Chapter 4
May 16, 1991
Leela woke up early (Matt and Trey offered her a room at a fancy hotel for as long as she needed) and was to the studio, wearing the new clothes she got at Macy's the other day. "Okay, I'm ready for my modeling with D.Letterman!" she said as she walked through the doors.
Trey and Matt looked at each other. "Uh, listen, Leela," said Trey. "We…couldn't exactly get Dave to come by and model with you."
Leela had a disappointed look on her face. " 'kay. So, who do I model with?"
"Well," said Matt. "We're not quite sure…yet. But if he calls back, you'll be modeling with him tomorrow afternoon."
"Who is it?"
"It's a surprise," said Trey.
"Hope it's not Tom Cruise," said Leela. "After he ate that baby seal."
"What?" asked Trey.
"Nothing."
"I didn't know there was a dance!" said Fry, looking at a poster Phil made for the upcoming dance.
"Uh-huh," said Phil. "Now, I have to get to school."
"Can I come?" asked Fry. "I haven't seen my school when it wasn't under New New York."
"It gets buried?" asked Phil.
"I'll explain later."
So Fry and Phil went to Brooklyn High, only a couple of blocks from where Fry lived. Phil was looking around for something.
"What are you doing?" asked Fry.
"Looking for Christa," said Phil.
"Christa Meyers?" asked Fry. "The girl I had a crush on before I dumped her for Michelle D'Amergi? Wow!"
"Yeah. You know her?" asked Phil.
"Hi, Phil," said a girl with black hair, blue eyes, blue and pink jeans (one leg blue, the other pink. I've seen these pants—very cool!), and a beret on her head.
"Hi, Christa," said Phil, blushing. "Do you have someone to go to the dance to?"
"Of course, silly," said Christa. "You, right?"
"Y-yeah!" Phil had a queasy feeling in his gut.
"See ya tomorrow night!" said Christa, leaving for class.
"BARF! See ya—aw, crap!" said Phil, looking at his own puke. "Grumpy Grumbs—I mean, Mr. Grumbs?"
Mr. Grumbs mumbled. He was the janitor at the high school.
"Just a minute, ya dern kid," he said with gruff. He came over with a mop and wiped up the barf.
"Hey, Fry!" shouted a voice. Both Phil and Fry turned around.
"Oh, no. It's Sully," said Phil.
"Oh yeah," said Fry. "I'll just...move over here." Fry moved back to the wall, leaving Phil alone.
"Whadd'ya think you're doin'?" asked Sully. For some reason, Sully kinda looked like Biff from "Back to the Future."
"Uh, what do you mean? You can't beat me up because I'm a freshmen! They installed security cameras last week!"
Sully was in Fry's face...or at least his chest was. Sully had at least ten inches on him. "If you go to that dance and I see you with Christa, I'm gonna kick your tiny ass!"
"Eep," gasped Phil.
"C'mon, boys," said Sully. "Let's go smoke some pot." Sully and his three friends walked into the bathroom.
"I remember Sully. He was a jerk. But still, I can't believe you got a date with Christa Meyers!" said Fry. "After I came out of the hospital, she spit in my face and dumped me. Here's a picture of me in the hospital." Before Fry could take the picture out of his wallet, Phil ran into his homeroom and slammed the door. Fry looked at the picture.
"What the—" Fry looked at the picture. He was in the hospital on a breathing machine with bandages wrapped around his head, and a bloodspot where the dent on his forehead was. The bloodspot was disappearing on the picture, as well as the dent on Fry's forehead. What's happening? Fry ignored it and looked around his old school. He saw and remembered the red spot on the floor when a monkey was loose in the school and pulled out a freshmen's tooth. He also saw the warp in the wall when a fat sophomore was dared into making that warp for a BigMac. And he also saw…a sign-up sheet for the dance? He didn't remember this being there. The sheet said:
ATTENTION STUDENTS:
Are you good at playing an instrument? Guitar? Drums? Sax? Then we need you! Due to budget cuts from the student council, Brooklyn High's "Fun Under the Sea" dance on May 18, 1991, needs you to play instead of a real band. If you wish to audition for the dance band, please sign your name below.
