Under the Sea (Revised)

by 999nomead

A novelization of the SpongeBob SquarePants TV show. This is the revised version of the story that had been written between 2016 and 2019. This story is incomplete and will permanently remain so.

12. Artist Unknown

Chapter 12: Artist Unknown

Six hours later…

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The sunlight of the late afternoon was shining upon a block-wide building, giving its large opaque windows an orange tint. To the left and right of the building's gilded entrance were pillars that were engraved with nymph sculptures and the family names of the site's patrons. Two tall guards were standing side by side before the double door.

Squidward and SpongeBob were standing before that building.

"This is the place, right?" SpongeBob glanced at his ticket.

Squidward nodded.

The two walked up polished steps made out of a type of stone indigenous to the Melanesian seafloor.

Squidward glanced at the embellished pillars. Two names: 'KAVOURAS' and 'FANCYSON', caught his eye. He frowned. "SpongeBob, don't start a ruckus when we're inside. Got it?"

"Okee-dokee." SpongeBob nodded and did a thumbs-up.

The two guards stepped out of the way.

Squidward pushed the glittering double door open.

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Ten minutes later…

mentS-S-S-S-S

Squidward and SpongeBob, with their tickets confirmed, stepped out of the registration area.

SpongeBob glanced at the many pieces of art that dotted the museum's reception room. The paintings, most of them created in Micronesia during the 17th and 18th centuries, neatly covered the room's massive gray-white walls. Those older works depicted the everyday life of the peasantry and the mysticism of a religion long forgotten. The sculptures, varying in size from as small as a frying pan to as big as an adult oyster, had been placed next to the entrances of three hallways. He scratched his chin, overwhelmed by the numerous possibilities sprouting inside his mind. "Where to?" He folded his hands together and turned towards Squidward.

Squidward glanced at the room's walls and perceived an arrow sign with the words 'V.I.P. Exhibit' pointing towards a hallway. He then moved his gaze towards SpongeBob, who was smiling. However, SpongeBob's smile was radiating, instead of his usual ebullience, a tender serenity fitting for a priest. The smile also, with the little space it took, could not completely hide the bruise on the side of SpongeBob's body. Squidward swallowed his lips. A very faint lump formed in his throat. Without saying a word, he nudged SpongeBob and pointed towards the hallway with the sign.

SpongeBob nodded.

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Several minutes later…

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Squidward, with hands sweatily kept together behind his back and only allowing himself several seconds to look at each painting that passed by, maintained the facade of an engaged visitor. Whenever his gaze moved towards the next painting, he did not dare to catch a glimpse of SpongeBob's eyes.

SpongeBob took wide tip-toes down the hallway, allowing his sparkling eyes to feast on every piece of art that caught his attention.

After several more seconds, the two reached a double door that had a sign above it with the words 'V.I.P. Exhibit'.

A guard was standing before the entrance. He held out a hand towards the two visitors. "Tickets, please." He then received their tickets, glanced at them from different angles to check for hidden symbols that only legitimate tickets had, nodded, gave the tickets back, and pushed the double door open.

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Squidward and SpongeBob stepped into an expansive circular room filled to the brim with a wide variety of art pieces. Above them were several balconies that were all connected by one stairwell.

SpongeBob glanced in several directions as he attempted to grasp the immensity of the room. He turned his head upward and saw a mandala-like painting on the circular glass roof. It consisted of a humanoid head with its tongue sticking out while being surrounded by clock-like pattern of arrows, squares, and various other shapes. Sunlight gave the head's eyes and mouth a light blue glow. He tilted his head back down and caught a glimpse of a pink furball contained in a glass case on a polished pedestal. He grinned and skipped towards it.

When SpongeBob got far away enough, Squidward exhaled and released his own hands from his sweaty grip. He turned around and wandered in the opposite direction. After a minute, he perceived a painting with a subject that made it peculiar compared to the other art pieces he had seen so far. It was a depiction of a dog with golden fur. He stepped towards the painting, leaned forward, and narrowed his eyes. He then noticed that the brushstrokes had a consistency that was impossible to recreate underwater. 'Was this made by a human?' He put a hand on his chin.

Squidward then resumed walking, scanning the other art pieces that dotted the room. After several seconds, he widened his eyes. Nearly all of them were in art styles that most sea creatures would be very unfamiliar with. When he spotted a painting of a sea slug on a canoe in a palette of colors, he walked briskly to it. He then read the golden plate below the painting. It indicated that the artist was Polynesian and was from the wealthy Albacore family, whose ancestor started a prosperous steel company. He shook his head. 'Whatever happened to supporting local, underground artists?' He moved his hands towards his hips but jolted when he felt a yellow finger poking him.

"Like what you see?" SpongeBob smirked.

Squidward straightened his posture and forced out a frown. He kept his gaze directly towards the painting. "Nope."

SpongeBob looked at the painting and giggled. "It looks so cute. What's not to like about it?"

Squidward rolled his eyes. "That whoever made this is probably a privileged brat," he muttered.

SpongeBob leaned towards the painting, scratched his head, and shrugged. "I dunno. It doesn't look too fancy to me." He leaned back. "But that's why I like it. It's nice and simple."

"Heh. " Squidward folded his arms, forced his head to tilt upward; and looked at SpongeBob, who looked like a yellow haze from the corner of his eye. "Some people think random splashes of paint on a wall is art."

"But isn't stuff like this all based on how you interpret it?" SpongeBob's smile slightly lessened. He folded his hands together. "It's okay for people to look at the same thing differently, y'know."

Squidward rolled his eyes again. "That's kinda true but there still has to be some sort of objectivity to it. You can't just draw a bunch of circles in crayon colors and call it a day." He put his hands on his hips and turned towards SpongeBob.

SpongeBob glanced around, swallowed his lips, and pointed to his left.

"Hm?" Squidward turned his gaze to where SpongeBob was pointing. There was a crowd in a semi-circle that was gazing at a certain illustration. The art piece consisted of several circles that had been drawn with crayons. "Hmph." His brows furrowed as he waved a hand of dismissal. He returned his gaze to SpongeBob. "Who cares what mindless herds like them think? Most folk don't cultivate an aesthetic taste that true artists like myself have." He returned his arms into a crossed position.

SpongeBob, after only a few seconds of watching the gradually increasing tension in Squidward's frown, turned his gaze towards the floor. His index fingers began to repeatedly touch together as countless images of Squidward's past and future reactions flooded into a whirlpool of thought that left him speechless.

Squidward glanced at all of the artwork that had managed to reel in a crowd. All he could perceive were bland colors and tasteless designs. 'Ugh, looks like minimalism is becoming a trend.' He shook his head. 'I bet a grade schooler can draw something better.' He marched towards the room's exit. "I'm outta here."

SpongeBob, with his hands folded together behind his back, followed Squidward.

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A few minutes later…

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Squidward, with his hand on his chin, was standing towards one corner of the reception room. Two equally tantalizing hallways on different sides of the corner were before him. One hallway was filled with statues in affected poses. The other was filled with paintings showily depicting the environments the underwater country contained.

SpongeBob, who was keeping his eyesight towards the floor, had been maintaining a comfortable distance from Squidward. When he glanced up, he perceived that Squidward was repeatedly switching his gaze between the two hallways. He smirked as a light bulb lit up in his head. "Can't decide?" He snatched out a penny from one of his pockets. "We can play heads and tails." He began to repeatedly toss up and catch the penny. "Just pick a hallway for each of the penny's sides and then we'll let the Fates choose for us." He spun the penny with one index finger. "It'll make things more fun."

When Squidward saw SpongeBob drawing near, he hid his faintly swallowed lips with a poker face, moved his hand away from his chin, and closed his hands into fists. "No." While making sure his eyes did not stray from the hallway of statues, he pushed his legs forward. When he saw, from the corner of his eye, an attractive palette of colors from a painting in the other hallway, he bit his tongue.

SpongeBob put the penny away and sighed through his nose.

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A minute later…

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Squidward halted when he saw a statue that resembled Antoine-Louis Barye's Theseus Slaying the Minotaur. It depicted an athletic male fish wrestling with a giant oyster. Judging by the light orange color of the underwater marble, the fierce expression that had been carved into the man's face, and the elaborate details of the oyster's shell; the statue had been made in a style popular in the Oceanic Union during the 1800's. As Squidward gazed at the work of art, he stopped frowning and relaxed his fists into open hands.

When SpongeBob perceived that the oyster's tongue was more detailed than the man's muscular physique, he could not help but let out a sly smile. "It's a bit old-school, isn't it?"

Squidward smirked. "It doesn't matter how old the art is. As long as they put actual effort into what they're doing while keeping aesthetics in mind, I'll give them my respect." He pointed with his 'thumb' towards the plaque below the statue. "They don't really make sculptures like these anymore. This was made in a time before cameras were popular. Artists actually had to pay attention to detail when making their art since they couldn't trace photos and then scribble nonsense on them." He straightened his posture. "If you were gonna be taken seriously back in those days, you had to make sure what you made had a balance of realism and creativity, unlike that garbage you saw in the that"—He gestured air quotes—"'V.I.P. exhibit'."

SpongeBob had been keeping his hands folded together. "Well, I think that V.I.P. place had the newest art, which makes sense why it has different stuff compared to this place." His gaze returned to the floor and he swallowed his lips as he placed together his next words. "Y'know, Squid, it's always good to have a little variety. Wouldn't it be a bit boring if all art stayed the same? Change isn't as bad as you might think it is."

Squidward stopped smiling, closed his eyes, and shook his head. When he opened his eyes, he gave SpongeBob a stern frown. "SpongeBob, have you ever noticed, if you've paid attention in history class, how civilizations rise to a certain point and then decline after that? Or how there is a golden era and a dark age that follows it? One way we can learn about the state of a society is through the art they made. What does it say about our culture when the newer art looks almost just like the doodles our ancestors had left on caves?" He put his hands on his hips again. "That isn't a coincidence I can ignore."

SpongeBob circled his foot against the floor. "But…" He bit his tongue for several seconds before speaking again. "Isn't that just your interpretation?" He allowed his lips to curve slightly. "It's like I said before, right? People are gonna view the same art piece differently. Maybe the people who made the new art had different ideas in mind."

Squidward's frown crinkled to almost a grimace. "I'm almost certain their intentions weren't noble. I've seen these artists in person. They just want to 'make a statement'," he held out both of his arms towards the ceiling, "And be 'avant-garde'," he moved his arms towards his face and shook them until they looked like the lines in a seismograph, "by breaking all the rules needed to judge art objectively." He folded his arms again. "I bet the critics who worship the trash these so-called artists spew out would find 'meaning' in a used apron with dried out paint," he chuckled.

"I dunno about that." SpongeBob began to repeatedly touch his fingers together again. "Some people look at paintings as just decorations."

Squidward narrowed his eyes, allowed his hands to close into fists, stood on tip-toe, and leaned forward so that his shadow covered SpongeBob. "Are you saying that my self-portraits are rubbish?"

"N-no!" SpongeBob swallowed his lips. "I-I mean to say that there are different definitions for art." He pinned down his trembling hands by folding them together behind his back.

Squidward exhaled and stopped standing on tip-toe. "Then what's the point? If there's nothing set in stone, you might as well put the Mona Lisa and the fossilized dung of a jellyfish in the same exhibit. There's of course gonna be some people who'll look at them and get different 'meanings' outta them, but there's still gotta be some rules in order to separate what is generally 'good' from what is generally 'bad'."

SpongeBob scratched his chin. "What about the ones that aren't really 'good' or 'bad'?"

Squidward, without betraying any sign of hesitance, searched through his mind's depths for an answer. However, all he could find were fuzzy images and inadequate words.

An awkward pause.

SpongeBob kept his gaze away from Squidward's face, placed a fist against his chin, and put his other hand on his hip as he gathered together his next words. After many seconds, he looked up towards Squidward. "Squid, don't you notice how most people don't accept new things right away? I think it kinda applies to art too." He glanced at the statue depicting the muscular male fish. "Maybe the art that, these days, we consider really good weren't praised so much back then."

Squidward sighed. "No, you don't get it." He leaned against the wall. "Changes in art have to move upward. The techniques have to become more advanced. However, with today's avant-garde artists, art is going backwards. They're out of touch with reality." He took a heavy step towards SpongeBob. "And why is this? 'Cause most of them are born into wealth. They can't put real drive into their art. They've never faced the threat of starvation or of enduring long hours of side-jobs like most artists in the past have." He looked towards his right, and perceived how deep the hallway seemed, the variety of art pieces it contained, and the possible number of art pieces that only an artistic taste as "refined" as his could recognize. He then glanced at SpongeBob, who was futilely attempting to stop his arms from trembling. A light bulb gradually lit up in his head. He let out a slight smile.

"But-" SpongeBob's mouth got covered by Squidward's hand.

"SpongeBob, I think you need to know what is 'good' art and what is 'bad' art in order for you to know what I'm talking about." Squidward moved his hand away from SpongeBob's mouth and then placed both of his hands on SpongeBob's shoulders. "And I'll be the one to enlighten you."

"Um, okay." SpongeBob smiled crookedly.

S-S-S-S-S

Several minutes later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward and SpongeBob were gazing, from behind a glass gate, at a sculpture of a rusted harpoon.

"Wow." SpongeBob's eyes were sparkling. "It's almost like the real thing."

Squidward's head was brazenly tilted upward as he gestured with one arm towards the art piece. "It's 'cause of a special technique. The artist who made this, Jazmyn Goatfish, heated up dried clay from a nearby beach and used a stencil to carve in the details." He scratched the side of his head. "I believe this is a depiction of a harpoon that pirates would use to attack other ships. Sculptures like these were made during the mid 20th century, when piracy was at its golden age in our country." He bit his tongue, preventing himself from betraying a frown. "But this was only an era or two before that postmodernist trash started coming in."

SpongeBob put a finger on his chin. "What's postmodernism?"

Squidward promptly turned away from the sculpture. "It's when an artist is too lazy to create something coherent, so they just slap that label on their work as an excuse."

"Oh." SpongeBob swallowed his lips.

Squidward snickered upon perceiving the naivete in SpongeBob's eyes.

S-S-S-S-S

Ten minutes later…

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A panoramic painting was hanging against a polished and glittering wall. The left side depicted warriors wearing armor made out of various plant fibers and holding spears tipped with razor-sharp rock fragments. The right side depicted scrawny fish of various species, in tattered cloths, fleeing from the warriors.

SpongeBob remained smileless as he stared at the art piece. He winced when he perceived how much detail was given to the bleeding wounds of the scrawny fish.

Squidward's hands were folded together behind his back. His eyes were focused on the spectrum of dark hues that the depicted sky had. "The paint used to make this was derived from a few special plants native to Kelp Forest. The process required to convert the plants' properties into paint would've taken several hours, which was why the patron who commissioned this received it far past the date he wanted it."

SpongeBob, with faintly moistened eyes, looked towards Squidward. "Why're those soldiers hurting those people?" he nearly whispered.

Squidward glanced at the garments the depicted primitives were wearing. "This is showing how things were just before the queendoms of Micronesia, Melanesia, and Polynesia were established. Since the lands that were to become our country weren't fully settled yet, alotta wars happened between competing tribes." He released his hands from their folded position. He walked towards another painting.

SpongeBob moved his gaze towards a nearby window that was close to the floor. The coral pieces on the sandy plain's horizon, combined with the blinding light of the setting sun, made the plant's shadows look like the silhouettes of dolphins.

