Most of you know the reason for my delay. As for the rest of you – I'll never tell! You'll have to kill me first which wouldn't be such a good idea because then you'll never know anyways. So it's just best not to know in the first place. Hmm…reviews.
Paige: Those quotes from Adrien were from his acceptance speech when he won the Oscar. Blah! Oh, sure! I'll vote for Bush! Yeah, I really want my two cousins to get blown up in Iraq, pay more for gas and face another four years of high terror threats and a bullshit government!
Bud: Nice going. Now that's going to be stuck in my head for another three weeks.
Midnight Proc: Mr. Jolly = Mr. Walton. And no, Billy Bob, I do NOT have any moonsh!
Heather the Off-White: You're lucky. At least you don't go to a snotty preppy rich high school filled with rich anorexic snobs. Yes, have pity on me.
Fufulupin: …Yes, I know it's Crabbe and Goyle. (Looks around) Mmm, butt meat.
Eax: HAY! Crack is whack! And it's nothing to joke about! Tsk. Principle Butler ziddled! Yay! (writes it down on the list of spiffy quotes)
Frotu: Do you know Ethan Hawke? Actually, I'm not finished with this. Nor did I write more of Jack the Ripper. And there ARE fireflies in Wiscaaaaaansin. But yours is dead, yah? Wahhh… Now you must eat his ass to survive!
Ewan (Aside): She just watched Alive.
Oh, BTW, I'm listening to your CD even though I hate 90% of the songs on it. Blah ha ha!
Nonya/The Wow/ShaneMandy4ever/ShaneMandy/ShaneMandy's anonymous minion who is too much of a pussy to leave an e-mail address: Awww! Your insult has cut me deep! I am so upset and now I'm going to make a big deal about how you didn't even read my stuff but flamed it anyways so you could justify your shit story! Now I'm so incredibly depressed that you have spoken the truth and now I'm going to give up my license to write and hang myself in my closet! Ahhh Gahd! Ah hahahahahhh! (Kicks you in the shin) Go away.
V, Leader of Amoi: I'm picking up on your sarcasm. … And now you say "Well, you better be because I'm laying it on pretty thick." (Eyeballs suspiciously) Do you want some turkey?
Poisondrop: I only worship God, silly goosey. What do I look like? A bloody atheist? (Bows to shrine of the FON Baby)
Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You now have my permission – if I die, you may eat me.
This chapter is extremely long…proceed with caution.
------------------------------
"Does anyone know what's practiced in Togo? Anyone? Anyone?"
Christian, who was very much sobered up by now, slumped in his desk, his chin propped up on his hand, and thought of the encounter with the cheerleader named Satine. She didn't seem like anybody else at this school. Therefore, she seemed normal.
Then he remembered the card.
"Anyone? Something D-O-O economics. Voodoo economics."
Christian read over the card several times. Each time it read: "Meet you in the Red Room. Well, it's not exactly called the Red Room because it's actually a portable. Anyways, meet me there after school and be prepared to have the time of your life. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Love, Satine the spiffy cheerleader."
Red portable? How could he find a red portable?
…Oh, right.
"Does anyone know the name of our current president? Anyone? Anyone? I'll give you a hint. His first name is George. His last name is Bush. Does anyone know? Anyone? His name is George Bush. Somebody just say 'His name is George Bush'. Anyone? Anyone? Please, for the love of God answer me for once. Anyone? Class, do you pay attention to me or am I just talking to the floor? Anyone? Does anyone know why I'm talking? Anyone? Does anyone know what my purpose on this earth is? Anyone? Anyone? Would it make any difference if I threw myself out of this second story window? Anyone?"
The teacher took off his glasses, strode to the window, lifted the pane and leaped out.
Christian sighed and looked at the clock. This was going to be a long day.
§
Well, he never thought he would, but he did. He actually found the red portable. It was, in fact, a portable, and it was, to his utter surprise, red. Why it was red, nobody knew or even cared to know. Christian certainly didn't care. He just wanted to get it over with.
Exactly what did this Satine chick want with him? Did she want to get him in there so she could take away his big "V" and never give it back?
It didn't matter. He had his pepper spray with him if such an opportunity came up.
