Ventura, CA, two years, eight months prior:

It was summer time. That meant no school for Micky, and he and Peter had taken advantage of that fact by rehearsing every day throughout June, July, and August. They had continued to audition for gigs, and one spectacular night, they got their first job.

It was at a local club in their neighborhood, and they were there now, setting up, when it happened. Micky met a girl.

Their meeting wasn't very romantic, there was no heavenly light, no singing choir, nothing like that. In fact, they met because Micky tripped over Peter's guitar case and fell off the stage, and she was walking by to set up tables and she tripped over him.

Peter jumped down to make sure they were both alright as they helped each other up, laughing the whole while.

"Sorry about that," Micky said, dusting off his shirt. "I wasn't watching where I was going." "No, it's no problem," the waitress said. "You just caught me by surprise, is all."

"Hey, are you alright?" Peter asked. Micky and the girl both nodded and kept talking.

"My name's Micky," said Micky. "I'm the California Dreamer." The girl smiled. "Neat," she said. "My name's Penny. I'm from Washington." "Washington?" Micky asked. "That's pretty cool. What brings you to Ventura?"

The girl shrugged. "I moved out here to live with my aunt. I wanted to get a change of scenery, and this was my best option." Micky nodded. "That makes sense," he said. "Hey, I gotta finish setting up, wanna hang out after the gig's over?" Penny smiled. "Sure," she said. "As long as you don't mind helping me bust down tables. I work here, remember? I don't get off after you're done playing, I get off after the people quit paying."

"Hey, that was neat!" Micky said. "How did you come up with that?" Penny smirked. "You mean the rhyme?" She asked. "It's just something I've always been good at. Some girls cook, some girls clean, I got into the poetry scene."

Micky smiled. "Wow, that's pretty amazing," he said. "Hey, Donaldson!" The owner of the club called out. Penny turned towards him. "Yeah?" She said. The owner pointed at the clock. "We open in five minutes," he said. "And you haven't finished putting coasters on the tables!"

Penny turned back to Micky. "Well," she said. "I'll talk to ya after the show. Good luck!" Then she turned and got back to work.

Micky smiled and climbed back onto the stage, where Peter was tuning his bass. "Did you see that?" He asked. "She was totally into me!" Peter smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Congratulations. Now, can you set up your drums? We only have five minutes."

"Oh, yeah, sure!" Micky said. "Man, this is gonna be great! Our first gig! Can you believe it?" Peter nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I'm kinda nervous." "Well, whatever you do, don't start that dying fish routine," Micky said. "We're here to sing, not freak people out."

"Right." Peter finished tuning his bass and played a few notes from their opening song. They still did mostly covers, which was one of the reasons they hadn't gotten many of the gigs they'd auditioned for. As a result, Peter and Micky were trying to write songs of their own, but they had quickly discovered it was a lot harder to write songs than to simply learn them.

Micky finished setting up his drums and began to play along to Peter's bass, and they hummed along to get their voices warmed up. "Alright," Micky said when they'd finished. "I'm ready to play!"

The customers seemed to like them, some of them got up and danced during some of the more upbeat songs, and as they played, Micky kept catching Penny's eye. He smiled. She was definitely watching him.

During one song, she didn't have any customers to wait on, and she danced along a little bit in the back of the room. She wasn't the best dancer, in fact, she seemed to be dancing goofily on purpose. It made Micky want to laugh, but he was in the middle of singing a song, so he had to stifle it.

After the set was over, he climbed out from behind his drums, jumped down from the stage and ran up to Penny.

"Bus boy Dolenz, reporting for duty!" He said, standing at attention and giving a salute. Penny laughed. "Alright, then," she said. "You can start clearing dishes off of empty tables. The kitchen's right through that door, just stack them by the sink. And don't let the cook hit you, tell her I sent you in there!"

Micky nodded and ran off to a nearby table, gathering the dirty plates, silverware, and cups. Then, balancing them precariously in one hand, he walked to the kitchen and stepped through the door.

"No guests allowed!" A mean looking lady in a hair net said, glaring at him. "Oh, it' okay!" Micky said, cautiously eyeing a metal spatula the cook was brandishing. "Penny sent me in here to help, so we could get the work done faster and then hang out."

The cook humphed. "That silly girl..." She muttered before turning back to her business. "Leave the dishes by the sink," she ordered. Micky, who was already walking away after doing just that, paused and glanced back at her. "SIR, YES SIR!" He said, standing at attention and giving a salute.

The cook turned back towards him, mouth open in shock and her face getting red. Micky figured it was time for a tactical retreat and rushed out the door right as the spatula came flying at him.

Laughing, he sped away from the kitchen over to where Peter was talking to Penny, probably asking where Micky had gone. Penny was pointing towards the kitchen.

"Hi Pete, hi Penny!" Micky said, interrupting their conversation. "Oh, there you are, Micky!" Peter said, smiling. Penny looked at him. "What's so funny?" She asked. Micky shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Just the cook's got an attitude, that's all."

"Oh," Penny said, smiling. "Yeah, she can get a little testy sometimes. You have to practically tip-toe around her to keep her from getting in one of her moods."

"Donaldson!" The manager said, walking over to them. "Table three needs refills on their drinks, and the couple at table seven look to be about ready for dessert." "Yes sir," Penny said. She turned to Micky. "You guys keep clearing tables," she said. "While I take care of the customers."