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Twelve minutes later…

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On a pedestal of limestone was a vase that, covered in layers of dust, was approximately two centuries old. Exaggerated features of sickle-celled cymodocea and wireweed had been engraved on its middle body while peculiar-looking crimson stars had been etched on its upper part.

SpongeBob had been gazing at it for more than three full minutes, allowing his eyes to feast on the smooth and hypnotic patterns of the plants depicted on the vase. When Squidward snapped his fingers, SpongeBob realized that, for a moment, he had forgotten he was in a museum. He turned to look at Squidward in the eye.

Squidward had a modest frown. His fists relaxed. "The potter who made this disappeared not too long after the Oceanic Union got established." He perceived a very tiny blood stain near the vase's top. "This vase was one of the last tributes to the royal family. It's also one of the few artifacts retrieved from the queen's palace before it got torn down."

SpongeBob's eyes sparkled as he carefully absorbed Squidward's words. He glanced at the vase, then at Squidward, and then at the countless exhibits the two had seen so far. For nearly the whole duration of his visit at the museum, he had been marveling at Squidward's ability to inform him about the art pieces without even glancing at the plaques that hung near them. A light bulb gradually lit up in his head. He beamed. "Squid, you could be a teacher."

Squidward widened his eyes slightly.

An awkward silence.

Squidward put a hand on his chin. "I've never thought of that."

S-S-S-S-S

Meanwhile in the same room, the gentleman who had given SpongeBob and Squidward their tickets was speaking with a red male fish who was wearing a checkered business suit.

"One of the substitute teachers at my school just quit a few days ago. Apparently, 'cause of the recession, she couldn't do part-time work anymore. She hadda find a full-time job for real this time 'cause the wages she was getting weren't enough to pay her bills." The man in the suit was fiddling his thumbs.

The gentleman had a slight frown. His hands were in his pockets. "To be honest, Monty, the economy's been rough for everyone. All of my businesses got hit pretty hard. I had to lay some people off since the profits were just too low." He smiled slightly. "But then again, nuisances always happen once in a while."

"Heh, some folk didn't see it coming." Monty chuckled and adjusted his twirling mustache. "Haven't you been visiting the temples recently? The donations some folk had left were ridiculous. I even saw a guy leave a watch that could've allowed him to get thousands of dollars if he found the right buyer."

The gentleman shrugged. "I guess that's just how some people cope. It's too bad they don't know they're getting swindled." He crossed his arms. "The last time my local temple did anything good for my town was when I was a kid. That's why I've stopped believing in all that god-fearing nonsense."

Monty simpered, put his hands on his hips, and leaned towards the gentleman. "Ah, so you're one of those free-thinkers?"

"You bet I am!" The gentleman tipped his top hat and grinned.

"I guess thinking like that is in the vogue these days. It's been a long time since I've seen my neighbors go to a temple. As a matter of fact, I think I'm the only one out of all of my coworkers that still partakes in the Mysteries," said Monty.

"I'd say that's a good thing. The only thing temples want these days is money, and lot's of it."

Monty stopped smiling. His face gained a few somber wrinkles. "I don't think the pantheon is bluffing though. Don't you remember last year's Mythological Olympics? Some of the magic they used was downright insane."

The gentleman frowned slightly. "There's no doubt these gods are real. But," He shook his head. His mouth leaned towards one corner. "The stories their devotees like to spread around are all hogwash." He raised an index finger. "How can we know for sure that the afterlife is real if these so-called Holy Ones refuse to reveal actual proof? If the gods wants us to obey them, wouldn't it make sense if mortals like us were allowed to visit these otherworldly realms so we can confirm what they're saying?"

Monty bit his tongue. "Speaking of an afterlife," He adjusted his tie. "I still need somebody to fill in that empty position at the college. So far, I haven't gotten any offers yet." He slightly loosened his collar.

The gentleman, from the corner of his eye, perceived Squidward having a conversation with SpongeBob. He put a finger on his chin. "Is the job related to art in any sort of way?"

"Yep." Monty nodded. "I need a substitute art teacher."

The gentleman pointed with a thumb towards Squidward. "See that fine lad over there?"

"Mm-hm."

"He's the man I was talking about not too long ago. The one who ran the Krusty Krab's talent show."

Monty raised both eyebrows. "Oh really?"

"I'll bring him over." The gentleman scuttled towards Squidward.

S-S-S-S-S

While in the middle of teaching SpongeBob the history of another art piece, Squidward saw the gentleman enter his line of sight.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Tentacles." The gentleman held out a hand towards Squidward.

Squidward, with widened eyes, tremblingly shook the gentleman's hand.

SpongeBob grinned, hopped to face the gentleman, puffed up his chest, and held out a hand towards him. "Why, good afternoon, good sir," he spoke in an accent he imagined the wealthy would have.

The gentleman smirked, tipped his hat, and bowed in an exaggerated manner.

SpongeBob and the gentleman shook hands and giggled.

Squidward glared at SpongeBob for a few seconds and faintly shook his head. He then returned his attention to the gentleman. He exhaled and forced his fists to loosen back into open hands.

"For your sake, I'll cut right to the chase." The gentleman put his hands on his hips. "Is it true, Mr. Tentacles, that you don't like working at the Krusty Krab?"

Squidward's heartbeat began to quicken. He stood upright. A blur of visions raced by as his mind struggled in vain to peel through what was beneath the gentleman's mask of politeness, attempting to comprehend what the Fates had woven for him. After several seconds of silence and trembling arms, the rays of the coming glory he had felt at the dancing contest came back to him. He straightened his posture and furrowed his brows. "Yes, sir."

The gentleman smiled. "Then I'd like to introduce you to the dean of the local community college. He's offering the job of a substitute art teacher and I'm sure you're the type he's looking for."

Squidward's jaw dropped slightly. After a few seconds of absorbing what the gentleman just said, the evening sun and the lights that lit the room seemingly enhanced the colors of the art pieces surrounding him. Filled with a zest he had not felt in years, he let out a heartfelt grin.

The gentleman motioned with both hands to Monty. "Right this way, then."

Squidward and the gentleman walked to the dean.

SpongeBob, with his palms together, watched Squidward have a cordial conversation with the gentleman and Monty. A warm smile washed over his face as he saw Squidward's lively expressions.

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An hour later…

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Under the fading sunlight of the dark blue sky, the neighborhood of SpongeBob, Patrick, and Squidward had a peculiar aura. Sand dunes in the shape of waves and trails were on the side of the street opposite to the houses. The garbage cans of the three homes and the trash they contained were littered all over the area.

A jellyfish buzzed quietly underneath the shadows of the dunes, searching for any critters and plants that were beneath the rocks and pebbles.

SWISH

A yellow hand swung a jellyfishing net.

POOF

A pink belly fell on a dune, causing a sand cloud to appear.

The jellyfish darted to the east.

Patrick emerged from the sand cloud, wiping off the sand that got on his belly.

Several meters ahead of Patrick, SpongeBob scrambled towards the jellyfish with his net upraised once again.

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A few minutes later…

S-S-S-S-S

Rivulets of sweat were running down SpongeBob's back. He turned his head and perceived the neighborhood's three houses to be as small as his hands. His pace slowed. After another minute of heaving his legs and panting, he halted and took a few deep breaths.

The jellyfish made a wide turn towards the neighborhood.

SpongeBob gasped, glanced in all directions, and spotted a large coral piece near the road. He dove to the coral piece and watched from behind.

Patrick, who was still several meters behind SpongeBob, sat on a small rock and wiped some sweat from his forehead. He then looked up at the sky. The glimmers of the stars entranced him for nearly a minute until he heard a faint buzzing. He spotted the jellyfish flying towards his home.

When the jellyfish was a few inches away from the antenna of Patrick's rock, which was bent in the opposite direction and was close to falling off, an invisible force shoved it back by more than a foot. The jellyfish then darted in the opposite direction.

Patrick scratched his head as he watched the jellyfish shrink towards the horizon. After gazing at its increasingly irregular patterns of flight for several seconds, a flicker of an epiphany began to force the gears of his mind into motion. He put a fist on his chin, looked towards the ground, and began to repeatedly walk in circles.

"Aw, dang it." SpongeBob, with swallowed lips, trudged towards his home. "I almost had it." When he perceived Patrick's awkward movements, he widened his eyes slightly. "You okay?"

"Shh!" Patrick furrowed his brows and knocked on his head as he struggled to yank his idea free from the confines of his foggy memories and disjointed thoughts. When one of his feet bumped into a pebble, the light bulb in his head lit up fully. "Aha!" He grinned.

"What is it?"

Patrick pointed at the jellyfish, which now looked like a pink dot among the other celestial bodies. "Isn't that jellyfish flying a little weird?"

SpongeBob turned towards the jellyfish's direction. "Now that you think about it." He put a hand on his chin, leaned to his left, and then leaned to his right. He noticed how the jellyfish flew like a poorly-made kite instead of a youthful scallop. "Yeah, that's not normal at all." His eyes gained a thin sheet of moisture and he put his hands together near his heart. "Maybe there's something wrong with its head."

"It's gotta be more than that. Remember when we camped at Jellyfish Fields and those jellyfish began flying away 'cause of those weird sounds?"

SpongeBob nodded.

"It's scared of something," said Patrick.

SpongeBob glanced at the rock's antenna. "How can it be scared of that?" He shrugged. "None of the creatures that eat jellyfish look like arrows."

"No, it's something to do with what's 'around' the arrow. You know how those sounds that scared the jellyfish came right before those crazy people or that sea bear chased us? I think something's wrong with our houses."

"What do you mean?" said SpongeBob.

"They're giving a vibe that's making the jellyfish wanna leave."

SpongeBob turned to look at his pineapple. He perceived that the home's leaves were abnormally pointy and that the lines on the home's exterior surface were no longer in diamond patterns. "I think you're right, Pat." He put a finger near his mouth. "I've been noticing some strange stuff happening recently." He smiled nervously. "Yesterday, when I woke up, my head wasn't resting on the pillow, and I couldn't find it until Gary pointed out that it was under the bed." He began to repeatedly touch his forehead with his index finger. "I also remember hearing some loud bumps from the living room when I was cooking something, and when I went over to check, nothing looked out of place."

Patrick's eyes widened. "Maybe an evil force is haunting our houses." His legs began to tremble.

SpongeBob put a hand on his chin and put his other hand on his hip. "But what about the time we thought Squid was a ghost? We can't come to conclusions too quickly." He looked at the horizon, noticing that the sun had almost set. "Let's wait it out. If weird stuff stops happening, we don't have to worry about it. But if it keeps happening, we'll just bring over the flamen for help." He smiled slightly. "He's fixed stuff like this before. He's got alotta tricks up his sleeve."

"O-okay."

As SpongeBob walked towards his home, he glanced to his right and noticed a large star-shaped mark that had been left on the ground. After a few seconds of looking at it, he turned to face it, crouched, and began stroking its edges. As he gazed at it, the countless images of the museum's paintings and sculptures poured back into his mental vision. "Pat, did you make this?"

"Yeah." Patrick nodded nonchalantly.

SpongeBob's eyes glistened when he noticed how some of the nearby rocks had aligned with the shape of the imprint. "It's beautiful."

"Um, thank you."

"Pat, you wanna know why me and Squid went to that museum?" SpongeBob turned towards Patrick and grinned. "A really nice rich guy gave us tickets to go there. He's also gonna help Squid land a job as an art teacher at some college."

"Y'know," Patrick scratched his head. " Since you like art so much… maybe you should take Squid's class."

The sparkling in SpongeBob's eyes intensified.

S-S-S-S-S

A black coat, a white shirt, and a pair of black pants had been laid on the bed. Squidward was ironing them. When he finished, he sprayed them with cologne and then leaned forward to smell them. His nostrils became filled with their fragrance. "Ah…" He leaned back and snickered. "They can't turn me down with these clothes." He straightened both clothes and then took out a nearby tie. He tied the tie to the white shirt.

Squidward turned towards his résumé, which was lying on a smooth table. He picked it up and scrutinized its contents. Next to the word 'EDUCATION:' were the words 'BACHELORS IN MUSICAL ARTS'.

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A few hours later...

S-S-S-S-S

Feeling the stings of bright light on his eyes and the chills of an air-conditioned breeze, Squidward tilted his head upward. The curtain had been opened. All of the headlights were turned on and had been aimed towards him. He was lying on the wooden floor of a stage, in front of an auditorium that stretched endlessly towards an achromatic void.

Squidward raised a brow, stood up, and scanned the countless rows of seats that lied before him. The presence of other sentient beings could not be discerned. Other than his breath, the only sound he heard was the droning of the air-conditioner.

After a minute of pondering, Squidward cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned forward. "Hello?!"

His voice echoed.

Squidward's heartbeat began to quicken.

After another minute of uncomfortable silence, SpongeBob and Patrick popped into existence with their backs facing him, standing to his left and to his right respectively.

Squidward stepped back, leaned his head towards one side, and put a hand on his chin.

Patrick, with his left hand, took hold of SpongeBob's right hand. He then put his right hand on SpongeBob's waist.

SpongeBob put his right hand on Patrick's right shoulder.

The duo, without even glancing at Squidward, began their merengue dance. They both had lifeless faces. They moved with such precision that it seemed like they were getting pulled by invisible puppet strings.

"Hm?" Squidward narrowed his eyes.

As he watched the duo's performance, some of the nails on the stage's wooden floor shot towards the ceiling. The nailless wooden planks then swiftly flew towards him.

Squidward gasped and then dashed towards the stage's left exit. However, before he stepped on to the exit's steps, his wrists and ankles got magnetically pulled towards the planks.

The freed planks bent and twisted into a large frame that was ideal for a canvas. Squidward's body was then jammed by an invisible force into the frame, fitting perfectly into the frame's proportions.

The frame, and Squidward in tow, gently fell to the floor.

Squidward, while gritting his teeth, shook and pushed his torso upwards with all of his might. But no matter how many times he tried to break himself free from the frame's invisible grip, his ankles and wrists did not move at all.

His favorite self-portraits, the fruits of countless hours of anguish and fantasizing, poofed into existence and filled the theatre's empty seats. They then turned their frames towards the stage.

Squidward, with sweat running down the sides of his head, widened his eyes.

One of the depicted 'Squidwards' pushed itself out of the confines of its own frame, holding up a glowing magical paper.

SpongeBob and Patrick's dance faltered by a step.

The colorless void ejected a streak of black paint.

The paint splashed against Squidward's torso, causing his limbs to rattle as if he, naked, had been thrusted into the gusts of a blizzard. His heart beated even faster as the paint's chills flooded into his own thoughts, filling them with a mosaic of smirking, frowning, and dejected faces that belonged to various cephalopods. A feeling that escaped words gradually came into his awareness. His throat gained the weight of a stone.

After a few minutes of watching SpongeBob and Patrick's slightly bumpy dancing, the sentient self-portrait moved its eyes towards its magical paper.

The magical paper glowed again.

Patrick and SpongeBob's limbs began to fidget. The dance deformed into a movement that was reminiscent of penguins waddling while hugging each other at the same time.

The colorless void coughed spray paint towards Squidward's head.

As the spray wafted over Squidward's face, his eyes felt like they had been lit up by a match and pricked by sea urchins. Squidward shut his moistened eyes. He coughed up mucus as he inhaled the spray. When his lungs could no longer withstand the unrelenting assault of the gas, he lurched to his left and then to his right. After several seconds of futile struggling, he laid still and held his breath.

