Six.

"What did you say to him?"

"Oh, nothing, dear. I didn't actually talk to Alejandro, I talked to his mother; she was very understanding."

"Really?" Richard asked, surprised.

"Well, eventually."

"Uh… Eventually? How many times did you call?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that, dear."

The band, plus Ms. Alcott and Weisel, were sitting tensely around the living room, waiting for the phone to ring. Alejandro was supposed to call with a final final decision any minute, and since there were only four days to prepare, it was a do or die situation.

"So Chris, uh… What made you change your mind?" Richard asked. "I mean, I know you got over your whole jealousy thing—"

"Shut up," Chris interrupted.

"—but still, you really didn't want him in the band. And then you did."

Chris shrugged. "He was good when he auditioned."

"So?"

"So, I don't know. I guess he's not such a bad guy, and it's just easier to find someone local."

Richard raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. Chris didn't sound like he was being entirely honest, but Rich also knew better than to push him. He was being agreeable, finally, so that was worth a little bit of lying.

"So…" CJ sighed. "What are we gonna do if he doesn't say yes?"

"He'll say yes," Ms. Alcott assured him.

"Mom, what did you do to him? Threaten to burn his house down?"

"Richard, that's not very funny."

"Who's joking?" Rich mumbled, but let it go.

CJ began tapping his fingers nervously against the table. "But what if he doesn't say yes? Johnny said yes!"

"Um… We all commit ritual suicide?" Nick suggested. "Or sacrifice Johnny to the gods of pop music?"

"That one sounds good. I can't believe he… Aaaarg." CJ collapsed briefly back in his chair, overdramatic, but then sat up and began jiggling his leg up and down under the table. CJ had more energy than any other person on the entire planet, Richard decided. And the nervous energy was kind of infectious and even though Richard had been fairly confident when they all sat down, he found himself doubting Alejandro's answer, and starting to worry about what would happen to the concert if they didn't have someone to sing bass and fill in the holes in the dance routines, and what if the band really wasn't a very good idea, and what if he couldn't do it and the audience hated him, and what if—

Nick was trying to calm CJ down, but Chris was watching Richard. "Um, you look a little green," Chris said. "Are you okay?"

"I feel kinda sick." Richard tried to take a deep breath. "I think I'm gonna puke—"

The phone rang, and Richard jumped up, but not to answer it. It continued to ring as he stumbled over to the trash can in the corner of the room and threw up, and everyone was so startled that the phone had rung five times before Ms. Alcott finally realized someone should pick it up.

"Hello, this is Virginia Alcott speaking."

The room went tense and silent, while she listened. Even Richard, kneeling next to the trash can, was watching her.

"…I see," she said. "Well, yes, but—Oh, of course we understand that."

Richard's heartbeat sped up and he felt another wave of nausea growing in his stomach.

"No, no, we will be very flexible; of course we want to secure everyone's future… I see. Yes, yes, I see."

Richard tried to swallow the rising bile and groaned, hanging his head over the trash can again.

"Well, that's wonderful! We'll see you just as soon as your performance tonight is over, you and your parents should come by to sign the contract…"

Her voice faded from Richard's consciousness. Sign the contract? Wonderful? He took a long, deep breath. Contracts meant someone saying yes. Saying yes meant singing bass, and dancing, and the concert could actually go on as planned.

Assuming Alejandro could learn everything in four days.

Richard threw up again.

"Virginia, I think we need to have a discussion." Weisel's voice was dark and unpleasant, and Virginia smiled primly as she sat down in his office.

"Of course, what can I help with?"

"I don't like that Richard was throwing up tonight."

"I'm sure he just has a bug, it'll be gone in no time."

"It's not a bug, Ms. Alcott, and I think we both know that."

"I don't know what you mean," she answered.

"It's not a secret that he used to have anxiety attacks before performances. It's not a secret that that's why he left his show."

"That was a long time ago. Richard is fine now. Time away from performing fixed him right up."

"And he's so fine that he throws up when he's stressed?"

