Chapter 4 (written by the insanely fabulous Ditey)

The Art of Planning

I woke up to Ephram kneeling at my bed, and before I could think 'whoa there,' he had shoved me off the mattress, and had his hand over my mouth. Yeah, by then, I was really thinking, 'whoa there.'

I pulled a T-shirt over my head, and combed my hair the best I could in the few minutes I had before we had to leave the house.

It was a dark and stormy night. Not really. But didn't that just set the mood of it all? It was dark though. The sky was the color of...night. With little yellow specks. That's the stars, see. But you know, the more I stared up at the stars, the more the stars seemed to be white. You know? And then, when you try to look away, you get all these dots and spots everywhere in front of your eyes...

Stars are tricky. That's why I never signed up for Astronomy fifth period. I took an extra lunch break instead. I got to eat *two* lunches. I know, I thought it was pretty cool myself.

Anyway. Ephram and I were crouched outside the building, trying to plan our attack, when..."

"Bright, why are you talking to yourself?" Bright paused his mini monologue to turn to Ephram.

"I thought...since we're going to read the nominations for best soliloquy later on...this might help us get in the mood, a bit." Ephram exhaled deeply.

"You remember what to do, right?"

"Well. I ring the doorbell, and say..."

"...Yes?"

"...um. Are you paying to much for car insurance?"

"No! You ring the doorbell, and ask, 'where are the restrooms?' and you put on that stupid face you do so well..."

"Wait, this one?" Bright raised his eyebrows, opened his eyes wide, and narrowed his mouth, pulling together a semi-educated look.

"No, not that."

"Oh," said Bright, relaxing and retrogressing into the perfect, 'stupid face.'

"And then, ask the person to escort you there, and meanwhile I sneak in. Right?"

"Right. I think."

"Just. Get in there." Ephram pushed Bright closer to the WB building door. Bright looked back hesitantly before finally reaching for the intercom button.

"Hello, and welcome to WB studios. This is Lisa, how may I help you?"

"Hi..Lisa? This is Bright--" he glanced back to Ephram standing behind him, who had just stopped flailing his arms 'no!', and began to bury his face in his hands.

"I mean..this is...Br...Brob. Yes. Brob Joe. From Sweetwater, Arkansas." Bright developed a thick southern accent in a matter of moments.

"Yup, I was just fixin' to visit ya'll, and ask where the outhouses be located."

There was silence on the intercom, until the woman replied deftly, "I'll send someone right over."

"Well, thank you kindly, misses." Bright smiled widely and gave Ephram, who was trying to hide in the bushes, a conspicuous thumbs up.

"Did someone ask for---a tour guide?" came a booming voice from in front of the door. Bright stepped back to see a man dressed all in white with his hands rested on his hips talking to him.

"Hello there, young man," the guy continued. "I am Tour Guide Man, here to rid the world of annoying tourists, constantly flipping to maps, and asking for directions in a broken English."

"Well, now, lookey here, missr," began Bright, and Ephram just looked down to contemplate the large number of psychos there were in the world.

Eventually, Tour Guide Man and Hillbilly Bright left in search of the bathrooms, and Ephram snuck out of the bushes. He entered the building carefully and closed the door behind him.

He tip-toed past the office buildings, hid behind dresser racks to avoid detection, and bent over and crawled to get past the receptionist's desk. Realizing he had no idea where to go, and where to look, he frantically surveyed the area for some kind of map to help him get through the labyrinth that was the WB studios.

He found a directory lying on the desk next to a telephone, and he decided to quickly flip through it before anyone caught him.

"B, B for Berlanti. Not Bernstein...Berrera...no, Berlanti.." he muttered. Ephram suddenly heard a voice behind him yell, 'hey there! Authorized personnel only!' and he froze.

The woman caught up with him with a stern look on her face. "Now, look here," she began, and Ephram raised his face to meet his punishment. Damnit, this probably meant jail or something.

"I don't know who you think you---oh! I'm so sorry. I had no idea it was you, Mr. Smith. Please...oh. Please forgive me." Her face instantly turned from condescension to apology.

"Um. Sure." Ephram looked at her with puzzlement.