Thank You,
Christa Meyers, President of S.C.
Fry looked at the sign-up sheet hard. If he tried to play an instrument, it could change the future for the better…or worse. If he did this, however, he'd have to disguise himself. He took the pen and signed "Alex McFly."
That night, Bender was in his cell, sleeping.
"Uh…" he mumbled in his sleep. "Hey, sexy mama! Wanna kill all humans? Thought so. Oooh, yeah!"
"Psst!" whispered a voice. "Yo, robot!"
"Wha?" asked Bender, half-asleep. "Who are you?"
"Name's Mr. Damien Manslaughter," said the man. He was about 50, had brown hair, and had scars on his face.
"What are you in for, Mr. Manslaughter?" asked Bender.
"For drinkin' and drivin'," said Mr. Damien. "Now, what's a fellow Canadian like yourself doing oot here?"
"I'm not Canadian!" said Bender. "God! Why does everyone think I'm Canadian? I don't even eat Canadian bacon!"
"I kow you're not Canadian, buddy," said Damien. "You're from the future, right?"
"Yeah. How'd you know?" asked Bender.
"Because my name isn't really Damien Manslaughter. I'm your bending coach from Bending State, Andy Symenson!"
"Andy!" said Bender. "Aw, man! I haven't seen you in forever! How have things been?"
"Not bad," said Andy. "Hey, hold on a sec. How come you can't bend the bars off?"
Bender's eyes lit up. "That's a good idea!" He tried to bend the bars, but his arms fell off. "Aw, crap!"
"What are these things made of?" asked Andy.
"Apparently something unbendable." Bender put his arms back on and tried again.
"Hrrrrrr…c'mon!" He was straining until…
CUNK!
The bars snapped right off!
"All right! I'm free!" said Bender. He started running off and Andy came along with him.
"So now what?" asked Bender, running.
"Got a friend?"
"Yeah. Got a phone?"
Back in Brooklyn, Fry was finishing dinner at his parents' house. Yancy had this weird feeling inside him, but he just ignored it.
"So, uh, Alex," said Yancy. "Where are you from?"
"Uh—"
"Quiet, Yancy!" said Mr. Fry, slapping Yancy in the back of the head. "I'm watching the news!"
"…leaving the deputy mayor in charge," said the newsperson. "Now, the story of the century has escaped from jail!"
Fry gasped.
"Quiet!" said Mr. Fry.
"Yes, the famed Bender the Robot has escaped from jail today with the his cellmate, Damien Manslaughter. Now, you know Mr. Manslaughter was under DUI, and didn't pay the fine.
"Anyway, if you see these two convicts, shoot on sight! And now…sports with Biggie Johnson."
Fry turned off the TV. "My God! I have to—"
Stayin Alive by BeeGees ringtone plays
Fry went outside and answered his cellphone (he got it as a gift from Leela for X-mas)
"Hello?" asked Fry.
"Fry! Thank your God you're there!" answered Bender.
"Bender, where the hell are you?" asked Fry.
"I'm in Brooklyn right now," replied the robot. "An' I'm with my bending coach from college, Andy Symenson. Now, listen. We need a place to crash for the night. Can we stay at your hotel?"
"I'm actually staying at my…parent's house tonight. But they don't know they're my parents!"
"Well, I guess those meatbags'll have to do. Where do you live?"
"On Loco Avenue, why?"
"We need a place to crash for the night," said Andy. "Besides…I know how to fix your DeLorean time machine."
Fry dropped the phone from his hand and his mouth slightly opened. He didn't realize that this wasn't his time and he and his friends needed to get out of here…before something bad happens.