"I don't think that's a very accurate way of putting it at all." She folded her hands on the table in front of her and gave him her best showbiz mother glare. "My son had a problem with anxiety when he was younger. And so in extreme situations, he may have occasional problems; however, this is very different from an ordinary performance."

"He hasn't even performed yet," Weisel countered. "How can I be sure he can even go on stage?"

"Oh, he'll go on stage. He loves being on stage."

"Than what happened today?"

"What happened today was him worrying that the band might not even exist, or that you'd cancel their performance. As I said, very different than just a concert or an interview. You've seen him in interviews; he's fine."

Weisel returned her glare and finally said, "Well, I suppose time will tell. But it's in his contract that if he can't perform, he's out."

"Don't you worry about a thing. Richard will be fine."

"I can't do this." Richard was sitting on his bed with another trash can pulled up in front of him. "I can't. Oh my god, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Hey, calm down." Chris was sitting backwards on his desk chair, looking as concerned as he was capable of looking. "You freaked out some, but you're fine now."

"I'm not fine! We haven't even had a show yet and I'm freaking out, what the hell am I going to do when we go on stage? Puke on the audience?"

"Um, no. Also, gross," Chris answered.

"I can't, I just, I can't even… I'm just thinking about going on stage and I want to throw up, how the hell am I actually going to get on stage? I can't do it, you'll all get screwed over, I'll have to leave the band and you'll all hate me like you hate Johnny and oh my god I'm going to throw up."

"Okay, well, why did you want to do it?"

Richard shrugged. "I missed it. I mean… You know what it's like. Being a part of everything… Being…"

"The center of attention?"

"Yeah, shut up." He groaned. "And I love it, I do. I love singing. It's just that if I screw up… I mean, screw up in front of people… I mean, I don't want to get booed by anyone. I couldn't handle it. I can't handle it. Oh my god…"

"You're not going to screw up and you're not going to get booed. Chill out."

"How do you know that? I used to screw up all the time. Do you know how many lines I dropped on my show?"

"No. And neither does anyone else, because you're a really good actor. So on the rare occasion you mess up, you cover for it."

"But it's different with dancing because if you fall you can't pretend you were supposed to—"

"Rich, I'm the one who has to worry about that, remember? I'm the one who screws up the dancing in rehearsal every day. You're perfect."

"I'm not perfect!"

"Well, you're better than I am. And I don't say that a lot."

"No kidding." But Richard half-smiled at that.

"Look, I know you get freaked out… But we're good. We're really good, and you're a huge part of it. So you'll be fine."

"How do you know?"

"Because it's too important to you, and you wouldn't settle for anything less." Chris shrugged. "Now c'mon, let's go meet Alex. He should be here soon."

The band got up even earlier than usual the next morning, planning to do nothing but drill the songs and dances into Alejandro. They had four days to do it, and it wasn't a lot of time. But still, Alejandro showed up at rehearsal ready to focus, with an intensity that was almost intimidating.

He'd agreed to do it, so he was going to do it well.

His face was serious—CJ insisted on referring to it as a game face—and he was wearing old sweatpants and a t-shirt, with a blue bandana pulling his hair out of his face. They'd sent him the lyrics the night before, and to everyone's surprise, he'd already memorized his parts. He didn't have the tunes down yet, though he'd studied the music, and it only took most of the morning to get the songs down. Alejandro had a good ear for music, and since the set they were planning was fairly short, after lunch they were ready to start on the choreography.

Their choreographer was surprisingly young, with hip looking spiked hair. His name was Wayne, and he was supposed to be one of the top dance talents in the country, despite his youth—only a few years older than the band members.

Chris watched Wayne and Alejandro shake hands, and Alejandro confessed he was feeling nervous. Chris opened his mouth to say something nice, figuring that it was the least he could do (and secretly hoping that now he might not be the worst dancer in the group), but before he could figure out what to say, Wayne had put an arm around Alejandro and was reassuring him that he'd pick up on the choreography pretty quickly.

As Alejandro turned to head to his starting spot in the back, Chris had to raise an eyebrow—Wayne was smirking and watching him very closely as he walked. But when Alejandro turned around, Wayne was all business again. The first song they'd be doing ) was going to be their first single, an upbeat number called Rippin' Out My Heart. It was really the centerpiece to the show (they hadn't decided if it would be a closing or opening number yet) and the most complicated dance.

