Chapter 11: "Something Fishy (and that's not a pun)"

There was only one bed in the room, and SpongeBob had simply refused to let Sandy sleep on the floor, so there she was, laying awake and staring at the ceiling, worrying about SpongeBob being warm enough. It was late, and she was sure that SpongeBob was asleep by this point, so she daren't turn on the television.

She turned on her side to look at him. Sure enough, he was fast asleep, snuggled into a hotel pillow with a blanket pulled up tightly around his little body. He sure looks peaceful. Sandy thought to herself. She sighed. The hotel clock changed to 12:11, and Sandy turned onto her back again, resuming her staring contest with the ceiling.

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The next morning, Meg woke up feeling a certain gloom hanging about the room. Of course, that could be accounted to Gary and Carly's reluctance to let their bath the previous night go. She knew they were probably going to hate her for the next week. But they'd get over it.

Meg glanced at the clock; it was only 7:00. She decided to get up anyway, and flinched at the cold wood under her feet, just another reminder that summer was officially over. She grabbed for her bathrobe, and found that she was still exhausted.

"I know I got to sleep at a decent time last night." She grumbled aloud, sliding her bathrobe around her shivering frame. Her coffee tasted particularly bitter, and she wondered if there was to be any positive side to today.

Once at work, she decided that something really was wrong. Maybe there was some kind of toxic chemical spill somewhere, because everybody was acting like they'd had no sleep and too much coffee. Even Patrick, who'd shown up at the Krusty Krab at about lunch time and ordered four Krabby Patties, seemed...not exactly angry, just not exactly chipper.

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Ring ring! Ring ring!

What was that sound...?

Ring ring! Ring ring!

Wake up call! Sandy grabbed at the hotel phone, and mumbled something incoherent.

"Hello, Miss Cheeks?"

"Yeah?"

"You um, ordered a wake up call? It's seven thirty..."

"Uh-huh, thanks." She slammed the phone back onto the hook, before she noticed that something about the room felt different. She was warmer, and...she could hear...breathing...

SpongeBob.

He was laying inches away from her, his blanket pulled up tighter to his body than it had been the night before. He must have gotten colder after Sandy fell asleep and crawled into bed with her. Very well, that wasn't a problem, good friends could...

She was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to hug him and snuggle back under the blanket with him. And that shocked her, so she decided to wake him up to remove temptation from her path.

"SpongeBob?" Sandy put a hand to SpongeBob's shoulder and shook him, gently. "SpongeBob, c'mon we gotta head out."

"Hmm?" His eyes fluttered open, sparkling and blue. She must have awoken him from a good dream, and suddenly felt bad. No matter, they did have to be getting on. They were more than halfway there already, and Sandy was sure that if they drove another seven or so hours, they should be able to hit Missouri City by that night.

"Mornin' sleepy head!" She jumped down off of the bed and began digging around in her suitcase for her toothbrush.

"Oh...good morning, Sandy!" SpongeBob sat up and rubbed his eyes, and then jumped up and shook the sleep away. Sandy envied his ability to just pop awake.

"Sleep well?" Sandy asked from the bathroom, and then stuck her toothbrush in her mouth.

"Great!" He replied.

-----

"C'mon Squidward, this is bad even for you." Meg reprimanded, tired of having been yelled at all day by Squidward, who was probably being rubbed the wrong way by being constantly shouted at by Mr. Krabs from his office.

"It's not my fault I'm having a bad day!" He retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Actually, it is." Meg corrected. She dried her hands off and began stacking plates.

"How do you figure?" Squidward asked.

"Well, your negative attitude isn't helping things. You need to think positive thoughts, something that makes you calm."

"Work doesn't make me calm!"

"It should." Meg leaned through the window. "See, you're looking at it wrong. You're looking at it like it's something that you have to do to feed yourself. You should be looking at it as an outlet for your energy. Something to do to alleviate boredom, a way to--"

"Because that's what it is for you!" Squidward shouted, drawing the attention of a few customers.

Meg flinched. He was trying to sting her...he'd been at it all day. Every time she said something, even if she had the best of intentions, he'd taken it and twisted her words into something that they weren't, and then said something sharp in reply. It was wearing on her, and she wasn't sure whether she'd break down crying or beat the deep fryer to a pulp.

On her way home from work, Meg thought the sky seemed unusually dark. Not because of the time of evening, either; it felt...gray. Like Bikini Bottom was sick. And she discovered the couch ripped to bits when she arrived at her house, also. "Carly! GARY!"