Creaking the door open…hey, even the DOOR was red! HAHAHAHA! Wow. Anyways, creaking the door open, the daylight seeped inside, slowly illuminating the dark portable.
"Uh, Satine?" Christian called into the vacant room. "Is anybody here?"
He looked around, closed the door and looked cautiously around the room.
"Wow, you actually showed up," came Satine's silky voice from behind him, causing Christian to whirl around in surprise, lose his balance and topple over the Brett Favre shrine set up by the wall.
"Oh, sorry about that," Christian apologized.
"Don't worry about it," Satine reassured, replacing a scented candle he knocked over. "Let's just get it over and done with."
Waaaaaaaaiiiiiiit! Let's go back so the readers know what's really going on.
§
Christian Lenin the Communist Penguin did his part by holding the little card saying "Earlier That Day…" and disappeared from the story forever.
§
Since Satine had early finish, she didn't have to go to sixth period and spent the entire hour preparing for her rendezvous with the spiffy guy known as Christian.
Look, I used a French word! I feel so smart!
"Let's see…should I wear my hair up, down, half up, or babushka?" She hesitated before pulling the little red babushka out of her backpack and trying it on. "Nah, too Russian."
Suddenly, the sound of a toilet flushing startled her halfway to a cardiac arrest and she whirled around to see the councilor, Mrs. Chumpmonkey, emerging from one of the stalls.
"So, Satine, off to your 'poetry reading'?" she snickered, displaying moldering teeth.
"Um, Mrs. Chumpmonkey, the toilet…" Satine craned her head around to watch the water spill out of the toilet bowl and onto the floor.
"Ah, poop," she muttered. Instead of doing anything about it, she slammed the stall door and tried to ignore it. "So do you find this any reason to be out of class?"
"Well, I don't…I don't have…" Satine found it extremely difficult to say anything because of the water sploshing her ankles. "I don't have sixth period so…I'm taking this—"
"Yah, sure. We'll just see about that, won't we?" With that, Mrs. Chumpmonkey, grabbed Satine by the arm and escorted her out.
§
"So what have we learned from this experience, Chompy?" Principal Zidler asked a half-alert goth sitting across from him with his tongue stapled to his upper lip.
"Nahh tho smahk in clash?"
"BESIDES that."
"Uhhhhhhhhhh…" Zidler glowered at the puddle of drool on his desk getting bigger and bigger. "Dahn't pluh wuth shtahplesh?"
"Very good, Chompy," he congratulated as he took the staple remover and yanked out the metal in the goth's face.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" he responded.
"Whoopsiedoodle. Got two of your nose piercings instead, there. All righty, let's try this again…" He made sure the hooks were firmly around the staple and tugged, releasing the goth's swollen tongue. "Now skidaddle on back to class, Chompy and don't go cloggin' your noggin with too much knowledge!"
"Guhhh…" he replied as he shuffled out of the office.
"Goddamn kids in this Goddamn school. Why the hell am I fucking living?" he muttered before looking up and seeing Satine and Mrs. Chumpmonkey standing in the doorway, a bit taken aback by his statement.
"Yes, may I help you ladies?" he pleasantly asked, trying to compose himself.
"I found her in the bathroom during 6th and kept hearing her debating on how to look for this little 'powwow' of hers."
"All right, thank you, Claire. I'll take care of it," Zidler replied.
"My name's Helga, you dip," she muttered as she hobbled out, picking her wedgie.
Satine plopped down in a chair and broke it on impact. Slightly humiliated, she pulled up another and decided to sit slowly into it.
"So, Satine, what exactly are you planning to do after school?" Zidler asked folding his hands, squeezing them together and pulling them apart, revealing a paper swan!
"You're overreacting. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine…" Satine whirled her head around to face the nonexistent audience. "…Dad!!!"
Out of the second drawer of the file cabinet came Woodland Creature.
"Dun dun dun!"
Out of the bottom drawer of the adjacent file cabinet came a random goth.
"Woah, where am I?" he droned as he climbed out and stumbled around.
"Well, you can never be too cautious. There's a perfectly good example of what guys around here are like," Zidler said, pointing to the random goth, barely getting past the doorframe. "I just want you to be careful in that little red portable."
"But, Dad, this kid isn't from around here. He's from…" Satine whirled around and made another imposing face to the nonexistent audience, "…Boise, Idaho!"