"Okay," Micky said as she walked away. "Alright, Peter," he said, turning towards his friend. "Here's what we do: we go to the empty tables, where there are no customers sitting, we clear all the empty dishes and take them into the kitchen. We stack them next to the sink, and then we go to another table. Got it?" "Got it," Peter said, nodding.

"Right then, let's go!" Micky said, heading for an empty table in the back. He gathered all the dishes together and turned towards the kitchen. He saw Peter walking ahead of him, a neat stack of dirty dishes from two different tables balanced expertly in his hands. It seemed that Peter had some sort of experience as a bus boy.

Micky walked a little faster to catch up with Peter, and fell into step behind him. "Wow, you're pretty good at this, Pete!" He remarked. Peter smiled. "Thanks," He said. "My first job back in Connecticut was at a restaurant, so I know how to handle dishes."

Leaning his back against the kitchen door, Peter pushed it open and stepped through, only to be hit in the face by a flying glob of dough. Peter froze, stunned by the unexpected gooey stuff.

"Hey!" Micky said, walking past him and sending a glare to the cook. "What was that all about!?" The cook glanced at him and frowned. "Oh, my apologies," She said sarcastically. "I thought he was you. Here." She picked up another glob of dough and threw it at Micky, who ducked instinctively. It flew over his head and hit Peter again, who finally seemed to wake up. Stepping the rest of the way through the door, he let it swing shut behind him.

"Micky," he said, wiping his face with his sleeve. "What'd you do this time?" "What'd'ya mean, this time!?" Micky demanded. "Why do you always assume I did something?" Peter looked at him. "I don't know," He shrugged. "I just... I thought she was aiming for you..."

"I was," The cook said, throwing a third glob of goo at Micky, whose back was turned towards Peter. He turned around just in time to see it coming, however, and ducked again. This time, Peter ducked too, and the glob of dough sailed over their heads and hit the manager, who had just opened the door to step into the kitchen.

He stood there frozen, just like Peter had done, and Peter, Micky, and the cook all froze as well. After a second, the manager sighed and pulled out a handkerchief. Using it to wipe his face, he looked from the cook to Micky and Peter. "Well," he said calmly, as if he were mentioning the weather. "I see the two of you met Mrs. Hammersfield."

Micky nodded. It made sense that such an awful lady would be named Hammersfield. The manager sighed again. "Mrs. Hammersfield," he said. "I would appreciate it if you would kindly refrain from throwing the food at the performers. And boys, I would appreciate it if you just stayed out of the kitchen from now on."

With that, he turned to leave the kitchen.

"But wait a second," Micky said, running in front of him. "Aren't you going to do somethig about this!? She threw food at us! I mean, just look at Peter!"

Everyone turned to look at Peter, who was still covered in the doughy mess. He looked around at everyone and his face broke into a small smile. The manager sighed a third time. "Fine," he said. "Mrs. Hammersfield, please get Mr. Tork a washcloth for his face." Then he left.

Mrs. Hammersfield sighed, getting a wet washcloth from the sink and handing it to Peter. "There," she said. "And let me just say, I never meant to hit you." She shot a glare at Micky while Peter wiped all the goo off his face. "That's alright," he said. "Stuff like this happens a lot when you're friends with Micky."

Micky huffed as Mrs. Hammersfield chuckled. "You're alright, kid," she said. "Here, have freshly baked cookie, on the house." She turned to a tray on the counter and picked up a hot chocolate chip cookie. She held it out to Peter, who took it with a smile. "Thanks," he said. "It's delicious!"

The cook stared. "You haven't even tried it yet!" She said. Peter's smile got even wider. "Yes I have!" He said. "In fact, I'm still tasting it now!" He licked his lips and held up the dough-covered washcloth, and the cook suddenly began to laugh. "I kind of like you, kid!" She shooed them out of her kitchen, still laughing, and then shut the door behind her.

Micky looked at the cookie in Peter's hand. "Why didn't I get one?" He asked. Peter smiled. "Because she didn't like you," he said, breaking the cookie in half and handing a piece to Micky.

Micky took it gratefully and they ate it silently as they went over to find Penny. "Hey guys," she said when they found her. "Why aren't you busting tables?" "Eh, the cook got us thrown out of the kitchen," Micky said absently.

Penny looked at Peter, who had gotten most of the dough off of his face, but still had some on his shirt and in his hair. "I see," she said. "Well then, maybe you guys should head home. I don't get off for another hour, and it'll be pretty late by then."

"But you said we could hang out!" Micky said, pouting just a little. He'd known from an early age that he could work a pout. Penny smiled. "Well, maybe we could hang out tomorrow," she said. "Just give me a minute, I'll get you my phone number."

She walked away and Micky grinned. "Yes!" He said. "Did you hear that, Pete? She's gonna give me her phone number!" Peter smiled. "I heard," he said. "I'm gonna go start packing up our stuff. Come help me when you're done, alright?"

Micky nodded and Peter walked towards the stage. Soon, Penny returned with a sip of paper. "Here you go," she said. "Call me sometime tomorrow, and we can make plans."

"Okay," Micky said, pocketing his new-found treasure. "See ya then!" Penny smiled. "Bye, Micky!" She said.

Then she went off to another table and Micky went to join Peter. He couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the night. He was in love.

Author's note: Sorry this chapter is so short, but I'm going to be extremely busy over the next several months, starting this morning, so I'm no longer going to be posting a new chapter every day. From now on, I'm going to post when I can find the time. Also, I'm going to be working on a few other stories while I'm at it, instead of just this one.

So, until I write the next chapter, fare thee well.