A/N: Welcome to the final chapter. I promise it'll be funny. Have a happy Thanksgiving!

On Tuesday morning, a crowd of parents and the rest of the student body took their seats in the auditorium. Riley and Lars were supervising the students as they gathered props and put up scenery. They had written themselves into the play as a Pilgrim who is distrustful of the Indians and the princess of the tribe.

"Are you ready for the play?" Otto asked Roderick.

Roderick wiggled a shaka sign. "Ready and raring to go. I stayed up late last night so I could memorize my lines."

Otto's eyes popped. He'd totally forgotten that he'd have lines to memorize. What to do?

"Places, places, everyone!" Conroy shouted. "It's almost time to go on. I beg you. Please, please get the scenes right. My career is on the line."

"Don't worry," said Roderick. "We've rehearsed in Otto's garage every day. I'm sure nothing will go wrong."

Conroy clomped out onstage clad in his turkey suit. He welcomed everyone to the play and talked about the voyage to Plymouth Rock. The curtain went up, revealing the cardboard reproduction of the Mayflower.

"Land ho!" cried Sam.

"Yes! We're here!" said Lars, doing a little jig in the crow's nest.

The flimsy ship tipped sideways, sending everyone on board crashing painfully to the ground. Otto began to improvise. "Help! Help us! We're drowning!"

"Ha-ha!" cackled Lars. "I can swim! Too bad you can't."

"Why, I oughta--" Otto started.

Conroy herded them backstage again to prepare for the second scene. Otto and the Pilgrims walked out, shivering and Otto let out dramatic moans at intervals.

"How long has it been since our last meal?" he asked Sam.

"Perhaps a week, maybe two." Sam replied.

Several female Pilgrims swooned and fainted.

"We must find someone to help us," said Roderick, checking on the girls. "Or surely we will starve death."

"This is the New World!" Otto cried. "There is no one else here."

All of a sudden, a band of Indians appeared...clad in everything from faded blue jeans to shorts...their faces smeared with red face paint. They even wore small feather headresses made of construction paper. Riley was at the head of the pack.

"Well, well, well," she said lazily, rocking back and forth on her heels. "What have we here? Squanto, kill these strangers."

"As you command, Princess," squeaked Oliver Van Rossum.

Roderick stepped forward. "Please don't hurt us. I assure you we are no threat. We're peaceful travelers. Perhaps you can help us find shelter from the bitter cold and food."

Riley said that she could easily put the hungry Pilgrims out of their misery as she held a foam Atlanta Braves tomahawk high above her head. An epic battle ensued. The Pilgrims, supposedly weakened by hunger, were losing spectacularly.

Enter Conroy. He flapped about the stage, spouting historical facts at intervals. By now, the audience was roaring with laughter. Lars spotted the bird out of the corner of his eye. He fired with his Nerf gun at the same moment the Indians showered the stage with suction cup arrows. As Conroy flopped onstage in a dramatic death spiral, the two sides argued extensively over ownership of the soon-to-be-dead bird.

Then, in a bizarrre change of heart, the class began to sing "We Gather Together." The female Pilgrims passed around dishes of fake food to the Pilgrims and Indians. The kids only just got out of the way before the curtain fell.

The audience applauded and whistled. The cast went out onstage to take their bows. Ray and Tito, who were sitting in the front, looked at each other.

"Did the play always go like this?" Ray asked.

"Don't know, bruddah, but it sure was funny." said Tito.

THE END