"Dun dun dun!" Woodland Creature announced once more, popping out of a flower vase.
"It doesn't matter. You never know what he may be up to…" Zidler's eyes shifted suspiciously from side to side. Then they rested upon his label on the desk.
"Why does my name have to be Harold?" he grumbled lifting it up as if it were a rancid piece of string cheese he found in a Best Western bathroom. "I've always wanted my name to be Steve. Why can't my name be Steve?"
"It can be Steve." Satine suggested.
"Really? Okay! From now on, my name is Steve Zidler!"
"But, Dad, there's already someone in this story called Steve. If you go by Steve, it'll confuse the readers."
"No, it won't! That's nonsense! These readers aren't THAT stupid." There was a long pause. "Well, all right, then change the other Steve's name."
Said and done.
"Well, now that that's taken care of, you go off and have fun with your poetry reading if you know what I mean. Ooom ooom!"
Satine rolled her eyes. She loved her father—Steve, not Harold, Steve—but sometimes she wanted to strangle him, beat him with a mace, gouge out his eyes, carve his body out with a chainsaw, sic genetically enhanced sewer rats on him and do a river dance on his bones.
But for now, she was only worried about which poem she should read to her one chance of getting a scholarship.
All right, more plot points. Satine's family can't afford to have her go to acting school. (For some reason, she thinks she can be an actress. Don't dwell in it, okay? Okay.) But they want their daughter to succeed in life so they wrote to J.R. Simplot in Boise, Idaho and begged him to have him pay for her college tuition. Since he was the 6th richest man in America, they figured he had quite a bit of money. Plus an American flag the size of GollumRox's garage…anyways, Simplot agreed to it only if Satine would give his grandnephew—well, um, his nephew's son, whatever you would call that—a little somethin' somethin' to remember her by when she became famous. And being so innocent despite being so slutty, she hadn't the slightest idea he actually meant a little somethin' somethin'. What she thought he meant was to write a poem called "A Little Somethin' Somethin'". She was great at writing poetry…okay, she wasn't. But it was her one shot at fame, fortune, and warm pancakes.
It had to be done.
Pretty spiffy plot, eh?
So anyways, Satine wanted to make herself look pretty and spiffy for Simplot's grandnephew or whatever since he wasn't too shabby-lookin' either. The problem was, she had no idea Christian wasn't, in fact, Simplot's grandnephew or whatever the hell you call it, but he was in actuality Christian Iggins Timperline.
And so the plot thickens…
"Like thick and nutty chocolate. Ha ha…ha ha," commented Sauron.
§
Back to the present…or future…whatever.
"Get WHAT over and done with?" Christian asked nervously, backing up against the wall.
"Oh, just a little thing. It'll be really quick."
"Uh huh…" Christian's hand found the pepper spray in his pocket. "Okay, great. So, uh, where's the bed?"
Satine cocked an eyebrow. "What bed? This is a portable."
His mouth dropped open. "You mean we're supposed to do it standing up?!"
"Well, yeah. Or you can sit in that chair over there."
Christian was at a loss for words.
Don't you just love the irony? Buah ha ha!
"But aren't I supposed to be the one standing?!"
Satine gave him an extra confused look. She figured money must screw up the brain.
"Well, actually," Christian sputtered, "I wouldn't know, I've never DONE it before!"
"You've never done it? Not even in middle school?"
His face writhed into a look of shock and disgust. "WHAT KIND OF STATE IS THIS?!"
"Oh, things must be different in Idaho."
"Idaho?! I'm from Michigan!"
"Idaho, Michigan, same difference. They're both stupid and boring."
Christian considered this with a shrug. Especially since the first time he'd heard of Idaho was three years ago when his teacher had to ask the principal what it was. Then the principal had to look it up on the encyclopedia and later informed them that it was, in fact, an actual state.
"So are you gonna sit or not?" Satine urged, growing a bit impatient.
"No! Back off, you whore!" Christian whipped out his pepper spray and ripped off the cap.
Satine folded her arms and rolled her eyes in response.
"Now, I'm gonna slowly go out the door and you better not make any sudden moves." Satine examined the nails on her left hand for a bit. "I mean it, now. Don't move!"
Christian used his hand to find the door as he walked backwards, pointing the can at Satine, ready to fire any second.
