A/N: THE SAGA CONTINUES... or something.

The song for this chap is actually one of my favorites. If you like kinda weird bouncy songs, I recommend giving it a listen. It's one of the few I actually had picked out for BS before I even started writing. Yeah, it's pretty legit. Yo yo.

So I've decided to just stop with the whole pretense of "keeping it to 14,000 words or less" since I only seem to update, like, three to four times a year? What? This update is like 35,000 or something, so yeah, it should about last you guys until the next update. Really I get into this mindset of "Well, I don't wanna overwhelm them with my OC jizz," but if you've made it this far, I'm gonna assume you're okay with OC jizz. More than okay, in fact. This whole fic is basically one big cesspool of OC jizz. You have all been thoroughly coated in my original character jizz and there isn't a tomato soup strong enough to get rid of the stench now. You're doomed, I'm doomed—let's just roll with it.

Anyway... uh... seems like I had more to say but I can't think of anything now. Oh well. *eye twitches*

OH YEEEAAAAH HEY I REACHED 300 REVIEWS

*waves someone else's underwear above head* I AM SO HAPPPYYYYY omg you guys, like, the academy, my mom, thank, none of those bastards at the chinese buffet with their shit-ass food, my fifth grade teacher, my old principal, no, no thank, they go hell, yes, but not academy, mom, thank there, and the pasta and choc cake at old school, lot thank there yum

Okay, yeah, now we can move along. THANKS SO MUCH GUYSSSS:

~THEY'RE BEAUTY, THEY'RE GRACE, THEY'RE MS. UNITED STATES~

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You are all the moon lighting my darkest night. Thank.

And again I have to give a shout out to coldblue and puffball17, because their reviews are always amazing and leave me feeling thoroughly giddy and thoughtful. Feel lucky you don't live anywhere near me because if you did I'd be all over you two like cheap suits. Platonically. For the most part. Probably.

Now that the tradition of me making things awkward as hell has been fulfilled, you may read! I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Kori Johanssen belongs to xxP00h67chu. Half of Pam Idleberry belongs to Panfla.

Breathing Slowly

Part 7

"You build your heart of plastic,

get cynical and sarcastic,

and end up in the corner on your own."

—Passenger

Two Years in the Future

A Week from Present

Arnold tapped the cell phone off with the mechanic and released a long sigh. "Unbelievable."

Helga snorted. "Both of our cars' tires found mysteriously flat minutes after Phil comes skipping back into the house? Oh, yeah. Real unbelievable." She shot a scathing look at her youngest son.

He sat in a large lilac armchair, and when he met her eyes it was listlessly, while chewing on a stick of celery. Rather than replying to the blatant implication, he shrugged, like it couldn't be helped, and took another obnoxiously crunchy bite. Helga's nostrils flared.

Meanwhile Amanda was beaming ear-to-ear. "Oh well! I guess it just wasn't meant to be," she declared.

Arnold walked over to stand beside where she sat on the floor by the coffee table, and placed a hand on her head. He frowned down at her as she met his eyes. "Aren't you even a little concerned about the change in plans, Amanda? Olga and I had big plans for Chris this afternoon."

Her smile was dazzling. "Nope!" At the grim disapproval now shining in his eyes, she dropped the smile and looked at him very seriously, almost solemn, as she disclosed, "I believe everything happens for a reason."

Phil snorted. Josh sunk deeper into the couch and stared deeper into his phone, trying to disappear. Arnold and Helga shared a look.

Olga sat on the armchair opposite Phil's, a cup of still-steaming tea cradled delicately in her hands. She frowned faintly, a troubled look resting on her gently-aging features. "It's such a pity. I was looking forward to meeting Christopher today." She sighed and lifted her cup to take a sip. "Another time, perhaps."

Amanda smiled, and didn't bother to correct her. Arnold just rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

The doorbell chose that moment to ring five times each second of the entire minute it took for everyone to be shocked, recover, and wander out into the hallway to answer the door. Helga did the opening, aggressively and with an irritated scowl, only to gasp and take a step back when Chris suddenly barreled inside, tripped over his own shoelace halfway through the door, and fell flat on his face before Amanda's feet. His skateboard clattered beside him and rolled off to the side. Amanda gasped and took a couple stumbling steps back.

Chris coughed into the carpet and pushed himself up so he was resting on his elbows. He smiled, weakly. "Sup."

Amanda's eyes rolled back into her head as she fainted.

