Chapter 4
"Erm...where's Nurse Stanley?" Sydney mused, glancing about the small nurse's office.
"Well, from this note saying 'Gone for lunch; back in forty,' I would infer that she has gone for a light midday meal, and she'll be back in a short period of time," Malcolm replied.
"You're such a smart-ass," she sighed.
"Oh, you should talk," he scoffed. "Is there a single book in the school library that you haven't read?"
"Er...yes," she replied, eyes shifting from side to side guiltily and whistling innocently. "The innocent whistle...can't go wrong with the innocent whistle. That...would have been more effective if I hadn't said it out loud."
"You're reading one right now! Actually, you're reading two!"
"Oh, fine," she sighed, tossing 'Hyperspace' over one shoulder, and 'A History of Early Man' over the other. "There. No books. Are you happy now?"
"I'll be happy once you take the Latin-English dictionary out of your ankle- holster," he replied dryly.
"How did you know about my emergency back-up book?"
"I have one, too," he confessed, pulling the leg of his pants up over his ankle.
"Oh, yeah! 'How to Make Mega-Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps, by Kilo K. Han,'" she read. "I don't think I've read that one. Could I borrow it?"
"I...don't think so. A...friend of mine lent it to me."
"I'll be careful with it! I could probably get it back to you by the end of they day," she wheedled, gazing pleadingly at him.
"No, I really can't."
"Can I borrow that other one, then?" she asked, picking up the book under his arm.
"Er...you want to borrow 'How To Steal the Woman of Your Dreams from Her Idiot Boyfriend'?"
She inspected the cover.
"Is this Homer Ecker guy any good?"
"Well, he should be an expert on relationships. He's been married seventeen times...including once, to Mrs. Starkey. And give me back my other book!"
She whimpered sadly as she clung to 'How To Make Mega-Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps.'
"But I've already got up to chapter 3! This is fascinating!"
"I think you have a problem, Sydney," he sighed, gently prying the book from her hand.
"Books...so happy...so many pretty words...can forget about the horrible things in your life...like an idiot boyfriend who barely feigns reluctance at the idea of making out with three blonde bimbos at once..."
"Sydney...you aren't talking about...Tanker, are you?"
"Well...maybe," she admitted guardedly.
He sighed.
"I don't know what to tell you. It seems to me that starting up with him is tantamount to asking for trouble."
"I know," she said softly, trying to surreptitiously tug 'How To Make Mega- Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps' back out of his grasp.
"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but a book-fix isn't going to solve your problems forever," he said dryly, snatching the book back.
"Name one problem!"
"Running out of books?"
A pause.
"Name another one!"
"This one."
"I could test the power of books to make me forget about this, if you'd just GIVE ME THE DAMN BOOK!"
"Calm down! And, no! My book!"
And thus ensued a tug-of-war for the precious tome of wisdom.
"Mine!" Sydney insisted.
"Mine!" Malcolm countered.
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
At this point, Amp bolted into the room.
"No! You two must not fight! Fighting is a terrible, terrible thing! Let me tell you a tale from my youth. When I was young, I saw a tree. It was a lovely tree, with many beautiful leaves. But then the harsh autumn came, and the leaves fell, bitten by the cruel frost. And the tree was sad. Don't you see? Fighting is like the frost that bites the tree. But the tree tastes like bitterness!"
"Um...Amp? Are you okay?" Sydney asked hesitantly.
"Fine! Why?" he replied with a shrug.
"Well, that's got to be one of the strangest things you've ever said."
"That's what the tree fairy said when I told it the story!"
"Well, congratulations, Amp."
"What for, Malcolm?"
"You've managed to surpass even your own stupidity. Ow!" he shrieked as Sydney swatted his shoulder with all the force of a light breeze.
"Be nice!" she admonished.
"Why?" he demanded.
"Because...because...if you're nice to other people, maybe they'll be nice to you!"
"That sounds needlessly optimistic."
"Well...it isn't! People are basically good, even you! You pretend to be all mean, and evil, and hateful, but there's good in you somewhere, if very, very deep down."
"Very."
"Uh..." Amp began hesitantly. "I came to take you two back to rehearsal."
"Wasn't I supposed to lie down?" Malcolm asked, crossing his arms.
"Oh, right! So, go lie down, then," Sydney suggested, "and Amp and I will go back to rehearsal."
