A/N – Thanks for the continued reviews, folks! I'm not getting as many as I did for the first version of this story; maybe folks assumed I ditched it for good? Anyhoo. The important thing is, yes, I am having more fun writing this version. Glad you liked the members of the Cluster Underground (they're only minor characters, but Greaser was fun to write.) And yes, it just didn't feel like a CoyoteLoon story unless I was tormenting Drew somehow. All right, back to the action, flying through the skies of Tremorton …

The Anywhere Cannon

A "My Life as a Teenage Robot" Fanfic

Chapter Three – Is That Too Much to Ask?

Tuck grinned with pure, unblemished joy as he watched his home town flash by a thousand feet beneath his beaming face; from his vantage point high up in the clouds, all of the buildings looked like little toy models, and all the people looked like ants, and all the ants looked like … well, he couldn't actually see the ants, but he figured that if he could, they'd look pretty darn small. The thrill of flight was sending him to dangerous levels of over-stimulation. "It's all so obvious to me now!" he shouted, smacking himself in the forehead. "That's how come you're so good at fighting robots, Jenny … it's the rocket jets! Tactical advantage, superior maneuverability, enhanced view of the battlefield … whenever those Cluster losers come around, itchin' for a fight … you just fire up the old pigtails and Pow! Kablam! Zoom!" He churned the wind with his fists, pantomiming a Kung-Fu routine he'd seen on one of his favorite Saturday morning cartoon shows.

"Careful!" screamed Jenny, as her fidgeting passenger sent them twisting around in the air like an errant bottle rocket. She nimbly re-stabilized the gimbals on her pigtails, then shot Tuck a nasty glare. He was strapped into her safety harness, a child carrier that deployed from her torso and held him to her metal body like a bomb slung under the belly of a fighter jet. It had seemed like a safer way to carry him, instead of forcing him to cling to the edge of her booster-jet wings. Unfortunately, now his arms and legs were free to act out the action scenes playing in his all-too-vivid imagination. "Will you stop squirming around like that? Aughhh! It's like trying to fly with a bucking bronco strapped to my stomach!"

"Of course, the problem is figuring out a way to get me to fly," Tuck wondered aloud, completely oblivious to anything that Jenny had just said. His mind was racing with engineering possibilities, most of which involved construction paper and white glue. "We could just use one of your Mom's jet-packs! Oh, no, wait … she locked those down in the vault, after I flew one through the kitchen window. I know! We could just unscrew your pigtails, and bolt them onto the sides of my football helmet! So what size screw do you use, Jenny … half-inch or three-eighths?"

She instinctively grabbed her precious pigtails. "Nobody's getting near my head with a screwdriver! You can just forget about …"

"You're right," the little fellow interrupted, "on second thought, I think we should just stick with the jet-packs. You can sneak into your Mom's underground vault and 'borrow' one for me! But we'd better hurry if we want to make it to the Goop Zone in time. Let's see, registration starts at …"

Tuck pulled the tournament brochure out of his pocket, apparently forgetting that, at that moment, they were flying well over one hundred and fifty miles per hour. At that speed, the rushing slipstream grabbed the brochure out of his hands in an instant … and twisted it around crazily, until it peeled back and slapped right over Jenny's face. Suddenly blinded, the robot girl lost her visual bearings, and started spinning in a drunken helix as she grasped at the glossy paper covering her eyes. She yanked the brochure free just in time to see the towering spire of the KTRM radio antenna rushing towards her at an insane speed. With a gut-twisting, last-second burst of thrust, she banked into a tight turn, averting disaster. She gave Tuck a wild-eyed glare, her poor wires frazzled with frustration …

And he snatched the brochure back from her, giving her a scolding look in return. "Hey, you almost lost my entry form, Jenny! You really should be more careful. Now, about that registration time …"

"Doi …" – she smacked herself in the forehead, and silently counted to ten – "… Tuck, will you please forget about the stupid registration time? I'm not …"

"I see what you mean," he interrupted again, "registration still isn't for a whole hour, yet. But I want to get there in time to get in some practice on the ol' firing range!" And before Jenny even realized what the little tyke was doing, he hauled his MegaSoaker 400 water cannon out of his backpack … and let loose with a volley of enthusiastic soaker fire, laying waste to an army of imaginary mechanical beasts. "Take that, robot scum!" shouted Tuck, imitating the sound of laser fire. "Pchew-pchew-pchew-pchew-pchew-pchew-pchew-pchew …"

Of course, Tuck's toy rifle wasn't filled with a laser cartridge, but as Jenny soon realized, it wasn't filled with water, either. She learned this because one of Tuck's liquid blasts got caught in the wind, and blew back into Jenny's face with a moist, slimy, splat. It was a sticky spray of "goop" (available for take-home purchase at the Goop Zone Store); a viscous, pale-green tacky syrup that felt uncomfortably similar to human snot.