"So," Olga began brightly ten minutes later, "Christopher—"

"Christian," he interrupted. He sat beside Amanda on the couch, a knuckle currently shoved into his ear to try to clear out some wind. His skateboard sat beneath his feet on the floor, placed there rather pointedly after he refused to let Arnold take it from him. His face was cautiously blank, but with a faint gleam of interest in his dark eyes.

"Oh." She blinked a couple times, quickly, before recovering her enthusiastic smile. "My mistake, Christian—"

"Don't call me that," he interrupted again, harsher this time. "It's Chris. Just Chris."

Olga's mouth opened and closed as she struggled with the concept of calling someone by a nickname.

Concurrently, Chris stared at her very intensely for another moment, as he'd been doing every couple of minutes, before leaning over to whisper at Amanda in gross fascination, as if speaking of an especially slimy slug, "She's like an older, more obnoxious version of you. And I didn't think that last part was possible."

Amanda adjusted the bag of ice over her head and made a low groaning sound in the back of her throat. Arnold, who was sitting beside her in a mush of oblivious contentment, shot her a look of surprise. Then disconcertion. And finally, pain. He looked towards the door, wondering longingly where Helga had snuck off to. He blinked and frowned, thinking. Or Ham. Everyone was determined to abandon him, it seemed.

Olga appeared to have regained her faculties by this time and said with a pretty, sheepish smile, "You'll have to forgive me. I've been traveling abroad for too long, in too many different cultures. To avoid confusion, it's become something of a habit of mine to call everyone by their full..." she giggled, "christian name."

Chris' eyes narrowed lightly in confusion. Despite clearly not understanding, he said, "Okay," and nodded politely. It was a testament to how used to the Shortmans he'd become that he didn't even flinch when the front door was heard swinging open and closed, and Zack came strutting in.

Arnold frowned at his entry. "And just where have you been?"

Zack walked over to stand beside his dad and placed one hand on the back of the couch, the other going to the armrest, as he leaned over with a relaxed expression. "Just taking care of some business that'd become pressing. No need to get your panties in a knot." He spotted Chris then and smiled widely. "Hey, Chris. I didn't see you there."

"Hi," Chris said curtly, then turned his head back to monitor Amanda as she worked her jaw.

Zack stared at him for a little while longer, before finally coming to terms with the fact he wouldn't be getting any further acknowledgement and looking back to his dad. This proved to be a mistake, because Arnold was looking at him with all the fatherly disapproval and barely suppressed anger it was possible to hold in one expression. The Zachary Shortman, how dare you do something I do not like for the eighty-thousandth time, I'm gonna lecture the shit out of you couldn't have been anymore deeply implied if it had been written in red ink across his forehead and emblazoned on his retinas. Zack just puffed out his bottom lip and sniffled. Arnold rolled his eyes.

The gross fascination was back on Chris' face. Amanda's eye may have twitched. Olga's laugh was like a hundred tiny butterflies fluttering across the room.

"Are you going to apologize to your Aunt Olga for leaving immediately after your arrival?" Arnold asked ominously.

Zack gave a light huff, really more an unusually extravagant exhale, and glanced in Olga's direction with dancing eyes, like he was letting her in on some inside joke. "Sorry, Auntie."

Olga waved him off with another burst of butterflies. "No offense taken, Zachary. I remember that age well. I always had somewhere I needed to be speeding off to as well. You're here now, and that's what counts."

"Seriously," Chris cut in, "you better not start calling me Christian. No one's allowed to call me that."

Olga was startled, but in too good a mood to feel really put upon. She smiled gently. "Not even Amanda?"

Chris' face seemed to freeze in time. Amanda's nostrils flared and she scooted a few meaningful inches away from him on the couch. He felt the shift, and snapped a quick glance at her, before looking back to meet Olga's eyes with a scowl. "Especially not Amanda."

Arnold coughed into his fist and flicked his eyes briefly to meet Olga's, inconspicuously shaking his head. She concealed a smirk behind her cup.

Phil had been silently stewing in his chair up to this point, and chose then to speak up. Not very quietly, he muttered, "Subtle."

Arnold forced himself to look at him calmly, but the alarm was still clear on his face for anyone who knew him well enough. Phil couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of it, and forced himself deep in his chair. Crossing his arms tighter across his chest, he asked in a deliberately nasally voice, "Well, what? Is it supposed to be a secret?"

"National security," Zack quipped, grinning, though something almost warning shone in his eyes. Phil slit his eyes at him for it. Amanda shifted her eyes between them both, her eyes bright and countenance clear and slack.

Chris cut in again, looking to Arnold with genuine curiosity, "Does no one in your family respect you at all?"