Wayne ran through the first thirty-two beats slowly, showing Alejandro his part, then put on the music and ran through it at full speed with the rest of the band. Alejandro watched intently, and Wayne asked if he wanted to give it a shot.

"I guess," Alejandro said hesitantly, and took his space. "The slide comes on the fourth beat, right?"

"You got it."

"I'm not sure I remember everything…"

"You'll be fine," Wayne assured him. "Just make sure you hit the pose at the end of the verse, and no one will notice."

"Don't worry," Chris put in. "No one hits it the first time, anyway."

"No, Chris; you never hit it the first time," Richard mumbled.

"Bite me," Chris answered. He was feeling unusually charitable, and he didn't want to let Rich ruin his good mood.

"Okay, guys, let's go through it slowly. I'll give you all a beat," Wayne said, and started the metronome. "Ready, and four… three… two…" He snapped his fingers, and they fell into motion.

Chris watched intently in the mirrored front wall, and every time his gaze slid over to Alejandro, he noticed with growing irritation that Alejandro seemed to be keeping up perfectly. He finished the verse with the rest of them and hit the pose – which happened to be standing with a nonchalant elbow on CJ's shoulder.

"Wow!" Wayne said, looking impressed. "That was… pretty good. Maybe you could smile this time around, though?"

"Oh, sorry," Alejandro replied sheepishly.

"Don't apologize!" Nick exclaimed. "That was awesome."

For his part, Chris shrugged. So Alejandro had gotten it right the first time around; it was probably just a fluke. Didn't mean a thing.

But then they went through the verse again, and Alejandro did it again, this time with a dazzling smile.

Wayne's only comment was, "Man, you could kill people with that smile."

Chris decided that he hated Alejandro, whose response was to grin lightly—a real smile, not a stage one.

"Okay, well, let's move on then. We don't have that long," Chris said quickly.

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Bite me," Chris mouthed at him, and Richard smirked. Wayne complied, though, and they started with the next verse, which Alejandro also aced. And on and on… Like he never ran out of energy and had somehow learned all of this in advance too.

"You've never had dance lessons, for serious?" Wayne asked, as they toweled off sweat and got ready for dinner.

"Well, when I was a kid… I mean, for a couple years."

"How long ago?"

"I dunno, I guess I was six… Maybe eight."

"You're a freaking prodigy, Alex," Nick said, grinning.

"You're a freaking prodigy, Alex," Chris mimicked to himself, earning him a light kick from Richard, who was finishing off a bottle of water.

"Be nice," Richard scolded. "We're happy that he's here. And he's good. I mean, that's like… A quarter of the set he knows now. Which is good. Right?"

"Yeah, if he keeps up at this rate, he'll know the whole thing about five minutes before we go on," Chris shot back.

"And here I remember you being bad at math," Alejandro answered from across the room, as he fixed his bandana.

"Well, forgive me for being concerned that we only have three days left and you don't even really know how to dance."

"Um, the way I remember it, you asked me to do this," Alejandro answered.

"You're better than nothing. If only just."

"Chris!" CJ snapped. "Shut up!"

Chris looked away from Alejandro then, huffily, but did see him in the mirror. For just a second, Alejandro sagged where he was standing, eyes shut and looking a little miserable—but then he perked up again, smiled, and took a breath. Chris shrugged it off; if he was hurt, well, he'd have to learn to deal with it. The media would be a lot worse.

"Um, I guess… I'll go finish unpacking my stuff," Alejandro said finally, as they began filing out.

"You want help?" Wayne asked. "I usually stick around for dinner, make sure y'all remember stuff afterwards, before you're through for the night. And if CJ's only just ordering the pizza, we've got some time."

"On it!" CJ declared and dashed out of the room, yelling, "Pizza!" as he skipped.

"He kind of looks like a muppet when he does that," Nick observed, and everyone laughed except for Chris, who was still scowling.