"Ewwwww!" she shouted in disgust, as she once again corkscrewed through the skies over Tremorton. Sparks crackled around her face as the slimy Goop played havoc with her circuitry. Baffled citizens on the streets below must have wondered if Wakeman's robot had gone on the fritz again, as they watched her twist around in crazy spirals. Her temper barely in check, thin slots opened up just above her eyebrows, to deploy a pair of windshield wipers that quickly cleared her vision once again. Trailing a thin stream of green Goop slime, she cleaned off the rest of her face, and returned to level flight once more. She gave Tuck her Ultimate Glare of Death …

… To which he was blissfully ignorant. Either that, or he was trying to fight anger with cute. "Man, what's the matter with you today?" he asked, cluelessly. "Fluid levels a little off?"

"That's – it!" she shouted.

With a neck-snapping lurch, Jenny twisted into a roll, and plunged into a power dive at half the speed of sound. They were finally back over their own neighborhood, and she could not get rid of Tuck fast enough. She blasted towards the Carbunkle house like a re-entering ICBM warhead, making a wind shear that ripped the leaves off of every tree within a hundred-foot radius. And like she'd done countless times before, she pivoted her body and bumped up the thrust from her jets, turning what seemed doomed to be a crash landing into a feather-soft touchdown. Well, not so feather-soft this time; she jettisoned Tuck from her child-carrier at the same moment that her toes touched the grass. The young boy did a couple of somersaults before coming to a stop, spread-eagled next to a lawn gnome. For a moment, Jenny worried that she'd let her temper get the best of her …

"Cool!" shouted Tuck, as he popped to his feet. "What an awesome example of evasive maneuvers! So, what do you say we head over to your house and get that jet pack now?"

The moment passed. Some other time, she might have admired Tuck's persistence, but right now, he was just being a big pain in the servos. It was times like this she was grateful her robot sisters spent most of their time in hibernation. "Tuck. Listen to me. I'm going to say this once. You can't use one of my Mom's jet packs. You can't disassemble my head for parts. And I wasn't trying to show you any combat maneuvers. I just wanted to get you home – and out of my hair – as fast as possible!"

He scratched his fingers through his messy black hair, puzzled. "But we need the jet pack, so you can show me how to win the Bot Buster tournament at Goop Zone …"

He still didn't get it. "No jet pack," she said in a scolding voice. "And no robot fighting lessons. And no Goop Zone."

Tuck grasped at his heart, mortified. In a flash, his eyes doubled in size, quivering like pools of water. His warbling lower lip seemed to drop to his belly button. He sheepishly looked up at the blue-and-white robot girl with the heart-wrenching innocence of a street urchin from a Dickens novel. "But … but I thought you were my friend, Jenny."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said, folding her arms with a clank. "Not falling for that again."

As quickly as he'd put on the charade, Tuck dropped it – somewhat annoyed that it hadn't worked. She's getting wise to my good stuff, he thought to himself. "C'mon, Jenny ol' buddy ol' pal," he said, giving her a playful punch in the hip. He grinned like a Times Square watch salesman. "It's just one little old afternoon! A few hours of your time! Down at the Goop Zone! Having fun! Helping me! Win a contest! Possibly by cheating!"

"Tuck, I've got more important things to do," she huffed. "Weren't you listening earlier when Smytus and his goons were attacking the town? Wait … what am I saying? Of course you weren't listening. He said that he was going to destroy Tremorton before the end of the day, for 'complete and total victory'. That means I have to get together with my Mom so we can prepare battle plans to defend the Earth!" That was a bit of a fib; she had dozens of battle plans pre-programmed into her memory banks. But it did make for a plausible escape plan right about now.