"Just stay back, like a good whore…" Christian fumbled behind him for the handle.
"I wouldn't—" but before Satine could finish her little warning, Christian freaked out and went crazy with the spray. He whirled around and grabbed the door handle and tugged.
And tugged and tugged.
And tugged.
"It's stuck!" Captain Obvious announced, tugging harder.
"Yeah, about that…" Satine began, advancing towards him. "I forgot this portable locks on the inside. So we're kinda stuck here."
"What?!" Christian demanded, spinning around to face Satine. "And how come your face isn't swelling and burning?"
"You had it pointed the wrong way. But you made a pretty big cloud over there."
They turned to see a huge mass of pepper particles floating around in the middle of the room.
"Just don't walk into in or anything…" she offered, examining the nails on her right hand.
"Wait, what do you mean we're stuck here?! You mean there's no way out?!"
"Pretty much. That should've been in mind when I remembered why nobody uses it anymore."
There was an extremely long pause as Christian stared wide-eyed at Satine in disbelief.
"…Well, maybe someone will randomly decide to come in here and they'll be able to help us out," Satine suggested, making herself comfortable in the chair. "But I doubt it."
"I can't believe this!" Christian shouted, frantically running around the room. He found a closet and went to it. "Are you saying that everybody who comes in here never comes out?!" he stopped short as his eyes fell upon three skeletons huddled inside the closet.
Satine joined him in his stare.
"Guess not," she said.
That was a bit too much for Christian.
"I'M GONNA DIE!!!" he screamed, flailing his arms and running helplessly around the portable. "I'M GONNA DIE IN A PORTABLE!!!"
"Hey, it's not SO bad," Satine offered, closing the closet door. "It can always get worse."
"Oh yeah? HOW can it POSSIBLY get worse?!" Christian demanded.
The two of them flinched and huddled a bit, knowing that something worse HAD to happen, since that was the rule in a good comedy, even though it was pretty redundant.
But things stayed the same.
"Well, I guess that means it CAN'T get worse," Satine shrugged.
"Oh, this is just GREAT!" Christian growled. "You mean to tell me this window won't open?!" He leaped on the window sill and tried to heave up the pane.
Satine sighed and decided to lie down on the floor and watch what she still thought was J.R. Simplot's kid nearly throw out his back trying to open the window that had been welded shut to keep from the suicidals trying to throw themselves from the building.
But…they didn't weld shut the windows that are two stories up?
…
This school WAS messed up.
"So do you just want to get it done with anyways?" Satine suggested.
"No!" he grunted. "I'm not going to lose my virginity to a cheerleader I don't even know in a frickin' portable!"
"Lose your virginity?" Satine inquired, sitting bolt upright.
Christian let his arms drop and he turned to face Satine. "Yes, I'm a virgin, okay? You got a problem with that?"
"No, I was just wondering why you think you'll lose your virginity in here."
Christian rolled his eyes and commenced to kick the window sill in efforts to try and knock it loose. "Don't play dumb," Christian grunted in between kicks, making him sound constipated.
"Well, I'm JUST going to read some poetry to you."
"Oh, is THAT what you call it now? Jeez. Well, it all means the same thing and I refuse to do it, especially now, especially to YOU."
"Well, I think you'd be used to it by now. I'd think you'd have little servants and concubines to do it all the time to you."
Christian's jaw dropped. "CONCUBINES?!"
§
Toulouse, Greg, Jerry, and Pupitre came to a halt at the lot of portables.
"So…which one's the Red Portable?" Greg asked.
"Creyo està a la izquierda," Pupitre stated. Everyone looked at him. "…The left one."
"No, I think it's somewhewe back thewe," Toulouse stated, pointing over yonder.
"Well, since it's called the RED Portable, don't you think we should be looking for a portable that's RED?!" screamed Jerry.
"Well, not necessarily. The Red Sea is blue," Greg intelligently said.
"Ahhhhh…"
"They could be in that red one. The one nobody ever uses anymore," Pupitre said.
"Why would they be in a portable nobody USES ANYMORE?! IT MAKES NO SENSE!!!"
"Cawm down, Jewwy. Maybe we shouwd just go awound aww the powtabwes and wook inside to see which one they'we in."