"Yeah, you're missing Tanker's big moment! He's making out with three girls!" Amp exclaimed.
"On second thought," she sighed, "maybe I should stay here. Or go home. Yeah! Going home is happy. Nice computer there...won't judge me for reading too much...won't make out with three gorgeous, if idiotic blondes...I love my computer...calm down, Sydney. Think of your computer, and happy thoughts will follow. Happy...happy..."
"Er...I don't think you should be alone right now," Malcolm said hesitantly, taking her arm and leading her to one of the cots lining the wall. "Lie down here for a while."
"What did I say?" Amp wondered. Then he shrugged. "Alright. Back to rehearsal. I hope Yoli saved me some brownies! Brownies! It's what's for dinner!"
With that, he bolted from the nurse's office.
"Happy...happy..." Sydney was meanwhile chanting, curled into a little ball.
"Sydney. Calm down. Or I'll sick Kilokhan on you!"
"So...happy...so - what?"
"I'm sorry; I had to say something to snap you out of it," Malcolm shrugged.
"It sounded like you said 'Kilokhan,'" she noted with a frown.
"Er...I said 'Genghis Khan.' He was an ancient ruler, you know. Uh...here's a book on him!"
He tossed the heavy hardcover volume at her, half wondering what it was doing in the nurse's office.
"I've read it," she said listlessly.
"Er...how about this one: 'Pagan Rituals of the Malay Peninsula.' What a strange reader Nurse Stanley is," he commented with a shake of his head.
"I've read that one, too."
"Well...um...how was it?"
"It was good. He dies in the end, though."
"Well, rituals, you know how it is."
"Um...not really."
"Well, I had to get you talking about something other than Tanker. Damn," he finished with a sigh as her eyes grew wide and shiny with tears.
"Oh, Tanker, you bastard," she sobbed, curling back up into a little ball, anime tear jets shooting out to either side of her face.
"How is she doing that?" he wondered, surveying the hydro-pump tears in amazement. "It must be the magic of the nurse's office. Or perhaps...the absurdity of the Fates."
And somewhere else entirely, Bezo-Fate turned to Yezo-Fate.
"Are we absurd?" he demanded, polishing the Masamune-twig.
She turned from her eternal quest to catch the bunny.
"You're polishing a twig, honey. Do you really need to ask?"
"Hmm...good point. Let's make out," he suggested eagerly, tossing the twig to the side and accidentally impaling the bunny.
"O-kay!" she chirped, having the attention span of a hyperactive moth in a fireworks show.
And now, back to Super Human Samurai Syber-Squad, currently being written by other people, as the Bezo-Fate and the Yezo-Fate are...um...slightly busy.
"Um...why did everything just go dark?" Sydney wondered, straightening up and drying her eyes on her hat.
"I do not know; all I know is that there has been an overwhelming darkness in my soul until this moment, for not until this moment did I realize the stunning greenness of your eyes."
"They're brown," she interjected.
"That's what I said. The stunning brownness of your eyes."
"A touching observation, dear gentleman, but I entreat you, go back to the rehearsal. You must not miss your one great chance at stardom for my sake."
"For one second in your arms, I would give all the stars in the heavens, throw them down to the earth, and step on them!"
"Oh, Malcolm!"
"Oh, Sydney!"
"Oh, crap," Bezo and Yezo spoke up together. "We turn our backs for one minute," Bezo continued, "and look what happens!"
"You two go all romance-novel on us!" Yezo exclaimed. "Well, that's it! We're takin' over again. Get outta here, Danielle Steele!"
"Fine," Danielle Steele harrumphed, stalking away. "Danielle Steele doesn't need this; Danielle Steele's gonna go write her own world. And she'll live in it forever."
As she reached the door, she turned back and gazed piercingly at Sydney for a moment.
"Men are pigs. Remember that."
And, with the swish of a cape that she wasn't wearing, she was gone.
"You don't need to tell me that!" Sydney called after her. "I'm dating Tanker!"
"Yes, well, we're trying to remedy that, now aren't we?" Malcolm muttered aside.
Meanwhile, somewhere else entirely, Sam Collins was having something of an internal monologue.