A pause.

Squidward breathed in a fresh batch of air. He opened his eyes. The spray was no longer in sight. He leaned upward and, after scanning the self-portraits before him, dropped his jaw.

Hundreds of the self-portraits were now covered in graffiti that consisted of dark clouds and red lettered words such as: 'LOSER', 'Has-BeeN', and 'NutJOb'.

As he glanced at each self-portrait in the front row, Squidward could not stop his eyes from moistening. He then leaned back and closed his eyes. The images that sprouted from the graffiti lingered in his mental vision. They contorted into punches from towering teenagers, the shaking heads of teachers, the rising and sinking of a dark unibrow, the coldness he felt when sitting in an empty table, the bitterness he felt upon receiving a tiny bronze trophy, the drudgery of sitting behind a cash register, that same unibrow basking in the glory of wealth and fame, and the emptiness that his tiki stored. By the time he opened his eyes again, he had lost his mask of composure and was gasping for air.

The sentient self-portrait floated out of its frame, hovered before the stage, and held the magical paper towards the dancing duo.

Patrick and SpongeBob's heads bumped into each other as they struggled to maintain a consistent dance pattern.

The stage's ceiling rippled as several wooden tentacles emerged from above. The tentacles' tips formed into manacles that fastened Squidward's knees, elbows, and several other parts of his limbs to the stage's floor. Another wooden tentacle then darted out from the middle and transformed into a giant fountain pen whose nib gleamed from the spotlights.

Squidward gawked at the pen and held his breath.

The fountain pen stabbed one of Squidward's wrists, releasing waves of jet black ink that enveloped his body. The ink then impaired his senses to the point where he could no longer tell where he was or what he was feeling. After endless minutes of dizzying tugs and spins, his vision cleared.

Squidward was now being tugged by a rope across the theatre. The self-portraits sitting below him were burning so intensely that the embers were reaching the ceiling. Before he was even able to open his mouth, he slammed head-first into a marble pillar, leaving behind an impression covered with saliva and blood. The rope then dragged him to a garbage can filled with the warm goo of melted wax statues.

Squidward fell head-first into the can. All of his orifices became filled with the wax, spreading out the sensation that his body was getting burned from the inside. Bubbles filled with his screams rose out of the can and popped. After a minute of torture, the rope pulled him out of the can, smacked him against the ceiling, pushed him into a bag of dust, and then finally dropped him into the burning self-portraits.

Squidward shudderingly curled into a fetal position as the fire consumed his flesh.

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward flew his eyes wide open. He was lying on the bed in his pajamas. He was sweating profusely under the blanket's warmth. He pushed the blanket to the side and sat up. For a second, the bedroom's surfaces were seemingly warped.

S-S-S-S-S

The next day...

S-S-S-S-S

April 2, 2008.

Squidward was sitting on the couch in the living room, holding a cup of orange juice with trembling hands. He had been keeping his eyes on the phone for more than half-an-hour and had not yet heard a response.

Squidward wiped some sweat from his forehead, leaned back, and took a sip from the cup. 'C'mon… c'mon…' He glanced at his watch, glanced at the employee hat lying on the kitchen table, and then moved his gaze back to the shell-phone lying before him. His heartbeat was beating so fast that

RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING

The shell-phone sprung to life.

Squidward gasped, leaned forward, and yanked the shell-phone from the body it was connected to.

"Mr. Tentacles, you're hired." Monty's electronic voice was heard.

Squidward grinned. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! YES!" he whispered to himself while fist-pumping.

"Hello?"

Squidward bit his lip. He moved the phone to his ear. "Yes?"

Monty chuckled. "Tomorrow, we'll be giving you a tour of the campus before classes start. It's best if you come an hour before 8:30. After that, you'll be ready to go."

"Yes, sir!" Squidward nodded. When he heard beeps from the other end of the line, he slammed his shell-phone back to its body. He then frolicked around the living room.

S-S-S-S-S

The next day…

S-S-S-S-S

April 3, 2008.

Squidward, with his head held high and arms moving in restraint, was marching down a wide hallway. He was wearing the beret and gown of a traditional artist. He then opened the door to his classroom and took a wide step in.

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward took a deep breath and smiled. "Ah, how I have dreamed of this day." He stepped to the chalkboard, took out a fresh box of chalk that he had bought himself, and placed the chalk on the sill. He then sauntered to the teacher's desk, replaced the main art teacher's name-tag with his own: 'MR. TENTACLES', and turned to face the empty student desks. "Professor of Art. What a marvelous opportunity…"

The classroom's walls had been covered with a plethora of his own self-portraits.

He held out his hands towards the walls and closed his eyes. Within his mental vision, he saw himself rising from Hades to touch the light of Apollo. "Bring me your masses of bored drones and I will shape them into my image." He raised his hands towards the ceiling as if he was offering a libation to the very god he was imagining. "And I'll go down in history someday. And there will be a wing with my name on it in all the museums of the world."

The janitor, who Squidward did not notice, had been mopping the floor. He rolled his eyes. "Dude, you're just a sub. Calm down."

Squidward lowered his arms and glared at the janitor. "Uncultured trash urchin," he muttered.

The janitor mopped the remaining filth on the floor and then exited the room.

Squidward looked up at the clock. "8:45 AM. Time to let the class in." He walked briskly to the door. "Well, don't want to keep them waiting any longer."

CRREEAAAK

Squidward opened the door. He grinned and outstretched his arms to his left and right. "Welcome to art class!"

A male student looked up at the sign above the entrance. The sign had a red number on it: '118'. "Oh, this isn't cooking?" He scratched his head. "Sorry." He smiled with slight nervousness and then walked towards the cooking room.

The other students in his class followed the male student.

Squidward sighed, crossed his arms, and lowered his gaze. He closed his hands into fists as he fought back the lump that was forming in his throat. He turned towards his classroom.

SpongeBob skipped down the hallway and halted before Squidward. "Hi, Squid!" He grinned and waved. "Did class start yet?" Several different types of pencils and pens were in his pockets, all of them were the types used by artists. He took out one of the pencils and began to twirl it.

Squidward furrowed his brows when he saw the utensils SpongeBob had brought. "You? In art class? How did you-" He closed his mouth when he saw the bandage that had been placed on SpongeBob's bruise. At the same time, the twirling of SpongeBob's pencil reminded him of the countless times his spotlight got stolen by the yellow devil. "Wait!" he yelled towards the class that was walking away from him. "This is cooking! Come back!" He began to run towards the fleeing students.

The class swiftly filed into the cooking room.

Squidward slowed to a stop. "You gotta be kidding," he muttered.

A long pause.

Squidward slowly turned around and stomped towards his classroom.

SpongeBob, with a nervous smile and his hands behind his back, stepped into the classroom.

S-S-S-S-S

SpongeBob promptly sat in one of the front row seats. He took out all of his pencils and pens and put them on the desk. He glanced at the nametag on his teacher's desk. "I'm ready, Mr. Tentacles." He straightened his posture and folded his hands together.

Squidward adjusted his beret. With a stern frown, he put his hands on his hips and looked down at the student sitting before him. "Do you really want to learn the ins and outs from artists of refined taste such as myself?"

"Yes, please." SpongeBob nodded.

Squidward tilted forward and perceived that SpongeBob's legs were fidgeting. He raised a brow. "Do you want your art to be in that museum I showed you?"

"Mm-hm." SpongeBob nodded more enthusiastically.

Squidward locked his legs together, folded his arms, and tilted his head upward. "Well, making true art is not all fun and games. It's a lot of hard work. However, it's most rewarding once you complete something." He put a hand on his chin and looked askance as he searched through the fog for a lit light bulb. When he found it, he smirked. "Okay." He motioned with his hand for SpongeBob to stand up. "First, repeat after me: I have no talent."

SpongeBob restrained his smile. He glued his arms to the sides of his body and stood up from his seat. "I have no talent."

Squidward marched to the chalkboard and grabbed a piece of chalk. "Mr. Tentacles has all the talent."

SpongeBob's mouth wobbled as his smile struggled to break free. "Mr. Tentacles has all the talent."

"If I'm lucky, some of Mr. Tentacles' talent will rub off on me."

SpongeBob's heartbeat quickened as he thought of the nearly infinite ways he could impress the virtuoso standing before him. He let out his grin and giggled. "If I'm lucky, some of Mr. Talent will rub his tentacles on my art."

Squidward, while writing on the chalkboard, frowned again and looked at SpongeBob from the corner of his eye.

S-S-S-S-S

Twenty-five minutes later...

S-S-S-S-S

Several sentences, drawings, and diagrams were on the chalkboard.

"Since you're telling me you have little to no prior training, we'll have to start from square one, or should I say circle one." Squidward took out a piece of printing paper from his desk and put it on SpongeBob's desk. He then took one of SpongeBob's pencils and, in one movement, drew what he thought was a perfect circle. "Am I going too fast for you, SpongeBob?" he chuckled. He then took another piece of printing paper from his desk and put it on SpongeBob's desk.

SpongeBob narrowed his eyes and inched his pencil towards the paper. When he managed to capture the outline of a perfect circle in his head, he unleashed the image onto the paper. "How's this, Mr. Tentacles?" He held out the paper towards Squidward.

Squidward glanced at his own paper and then at SpongeBob's paper. He widened his eyes. "What the?" The circle he drew was crooked in certain places compared to SpongeBob's flawless circle. "H-how the?" He took a few more glances at his paper and SpongeBob's paper. His hands closed into fists. "Do it again. Show your process." He flipped SpongeBob's paper to its opposite side and slapped it back onto SpongeBob's desk.

SpongeBob put a finger on his chin. "Well, first I draw this head." He sketched a human head that looked like the ones seen in sculptures made by humans. "Than I erase some of the more detailed features." He erased certain spots of the depicted head until he revealed a perfect circle. "A circle." He held out his paper and beamed.

Squidward, with his mouth closed, clenched his teeth. "Gimme that!" He grabbed both papers and crumbled them until they became very small paper balls. He tossed the two paper balls towards the floor. "Forget the circles." He adjusted his beret and marched back to the chalkboard.

A light bulb lit up in SpongeBob's head. "Ohh, I see. Let me try." He stuck his tongue out slightly, grabbed the two papers, uncrumpled them, ripped them into pieces, and formed mini versions of him and Squidward. "Look, Squid, it's you and me playing leapfrog." He moved the paper figures to make it seem like the mini-SpongeBob was hopping over the mini-Squidward. "That's you on the bottom." He pointed at the mini-Squidward, who was on all-fours.

Squidward turned towards SpongeBob and nearly broke the chalk he was holding at the sight of the mini-Squidward's goofy smile. "There is nothing artistic about leapfrog." He stomped to SpongeBob's desk and ripped up the figures into tinier pieces.

Another light bulb lit up in SpongeBob's head. "Wait!" SpongeBob ran to Squidward's desk, grabbed a roll of tape, and ran back to his own desk. 'I'm sure he'll like this one.' His arms blurred as he picked up the tiny paper pieces, ripped some tape from the roll, and put the pieces into certain positions.

Squidward cocked a brow. "What're you doing now?"

SpongeBob leaped, landed on his desk; and, with one hand, held up his work of art. "I call it: Rippy Bits." He pointed at the formed image with his other hand. The image consisted of ripped paper pieces put together like a jigsaw puzzle; they resembled a square and a star. "You take a bunch of old ripped paper, and make a new picture out of it. See?"

Steam came out of Squidward's ears as he flushed. He inhaled as much air as he could and then blew on the patched-up paper.

The tiny pieces that were not taped together scattered to several different areas of the classroom floor.

Squidward slammed both of his hands on to SpongeBob's desk and leaned towards him so closely that their noses nearly touched. "Do you want to learn art, or not?!" he hissed.

SpongeBob perceived a sweatdrop running down Squidward's head. When he moved his eyes downwards, he saw the shakiness of his teacher's arms. He clasped his hands together and sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Tentacles. I'll listen." He got out of his seat and, his limbs blurring, picked up the fallen paper pieces.

Squidward nodded, walked back to the chalkboard, and erased whatever was on the board. "We're gonna begin a new lesson."

S-S-S-S-S

Two hours later...

S-S-S-S-S

Monty was sitting in his office. The walls of the room were covered to the brim with art pieces from all over the world, save for a medium-sized vacancy to the right of the window. Monty was staring at that space with narrow eyes while scratching his chin. After almost half-a-minute more of contemplation, he turned his chair towards his desk. He then perceived Squidward's resume lying near the computer. He thought about the vivid descriptions the gentleman had given about Squidward's talent show. He glanced at the clock. 'Better go see how Mr. Tentacles is doing.' He stood up from his seat and exited the room.

S-S-S-S-S

After a long lecture about various theories from famous underwater sculptors, including Squidward himself, on how a sculpture should be made; SpongeBob and Squidward were now standing before one of the several upright rectangular prisms of marble in the classroom. The prisms had been hauled in by several workers upon Squidward's request.

Squidward was holding a nail and a hammer. "Alright, SpongeBob, pay close attention." He placed the nail against one of the prism's faces. "Look at your marble. Visualize the sculpture within." He rubbed the prism, feeling the smoothness of the marble. "And..." He closed his eyes and raised his hammer.

CLANG

He swung the hammer into the nail.

C-CRACK

The marble block fractured into many pieces.

RUMMBLLE

The prism collapsed to the floor, forming a pile of dust and fragments instead of a statue.

Squidward sighed; glanced at SpongeBob, who had been observing him for the whole time; frowned, and relinquished the hammer and the nail to the yellow pest.

SpongeBob stepped to a clean marble prism. He put the nail's tip on the prism's surface and closed his eyes. He took several deep breaths so he could focus on visualizing what form he wanted the prism to be. He then, at a gentle speed, raised his hammer and swung it to the nail.

Clink

The hammer tapped the nail's top. The nail then dug into the marble prism.

C-CRACK

The rectangular prism fractured into countless particles.

POOF

A cloud of dust rose from the prism's remains.

SpongeBob and Squidward coughed for a few seconds until the dust cloud cleared.

SpongeBob widened his eyes and smiled from ear to ear. He then moved his gaze towards Squidward and folded his hands together, anticipating his teacher's response.

Squidward dropped his jaw.

A marble statue of a nearly naked male fish in a tense pose was standing before SpongeBob and Squidward. A marble shell was covering the statue's genital area. It had a striking resemblance to Michelangelo's David.

Squidward's eyes devoured the statue's dramatic pose and perfect anatomy. For several seconds, he forgot how the sculpture came into existence. "It's beautiful," he whispered. He glanced to his left, causing his beret to fall to the floor. He noticed, through the opened classroom door, that some students and staff members in the hallway were gazing at the statue as well. He glanced to the pile of dust he had created and then at SpongeBob, who was waving at the strangers. In the back of his mind, the yellow devil's grin warped into the unibrow of a nobleman receiving the acclaim of millions of onlookers.

"I mean, this isn't a sculpture." Squidward frowned, picked up his beret, and placed it on his head. "A good sculpture takes... more time. You can't just sculpt Willie-Nillie." He folded his arms. He marched to the door and slammed it shut. "I don't care what you've said in that museum. This is my class," he raised his voice as he marched back. He then obstructed the yellow pest's view of the statue. "If you're gonna make any art worthy of being put in the history books, you've got to go by the book. Follow the rules. Otherwise, you'll never get past Amateur Hour here. Besides, you've got the nose wrong." He stomped to his desk and took out a recently made clay sculpture that depicted his nose. He then stood on a desk near the statue and placed the clay nose over the statue's nose.