"Spiffy!" they all agreed.
Except for Pupitre who passed at the word "we".
§
"That's bulletproof glass," Satine said as she lay facedown on the floor, obviously bored out of her mind. Christian had given up kicking the window and decided to try taking a baseball bat to the glass.
"Bulletproof, maybe, but not BASEBALL BATPROOF!!!"
Satine sighed heavily and decided to try a new position on the floor. She knelt on the floor and laid back so her back was flat against the floor.
"Doesn't that hurt you?" Christian asked, looking over.
"I'm a cheerleader," she said. "I can touch my toes with the top of my head."
"Yick," he responded, resuming his window smashing frenzy.
"Will you just STOP it, Simplot? You're not going to be able to break it."
"Simplot? What kind of insult is that?" Christian asked, dropping the bat.
"It's your name, you dip," Satine grumbled. "What, you can't tell an average word from your name now?"
"What are you talking about?!"
Satine lost it.
"You know what?! I'm sick of this! Just because you're rich and everything doesn't mean I have to treat you like your shit doesn't stink! Now SIT down!" Satine shoved a very shocked Christian down into the spiffy chair and ripped out a piece of paper from her pocket.
"Ahem! 'The Freshman' by Satine Zidler! 'When I was young, I knew everything, she a punk who rarely ever took advice—'"
"Oh, my GOD! Is this how you break the ice or something?!" Christian demanded. "That's a frickin' SONG for God's sake!"
"Well, ex-CUSE me, Mr. Perfect!" she screamed, throwing down the paper. "It just so happens that I can't write poetry to save my life!"
"That doesn't make it right for you to plagiarize!"
"Shut up," she concluded, folding her arms and turning away.
"Why are you reading poetry anyways? Aren't you supposed to be in my pants by now?"
"What?! What kind of a slut do you take me for?"
"Well, for one, your nametag says 'Hi, I'm Satine, the wonder slut'. Secondly, why else would you have me meet you in a red portable after school after that exotic dance and seductive-looking card you gave me?"
"To read poetry."
§
"Chwistian?"
"Christian?"
"ChrISTian?"
The three of them were busy peeping through the windows of the portables calling for Christian but only finding either an empty room or two teachers doing things that cannot be mentioned in a PG-13 story.
"AHH! VILE! VILE! VILE!!!" Jerry fumbled for his inhaler and Toulouse clamped a hand over his mouth. "MMM! MMMM! MMMM! MMMMM!!!!"
"Shut up, Jewwy! They'ww heaw us!" Toulouse hissed.
"Ay! What are you kids doing out here?" bellowed one of the teachers from the adjacent portable just as the two teachers opened their door to see who was screaming. "Mr. Harm?! Mrs. Boester?!" he exclaimed, noticing them.
"Mr. Tucker?! Mr. Wells?!"
"It's not what it looks like!"
"Then why aren't you wearing any pants?"
"Hey, keep it down! Can't we have a "meeting" in peace?! You're all so NOISY!"
"YOU should talk, Mrs. Thomas!"
"Uh, let's leave," Greg offered and the four of them bolted off.
They didn't bolt off for a very long distance, however. Nope, they were stopped short at the sight of the evil rodent dude and his genetically enlarged henchman.
"Eep! Hide!" Toulouse squeaked, as he and the rest of them leaped behind a cardboard cutout of a bush. "Shhhhh…"
And so they eavesdropped.
"…And when this is over with, I think I'll do it again. And again and again until my lust is fulfilled. Mwehehe! How does that sound, Kronk?"
"Is you sure about doing it to donkey?" Kronk grunted.
"Yessss."
"But why not girl instead?"
"Fine, fine. I'll do it to the girl and THEN to the donkey."
"Me think no."
"Well, what do you know, Kronk? You didn't even pass the 5th grade."
The two of them continued bickering until they were out of earshot.
"Hmm. I wondew what those two are doing here," Toulouse mused.
"Maybe they're hunting you down to torture you more," Greg suggested.
"VILE!" Jerry twitched.
§
"So what's your purpose here, Mr. Simplot?" Satine asked, perched on top of a desk.
"I'm NOT Mr. Simplot! I'm Mr. James! Er, no that's not it. It's…uh, Timperline!"
"Could you not remember your own last name?"