"I guess… I could use the help," Alejandro said to Wayne. "I mean, I don't have that much stuff or anything, but I guess I could use the company."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days…" Chris mumbled, and Richard actually smirked and looked amused before elbowing him and telling him to shut up. Alejandro ignored him, and Wayne shot him a dirty look, and they walked out of the room together. Nick followed quickly, and Chris finished tying his shoes and stood up.

"Is it just me, or was Wayne being a real asshole?" he asked Richard.

"Um… Just you?"

"No, he totally was. Didn't you see it? I saw it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, you're in show biz. You pick up on these things, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?" Richard snapped again.

"Wayne!"

"What about him!"

"He was—he—'Oh Alejandro, you're the most talented, divine dancer I've ever seen, and I'm not a creepy pedophile! Do you want to go hang out in your room?'" Chris snapped back, pitching his voice up high and mimicking Wayne's slight southern accent.

Richard stared at him, then cracked up. "Okay, you're insane."

"I'm serious."

"You're seriously insane."

"He was totally hitting on Alejandro, how did you miss that? Could he have touched him any more?"

"Um, he was showing him the choreography."

"He was feeling him up. There's not that much pelvic thrusting in our dances!"

Richard shook his head. "You're nuts," he said. "And Wayne was really nice to him, so I don't know where the whole 'asshole' thing comes from."

"Yeah, nice, sure."

"Why does it bother you, anyway?" Richard demanded. "Alejandro's an adult, even if he and Wayne—"

"Choreographers shouldn't have such clear favorites!"

"Unless the favorite is you?"

"That's not what this is about!"

"You're just mad that you're such a bad dancer."

"I am! Not!"

"Wayne's never complimented you like that," Richard pointed out.

"Yeah, well, Wayne's never sexually harassed me, either, so that's okay."

"Nuts," he said. "You're nuts."

"And you're not taking me seriously!" Chris countered, his voice growing louder.

Richard shrugged fairly casually. "I usually don't."

Slamming his bag of sweaty dance clothes on the floor, Chris folded his arms angrily. "Fine. So don't listen to me. Pretend that I don't ever say things that are worth listening to. In fact, why not go ahead and just kick me some more? You're real good at that. Here." He jerked up his pants leg to expose his calf, and offered it in Richard's general direction.

Richard just stared at him, cocking an eyebrow and pushing his damp brown hair away from his forehead. "That's over-the-top even for you, Chris. Want me to go fetch a crown of thorns now, or are you planning to wait to martyr yourself till after our show?"

With an inarticulate cry of frustration, Chris grabbed his bag, and, slinging it over his shoulder, stomped out of the room.

Behind him, Richard whistled under his breath. "I wonder what's eating him?"

Over the next three days, Alejandro did better than even the first day of work would have suggested. Even Chris had to admit that he was perfect for the part—he was focused and almost always picked up the dances on the first time through. And he was cute and could smile for cameras, or so Wayne kept saying. But then again, Chris was pretty sure that Wayne was growing creepier in front of them, and no one else seemed to notice.

They were sitting around at lunch on the day before the show, Wayne sitting next to Alejandro, talking about his previous choreography experiences. CJ and Nick were throwing more food than they were eating, arguing about which one of them was responsible for the giant mustard stain on the carpet, an argument which probably involved more jumping up and down than was strictly necessary. Richard was on the phone with Sherman, flipping out slightly, but he was doing better than he could have. He hadn't thrown up all day.

Chris was busy trying to avoid conversing with Richard's mother, who had appeared at the beginning of the meal, having their schedule memorized. (If Wayne was creepy about Alejandro, then she was creepy like a stalker, and seemed to materialize from nowhere every time they had a break.)

"Mister Weisel will be here in a minute," she said cheerily. "He stopped for lunch."

"No kidding." Chris rolled his eyes and picked at his food. Across the room, Alejandro was laughing at something, and when he glanced up, Wayne was grinning, too. He was tempted to call out to them to get a room, but explaining that in front of Ms. Alcott didn't sound very fun, so he ignored it.

"What's this meeting about?" Richard asked, hanging up his phone. "Isn't everything all worked out? I mean, we're on tomorrow night… It had better be, right?"