"Ohhh, it's so obvious. I would've never thought of that," said SpongeBob with a heavy throat. Tears began to fill his eyes as he dwelled on the hours he had wasted on dashed hopes. "I'm sorry, Squidward. I came here to learn and I arrogantly not took your lessons too seriously." He moved his gaze towards the floor, daring not to look at his teacher in the eye. "I'll never be a great artist like you! I don't deserve your tutoring. I don't deserve to be in your presence," SpongeBob, with one hand covering his shuddering face, walked towards the classroom's exit. "I don't deserve to let my dirty hands touch your doors."

CRREEAAK

SpongeBob pushed the door open with his head and exited the room.

Squidward took a deep breath.

S-S-S-S-S

A few minutes later…

S-S-S-S-S

After erasing whatever had been written or marked on the chalkboard, Squidward glanced at the door and noticed that one of SpongeBob's teardrops had fallen to the floor. He stepped to the teardrop, raised one of his feet, and was about to wipe it away until he perceived that the puddle was sickle-shaped. A sense of deja-vu floated in his consciousness. He lowered his foot and crouched. Within his almost nonexistent reflection in the tiny puddle, he saw the laughing faces of his former tormentors. He then glanced at the statue, and then back at the teardrop, and the same unease from the dance contest pierced into his heart.

CREAK

Squidward jumped to a stand.

Monty stepped into the room with his hands folded together behind his back. "Good day, sir." He strolled along the room's walls, examining Squidward's various self-portraits.

Squidward sighed. He twisted his frown into the mask of a deadpan face. "You're too late." He took off his beret. "Class just dismissed."

"Oh, I beg your pardon." Monty turned towards Squidward and smirked. "I'm just looking for an art piece to add to my collection."

Squidward raised both of his eyebrows. "You're also an art collector?" He gazed at the reflections of light on the tips of Monty's moustache, his sumptuous coat, his polished shoes, and his stylish pants. The thundering dark skies that were clogging his mind dissipated as ecstatic visions of vanquishing the yellow devil, opulence, glory, and somehow regaining his waist-length blond hair gushed forth. His heartbeat quickened.

"Yup." Monty nodded and raised one index finger. "As a matter of fact, I'm saving up funds to start my own museum."

Squidward put his hands on his hips, tilted his head upward, and closed his eyes in the most pretentious manner. "Your search is over." He slapped a hand over his chest. "I am Bikini Bottom's greatest artiste." He pranced to his desk and took out a toy-sized sculpture that depicted himself. He held it out towards Monty. "I call this one: Squidward en repose."

Monty raised his brow at the springs dyed in black, the paper-mache wings that were attached to the 'head', and the brown cylinder the 'head' had been glued to. The sculpture's dilated pupils caused a chill to prick his neck. "I, uh, don't think that will fit in with the other pieces in my collection." He scratched his chin.

A sigh Squidward attempted to stifle managed to escape from his lips. He placed the sculpture on his desk. "Why not?"

"Because," Monty snickered. "It's an art collection."

A faint sheen of moisture covered Squidward's eyes. He blinked for several seconds before snatching another art piece from his desk. "How about this one?" It was a painting that depicted himself with a larger nose, curved limbs, and a lifeless stare. The figure looked like it was shuffling. "I call it: Bold and Brash." He forced his lips to curve.

Monty smiled quiveringly. He shook his head. "More like: Belongs in the Trash." He then laughed.

The same janitor from before was pulling a mobile trash can down the hallway when he overheard Monty's words. "Sorry, must've missed that one." He entered the room to grab the painting.

"The painting's mine." Squidward furrowed his brows, backed away from the janitor, and hugged the painting with both arms. "He was just joking around."

"Oh." The janitor stepped out of the room.

Monty, with his hands on his hips, filtered through the other uninteresting slabs of paint hanging on the walls until the Michelangelesque statue caught his attention. "H-huh? What is that?" His eyes widened. From his position in the classroom, the ceiling lights were giving the sculpture an aura of holiness. He blanched. Both of his hands slowly rose to touch his chin.

When Squidward perceived the direction of Monty's gaze, he apprehensively bit his lip. He then moved his eyes towards the statue. From his position in the room, the ceiling lights casted shadows over the sculpture, revealing hidden details that accentuated the signature style of its creator. "Wait, wait. That's not uh, uh..."

Monty ran to the statue and carefully examined it. "Angelic form, amazing detail." He looked at the shell covering the fish's groin. "Perfect censorship." He clasped his hands together, grinned, and stood on tip-toe. "This is the work of a true genius." He looked towards the statue's head and saw the octopus nose drooping against the statue's face. "Hello? What's this?" He leaned his head towards one side and raised his brow. He then grabbed a nearby ladder, climbed to the head, and, after waiting for Squidward to look at him directly, pointed at the nose. "This is the only flaw." He plucked out the octopus nose, revealing two tiny holes; an exact replica of the average nose of a fish. "Ah, that's more like it." He jumped to the floor and jogged up to Squidward. "I simply must find the artist responsible."

"Um…" Squidward's legs trembled and his lips quivered as contradictory ideas tore his mind apart. Monty's smile was tempting him towards the sweet opportunity of deception, but the future pressures that could result of such trickery pushed him away from risky words. He glanced at the statue again and sighed. The ecstatic visions of triumph that had captured his mind quickly dissipated. "A-A student of mine," he blurted.

"What's his name?"

"I don't know."

"Well, whoever he is," Monty jumped and landed on top of a desk. He held out his hands towards the ceiling. "He shall have fame, fortune, anything his heart desires!" He turned towards Squidward's self portraits and put his thumbs and index fingers together as if he was taking a picture. "I can see it now. His name in the world's most prestigious museums..." He leaped to the floor. "I'm gonna make him immortal!"

Squidward, with his hands folded together and his head tilted downward as if he was in a funeral, swallowed back a lump in his throat.

Monty jogged to the statue, crouched, took hold of one side of its pedestal, and tried to lift it up. His fingers felt the sculpture's immense weight. "Now, uh, help me get this in the car." He wiped a sweatdrop.

Squidward, with his eyes towards the floor, dragged his own body to the statue. He knit his brows as he took hold of the statue's pedestal and felt the marble's brittleness.

The two heaved the statue towards the open doorway.

Monty glanced up and perceived that the sculpture was taller than the door. He then, with trembling hands, attempted to tilt the statue forward.

CRACK

The sculpture's head collided with the door and broke off from the rest of the body.

BONK

It bounced off Squidward's head, causing him to frown.

POOF

The head landed on the floor and broke into a pile of dust.

SLAM

The two dropped the statue to floor.

Monty looked at the dust pile and bit his lip. "Well, that's a bit of bad luck right there." He glanced at Squidward's beret, smiled, and put his hands on his hips. "But, this shouldn't be a problem for a teacher of your magnitude. When your student comes back next week, ask him to whip up another one." He stepped through the open doorway. "When he's done with that, come tell me."

Squidward strained his face into an artificial smile. "Okay. See you. Bye," he droned. He stood in the doorway and waved at Monty.

A pause.

S-S-S-S-S

A teenage Squidward, while wearing a bookbag, was sitting in the backseat of a boatmobile. His waist-length blond hair fluttered against the breeze coming from the opened nearby window. He was twiddling his hands as he imagined the various strangers, both friendly and hostile, he could encounter on that day; the many unexpected obstacles that he would have to confront, and the hours of sleep he was going to lose in order to have a chance at obtaining artistic renown. His heartbeat quickened each time he glanced at the street signs passing by.

He opened his bookbag for the twentieth time and probed through all the materials he had stored in it. However, the anxiety would not go away.

Squidward's father, an octopus who had a brown moustache, was the one behind the wheel. He glanced at the GPS. "I gotta make a left turn at this spot, right?"

"Y-Yeah."

Squidward's father looked at the rearview mirror and saw the hesitance in Squidward's face. He cocked a brow and smirked. "You scared?"

"No." Squidward playfully smiled with furrowed brows. He zipped up his bookbag and sat up.

S-S-S-S-S

Several minutes later…

S-S-S-S-S

The boatmobile stopped before a moderately large campus. A sign not too far from the school's front doors had the words 'Skipjack Preparatory Academy' and the electric words below it 'WELCOME TO ALL FRESHMEN!'.

Squidward's father unlocked the boatmobile's doors. "Good luck." He winked at Squidward's reflection in the mirror.

Squidward quietly exited the boatmobile, clung to the bookbag's straps, and walked up the steps to the high school's entrance with swallowed lips. Walking along with him were a few unfamiliar peers that had almost the same facial expression.

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward, after stepping into the lobby, immediately heard the loud chatter of dozens of students who were older and taller than him. Those students had huddled into cliques, cutting off the timorous newcomers who were struggling to find their lockers within the labyrinth of hallways.

Squidward sat at a table filled with his fellow freshmen. He probed the suctions on his left hand.

The other students sitting in his table, who were just as shy as he was, took out their phones and browsed through various apps in an attempt to look busy.

After several minutes, some of the nearby students gathered around the large windows near the entrance.

Squidward stood up from his seat and looked through a large window.

S-S-S-S-S

A limousine slowed to a stop before the school.

One of the doors closest to the boatmobile's bow opened. A bald male octopus stepped out of the vehicle. He was wearing a version of the school's uniform that had been customized with designer clothes. He waved to the butler who was driving the limousine, swiftly closed the door, and turned towards the school. When he perceived that the eyes of many students and even a few teachers were locked on to him, he smirked and then walked up the steps to the entrance in the manner of a model on a runway.

S-S-S-S-S

What caught Squidward's attention the most was the octopus' striking unibrow, which the octopus raised in an ingratiating manner as he stepped into the building.

The octopus put his hands on his hips and tilted his head upward as he basked in the attention of both the upperclassmen and his fellow newcomers. He closed his eyes, expecting the camera flashes he had received countless times from paparazzis.

After almost a minute of staring, the students moved their gazes towards elsewhere. They stepped away from the octopus and gathered back into their groups.

The octopus opened his eyes. When he perceived the directions of his peers' gazes, he folded his arms, knit his unibrow, and pouted like a child who received insipid coral bits instead of sweets.

Behind the octopus, a yellow sponge and a pink starfish stepped into the lobby together. The sponge had a lively smile while the starfish was uneasily glancing at his new surroundings.

S-S-S-S-S

The next day…

S-S-S-S-S

"You know where's…" Squidward glanced at the class schedule he was holding. "The second gym?"

Standing before Squidward was a male student who was brawnier and a few feet taller. He was in his junior year. "I'll show you." He pointed in a certain direction with his thumb. When he turned to the direction he was pointing, he released a smirk.

Squidward, while tremblingly holding the schedule to his torso, followed the student.

S-S-S-S-S

A few minutes later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward stood before a wide double door. However, the only thing he could see through the door's windows was darkness. "Are you sure this is the place?" He narrowed his eyes and put a hand on his chin.

The male student; now accompanied by a few friends, who were all in the same year as he was; nodded. "Yup." He bit his lower lip to stifle a chuckle.

Squidward perceived that one side of the double door was not completely closed. He took hold of the handle of that side of the door and pushed it open.

Behind the door was a small room filled with cleaning utensils. The pink starfish and the yellow sponge Squidward had seen earlier had huddled at one corner of the room. The two trembled at the sight of the upperclassmen.

Squidward widened his eyes.

The male student grinned sadistically and kicked Squidward into the closet.

SLAM

One of the student's friends pushed the opened side of the door to a complete close.

Squidward rubbed the back of his head, which had hit one of the closet's walls. He jumped to his feet, marched to the double door, vainly attempted to twist both handles, and then banged his fists against the door while watching the upperclassmen from one of the door's windows.

"Freshmen." The male student shook his head.

The group of upperclassmen laughed. After several seconds of walking through the hallway, they stumbled upon the octopus with the unibrow.

Due to the distance between the students outside and the door, Squidward could not comprehend what they said other than "My name's Squilliam." and "You're cool." He moved to his left and perceived that Squilliam, with a smug smile, was showcasing his golden-encrusted watch and posh clothes.

The group of upperclassmen whispered among themselves. They then nodded in agreement and resumed their walk down the hallway, leaving Squilliam unscathed.

Squilliam walked in the opposite direction of the upperclassmen. He eventually saw the closet and peered through one of the double door's windows. He spotted the three trapped students, playfully waved at them, and then skipped towards the class he was supposed to go to.

Squidward furrowed his brows.

S-S-S-S-S

A few months later…

S-S-S-S-S

A moderately-sized class inside an art studio was sitting in groups at different tables. All of the students were holding paintings, small clay sculptures, or collages.

Squilliam was sitting on his seat with his hands behind his head. His sculpture depicted his own unibrow, made out of the most expensive materials he could find online and at his local art store. Every time he glanced at the artwork of the other students, he would either shake his head or chuckle.

The art teacher, Mr. Brown, was standing before the tables with his hands folded together behind his back. "So, who wants to go first?"

Several hands shot up, with Squilliam's hand being the fastest and the highest.

Mr. Brown snapped his 'fingers' towards Squilliam.

Squilliam took hold of his sculpture and walked towards the teacher with his head tilted upward. "Do you wanna know something, teach?"

"Yeah?" Mr. Brown put his hands on his hips.

"I bet this…" Squilliam stroked the unibrow sculpture, gazing at his own reflections on the numerous diamond studs that coated the sculpture. "...lovely work of art is way better than the other junk everybody else made. I mean, look at it!" He held up the art piece with both hands towards the ceiling, making sure that the lights in the ceiling, from his viewpoint, gave the sculpture a halo. "Every little stud I carefully placed." He touched both sides of the sculpture. "Its sides are exactly symmetrical." He pointed at all of the art piece's curves. "All of the curves have an exact angle of forty-five degrees."

Mr. Brown raised a brow, put a hand on his chin, and smiled. "It looks more like a moustache than a unibrow."

Squilliam widened his eyes. "What?"

Mr. Brown poked the unibrow sculpture with his right hand and then held out that hand towards Squilliam. Golden flakes were on the hand's tip. "This thing has way too many details." He snickered. "It's like putting makeup on a snail."

Some classmates giggled.

Squilliam frowned.

Mr. Brown rubbed the flakes off his hand and took hold of a cup made by a former student. It had been painted with inelaborate depictions of flowers. "This is what I was looking for. Notice the simple, yet charming design." He put down the cup. "Putting too many details into your art will muddle its intended effect."

Squilliam crossed his arms and stomped back to his seat.

"Next," said Mr. Brown.

Another, but smaller, group of hands rose.

Mr. Brown pointed at Squidward's hand.

Squidward stood up and smiled modestly yet confidently. He picked up his painting, a depiction of kelp trees swaying in the breeze, and walked towards Mr. Brown.

Mr. Brown gazed at the painting as it gradually came closer to him. He perceived how the colors were subtly merged through a variety of shades, the contrast between the dim outlines of the kelp trees and the brilliant outlines of the stars, and the detailed patterns on the kelp trees' trunks. He moved his gaze towards Squidward's face, which still had the modest smile. Mr. Brown's eyes sparkled as he envisioned the masterpieces the pupil could create.

Before Squidward had time to even react, Mr. Brown snatched the painting and held it towards the class.