'Wow...Tanker's usually stupid, but he's REALLY stupid right now. He's not usually this bad. He may talk a lot about football, but he usually talks about food, too. Today, it's all football. I wonder if there's some deeper explanation for this. God, Jennifer's cute...she's perfect in every way. And her acting? Well, that can't be beat. They say love is blind; what do they know? I say, she looks good, and I love that! No, Sam! Tanker's got a problem! Focus on that! Focus, Sam. Focus on Tanker's problem.'
'He's stupid,' Sam's brain chimed in.
'Hmm...you've got a point,' Sam said to his brain.
'And he thinks he's clever, but he's not,' the brain added.
'You don't have to tell me,' Sam winced, thinking of Giga-Butt. Then, a little tiny light bulb appeared over his head. "Hold on!" he yelped aloud, leaping from his seat. "I'll bet Tanker's stupidity is of digital causes!"
"Football?" Tanker asked from the stage, pulling away from his entourage, which, oddly enough, carried on with the make-out scene without him momentarily, not noticing that he was gone.
"Hey!" Candi exclaimed, pouting. "Our Tanker's gone!"
"Get back here!" Mandi growled fiercely, dragging Tanker back into the middle of the circle.
"Football," Tanker sighed happily.
"Yeah, I've gotta work fast. Let's Samurize, guys!" Sam shouted, about to strike a power chord before noticing that his guitar wasn't there. "Oh, right," he sighed. "I need a guitar. But where would I find a guitar in a high school with an extensive band program?"
He pondered this for a moment.
"I know! The science lab!"
An hour later, Sam came to realize that neither the science lab, the English classrooms, the History classrooms, the language labs, the math hallway, the gymnasium, the janitor's closet, nor the washrooms (male or female) held the needed guitar.
"But where else is there to check?" he wondered, scratching his head. Then the little light bulb made a reappearance over his head. "I've got it! The nurse's office! Sydney will know where to look! Sam, you are a genius!"
"Y'know," Malcolm began, taking a sip from his teacup, "I'm really surprised we're here at all. I didn't think this show would last another season."
"Me neither," Sydney agreed, draining her own teacup, and then frowning at it. "I think the teacups would make a lot more sense if we weren't drinking vodka out of them."
"Careful," Malcolm grinned, nudging her with his elbow. "We're supposed to be sixteen." Then he noticed George the Camera Guy. "Oh, shit, we're back!" he yelped, tossing his teacup over his shoulder, then grabbing hers and tossing it at George.
"Ow!" George shrieked. "You jerk!"
"And just what are you going to do about it? I am a star on this show. I am in the limelight at all moments. And you? You are a lowly camera man," Malcolm smirked.
"I'm union," George informed him smugly, pointing to the Mafia teamsters behind him.
"Dammit," Malcolm hissed. "Sorry about the cup. I didn't see you there. My eyes are going in my old age."
"Sixteen, you idiot! You're sixteen!" Sydney reminded him with a gentle kick that sent him flying across the room.
"Ack!" Malcolm shrieked as he sailed through the air and collided with the wall with a loud thump.
"Oh, hey, Malcolm," Sam greeted as he sauntered into the room, inadvertently smacking the young man in the head with the door.
"I hate you all!" Malcolm howled. "I wish I was union!"
"Did I come at a bad time?" Sam asked.
"Actually, yes," the dark-haired youth replied. "We were all breaking character."
"On this show?" Sam laughed, raising an eyebrow. "What were you doing? Dressing up as...no, that's been done. Throwing hotdogs at each other and...no, we did that, too. Having a big pyjama party...no, we've done that one, too! Ah! Got it! Dancing around, singing striptease songs and undressing slowly?"
Malcolm paused, considering this.
"I hadn't thought of that. It sounds like a good idea. Sam, go away. George, you too."
With a shrug, Sam started out of the room, followed by George. Upon noticing that everyone was leaving, Sydney stood and prepared to follow them.
"Not you," Malcolm told her. "You stay. Get up on the table and dance and sing striptease songs."
"What then?" she asked, scratching her head in confusion.
"Whatever comes naturally," he replied with a wicked smile.
"But...I think something was happening with the plot," she protested.
"Plot?" Sam echoed. "What's a plot?"
"Never mind, Sam. In fact, I think there's a guitar out on the football field. Why don't you go look for it?" Malcolm suggested, subtly shoving Sam toward the door.
