A/N: The next couple weeks are gonna be crazy for me so I wanted to get this done while I still could. Just posting quick before I pass out. I hope you enjoy! I'm not just saying that!

~THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING MY STUPID FANFIC~

coldblue

puffball17

acosta perez jose ramiro

Da Darkest Knight

metalheadrailfan

findingfabstories

KarinaWatchadoin

NerdilyNi

Reviews are love. :) So thank you all very much.

Last of the angst for a while now. ;D Pretty much all of Phil's background bullshit has been established after this chapter. x'D Yay for forward motion.

Disclaimer: Kori Johanssen belongs to xxP00h67chu. Taro belongs to metalheadrailfan. All other unrecognizable characters (from the original series) are mine. RESPECT THE OWNAGE.

Breathing Slowly

Part 6

"Every step that I take is another mistake to you

And every second I waste is more than I can take"

—Linkin Park

"Phil, move…" Zack breathed, pushing him in the shoulder as he carefully shifted his bodyweight.

He didn't move, keeping his eyes bolted on the TV. "This is the living room. I have more right to be here than you do. You move."

The girl currently residing under Zack stared at him upside down, dark milky brown eyes irritated and slightly glazed. She panted lightly, "Zacky, really, can't you control your brother?"

Zack huffed, amused, and pulled her closer to him, bumping into Phil in the process. "Trying."

"Zacky, really, can't you control your tramp?" Phil asked in a nasty, nasally tone, clicking through the channels aggressively.

The girl gasped and pushed against Zack, trying to sit up while he kissed her cheek. "Zack!"

Zack shushed her and ran a soothing hand over her head, whispering something fast and reassuring in her ear that Phil didn't care to make out before shifting up slightly, supported by his arms on the couch. He gave Phil the most serious face he could, which wasn't very serious at all, despite his efforts. "Phil, come on, gimme a break. You can't talk about my… my…"

"Andrea," she flirted.

Zack grinned down at her. "My Andrea like that. You know she's head of the debate team? She could argue you under the table." She blushed and squirmed happily under him.

Phil kept clicking. "Good for her. That's a neat trick. Could she possibly argue herself out of our house? That'd be even neater."

Andrea glared at him. "Honestly, aren't you like two? You ought to be cleaning your room and changing your diaper, not bothering us big kids when we're in the middle of a very important discussion." She pressed a kiss to Zack's neck.

Phil finally turned his head to look at Zack. His face was one of disbelief. "I can't believe you've been dating this for a week."

"Huh?" Zack babbled a little, his face pink as Andrea continued her slow seduction of him, before the words finally processed and he chuckled, a bit hysterically. "Oh. Oh, no, I met Andrea yesterday at the antique store."

"Then what happened to that girl you were so excited to get a date with? The one with the curves or whatever?" He kept on clicking, passing by horrid cartoon after repetitive game show after snore-worthy golf program.

"Oh, you mean Stephanie?" Zack bit his lip in thought, his limbs trembling slightly. "Sadie? Sarah? So—Sophie, that was it." Andrea bit him in the shoulder and his limbs finally gave out, awkwardly crushing the girl into the sofa. She didn't seem to mind but Zack's brain was mush. "We… We just… uh… Think we could talk about this another time, buddy?" He laughed shakily.

Phil sniffed. "Yeah, sure. I know how demanding dogs are."

With a loud scoffing gasp, Andrea pushed Zack completely off onto the floor with a thump and sat up. "Look, I came over here for a little fun but if this is how I'm gonna be treated—"

"Aw, hey." Zack sat up, putting a hand on her knee. "Don't be like that, you know how little brothers are."

"Yeah, and I get enough of this at home without needing to deal with it at my boyfriend's too." Huffing, she stood up from the couch and ran a hand through her hair. "I'll call you later, sugar. Think you'll be available?"

Zack laid languidly back down on the carpet and kicked one leg up over the other, smirking. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

Andrea returned his smirk. "Yeah, we'll see." She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss, right in front of Phil's line of vision. He whined and tried to look around them, but Andrea made sure to be very thorough. Finally, she parted from him with a loud smack and ran a hand through his already messy hair. "We… will… see."

With that, she dropped him unceremoniously onto the floor and stepped around him, throwing an annoyed look at Phil as she went. "Bye, brat."

"Later, Generic Girlfriend Number 990 who I'll probably never see again."

Andrea humphed and walked out the door.

After a few moments, Zack sighed, his face still pink and heart pounding, "Can't give me one break?"

"Now why would I wanna do a thing like tha—Hey, look! Yo Ernest is on!"

Zack let out a quiet groan and rubbed his hands over his face, rolling on his side. After a little while, he started laughing, starting out with a slow chuckle that deepened and gained strength over the matter of several seconds. Shaking his head in the wake of his laugh attack, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

Phil kicked his legs up and rested his feet on Zack's head. "So, what was so wrong with the mysterious Sophie that she didn't even last a week?"

Zack reached up and tickled Phil's foot. He squeaked and snatched his legs back. Zack turned a smirk on him, one half of his eyebrow elevated. "Typical cliché scary dad. Ya know, eyes of fire, teeth of steel. Kept giving me death glares over his newspaper." He faked a shudder. "Too risky. I just took her to a movie, held her hand and walked her home. I wasn't even gonna do anything else, but her mom caught us at the front door and gave me the once-over then, too. Thanked me for bringing her home on time before practically caveman dragging her back into the house." He stretched luxuriously, his satisfied sigh getting interrupted by a soft chuckle. "I don't know what it is, but something tells me I wouldn't be welcome a second time."

"Now that's too bad," Ernie's scratchy voice sounded as he walked into the room, a bowl of cheesebits cradled in his arm as he took a hopping seat next to Phil, causing him to bounce slightly. "That's just a darn shame. Parents—You know, parents are always doin' those sorts of things. Always making fast judgments and thinking they know what's best. But you can't—You can't judge true love. When I had to meet Lola's parents for the first time, whoa," he held his hands out with a hard, mocking expression, cheesebits sitting precariously in his lap, "I been dating their kid for six months, already talked to them on the phone a couple'a times, everything's peachy, but then they see me and presto, suddenly I ain't good enough anymore. Parents… Parents need to get their eyes examined if they can't see what a catch you are. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

Zack's smirk softened into a smile. "Thanks for the sentiment, Ernie, but I'm all right. It's not like she was my soul mate or anything."

"Right, right. But still, you keep that in mind. Sage advice from your old uncle. You never know when it might come in handy." Tossing a couple cheesebits back, he spoke between chews, "That's the thing, you know—Parents are always wanting to control everythin,' makin' all the decisions, 'cause they're terrified their kids are gonna do something stupid, and," he snorted, lips smacking, "that's no way to raise a kid. Kids are gonna be kids, you gotta let them roam, y'know? Be stupid, learn from it. Figure things out for themselves. Otherwise, they'll start resenting you never letting 'em do nothin', and they'll just sneak out and do whatever you don't want 'em to do anyway, most of the time just to spite ya—Alls you can do, at the end of the day, is raise them right, give 'em good morals, and just trust that they'll make the right choices. Kids respond positive to adults havin' faith in 'em, anyway."

Zack smiled at him tentatively, something soft and amused shining in his eyes. "Makes sense, I guess."

Phil nodded, and with a firm, serious look, said, "I agree wholeheartedly."

Ernie grinned and reached over to ruffle his hair. "Ha! I knew there was a reason I liked you. You got brains, kid." Snickering at Phil's groan, he settled back into the cushions and leaned over to get a better view of the TV. "So what we watching? Agh, what…" he put a hand to his forehead, "cartoons?"

Phil threw a raised eyebrow at him. "I'm eight, what did you expect?"

"No, no, you're gonna be nine soon and I hardly ever see ya down here! It's about time you moved up on the TV guide. I'll show you what real TV viewing pleasure is! Gimme that." He snatched the remote from his hand and pressed in the appropriate numbers. Before Phil could protest, the TV flickered and switched to clashing swords and trains shooting at a hundred miles an hour. Phil's mouth fell open, the words dying in his throat.

While the three boys watched in morbid fascination as the train sped over a cliff and exploded in a fiery inferno, Helga raced into the room and barred the doorway with her body, arms and legs spread out as she heaved. She spoke frantically, as if warning them of an impending meteorite, "She's here early!"

Ernie and Zack turned their heads to look at her. "Who's here?"

"Her… It… She…" Helga panted again, her torso shaking from the force of her heavy, panicked breaths. "She's here way ahead of schedule and—" Her eyes clenched shut in pain as, sure enough, a loud knocking came from the front door.

Hearing the commotion, Arnold wandered in from the dining room and looked questionably at her. "Helga?"

"Oh, thank sweet merciful creation!" She hustled over and crouched behind him, her fingernails digging like razorblades into his forearms. "Hide me."

"Helga…" Arnold began patiently, but was interrupted by more knocking. Helga's arms snapped around him like a snake's strike, pulling him back into her for protection. He tilted precariously backwards and laughed. "Helga! It's just the door, come on—"

"It's more than just—" she rushed out in a high-pitched breath, but then froze as she realized what she was doing. Slowly, her arms retracted and she stepped around him, tugging her shirt down with a measured breath. "No. No, you're right. I was just surprised. I expected to have more time to prepare." Her nerves spiked again as she looked at him and asked edgily, "How do I look?"

Arnold's amusement softened into fond exasperation as he reached a hand up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Beautiful, as always." He raised an eyebrow then. "What's this all about?"

The knocking came again, more insistent, and Helga sighed, her eyes dulled with the world-weariness of someone twice her age. "Just… You'd better come see for yourself."

She walked tall and proud out of the parlor, Arnold trailing behind, when they both came to stand in front of the door. She took a deep breath, gathered her bravery, and promptly, hid behind Arnold again when the knocking came once more, the door practically shaking off it's hinges with the force of the harsh pounding. Ernie, Zack and Phil all peeked out the doorway just in time to watch as Arnold sighed and finally turned the doorknob.

The door was kicked out of his hand a second after to reveal a large stack of bags and suitcases in varying shades of green all held up by a pair of black slacks and brown leather wingtips. The stack wobbled and bellowed, "About darn time!"

An extravagantly made up golden head popped out from behind him, smiling brilliantly. "Baby brother-in-law! Good day to you!"

For a minute, Arnold was only capable of staring. He managed to snap out of it quickly enough, though, and offered back a smile of his own. "Olga, hey, we weren't expecting you so soon." He winced after, afraid that he may have offended her. To help lessen the blow he may have just unwittingly inflicted, he reached out and started carefully plucking some of the bags out of Bob's arms. "Oh, here, let me—"

Instantly half the luggage was thrust into his arms, nearly causing him collapse. He ended up falling back into Helga, who thankfully managed to keep him and the luggage upright, as Big Bob Pataki pinned him with a hard, inscrutable expression.

Rather than commenting on the scene he clearly had an opinion about, he looked around the hall sharply, impatiently searching. "Where's the athletic one with the funny head?" Without waiting for an invitation, he barreled in, arms still full with too many bags for his liking. "I've been lugging this junk everywhere and I've had just about enough of feeling like a dang pack mule."

Olga traipsed daintily in with a giggle and gentle slap on Bob's shoulder. "Oh, Daddy, you're so funny. It's not that bad. I only packed the bare essentials—clothes, jewelry, books, scripts, electronics, cooking supplies, things I'll need for my twice-daily toilette…" She counted on her fingers.

Helga had noticeably paled.

That was the moment Josh decided to come down the stairs to see what all the noise was, only to have a heavy stack of suitcases forced into his arms before he could even get the words, "What's going on," out of his mouth.

Big Bob let out a blustery sigh of relief and cracked his knuckles. "Phew, much better. Thanks, kid." He turned to Olga without waiting for a reply (which was good, 'cause Josh didn't have one), shaking his arms out as he said, "I ain't young enough to be doing that sort of heavy lifting anymore. You're gonna break your old dad, Olga."

Olga smiled at him, eyes sparkling with some hidden amusement. The silent 'As if you could ever break' hung between them for a moment before she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and finally, finally (too damn soon) turned to see Helga hiding behind her very awkwardly standing husband. All amusement was replaced with a gleeful, teasing grin. She snapped her arms out. "Baby sister!"

Helga laughed shakily. "Big sister…"

With a squeal, Olga pounced, all but shoving Arnold out of the way in her eagerness to throw her arms around Helga and swing her around, twirling on her feet. "It's so good to see you!"

Helga choked, stumbling with a deep cringe in the spiraling circles around the hall until the spinning mercifully ceased. Once she felt she'd gained enough of her faculties to remember what words were again, she squeaked, "You're a month early."

Olga pulled back to grin at her. "Surprise! I couldn't wait. We've been apart for far too long already; I couldn't bear to lengthen our separation even a moment more." She squeezed her arms with a warmer grin, practically bouncing on her high-heeled feet. "Besides, a nice, long visit to properly catch up is just what we've been needing."

Helga's mouth twitched. "That's just…" she sighed, "brilliant as usual, Olga."

Olga squealed one last time and pulled her into another quick hug before stepping back to smile welcomingly at the doorway dwellers. "Well, who do we have here?" Stepping forward, she placed a theatric finger at the side of her thought and pretended to ponder. The three all stood in the doorway now, side-by-side, no longer making any attempts at concealing their presence since it was apparently pointless. Olga tapped her finger as she looked the first of them over. "Ernie Potts…"

Ernie gave a gruff laugh and bowed slightly, playing along. "At your service, lady."

