As always...

Disclaimer: I do not own Penguins of Madagascar or its characters.

And I can't wait to write more Immortals fangirling moments. (It was slightly inspired from Central Park Dormitory by catty-cat-cat - and for some reason St. Olga's Reform School for Wayward Princesses too - btw...)

Chapter 3: Danish Basketball

The ordinary basketball bounced and bounced on the pavement as Phil guided it towards the nearby park. Weather was peaceful but most importantly, detention had been uneventful.

Mason wouldn't tell him what got him into detention that morning other than the fact that he was late for first period. Although Phil did hear him grumbling something about the 'A-List' and a new episode he didn't know about (he also commented on 'marketing' or something, but Phil still didn't get it). Honestly, Mason's talking-to-himself ritual creeped him up sometimes. Even after twelve years knowing him, Phil still had troubles tolerating it. He swore that Mason was actually talking to…

Forget it.

Mason had never gotten into this sort of trouble before today. Phil couldn't even imagine what his twin was doing back at home just because of this detention fiasco.

And the twins never imagined that their dad's gaze can be that life-threatening before, either.

"Your first day of school, and you've already gotten into trouble?"

To Phil, the awesome part was that Mason was on the scolded side too.

"Next time this happens again, you two will be grounded for two weeks."

At least what happened to Mason wasn't as embarrassing. If he had died in that locker – which Phil hoped would never happen – he could haunt the school, roam around protecting the innocents and kick some bully butts to quench his thirst for revenge. I mean, how cool is that? Phil grinned to himself.

If I had died in the girls' bathroom – wait how do you die in a bathroom anyway? – Oh well, it'll be fun… until Mason's ghost finds me and exposes me to Grandma so she can shoot me with one of her guns.

I'm telling you, Mason, dibs on Grandma's guns.

Why would she have guns, anyway?

Phil caught the ball midair just before entering the park's basketball field. The park itself was mostly deserted, probably because it was Monday. The basketball field was occupied by a kid with jet black hair which oddly seemed too shiny, like silk. His lips were much redder than it should be, but if Phil had to guess it was probably because of the red lollipop the kid was eating.

"Hey you!"

Despite the park's condition, Phil was still surprised to find the kid's finger pointed at him.

"What?"

The kid marched closer, abandoning his own basketball that was thrown right into the hoop just seconds before. "What are you doing here?" Phil guffawed inwardly at his accent and his demanding look. How old is this kid? What, nine?

"Well, I have a basketball right here with me… I thought my intention was clear enough."

"You think you're so smart, don't you?"

Phil shrugged. "Nothing much. B-straight student. Hey, don't introductions start off with names?"

"I don't care about your name," he glowered, "But everyone here knows my name," said the boy, who could just be the one to be honored with 'snobbiest glare of the year' award in Phil's whole life. Sure, his twin and their mother came close before. Or maybe Phil was just biased.

Phil grimaced playfully, and then he started throwing his basketball back and forth between his two hands. "Well, I don't. I thought from the sentence 'introductions start off with names' you'd get the idea that I don't know."

The boy squinted, half digesting Phil's sentence and half annoyed out of his mind. "What's your deal, man?"

Phil laughed inwardly – this kid was too cute.

"What's with the German accent?" Phil threw the ball to the ground; it bounced up right into the kid's waiting hands.

"FYI, it's not German accent," retorted the boy. The ball bounced back into Phil's hands with burning irritation. Losing the ball seemed to calm his nerves a bit, especially after Phil received it with an 'oof' he failed to hide. It managed to tug the corner of his mouth to grin if only slightly. "I was raised in Denmark before I moved here."

Phil was started. He was very sure that it was German. But then again, he still couldn't point out which one is Netherland and which one is Germany on a blind map. See, Dad should've taken me on his Europe business trip last summer. "Isn't it like… still further north? How did you end up here?" Phil passed the ball to him.

This time somehow the kid looked like he could find comfort from it, and he dribbled it for a while as if to muster some courage to answer back before doing so. "My parents split up when I was little. When Dad remarries his first wife I was handed back to my Mom. I can tolerate my sister, but my cousins?" He shuddered. The ball was back in his hands. "They're all crazy. And I have to live next door to them."

Phil rolled his eyes. "If you wanna talk crazy, you should see my brother. He's crazy clean. I think he has light OCD or something. He can't stop complaining about my socks, dude, like… he should totally chill. He couldn't even tolerate sweat."

The dribble stopped as the kid's eyebrow rose in interest; his brown eyes were beaming devilishly. "Oh then he should meet my cousin. She's also crazy clean."

"No one is as crazy clean as my brother."

He walked up to Phil and handed him the ball back with a shudder. "Fortunately for your bro, I was being sarcastic."

"Really?"

"Absolutely, dumb-dumb. She smokes, her room is nasty stinky, and she has gas issue every night. My aunt had given up on changing her years ago, and Mom just let her be because she's a genius."

"Was that last bit sarcastic too?"

The boy gave him a look before half sighing and half groaning, "No, unfortunately. I'm just glad that she's in college already so she should be moving away sometime soon."

"Mason wouldn't survive a minute with her."

"And that's without her noticing him."

Phil burst into laughter. Images of Mason bottling up his disgust or fainting flooded Phil's mind. He would pay to see that.

To his astonishment, the kid was actually laughing with him.

New York turned out to be not so bad.

After their laughter died down, he eyed Phil from top to bottom, and he had a calculating look on his face that Phil didn't know how to react on. But then, he said, "Look, you might be a little weird. But I like you."

"Uhh thanks?"

"Up for a one on one?"

Phil grinned challengingly.

"Phil Pane."

"Hans Leeves."

A/N: Phil and Hans. Give them a big applause, peeps!