"Okay!" Sam agreed jubilantly from out in the hallway.
"Wait a second, Sam!" George's shout was audible through the door. "I think it was a...never mind," he sighed as Sam presumably disappeared from the hall. "Nobody ever listens to George. C'mon, Teamsters! Let's go get ice cream!"
"Ice cream?!" one of the Teamsters echoed, also from out in the hallway. "You the best boss!"
"Fawgheddaboudit!" George drawled.
Sydney blinked.
"Um...that was weird."
"Now, let's get with the table-dancing!" Malcolm urged.
"But I'm reading!" she protested, pointing to his copy of 'How to Create Mega-Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps.'
"Give me that!" he exclaimed, yanking the book from her grip.
"But I'm up to Chapter 8! If you'd just give me a few more minutes, I could read the other five chapters, and I'd be done! Heck, Chapter 9, just while we were talking! And from this distance!"
"I don't know whether you're really amazing, or terrifyingly scary," Malcolm sighed, shaking his head at the multi-thousand-word book.
"Terrifyingly scary," Sydney repeated slowly. "That seems a little redundant, but I like it!"
"Anyway, get dancing!"
"But I want to read!"
"Alright, then; read. But you can only wear the book."
"I think that would take us to at least a PG-13 rating..."
"Well, sacrifices are part of the theatre."
"Theatre! What does this show have to do with the theatre?"
"You have a good point there," Malcolm started to reply thoughtfully, but was interrupted as Sam charged into the room.
"You tricked me!" he threw at Malcolm with an accusing glare.
"Wha...?"
"There was no guitar on the football field!"
"Sam," Sydney interjected wearily, "if you actually fell for that, I don't think the real problem here is with Malcolm trying to trick you."
"And just what's THAT supposed to mean, Syd?" Sam demanded suspiciously. "How do I know you're not in on it?"
"In...on...it? I feel dizzy," Sydney whimpered.
"Look, Sydney," Sam began slowly, as might one who was speaking to a very stubborn child, "we have a bit of a problem, and we don't have time to play your head-games right now."
With that, he seized a very bewildered Sydney by the arm and dragged her from the nurse's office under the eyes of a very bewildered Malcolm.
"Erm...where's Nurse Stanley?" Sydney mused, glancing about the small nurse's office.
"Well, from this note saying 'Gone for lunch; back in forty,' I would infer that she has gone for a light midday meal, and she'll be back in a short period of time," Malcolm replied.
"You're such a smart-ass," she sighed.
"Oh, you should talk," he scoffed. "Is there a single book in the school library that you haven't read?"
"Er...yes," she replied, eyes shifting from side to side guiltily and whistling innocently. "The innocent whistle...can't go wrong with the innocent whistle. That...would have been more effective if I hadn't said it out loud."
"You're reading one right now! Actually, you're reading two!"
"Oh, fine," she sighed, tossing 'Hyperspace' over one shoulder, and 'A History of Early Man' over the other. "There. No books. Are you happy now?"
"I'll be happy once you take the Latin-English dictionary out of your ankle- holster," he replied dryly.
"How did you know about my emergency back-up book?"
"I have one, too," he confessed, pulling the leg of his pants up over his ankle.
"Oh, yeah! 'How to Make Mega-Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps, by Kilo K. Han,'" she read. "I don't think I've read that one. Could I borrow it?"
"I...don't think so. A...friend of mine lent it to me."
"I'll be careful with it! I could probably get it back to you by the end of they day," she wheedled, gazing pleadingly at him.
"No, I really can't."
"Can I borrow that other one, then?" she asked, picking up the book under his arm.
"Er...you want to borrow 'How To Steal the Woman of Your Dreams from Her Idiot Boyfriend'?"
She inspected the cover.
"Is this Homer Ecker guy any good?"
"Well, he should be an expert on relationships. He's been married seventeen times...including once, to Mrs. Starkey. And give me back my other book!"
She whimpered sadly as she clung to 'How To Make Mega-Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps.'
"But I've already got up to chapter 3! This is fascinating!"
"I think you have a problem, Sydney," he sighed, gently prying the book from her hand.
"Books...so happy...so many pretty words...can forget about the horrible things in your life...like an idiot boyfriend who barely feigns reluctance at the idea of making out with three blonde bimbos at once..."