"No, actually it changes every year or so."
During the long awkward silence, two sets of footsteps were heard, one of them like so much a rat scurrying up a platform and the other sounding like someone had cinderblocks tied to their feet trying to walk.
"Eep! Someone's coming!" Satine shrieked.
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"…Yes. But hide just in case!" Satine shoved Christian in the closet, completely forgetting about the rotted corpses and slammed the door just as the knock came.
"Who is it?" Satine called out, leaning against the closet door, trying to drown out Christian's screams as he had an inconvenient encounter with the corpses.
"Eeet's meeeeeee," came the mousy voice.
"Who's meeeeeee?"
"Dukey Simplot."
"Dukey? That's your name?"
"Yeeeeesss…" came the annoyed mouse's voice.
"All right, come in, then." Seconds later, she realized something. "Wait, don't shut the— "Simplot and Kronk were already in the room shutting the door completely when she stopped. "…door."
"Why, you're even hotter than the pictures I've seen of you on Woof."
"Kronk, please keep your comments to yourself," Simplot glowered at Kronk, not even showing the least bit of pride of him using a complete sentence along with correct grammar. "Forgive him, my pet. He meant to say that you're very attractive."
"Right. So um, is he going to stay or what?"
"Do you want him to stay and watch?"
"Well, not really but he can't leave anyways."
"How do you mean?"
"Nothing. Let's just get this over with."
"Yes, let's!" Dukey Simplot chirped, taking off his preppy tie. "I need to get home to Gertrude the Donkey and ha…what's that?"
"My poem," Satine said, plopping against the wall of the portable.
"Wait, wait, wait, you're reading me POETRY? What…what fun is that? I thought—"
"Look, just because I'm a cheerleader with sexy hair, a big chest, and a nametag that says 'Satine the Wonder Slut' DOESN'T mean I have to bang every guy I meet! Now sit down, shut up and listen to my poetry! I worked really hard on it!"
"Yeah, it's real hard work to listen to the song and write down all the words," Christian bitterly muttered as he sat inside the closet, keeping a safe distance from the dead people.
"Poetry sucks. But whatever. The only poetry I like is the kind in a song form."
Satine stopped and forced herself to look at his face.
"Especially my favorite song of all time: 'The Freshman' by the Verve Pipe. Why, I know that song by heart." His eyes closed as he lifted his hand passionately and made a sad attempt to sing. "When I was young I knew everytheeeeeng, she a punk who rarely ever took advice, now I'm guilt-stricken sobbin' with my head on the FLO! Thinks about her now and how he never really wept he saaaaaaid, can't be held responsible…"
Satine smacked her forehead.
Hard.
Christian acknowledged her distress and realized she was screwed with a capital S. So he decided to help out. Quickly, he grabbed the itty bitty notepad from his pocket and took the pencil from behind his ear and scribbled down the first thing he could think of.
"For the life of me-EEEE, I cannot remember what made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise! For the live of me-EEEE…"
"Ugh." Satine wished she had a screwdriver in her hand so that she'd be able to put both Dukey and herself out of their misery.
And perhaps Kronk as a bonus.
As she thought these things, a crumpled piece of paper hit her in the face and she snapped out of her trance to pick it up. On the paper, there was a poem written on it, scribbled as if a blind mentally challenged person tried to write with his left hand.
Considering he was right-handed.
"My best friend took a weeeeeeek's vacation to forgetter! His girl—"
"You know, I'd really like you to continue your song, but I need to read my poem to you."
"Well, FINE!"
After a moment of silence…
"Do you think I'd be good enough for American Idol?"
"'Your Bong' by Sa—"
"Song!" Christian hissed from the closet, barely quiet enough for Dukey not to hear him.
"'Your SONG' by Satine Zidler. I can't even read my own handwriting. Ahem. It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside, I'm not one of those who can easily hide"
"Ooo," complimented Dukey.
"'I don't have much money, but if I did, I'd buy a big house where we both could live'"
"Well, I already have 9 houses that are probably bigger than the one you're thinking of. By the way, 'did' and 'live' don't even rhyme."
"'If I were a sculptor, but then again no, or a man who makes potions in a traveling show'"
"You'd be a man for me? That's, um…flattering."