"Oh, dear, that's all set to go. It's just a matter of publicity, that's all. Ah, I hear his car now."

Sure enough, there was the sound of a car door shutting, and a minute later the corpulent manager walked in. "What's the word, Wayne? Are we set?"

"Absolutely, we finished with the last song this morning. Alejandro is brilliant."

Chris glowered.

"Good. This is just a quick meeting, shouldn't take too long, there are just a few things to discuss. Is everyone paying attention?"

CJ guiltily put the mustard bottle down, and Nick batted his eyelashes.

Weisel cleared his throat. "Basically, it's this. The press is going to be all over the concert tomorrow, and we really need to focus on the image. We need to be stylish and catchy—we need the youth market."

"No kidding," Richard said.

"What I'm saying is, we need to avoid having anything… Confusing. Our image has to be clear cut, really appeal to middle America."

It was Alejandro who raised an eyebrow. "What about us isn't clear cut?" he asked slowly, suspiciously.

"Well, I'm glad you asked that, Alejandro, because you see… That's the problem."

"What?"

"Well, I know that at school, most of the students called you Alex."

"Which I hated."

"Maybe, but I think that returning to that nickname might be a very beneficial publicity move."

"What?" he demanded. "What are you talking about?"

The rest of the band was glancing around uncomfortably, not sure whose side to take, or really what was going on.

"It's just that the name Alejandro might be a bit hard for some of our younger fans to pronounce, do you see?"

"I don't see. It's my name."

"If you'd rather go by Alexander, then by all means—"

"No!"

"But you see, while we're glad to have a varied group of ethnicities here, if we try and be too cutting edge, too diverse, we're going to lose some fans in a few of the more conservative regions of the country."

"But—"

"Hey," Richard interrupted. "Come on, you're the one who said it was good to be ethnic when we interviewed him."

"Oh, it is, it's just that the business of being a band is as much politics as it is entertainment, and ethnicity is good entertainment, but as for politics…"

"But that's not fair," Richard snapped. "I mean, his name is Alejandro—he's Latino, and what's wrong with being proud of it? Are you going to tell CJ he shouldn't talk about math or science in interviews so he doesn't seem too Asian?"

"Wow, that's a bit of a jump," CJ put in. "And I suck at math anyway."

"I'm not talking about stereotypes, Richard," Weisel tried to explain. "Just that our fans need to be able to identify with you boys."

"And who are our Latino fans going to identify with if you won't let me be proud of my culture?" Alejandro demanded.

"Word, brotha."

Everyone turned to stare at Nick, having almost forgotten that he was a part of the debate, too—but he gestured at his face, ran a hand through his hair, and shrugged.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't be proud of your heritages, boys—"

"Mister Weisel," Ms. Alcott put in, "you know I worry about our image as much. as you do, and we don't want to alienate anyone. But diversity is very hip these days, and if you don't mind, I believe I have a solution to all of these problems."

Everyone looked around, almost nervously, and finally Weisel prompted, "Well?"

"What if, rather than their actual names, all of them use nicknames? It's a good move—it shows how close they are, affectionate. Brotherly, remember?"

"Hmm… That could work," Weisel said, nodding slowly. "But I would get to veto the nicknames, if they don't work. Chris?"

"What?"

"You're Dutchy."

Chris blinked. "Okay," he said. It wasn't as though he'd never been called Dutchy outside of his show before; it was his best known character. There was even an entire line of children's books based on the character, and fans on the street were more likely to know him as Dutchy than as Chris Ivers. Certainly more likely that than Kristoff, he thought vaguely. "If you can get the rights to it," he added.

"Oh, leave that to me. The rest of you might as well begin brainstorming."

"How long do we have to do this?" CJ asked.

"Until tomorrow afternoon. Well, I'll leave you to lunch—and you'd better get back to work soon. Wayne, I want them to be able to do these routines in their sleep."

"No problem," Wayne answered.

"Well, then. I'll be in my office." Weisel swept out of the room, and everyone else stared around at each other.

Rehearsal the rest of the day was full of more yelling than usual. Chris was glad his nickname had been decided for him already, because if he heard one more yell of, "Moron Face Who Can't Step In Time!" he was going to kill someone.