"Ah, Smytus says a lot of stuff," said Tuck, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Jenny, please, if you don't help me out, then I can't win this tournament …"

He just wouldn't give up. "What is so important about some silly Goop-shooting tournament?"

"Because I've never won anything before," he whined, in a half-genuine ploy to regain her sympathy. Tuck clasped his hands behind his back, and kicked at a tuft of grass on the lawn. He was such a natural little con artist that it was hard to tell when he was actually upset, but now he seemed authentic in his tender little angst. "You see, everyone in town knows you, Jenny. You're a hero." He snuck a glance out of the corner of one eye, and noticed that her face softened somewhat. "Didn't you see how they waved and cheered for you after you beat the Cluster robots today? Sure, some of them used to think you were a freaky robotic monster … " – oops, she's giving me a dirty look, I need a save here – "… but the important thing is, they're cheering you now. You're famous!"

She gave him a cautious smirk. "Well, I suppose … when a girl saves the Earth a few dozen times, she does gain a little bit of … heh-heh … street cred."

"And remember a couple of weeks ago," he continued, "when Brad saved everyone at the Goop Zone from that giant Tadzilla-Mutant Frog thing? He got his picture in the paper, and now he's famous, too!"

Jenny remembered the night well – the giant frog attack had coincided with the visit from the amazing intergalactic teenaged heroes that called themselves the Teen Team. A lot of drama had taken place at the Goop Zone that night, but in the end, Brad had used his wits to turn a two-hundred-foot tall frog monster into a pile of cinders. Even Misty had concluded that Brad was a hero. And he'd gotten his picture in the town's and the school's paper. Of course, he'd been acting like a big jerk ever since then … she snapped her attention back to Tuck, trying to figure out what his angle was.

"I think I see," she smiled, giving Tuck a gentle pat on the head. "You see how cool it is to save people, to be a hero, like Brad and me … and you wish that you could be a hero too."

"Huh? Hero?" He brushed her hand aside with a chuckle. "The heck with that, I just want the fame! Tuck wants his fifteen minutes! I want to be loved by adoring crowds who wish nothing more than to shower me with endless love and gifts and attention! And maybe a shoe contract, too."

So much for any sympathy she'd temporarily felt for the little guy. She slowly shook her head. "Unbelievable."

"Now do you see, Jenny? If I win that tournament, I get my picture in the paper! I might even be on the TV news!" Tuck whipped himself into another frenzy of excitement, as his imagination filled with images of his face on T-shirts and magazine covers. "Everyone in school will know that I'm the Bot Buster champion! Everyone in the whole town will say my name and say it loud! C'mon, say my name, Tremorton! Who's your daddy?" He finally calmed down long enough to take a few deep breaths. "So … how about it, Jenny?"

"Oh, brother," she moaned. She deployed a miniature crane-hook from her wrist, and picked Tuck up by the shirt collar, holding him like a bag of dirty diapers. Despite the little guy's pleading and protests, she rang the doorbell to the Carbunkle residence and let herself in the front door. Tuck twisted and squirmed, trying to wrench himself free from her robotic grasp. He tried last-minute pleading to con, bargain, and blackmail Jenny into helping him win the Goop Zone Tournament, but her patience had been fully expended by then. Let Brad worry about taking care of him; he's his brother, after all. She didn't see anyone in the modestly decorated living room, and worried briefly that nobody was home. Then she'd really be stuck with the little brat. "Brad! Brad!" she called out. "Anyone home?"

"In the kitchen!" came the reply. He must've been grabbing a snack. Jenny trudged into the kitchen, still holding Tuck from her wrist-hook. Then her chemical sensors began to twitch. There was something … different about the air inside the house. As a robot, she couldn't smell like a human, but she could run a spectrograph analysis of an air sample, getting a much more accurate and reliable result. In the two steps it took her to reach the kitchen, her sensors identified the mysterious chemical that floated inside the Carbunkle house.

It was cologne. Cheap cologne.

"Pee-yew," moaned Tuck, trying to wave the vapors away from his nose.

Brad was in the kitchen all right, but he wasn't eating. He was ironing the wrinkles out of a black acrylic sweater-vest, humming pleasantly to himself as squirted a jet of steam onto a stubborn crease. "Hey there, guys," he said, making casual conversation. "So what've you been up to all day?"