Olga's teeth shone as her eyes drifted over onto Zack, who was wearing one of his more bemused (though thoroughly diverted) expressions. "Little Zachary Shortman, looking not so little anymore…"

Zack's only reaction was for his grin to widen to almost painful intensity and his eyes to sparkle bluer.

"And who's this?" Olga's eyes settled upon Phil, who was looking at her like she was an alien sunflower that had just popped out of the floor. Olga wasn't to be deterred from her purpose, however, and knelt down next to him with a graceful flourish. "No…" she breathed in faux disbelief. "Could this handsome young man be Phillip? Turning nine years old? That can't be! The last time I saw you was when you were a mere babe cradled in your father's arms!"

Phil's eyebrows were practically to the ceiling. "You're supposed to be a genius?" The words were out his mouth and slamming everyone in the face before the thought 'Well that might be rude' could even properly develop. Or develop at all, really.

While everyone else was staring at him with varying degrees of shock and horror, Olga only laughed and rose. "Oh, Helga, he's precious! He sounds just like you at that age!"

Helga slapped her hands together and forced out a laugh that came out sounding a bit delirious. "Okay! Olga! Why don't we get you settled in then and we can talk more about this later? Where's Charlie and the girls?"

"Oh, they're not here yet. I went ahead early while Charles stayed to wrap things up, tie up a few loose ends, you know." She waved a hand.

Arnold then reinserted himself into the conversation, "We haven't made up your room yet so it's gonna need a little airing out, but it should be fine. We'll get you some fresh sheets and pillows and you'll be all set within the hour." He shifted the various bags in his arms and nodded with a reassuring smile. Whether it was meant to reassure her or himself, he couldn't say.

Olga opened her mouth to happily agree when she remembered something. "Oh! I nearly forgot!" She turned her head to smile mysteriously at Phil as she walked over to Arnold. "I have something for you." Phil blinked, still with that look of alien sunflower disbelief.

After sifting through the bags in Arnold's arms for a few moments while he struggled not to let any fall, she dove her hand in and pulled out a large elaborate black tote the words 'Literacy: Change the World, One Reader at a Time' printed on the side over an intricate and colorful abstract art design. The bag looked expensive in itself, so when she pulled out a thick leather bound book titled 'The Many Forms of Poetry,' it only made the fact this woman was very, very well off all the more shamelessly evident.

Olga held the book reverently as she turned back to Phil, though her attention was on everyone in the room as she laughed, "I just picked this up on the way over. There's a charming little bookstore in the city that sells all sorts of beautiful tomes. I couldn't resist stopping in. Finding this was just a bonus!" Bending down to accommodate Phil's height, she ran a hand fondly down the front of the book before presenting it to him. "This was my absolute favorite book when I was a girl. It has everything from prose to drama to satire. Your mother being who she is, and from what I remembered of you, I thought you might appreciate this."

The book was gently laid into his hands, and he stared at it, eyebrows furrowed, like he was trying to work out how exactly to react.

The choice was made for him when Bob stormed over and snatched the book from his hands. "Ohhhh, no, now, none of this, Olga. Poetry may have been okay for you girls but Phil's a boy, and I don't want any of this whimsical nonsense tainting his mind."

Helga scoffed and caused a small earthquake with her own approach. "Excuse me? Last time I checked, Phil was my son, and if 'whimsical tainting' is what he enjoys, then he is more than allowed to 'taint' himself to his heart's content! You don't get a say on the matter, Dad."

"Hey now, I think I'd know better than—" Bob started to argue, hands and book held up in a gesture of 'Well excuse me for knowing your own son better than you.'

Olga stomped her foot suddenly, shocking everyone but Bob and Helga, who looked merely startled, and then silently abashed. Olga gave them both a stern look. "No fighting, you two, least of all today. This is a happy occasion, a time to come together as a family and remember the good times, not reenact the bad."

Turning swiftly around without waiting for a response, she knelt back and gently asked Phil, "Will you accept my gift?"

Phil eyed her. "Yeah."

Bob turned a thundery look on him, but Olga paid it no mind as she dutifully plucked the book from his meaty grip and handed it over to Phil, clasping his hand over the top of it as if to ensure that it stayed in his hands this time. Her smile was warm and friendly. "You don't have to love or hate it, you just need to know I was thinking of you." She squeezed his hand.

With that, she stood for the final time from the floor and took out a couple more gorgeously bound – though much thinner – books from her tote, grinning at everyone, including the few other curious residents sticking their heads down from the top of the stairs. "I have more for everyone, and so much to tell! I picked up a lovely roast on the way here, and—Oh, Helga, you have to show me Amanda!" She looked on the verge of bursting into tears just at the thought.

Helga sent Bob one last warning look before leading Olga up the stairs, telling her all about how Amanda was out with Miles and Stella at the moment and wasn't expected back for another hour, as Arnold and Josh were left to sigh and stumble their way after the two. Ernie was finding the entire thing way too funny to stick behind, so he followed after them as well, offering to take some of the pale green burdens off their backs. Zack lagged behind just long enough to throw Phil a look of stellar amusement, promising many hours of teasing for this later on, before practically leaping up the stairs two at a time.

This left Bob and Phil, predictably, alone. Phil sighed and held the book out for him to take. He did so almost violently. With that out of the way, Phil grabbed his arm and pulled him into the vacant parlor.

Bob fell gratefully back against the plush cushions of the sofa and threw the book carelessly on the other end. With no one around to bear witness to their interaction now, he grinned tiredly at Phil, who stood rigidly on the other side of the table. "Well, what'd'ya think?"

"That girl," he began crisply, "is my intellectual superior?"

Bob's eyes narrowed and he started, this not what he'd been expecting. Somehow he thought the initial reaction would have dissipated by now in the face of so much goodness, but apparently there was still some residual incredulity. That was understandable, so after a moment, he relaxed again and raised half his eyebrow. "The proof's in the pudding, boy-o, what do you want me to say?" Flashes of countless trophies and awards flashed in Phil's head as Bob leaned forward, arms supporting his hulking torso on his knees. "I know she's pretty, eh, enthusiastic, but that's just who she is. You should see what her mind can do—oh, man. She could'a taken the world by storm if she wanted." He looked wistfully at someplace beyond Phil, beyond the boarding house. Perhaps even beyond the universe.

Phil ran a hand over his face, trying to reconcile the image he'd always had in his head with the person he'd just met. He'd spent a good chunk of his life hearing about the woman, being compared to her, how he was apparently just below her grade point average (minus all the extracurricular activity and trophy winning, because wow, who cared?) and Bob wanted to push him beyond it so badly, but he just couldn't see the point. It was too much work. Time-consuming work, the type of work that forced you to lock all doors and sew your butt to your bookshelf, and just the thought of all the obsessive studying it must have taken to not only make straight A triple pluses on regular and advanced work while also digging her nails into every extra credit assignment and bonus essay question she could get her hands on, but also win every science fair, spelling bee, and brain bonanza within a hundred mile radius, made Phil shudder in abject terror. He was already pretty isolated with the workload he had now, and he didn't even do a quarter of the amount Olga Pataki regularly completed at his age.

Not to mention all the kids who'd had him labeled an annoying know-it-all before he was even six and teachers who seethed at the mere mention of his name. Mrs. Freitag came effortlessly to mind. How did Olga deal with that? The forced solitude, the jabbing remarks, the bullies? He'd always figured she must have been something of a hardass, like his mom, but that lady… She didn't seem like the type who could handle rejection very well.

Then again, PS 118 staff still preened over Olga forty years after her graduation, so he assumed she must simply have been so absolutely charming and beloved that nobody minded how much better she was than them. Phil didn't have the advantage of being a pretty, bubbly young blonde girl, though. He only knew how to be short, brown-haired and irritable, which he could recognize probably wasn't doing him any favors, but again, wow, who cared? He'd lost the energy to feel bad about that a long time ago.

"You could, too, ya know," Bob began innocently enough, breaking him from his musings, but Phil recognized the speech and efficiently shut him down before he could continue.

"No." Crossing his arms violently across his chest, he leaned forward and glowered at the elder. "You signed me up for the advanced coursework again behind my back." Bob opened his mouth, no doubt with some 'perfectly reasonable' argument about all that he could accomplish if he'd only work himself into the dirt, but Phil wasn't having it. "I'm not doing it, so you'd better get me off their roster before the zeros start pouring in. End of discussion."

Bob gawked at him and made some wild hand gesture that made Phil instinctively flinch. "Aw come on! What brought this on?"

Phil tilted his head back and looked to the ceiling for answers, rubbing at his arm. "I have enough on my plate with the extra credit stuff and business training." Big Bob flew up from the couch and started bounding away. Phil became visibly distressed and raised his voice at his retreating body, "The summer work, all that reading—I told you I can't take anymore! I'm done with it! If you'd just respect that and stop pushing—"

"Shhhh!" Bob waved a hand back at him from the doorway, his head poked out and looking around. "You wanna alert the whole neighborhood? Quiet down!" Phil shut up. After a few more seconds, Bob walked over to stick his head out the other door and check to ensure they were well and truly alone. Once satisfied, he turned, and his face was severe, dark eyes drilling intensely into the light green pools a couple trifling strides away. Phil instinctively straightened and stared back, standing his ground. Uncountable seconds later, he spoke gruffly, "You know I could die any day, right? I'm already living on borrowed time as it is."

Phil groaned and this time he was the one turning away.

A large hand swallowing his shoulder stopped him and he jumped, snapping his eyes up to meet Bob's. Bob's unibrow was slightly furrowed. "Is this about your little friends? You want to spend more time with them or something?"

Phil's eyes flew down. "I don't have any friends."

Bob's eyebrow fell lower and a clear frown further wrinkled his face. "Eh?" He didn't sound so much surprised as he did mildly befuddled, and that irked Phil. Slightly. He kept his eyes down as Bob continued, "What about that Redmond kid?"

Phil stiffened. Leave it to Bob to remember the one 'friend' he liked the absolute least. "We've never been friends."

"Really?" Bob scratched at his head. Puzzling over that one for a little bit, he finally just grunted and commented, "Well, you should be. Fine kid." He released his shoulder and fell back on couch again with a long exhale.

Phil stayed where he was and didn't look at him. "I don't like him. He's…" he swallowed, "stupid. Really stupid."

Bob snorted. "The kid's family is filthy stinking rich! You hear that? They're rolling in it; probably sitting on a couch with silver and gold weaved straight into the upholstery and propping their feet up on diamond-encrusted footstools. You don't have to like him. Heck, you could hate him for all I care—fact is, he's an asset. Especially if he's not the brightest crayon in the box. You should learn how to start identifying those." He pointed a stern finger at him, shifting effortlessly into instructor mode. "That's another lesson for ya. Schmoozing. It took me a long time to get this one down, so it's good that you learn it now. You make nice with that boy, see if you can't get me an invitation to their mansion when their parents are home and I'll consider cutting down your workload. Eh…" He wavered a second, muttering almost too quietly to hear, "Maybe."

Phil was staring openly at him now, mouth fallen open in shock and disgust. "That's the most despicable, dishonest—"

"Ha!" Bob suddenly grinned, eyes shimmering with laughter. "No, that's business! Learn to love it, there's more where that came from."

Phil still looked like he'd smelled something foul, but soon enough, he wiped it from his mind and his face blanked. "I'm not doing that. I don't have to do that. I don't care what you say, I dropped out of the advanced work and I'm not going back. It's not because of friends or anything else stupid. I just don't want to do it, so I'm not going to. End of discussion."

Bob's companionable grin and warm eyes instantly vanished. "No schmoozing?" A heavy beat. "How are you expecting to sell anything with that kind of attitude?"

"I don't know!" Phil threw his hands up sardonically. "Integrity? Quality? Fair prices? Genuinely believing a product will make someone's life better? Being a decent human being? Pfft, no." He waved a hand, laughing in mock self-deprecation. "No, those would be dumb methods. You're right. I should lie and manipulate and compromise everything I believe in to make sure the maximum possible number of cell phones are sold. That's a great idea."

His words hit Bob like a ton of bricks, yet again slamming him with the harsh reality of exactly what type of businessman Phil was aspiring to be. He wouldn't just refund the defective cell phone for the woman's 83-year-old mother, he'd upgrade it free of charge. He wouldn't just give a few spare quarters to appease the tearful orphan, he'd empty the cash register and half his bank account. The moment he heard how big his employee's family was, he'd push him back down into his desk chair and tell him he'd better work harder 'cause he was getting a raise. He was too dang tender-hearted, whether he'd admit to it or not, and Bob had run enough losers like that into the ground to know what happened to those sorts of businesses. Kid wanted to help people more than he wanted to make money, and for possibly the billionth time, Bob cursed that Helga married that dang Arnold kid. He was a great guy, but that… that was exactly the problem.

Not that there was anything wrong with a little good nature or occasional leniency, and hey, quality, sure, if he could swing that, Bob didn't see why not (even if he didn't understand the initial why), but there was a measure of ruthlessness and, okay, yeah, manipulation the job demanded if you wanted to be successful. And Bob had worked too hard and too long to have all that he'd built put into risk because the owner suddenly did a complete one-eighty and tried to sucker his way to the top. Big Bob's Beeper Emporium would be out of business faster than you could say, "Ah, crud, my liquor cabinet's empty."

So, in the midst of Phil's forced (sententiously) sarcastic laughter, Bob sniped in, "Hey, what do you think we been doing the last few years? Lying to your folks, sneaking around behind their backs and hiding all the extra work you put in? You know how much money I've invested to keep our little arrangement hush-hush exactly so I can keep you in the advanced course and fasttrack you through the system? Because, newsflash, little man, it's pretty stinking deceitful!"