Wayne, for his part, looked pained.

"Mustard Spilling Thief!"

"Crazy Hallucinating… Dude!"

"Dude, weak," Nick shot back at CJ.

"Would you two please focus?" Wayne asked tiredly.

"That really doesn't seem very likely, does it… Crazy Pants?"

"Smelly Face!"

"Twinkle Toes!"

"No, that's Alejandro." Nick paused and regarded CJ. "Um… Orange Hair Dyed… Guy?"

"You're reaching there, Guy Whose Hair Is In Serious Danger Of Becoming An Afro."

"Would you two please, please, please—"

"Swifty!" Nick interrupted. "Oh my god, it's perfect!"

"Swifty?" Richard repeated.

CJ blanched, looking horrified. "Oh, that was not funny."

"I bet your ex-girlfriend thinks it is."

"Shut up! I have stamina, man!"

Nick started laughing too hard at that, and there was really nothing that could be done. Swifty stuck, with a solemn promise from them all to never explain why to anyone else.

That made for two out of five. Richard's came next, easily; he kept taking off his glasses to wipe sweat off them. As CJ and Nick kept brainstorming nicknames for everyone else, he thoughtfully wiped them on his shirt. "You know what? I have glasses. I'll be Specs."

"That's lame, Anxiety Boy."

"CJ, shut up."

"Don't make fun of his disorder, you'll just make it worse," Wayne scolded.

"Thanks, Wayne." Richard rolled his eyes.

"Sir Pukes-a-Lot?"

"CJ, I swear to god—"

"Specs," Richard said firmly. "Because of my glasses. Specs."

"Well, I still think it's lame." CJ pouted.

"Do you have a problem, Swifty?"

"Shut up!"

Nick's came next, after a particularly interesting fall in the middle of a song. He somehow landed with one leg behind him and the other one bent, and he caught himself and jumped back up effortlessly.

"It's like your bones are made of mush," Alejandro observed.

"Hm, Mush," CJ mused. "It's kind of… gross. I like that."

"You would," Nick answered. "Mustard Boy."

"I told you, I didn't steal the mustard!"

"You also told me about your ex-girlfriend, but I know for a fact that one was a lie." Nick smirked, and CJ scowled, and no one asked.

"Mush works," Richard said, cutting off what would probably be another yelling match between the two of them. "If it's okay with you, Nick."

"Can we tell people it's because my smile turns girls to mush?" he asked, grinning.

"Perfect!" Wayne announced. "Now, to get back to work—"

"Girls," CJ mumbled. "Yeah, right."

"Hey, they like me, regardless of how I feel about them."

"God only knows why…"

"Oh, hush. You're just jealous." Nick blew CJ a kiss, and CJ scowled.

"Uh…" Chris said. "How long have you two been sleeping together for?"

"Two days," CJ answered. "Aren't we just the cutest thing in the whole world?"

"Huh, well, good luck being less obvious about that in public," Wayne said. "Now can we please get back to work?"

"But we still need a nickname for Alejandro!" CJ yelped.

"No, that's fine," Alejandro answered. "We can work now and, uh, come back to that later."

"Thank you, Alejandro."

"But we're on a roll!"

"Nick, can you make him shut up?" Richard asked.

Nick raised an eyebrow and licked his lips. "Not in public. Can we take a break? It won't take very long, he's fast."

"You are so not getting any tonight."

"Uh huh." Nick didn't sound terribly concerned.

Wayne banged his head against the wall in frustration. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I'd like to remind you that you have a show. Tomorrow. For which you should, I don't know, prepare. It's not going to be me who looks stupid if you mess up on stage."

Richard blanched at that, and nodded. "Come on, let's get to work," he said. "We'll brainstorm more at dinner, okay?"

That seemed to calm everyone down a bit, and they got back to work.

It turned out to not be as easy as that. They finished the afternoon's rehearsal without any more major breakdowns, but coming up with a nickname for Alejandro was easier said than done.

"Uh… Kinda Spanish Dude?"

Alejandro didn't bother to grace them with a reply anymore. He had a text book open in front of him as he ate, and was highlighting something.