Jenny made a face, and deployed a small fan from her head to blow the noxious odors away. "What … smells like a pack of wet dogs in here?"

"Oh, you like it?" grinned Brad, as he slipped the sweater-vest over his head. "That's just a little something I decided to put on for tonight, you know …" – he gave Jenny a snarky grin – "… for my date. You see, Jen, a date is when humans teenagers go out and have fun together …"

"I know what a date is, thank you," she growled back, in a voice that dropped the temperature of the room by ten degrees.

"Oh, really?" teased Brad, with a smug little smirk. He was obviously feeling very pleased about the evening he had lined up in front of him. "Hmm, I thought you might not actually remember, seeing as how it's been so long since you've actually been on a date …"

"Oooooh," gasped Tuck. Nasty! Brad and Jenny's prom date, after the Cluster Dawn attack, seemed like something from ancient history now. Since then, Tuck had watched them argue bitterly, break up, apologize, stay friends, date other people, and then start flirting with each other again, sometimes repeating the cycle over the course of a week. In other words, they acted like typical, fickle, flighty teenagers. It was enough to make him hope that he'd stop growing at age 10 (or as he often referred to it, the big one-oh). Although, as disgusting as the whole idea of dating was – I mean, c'mon, cooties! – it sure did provide a bounty of entertainment.

"I've been on plenty of dates, thank you," Jenny snapped back, shooting Brad an evil glare. She plunked her fists on her hips, dropping Tuck onto the floor.

"Yeah … any dates that weren't part dog?" grinned Brad.

"Ooooooh!" Tuck squealed with delight. "Point, Brad!"

Jenny's pigtails quivered with anger; she'd taken a big hit socially in the aftermath of her relationship with Kenny. Then an evil grin came to her face. "So, another lucky girl gets to go out with you tonight? Wow, is she a blonde, brunette, redhead … or a floor mop?"

"Oooooooooooh! Point, Jenny!" Tuck held a pair of fingers aloft, displaying the score.

Brad growled in aggravation; he was never going to live down the horror movie drive-in incident. He grabbed a bottle of hair gel from the counter, and squirted a clear glob of muck into his coppery bangs. "For your information, I shall be enjoying a super fancy dinner tonight with the lovely Kiki Tuscadero. If you'll recall, she is one of the many grateful young ladies whose life I saved at the Goop Zone a couple of weeks ago. Yeahhh, she dumped Don Prima so fast that it made his head spin."

Tuck groaned and rolled his eyes; as much as he hated to admit it, Brad was right. Ever since he'd become a hero by defeating the giant frog at the Goop Zone, he'd been dating a different girl every night. Sure, it was a stupid way to waste his fame … but at least he had the fame to waste! And if he wanted any chance of getting a little fame of his own … - "Heyyyyy, big brother!" he grinned, flashing his best con-man grin. "Looking good! Wow, someone's out to break some hearts tonight, huh?"

"It's the burden I must bear, Tucker," Brad smiled back, running his fingers through his hair. He ignored Jenny's pantomime of gag me, and draped an arm around his little brother. "Maybe someday, when you're a little older, I'll show you the tricks of the old Love Game. For example, girls love eating out at fancy restaurants. That's why I'm taking Kiki out to that new French place downtown, Le Bistro Swankée Foo Foo. I got a five dollar coupon out of the newspaper. I figure that should be enough to buy us some French fries. And cheeseburgers. The French love cheese, right? I figure they must have some awesome cheeseburgers at that place. Oops! Sorry. I mean, burgers a la fromage …"

"Yeah yeah yeah, sure …" – Tuck struggled to keep his smile pasted on – " … and hey, since you just happened to mention the Goop Zone … I was wondering …"

Brad's 'Tuck Sense' started to tingle; he recognized that grin. That, and he saw the Goop rifle that Tuck was trying to hide behind his back. "Yeaaaah?"

Tuck idly scuffed his shoes on the floor, trying to look as innocent as possible. "I was wondering, maybe, since you're such a great brother," – too thick? Nah, this works on Brad every time – "and since you're such a big-time hero now, and since you've got the car tonight …"

"I'm not taking you to Goop Zone, Tuck," Brad answered flatly.

"Awwwww, c'mon!" whined Tuck.

But his big brother just shook his head, thoroughly unmoved by Tuck's plight. "That's why I told you this morning to go bug Jenny and make her take you."