Some of the students, including Patrick and SpongeBob, widened their eyes. They became mesmerized by the artwork's photographic qualities and how, from their distance combined with the lack of ceiling lights on their side of the room, it looked like a portal to another world.

A few of the students either shrugged or preserved their neutral faces.

Only one student, Squilliam, scowled at the sight of the painting. He closed his hands into fists and, without opening his mouth, clenched his teeth. When he felt a heaviness developing in his throat, he grabbed the unibrow sculpture and hurled it towards the nearby trash can.

CLANnNnNnNnNG

The fake unibrow rattled inside the trash can, forming a small cloud of golden dust.

Mr. Brown turned his head towards the trash can and then towards Squilliam. He sighed and slowly shook his head.

Squilliam had buried his face against the table's surface. His arms were crossed around the sides of his face. He kept his eyes shut to fight back the humiliating moisture coming from his eyes.

Mr. Brown quietly gave the painting back to Squidward. As Squidward turned around, he patted him on the back. "Good job. I'll have a little talk with you after class," he whispered.

Squidward's modest smile widened to a grin. He frolicked back to his table, hopped to his seat, and held the painting close to his chest.

S-S-S-S-S

Twenty minutes later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squilliam, after getting scolded by Mr. Brown, was wiping the golden dust off the floor with a roll of paper towels. While sitting on his knees, he could feel the particles sticking to his shins and blemishing his beloved coat. "He thinks I'm some sorta peasant, yet I'm richer than him!" he hissed with quivering lips. He glanced at Mr. Brown, who was conversing with Squidward just outside the classroom's door.

Mr. Brown had his hands folded together behind his back. "So what gave you the idea to draw that?"

"Me and my dad were going on a camping trip through the kelp forest and then, during the time we were supposed to sleep, I ended up waking up and saw a fully starry sky for the first time," said Squidward.

Mr. Brown raised his eyebrows. "Y'know something..." He put a hand on his chin and moved his gaze towards the floor. After many seconds of contemplation, he resumed eye contact. "You remind me of Krillma Herring."

Squidward widened his eyes. His jaw dropped somewhat. "Really?"

"She was almost just like you. She made The Crest, that famous painting of Spork Mountain, when she was hiking through Jellyfish Fields. The idea didn't come to her until she woke up one night and couldn't go back to sleep."

Squilliam clenched the towel he was currently using.

"Did your dad help you out?" said Mr. Brown.

"Yeah." Squidward's smile lessened. "He didn't like some parts of my original sketch and told me to change it." He pointed at certain parts of the painting. "I'm not sure if it came out better or not."

Mr. Brown chuckled and shook his head. "Squidward, out of my entire career as an art teacher, I think you're one of the only kids to actually have some humility for once." He put a hand on Squidward's shoulder. "I see alotta potential in you. Have you signed up for the Art Club?"

Squidward clasped his hands together and nodded firmly. "I'm planning to."

"I've gotta tell the art director about this. Can I borrow it for a while?"

Squidward nodded with even more eagerness. He placed the painting into Mr. Brown's hands.

Mr. Brown carefully wrapped an arm around the painting. "I'll see you soon."

Squidward skipped to his seat and picked up his bookbag. As he turned around; he perceived Squilliam's fidgeting hands and the faintly dilated pupils in Squilliam's scowl; which all combined to give off the impression that a curse was being activated.

Squidward swallowed his lips. He scuttled out of the room with the image of the scowl lingering in his mind.

S-S-S-S-S

A few weeks later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward stepped into a spacious classroom. Hanging on the walls were suitcases for a variety of musical instruments. He glanced around for an open seat. After a few seconds, he heard giggling and chuckling. He knit his brows and turned to a certain direction.

The loudest giggles were coming from those sitting nearest to Squilliam.

Squilliam was leaning against his seat with his hands behind his head. He smirked, raised his unibrow a few times, and snapped his 'fingers' towards Squidward.

Squidward rolled his eyes. "Of course," he muttered. He marched to the farthest seat from Squilliam that was available, flumped into it, and crossed his arms.

A female teacher, who wore clothing suggestive of a hippie, entered the classroom. She then wrote down her name, Ms. Fins, on the blackboard and explained her expectations for the music class.

Squidward, with a frown, focused his gaze on Ms. Fins and what she was writing. He struggled not to glance at Squilliam, who was throwing erasers and balls of crumpled paper at him.

S-S-S-S-S

Fifteen minutes later…

S-S-S-S-S

On the blackboard were in-depth notes on musical notation, comparing the notation system used in the Oceanic Union with the notation systems of other underwater countries.

Ms. Fins, while explaining the notes a clarinet could make and what each part of the instrument was supposed to do, was holding a clarinet and pointing at its various parts. When she finished her explanation, she said: "Who would like to demonstrate?"

Several hands were quickly raised. Squidward's hand was the highest of them all.

Ms. Fins took out her reed from the clarinet and replaced it with a sterile one. She gave the clarinet to Squidward.

Squidward stood up, stepped out of the array of desks, and turned to face the class.

Ms. Fins placed before Squidward a sheet holder that had the notes of Leafy Breeze, a popular solo that had been composed by a Siberian chipmunk during the 1800s.

Squidward closed his eyes. With near effortlessness, he flowed together each note in a harmony that conveyed both his signature style and the emotion that the composer intended.

Squilliam leaned forward and slightly narrowed his eyes. He closely watched how Squidward's hands trembled slightly on certain notes. His mouth slowly twisted into a sly smile.

When Squidward finished playing, he bowed.

Squilliam immediately raised his hand.

Ms. Fins sighed. "Yes, Squilliam?"

Squilliam stood up and pointed at Squidward. "He played some of the notes wrong. They aren't supposed to flow like that." He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head upward.

Some of the students gazed at Squilliam with chins resting on both hands while others raised their brows.

The teacher shook her head. "Nope. He did them exactly right. As a matter of fact," She took hold of the music sheet and pointed at a certain section of it. "He played perfectly a part that most players, even some experienced ones, make mistakes on." She replaced Squidward's reed with her own reed. She then played the section she was mentioning. The notes came out in a discontinuous manner and were either too loud or too soft.

Almost the entire class widened their eyes.

The teacher replaced her reed with Squidward's reed before giving the clarinet back to Squidward. "Play that part again," she whispered into his ear while pointing at that section of the composition.

Squidward, restraining his grin, took a deep breath. He then played that section exactly as he did it before.

Some of the students began clapping before Squidward even finished.

Squilliam flumped back into his seat. He glowered at Squidward's gradually widening smile.

Classmates turned towards Squilliam and perceived that his unibrow was making the frown look like a goofy face.

"Y'know, I don't think Squilly's as smart as I thought he was."

"Yeah."

Squilliam rested his forehead on his fists.

S-S-S-S-S

A week later…

S-S-S-S-S

In the cafeteria, Squidward was sitting at a table among a middle-sized group of peers. He sparingly added to the students' conversation, preferring to keep quiet than to say something foolish. He was switching between eating the homemade lunch in his lunchbox and adding touches to his sketch of a chair, which was part of an assignment for art class.

Squilliam was sitting at a table that had a large group of students from various walks of life. Their chatter was much louder than that of Squidward's table.

"Y'know something," A male sophomore leaned towards Squilliam. "If you're so rich, why're you going to a school for normal people like us?"

"It's 'cause my dad forced me to. He's always been complaining about how I'm so 'arrogant' and 'egotistic'," Squilliam gestured air quotes whenever he emphasized a word. "So he made me go here, thinking that it'll 'humble' me." He sat up. "But to be honest, I like you guys way more than those kids in the private schools."

Upon looking to his left, Squilliam saw that Squidward was leaning forward at such a sharp angle that the vertebrae of his lower spine had become visible. He wrapped an arm around the shoulder of somebody sitting next to him. "By the way, haven't you ever noticed how Squid always hunches his back whenever he's thinking of something?"

Most of Squilliam's group giggled. A few of them even laughed and pointed at Squidward.

Squidward sat up and looked at Squilliam's table from the corner of his eye. He then frowned and tightened his grip on his pencil. Abandoning his lunch, he focused all of his efforts on the sketch.

Squilliam gestured towards himself and raised his unibrow. "I've never seen anything like it. I mean, who else has freckles on their forehead?"

Everybody sitting at Squilliam's table laughed, grabbing the attention of some of the people at Squidward's table.

Squidward leaned so closely to the sketch that his forehead touched the table. The hand gripping the pencil did not falter.

Squilliam stood up and pinched his nose. He then imitated Squidward's voice, which was more nasal than the average vocal range of octopi. "Or speaks like this?"

The group guffawed. Some of them had to wipe tears from their eyes.

"Hey, Squilly…" said somebody from the opposite side of Squilliam's table. "Is it true that Squid has to practice how he speaks?"

Squilliam smirked. He clapped his hands until everybody sitting at his table became quiet. "Alright, guys, story time!" He sat down and put one leg over the other. "This happened in math class the day after the first day of school. After I found Ms. Whitetip's room, I had to end up sitting next to Squid since there weren't other seats left." He put his hands on the table's edge and tilted towards his peers. "She was making us do a really hard exponent stuff to test our skills, and, as you all know, she like to pick on us military style when it comes to answering questions. She ended up asking Squid and he was like…" With a dramatic rise of his unibrow, he stood up again. "I-I-I-I-I-Is i-it tw-tw-tw-tw-tw-tw-tw-twen-t-ty f-f-four?"

The group laughed so hard that they struggled to breathe and were banging on their table.

Squilliam sat down again. He took a few sips from his bowl of red and green algae soup, which had been prepared at home by one of his favorite servants. "I heard his parents got him a speech tutor after that." He glanced at Squidward again, whose lips were now swallowed. "But I doubt it did much. To this day, he's still not much of a talker."

Squidward's eyes began to moisten as he replayed his own memory of that event in math class. The laughter from the other table began to reverberate in his mind, dimming the ideas he was trying to put into the sketch. 'I didn't stutter that much… I didn't need help...' He saw that the hand gripping the pencil was trembling and that several blemishes had been left on the sketch. He then erased the blemishes.

One of the boys sitting at Squilliam's table detected the light redness in Squidward's eyes. "Is he crying?"

Squidward flung his pencil to the floor. With his elbows on the table, he covered his face with both hands. He swallowed his saliva in a vain attempt at clearing the heaviness in his throat.

Squilliam's clique laughed once again.

Some of the people sitting at Squidward's table, whose eyes were avoiding Squidward, stood up from their seats and walked towards Squilliam's table.

Squidward's face fell to his table. He covered the sides of his face with both arms. His mouth began to quiver.

S-S-S-S-S

Several months later…

S-S-S-S-S

Within a gymnasium, two teams, one with red shirts and one with blue shirts, were playing basketball.

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP

The basketball was dribbling in the hands of a male student who was wearing safety glasses and a blue shirt. After dodging a few defenders, he passed the ball to a teammate.

Squidward's hands trembled as he caught the ball, making his limbs look weak compared to those of his opponents. His heartbeat was racing. He glanced in all directions before stepping into a position behind the student wearing glasses. The countless ways he could commit a foul or cause the ball to slip out of his hands flooded into his mental vision. His blue shirt and headband were soaked in sweat.

The student wearing glasses advanced to a position near the hoop.

Squilliam had his signature smirk. He was wearing a red-shirt. He galloped to Squidward and, facing him, blocked his way to the hoop.

Squidward held the ball above his head with both hands. He then, releasing the ball too close to the end of his arms' swing, threw it towards the hoop.

WHAP

Squilliam smacked the ball towards elsewhere.

A red-shirted teammate, who had dyed his hair orange, caught the ball. He then ran towards the other side of the court while dribbling the ball with alternate hands.

S-squeak

The shoes of the blue shirts skidded against the floor as they struggled to catch up with the red shirts.

Squilliam and Squidward were running at the same pace.

After dodging the red-shirted players, who were nearly all upperclassmen, Squidward perceived that Squilliam had closed his eyes and tilted his head upward. He then knit his brows, grit his teeth, moved his gaze towards the floor, and overtook Squilliam.

The red-shirted player with orange hair smirked as he effortlessly dodged blue-shirted defenders, who were less than half his size. "Pshh… dweebs." He then ran directly towards the hoop, thinking of the various ways he could make the most showy lay-up.

The student wearing glasses stepped to the area just in front of the hoop, directly in the orange haired student's path. He wore an intimidating frown and crouched.

The orange-haired student shook his head. "You don't have a chance, little guy." He stepped to the left side of the court while dribbling the ball with his right hand. When he felt like there was an opening, he leaped towards the hoop.

The student wearing glasses jumped and slapped the ball directly towards his teammates.

"Oh snap!" The orange-haired student's eyes bugged out.

WHAP

The orange-haired student, in less than a second, unintentionally kicked the glasses-wearing student's stomach.

SLAM

The glasses-wearing student fell to the floor.

HWEEEEEEEEEEUUW

The coach blew the whistle. He pointed at the blue-shirted team. "One free throw!"

The glasses-wearing student stood up, picked up the ball, and threw it to Squidward.

Squidward gulped. After red-shirted and blue-shirted players lined up on both sides of the painted rectangle in front of the hoop, he glanced at their faces.

Squilliam chuckled when Squidward made eye contact with him.

Squidward furrowed his brows and crouched into what he thought was the proper position for throwing a basketball.

One of the red-shirted players gradually widened his eyes at the sight of Squidward. He whispered into Squilliam's ear: "Hey, Squilly, isn't that the guy who left piss and crap all over the bathroom?"

"Yep." Squilliam nodded.

Squidward overheard the red-shirted team's conversation. He teetered towards one side and nearly dropped the ball.

"He didn't even know where the toilet paper was," said Squilliam.

The red-shirted team laughed.

Squidward's legs trembled as he struggled to maintain his posture.

"Just throw it already."

Squidward tossed the basketball towards the hoop while taking an clumsy step forward.

The red-shirted team guffawed, with Squilliam put his hands around his teammates' shoulders.

BONK

The basketball bounced against the hoop's rim.

The orange-haired student clutched the ball. Midway through the court, he passed the ball to Squilliam.

Squilliam dribbled the ball with one hand. As he reached the hoop's vicinity, he moved in circles around the defenders, causing them to turn their heads in confusion. He then swiftly passed the ball back to the orange-haired student, initiating a rapid exchange of the ball between other red-shirted teammates.

Squidward glanced to his right and left, struggling to keep his eyes on the ball, which seemingly looked like a orange line hopping across the agile hands of his opponents. When the ball looked like it was flying towards him, he held up his hands.

The ball flew out of Squidward's grasp.

Squilliam chuckled. He caught the ball, dribbled it for a few seconds, and then threw the ball towards the orange-haired student.

BOUNCE

The basketball hit the back of Squidward's head, causing him to fall to the floor face-first.

HWEEEEEEEEEEUUW

The coach blew the whistle again. He held up two fingers with one hand and pointed at the blue-shirted team with the other. "Two free throws!"

When Squilliam and his teammates perceived that the basketball had left an indentation on Squidward's head and that Squidward's nose had flattened from the impact to the floor, they began to laugh again and point at Squidward.

Squidward stood up with moistened eyes. He pulled his nose back to its former plumpness and rubbed the back of his head. From his blurry vision, Squilliam's unibrow looked like the symbols of demons he had seen in picture books as a child.