"Sydney...you aren't talking about...Tanker, are you?"
"Well...maybe," she admitted guardedly.
He sighed.
"I don't know what to tell you. It seems to me that starting up with him is tantamount to asking for trouble."
"I know," she said softly, trying to surreptitiously tug 'How To Make Mega- Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps' back out of his grasp.
"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but a book-fix isn't going to solve your problems forever," he said dryly, snatching the book back.
"Name one problem!"
"Running out of books?"
A pause.
"Name another one!"
"This one."
"I could test the power of books to make me forget about this, if you'd just GIVE ME THE DAMN BOOK!"
"Calm down! And, no! My book!"
And thus ensued a tug-of-war for the precious tome of wisdom.
"Mine!" Sydney insisted.
"Mine!" Malcolm countered.
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
At this point, Amp bolted into the room.
"No! You two must not fight! Fighting is a terrible, terrible thing! Let me tell you a tale from my youth. When I was young, I saw a tree. It was a lovely tree, with many beautiful leaves. But then the harsh autumn came, and the leaves fell, bitten by the cruel frost. And the tree was sad. Don't you see? Fighting is like the frost that bites the tree. But the tree tastes like bitterness!"
"Um...Amp? Are you okay?" Sydney asked hesitantly.
"Fine! Why?" he replied with a shrug.
"Well, that's got to be one of the strangest things you've ever said."
"That's what the tree fairy said when I told it the story!"
"Well, congratulations, Amp."
"What for, Malcolm?"
"You've managed to surpass even your own stupidity. Ow!" he shrieked as Sydney swatted his shoulder with all the force of a light breeze.
"Be nice!" she admonished.
"Why?" he demanded.
"Because...because...if you're nice to other people, maybe they'll be nice to you!"
"That sounds needlessly optimistic."
"Well...it isn't! People are basically good, even you! You pretend to be all mean, and evil, and hateful, but there's good in you somewhere, if very, very deep down."
"Very."
"Uh..." Amp began hesitantly. "I came to take you two back to rehearsal."
"Wasn't I supposed to lie down?" Malcolm asked, crossing his arms.
"Oh, right! So, go lie down, then," Sydney suggested, "and Amp and I will go back to rehearsal."
"Yeah, you're missing Tanker's big moment! He's making out with three girls!" Amp exclaimed.
"On second thought," she sighed, "maybe I should stay here. Or go home. Yeah! Going home is happy. Nice computer there...won't judge me for reading too much...won't make out with three gorgeous, if idiotic blondes...I love my computer...calm down, Sydney. Think of your computer, and happy thoughts will follow. Happy...happy..."
"Er...I don't think you should be alone right now," Malcolm said hesitantly, taking her arm and leading her to one of the cots lining the wall. "Lie down here for a while."
"What did I say?" Amp wondered. Then he shrugged. "Alright. Back to rehearsal. I hope Yoli saved me some brownies! Brownies! It's what's for dinner!"
With that, he bolted from the nurse's office.
"Happy...happy..." Sydney was meanwhile chanting, curled into a little ball.
"Sydney. Calm down. Or I'll sick Kilokhan on you!"
"So...happy...so - what?"
"I'm sorry; I had to say something to snap you out of it," Malcolm shrugged.
"It sounded like you said 'Kilokhan,'" she noted with a frown.
"Er...I said 'Genghis Khan.' He was an ancient ruler, you know. Uh...here's a book on him!"
He tossed the heavy hardcover volume at her, half wondering what it was doing in the nurse's office.
"I've read it," she said listlessly.
"Er...how about this one: 'Pagan Rituals of the Malay Peninsula.' What a strange reader Nurse Stanley is," he commented with a shake of his head.
"I've read that one, too."
"Well...um...how was it?"
"It was good. He dies in the end, though."
"Well, rituals, you know how it is."
"Um...not really."
"Well, I had to get you talking about something other than Tanker. Damn," he finished with a sigh as her eyes grew wide and shiny with tears.
"Oh, Tanker, you bastard," she sobbed, curling back up into a little ball, anime tear jets shooting out to either side of her face.
"How is she doing that?" he wondered, surveying the hydro-pump tears in amazement. "It must be the magic of the nurse's office. Or perhaps...the absurdity of the Fates."
And somewhere else entirely, Bezo-Fate turned to Yezo-Fate.