Phil's hands slammed down on the coffee table so hard the couple magazines sitting on it actually shifted, and the two soft jellybean green eyes suddenly reminded Bob more of jawbreakers. "That. Is. Different," he seethed. "Mom and Dad were out of line to try to make my decisions for me. The beeper store is my right, and if I have to conveniently leave out information from time to time to have that right, then I'll do it. That I have to go behind their backs is something for them to be ashamed of, not me."

Bob scoffed and threw his arms up. "It isn't different at all! You befriend that kid, and just happen to leave out the little detail that you don't actually like him. It's crooked, but sometimes a little deception is necessary to get what you need. Just like how if you told Helga, 'Hey, I wanna run the beeper store,' she'd tell you a flat no, if you told that Redmond kid, 'Hey, could you give me a few thousand to help out my family's business,' he'd probably look at you like you were fruit basket. But if you just do what I tell you, we get a new investor, they get a few extra bucks, and the Redmond kid gets to feel like he's got a new friend. Where's the downside?"

"The downside is that it'd be a big fat lie," Phil burst out, raising his voice and arms with a slight tremor. "A harmful one, for both of us! I don't care how rich he is, it's not worth being friends with him. He laughs at my insults and smiles when I glare at him. He doesn't have a lick of sense in his head. But—" he scrubbed a hand over his forehead, "no matter how annoying, it doesn't mean I want to seriously hurt him, which I would, eventually. The only person who wins in that scenario is you." Realizing how fast his heart was racing, he gulped in a deep, shaky breath, let it all out in a fast whoosh, and asked quietly as his hand fell, "So why are we still talking about this?"

Bob didn't appear to notice his dilemma, because he leaned over and took him by the arms, meeting his eyes with his own soft, serious ones. He looked like he was trying very hard to get through to him, but his hands and the stern tilt of his brow were only making him feel more suffocated. "Because schmoozing is an important part of the business, kiddo. You need to learn how to do it or you're not gonna get far. Trust me. I'm just trying to help you."

Phil barked, "Fine!" Then checking himself, he forced his voice to calm, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We'll… We'll figure something out. Just, not now, and not like… that." He ended helplessly.

That hard, searching look was back, and Phil struggled not to squirm away. "You know we don't have forever, kid. I'm old. There's no telling if there will be time to 'figure something out' later. When things come to mind to teach you, I want to be able to do it, right then, while it's fresh on my mind. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but this is a valuable lesson. At least keep it in mind, okay? You'll thank me one day." He smiled. Phil pursed his lips and tilted his head down, breathing unevenly. Bob took this as a sign of anger and drew back, his eyebrow going straight and eyes slitting. "You know, I wasn't gonna say anything, but I got an interesting call from your teacher Friday—"

Phil's breathing spiked and hands clenched into fists.

Bob scowled. "You been talking back again. Missing class. How many times do I need to tell ya to bite your tongue before—"

"No!"

"—you'll hear me? If you weren't so busy floating around in that dingy termite-infested toothpick that that skeleton calls a boat all weekend, we could have had this discussion sooner—"

"No, no, no!"

"That I have to deal with all this secret crap while he can parade you around like a pair of pants is beyond me. Why do you keep putting me through this? You've been kicked out of how many classes now? You've driven how many teachers to the crazy shack? I can't do the math—I know you can, so you do it, and you tell me, why when I've had to bail you out of all that, that now you're refusing to take the classes I've been watching you excel at for years now? Just out of stinking nowhere! No consideration! No appreciation! Why is that?"

"Shut up!"

"No, now you watch your mouth and listen here, Bobby! My heart can't keep taking this level of stress! Are you trying to kill me?"

"No." Abruptly small hands were thrown into wild gesticulation, green eyes blazing fiercely into his from across the coffee table. "I don't need advanced anything to run the beeper store. The only reason you're pushing this is because you want another Olga. But I don't need a bunch of trophies with my name engraved on them to prove to myself that I'm smart. I don't need to break records to remind myself that I'm worth something. I don't need anyone to approve of me other than myself. I'm completely self-sufficient—I don't need anything or anybody, you got that, Grandpa? I'm fine just the way I am. So stop pushing it." With that, he ground his teeth and launched himself away, deciding then and there that this had gone on long enough. Without allowing Bob any time to prepare a retort other than, "Hey, hey, hey," he stormed out of the room.

End of discussion.

Once out in the hall, something gold, black and blue flashed out of the corner of his eye and he jumped. Zack chuckled faintly at the reaction, leaning against the wall by the doorway he'd just walked out of with a smirk and half his eyebrow knowingly raised. Phil frowned at him and tried to ignore the sense of doom rising in his chest.

Zack's smirk only strengthened at his staring. "How's that training coming, Philly?" Not waiting for a reply, he winked. "I've been keeping the hall clear for ya. Blackmail's no good if everyone finds out about it on their own, you know." His voice coated the words like melted chocolate. "It's a good thing your voice doesn't carry."

Phil let out a yelp of rage and ran up the stairs.

By the time he was at the top, it felt like the world was spinning. Gertie made a blurry appearance at some point during the spinning, and he stared strangely at her as she laughed and patted him on the head. "Well, if it isn't Lieutenant-Major Phillip the second! Fancy running into you around these parts. Ohhh, you'd best be careful, you're not looking too hot. The enemy could come at you from any side, and they've been known to strike when you're at your weakest, the lily-livered scoundrels!" She swung her fist. "You have to stay in tiptop shape if you want to make it out alive!" She waved her finger admonishingly at him.

Phil stumbled away from her as fast as he could go and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut a second after. The lock snapped a loud click in Gertie's direction, and she cackled with delight.

"Oh, just like the first one!"

"Wake up."

Josh mumbled, "Owls," and rolled over. On the fuzzy edge of consciousness, he felt someone push at his back, stuffing his face up against the back of the couch. He hummed his annoyance.

"Wake up."

Something whapped him on top of the head. After a bleary moment of confusion, he registered it as a pillow – or several pillows – and relaxed again.

"For the last time, wake the heck up! Up, up, up! Get up!"

Josh was just about to throw his arm back to hopefully whack the intruder on top of the head, when he felt his equilibrium shift. Everything was suddenly flipped upside down, and his face smashed unceremoniously into what was the back of the couch, along with the rest of his body. A loud burst of, "And french-fried onion rings," and furious guitar strumming came from somewhere, and he was just jolting up on his arms with a yelp of, "What the—" when it happened again, and he was suddenly flat on his back, staring shocked at the clouds floating by through the skylight. The music stopped with a snap of static.

"Good, you're up." He snapped his head over at the voice and gaped as Phil tossed the remote onto the mattress in the middle of the room without looking. His light green eyes focused blandly on him, dressed in an oversized green t-shirt and white basketball shorts. Josh blinked slowly at him, and had only a moment to process that he wasn't going to be getting anymore sleep when a pillow suddenly slapped him in the face. Again.

"Oh no, no closing your eyes! Do you know how long it took me to get you up the first time? Like trying to push a beached whale back into the ocean." He heard a huff from the other side of the pillow, a little muffled. "Sleeping the whole day away. Lazy freak."

Ignoring that, Josh spoke through the pillow, "What do you want?"

The pillow was tossed back with the remote. Josh had about two seconds to be relieved before wild-eyed eight-year-old was suddenly shoved at him. Blue met green head on as Phil babbled away, "I have a very important project that I need your help on. It's life or death, good vs. evil—kind of a big deal. So sorry I had to interrupt your nap, Rip Van Winkle, but there's work to be done and it can't wait any longer."

Josh sighed and pushed him back so he could snatch his blanket up from where it had been discarded on the floor. "Phil, it's too early for crazy. Go back to bed."

"It's four in the afternoon."

Josh paused in the middle of bundling himself up again. Glancing back at him, he uttered a faint, "Really?"

Phil looked vastly unimpressed. "Yeah. You maniac."

Josh fell back on the couch with a harsh whoosh of breath. "I've… literally been sleeping…"

"The whole day. Yeah. " He heard scuffling from beside him, pillows and blankets being shifted around, but didn't bother to look. There was a grumbling from across the room, "If you had just listened the first time…"

Josh interrupted him before he could fly off into a tirade, "Why didn't anyone wake me up?"

His voice raised an octave, "I just d—"

"Before?"

He saw Phil's arms get thrown up in his peripheral. "I don't know! Mom wouldn't let us. Kept saying you'd had a long week and needed your rest." A scoff and the sound of a door slamming. "Like that excuses anything—I've had plenty of long weeks before but I'm still up at six every morning. Not to mention sleeping on a rock and fishing all weekend, and still, six AM, on the dot. I repeat: Lazy. Freak."

Josh massaged his forehead. "There was a life or death situation?"

"Oh yeah." The bounce of springs giving way told him Phil had just thrown himself down onto the mattress. "I need to get a wife."

There was a long pause.

Then Josh looked at him. "What?"

"Or, not really a wife, I guess. More like… a kind of fiancé, a betrothed, like back in the olden days. You know, to satisfy the family curse so I don't get stuck with Mercy for the rest of my life."

Josh stared at him for another long second, before turning over on his side and throwing the covers up over himself. "It's too early for this."

"Four PM—"

"Too early."

There was a huff of breath and prodding at his back with something sharp. "You're the one who said I should get a girlfriend!"

Josh sprang up, blanket gathering about his waist as he yelled, "I told you to loosen up and have fun! To get a crush and hold hands while you share chocolate milk and graham crackers, not go down on bended knee to the first girl that catches your eye! You are eight-years-old, for Pete's sake, and you woke me up for this? Why does everything always have to be a big deal with you? Next thing you're gonna be waking me up at three AM telling me you're moving to Africa because you've suddenly realized your life's calling is to herd elephants!"

"Well, it's not like I have a choice," Phil yelled back with a scowl, caught up in the uproar. "Do you think I like this? I'm nowhere near ready to start thinking about marriage, but it's either that or sit around waiting for doomsday! The family curse—"

"Isn't real," Josh intoned, looking him dead in the eye with a 'this is the most obvious thing in the world' eye-widening and mouth quirk combo. At the surprised look on Phil's face, he sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. "You think I didn't hear about it when I was your age? Grandpa Phil thinks it's a good bedtime story, I don't know why. But that's not the point here." Dropping his hand, he inhaled and, looking purposefully into Phil's eyes, slowly stated, "I'm almost twelve, Phil, and Zack is fourteen. Neither one of us met our brides-to-be at nine. You're being paranoid. Again. And I think it's high time you started to grow up and put behind all this—"

"Were either one of you bullied by a psycho girl when you were nine?" Phil sharply interrupted, an eyebrow cocked, and Josh opened his mouth to cut him down dry when Phil interrupted again, "No, you weren't. Who's to say the curse doesn't just pick one victim out of each generation? Who's to say that that victim isn't me?"

"You think you're special," Josh deadpanned with an exasperated crossing of his arms.

Phil tilted his head at him sarcastically. "Are you saying I couldn't be?"

"Oh, you're special, all right."

"You'd better not have just implied what I think you implied."

"Who, me? Oh, no, never. That's not me. You've got the wrong guy. I would never even think to imply that—"

His grouchy, you-just-woke-me-up-for-baloney speech was interrupted by Phil launching himself at him, throwing him back against the couch. A wrestling match of sorts broke out, with Phil pushing at his head and Josh trying to dislodge him while simultaneously twisting his body around. It was a very awkward tussle that went on for all of twenty seconds, when a voice broke them apart with a single cough.

Phil sprang off the couch with a deft, "Erk," landing on his back on top of the mattress, legs half-hanging from the couch. Josh just snapped his head over to yell in surprise, "Kori!"

Kori had her head tilted at them in bemusement not ten feet away. "Gentlemen…"

Phil scrambled away from the couch and sat up at breakneck speed, balking at her. "Asian out of nowhere! Criminy, are you falling from the sky now?" He looked up in terror.

Kori smiled at him, though her tone was a touch sarcastic, "Actually I used the door."

"Oh."

"Mmm," she hummed. Her bemused eyes zeroed in on Josh's bad case of bed head then, hair falling and jutting out all over the place, and a snort huffed out her nose. "Oh, man, you look beautiful. How long were you guys going at it? Why were you going at it? I thought you had a 'no squashing defenseless pipsqueaks' policy."

Phil seemed caught between glaring at Kori for the quip and shooting his eyebrows up at Josh for having a policy like that that he apparently thought applied to him. Josh just rolled his eyes up and swung his legs over the couch to rest barefoot on the floor. He blew a tuft of hair out of his face, only to have it flop back down and whap him in the nose. He grunted. "I woke up to Phil announcing he was getting married. That's all I know. I tell him he's crazy, next thing I know he's strangling me. Typical Monday."

" Wait, 'woke up'? As in, just now?"

Josh's eyes narrowed on her. "Really? That's what you got out of that?"

"It was the most surprising thing in that sentence." She raised an eyebrow at him, ignoring the way Phil harrumphed and bounced his way to the other end of the mattress. "I mean, I knew you were a sack rat, but…"

Josh huffed and put his hands up. "Hey, you try having football and soccer both practice on the same day then being forced to carry at least fifty pounds worth of your aunt's stuff up two flights of stairs, and not sleeping at least fifteen hours afterwards, then come talk to me, all right? Don't start with me on this."

Kori placed her hands on her hips defensively. "And you try studying engineering physics while you rewire your brother's gameboy for the fifth time in a week, your other brother does back flips with sharp pointy things over your head, and your dad decides to watch a five hour long back-to-back Gorilla-Ape Island marathon on full volume, with surround sound!"

