you think you should end up and just go and get started. You want to go to college? Start saving up and go. You want to be famous? Perfect your art and reach for the stars. Want to win the big game? Then practice until you pass out, then go and win! And don't worry. Even if you miss out on today, look at tomorrow as the beginning of a better you. And forget age," he added, looking at Miss Simian kindly. "Nobody is too old to start living a happier life.
"One day is all it takes. One day is more than enough. One day is the start of every new change.
"And with that, I state my conclusion. Your time is yours and your life is your experience. So, in the words of Paul Anka, 'face it all and stand tall, and do it your way'."
A heavy silence came.
Every student, teacher, and school worker stared from their seats at the blue cat in what looked like stunned expectations. Even Miss Simian was taken aback by the prose her old ears had received.
The solidarity of this stillness was so intense that everyone noticed Darwin and Anais when they stood from their seats.
Gumball, his brother, and his sister locked eyes with each other. Then, quite gently, the younger siblings smiled and began to clap.
Penny and Carrie were the next to join the small applause. Then Teri, then Rachel, then Principal Brown. Rocky dropped his bag full of candy and joined too, and soon the whole school gave ovation for the unexpected speech brought to their ears. The only one not moved or happy for Gumball was Miss Simian, who had her arms crossed and was growling softly, knowing she was the odd-one out, and that trying to humiliate Gumball now would be next to impossible.
But, then again. . . .
When the clapping died down, Principal Brown rose from his seat and walked up to Gumball who handed the microphone back.
"Well," the hairy principal said bracingly. "I must say, that was unexpected, but so, so invigorating! Nothing like a little pre-game pep talk to get our team in the right spirit. Right, team?"
"YEEAAAAH!" roared the football players, beating their chests and pumping their arms.
"Lovely," replied Principal Brown, looking down to Gumball and patting his shoulder. "Well, Mr. Watterson, thank you for your inspiring —"
"HOLD IT, NIGEL!"
Everyone turned in surprise toward the sudden outburst, whose old, screechy voice filled the gym like an invasive vulture.
Smiling her evilest smile — all 32 of her inch-long teeth exposed — Lucy Simian rose from her seat and marched over to the gym's center. "Just a minute, Nigel. I'm afraid this speech we just heard is nothing more than a wishy-washy boat-load of trash!"
Nobody responded. Miss Simian's eyes darted here and there, looking annoyed. "Is it so much to ask for a dramatic gasp when it's in order?" Again, nobody responded. "ARGH! Never mind!"
"Lucy, what on earth are you talking about?" Nigel asked, trying to act as reasonable as he could, but not without suppressing some impatience for his beloved.
"Oh, it's quite simple, Nigel," Miss Simian explained in her cruel smile. "I assigned Gumball here to write a paper and to present it to the school — in his own words."
"So?" Nigel inquired. "That's what he just did, Lucy."
"So," Miss Simian stressed, "I believe we all heard the ending of his pretty little sermon quite clearly. He quoted a sentence that came from a different source, and not even from the correct source, I might add." She grinned demeaningly down at Gumball. "Frank Sinatra said those words, you stupid little moron, not Paul Inka or whoever's name you pulled out of that waste dump you call a brain."
She gave an evil laugh that reached the microphone, sending chills up the entire school. "Those weren't your own words, Watterson. Therefore, you committed plagiarism! So, I'm afraid your little discourse was for nothing, which means your brother's grade remains as an 'F!' HA!"
The sick pleasure that always came with criticism and humiliation bubbled inside Lucy Simian like a vat of congealed grease. She could practically taste Gumball's tears, smell his disappoint, feel his anguish. It was a rush that excited the ancient teacher more than anything else on earth.
So, imagine her confusion when Gumball didn't look crushed or mortified. Quite the contrary. To his teacher's wide-eyed disbelief, Gumball was smiling calmly, having listened to every word she said with the utmost politeness.
"Well, actually, Miss Simian" Gumball said, everyone listening and hearing him clearly, "I'm afraid I have to correct you on two counts."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a short, rolled-up stack paper. "Here's my completed essay. It's more or less an exact manuscript of the speech I gave just now."
"So what?" snapped Miss Simian. "Doesn't change what you did. In fact, seeing as you have it in writing, that essay is all the more proof of your plagiarism."
"Well . . . you may want to glimpse at the last page."
Confused, Miss Simian snatched the essay out of Gumball's hands and flipped to the back sheet. What she saw made her heart stop (figuratively, of course).
"W-W-Work cited?!" she exclaimed, her hands shaking and rattling the paper on which a single block of writing was printed.
Work Cited
~Anka, Paul. "My Way." Lyrics. Perf. Frank Sinatra. My Way. Reprise, 1969.
"Yep," Gumball said, smiling with his hands behind his back. "I felt it would be wise to do this essay properly and made sure credit was given where credit was due.
"Oh, and as for that second thing, Miss Simian," he added, with her turning to him in bafflement. "Frank Sinatra didn't write the lyrics to 'My Way'. He simply performed it and is the one most credited for the song's fame. The one to thank for that lovely song's existence is songwriter, Paul Anka, and I made sure to credit both him and Mr. Sinatra in my paper, as you can see from the page in your trembling hands."