"I'm so sorry," she reiterated. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Ephram got that stereotypical gaze of ponder, while he rubbed his chin and said, "Well..."

Ten minutes later, Ephram was standing outside Greg Berlanti's trailer, a piece of paper in his hands with directions in one hand, and a tall Chocolate Brownie Frappacino in the other. Hey, whoever this Smith guy was, he had the life.

Ephram debated whether or not to knock on the door for several minutes. Was he really ready to be handed the truth? Like how long he had been on TV? Exactly *how much* was on film?

In the end, his curiosity got the better of him, and he knocked on the metal door of the trailer. "Just a moment!" someone called from inside, and he opened the door.

"Hi," began Ephram, "I don't know if you know me, but I'm Ephram Brown. I live in Everwood, Colorado, about the crappiest place on earth. Anyway..."

"Ooh. Very good. I like that. You really got into the character that time."

"Um. I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?"

"Oh, Gregory, you jokester."

"Wait, I thought your name was Gregory...Greg Berlanti--that's you, right?" Ephram looked down to his directions and re-matched them.

"I am...but...who are you?"

"I'm Ephram Brown."

"Ephram?"

"Yeah, Ephram. My dad's a doctor. Maybe you've heard of him. Everyone else has. I just wanted to ask you.."

"YOU'RE Ephram Brown?"

"...yes, I think we've already established that."

"Oh, God, the wife always did tell me I was spending too much time on the show...if only I had listened to her...shouldn't have spent all night writing 'Colin the Second'...just let it slide like 'Everwood Confidential'..."

"Are...are you okay?" Ephram tried.

"I mean, I thought they would end. All those dreams. I'm hallucinating. I'm going crazy. Or maybe this is all a fever. Wake up, Berlanti!"

Ephram put his hand to Greg's forehead. "You feel fine."

Berlanti backed away from Ephram's hand, cold from the chilled drink.

"Go...go away. I don't want to see you anymore."

"But, I just wanted to talk to you about this show.." Ephram didn't have much more to say, as he was shoved out of the trailer the next moment, with the door slammed in his face.

Ephram could hear the faint mutterings of something like, "I need to find me a shrink."

"Ephram!" He turned around to see Bright jogging back towards him.

"Well, did you get anything?" Bright asked. Ephram shook his head glumly.

"Nope. But I did catch Greg Berlanti's mid-life crisis. What about you?" Bright rolled his eyes.

"That Tour Guide guy was hella annoying. More so than my sister's Furby."

"Amy had a *FURBY*?"  Bright nodded.

"I am *so* getting back at her for starting that virgin rumor about me."

"You know, Bright? This is really depressing."

"This chapter? I know."

"Wanna go find the nearest computer and read the nominations for best soliloquy?"

"Yeah, sure. Just make sure it's the Everwood Escapades, and not some odd variation." Ephram clicked around and received the main page, newly designed in a burnt ember sort of color.

"You know. Amy is really hot," sighed Ephram breezily. Bright shifted in his seat uneasily.

"I don't think I should find anyone in that picture hot."

"..Um. Okay. Anyway. Here are the nominations:

--------------------------------------------------

Open Your Eyes, by Bella Italiana

Confessions, by Wendells

Moving On, by Bella Italiana

The Gift of Love, by Digurl

I'm Leaving, by Leet911

One Day You'll Know, by twinlakeshgrl

Last Little Piece of My Heart, by MariCareBear and

Thoughts of a Purple Haired Rebel, by Ditey.

--------------------------------------------------

"Neat," commented Ephram, once they were through reading them all.

"How in tarnation is I supposed't choose one piece o' fiction?"

"Bright. That accent? Over."

"Yes'r."

So sorry about the lack of updates, you guys, but sadly, Ivy just happens to be a lazy bum, and we couldn't tear her away from picking up scrap metal and placing it in her grocery cart allllll day… ok, maybe not that bad, but she is quite sluggish. She even looks like a slug. Or a sloth. Take your pick.

ANYWAYS…

Vote, vote, and vote some more (by e-mail for all you forgetful people out there!!).

~Ivy

and

~Ditey