"'I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do, my gift is my song and this one's for you. And you can tell everybody that this is your song'
"I don't think they'd care," he muttered under his breath.
She heard him anyways and kicked him in the shin.
"'It may be quite simple but now that it's done, hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words, how wonderful life is now you're in the mold.'"
"World!" Christian corrected…a little too loudly.
"Who, what, when, where?" Dukey demanded, twisting his head around in all directions.
Satine did the first thing she thought of. And that was to grab Simplot's mousy face and plant her lips on his.
"Oooooo!" Kronk observed and started taking pictures.
"Ah God!" Christian shouted in disgust.
Yes, he shouted. Real smart, eh?
"Okay, who is that?!" Simplot screeched, ripping himself from Satine. "There's someone in there!" Christian ducked inside the closet just in time as Dukey looked in his direction. "THERE'S A CLOWN IN HERE!!! HE'S HIDING SOMEWHERE IN HERE, I KNOW IT!!!"
"Uh, relax. There's no clown. Just me, you, and that guy. Put away the camera, man!"
Kronk groaned and stuffed the camera in his mouth. Unfortunately, he forgot cameras weren't edible and began to choke on it.
"But I heard a voice! It came from that closet! Someone's in here!" Dukey hissed, paying no attention to Kronk's gagging.
"I swear, there's nobody—"
Due to a feather that wanted to say hello to Christian but ended up swiping his nose instead, an extremely loud sneeze came from the closet and Christian's body tumbled out immediately after.
For a while, everyone just stared at each other except for Kronk who was now blue in the face and grasping the whiteboard in attempts to get air in his lungs.
"Uh, hi. I'm the janitor," Christian blurted out stupidly.
"Yeah, he's the janitor!" Satine confirmed quickly.
"Well, hello janitor. Where are you when someone decides to blow chunks in the hall after a good two periods of drinking and smokin' a good j?"
"Who said that?" Dukey asked, whirling around.
Oh, it was only Steve, not Harold, Zidler.
"Hellooooo," he grinned. "How are things?"
Behind him, Satine and Christian saw the door was swinging shut.
"DON'T SHUT THE—"
Too late, it closed.
"…Door."
"Oh, my, what's wrong with that fellow?" Steve asked, noticing Kronk lying on the floor.
"He's just being a drama queen. Pay no attention. He'll realize nobody's watching and get bored and stop," assured Dukey.
Seven minutes passed and no movement came from Kronk.
"Oh, well, I guess he finally keeled over," Dukey suggested without a single tone of remorse in his voice.
Jeez, what a heartless bastard.
"Dad, we're locked in," Satine pouted to Zidler.
"Oh, well, it's lucky for us, we have this janitor with us! He has the keys to all the rooms in the school! He'll let us out, bumblebee!"
Everybody turned to Christian, except for Kronk who was dead, and waited for him to make a move.
"Um…I don't have the keys…with me." He smiled big, hoping that would change things.
Seeing his wide grin, everybody completely forgot why they were looking at him in the first place.
"Well, hello, Mr. Simplot!" Zidler greeted, slapping him on the back. "I see you and Satine are having a wonderful time in here, isn't that right?"
"Her poem was spiffy, Zidler. I liked it."
"You did? I mean, of COURSE you did! Everybody likes Satine's poetry! Isn't that right, Satine?!"
"Actually, she didn't wr—" Christian began explaining but was cut off by Satine stomping her heel into his foot. Too bad he didn't understand her future was lying on this fib.
"Who the fork are you?" Zidler asked Christian, noticing him.
"He's the school janitor," Dukey answered, shoving Christian into a local wall. "Nobody important. Anyways, I want to tell you about her writing—"
"He heard me recite my poem and he liked it a lot," she said, lifting Christian up from the floor and nudging him.
"Uhhhhhhhhhh…what?" everybody asked. Except for Kronk who was dead.
The door flew open and Toulouse, Jerry and Greg ran inside.
"I THOUGHT that was you we saw thwough the wi—"
"DON'T SHUT THE—"
Greg pulled the door shut and noticed everybody was in a position to charge towards him. "What?"
The air filled with everybody's sighs.
"Oh, spiffy. Not only are we locked in here, but now there's seven people in here to take up all the oxygen. We're all gonna suffocate," Dukey groaned.