"What!" shrieked Jenny, her pigtails nearly standing on end. "You mean you sent this little pest out to tag along after me all day? He's been driving me nuts! And he won't take no for an answer! And …" – she suddenly paused, as another, more maddening thought came to her. She pointed an accusing finger at Tuck. "You mean I wasn't your first choice?"

Now their voices escalated into a chaotic three-way shout-fest, with Jenny insisting that she was too busy with her world-saving duties, Brad insisting that he was going to be late for his big romantic date, and Tuck insisting that his poor little life would cease to have any meaning whatsoever if somebody didn't take him to the big tournament at the Goop Zone. "But I can't go all by myself, guys!" he pleaded desperately. "Who'll give me moral support? Who'll encourage me to do my best? Who'll give me valuable coaching tips? And who'll pay my thirty dollar entry fee?"

"Don't look at me," smirked Jenny. "He's your brother, Mr. Romance. You take him."

"I can't take him out on my date!" Brad protested. "And I can't leave him home, either … my folks aren't here!"

The two frustrated teenagers folded their arms and looked down at Tuck's worried face, as the little guy clutched onto his Goop rifle as if it were a life preserver keeping him afloat in an insane, unfair world. All of his manipulations and maneuvering had come to naught; it looked like neither Brad nor Jenny was going to budge this time. Which was so wrong, because the cute-little-boy routine almost always worked on at least one of them! Maybe if he tried really hard, one more time, one of them would crack and take him down to the Goop Zone. Jenny could forget about saving the world for one afternoon. And Brad could always get another date with a stupid disgusting girl. How often would they get the chance to make a small, loveable child truly happy? He hugged his Goop Rifle as if it were a cuddly teddy bear, and gazed up at Brad and Jenny with quivering anime eyes. "Doesn't anyone care about me at all?" he pouted, with a cracking voice. "All I want is for my awesome big brother …" – eye contact with Brad, good – "… or my super-cool best friend …" – yes, nice one! Jenny's gonna crack! – "… to spend a couple of hours with me." And now for the grand finale. Tears welled up in his eyes, and gently trickled down his chubby cheeks. Nobody can withstand the power of the old water works! "I just want somebody to take me down to the Goop Zone. Is that too much to ask?"

Brad and Jenny looked uncomfortable; it had been a very effective guilt trip. They exchanged awkward glances. Then they exchanged a pair of wicked smiles.

Growing a few extra sets of silver-green arms did make it easier for Drew to carry groceries into the house from his Mom's station wagon. He slung his knapsack over his shoulder with a free arm, slammed the trunk shut, and lugged eight plastic bags towards the front door. He wasn't sure if he was more tired from his little visit to Cluster Prime – ahem, which his Mom knew nothing about – or from the day of fast food service hell he'd just finished up, at Wonder Weenie. His Dad had told him that work builds character. It had better, thought Drew, because earning minimum wage meant that he couldn't afford to buy any. Just let me get inside, he groaned to himself. He morphed one of his fingers into a copy of his front door key, then morphed one of his feet into another hand, and grabbed the doorknob. "Hey, Mom! You want me to take the ice cream down to the deep freeze, or do you want it in the kitchen?"

"Just take it into the kitchen, sweetie," his mother called out in a singsong voice, as she locked the car doors. "I was thinking we could have …"

She stopped in mid-sentence, and after a moment's pause, Drew realized that she was staring blankly at his multi-armed form, with a nervous tic pulling at the corner of her lower left eyelid. She began to chuckle awkwardly. "Heh, heh … oh my, you've … turned yourself into some kind of octopus creature. That's … that's practical, I suppose. Heh, heh … heh …"

He sighed to himself, and quickly opened the front door. "Umm … I'll just get myself into the kitchen. And out of sight of the neighbors." He recognized that look on his mother's face. It wasn't that she was ashamed of him … it was just that every now and then, the reality of having a lump of synthetic nano-goo for a son made her … freak out, a little. How long had it been since the accident, six months? Longer? And she still wasn't really used to the idea of having an android for a son. He lugged the groceries into the kitchen, keeping his extra silvery arms just long enough to stash everything away in the cupboards, before re-absorbing them into his body as his Mom walked in and sat down at the kitchen table.