S-S-S-S-S

Eleven minutes later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward, while sitting on a bench and sipping from a bottle of water, was watching Squilliam talk with other former red-shirts. He perceived how Squilliam's unibrow would raise whenever Squilliam happened to glance at him and how Squilliam would cover one side of his mouth with a hand whenever he whispered to the others. Each bout of their laughter exacerbated the lump in his throat.

S-S-S-S-S

The next school year…

S-S-S-S-S

Hanging on the door to the art studio was a sign that had the words 'ART CLUB'. Several students and a club sponsor were inside the room.

Squidward cut out an alluring image from a magazine. He then glued it to a canvas that consisted of arrows, photos of underwater plants, and portraits; that, when combined, suggested motion. After contemplating on how the cut-out image would alter the art piece's effect, he saw Squilliam walk into the studio from the corner of his eye. His heartbeat quickened. 'What's he doing here?!'

Squilliam was holding a half-finished collage. He smirked at Squidward before placing the collage on an available canvas holder.

The club sponsor looked over the attendance sheet. "You've made sure to put down the place you really live in, right? I know your family owns alotta homes." He bit his lip at the memory of an argument between staff members over which of the several addresses in the school records was Squilliam's actual address. "And I don't wanna confuse the bus drivers."

"Yeah… yeah…" Squilliam waved without making eye contact with the proctor.

Squidward furrowed his brows as he scanned nearby magazines for the most striking photos.

Squilliam narrowed his eyes at Squidward's work-in-progress, deciphering how the images had been placed together and the thoughts that were associated with them. After almost a minute of silent observation, a light bulb lit up in his head. Grinning, he swiftly assembled new images and altered the previous parts of the canvas to the point where his art piece imitated Squidward's style with a unique twist

Squidward glanced at Squilliam and perceived his constant glancing between the two art pieces. Frowning, he tilted his canvas so that its back faced Squilliam.

S-S-S-S-S

A few minutes later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squilliam had his hand on his chin as he analyzed how the images in his canvas looked together. However, doubts could not leave his mind. He glanced at the other art pieces his peers were making. He perceived one striking difference: all of them had religious symbols while his did not. He then walked to the club sponsor. "What're we doing this art for?" He put his hands on his hips.

"They didn't tell you?" The club sponsor chuckled. "We're doing this for Thargelia. There's gonna be a big sports celebration at our school so we gotta make sure the gym's entrance looks nice."

Squilliam remembered the countless times his father would bring him to the Fry Cook games. His brows furrowed slightly. "How can sports be related to art?"

The club sponsor shrugged. "It's all on how you view it. You could say, in a way, that art is a competition." He moved one hand upwards. "The cream of the crop reaches fame" —he lowered his other hand towards the floor— "while the chaff stays at the bottom."

Squilliam scratched his chin as he listened to the proctor. Within his mind, numerous schemes bloomed into existence. He regained his signature smirk. "We're gonna do other projects, right?"

"Yep." The club sponsor nodded. "There's gonna be smaller projects that'll be spread throughout the months. However, there's gonna be a big one that'll be due near the end of the school year. We're gonna be participating in the Oceanic Union's high school art competition, starting at the city level. If you manage to win at the county level, you'll earn scholarships from the most elite art colleges. If you win at the national level, you'll be able to get apprenticeships and connections with the Oceanic Union's best artists and biggest art patrons, along with those scholarships from before."

Squilliam rubbed his hands together. He imagined his name and unibrow in all of the country's exhibits and monuments. He jogged back to his art piece.

Squidward's hands were frozen on the magazine he was holding. He had overheard the entire conversation.

S-S-S-S-S

A month later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward walked up to his locker. He inputted the passcode and then opened it.

Several of his textbooks and notebooks had become soaked by some unknown liquid. On the topmost notebook was a small red button. Before he had time to react, he had unwittingly pressed that button.

A pie filled with hot sauce and manure flew from the ceiling of the locker's interior and landed on Squidward's face.

Squidward fell to his knees and, with his hands, attempted to wipe off the substances from his face. The burning sensation in his eyes was so intense that tears were streaming down his cheeks. He heard the laughter of Squilliam and his friends from one end of the hallway.

Nearby students covered their noses and closed their eyes as the stench spread throughout the hallway.

After a few minutes that seemed like a few hours, Squidward managed to open his eyes. He perceived, inside his locker, a sticky note that had the words 'With love, from a secret admirer'. He stood up, snatched the sticky note, and shred it.

S-S-S-S-S

A week later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward was sitting at the dining table with a sketchbook from his bookbag on his lap. He had crossed his legs into an awkward position while keeping his arms near the sketchbook, which allowed the table's shadow to cover his shins and forearms. When his parents walked into the living room, he bit his lip. He then glanced at the furniture.

His mother and father placed the plates of food on the table. They then sat in their seats, facing their son.

Squidward leaned towards the table and, while glancing both at the bowl of and the sketchbook, took hold of his fork without revealing anything below his wrist.

His father adjusted his round glasses when he perceived that Squidward's wrist was trembling. With a slight furrow of his brows, he put his hands together and craned towards the trembling hand. "Is there something wrong?"

Squidward, resisting the urge to swallow his lips; sat up and slowed his breathing. "Just being careful." He slowly held up the sketchbook, making sure not to reveal his forearms. He then dropped the book to his lap. "I'm multi-tasking."

"Oh." His father leaned back. He took a spoon and began eating the. After several seconds, he deduced from the table's slight shaking that Squidward's legs were trembling. He began to raise a brow.

His mother sipped from her cup of tea. "How was school?"

Squidward glanced at the picture of Poseidon that hung from one of the room's walls. The tips of his tentacles repeatedly tapped together. His shins swayed back and forth. "The same, old, boring stuff," he intoned.

A pause.

Upon one of his calves touched a leg of the chair, Squidward felt a dull pain rise in his leg. He looked towards one of the windows from the corner of his eye, pretending that he was watching the pedestrians.

His mother scratched her chin as she attempted to find a memory that constantly escaped her grasp. She glanced at the same window Squidward was looking at and saw a boatmobile with the license plate 'ABC5F'. A light bulb lit up in her head. "Today's report card day, right?"

Squidward nodded. With his head remaining in a downward tilt, he opened his bookbag and took out his report card. Without daring to look at the letters and other little factoids in that paper, he slid it to his mother.

His mother put on her reading glasses and leaned towards the paper.

His father leaned towards the paper as well.

Squidward was gripping the sides of his chair. The purring of the cars outside quickened his heartbeat. His thoughts wandered back to the ordeals inflicted on him by Squilliam. Upon seeing the widened eyes of his parents, his apprehension became so overwhelming that he felt like he was choking on his own heart.

His mother slapped the paper to the table. The report card had revealed that Squidward had received a C- and a C+ in physics and algebra respectively. "Squid, what happened?" Her eyes glistened.

"U-um…" Squidward's lips quivered.

"This isn't normally like you." His father lowered his clasped hands to the table. "How can you go from straight As to" —he glanced at the report card again and cringed— "this?"

Squidward stared at his bowl. He pondered on the idea of telling his parents the countless ways Squilliam would humiliate him and the rumors he would constantly spread. However, his doubt shredded that idea...

"If you inform your mom or dad or any other grown-up in this school about what just happened here, I'll make sure you're gonna get more than just a few scrapes..."

S-S-S-S-S

Several hours ago…

S-S-S-S-S

In a remote hallway, Squidward was standing with his back against the wall.

The shadows of a middle-sized group of students converged over him.

BOP

An athletic student punched Squidward in the stomach.

Squidward fell to the floor rear-first. He then moved his trembling limbs into a fetal position. They had been marked with bruises. His teeth were chattering. His heart was beating so rapidly that he could hear it.

His bookbag had been thrown to one distant end of the hallway. All of its contents had been spilled to the floor.

Squilliam, grinning, was standing before Squidward with his hands on his hips. He then held out a hand towards him. "Squid, I'll ask you again. Can you plea~se be nice enough to give my friends here some money?"

Squidward sat on his knees. He swallowed his lips. He took out his wallet from his pocket and dropped it into Squilliam's hand.

Squilliam pat Squidward's head. He took out all of the money from the wallet and then tossed the wallet to Squidward's lap. "Good boy."

Laughter erupted from the crowd.

Squilliam kept more than half of the money to himself. He then gave the rest to each person, making sure everybody else had an equal amount.

After all received their share, one of the group members whispered into Squilliam's ear. The two then exchanged whispers for almost a minute before Squilliam nodded.

Squilliam twisted his unibrow and mouth into a glare towards Squidward. He picked him up the collar of his shirt and leaned towards his face. "If you inform your mom and dad or any other grown-up in this school about what just happened here, I'll make sure you're gonna get more than just a few scrapes," he hissed. He then dropped him to the floor. He allowed the glare to linger for several seconds before he gestured towards his group.

Squilliam and his gang briskly walked towards their classes.

RIIIIINNNNNNG

The school bell rung from above.

Squidward stood up, forcing his weak knees to straighten. He then stuffed his materials back into his bookbag and ran towards his class with a slight limp.

S-S-S-S-S

A month ago…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward was sitting at a table in the cafeteria that was near an opened double door to an obscure hallway. His table only had a few other students, who were sitting on the other side and conversing among themselves. He was reading his chemistry textbook and scribbling notes to his notebook while simultaneously eating his lunch.

S-SLAM

Squidward sat up and turned towards the opened doorway.

A short boy was pinning a taller but lankier boy against a wall. Accompanying the short boy were Squilliam and the other members of the clique.

The short boy leaned towards the lanky boy. His scowl had so many wrinkles that it had caused the lanky boy to blanch. "This is what you get for snitching on Squilliam!"

Squidward turned his head back to the textbook upon hearing the screams of the lanky boy and SLAMming and kicking.

S-S-S-S-S

Less than a month ago…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward was sitting in the office of his guidance counselor. While repeatedly tapping his tentacles together and leaning back and forth, he described the psychological and physical torture inflicted on him and others by Squilliam and his mob.

The guidance counselor chuckled and shook his head. "There's no way it can be that serious. When I was your age, I got teased too." He pulled his chair towards the desk. "But it was never to the point where the guys had a grudge against me. At the end of the day, it was all harmless fun." He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "People are gonna make fun of you for any odd quirk, even when you're grown up." He pointed at the oddly shaped fins on his head and back. "To this day, some strangers still tease me about my appearance." He turned to his computer and the paperwork lying nearby. "The key is to not take it personally. You have to get thicker skin."

Squidward's chin fell to his two hands. 'What a buffoon…'

Squilliam walked into the room. He put the permission slip for the school band on the desk. "This has everything, right?" He put a hand on his hip.

The guidance counselor turned to the paper and skimmed at its contents. He nodded. "Yep. You're all set." He glanced at Squidward and a light bulb lit up. "Hey, Squilliam, when you did those pranks, did you really mean to harm Squidward?"

Squidward raised his head. With half-closed eyes, he slouched in his seat and sighed.

Squilliam did a faux chuckle and shook his head. "Nope. I was just fooling around. I do it with everybody." He stepped to Squidward. "As a matter of fact, me and Squid are actually good friends." He put his hands on Squidward's shoulders.

Squidward flinched and pushed back Squilliam's hands. A heaviness began to fill his throat as he watched Squilliam conversate amiably with the counselor. He then covered his face with a hand. Within that darkened vision; the memories of Squilliam's heartless words, the acquaintances who abandoned him to join Squilliam's group, and the laugher of his peers flooded back into his consciousness. He sat up, revealed his moistened eyes, and crossed his arms. "H-He's lying."

The counselor flicked his wrist and chuckled. "Stop playing around."

Squilliam put his hands together behind his back. "Perhaps I did take a few of the jokes too far, but like I said before, I didn't mean to hurt him." He turned to Squidward again and, suppressing his smirk into what looked like a milquetoast smile, held out his hand towards him. "It's all in the past now, right… Squid?"

Squidward perceived that the counselor had crossed his arms. He glanced at the opened doorway and noticed that a staff member was watching him. He sighed. 'Nobody's gonna believe me.' He turned towards Squilliam and, with quivering lips, shook his hand.

"There we go!" The counselor clapped. "Isn't that better?" He stopped chuckling when he saw Squidward's frown."You could've resolved it without my help, right?"

Squidward bent his head.

"Well, that settles it." The counselor leaned against the soft cushion of his seat, turned back to the computer, and resumed typing.

Squilliam, as he exited the room, covered his mouth with a hand to hide his giggling.

Squidward stood up. With hanging arms and a downward gaze, he dragged himself out of the room. He was unable to swallow the lump in his throat.

S-S-S-S-S

Back in the present…

S-S-S-S-S

'Even if they believe me and complain to the school, they won't be able to do anything. Nobody would believe them.' Squidward sat up and, with his forearms on his lap, folded his hands together. "It's 'cause I'm getting too much pressure from school," he said softly.

"What do you mean?" said his father.

Squidward swallowed his lips.

The mother perceived Squidward's lack of eye contact. "Squidward, don't lie to us. If you want to get into a good university, you have to make your grades stay top-notch. We're only going to punish you for your own sake."

Squidward sighed.

"Now, tell us the truth… the entire truth," said his mother.

"My art club is going to be part of the country's high school art contest, and it's giving me a lotta stress."

His father leaned back, putting his arms on the head of his chair. "That's nothing." He pointed at Squidward. "What you're feeling is the type of pressure you're supposed to get. It's what enables you to push your limits."

Squidward slowly shook his head. "The thing is, I can't stop thinking about it. Whenever I try to focus in class or am in the middle of homework, I keep thinking about how my submission for the contest will turn out." He held up the sketchbook again. "That's why I always bring this with me." He dropped the sketchbook to his lap and slipped his forearms under the book's covers. "There's a lot of people in the club this year, so there's gonna be a lotta competition."

His father detected the artificial tone of Squidward's voice. "So what? Aren't you able to multitask?"

"The contest isn't some run-of-the-mill event where everybody gets participation awards," said Squidward. "There are high stakes involved. The people who win the national or regional level are going to get free rides from famous art colleges, including T university."

His mother jumped to her feet. "Can I see what you're submitting?"

Squidward flipped to a certain page of the sketchbook, unheedingly stood up, and gave the book to his mother.

His father nearly lost his breath at the sight of the scars. He grabbed Squidward's left forearm and examined it. "How did you get these?!" He blanched.

Squidward bit his lip. He glanced around. He managed to push away enough memories of Squilliam's bullying to make a light bulb light up in his head. He took a deep breath, sat back in his seat, and forced his trembling hands to fold together again. "I was playing soccer for gym class today and ended up bumping into somebody from the opponent team. Since it was done indoors, I fell to a hard floor, which made the bruises worse." He forced out a smile. "I couldn't play for the rest of the game after that."

His mother ran to the bathroom.

The father made Squidward sit on the sofa. He adjusted his glasses and glanced at the scars again. He shook his head. "There's no way you can get injuries that bad just from bumping into someone." He furrowed his brows. "Are you being honest?"

Squidward leaned forward and nodded. "Y-Yes!"

His father sighed. After several seconds of contemplation, he opened his eyes. "Fine, I'll believe you." He glanced at the photos hanging on the room's walls until one of them caught his attention. His lips curved. "Now that I think about it, I can see how you got hurt that badly." He put a hand on Squidward's shoulder. "You were trying your best when you played that soccer game, right?"

Squidward attempted to feign an exhale of relief but his heavy throat made it sound more like a sigh. "Yeah."