Josh huffed and ran a hand down his face. "Okay, I can't believe I'm saying this, but can we please just focus on Phil?"

"Focus on Phil for what?" a symphonic voice came from the doorway, just before Helga stepped into the room. Just from the look of her, Josh was able to surmise she'd gotten back from work not too long ago. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, bangs combed to the side, makeup washed, and her work clothes traded out for a heavy but ridiculously soft pink dress that Josh was very well acquainted with. Just the sight of it had him resisting the urge to stand up and give her a hug.

One eye on Kori, Josh cleared his throat. Helga raised a sharp eyebrow and he snapped his eyes back on her. "Grandpa Phil told him about the family curse."

"Oh? Which one?" she mused, with an ironic tint. She flicked her eyes to Phil, then down to Kori at her side, amusement glittering in her eyes. Kori flushed slightly under the warm scrutiny and folded her hands behind her back, her posture ramrod straight.

Phil, who'd been sitting frozen on the edge of the mattress with his back to the door, bounced suddenly around at the question and burst out, "The one about how age eleven is actually age seventy-five!"

Josh shot a sharp glare at him. Phil wasn't look at him to properly appreciate it, though, much to his chagrin. Helga just snorted and darted a glance between the two. "I take it you woke him?"

"He was snoring obnoxiously. Someone had to take the plunge."

"That was very dangerous, Phil…" Helga looked at him from under her eyebrows, looking distinctly displeased. There was an underlying playfulness there that let them both know she wasn't seriously angry, however, and she further proved this when she coughed, poorly concealing a chuckle, and muttered dryly to the quiet room, "You could have been incapacitated."

Phil blinked at her, then blinked at Josh. "What's that mean?"

Josh met his eyes directly, glare only marginally diminished. "It means I might have punched you."

A look of understanding slid over Phil's face. Josh's tendency to disable anyone who startled him was well known. Even Zack avoided sneaking up on him, lest he end up in a stranglehold and choking to get an apology out of his mouth. Needless to say, it was a gut instinct Josh wasn't exactly inclined to curb.

Despite this, Phil just scoffed in his face. "Oh, whatever. You don't scare me."

Josh had to resist the urge to shove him into the mattress and hold him down until he screamed uncle for that. The sound of his mom giggling stopped him and they both turned to look at her funny. Kori had to bite her lip to keep from giggling herself at the randomness of it. The sight of the normally forbidding woman openly giggling like a child was enough to make anyone falter. For the Shortman boys, it was enough to make all coherent thought burst into flames.

Very carefully, Josh began, "You seem to be in a good mood."

Before the final word had even left Josh's mouth, Phil asked, "Have you lost your marbles?"

Her giggling tapered off into two consecutive titters, before she fell into silence and waved a hand at them. "Pfft, no. Arnold and I just had a late lunch with an old friend after his meeting is all. Had a nice stroll down memory lane. So, yeah, I'd say I'm in a pretty good mood." She quirked a knowing eyebrow at Phil. "But we can talk about all that over dinner. Right now, you, mister, are avoiding my question."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

Helga snorted. "Are we really doing this?"

Josh cut in before anything stupid could happen, "It's the one about how we get mauled at nine, or something." A moment passed. He rolled his eyes minutely. "Whatever."

Phil glared at him for his flippancy, while Helga's mouth turned down in a frown. She seemed to want to say something, but appeared unsure, mouth hanging suspended on the ghost of a thought.

Phil finally had had enough of sitting in an awkward silence (after three seconds) and, noticing her expression, huffily crossed his arms. He spoke resentfully, defiantly, as if the fault lay entirely on her shoulders, "He said I'm doomed to marry this evil girl at my school who's been bullying me forever and I don't want to so I'm finding a way around it. That's all. I don't want to talk about it."

Helga's face shifted into one of dull horror.

Phil was very nearly glaring. "You were the one who bullied Dad, weren't you? Dad told me about you. He said you were really obnoxious and he threw you in a pool for it and called you a fool." At her blank expression, with his frown deepening, he grudgingly pressed on, "I put two and two together. The curse got you. It's true."

Helga stared at him for another long moment, before she pivoted suddenly around and screamed down the stairs, "Football – head! Try to hide, and I'll only kick your ass harder!" The door slammed after her. Footsteps were heard stomping down the stairs.

The boys both gawked at the door. Kori pursed her lips and folded her hands behind her back.

Then Josh muttered, "This explains almost too much."

Kori spoke up from across the room, "I can't believe you guys didn't know. Dad still complains about her all the time. I mean, Mother said not to say anything to you guys but I thought it was too obvious not to see."

"Maybe we didn't want to see," Phil shot back suspiciously, twitching and squinting at her like she was an enemy spy. "Maybe we didn't want to be privy to the fact we come from a long line of madness." His mouth snapped over the last word, his hands fisting at his sides.

Josh snorted almost violently, then had to cough and cover his nose when he felt something splatter. He covered it up with a quick swipe of his sleeve and a speedy retort sure to avert attention, "Oh, come on, Phil, Mom and Dad turned out really happy together. Would it really be so bad if you ended up married to that cute little girl?"

"Cute?!" the exclamation reverberated off the walls, and the sound of a bird could be heard squawking its alarm in the distance. Phil's face was flushed with outrage. "What is it with older kids and constantly calling everyone younger than them cute? Is it just to be polite? Is it 'cause they're smaller than you? Because trust me, from where I'm standing, Mercy Laporte is anything but cute." Josh blinked slowly, solemnly at him, and Phil scowled. "I once heard her having an in depth whine session with some other girls about why eleventy should be a number."

Josh sighed. "All right, fine, whatever. Mercy's a big no-no. What do you want me to do about it?"

Phil stood and marched over to him awkwardly yet still with an annoyingly high measure of dignity, his footsteps sinking and bouncing with each step on the mattress, until he was before him and a book was suddenly slammed onto his lap. Josh reeled at the sudden intrusion, but then his eyes alighted on the title and his eyelids fell. "The Yearbook?"

Phil nodded, apparently decided on the matter, and pulled up a few pillows to perch himself on top of. The mattress was large enough that it brought him head-to-chest with Josh, and he used this height to easily flip the book open to the first page. "Of course. We've only got a few weeks before my birthday and I need the perfect wife picked out before then so I can glue myself to her side. We should get started immediately."

Kori spoke up again, this time from right beside the couch, and Phil jerked away in shock at her sudden proximity. "Wait a minute, Phil's really getting married?"

Josh looked at her, his exasperation shining in his eyes. "Engaged. Apparently."

Kori's mouth quirked to one side, bemused. "But, he's like two."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Phil snapped, more startled than angry at the moment. "I'm practically nine."

She huffed out a silent laugh. "Eeeyeah." She leaned precariously over the couch from the side to pluck at a few stray pieces of unruly brown hair, which Phil batted away, just before she finally went flopping down onto the couch, head cushioning comfortably on her arms in Josh's lap over the book. She batted her eyes at him over her glasses. "I don't think your body got the memo on that. Or your cognitive development. Or emotional development. Or any development, really."

"I'm laughing," Phil deadpanned.

Josh hummed and edged the book out from underneath Kori's head with a few careful pokes and pulls, then sat it on top of her. He talked over Kori's whines of protest, "You really want us to go through your entire yearbook just to find you a soul mate?"

"Well, it's not like she's just gonna show up on my doorstep," Phil huffed impatiently, more than done with arguing on the subject.

"Uh huh," Josh muttered, listening through one ear as he flipped idly through the pages, "isn't that exactly what she's supposed to do, though? Isn't that how soul mates work? They just happen?"

"I'm not interested in letting a mindless chance of fate run my life." His eyes were hard as he stared down at the book. "I don't trust it."

Josh opened his mouth, no doubt with another rejoinder that would fall on willfully deaf ears, but Kori popping a hand up and snatching the book out of his hands stilled his mouth. Exhaling with a puff out her nose, she propped the book up on the end of the couch, supported by her hands on the sides, and said, "Ham, seriously, can't you see this is exactly what you've been wanting? Phil wants to get a girlfriend, hello? Nobody says we have to actually find him a soul mate to spend the rest of eternity with – I mean, geez, he's still practically a baby – all we have to do is pick someone cute and suitable for him to date and discard over the next few weeks. This could be his first crush. We can't toss this opportunity out the window! Think of all the adorable things we can get them to do!" Craning her head back, her teeth were visibly clenched and eyes impossibly wide. "Imagine Phil in a bow tie. Oh my gosh, and spaghetti. He could give her the last meatball. It'd be so cute—and you could play the accordion! Granted, you'd have to grow a mustache, but—"

"Kori," Josh laughed. "They're not dogs."

"Why you gotta be so literal?"

Phil casually popped in, "You realize you're forming your evil schemes right in front of me?"

Kori tossed a careless peripheral glance at him. "Yeah, but you're too paranoid you're gonna get stuck with Mercy to care about our motivations for helping you."

Phil mulled that over a couple of seconds, lips pursed upwards. "True. But no bow ties. They're dorky."

"Your face is dorky."

"Your face is dorky!"

"Now children, settle down," Josh softly commanded them, giving them both a firm pat on the head, earning him both a cheeky smirk and a glare. "We have a lot of work ahead of us if we want to find someone before November."

Phil frowned at the assessment. "It's just a girl. It shouldn't take us more than a week."

"With how picky you are?" Josh's voice and eyebrows conveyed his incredulity. "You kidding? It could easily take decades."

Phil's frown dug deeper into his face.

Josh cocked an eyebrow. "You know your face'll get stuck that way."

"It hasn't already?" Kori muttered, flipping back to the first page of the book. "C'mon, let's get this show on the road. There's around five-hundred students at PS 118, I'd say about forty-three percent of which are girls. That brings us down to 215 chicas…" She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "That is, unless we should be excluding boys in that estimate… or excluding girls…"

Phil's eyebrows dropped. "Are you asking me if I'm gay?"

"Yeah. Didn't think I was subtle enough you'd need clarification, but yes."

Phil's eyes squinted.

Josh eyed him curiously. "Well, are you?"

Phil blinked at that, and opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again, and closed it.

Finally, he replied, "No? I've never been attracted to one. But then, I've never been very attracted to any girls, either. I'm usually too preoccupied with being disturbed at how mindless people are to worry about what they look like."

Kori stared at him a long wide-eyed moment, before turning her head to whisper at Josh, "Maybe he's asexual, like a plant. It would explain the green."

"No way," Josh whispered back with his head ducked low, watching Phil none-too-subtly over the back of her head. Phil blinked back at him, perturbed and a little offended—though he always looked a little offended, so Josh wasn't concerned. "He's a Shortman, and my brother. There's simply no way. There's gotta be another reason he's so weird." Raising both his head and his tone, he asked point-blank, "Which would you rather make out with—Olivia Wilde or Chris Pine?"

Phil's nose scrunched up unattractively. "Ewww, I don't want to touch either of them, let alone kiss them!"

Josh's expression was almost more violent a reaction than if he'd thrown himself off the couch and gone into spasms. "Holy crap, he's a plant!"

"Now hold on," Kori propped herself up further on her elbows, "lets not break out the fertilizer just yet. He is still a two-year-old."

"No excuse!"

"Would you just—" came screeching suddenly out of Phil's mouth, until he gained something of a handle on his annoyance and shifted it towards something more productive than imploding. Like yelling. "Exclude the guys and get on with it! I'm pretty sure if I was gay I'd have noticed it by now, so let's just move on!"

"Okay," Kori exhaled warily, licking the tip of her finger to give the book page a flick. "Let's try to narrow it down some more. Hair color, eye color, race? Any preferences?"

"No blondes," he snipped instantly, brooking any argument. Kori smirked and nodded. Josh just sighed, as if all hope in humanity had been lost.

The door was suddenly yanked open unceremoniously, and a harried, wild-faced Helga Shortman stood spread-legged in the doorway. Her messy ponytail now looked as if a bird had taken residence in it, hair springing up seemingly at random and giving her the look of a deranged asylum escapee.

Kori leapt out of Josh's lap like it was on fire, and was sitting politely, hands folded tensely in her lap on the other end of the couch before Josh could even process she'd moved. Her face flushed dark, she began quietly, "Mrs. Shortman, I—"

"Where's Arnold?" Helga spoke right over her as if she hadn't been speaking in the first place, looking like she couldn't possibly care less where her best friend's daughter's head was.

Josh frowned. "How—"

"Don't play innocent with me, you traitorous thumb-sucking papa's boy," the words cracked from her lips like lightning, while her eyes flashed varying shades of dangerous blue. Everyone tensed. "I know you know all your father's favorite hiding spots, and I won't have it! If he thinks he can get away from me, he is sorely mistaken!"

And just like that, she was across the room like a demon. She stood just on the edge of the couch, legs set and hands on her hips in her signature war stance, eyes blazing and mouth in a humorless line. She was evidently out for blood, so it was no wonder their father ran. Mom was scary like this, and it was usually best to bunker down and wait until the storm passed before discussing whatever she'd gone off the deep end about.

Which was why Kori scooted closer to Josh, Phil fisted a blanket closer to himself in case he'd need to hide, and Josh just stared. "Mom, I really don't kn—"

"The hell you don't!"

Phil opened his mouth, a little, which was just enough to be too much, "Dad says you shouldn't cur—"

"Well, your father's not here, is he?" she spat out in a near-snarl.

Phil threw the blanket up over himself and bunkered down beside a pillow.

Helga predictably wilted at the sight. With a defeated sigh, she ran her hand down the length of her forehead before resting it over her eyes. Resigned to stillness, she asked, "Does anyone in this room have any clue where Mr. Shortman is?"