"Lord of the Dance?"

"The Latin Wonder?"

"Ooh la la." CJ made a kissy face at Nick, who ignored it.

"Um… You know, Alejandro, you could help us out, here."

"My name is Alejandro," he answered. "I still don't see why I should pretend it's anything else."

"You're a stubborn diva," Chris answered.

"Wow, the irony of that is beyond measure," Alejandro answered back, not looking up, and Chris wanted to ask what that was supposed to mean, but didn't want to sound stupid.

"Um, Bookworm?" Richard suggested.

"No."

"Now you're just being stubborn!" CJ declared. "Come on, that's the best thing we've got so far."

"If it's what people are going to be calling me, I'd like it to be something I like," he answered.

"Why? Mine's not," CJ sulked.

"Yes, but I like yours," Nick answered, and not very subtly ran a hand up CJ's thigh.

"Ught, keep it in the bedroom, would you?" Chris snapped.

"You're just mad 'cause no one likes you," Nick answered, sticking out his tongue.

"Now, now," Alejandro sighed, and closed his book. "I thought we were all supposed to get along."

"Wow, that was a dumb assumption," Chris said.

"You're right," he agreed. "I should have known that no one would ever be able to get along with you."

"Hey!" Chris yelled. "Everyone likes me, you son of a…" Everyone was staring at him. He cleared his throat. "Bum," he finished lamely.

"Son of a bum?" Richard repeated. "Nice catch there, Chris."

"Shut up."

Richard kicked him under the table, but aloud repeated, "Bum… Son of a bum. It's kind of fun to say."

"You're not calling me Son of a Bum. First off, neither of my parents is a—"

"I know, but… Why are you so difficult?"

"Bum," CJ said, and began singing to himself, "Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum—"

"Stop that!"

"Bum's not a very nice name, though, is it?" Nick put in. "I mean, he's nice."

"Well…" Richard shrugged. "To make something cute, you make it, uh… Little? Like a baby animal?"

"Little Baby Animal Bum? That's just… wrong," Chris said.

"For once, I agree," Alejandro answered.

"But come on. Bum… Little Bum… Tiny Bum… Baby Bum… Bum Cub… Uh… Bum-let…"

"Bumlet?" Alejandro asked.

"Well… yeah? Like a owlet, or something."

"This has just gotten very weird," Alejandro answered. "And I'm not a bum."

"Aww, but it's kind of cute," Nick said. "Bumlet. Like a cute little ragamuffin."

"Ragamuffin? Great. Thanks."

"Bumlets," Chris mused. "I think it works."

"Where did the 'S' come from?" Alejandro demanded.

Chris shrugged. "It just sounded good."

"You really think so?"

"I guess. I haven't heard anything better…"

Alejandro shrugged. "I guess."

Everyone kind of stared at him. "For serious?" CJ repeated. "After all of that, you agree to Bumlets? I mean, come on. Bookworm was, like, ten times better."

Alejandro merely shrugged. "It works as well as anything. And it doesn't sound so… American."

"Because it's gibberish."

"Well, I like it."

"Then it's settled!" Richard declared, trying to end the conversation. "Specs, Dutchy, Mush, Swifty and… Bumlets. The V-Tones."

"Coming to Nickelodeon tomorrow," Chris added.

"Oh, God. I feel ill."

"Come on, the nickname isn't so bad," Alejandro answered, smiling a little.

"I'm gonna puke…"

"Sir Pukes-a-Lot," CJ mumbled to Nick, who grinned.

"I'm serious, and I just ate…"

"You'll be fine. This happens, like, six times a day."

"Twice! Tops!"

"Tell that to the poor trashcan."

"…and the toilet."

"I hate you all," Richard sulked.

"Welcome to my world," Chris answered.

"Only 'cause we all hate you," Nick said cheerfully.

"Yeah, I know."

"I don't hate you, Chris," Alejandro said quietly, but opened his book and stared down at it in concentration before anyone could answer.

AN: FYI, Wayne is not actually a newsie. He's just sketchy. (All of the canon characters will be identified as such, so… yeah.)