His father pointed at the photo that had caught his attention. "You see that photo over there?"

Squidward sat up and looked at the photo his father was pointing at. The photo was of his father, in his teenage years, and his teammates holding a trophy. He then perceived the twinkling in his father's eyes. "Yes."

"It was the final game for our county's high school football championship." His father clasped his hands together near his heart. "I had to go beyond my body's limits by the final quarter." He chuckled. "I was getting so exhausted that I couldn't even feel my legs." He moved his gaze back to Squidward and put his hands on his hips. "The quarter was about to end in a tie… and I was the guy who broke it." He patted his right shin. "But I had to pay a price." He pointed at the part of the photo that showed his right leg, which was blurry. "In order to make that touchdown, I had to pass through some . One guy bumped into me so hard that he nearly broke my shin, but the ball made it in anyway."

Squidward's mother ran back into the room, bringing an ointment and a special type of gauze.

Squidward kept his body lying on the sofa as his parents applied the gauze and ointment to his limbs. His father's words, which echoed in his mind, caused his thoughts to morph into the chaotic images associated with the art contest. One of his hands began to tremble.

S-S-S-S-S

Several hours later…

S-S-S-S-S

The window near the bed still refused to show any daylight. The room was soaked in the darkness of early dawn.

With baggy and bloodshot eyes, Squidward had been staring at that window for several hours. Ever since the night began, he did not get a single second of sleep. The dull pain he felt in his limbs forced his eyes to remain open. Each time the pain peaked into a sharp sting, the images of falling down the stairs and incoming feet returned to his mental vision.

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward was lying on the bottom of a stairwell in an obscure area of the campus. Bruises were on his shins and forearms.

Squilliam was standing on the top of the stairwell. He was holding Squidward's bookbag. He glanced at the nearby walls and perceived that no cameras were in sight.

A male freshman with an ice cream tattoo on his arm put his hands on his hips and took in the sight of his handiwork. He smirked in a manner that was almost identical to that of his idol, Squilliam. "Y'know something..."

"Yeah?" Squilliam was bumping fists with and high-fiving the other members of his clique.

"Maybe he should drink bleach," said the freshman.

Squilliam and a few other members laughed.

Squilliam patted the freshman on the back. "Good idea." He then whispered to the other group members.

Squidward stood up with trembling legs. He crossed his arms. He held his tongue with his teeth until he managed to suppress his quivering lips. "G-Gimme back my stuff," he said in a quiet voice that was meant to be a shout.

Squilliam and his clique lined up on the top of the stairs.

"Drink bleach!"

"Drink bleach!"

"Drink bleach!"

"Drink bleach!"

After the group had chanted for nearly a minute, one of them then tossed an empty plastic bottle towards Squidward.

Squidward's lips resumed their quivering, but with more intensity than before. His heavy throat caused him to struggle to swallow his saliva.

A light bulb lit up in Squilliam's head. He shushed the clique members and brought them to a huddle.

S-S-S-S-S

A few minutes later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward was being held against the wall by the stronger members of the clique. He gradually blanched as he watched Squilliam pour unknown combinations of liquids into the plastic bottle that had been thrown.

The other group members, with their cell phones, were recording what was occurring before them.

After pouring a final liquid into the bottle; Squilliam capped the bottle, thoroughly shook it, and then held the bottle away from his face. Perceiving that the 'beverage' had a thick consistency, he whispered "Perfect." He then opened the bottle and inched it towards Squidward.

The mixture's acrid odor wafted into Squidward's nostrils.

Squidward winced. He began to gasp as he attempted to fight back the overwhelming urge to cry.

The bystanders laughed and leaned their phones towards Squidward, making sure to capture the creases in his face.

Squilliam took hold of Squidward's chin. "Oh come on, Squid, it's only gonna be a few seconds." He tapped the bottle. "This is just medicine. Everything in it is healthy."

Squidward squirmed as the bottle reached his face. His head reddened as he tried to keep his mouth and eyes shut.

One of the people holding the phones sniggered. "Damn, he looks constipated…"

The entire clique, including Squilliam, laughed so hard that they lost their breaths.

Squilliam jabbed the bottle into Squidward's mouth.

Squidward's tongue became filled with a burning sensation that was as painful as licking the needles of a sea urchin. He spat out the mixture and coughed.

Squilliam poured the mixture over Squidward's head.

The clique members holding Squidward loosened their grips, allowing Squidward to fall into the puddle of liquid face-first.

Squidward quickly sat up and covered his eyes with both hands. When he attempted to stand up and step out of the puddle, he slipped on the fluid and fell back to the floor.

When the bystanders felt like they had enough video, they stepped way and huddled amongst each other. After comparing how each of their videos turned out, they posted their videos to a certain website.

"This is the type of thing alotta people like. Watch, it'll get millions of views in no time."

Squidward sat in a fetal position with crossed arms. When he stopped hearing the sounds of Squilliam and his clique walking up the stairs, he began to sob.

S-S-S-S-S

A week later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward stood with trembling legs before the opened doorway of his father's boatmobile. He was gripping his bookbag's handles so tightly that his knuckles were pale.

His father was gesturing for him to enter the car. His eyes had narrowed.

His mother tapped his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Squidward swallowed his lips and took a step forward. His mental vision wandered to the demonic grins and twisted scowls he will catch glimpses of near the school's entrance. Nausea gradually filtered into his head, causing him to teeter to one side.

His mother dropped her jaw. She held him by the arm until he stood straight.

"I'm just drowsy," said Squidward.

S-S-S-S-S

A month later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward, with trembling hands, was adding finishing touches to his collage. No matter how much he tried to focus on his work, his mind kept wandering back to Squilliam, who was working right next to him.

Mr. Brown and the other club sponsor, with hands behind their backs, were inspecting the students' art pieces.

Mr. Brown stepped to Squidward's art piece. He narrowed his eyes at certain spots on the collage, which had images tilted in awkward angles. "Squid, what's happened to you?"

Squidward bit his lip. His gaze fell.

Mr. Brown tilted Squidward's head until he was looking at him in the eye. "I know you can do better than this."

Squilliam was smirking and shaking his head.

Squidward strained his face to produce a mask of calmness. "O-Okay."

"You still have that spark." Mr. Brown crouched. He touched Squidward's chest with his 'index finger'. "It's the gods who gave you your talent. Nobody, not even brats like him"— he glanced at Squilliam—"can take that away from you."

Squidward's lips tremblingly curved. With a vigor that caused countless new and bizarre ideas to gush forth, he began to browse through piles of magazines nobody in the club had ever used before.

Squilliam knit his brows. He quickly rummaged through magazines filled with worn-out images.

S-S-S-S-S

Several months later…

S-S-S-S-S

A lamp on a desk was softly illuminating Squidward's bedroom. On the same desk was a clock that said '11:48 PM'.

A medium-sized statue that depicted a male mermaid with a fish head lied in the center of the room, on a giant sheet that had dried stains of clay on it.

With sweat trickling down his knit brows, Squidward was carving and smoothing out the art piece's intricate details. His eyes were baggy and bloodshot.

When the thought of Squilliam bawling like an infant after losing the art contest passed by, he stepped back and chuckled. With his arms in akimbo, he scrutinized the statue.

The sculpture's octopus nose looked nearly identical to a real octopus nose. The shield it was holding was covered with various insignias of monarchies that used to exist in the underwater world.

Squidward blew a kiss towards the sculpture. "It's almost complete." He took off his artist's gown.

S-S-S-S-S

A month later…

S-S-S-S-S

A group of male students were sitting and standing near the art studio's door. They were keeping their eyes towards their textbooks and scribbling nonsensical sentences into their notebooks.

There were no staff members in the hallways.

Squilliam was peeking through the door's window at the art pieces students had submitted for the art contest. When he perceived that Squidward's art piece was still in the studio's kitchen area, he gestured towards the clique members.

The clique members ceased their acting and gathered around Squilliam.

One of the members tilted his head towards one side and put a hand on his chin. He glanced at the clock, which indicated that the school day had ended ten minutes ago. "So, what're we here for?"

Squilliam put his hands on his hips. "It's about the art contest."

"Oh yeah, you're gonna share the spoils if you win, right?" said a member, who was a milkfish wearing a shiny wristwatch.

Squilliam nodded. "But it's not gonna be that easy." He glanced at the camera that was hanging against the intersection that the hallway leading to the studio was connected to. "If I'm going to win that contest, I gotta make sure Squiddy doesn't get a leg up ahead of me."

One of the group members, a pufferfish, had a buck-toothed smile. "I can see that. His art's always been pretty goo-"

"Shut up," said Squilliam.

The other clique members scowled at the pufferfish..

The pufferfish swallowed his lips and deflated somewhat.

Squilliam pulled the group into a huddle and hissed: "I'm gonna put Squiddy out of his misery by getting rid of his silly excuse for a sculpture!" He pointed, through the door's window, at the sink that was within the studio's kitchen area. "And that'll be done by flooding the room. Since a few pipes upstairs are broken, they're gonna believe that that was the cause of the flooding."

"How is flooding the room gonna ruin the statue? Aren't statues supposed to be hard as rocks?" The milkfish put his hands into his pockets. "Assuming that the statue is as hard as a rock, it'll take forever for the water to erode it."

Some of the clique members widened their eyes. "Damn, he's smart," one of them whispered.

Squilliam tilted his head upward. "What you've forgotten is that Squid's statue is made out of that cheap clay you can find at the Barg'N-Mart. The water will make it melt very quickly."

"But what about the other art in the room? It'll ruin yours and mine too," said the milkfish.

"If you would've let me tell you the whole plan, I would've said that the the other artwork will be placed on the tables so the water won't touch them."

"But that'll make it look suspicious. If Squid's statue is the only one to get ruined, they'll figure out pretty quick that somebody broke the sink on purpose," said the milkfish.

Squilliam held his 'index finger' and 'thumb' a centimeter away from each other. "That's why you gotta let the pipe leak a little bit at first. Today's Friday, so the sink'll have all weekend to build up enough water to damage Squiddy's sculpture, which is more than enough time. In this school, the janitors come on diferent days, on different shifts, but never on the weekends. When Monday rolls around and one of them notices that the art had been placed on the tables, that guy'll think some other janitor put them there before the flooding got really bad."

The milkfish pursed his lips and nodded.

"So this is how the plan is gonna go..." Squilliam proceeded to give orders while pointing at certain group members.

S-S-S-S-S

A few hours later…

S-S-S-S-S

A camera in the distance had had its lens covered by a shot of bubble gum.

The milkfish was pacing around. No matter how many times he tried not to, he continued to glance at the camera. "Are you sure the security guards won't be able to see us?"

C-CLACK

After switching between several of Mr. Brown's keys (which he had left in the main office), Squilliam managed to unlock the studio's door. He chuckled. "You worry too much. I've thought out everything weeks ago."

The clique sneaked into the room.

A majority of them proceeded to lift the submissions for the art contest to the tables; while Squilliam, the milkfish, and a few others focused their attention on the sink.

S-S-S-S-S

A few days later…

S-S-S-S-S

Sink water filled with a peculiar color was flowing out of the art studio's opened door. It had spread to nearly all of the hallways in the floor.

CLINGs and CLANGs were coming from indiscernible directions.

Technicians, janitors, and plumbers were running in and out of the studio.

Swish Swash Swish

Squidward was trudging against the ankle-deep water towards the studio. When he saw the commotion inside the studio, he bit his lip and quickened his pace.

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward stepped into the room.

His art piece was not among the art pieces on the tables.

He stared at the kitchen area.

Mr. Brown was standing, with his back facing Squidward, before a sculpture that Squidward could not discern who it belonged to. His hands covered his face as he wept.

Squidward tip-toed to Mr. Brown. "W-What happened?"

Mr. Brown lifted a finger towards the sculpture.

Squidward stepped to the sculpture. He scrutinized all of its parts.

The water from the opened pipe was spraying against the statue's back. The tips of the 'mermaid's tail had fallen off. The insignias on the shield could no longer be distinguished. The features of the sculpture's face had eroded to the point that they looked like those of a zombie.

'No way.' Squidward slowly shook his head and attempted to swallow a lump that was forming in his throat. With a trembling hand, he stroked the statue and then held the sample of moistened clay towards his face. It was the same type he had used to create the statue, dark blue. Tears began to fill his eyes.

Mr. Brown put a hand on Squidward's shoulder.

Squidward hugged Mr. Brown, sniveling against his chest.

Mr. Brown's crying intensified. He returned the hug and leaned against the side of Squidward's head. "I-It was such a beautiful work of art…"

Pplurt

Several drops of water landed on Squidward's face.

SPLASH

Squidward opened his eyes.

The sculpture's head, now detached, was bobbing on the water.

Squidward released himself from Mr. Brown's embrace and grabbed the head. He gazed at its 'face' for a seemingly endless amount of time.

The sculpture's octopus nose, though somewhat hidden within the melted clay, was still attached to the same spot.

The corners of Squidward's trembling lips curved slightly.

A plumber bumped into Squidward.

Splurt

The statue's nose slipped from the 'head' and landed in the water.

"Woops." The plumber wore a smile and stepped back. "'xcuse me."

Squidward picked up the nose.

Without the nose, the 'head' now looked like the skull of an extraterrestrial creature.

A stronger and overwhelming set of tears surged to Squidward's eyes. He sobbed as he feebly attempting to stick the nose back to the 'head'.

CRRRREeeak

The other members of the art club entered the room. Nearly all of them expressed some form of genuine shock; except for Squilliam, who had forgotten to put on an act.

Squidward caught a glimpse of Squilliam's smirk. His chaotic thoughts rapidly converged into a darker direction.

Squilliam swallowed his lips and forced his unibrow to move upward.

'He was the one who must've flooded this place.' Squidward twisted his brows into such a fierce scowl that it caused Squilliam to nearly wince.

Squilliam bit his tongue while keeping his mouth closed. Taking wide steps back, he camouflaged among the students who had gathered near the art pieces.

Squidward slammed the nose and the 'head' to a table. He was gritting his teeth

Mr. Brown wiped the tears from his face. He moved to the center of the room and then clapped until all of his students were looking at him.

The students gathered around Mr. Brown. Squilliam made sure to stand as far away from Squidward as possible.

Mr. Brown folded his hands together. "Due to the…" He pointed with his thumb at the opened pipes. "...accident that happened here, we'll have our club meeting in Room 239."

S-S-S-S-S

Several hours later…

S-S-S-S-S

The pipes in the sink had been covered with a type of plaster. They no longer leaked.

RIIIIIINNNNG

The school bell's alarm pierced through the speakers.

Students quickly filled and zipped their bookbags. Grinning, they briskly walked towards the exit.

SLAM

Squidward, with swinging arms and the same scowl he had in the morning, stomped through the river of peers towards Mr. Brown. When he reached the teacher's desk, he banged it with both of his palms.

Mr Brown, who had been repeatedly glancing at the sink's pipes, sat up with a jolt. "Oh…" He wore a grin. "Uh, hello Squidward."

Squidward put a hand on his hip and pointed at the sink. "That flood in the classroom was not an accident."

Mr. Brown leaned forward. "Hm?!" His chin rested on folded hands.

Squidward pointed at the ceiling. "There's no way the leaking pipes in the other floors can cause the leakage that happened here."

Mr. Brown perceived that both of Squidward's wrists were trembling. He glanced at the scars that the flood had left on the lower walls. "Where are you going with this?"