"I was thinking I'd make my special meatloaf for dinner tonight," chirped Mrs. Nabholtz, as she smoothed the pleats in her floral print dress. "And then we could have the ice cream for dessert! Won't that be nice? It's mint chocolate chip. Your favorite!"

Drew frowned, and pulled a handful of metal rods out of the last grocery bag. "Uh, Mom? Uh … don't you remember, I told you that my nanobots need to get more copper and titanium in their diet? I haven't eaten any kind of ice cream in almost a year."

She fixed a loose hair in her bobbed hairdo, and the nervous tic started again.

"Which … is why," he gulped, pasting a phony grin on his face, "it'll be so great to have a big bowl of it tonight!" What the heck, he could always break the ice cream down into its constituent atoms and pretend that he was eating it, if it made his Mom happy.

"Wonderful!" she swooned, giving his silver-green cheek a motherly pinch. "Now why don't you head upstairs and do your homework, and I'll bake you up some nice, fresh cookies!"

"Sure, Mom," he moaned, too tired to argue the obvious any longer. He did have a couple hours' worth of homework to finish off, but all he planned to do for now was head to his bedroom and get some rest. His diagnostics told him that he still had a bit of self-repair to finish off from his Underground mission. And a day of wearing a giant wiener for a hat was enough to drain the spirit of anyone, be they man or android. He grabbed his knapsack, gave it a quick pat to make sure that his teleporter was still inside, and dragged himself up the stairs. Maybe once everything had quieted down later on, he'd sneak a quick call to Allison and see how the sabotage attack on the Anywhere Cannon turned out. He locked his bedroom door behind him, tossed his knapsack on his wrinkle-free bed, and snuck a holo-disk out of a drawer filled with unused socks – the same holo-disk of him and Ally back at Festival Square, on Cluster Prime. A small smile twitched on his face; he worried about her and her dangerous work, but the prospect of calling her later made him feel better already. With a yawn and a stretch, he stepped into his metal washtub, and collapsed into a blissfully gurgling mass of quicksilver …

When the doorbell rang. Drew ignored it, letting his subsystems drift into regeneration mode as his mother answered the door. It couldn't have been a salesman, because she sounded positively elated to see whoever it was. "Drew! Sweetie! Drew, come downstairs!"

With a groan and a schwerrrrp, an amorphous mass of silver-green goo slopped itself back out of the tub, returning to humanoid form by the time he got to the stairs. Just when I got comfortable … maybe I can just get rid of them. "Mom, what is it? I'm trying to sleep … er, study! I'm trying to study …"

"You have visitors, dear!" She gestured to the open door with a graceful flourish …

Where Brad was standing with a monster grin on his face, turning the charm up to eleven for the benefit of Mrs. Nabholtz. His hair gleamed with fresh hair gel, the three hairs on his chin were freshly shaved … and his hand was resting on the shoulder of one very disgruntled little black-haired boy, who wore a fully loaded Johnny Zoom backpack.

"Hey, Drewster!" Brad called out. A shiver ran through Drew's nano-circuits. Nothing good was going to come from this.

"Need you to do me a huge favor, good buddy," Brad continued, without allowing anyone else to mutter so much as a syllable. He talked so fast, you'd think that the oxygen wasn't getting a chance to actually enter his lungs. "Not a lot of time here, so here's the skinny. Big date tonight. Parents busy. Jen busy. Everyone busy. Nobody to look after Tuck. Can't leave the squirt alone. Can't take him with me. Can't get a sitter. Whaddaya say?"

Drew's mouth flapped like a landed trout as he processed the info that Brad had just machine-gunned at him. "You … you want me to babysit your little brother?"

Brad gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, and hoisted Tuck into his arms. "I knew you'd volunteer, pal! I owe you one, bud."

"Volunteer?" gasped Drew. "Wait a second, I never said …"

But by then, Brad had already disappeared down the walkway, and was diving behind the steering wheel of his father's Turbo Wagon. The engine screamed to life, the tires squealed with wisps of white smoke, and he took off down the street like a bank robber fleeing the scene of a crime.

Drew blinked a few times in stupefied amazement, still unsure of what in blazes had just happened. He looked down at Tuck, who just folded his arms in disgust.

"So are you just going to stand there like a statue, or are you going to bring me inside? Weenie Boy?"

Continued in Chapter Four