Josh started to shake his head, but when Kori said, "No, ma'am," he realized Mom couldn't see him and quickly followed her statement with a mirrored, "No, Mom." After a moment, he added, "Honestly."

The pink blop of blanket just snorted, having wedged its way under the pillow by now. His voice was expectedly muffled, "Do I look like I know crap?"

Helga's hand fell to reveal a dry look. "Well, you usually claim to."

The blop bristled.

With a shake of her head, Helga waved her arm and marched out the door before anything more could be said on the matter.

Exactly five awkwardly silent seconds later, the skylight hatch clicked open, and Mr. Shortman came climbing in.

A warm smile was flashed at all in the room as he reached the bottom of the ladder and bounced heavily on the bed. "Hey, kids. Wha'chu up to?"

Before Josh could respond with exactly what they were currently up to, Phil tossed the blanket off himself and stated in a hush, "Mom's looking for you."

Arnold's smile didn't even twitch. "Yes."

"She looked like she wanted to break your neck."

"Yes."

Josh tilted his head at him. "You're hiding."

"Yes."

Well, that was that then.

"So, you guys going to tell me what you're up to, or should I guess?" Arnold's eyes drifted warmly over them, taking everything in from Kori's prim posture, Josh's bedraggled state, Phil's clutch on the blanket, and the book currently lying in the middle of the couch. His own hair was combed to the side, body clad in an aquamarine t-shirt and white wash jeans. He looked relaxed, sitting there, and was a welcome sight after the tsunami that was their mother, so the kids all let out a collective breath.

That was immediately sucked back in when Phil yelled, "Why didn't you tell me Mom was the girl who bullied you?"

The smile and happy half-lidded eyes were replaced with surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You said you thought Mercy had a crush on me, not that she was in love with me and we were destined to be together!"

By the end of Phil's accusation, Arnold's face had finished its slow descent into blankness. Not comfortably blank like it usually was, or bored, or lost in thought. Just completely, unnaturally blank. He sat still as a statue, legs folded Indian-style and hands on his knees.

Until finally, he blinked, long and slow. When his voice came, it was as a low deadpan, "Grandpa told you."

And just like that, Dad looked mad, which meant his eyes were narrowed, his jaw was working, and his mouth was tight. For someone well-known as the textbook definition of Mr. Nice Guy, some might think this would be deeply unsettling, yet even angry, he somehow managed to look about as threatening as a spoon. Probably because even at his most furious, the worst possible outcome was always a very stern lecture and maybe a month's grounding, tops, and after growing up with a mom who could make you pee your pants with just one look and a temper that had been known to come up with some very creative punishments when so much as breathed on incorrectly, seeing the slow, pissy undulation of their father's breath was pretty much the equivalent of a baby lamb on the hunt for butterflies.

Which was half of why Phil had no trouble continuing on his tirade despite his dad's mood. The other half was that he was, well, Phil. "Yeah, Grandpa warned me, unlike you." His breathing patterns matched his father's, and his face was one of betrayal. "How could you throw me to the sharks like that? Why didn't you tell me it was a curse?"

Arnold sighed harshly and raked a hand through his hair. "It's not really a curse, Phil, it's just a coincidence. I never really thought you and Mercy would—I mean, of course I suspected, the circumstances are too perfect not to. But you know I don't believe in curses. Grandpa's just weird like that. You shouldn't take everything he says so seriously."

"Oh no," Phil sat back and crossed his arms, "you can't trick me. It happened to Grandma Gertie and Grandpa Phil, it happened to you and Mom, and now it's happening to me. You can't sit there and tell me I'm just imagining things."

Arnold mirrored his body language with a lifted eyebrow. "I thought you didn't believe Mercy liked you."

"That was before I had irrefutable evidence shoved in my face."

Arnold's voice dipped sarcastically low, "In the form of a curse?"

Phil's stubbornness didn't falter. "Yes." Arnold opened his mouth to reply, words riding on the wave of a sigh, but Phil interrupted him, "And I'm not having it. I don't like Mercy and I don't want to marry Mercy so I'm not gonna. I'm finding a different girl and getting married to her and that's final." He lifted his chin stubbornly.

Arnold just stared at him. Then stood. "Okay."

"Okay?" Phil watched with some measure of trepidation as his father walked to the door. "That's it? No apology?"

Arnold turned his head to him, hand on the doorknob, and shook his head. "The only apology owed in this room is from you, for raising your voice to me and making baseless accusations." All the air seemed to get sucked out of the room, and Phil could only gape. Arnold met his eyes. "I'm letting you off the hook only because I understand how distraught you must be. I won't tolerate that manner of disrespect again. Am I clear?"

Phil's eyes flickered. He swallowed and looked down. "Yes, sir."

"Good. You kids have fun." After a moment of hovering in the doorway, he smiled, faintly. "You know I only ever want you to be happy. But, just…" he hesitated, hand twisting on the knob, before he came to a decision and finished, "don't fight how you feel, if you do happen to… Just trust me." He pointed at Josh with a firm look then. "And you, keep things from getting out of hand. I don't want to hear anything being broken up here." Josh blinked, only mildly surprised at the address, before nodding his head. Arnold's face smoothed.

With that, he exited the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Kori burst, "Oooooh, Philly got in trouble—"

Phil chucked the pillow at her.

"I can't believe you told him."

Grandpa jerked up, his head clunking against the shelf. Laundry detergent bounced over and fell, white flakes exploding out like a gust of winter over their heads. Grandpa coughed and cursed and turned his head, white as a ghost, to blindly face the stairway. "Wha?"

Arnold's stiff expression made no change. Silently, he walked over and sat the box back up correctly. "You told Phil about the curse."

Grandpa wiped his face with a rag and opened his eyes wide on him, eyebrows flying. "I told myself what?"

Arnold's face tightened further. He stood straight-backed by the washing machine, and crossed his arms at his grandfather's expression. "My son."

"Oh-oh, ah…" Grandpa blinked a few times, still seeming a bit disoriented, though his eyes were bright and clear. Glancing down at the rag, he folded it neatly and laid it down, still fiddling with it absently, just for something to do. His movements seemed a little dodgy. "You did say I tell them all at one point or another, didn't you?"

"It was different with Zack and Josh. They've never been bullied." Arnold eyed him, a muscle in his jaw shifting every so often. "Plus, I know it's only supposed to affect every other generation—"

"It is?" Grandpa's eyes went saucer-wide, before crinkling on a shocked burst of merry laughter. "Well, that explains why it didn't affect Miles!"

Arnold's eyes softened around the edges. A hint of melancholy colored his voice as he agreed, "Yes, Grandpa. That's why." He shook his head and sighed, uncrossing his arms to rest one hand on the machine beside them and take a step forward. "But that's not the point. Whatever happened to all that stuff you used to tell me? About just letting things evolve naturally, without interference? To let what's meant to be, be?" He raked a hand through his hair and glanced away, deftly shaking his head. "I don't actually believe in the curse, but I do believe at least one of those girls like him, and it's unfair. You've got him on some epic crusade to find someone to replace Mercy with now, and you know how he gets."

Grandpa made a strange sound, some cross between a snort, huff and a laugh, and turned to fold the last few shirts he'd had laid out and place them in the basket. "Oh yeah, I know, always making a mountain out of a mole hill. Kinda like you're doing right now…" He tossed him a tinkling look, his smile light and teasing. "There's nothing to worry about, I just wanted to give him something to look forward to!" He looked back down at his work, a little too casually. "I'll admit, I wasn't expecting him to freak out like he did, but I see no harm in it now. If the thought of marryin' that little girl terrifies him so much, why not let him experiment?"

"Because once Phil has an idea in his head, he won't let it go. I was trying to get him to open up his mind to the thought, and I think it was even working, but now thanks to you he's fleeing in the other direction. It's hopeless."

Grandpa snorted, not even sparing him a glance this time. "Last I heard you got him convinced that he hates girls."

Arnold's eyes narrowed. "Not seriously. Phil could never really hate girls. Not with Helga, Mom, Grandma, Suzie, Lola, or Miriam around." One by one, a finger popped out along his arm. "Not to mention Olga now."

"Heh." Grandpa turned, the basket under his arm and a smile on his face. "I hate to say this of my own protégé, but he's never been a very logical creature." He chortled. At Arnold's dry look, he quieted. "Oh, come now, Arnold, if this Mercy character is anything like Helga or Pookie, she won't take this lying down. It's not the end of the world. I don't know about you, but I went through a lot of girls before I realized Pookie was the one for me. You should be happy he's finally taking an interest."

"Won't take this lying down…" Arnold chuckled breathily, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Grandpa grinned. "It'll be a hoot. Our kitchen table'll be smashed and air vents dented up before you know it." He walked over to the stairs. "Nothing can get in the way of true love!"

Arnold sighed and turned to follow. His arms uncrossed. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I am, I'm me! Now onto some more pressing topics," he spun around on the third step, throwing a hand down to gesture grandly at his feet, "what do ya think of my new boots?"

Arnold stared down at the worn leather boots, stained a dark repugnant brown in some places and mossy green in others. He blinked slowly. "They, uh… They look…" he met his eyes with fond resignation, "great, Grandpa."

"Considering they'd been drifting at the bottom of a lake not two days ago? You bet they do!" He laughed in that lively way that always had Arnold suppressing the need to run a hand over his eyes and walked up the remainder of the stairs. Arnold followed. "So how did your day go? I heard Helga saying something about some friends moving back to Hillwood recently?"

Arnold was just opening his mouth to respond as he closed the door to the basement, his eyes brightening at the change of topic, when a hand shot out suddenly and he found himself stumbling sideways from a sharp pull. Next thing he knew he was eye-to-eye with his very angry wife, her eyebrows nearly covering the entirety of her baby blues and her breath huffing and mingling with his own. Arnold's spine went painfully straight.

"Here's Helga," she hissed.

Arnold did an impressive imitation of a fish.

He was suddenly pushed down on his knees and shaken. "I'm really obnoxious, huh? Of the two of us, you still think I'm the fool? Fool enough that I'd never find out that you broke your promise?" His brain rattled in his skull. "You told him, you told my baby! You know how he is! None of 'em will ever be able to look at me the same way again now, and it's all thanks to you and your big football-headed mouth!"

"Um."

The faint sound came from someplace behind the couple, and both turned their heads to see Phil standing at the bottom of the staircase, eyes wide in shock and embarrassment.

At their direct attention, he flushed bright red and raced back up the stairs. Helga snapped her head back around, livid. "Look what you've done!"

Arnold blinked several times, rapidly, his brain still trying to catch up with his rather dire situation. "What? No—" He shook his head, a firm expression taking place as he forced himself to stand. His hands instantly came down to circle around Helga's. "No. Helga, I don't know what it is you think I told him, but the reality's not nearly as bad as you're making it out to be."

"Oh," and now she sounded sarcastic, "so you didn't tell him all about how I was a big nasty bully when we were kids and you threw me into a pool at the April Fool's dance in front of everyone we know as a punishment?"

Arnold faltered. "Uh. Okay, so it's exactly what you think." Helga tore her hands from his and turned away in disgust. He winced and caught her elbow. "Come on, Helga, he was really upset. I told him a girl used to bully me and that she liked me, so that he could understand that I knew how he felt. That's it—I couldn't have anticipated that Grandpa would tell him about the 'curse' shortly afterward." He shot a quick glare over his shoulder at Grandpa at this, who was just standing with a sunshiny grin on the sidelines. When his eyes met Helga's again, they softened at what he found there. "I never meant to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. You must know that."

He watched as the steel in her eyes slowly drained, begrudgingly. Her hands relaxed in his. "Yeah, I know." She tried to rebuild her wall of righteous fury. "But—"

He maintained eye contact, light jellybean-green pools wide and perfectly attentive.

The wall crumbled to dust and was swept away by the wind. She wilted with a huff. Abruptly, she looked away, unable to hold his starlit supermodel eyes any longer. "Ah, damn it, Arnold, you can't let me stay angry for five measly seconds? He got all indignant with me about it, like I'd betrayed him somehow. It nearly broke my heart."

"Was he disrespectful?" He massaged her fingers between his own.

She pursed her lips, already knowing where he was going with this and unsure how she felt about it. "Maybe."

He kissed her fingers. "He yelled at me earlier, too. We should ground him for a day or two, take away some privileges, teach him better respect…"

Helga's fingers twitched. She avoided his eyes. "Maybe."

Arnold sighed. "Or we could just buy extra peas."

The next instant, Helga's eyes were focused solely on his, accompanied by a coy smile. "I'll add it to the grocery list."

Arnold rolled his eyes and slid an arm around her waist. "Is it any wonder he's so spoiled?"

"Pft, like I can help it." She rolled her eyes. "He's so adorable; all short and stubby, always thinking he's right, and those eyes—Ugh. Is it any wonder, indeed. As usual, this is all your fault."

"Of course it is."

"Of course." She pressed her lips to his. He pretended to put up resistance for a couple seconds before giving in, tugging her closer so he could deepen the kiss. Grandpa wolf-whistled.

"Guh—"

The awkward noise pulled the two apart, and they turned just in time to see Josh's eye and mouth twitch simultaneously. He belted out an almost panicked, "Sorry," before racing back up the stairs. Grandpa burst into laughter behind them, as Arnold and Helga just stood in bemusement.

Finally, Arnold commented, "I don't always think I'm right."

Helga pushed away from him with a scoff. "Oh, please! Don't even try. You both have that same look of long-suffered constipation in your eyes. Don't you stand there and act like you're not always thinking you're smarter than everybody else. I know you."