"Are we absurd?" he demanded, polishing the Masamune-twig.
She turned from her eternal quest to catch the bunny.
"You're polishing a twig, honey. Do you really need to ask?"
"Hmm...good point. Let's make out," he suggested eagerly, tossing the twig to the side and accidentally impaling the bunny.
"O-kay!" she chirped, having the attention span of a hyperactive moth in a fireworks show.
And now, back to Super Human Samurai Syber-Squad, currently being written by other people, as the Bezo-Fate and the Yezo-Fate are...um...slightly busy.
"Um...why did everything just go dark?" Sydney wondered, straightening up and drying her eyes on her hat.
"I do not know; all I know is that there has been an overwhelming darkness in my soul until this moment, for not until this moment did I realize the stunning greenness of your eyes."
"They're brown," she interjected.
"That's what I said. The stunning brownness of your eyes."
"A touching observation, dear gentleman, but I entreat you, go back to the rehearsal. You must not miss your one great chance at stardom for my sake."
"For one second in your arms, I would give all the stars in the heavens, throw them down to the earth, and step on them!"
"Oh, Malcolm!"
"Oh, Sydney!"
"Oh, crap," Bezo and Yezo spoke up together. "We turn our backs for one minute," Bezo continued, "and look what happens!"
"You two go all romance-novel on us!" Yezo exclaimed. "Well, that's it! We're takin' over again. Get outta here, Danielle Steele!"
"Fine," Danielle Steele harrumphed, stalking away. "Danielle Steele doesn't need this; Danielle Steele's gonna go write her own world. And she'll live in it forever."
As she reached the door, she turned back and gazed piercingly at Sydney for a moment.
"Men are pigs. Remember that."
And, with the swish of a cape that she wasn't wearing, she was gone.
"You don't need to tell me that!" Sydney called after her. "I'm dating Tanker!"
"Yes, well, we're trying to remedy that, now aren't we?" Malcolm muttered aside.
Meanwhile, somewhere else entirely, Sam Collins was having something of an internal monologue.
'Wow...Tanker's usually stupid, but he's REALLY stupid right now. He's not usually this bad. He may talk a lot about football, but he usually talks about food, too. Today, it's all football. I wonder if there's some deeper explanation for this. God, Jennifer's cute...she's perfect in every way. And her acting? Well, that can't be beat. They say love is blind; what do they know? I say, she looks good, and I love that! No, Sam! Tanker's got a problem! Focus on that! Focus, Sam. Focus on Tanker's problem.'
'He's stupid,' Sam's brain chimed in.
'Hmm...you've got a point,' Sam said to his brain.
'And he thinks he's clever, but he's not,' the brain added.
'You don't have to tell me,' Sam winced, thinking of Giga-Butt. Then, a little tiny light bulb appeared over his head. "Hold on!" he yelped aloud, leaping from his seat. "I'll bet Tanker's stupidity is of digital causes!"
"Football?" Tanker asked from the stage, pulling away from his entourage, which, oddly enough, carried on with the make-out scene without him momentarily, not noticing that he was gone.
"Hey!" Candi exclaimed, pouting. "Our Tanker's gone!"
"Get back here!" Mandi growled fiercely, dragging Tanker back into the middle of the circle.
"Football," Tanker sighed happily.
"Yeah, I've gotta work fast. Let's Samurize, guys!" Sam shouted, about to strike a power chord before noticing that his guitar wasn't there. "Oh, right," he sighed. "I need a guitar. But where would I find a guitar in a high school with an extensive band program?"
He pondered this for a moment.
"I know! The science lab!"
An hour later, Sam came to realize that neither the science lab, the English classrooms, the History classrooms, the language labs, the math hallway, the gymnasium, the janitor's closet, nor the washrooms (male or female) held the needed guitar.
"But where else is there to check?" he wondered, scratching his head. Then the little light bulb made a reappearance over his head. "I've got it! The nurse's office! Sydney will know where to look! Sam, you are a genius!"
"Y'know," Malcolm began, taking a sip from his teacup, "I'm really surprised we're here at all. I didn't think this show would last another season."
"Me neither," Sydney agreed, draining her own teacup, and then frowning at it. "I think the teacups would make a lot more sense if we weren't drinking vodka out of them."