Again, Miss Simian didn't respond, at least not with words: only a short series of stuttering and stunned gasps escaped her lips.
"Well, then," said Principal Brown calmly. "It sounds like everything is in proper order to me. Don't you agree, Lucy?"
Lucy looked to him, shocked.
"Eight-hundred words or more AND responsible, work-cited sources. Very nicely put, don't you think?"
"I — But — But, he —"
Miss Simian turned from Nigel, to Gumball, to the essay she held, and back again. Eventually, her eyes rested on Gumball, who wiggled his eyebrows at his teacher.
"Well, Miss Simian?" he asked cockily. "Didn't I do a good job?"
Feeling anger and humiliation bubble up inside her, Miss Simian grinded her inch-long, boney teeth.
"C-plus, Watterson," she snarled. "Same for your brother and his part in your stupid science report!"
And with that, she threw the essay down at Gumball's feet and stomped back to her seat, not giving mind to the students and staff glaring at her with disapproval.
"Well, that's that," sighed Nigel, both out of love for his Lucy as well as annoyance at her anger, though far too used to it by now to scold her openly. Looking down, he gave Gumball one final pat and a sincere smile.
"Well done, Gumball. Thank you."
"Oh my gosh-Oh my gosh! I can't believe it!" Rachel squealed in her bus seat, holding onto her new MP3 player with delightful disbelief. "I can't believe I won this! I mean, I thought it would just be something dumb like a yo-yo or something, but when Mr. Small pulled it out and showed it I was like, WHAAAT?! I mean, seriously! Such an awesome prize! And it holds, like, four-hundred thousand songs and a hundred and twenty hours of battery life! I mean," she breathed fast, squealing again. "Gumball, thank you so much for entering for me! I still can't believe it!"
"Yeah, me neither," said Gumball, watching Rachel with amusement while he sat between his siblings. The apple pie he had won rested steadily on his lap.
"I, for one, can't believe you guessed the closest — twice" said Anais. "I mean no offence, Gumball, but still, outmatching Bobert and the Eggheads?"
"Meh, I got lucky," Gumball said with a modest shrug. "I just thought I'd make my guess close to Rachel's. It seemed like a good idea, and I'll say it was, even though I came in third."
"Well, you're taking it better than the Eggheads did," said Anais. "I honestly can't tell what offended them more: coming in second place with the coffee beans or being given a flash-drive as a prize. You'd think that be something they'd love to have, seeing as they're both nerds who dig computers."
"From what I overheard, they said something about their brains being, quote, 'all the storage space they need', end quote," said Darwin, "in very smug voices, I might add. So, they gave the flash-drive to Bobert, who seemed pretty happy to have it, if you ask me."
"Well, he'll no doubt make a lot more use of it than the Eggheads," said Anais in agreement. "But what about you, Gumball? Planning to have that pie after dinner tonight?"
"Actually," Gumball said, looking down to the pie, "I was planning on doing something else with it."
"Like what?"
"You'll see when we get home," Gumball answered simply.
Anais and Darwin looked at each other, wondering what their brother meant with this simple yet cryptic statement. Deciding it would be best to wait and see as he suggested, Anais chose to ask another question that had been pressing her since the Pep Fest ended. Actually, make that two questions.
"Gumball?" she asked.
"Yeah, Anais?"
"The roses you gave Penny after the bell rang," she said, remembering the bashful yet cute scene where Gumball handed Penny the lovely orange flowers. "Where did you get them?"
"I asked Mom if she could pick them up for me," Gumball explained. "I gave her some money before we left for school and asked if she could pick up a rose on her lunch break, and she agreed. She stopped by a little while after I left the cafeteria and handed them over outside the front doors. She looked perfectly happy do it and didn't really voice any complaints, so, all in all, I think it was a good gesture."
"Penny certainly thought so," said Rachel, who had watched the adorable scene between the cat and peanut. "One question, though. How did you know Penny liked orange roses?"
Gumball smirked. "Oh, let's just say a kind, quiet voice whispered it to me."
"…Okay . . ." Rachel said slowly, raising an eyebrow. "I'll take your word for it. In any case, you made Penny a very happy girl, so good job on that."
"Thanks, Rachel."
"And that speech," she added. "I must say, I was not expecting that."
Gumball chuckled weakly. "Yeah, sorry. I know it must've sounded cheesy. I mentioned that before I gave it, in fact."
"No, I mean I was impressed," Rachel said sincerely. "Really, Gumball. The whole school thought so, too. Couldn't you tell by how loud they clapped?"
"Well, I –"
"Actually, that essay's another thing I wanted to ask about," said Anais, eyeing her brother critically. "I can't believe how fast you managed to finish it."
"Well, I had to work quickly," Gumball said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Miss Simian wanted both a hard copy and for me to present it in front of the school." Rubbing a hand down his face, Gumball looked somewhat resentful. "I still can't believe I agreed to go through with that. My heart was pumping the whole time. I thought for sure I'd mess up again."