Arnold stared at her for a long moment, one eyebrow slowly suspending itself on his forehead, before he finally broke down and just rolled his eyes.

Helga pointed a finger at him. "Eh, eh! That's exactly what I'm talking about! That damn look. I mean, criminy, Arnold, one girl builds a shrine to you and suddenly you think you're some kind of god. Honestly—" She shook her head. "Ha, what am I saying? You had that look long before you knew anything about my love for you. It's just who you are."

Grandpa cackled his delight, walking around them to bring himself back into the conversation. "Eh, heh heh heh—She's got you pegged, Arnold. It's okay," he was quick to assure at the look Arnold flicked to him, "I know how you feel. I've always had trouble coping with how much cleverer I am than regular folk, too. It gets mighty exhausting after a while."

Helga hummed. "No kidding. I don't know how I've survived as long as I have. Day in, day out—everywhere I look, nothing but chuckleheads. You can hardly breathe for it."

Arnold threw a look between the two. "Sounds to me like you're the ones with the fantasies of grandeur."

Helga's eyebrows snapped up. She leaned over to whisper conspiratorially at Grandpa, "'Fantasies of grandeur,' he says. I bet he looks these phrases up specifically to make himself feel sharp." Grandpa snickered.

Arnold threw his hands up and turned away. Both Grandpa and Helga laughed then, not unkindly. Helga reached forward to pull him back by the shoulder. "Oh, don't be like that. I love that look. I used to watch you all the time, how you'd just stand around staring at people, all bored and detached and trying to pretend like you weren't the only adult in the room. I related to you very deeply in those moments. It was one of the main reasons I fell in love with you."

"And here I was under the impression it was for my purity," he muttered. Helga smirked.

The front door clicking open and shut interrupted their back and forth, but this wasn't surprising, and not only because they'd already been interrupted twice in the last ten minutes. Interruptions were common when you were living in a house of sixteen. Giving Helga the eye, indicating they'd be discussing this at length later—to which she flicked her eyes up—they all turned.

And there Zack stood, smiling goofily at them. His hair was crazier than usual, windswept, with his shirt wrinkled and brushed back behind his arms where he stood, leaned back against the door. Eyes fluttering, the first words out of his mouth were a thick, "You guys are the best parents ever."

Arnold shared a quick glance with Helga before he met Zack's eyes again, licking his lips, eyes crinkled with suppressed amusement. He took a cautious step forward. "I take it you had fun?"

Zack burst into mad cackling, like he'd just told a hilarious joke, and pushed off the door. Arnold was startled. "You could say that." He swayed on his feet; his hands forced their way into his pockets. His eyes practically glowed beneath his eyelids. "We just had a quick walk around the neighborhood. Really, more of a sprint. It was kind of boring, actually."

Helga stepped up beside him. He could sense the suspicion rolling off of her like it was a physical thing. "Boring, eh? Your face is telling a different story—You maybe wanna revise that statement?"

Zack laughed again, quieter this time. "Different st—Oh, that's a good one, Mom. I was only gone, what, ten, twenty minutes at most? Hardly enough time to go on some life-altering adventure." His smile shone, wide and toothy. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, though." He made his way towards the staircase.

"Uh-huh…" Her shuttered face flicked opened and her shoulders eased back. She followed him with her eyes. "So what's she like with her own kind? She was awfully quiet at lunch, I couldn't get a read on her. She seemed sweet, but you can never know with those types."

Her own kind being teenagers, Arnold thought. Zack looked at her, but didn't stop his slow trot, making his way up the first set of steps. "Oh, well, she's…" he giggled and slammed into the wall. Stumbling back, he rubbed his head with a quiet chuckle. "Who put that wall there? That's—I mean. Of course, she's great. Very—great. Good teeth. Uh, I'm gonna get back to you on that." He waved to them from the top of the stairs now, before disappearing from sight. The nervous, giddy energy trailed after him. A loud thump sounded shortly after his disappearance, followed by a laughing yelp, full of childlike wonder, "So many walls!"

"Oh," Helga muttered, "great."

"At least we know she comes from a good family," Arnold muttered back.

"Better than that time he and Riley dated," came her quiet agreement. "Zack Gammelthorpe-Wellington-Lloyd-Shortman. That'd have been rich."

Arnold sighed at the memory and rubbed her back when she leaned into him. "Poland will never be the same."

Grandpa's quiet chortling became noticeably loud when he walked around the two, finally deciding the last of the entertainment had trickled out of the room and he was tired of standing around with a full laundry basket. His eyes twinkled slyly when he glanced at Arnold. "And you say he's nothing like you."

Helga snorted a viscious laugh and pulled away from him. She said something about helping, and he heard her footsteps accompanying Grandpa's up the stairs, but it was all background noise to Arnold as he ran a hand down his face.

He loved his family, but sometimes they were just impossible.

"Mika Dyke?"

"No."

"Brett Foster?"

"No."

"Camelia Richards?"

"Double no."

"…Blythe Burterelli?"

"Triple no."

Kori slammed the book down. "Triple no? Are you joking? We're nearly to the end of the book! You couldn't at least think for five seconds before shooting them down?"

Phil frowned like she'd just asked him to beam to the moon. "None of them like me. Blythe and Camelia especially don't. They glare at me all the time."

Kori stared at him through bland eyes, her mouth hanging slightly agape. She blinked several times. "Phil… I am sorry I have to be the one to break this to you, but no one likes you. You have a number of distasteful qualities that I would go on to list, but we would be here all day and for the majority of the evening—no offense, I like teasing you, not injuring you; it is merely a statement of fact. Just please tell me the entire reason you turned down all those girls wasn't just because they didn't like you." Phil just blinked at her, and her eyes slowly narrowed. She spoke very evenly, "You need to pick someone based on whether or not you like them. We'll deal with getting them to like you back later." She exhaled shakily, forcing her hands to settle into a center-minded clasp. "Okay?"

Phil's eyes cut, looking utterly baffled for an instant. "But I don't like anyone." His nostrils flared. "And what should I care if they don't like me anyway? They're all idiots. I must be doing something very right if so many dim-witted donut brains dislike me so much. In fact, yeah, thank you for telling me that—I needed the boost." He clenched his teeth.

Kori stared at him for another long moment, before putting her face in her hands. Josh patted her on the back.

After a beat, Josh hesitantly offered, "What about Dolly?"

Phil was still laughing when the door pulled to and Zack shoved himself inside. He used his whole body to push it back closed and stood like that, hands flat on the door, back to the room. Then he twisted around and slid slowly down the door.

"Hello, my beautiful, perfect family." He kept his voice low, on the edge of a whisper; yelling being unnecessary. The grin on his face worked as a suitable exclamation point to his words, as he finally reached the floor and contentedly perched there. "You'll never believe the day I just had."

"Oh, somehow I doubt that," Josh ventured. Kori coughed.

Zack giggled. It wasn't unusual that Zack would laugh like that – annoying, demanding attention – but something about this one made some red flags snap up. Zack just shook his head and continued as if he hadn't spoken, "Do you guys remember Sophie?"

"The curvy one who's name you couldn't remember yesterday?" Phil's tone was arid.

Zack laughed again, a little uneasily this time, and swept a hand through his hair. "Um, technically. Anyway—Funny thing. Apparently Mom and Dad are acquainted with her parents. Dad more so than Mom, but Dad pretty much knows everyone within a hundred block radius, so…" He threw a friendly side-glance in Kori's direction. "They know the Sophie story, but you don't, so maybe I should start from the beginning?"

Kori smiled faintly.

Zack's smile warmed. "Okay. Well, last week there was this new girl at school, and since I'm me I naturally got assigned to show her around. It was by mere coincidence that she happened to be a total babe. I thought we'd hit it off all right, and when I asked her out she said yes, but nothing happened then. I mean, I didn't make a move 'cause her dad made it pretty clear with his eyebrows that he'd behead me if I so much as shed a hair on her, but she didn't do anything, either, which was weird 'cause I could have sworn she was into me. She barely even spared me a glance the whole night, in fact. So when I dropped her back home and her mom slammed the door in my face, I wasn't too torn up about it, 'cause I figured she didn't really care that much anyway. But today!" And here, a light flamed behind his eyes. "Mom and I went to the records store while Dad was in his meeting and we ran into this chick named Bridget—"

"Mother creation," Phil groaned in heartfelt agony and dropped backwards on the bed. "I'm gonna be a hundred and five by the time you get to the point."

Zack tut-tutted. "Ah, ah, patience, virtue, words of wisdom—I was getting there. Now, as I was saying—" He tossed his head back, as if to emphasize some majesty in his facial structure, but ended up knocking his head on the back of the door. His eyes burst open in surprised pain before falling half-lidded at Josh and Kori's snickering. He smirked at them. "As I was saying, there was this chick there that Mom recognized and flipped her lid about, and once she told her who she was, the Bridget lady started flipping out, too, and a bunch of weird dialogue happened. I kinda zoned out for most of it, but apparently she helped Dad save the neighborhood when that Shark guy tried to tear it down for his evil shopping mall. Something about tomatoes came up, I think. I don't know, but the point is, one thing led to another, and somehow we ended up picking up Dad and heading over to her house for lunch, and it was Sophie's house! She's Sophie's mom! And that's not even the end of it. Her dad was there in, pfft, the exact same spot he was before, still with the weird hat over his head and looking on the verge of a psycho killing spree, but as soon as his eyes landed on Dad he suddenly got super chummy and warm and—" He snorted. "I was afraid he was one of those closet gay guys and thought Dad was cute or something, but no, of course he used to know Dad, too. Dad was all guilty and said he didn't recognize him, but the guy just got this creepy smile on his face and said that was just fine, and I'm getting chills just thinking about it, I'm gonna move on—"

"Finally," Phil gasped.

"Bridget Jones called Sophie down for lunch when it was ready, and she came out in this—" he coughed, trying and failing to suppress his laughter, "in this argyle thing. This is coming from the guy from Plaid-Pink Palace, I know I shouldn't talk, but criminy."

"No one cares," Phil nearly sobbed, flopping over onto his stomach.

Zack waved a hand at him. "Shh, shh, this is an important detail in the narrative. Because I burst out laughing. I mean, she was wearing an argyle sweater to school, and she wore another one on our date, but argyle footy pajamas? That's going too far."

Josh and Kori blinked at him in unison.

"Settle down, you guys, your reception is overwhelming." Zack fanned himself.

"You're making that up," Josh pointed out.

Zack suddenly threw his arms up, startling them. "I'm not! I swear. Or, okay, so maybe they weren't footy—" Josh fell back in his seat, exasperated. "But I couldn't see her feet at first! I thought they were, but they turned out not to be, but I'm going sequentially here, all right? I had this split-second where I caught a glimpse of her feet and realized they weren't actually footy, but I thought they were, and I nearly choked on my sandwich. Dad's face went red which didn't help matters. Still, he tried to shut me up but I couldn't stop. And it was the weirdest thing, but she didn't get upset. The moment she saw me, she just stopped in the doorway, and I was laughing by then, but all of a sudden she ninja-dived across the room, grabbed me by the arm, hoisted me up against her, and told her parents she wanted me to be her boyfriend. So, I guess, long story short..."

"We are way past that point," Phil mumbled miserably into the mattress.

A large, goofy smile spread across Zack's face. "We're dating now, per specific demand. Go figure."

Kori smiled widely. "That's actually kinda roman—"

Phil suddenly shot off the bed like a bullet, his hair in wild disarray and pupils like pinpricks. "This is not news! This is not special! Girls throw themselves at you on a regular basis for some sick reason—"

"My cutting charm and roguish good looks," Zack mused, as if commenting on the weather.

Phil gagged and enthusiastically ignored him. "This does not deserve a forty-five hour oral presentation! I have facial hair on my facial hair now because of you! And we were kind of in the middle of something important—"

"Facial hair on your facial hair, huh?" Zack scrubbed a hand along his chin and the base of his jaw, a mischievous smirk whispering at the corner of his lips. "But from where I'm standing, you don't look anything like Dumbledore. Maybe if I get up closer…" He leaped across the room and pinned him down. Phil stared up at him in shock as Zack tilted his head in an exaggerated attempt to find hair on his face, eyes squinted, lips pursed and all. Suddenly, he gasped and drew back. "No! There's no facial hair in sight! Not a single follicle! But that, that can only mean…" He gulped, trembling. "You—You lied to me!"

"No," Phil tried to stop the inevitable, but it was too late. Hands came down on him and started furiously tickling, running up and down his sides before inevitably landing under his armpits. Phil squealed, kicked, tried to gain purchase with his elbows so he could scrabble away, but it was no use. Eventually he gave up and laughed, "Stop it, stop it, I give!"

Zack did not relent. "What's the magic word? Say it! Say it!"

"Abra–Abracada… cadabrahahaha…"

Zack threw himself back on his heels. "That is not the magic word."

Several strong chuckles fell out of Phil as he propped himself up, a beaming smile on his face. "Hocus pocus?"

"No."

"Alakazam? Presto-get-off-of-me-o? Ting tang walla walla bing bang?"

Zack shook his head. "You disappoint me, grasshopper."

Phil's smile only bloomed. "Thank you."

Josh looked between the two, his eyes wide. Something determined entered them suddenly, and he stood, rolling up his sleeves. "All right, that's it. I've been wanting to do this ever since I woke up."

He slammed his body down on Phil's and forced his head down into the mattress, locking his arms behind his back. "Call Uncle or I sit on you for the next two hours!"

Zack scoffed and pulled at the hand on the back of Phil's head. "How can he call anything when you're suffocating him? Get off, you oaf." Josh hastily withdrew.