"Somebody messed with the sink's pipe on purpose." Squidward pointed at the artwork lying on the tables. "Why were all the art moved to the tables while mine was left on the floor? Especially when it was right next to the sink?"

Mr. Brown shrugged. "One of the janitors said that another janitor probably put them on the tables." At the thought of the lazy janitors sloppily mopping the floors of pitch-black rooms, his artificial smile twisted into one of genuine amusement. He perceived how the angles of the walls gave the kitchen area a darker shade compared to the rest of the studio. "The janitor who came to this room must've kept the lights off."

Squidward cocked a brow.

"I'll show you." Mr. Brown stood up, walked to the light switch, and flicked it off. He then ran to the door and tapped its window, where light from the hallways was passing through. "As you can see, not all of them turn on the lights when they're sweeping here since the light switch is kinda hard to find. Alotta them wanna save time." He ran back to the light switch, flicked it on, and pointed at the kitchen area. "The guy who cleaned here must've overlooked that place."

Squidward was tapping the floor with one foot. "That still doesn't explain how the pipe got broken." He marched to the sink. "This pipe leaked in a very different way than the ones upstairs." He circled the plastered section of the pipes. "The other pipes leaked 'cause they had cracks in them, but this one had its halves slightly disconnected..."

Mr. Brown sighed. Without paying much attention to the rest of Squidward's words, he pulled him away from the pipes. "Squid, at this point, there's nothing we can do."

While keeping his head leaning towards the sink, Squidward closed his moistening eyes.

"When I found out the room got flooded, I had almost the same thoughts that you're having right now." Mr. Brown crouched and lightly tugged Squidward's shoulders, making him face him. "But no matter how much I asked the janitors or looked at the leak, I couldn't find any solid evidence of somebody tampering with the pipes. The destruction of your sculpture was out of your control."

Squidward covered his face with one hand. Any satisfying image of dragging Squilliam to the same pit of emptiness he was in disappeared from his thoughts.

"This art competition won't be your only chance to shine." Mr. Brown gently took hold of Squidward's chin and tilted it towards the many famous paintings hanging on the studio's walls. "There'll be infinite opportunities awaiting you."

"But that contest is my only shot at getting any fame for my art. I'm not rich."

Mr. Brown shook his head. "It doesn't matter if you go to a good college or not. At the end of the day, it's your talent that matters. Many of the artists in our country's history didn't even receive a high school educa..."

Squidward looked towards elsewhere. He no longer forced himself to continue listening to Mr. Brown.

S-S-S-S-S

A few hours later...

S-S-S-S-S

The nose, the head, and the rest of the sculpture's body had been placed into the center of Squidward's bedroom; in the exact same positions.

Squidward was sitting on his knees before the remains of his sculpture. His hands were touching the statue's knees, which still had some level of detail. Within his closed eyes; he imagined his artwork fading into the archives of obscurity, an emaciated version of himself pushing through the stages of life in rags, and the name engraved on his tombstone melting away like his sculpture. The images then shifted to Squilliam's ascension towards high society; the thunderous orchestras he would perform in front of countless people, his artwork receiving praise from the most rigorous of critics, his image constantly appearing on TV screens throughout the world's oceans, and his tomb among those of the Heroes revered by the Mysterian sect.

Squidward leaned against his sculpture, covering his face with both hands as he sobbed. His mental voices shifted towards fervent prayer to any deity of art that passed through his thoughts. After several minutes of almost total stillness, the mental voices wandered towards other realms.

"You still have that spark."

A soft voice reverberated in his head.

He opened his eyes and wiped the tears from them. He sat on his knees again.

"It's the gods who gave you your talent."

He walked to a treasure chest and unlatched it. One by one, he looked through the various types of art he had created over the years. Starting with an amateur doodle that had a technique that was sophisticated compared to those of his kindergarten classmates, memories of praise from his teachers and peers returned to his mind. After a minute of savoring the sweet feelings, his throat no longer felt heavy.

"Nobody, not even brats like him, can take that away from you."

He remembered the sneer Squilliam had given him when he had shown his beautiful painting to the art class last year. 'Yeah… he's just jealous.' He pictured all of Squilliam's friends cowering behind Squilliam like children clinging to their father. 'All of them are jealous.' His lips tremblingly formed a smirk. 'If I'm getting all of that hate, I must be one of the best artists who will ever live.' He resumed shuffling through the treasure chest..

After discovering some of the self-portraits contained in the treasure chest'; he glanced at his bedroom's walls, imagined how beautiful they would look while being covered in his self-portraits. 'Guess I got some-'

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Squidward's heartbeat quickened. When he had managed to return to his train of thought, he could not fully regain the comforting warmth of self-congratulation. His upper eyelids closed halfway, the corners of his mouth drooped slightly, and furrows appeared on his forehead; forming, for the first time, his signature deadpan face.

A strand of his blond hair fell to the floor.

S-S-S-S-S

Several weeks later...

S-S-S-S-S

A light breeze swept through the schoolyard.

Squidward zipped up his sweater and moved closer to the exterior wall he was sitting against. His hairline had begun to recede. He bit his tongue as he heard chatter coming from a certain direction. He forced his eyes to stay on his lunch.

"Damn…"

"Squilly, can I see that?"

"You're getting scholarships already? Heh, I didn't even start looking yet."

"...wow."

Squilliam, who was sitting at one of the wooden tables, had gathered a large crowd of friends and peers. They were gazing at the certificate he was holding up, which signified that he won the high school art competition at the national level.

Among the crowd was a group of underclassmen that were standing behind him. One of them eventually poked his shoulder.

Squilliam turned to the underclassmen, leaned his back against the table, and raised his unibrow.

"C-Can we take a picture of you?" The underclasswoman tremblingly pointed towards her camera

Squilliam perceived that their shirts were splattered with paint from the art studio. His smirk widened to almost a grin. "All of you are aspiring artists, right?"

All of the underclassmen nodded eagerly.

Squilliam tapped both sides of his seat. "Go ahead."

The underclassmen sat around Squilliam.

As he heard the flashes of cameras, Squidward's thoughts returned to comforting images and voices. 'What a bunch of losers. They're just leeching off some sellout. They'd never recognize real talent if it spat them in the face.'

One of the students sitting at Squilliam's table looked to her left and saw Squidward; taking note of his frown and pouty lips, which unintentionally made him look like a child attempting to look intimidating. "Hey, Steve, look," she whispered.

Steve looked at Squidward. He chuckled. "Isn't that the guy in the video who drank from that bottle?"

"Yup," said the female student. "I've also heard that he also has some sort of rivalry with Squilliam."

Squidward looked away after making eye contact with Steve.

"Squid's art is always so weird," said Steve.

"Yeah, he'll never be as good as Squilliam," said the female student.

S-S-S-S-S

A few months later…

S-S-S-S-S

"Would you like to go, Squid?" said Mr. Brown.

Squidward; with his head tilted upward, his eyes closed, and his eyebrows raised; stood up from his seat. A bald spot had formed on his scalp. He was holding a painting wrapped in a wrapping he had personally made. When he faced the class, he opened his eyes and unwrapped the painting. "Voila!" He held up the painting towards the class as if it was a holy icon.

Most of the class narrowed their eyes or raised their brows.

The painting was a mashup of inharmonious colors that formed the outline of an octopus nose.

Mr. Brown scrutinized the painting, put a hand on his chin, and sighed. "I'm sorry, but this is not up to par."

Squidward, without opening his lips, clenched his teeth. He straightened his posture and pointed at the painting. "No, I think you are the one who is mistaken. I've made sure that all of the colors contrasted fittingly with each other. This work-of-art is a culmination of countless days of research. You can't just dismiss it right away."

Mr. Brown folded his arms. "Squidward, please sit down."

"But this classic technique had been used by the best artists who had ever graced this world. There's no way this can be not 'up-to-par'. Take another look." Squidward shoved the painting towards Mr. Brown. "Maybe you'll warm up to it."

"Please. Sit. Down," said Mr. Brown.

A group of students in one corner of the studio giggled.

Squidward stood on tip-toe and pointed at Mr. Brown. "How can you call yourself a teacher if you aren't even willing to analyze something that's a little more complicated than a doodle? I bet this art piece is way more nuanced than almost everything else made by the other students in this school."

Mr. Brown pushed down Squidward to his normal height. He put his hands on his hips. "How can you call yourself a student if you can't accept the advice of those more experienced than you?" He pushed away the painting. "At the end of day, time and effort will not always translate to good art. Please. Sit. Down."

Several students laughed as Squidward returned to his seat.

Squidward rested his face against the painting.

S-S-S-S-S

A year later…

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward was standing on the sandy plain a few miles from his home. Only a few strands of blond hair was left on his head.

Before him was a hole he had dug with his own hands. Behind that hole was a wooden tombstone with the words 'HERE LiES SQUIDWARD'S HOPES AND DREAMS' etched on it.

He was holding a small box that contained rejection letters from various prestigious art and music universities.

Sniffing back a few tears, he buried the box into its tomb.

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward was sitting at his desk with bloodshot eyes. Within his altered state of consciousness, he saw his high school memories and the memories of the dancing contest getting split and rearranged into unified experiences. Every peculiar detail within these newly formed images stabbed another wound into his heart.

"I've become Squilliam…"

He moved his gaze to his beret, which was lying on his desk.

"I know you can do better than this."

Clinging to the warmness of Mr. Brown's words, he dashed out of the room.

S-S-S-S-S

Fifteen minutes later...

S-S-S-S-S

The lights in the pineapple's living room had been turned off.

Squinting his eyestalks against the TV's glare; Gary watched the realistic-looking fish head with amusement, noting the strange flapping of his mouth.

"This just in. The live debate between the two presidential candidates has been canceled, the first time ever in the Oceanic Union's history. As attested by video footage and photos that have recently leaked onto the internet, an accident had occurred in the studio where the debate had been planned to take place. The incident has alarmed law enforcement, who believe that the damage had been inflicted with political motivations in mind. As a response, government buildings throughout the country have received tightened security."

SpongeBob, who was sitting at the red couch-chair in a fetal position. Tears were streaming down his legs.

Crrrrrrreeeeeeeaaak

Squidward slowly pushed the front door open, tip-toed into the room, and then closed the door so quietly that it sounded like a nail dropping to the floor. He had a humble, yet warm smile. He stepped to the couch-chair with the grace of a ballerina, crouched to SpongeBob's level, and gently tapped his shoulder.

SpongeBob wiped the mucus dripping from his nose, turned around, and dug his face into the couch. "Go away, Squidward. I don't deserve your kindness."

"Don't worry about it." Squidward maintained a firm grip on SpongeBob's shoulder. "I'm giving you another chance."

SpongeBob sighed, turned to face Squidward while keeping his eyes towards the floor, and repeatedly shook his head. "Don't look at me, Squidward. Don't look at my shame." He held out his hands before his face.

The darkness of the room highlighted the graphite and marble dust that had gathered on SpongeBob's palms.

"These hands weren't meant to create. They only destroy. I can't look at them." SpongeBob shoved his hands into his pockets.

"No, they're not!" Squidward grabbed his SpongeBob's arms. A sheen of moisture was still lingering in his eyes. "They're tools of beauty."

SpongeBob's jaw dropped. He wiped the marks on his cheeks his tears left behind. "R-R-Really?"

"Really." Squidward nodded. He stood up.

"Really?" SpongeBob stood on the chair's cushion.

"Really."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Wow." SpongeBob's lips were trembling. "Really?"

Squidward chuckled and took hold of SpongeBob's hand. "Let's go."

SpongeBob leaped to the floor. He pulled the front door open with a SLAM and, like a worm that was eager to retrieve what his owner had fetched, dashed in the college's direction.

Squidward jogged after his pupil.

S-S-S-S-S

Less than ten minutes later...

S-S-S-S-S

Squidward and SpongeBob were standing in the same classroom, before another marble block.

"Okay, SpongeBob. Just do what you did before." Squidward stepped out of the way. His hands were behind his back. His foot began to tap as SpongeBob placed the nail into a position against the marble.

SpongeBob's hands began to tremble. "I... can't..."

A light bulb lit up in Squidward's head. "Ah, ah. Wait, wait. Let me help." He brought a pencil and a blank paper from his own desk. "Let's start with the circle again." He dropped them to SpongeBob's desk.

SpongeBob swallowed his lips, placed his tools on the floor, and sat into his desk. His tongue stuck out slightly as he slowly and deliberately drew jagged lines that would eventually become a circle. After a few quick glances and erasures, he held out the paper. "I did it, Mr. Tentacles!"

"Huh?" A heaviness began to fill Squidward's throat. "B-but what about the head, and the erasing, and t-the-"

SpongeBob folded his hands together and sat up. "I dunno, Mr. Tentacles. That stuff's not in the book." He shrugged.

Squidward lowered his face to his hand and sighed. He grabbed SpongeBob's paper, crumpled it, and shaped it into a cube. "How about this? Remember?"

"That's not in the book either." SpongeBob shook his head and stood up from his seat.

"Forget about the book!" Squidward pitched the paper cube into a trash can. He snatched an empty notebook from his desk, ripped its pages, into pieces and allowed them to fall to the floor. "Look at this mess, SpongeBob. What do all these little pieces of paper make you want to do?" He put his hands on his hips

SpongeBob was tapping his fingers together. After a few seconds, he regained his normal train of thought. "Wait, I know this." He quickly took all of the paper pieces and put them back together into pages. He put the newly formed pages into the notebook. "Ta-da!"

A pause.

Squidward moved his gaze towards the floor, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Let's just move on to the marble," he nearly whispered. He slowly walked back to the marble block.

SpongeBob grabbed the hammer and the nail and ran to the marble block. He put the nail on the block's surface and raised his hammer. "First, an artist must concentrate and visualize his concept." He closed his eyes.

Squidward nodded.

"I've gotta embrace the marble." The palm of SpongeBob's free hand touched the marble's surface.

Squidward nodded again, no longer daring to look at SpongeBob.

"I've gotta sniff the marble!" SpongeBob deeply sniffed the marble several times, taking in its chalky odor.

"Right..." mumbled Squidward.

"I've gotta lick the marble!" SpongeBob licked all of the marble's sides except for its bottom, savoring its bitter flavor.

Squidward lifted his gown until it covered his face. He dragged himself back to his desk, sat down, and let his face lie against its surface.

A few tears began to stain the gown.

SpongeBob raised his hammer again. "With this tool, I shall give birth to art."

CLANG

SpongeBob swung the hammer to the nail..

C-CRACK

RRRUUMMBLLE

The marble block broke into a pile of almost a thousand tiny pieces.

SpongeBob, while scratching his chin, inspected the pile. He raised an index finger. "One more thing." He stepped to the teacher's desk, grabbed a clay octopus nose from a drawer, and put it near the pile's top. He then stepped back, sat on his shins; and poked the pile in certain areas, feeling the firmness of the pile's foundation. "There." He nodded and hopped to his feet. "Now it's art." He stood on tip-toe. "What do you think?"

Squidward sat up and slowly brought down the gown. He stared at the pile. A sense of despair that he had been trying with all of his might to repress began to consume his mind. He dropped his elbow to the desk with a faint thud, let his face fall to his hand, and wept.

Another pause.

SpongeBob put a finger on his lips. "It looks like the excitement of my artistic triumph is too much for Mr. Tentacles." He exited the classroom. 'I should go back home and leave him alone for now.'