Anais frowned in confusion. "'Again'? What do you mean 'again'?"
Gumball's eyes went wide for a brief moment. "Uh, I mean, I was afraid I'd choke like I did when I practiced giving the speech — before I gave it, I mean."
"You practiced beforehand?" Anais questioned. "When did you have time for that?"
"I just found time, I guess," Gumball said. "It took a bit of cramming, but I had the majority of the speech memorized. That's how I was able to type it out so fast. I even managed to find that cool lyric, which fitted so well with my essay's message."
"You're lucky you cited the lyric," Anais said seriously. "If you hadn't —"
"Miss Simian would've had a reason to gloat in my face and flunk both me and Darwin," Gumball finished for her, before giving a sad sigh. "But . . . even with my speech, I only managed to get Darwin a C-plus. What more do I expect, though? I could've given that speech a hundred times, corrected and perfected it a hundred times, and Miss Simian still wouldn't grade it any higher." Gumball looked at Darwin with remorse. "Sorry, buddy."
"Gumball, don't sweat it," said Darwin, and he truly meant it. "You took Miss Simian head on in a bet and came out on top. That alone shows you tried to make amends." He shook his orange fish head and laughed. "The way she looked after you called her out."
"That was awesome," Rachel admitted. "It's about time the old baboon got taught a lesson herself."
"I'm not going to lie," said Anais, smirking, "you were pretty cool there, Gumball."
"Awww, Sis." Blushing, he then noticed Darwin looking solemn. "Darwin? What's wrong?"
His brother responded, "I'm sorry for getting angry. It was just a grade and —"
"Darwin, it's okay," Gumball cut across him. "You had every right to be angry. It was my fault you got that F, after all."
"Maybe, but still . . ." Darwin sighed, then smiled gently. "Thank you."
Gumball nodded. "You're welcome."
"Hey," said Anais. "If you two softies are done being sorry, we're almost to our block."
The two brothers turned and peered out the window, and indeed, they could just make out the roof of the Robinson house some little ways away.
"Gumball?" said Rachel. "One last question before you and Darwin go."
"Yeah?"
"What's going on with you and Carrie?"
Gumball didn't respond.
"I mean, I don't know whether or not you noticed, but I saw the way Carrie was staring at you during the Pep Fest and —"
"I know, Rachel," said Gumball calmly. "I noticed it, too, and I know what it means."
Rachel raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You do?"
"Yep. I already know about Carrie. Me and her talked about it during lunchtime after we left the cafeteria. And don't worry. She and Penny are probably still talking about it right now back at the school."
Rachel eyed Gumball curiously, as did Darwin and Anais, both of whom had no idea what was being discussed.
"Gumball," said Rachel, sounding concerned, "do you think that was wise, having Carrie talk to Penny about . . . you know. . . ?"
"Yes, Rachel, I do believe it was the right choice," said Gumball confidently. "We would've had to discuss it sooner or later, and there's no time like the present. I trust both Penny and Carrie completely with this."
"Excuse me," said Anais abruptly. "But what are you two —"
The bus came to a halt, the weight of the inertia pushing everyone forward in their seats by a margin. Holding tight onto the apple pie, Gumball smiled at Rachel.
"Well, see you later, Rachel. Enjoy your new MP3 player." And without another word, Gumball rushed off the bus, saying, "Bye, Rocky," on his way out.
Darwin and Anais followed after and saw Gumball walk up to the Robinson's front door. He knocked three times.
From inside the residence, Gaylord Robinson was, once again, honing his knowledge of all the world's coffees and teas. In irritation at the sound of someone knocking, he dropped his encyclopedia onto the couch and approached the door. He had a pretty good idea of who it must be, seeing as nobody else had come knocking during these last few years. And, sure enough, he opened the door and saw Gumball, smiling up at him.
"Hmm," said Mr. Robinson, an eyebrow raised and his fist resting on his hip, "you certainly look happy."
Gumball chuckled, "Yeah, it's been a pretty good day. And I thought I'd stop by and give you this."
He held up the apple pie, which Mr. Robinson stared at with confusion. "What's that?"
"A Dutch apple pie," Gumball responded, still holding it out for his neighbor. "I won it at the Pep Fest today, but thought you'd want it more than I do."
"What makes you think that?"
"Well, it was just a hunch, but I figured you could go for something that wasn't chicken alfredo, for a change. So . . . if you want it . . ."
Mr. Robinson's firm stare went down to the pie and back up to the young cat.
"Kid," he said in his normal grouchy tone. Without taking his eyes off Gumball, he lifted the pie out of his grip and said, "Thank you."
"Sure thing. Enjoy it."
Gumball left Mr. Robinson's presence, not seeing the twinkle in the old puppet's eye as he looked down at the beautiful, sweet-scented dessert resting in his hands. Nor did Gumball hear the angelic choir burst into jubilation (mainly because it came from inside Mr. Robinson's head).
"Finally," the old man whispered, tears literally falling from his eyes. "My prayers have been answered."
All comments are welcome. Positive or negative.