Phil threw his head up and gasped for breath. Josh sat comfortably on top of him, still holding his arms. Phil twisted his head around and spoke in a crackling whisper of death, "Uncle."

Josh released his arms but didn't get up. Instead, he said to Zack, "You know, I hate to say it, but he's got a point. It's a funny story, but this kind of stuff happens all the time. Why'd you have to tell us all this now? You could've just waited 'til dinner…"

Zack's face softened. "I don't know. I guess I just feel like Sophie's different. There's something about her, I can't put my finger on it, but it's something. I think this one could really go the distance."

"Two weeks?" Phil was in awe.

Zack eyed him, then shifted his attention back to Josh. "You know what? Go ahead and suffocate him."

"Uh," Josh's eyes shifted, "actually, Zack, do you think you could get us some snacks? Phil and I tried to get them earlier but, there were, circumstances, that, uh…"

Zack smiled brightly and pushed to the edge of the mattress so he could stand. "Sure thing! You know, I think there's still some leftover peach cobbler that would really hit the spot. So long as Suzie managed to keep Oskar at bay, anyway." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Got anything else in mind, or is it entirely up to me?"

"Popcorn," Phil chimed in.

"Ginger ale, if you have it," Kori added.

Josh looked Zack straight in the eye. "Baloney sandwich with all the fixings, curly fries covered in cheese, and a large strawberry lemonade."

Zack didn't even blink as he headed backwards towards the door. "Got it. Be back in a jiff." The door was shut delicately after him, and whistling was heard, softly fading behind the door.

Phil and Kori stared at Josh with jaw-dropped identical expressions.

Josh stared at the door, unbreathing. He exhaled, "Oh," then abruptly sucked it back in. A forest fire sparked behind his eyes. "Oh. Oh-ho, aha. Ahahahaha…"

Phil snapped his head forward and clawed desperately for the other end of the mattress so he could pull himself free.

"Ham." Kori's voice was steel as she watched her best friend dissolving into dirty laughter. "What the heck?"

Josh threw his legs forward, placing more of his weight on Phil's back. Phil grunted. Josh didn't notice. "This is fourth happiest day of my entire life."

Kori scooted over on the couch to get a better look at his face, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in uncertainty. "Josh…?"

That snapped him out of it, and he met her eyes with a wide, nearly manic grin that they both knew he was gonna deny making later on. "Didn't you see? Zack like-likes this girl, really like-likes her, and it sounds like she like-likes him right back. He's happy. And you know what that means..." He suddenly lept up from the mattress, bouncing the mattress so hard that Phil flew into the air a second before slamming back down on his back. Josh fist-pumped into the air. "We can get him to do whatever we want!"

Phil stared at the sky in a daze. "Eh?"

Josh flopped down beside him, causing him to bounce into the air again. He squeaked and flailed before landing beside Josh, practically shoulder-to-shoulder. He might as well plopped right on top of him, though, because Phil squeaked again and jerked away to hastily sit up. Josh beamed up at him. "I guess it has been a while since Zack's had a real girlfriend, huh? You were pretty young the last time. Boy, are you in for a treat."

Phil stared blankly, wide-eyed, for a long moment, before turning his head to Kori. "Asian, translate."

Kori's mouth flattened out, though her eyes glinted with hidden amusement. She sighed painfully and pushed her glasses back up her nose. "Zack gets really lenient when he's crushing on someone, as you saw. You can do pretty much anything to him, ask him to do anything, and he'll smile and go along with it."

It should have been impossible, but Josh's smile appeared to widen. "Last time Zack was like this, I got him to give me his ice cream, sit on the floor so I could have leg room on the couch, and take me to the movies to see Inside Wrestlemania. Twice."

Kori snuffled and shook her head with a breathy chuckle. "Man, I never know whether to be delighted or deeply concerned when you get like this." A smirk touched Josh's lips.

Phil eyed Josh with wary exasperation, rubbing at his abused backside. "And you don't think that's insanely manipulative?"

Josh's smile flipped upside down. "Well, it's not like Zack doesn't deserve it. He's always taking advantage of us, blackmailing us, upstaging us, laughing smugly in our faces, walking around like he's some bigshot with his stupid smirking face. Like he's better than me or something, even though I'm stronger and better looking and nicer and actually know how to listen and—"

A pen hitting him squarely in the forehead shut off his tirade. Josh frowned loudly at the interruption, but Kori's sharp look didn't waver. "Ham, we get it. You're the prettiest princess at the ball. Chill."

Josh's frown shifted to one of intense befuddlement. "I'm not a princess."

Kori tilted her head sharply to the side and smirked almost predatorially, but Phil intercepted whatever she was going to say. "Criminy, you're sick. I'd ask you if this obsession was ever gonna end, but I think I already know the answer."

"Don't get all holier-than-thou on me again." Josh met his eyes plainly, no indignation or insult in his tone; it was a simple request. "I know he bugs you, too."

"Everyone bugs me." He shrugged one shoulder. "Doesn't mean I lose my nut." Josh's eyebrows snapped up at that before snapping back down as his eyes began boring into him with a relish. He looked away, pouting. "Anyway, I know better than to try to go up against Zack. A few harmless schoolyard pranks are one thing, but I don't have a death wish."

"But that's just the thing." Phil felt Josh sit up, bouncing the bed again, much to his annoyance, and glanced briefly over to see him move to kneel beside him. "This is a risk-free way to get revenge on Zack, because he's too doped up on 'true love' to realize it's even happening. There's no repercussions; no blackmail; just sandwiches and lemonade." He looked forward, at nothing in particular, his eyes going a little hazy, almost wistful. "It's one of the few Zack-related joys in my life."

Kori lifted a finger. "It's your only Zack-related joy."

"Thanks, Kori."

"Any time."

Phil couldn't bring himself to look at either of them, so he didn't. He focused on the carpet, hoping the stiffness in his back and shoulders wasn't too obvious. "Whatever. It's not like you'll listen to me if I try to talk you out of it anyway."

"Glad we're on the same page." Josh smiled, teasing. His nostrils flared as he exhaled and he stood up to retrieve the yearbook. "Speaking of, I guess we should get back to it."

Phil stood quickly, nearly stumbling in his haste. He didn't, of course, but it was a close thing. "No."

Two pairs of eyes were thrown at him. He grabbed the ends of his t-shirt and tugged, looking anywhere but at the two older kids. "Let's face it. We're at the end of the book and haven't found anyone who works. The yearbook's a dead end; we could all use a break—we should just stop for now, think up a new way to go at this, and talk about it..." he pursed his lips, his voice slowing, "tomorrow. I gu—Yeah."

Kori and Josh blinked in unison, shared a look, and looked back at him. Josh took on a casual expression and nodded, well aware something was up but deciding it was best to leave it be. "Okay. So for now we can just—"

Zack chose that moment to waltz in with a bag of popcorn and a cup. Helga walked in after him with a half-eaten sandwich and a scowl on her face. "Okay, who told Zack to spoil their dinner?"

"Aw, Mom!"

"So you see, I know we're basically strangers to each other and you've probably heard some nasty rumors about me, and the odds are I'm not going to like you very much if we do get to know each other, but there's this curse I found out about short notice that pretty much condemns me to a life alongside the girl of my nightmares unless I find another girl and hang out with her romantically for the entire year I'm nine. If you didn't know already, that nightmare is Mercy Laporte. I know she's popular and common sense dictates you should ignore everything I say, but trust me when I say she's the devil and I'd rather amputate my arm with a rusty saw than get stuck with her. So long story short, whether I end up liking you or not, next to her you're gonna come out looking like Hedy Lamar every time, and that's gotta count for something, right? So what do you say? Wanna get married in fifteen years?"

Phil groaned, slamming a plastic cup down on the wall in frustrated defeat, milk sloshing out the sides. He watched glumly as the milk fell two stories and splattered against the pavement. It was still mostly dark out, the sun only a suggestion in the eastern sky, and a light sheen of moisture clung to the rooftop and surrounding buildings. The water was only just starting to catch flickers of sunlight. The tops of everything at eye-level with him glittered dimly.

The milk was a dull white smear in the shadows below, drips of it still beading down his cup. He snorted.

"Yeah, that'll work out famously. We'll be in love by nightfall." He propped his elbows up on the wall and stirred at his cereal. It was soggy. He stuffed a spoonful in his mouth anyway. Flipping the empty spoon away, a drip propelling off and plummeting to the ground, he looked out into the dusk and spoke between chews, "This is so wrong. Why is this happening to me? I'm not boyfriend material. I'm barely even friendship material. I exist to yell at people when they're being stupid, that's it. How am I supposed to be the smart, level-headed one if I'm drooling after some skirt? And for what? Because she's pretty?" He swallowed.

Throwing his arms up into the rising sun, milk and cereal both sloshing out the sides, he yelled as loudly as his scratchy voice could go, "Who cares?"

Several pigeons threw themselves from their perches and whapped violently away, carried on the winds of fear and desperation. He glared at them, but he couldn't blame them. He wanted to flap off into the sun to escape Phillip Shortman, too.

It wasn't even that he didn't want to get married—he'd always figured he would. But it wasn't anything but a piece of knowledge, a distant assumption, like how he knew one day he'd be going to high school, and then college, and eventually he'd have to start looking into buying some ties and one day that would leak over into shopping for hipbones and dentures. It was just something that would get done one day, because that was just how life worked. You grew up, you got a job, you got married, you had kids, you broke at least twenty bones in your body, and then you died. Not always in that order. He knew all this objectively, but had never stopped to consider just what any of that would entail; what it would really mean for him. When he first found out about the curse and came up with the solution of simply finding another girl, it hadn't sunk it. When he gnawed on it all through Sunday, it hadn't sunk in. When he was going through the yearbook with Josh and Kori, it hadn't sunk in.

When Zack agreed to make Josh a small feast and Josh laughed about what a sucker he was, it occurred to him that he didn't really want to marry someone he didn't love. There was no point in getting married at all if he wasn't completely, irrevocably enamored to the point he literally couldn't imagine not permanently shackling himself. That thought had bounced around in his head as he talked to Josh, until it finally dawned on him that he'd have to find someone he like-liked, and to do that, he'd essentially have to become like Zack, and Josh, and Dad, and Tristan. Stumbling into walls, smiling like an idiot, being forced on his knees by a girl, all while being willing to forsake anything and everyone around him just to be with said girl.

The thought made him want to throw up. Again. Which had been exactly what he was avoiding by going through with this plan, so he was pretty much back to stage one, only this time there was no way to get around it. It was either find someone to replace Mercy with, someone who turned him into a chump, or die. Or, not literally die, but the effect would be the same. Maybe it would be either way.

Never mind the fact he wasn't sure he was even capable of liking someone like that. He never had before. Never even had an inkling of it. Why would he start now?

Could a fish learn to climb if it was determined enough not to hit the ground? That was the question.

The answer wasn't promising.

Forget this. He pivoted, strode to the skylight and fiddled at the latch. He was determined not to think one more thing about it until either Josh or Kori brought it up again. It was ruining his morning, and this was the only quiet time he got before all hell broke loose. He was just done. Through. Finished. Finito. No more thinking.

Holy crap, what if it did work out and he ended up like Dolly?

He exploded into hyperventilation. The latch slipped from his fingers.

No, he consoled himself, clasping a hand to his mouth. There was no way he would ever be like that. Dolly might be in 'love,' the word rang mockingly in his mind, but she was also an epic psychofreak. He was not an epic psychofreak, so as long as he stayed self-aware and in control, he would be fine. He had to be. He'd force himself. With renewed fervor, he went at the latch, ignoring the way his hands slipped and slid, and silently lifted the window. Sitting his cup aside, he stepped down in, grabbed it again, and softly as a mouse, stepped down onto the bed. His parents lay in a tangle on it, his mom drooling all over his dad's cotton sleep shirt and his dad serene as always. Zack was curled on his side on the couch, snoring softly, and Josh had his mouth wide open, tangled amongst the soft pink blankets and sheets of the floor mattress. He exhaled slowly, carefully.

Besides, girls weren't all bad. His mom was amazing, Suzie and Lola were both lovely, sweet people, Grandma Gertie was… Grandma Gertie, and Stella had to be the most incredible woman in existence. She'd fought pirates, trekked jungles, and saved thousands of lives with her medical expertise time after time. If he could find someone like Stella, kind and empathetic and smart and badass, he'd be a happy boy.

But that was asking for too much. He sighed and stepped down off the bed. Miles hadn't met Stella until he was well into his twenties. He only had a few weeks before he turned nine.

He pursed his lips and sulked in front of the door for a while, his free hand clinging loosely to the knob. He didn't know why Mercy couldn't have simply been a better person. This would be so much easier if the thought of holding her hand didn't make him want to blow up mountains and terrorize villages. If he could believe even for a second there might be more to her than hairspray and mouth breathing, he could give her a chance.

He grimaced. Okay, so no, he couldn't. If she turned out to be the single most perfect creature in the entire galaxy, he still wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole. There was no coming back from their history; the years of sneering and shoving and tripping and insulting. If that was how she expressed her affection, he didn't want it. He didn't want any of it. He couldn't imagine a single thing in the whole wide universe that could make him look at her as anything but his natural-born enemy.

He supposed she did get under his skin, though, which was still proving to be a disturbing realization…but it was in a venomous parasite kind of way.

He snorted. A loud snore erupted behind him. He snatched the door open and practically threw himself down the stairs.

All was calm until he reached the first floor. He shuffled towards the kitchen to dispose of his snack, when a soft noise stopped him in his tracks. He blinked, and strained his ears. It sounded like… knocking. Quiet knocking. Like a pebble being rapped against a block of wood.