"You forgot about the dead guy so he's make eight," Christian corrected haughtily.
"Dead people don't breathe," Satine corrected haughtily.
"We're all gonna DIE??!!!!" Jerry screamed and whipped out his inhaler.
"Yeah, pretty much," Satine said.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!" came the response of not only Jerry, but Toulouse, Greg, Dukey, Satine and Christian.
Zidler felt left out and decided to scream too.
"Hey, what's everybody screaming about?" Pupitre asked, standing in the doorway.
Naturally, they didn't hear him over their noise and as a result didn't answer him. So Pupitre just shrugged and came inside, letting the door close behind him.
"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" Christian yelled over them. "If we keep screaming like this, we'll need to take more breaths and we'll run out of oxygen sooner."
This didn't really help at all. It only got Pupitre panicked and he began screaming too.
"He's right! Everybody stop screaming!" Satine commanded, but nobody paid her any heed either. "Ugh."
"It's okay, Satine. If it makes you feel any better, I'm glad to be dying with you," Christian assured, sitting next to her.
"That really doesn't make me feel any better but thanks," she muttered. No, she didn't mutter, she SAID. And then she smiled. And then Christian smiled. And for a few seconds, there was a romantic atmosphere about them. Up until—
"Okay, stop!" Dukey interrupted, his voice causing the floating cartoony hearts to pop and the angelic music to wind down. "Janitor, get your paws off my bitch."
"Ex-CUSE me?!" Satine demanded, jumping up. "I am no one's bitch!"
"Oh, beg your pardon. Get your paws off my WHORE."
Satine snarled and lunged at Dukey, proceeding to beat the crap out of him.
Zidler stopped running around screaming as he was hit with an epiphany. He reached up and pulled the annoying little epiphany off his face and threw it down. Then he had a brilliant idea.
"What if we did a school play?" he asked the crowd of screaming people.
Satine stopped with her fist frozen over her head as she looked at her father.
"Um…what?" she asked.
"Yeah, what?" asked everybody else. Except for Kronk who was dead.
"Well, since Satine is good with poetry, she can write the school play we can all perform it in front of the entire student body! Won't that be a good way to convince your great uncle to give her a scholarship?"
"Uhhh…sure!"
"And then we can act in it!" Toulouse squealed, jumping on the back of Jerry.
"AHHH! NEVER TOUCH ME!!!" he screamed as he threw Toulouse down on top of Kronk, making a loud squishy noise.
"Yeah, doesn't that sound nifty?!" Zidler asked Pupitre, who hadn't yet commented on it.
"Just as long as I be the spiffy hero."
"Fine, fine. How about you, Greg? Does this sound like an idea to die for?"
"…I wouldn't DIE for it…"
Jerry perked up. "DIE?! DIIIIIE??!!! WE'RE ALL—"
"Excuse me." Carolyn appeared in the doorway, glowering at her brother. "I have been waiting for you for half an hour. And you just LEAVE me out—"
"FREEEEEEEDOM!!!" Jerry screamed as he bombed through the group of people and flew out the door past Carolyn.
"Riiiight…so, Christian, what do you have to say for yourself?"
"…How did you know I was in here?"
"I'm your sister, dipshit. I know things. Anyways, let's go before Dad thinks we died or something."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, she's your SISTER?" asked Dukey, trying to figure out what was going on.
"And you're name's Christian? Hmm, you look more like an Obi Wan to me," Zidler pondered.
"I didn't know janitors had sisters," Dukey said, ever so snootily.
"Whatever. Let's go, fag," Carolyn said, walking out.
"DOOOOOOR!!!" Greg screamed as he dove to catch it just in time.
Everybody ran outside the portable to breathe the fresh air except for Zidler and Dukey who decided to stay behind and talk.
And, of course, Kronk because he was dead.
"So, Mr. Simplot, do we have an accord?" Steve Zidler asked, holding out his hand acting so much like Johnny in the pirate movie.
Pirates, matey! Arg!
"Agreed," Dukey grinned, shaking his paw.
"Agreed," Zidler confirmed.
All the readers read those last few sentences in disgust and blew raspberries while giving GollumRox a thumbs-down for her stupid reference.
§
So! How did you guys like that? Crickets chirp …You hated it, didn't you?