"Careful," Malcolm grinned, nudging her with his elbow. "We're supposed to be sixteen." Then he noticed George the Camera Guy. "Oh, shit, we're back!" he yelped, tossing his teacup over his shoulder, then grabbing hers and tossing it at George.
"Ow!" George shrieked. "You jerk!"
"And just what are you going to do about it? I am a star on this show. I am in the limelight at all moments. And you? You are a lowly camera man," Malcolm smirked.
"I'm union," George informed him smugly, pointing to the Mafia teamsters behind him.
"Dammit," Malcolm hissed. "Sorry about the cup. I didn't see you there. My eyes are going in my old age."
"Sixteen, you idiot! You're sixteen!" Sydney reminded him with a gentle kick that sent him flying across the room.
"Ack!" Malcolm shrieked as he sailed through the air and collided with the wall with a loud thump.
"Oh, hey, Malcolm," Sam greeted as he sauntered into the room, inadvertently smacking the young man in the head with the door.
"I hate you all!" Malcolm howled. "I wish I was union!"
"Did I come at a bad time?" Sam asked.
"Actually, yes," the dark-haired youth replied. "We were all breaking character."
"On this show?" Sam laughed, raising an eyebrow. "What were you doing? Dressing up as...no, that's been done. Throwing hotdogs at each other and...no, we did that, too. Having a big pyjama party...no, we've done that one, too! Ah! Got it! Dancing around, singing striptease songs and undressing slowly?"
Malcolm paused, considering this.
"I hadn't thought of that. It sounds like a good idea. Sam, go away. George, you too."
With a shrug, Sam started out of the room, followed by George. Upon noticing that everyone was leaving, Sydney stood and prepared to follow them.
"Not you," Malcolm told her. "You stay. Get up on the table and dance and sing striptease songs."
"What then?" she asked, scratching her head in confusion.
"Whatever comes naturally," he replied with a wicked smile.
"But...I think something was happening with the plot," she protested.
"Plot?" Sam echoed. "What's a plot?"
"Never mind, Sam. In fact, I think there's a guitar out on the football field. Why don't you go look for it?" Malcolm suggested, subtly shoving Sam toward the door.
"Okay!" Sam agreed jubilantly from out in the hallway.
"Wait a second, Sam!" George's shout was audible through the door. "I think it was a...never mind," he sighed as Sam presumably disappeared from the hall. "Nobody ever listens to George. C'mon, Teamsters! Let's go get ice cream!"
"Ice cream?!" one of the Teamsters echoed, also from out in the hallway. "You the best boss!"
"Fawgheddaboudit!" George drawled.
Sydney blinked.
"Um...that was weird."
"Now, let's get with the table-dancing!" Malcolm urged.
"But I'm reading!" she protested, pointing to his copy of 'How to Create Mega-Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps.'
"Give me that!" he exclaimed, yanking the book from her grip.
"But I'm up to Chapter 8! If you'd just give me a few more minutes, I could read the other five chapters, and I'd be done! Heck, Chapter 9, just while we were talking! And from this distance!"
"I don't know whether you're really amazing, or terrifyingly scary," Malcolm sighed, shaking his head at the multi-thousand-word book.
"Terrifyingly scary," Sydney repeated slowly. "That seems a little redundant, but I like it!"
"Anyway, get dancing!"
"But I want to read!"
"Alright, then; read. But you can only wear the book."
"I think that would take us to at least a PG-13 rating..."
"Well, sacrifices are part of the theatre."
"Theatre! What does this show have to do with the theatre?"
"You have a good point there," Malcolm started to reply thoughtfully, but was interrupted as Sam charged into the room.
"You tricked me!" he threw at Malcolm with an accusing glare.
"Wha...?"
"There was no guitar on the football field!"
"Sam," Sydney interjected wearily, "if you actually fell for that, I don't think the real problem here is with Malcolm trying to trick you."
"And just what's THAT supposed to mean, Syd?" Sam demanded suspiciously. "How do I know you're not in on it?"
"In...on...it? I feel dizzy," Sydney whimpered.
"Look, Sydney," Sam began slowly, as might one who was speaking to a very stubborn child, "we have a bit of a problem, and we don't have time to play your head-games right now."
With that, he seized a very bewildered Sydney by the arm and dragged her from the nurse's office under the eyes of a very bewildered Malcolm.