He turned to the front door. It had stopped as quickly as it had began, the house falling back into peaceful silence. He stood awkwardly, uncertain of what to do. Maybe he'd just imagined it.

The door shook with the force of the knocking that took place the next second. He jumped, and dropped his cup in horror. Paying no mind to the splattering of milk and cereal at his feet, he rushed to the door and threw it wide.

The girl on the other side froze mid-knock. Slowly, she looked down, meeting his crazed, horrified eyes, and blinked. Her hand stayed suspended. She looked surprised, as if she couldn't believe trying to smash the door in with her fist would make someone come to the door.

He took all of two seconds to take her in, from the floppy green hat to the plaid skirt. Campfire lass. A stinking campfire lass just tried to wake up the entire house. He scowled and was just about to whisper-scream for her to take a hike when she spoke.

"He...llo." She blinked at him again, glanced at her fist, and gradually lowered it. She smiled, but there was something off about it. "Are… your parents home?" She looked over him, peeking into the house.

His face went red. He waved his arm above his head to block her view. "It's six in the morning! They're asleep."

Her eyes snapped back to his, looking even more shocked than before. Criminy, what a dope. He placed his hand on his hip and went on in his matter-of-fact tone, "I'm perfectly capable of speaking for my family. We want nothing to do with you or anything you're selling, so thanks but no thanks, goodbye." He slammed the door in her face.

Some people. He shook his head to the ceiling and stepped for—

The knocking started up again, and he whipped around and threw it back open in a panic. "Stop doing that!" he hissed, eyes wide.

She leaned forward, like she wanted to step in. He leaned back, she realized what was happening, and quickly leaned back as well. She opened her mouth like she was going to take a breath, but then just closed it and briefly shut her eyes. "Look, I know it's really early. I'm not any happier to be here than you are, but you're my first house. Could you please just… humor me?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not buying anything from you."

"That's fine. You don't have to. I just… I know…" She opened her eyes. They were violet. "Humor me. Please."

He looked at her peculiarly. She just looked so pathetic. Finally, he let out a long-suffering sigh and leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

She instantly straightened and issued him a winning smile. "Hello, kind sir. I'm sorry for bothering you in your home, but I believed it to be in everyone's best interests if I came to offer you some delicious campfire lass chocolate turtles. They're only 4 dollars a box, that's nearly fifteen chocolate turtles each, and all funds go to orphanages across the state to help little boys and girls just like me." Her smile took a decidedly cutesy turn. A laugh tickled at his throat, but it wasn't quite strong enough to escape.

The second her speech was over, she deflated. She clutched her hands together and asked quietly, "How was that? Did I do okay?"

Phil's face was contorting. "You sounded like a commercial."

"Is that bad?"

"I don't know." He tilted his head at her, considering. "I guess that was the point. I don't think it was bad. I almost want to buy something from you now." He pointed a stern finger at her, eyes hardening as he strained up on his feet. "Almost."

She smiled slightly, her eyes softening in turn. "Thanks. It's a start." She took a step back and looked up, around at the house, troubled but assessing. "This is a boarding house, right?" She met his eyes. "There's more than just one family here?"

Phil blinked, his finger dropping. "Uh. Technically."

She smiled again. He blinked a couple more times. "That's why I chose to come here first. Do you think I could come inside and—"

"No," he deadpanned. A stranger wanting to be invited into his home after only two minutes of acquaintance. Oh, that was a good one.

Her smile fell. He frowned. "Oh. Well, maybe I could wait until someone wakes up then?"

Oh, for Pete's sake. "No," he repeated in much the same tone. "That would be stupid. My parents and brothers'll be waking up in half an hour, but you'll just get the door in your face again. The rest of the house doesn't get up for another few hours. You're wasting your time here."

She made no expression. After a moment, she shrugged. "Okay. Can I still wait?"

He looked at her as if she'd just asked if she could borrow his magic flying Pegasus. "You want to stand out here for an hour and a half?"

"Well, at least until your family wakes up. If you don't mind."

Phil blanked. Slowly, he turned his head to the right. There was a long line of brownstone, all filled with other poor, unsuspecting victims. He turned left. Another long, long line. He turned back to her with a withering look. "You do realize you're in a neighborhood? You could at least move down the block and come back later?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He stared, unblinking.

She blinked several times rapid fire, more than enough for the both of them. Otherwise, she looked perfectly tranquil. "Is that a problem?"

Well then. He raised his eyebrows up, flicked his eyes to the sky in a 'suit yourself' fashion and turned with a wave of his hand. "Knock yourself out, loser."

The door closed.

He tossed his cup away, placed the spoon in the sink, and cleaned the mess up from the floor. It was at the precise moment he was sitting the mop back into the closet that the reality of his situation finally slapped him in the face with a cold, wet fish, and everything went black.

He threw the door open so hard the knob crashed into the wall and caused a dent. His chest heaved with adrenaline and his eyes were aflame as he looked down at her sitting on the stoop, legs spread out in front of her. She startled and looked up at him. He processed none of this. Everything that was his soul came out in the exclamation, "You're a girl!"

Her eyes were dinner plates as she stared up at him. Very deliberately, she nodded and said, "Yes…"

He snapped his eyes up and down her body, giving her a more thorough once-over now that her chromosomes had been established. Dark charcoal brown hair, smooth skin, bright yellow knee-socks. Her features were a little chubby, her nose long and protruding, her bangs choppy, but her eyes were striking. Yes. Yes, she would do just fine. "What school do you go to?"

"Um…" She looked like she wanted to blink but was afraid that might set him off. Her eyes stayed locked with his. "PS 118…"

He breathed out sharply. How did they miss her? "How long?"

She looked confused.

He practically vibrated. "How long have you gone to PS 118?"

"About... About three months."

That's why she hadn't been in the yearbook. She was new. She'd just started attending in August. She likely knew nothing about him, and because Campfire Lasses were like a cult, they ate lunch alone together in their fortress of freakitude, so she wouldn't have seen any of Mercy and his stunts in the cafeteria. She was a fresh slate. Untainted. Untried. His fingernails dug into the wood of the doorway. He had to make sure. "Do you hate me?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "No."

I don't even know you, strange little boy, went unsaid, but he heard it all the same. He tried to calm down. He failed. He forced his shoulders to relax to give the impression of calmness instead. In the most casual voice he owned, he said, "Oh, that's cool. I go there, too. And I also don't hate you." Oh, this was going great. They already had so much in common. Maybe they really would be in love by nightfall.

She didn't appear to agree. "Are you okay?"

"Not really. What's your name?"

"Sarina. Do you need medical attention? Your breathing sounds off." She started to stand.

He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. He grew tired of craning his neck back to look at people's faces. "Oh, no, I'm fine physically. Really, don't worry about it. Sarina."

She made a strange face, but allowed his hand to keep her seated. "Oh, no one calls me Sarina. That just… Force of habit. You can call me Sara." He blinked at her, and she exhaled, her voice lowering to a murmur, "Please call me Sara."

"Sara..."

"Yes."

"Sara."

"…Yes?"

He rolled it around on his tongue. Sarina Shortman. Sara Shortman. He nodded slowly. "That's… a nice name."

She smiled the same smile of before. Something really was off about it, something he didn't quite know what to make of, but it was a smile all the same. He decided he'd get used to it. "Thank you." She hesitated. "What… What grade are you in, exactly?"

"Fourth."

She nodded like this didn't surprise her. "That's quite an accomplishment."

A line appeared between his eyebrows at first, then one raised. He withdrew his hand. "Well, gosh, thank you. How about you?"

"I'm in fifth," she answered automatically.

He did a slow clap, like she'd just scored a hole in one. "Oh, good job."

She caught the sarcasm. A wisp of a smile revealed itself in her bemusement.

The conversation lapsed after that. He rocked on his heels just for something to do, watched her look from him to the rubix cube he just realized was in her hands, and swallowed. Criminy.

What now? Should he ask her out for coffee?

She fiddled a little with the cube, not actually changing anything; it looked more like she just wanted to look busy. Well. At least he wasn't the only one who didn't know what the heck to do. He really should have thought this over more carefully. Rigorous training in how not to make a girl want to vaporize you was in order. He made note.

Her voice made him jolt back to the present. "Hey, I'm sorry if I offended you or anything." Her shoulders huddled inward, and the rubix cube twirled between her fingers as she stared down at it. "You sounded like I offended you somehow, so, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

He stared down at her. Something flashed across his eyes, but it was gone the same second it appeared. "That's okay."

She looked up and met his eyes again. A smile spread across her face, soft and relieved.

He continued to stare. "You know, now that I've had time to think it over, I think I will take you up on your offer."

Her eyes widened. She threw the rubix cube away and sat up straight as an arrow. A notepad was whipped out of nowhere and a pencil magically produced. "Offer?"

He snorted at her reaction and fell against the door. "Yeah, why not? Put me up for two. I'm sure someone around here will eat them. Besides, you ought to be rewarded for not faking that stupid accent."

She stilled in her frenzied scribbling. "Oh... uh..."

"Ch. Don't worry, you reek of newb. Clearly they haven't brainwashed you yet. Don't let them get to you, would you? Nobody likes the accent. It won't do anything for your cause."

She stayed still for a moment longer before she resumed her scribbling. "No chance of that," he heard her mumble as she finished her writing and flipped the pad closed. He raised an eyebrow, but she just tossed him a smile and stood. Her skirt swished against her legs. "Thank you for your business."

He stood straight in alarm. "You going somewhere?"

She faltered. After a moment of study, she placed her hands on her thighs and spoke as if she were confessing a sin, "I was thinking about it before you came out."

He scrunched his face. Weird girl. She wanted to stay, she wanted to leave. Now he knew what people meant when they said relationships were like emotional rollercoasters. Still, despite his misgivings, he pursed his lips and nodded. "I need to get ready for school anyway."

She picked up her rubix cube and stuck it in her shirt, along with the notepad. The pencil was stuck behind her ear. Once all that was done, she clapped her hands together and huffed through a smile. "Maybe we'll run into each other again sometime."

Obviously. "Mayhaps."

She paused a second in her turning, and gave him an odd look, before continuing down the stoop to the sidewalk. He shut the door with a lightness he didn't know what to do with. His hands lightly shook in the aftershocks of his disbelief. Maybe things were looking up after all.

Meanwhile, Olga stood silently at the top of the stairs, watching. She watched as he stood for a long time. She watched as he closed the closet door. She watched as he headed blindly for the staircase.

She turned and tip-toed quickly back to her room, barely concealing her smile.

A/N: OH SNAP SON

No, but when Phil looks Sara up and down and thinks, "Yes, she will do just fine," I can't help picturing that accompanied by a deep, heavily rasping voice and him already estimating the temperature it's gonna take to cook her in his oven.

This is my life.

I really just... I don't know what to say. Let's get to questions.

Q - Ever thought of doing a chapter with all Arnold and Helga children from the "Hey Arnold!" series episode called "Married"? It would be either a INTERESTING Comic strip or chapter is you had Helga and Arnold kids dream of there prospective crush's or who people think they will married and have them react in the morning.

A - It's never occurred to me before, but that would make a hilarious comic strip. x'D It's a good idea. I have a lot of things to draw right now, but I'll write that one down. If it ever gets done, I'll give you credit and let you know. :D Thanks for the idea!

Q - Will Zack and Pam finds out and be more understanding to why Phil acts?

A - Oh, man. Well. Uh. Zack and Pam will find out some stuff. Levels of understanding may vary. You'll just have to read and see. x'''D

Q - GASP! MIKE! I don't remember being warned about mike being in this chapter. he's such a bad ass. what did the napkin say?

A - Answering these because I want to, deal wif it. I did mention Mike was gonna be in this chapter in a past A/N, but I don't blame you for not remembering it. I didn't even remember it until I read back a couple chapters. The napkin just had another one of Zack's awesome poems on it. Nothing special. xD

Q - GASP! VINNY! ooooh! what goes on here? what did you do to phil vin? I must know. ARG! impatient! its not fair I wanna know now!

A - *cliched maniacal laughter*

Q - so yeah I checked the original character list for lee and kayla but not rosalaine. but rose is body's sister correct? how do you pronounce her name? is it like rozlyn or rose-lane or roz-lane or what?

A - Roselaine is Brody's big sis, yepperoni. I'm not entirely sure how that name is pronounced, if I'm being honest, I just picked it out 'cause of reasons, but I've been thinking of it like "Rose - el- lane." That damn phonics. That might be way off point, but that's my answer.

Q - OKAY! dead serious. this is the most important question you will ever answer ever... how do you like better me or coldblue?

A - *exaggerated mother voice* Now, dearhearts. You know I love both of you equally.

Q - I forgot who's Sara? Also what did Dolly do to those girls?!

A - I don't know if you guys remember, or if you even read it, but she's from "Family Movie Night," the sparkling manure pile that started it all. She was the campfire lass Phil fell madly in love with on first sight. She didn't have a name until writergirl97 came along and wrote a bunch of fanfics shipping Phil with an OC of her's named Sarah. I liked them so much I stole the name. :)))

Dolly killed them with the candlestick in the dining room.

Q - What is it about Mike that makes Zack so nervous?!

A - August had hazel eyes. Mike has hazel eyes. :) In general, though, Zack tends to get nervous around aggressive people. You'll notice he pretty much avoids them at all costs.

Welp, yes. That's about it. Like I said, shit's about to get real over here, so I'd better wrap this up. Love you guys. c: Let me know what you think of this chapter by leaving a...

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