Arnold couldn't help it. He tried valiantly to suppress it, but in the end, the scowl won. Chris took this as the confirmation it was and grinned meanly.

"For the record," Phil retorted, drawing the room's attention, "we do respect him, we just don't fear him. There's a huge difference. Not that it's any of your business."

Chris gaped at him in trepidation, but Arnold neatly defended him before he could stutter anything out that would make things worse, "I think he means that you guys don't always listen to me."

Phil shrugged. "Sometimes you're wrong. Adults are capable of that, you know." His eyes rolled away as he dryly murmured, "Some more than others."

Chris clapped his hands together twice before gesturing to him with both arms, all while giving Amanda a wild-eyed look. "See?"

"No!" The shout startled Chris backwards in his seat. Phil's eyes were on fire. "You do not get to agree with me! You shouldn't even be here—why are you? I know you didn't ride all the way here because you wanted to learn. As if you have the capacity—"

"You never cared before," Chris responded weakly, instinctively.

Phil threw up his arms, as if trying to upend the very air in frustration. "I thought you were just another one of Dad's stupid charity cases! A dumb kid who'd get kicked back to the curb as soon as Dad was satisfied you wouldn't have a nervous breakdown the next time someone asked you what two plus two was! How was I supposed to know he was gonna start trying to pair you up with my sister? This whole situation is ridiculous!"

Chris' expression shuttered; Arnold was stunned speechless; Zack had slammed his face down into his hand as soon as Phil finished talking; Olga was batting her eyes in pretty bewilderment, as she had been doing for the past five minutes; and Amanda... Amanda was in awe.

Before Amanda could fall to her knees in worship, Olga graced them once more with the softly babbling brooks and cooing doves that were her vocal cords, "You object to the match? Why? Are you afraid Christi-" she caught herself, "Chris will hurt her?" She had a look on her face like she was fully prepared for him to answer in the positive, and deliver a tear-jerking, melodramatic speech that spanned approximately seven and a half minutes on exactly why he was probably completely off the mark.

But Phil just snorted and waved her off, dismissing her unspoken speech. "Oh, please. Amanda's evil. If anyone's gonna get hurt, it'll be the kid. He'll have his head chewed off and half his liver collapsing in on itself before they even make it to the altar. No," and here he looked at Chris' blank face with a scowl, "I just can't stand him being around so much, contaminating everything we own with his nasty little eight year old germs." He shuddered.

"Since when do you care about germs?" Zack interjected, voice strangled with skeptical amusement as he raked a stressing hand through his hair. "I once saw you shove a handful of mud in your mouth with an earth worm the size of my arm."

At the look Olga shot him, Phil flushed slightly. "I didn't know about the worm," he told her, as if that explained everything.

Zack huffed out a silent laugh, still skeptical and maybe a bit hysterical, and placed a hand on his dad's arm to give him a light shake. It had its intended effect, as Arnold snapped out of his shock and barked, "Phillip Shortman!"

"Don't 'Phillip' me," Phil snapped, his eyes not showing any sign of cooling. "You're the one who's been dragging this out. He's been around for months! If he doesn't know how to count on his fingers by now, he's hopeless."

Chris stood up abruptly. His feet made harsh contact with the forgotten skateboard, and it skidded to one side before rising, and Chris inhaled sharply as his foot twisted and he fell awkwardly on his side, one arm banging against the coffee table. Arnold was up first, like a shot, followed by Amanda, but Chris batted them away with a watery huff. "No—I'm fine! Really!" He started trying to push himself up, feebly. Arnold grabbed him from under his arms and pulled him up anyway, and despite his earlier protests, Chris let him. Amanda took the bag of ice from her head and grabbed his arm so she could press it to his elbow. He stared at it, frozen in the moment. Amanda was frowning at him.

The moment passed and he exploded into motion. He pushed away from Arnold and tried to snatch the ice bag off so he could throw it on the table, but Amanda held his arm firm and pushed him onto the couch, dislodging his grip. He fell back with a gasp, and Amanda took the opportunity to grab his arm again and push the bag of ice onto it, glaring all the while. He scowled back, his furious blush the only outward evidence of his mortification.

Arnold watched the scene with a distant blossoming of warmth in his chest, and dull shock on his features. A choked noise captured his attention next and he looked up to see Phil staring at the two of them with horror etched onto every contour of his face, and the warmth was replaced with something much darker. He cast a look at Olga. She met his eyes and nodded understandingly. He took the cue and looked back to Phil, crooking his finger in his direction. "Phillip, a word."

Phil's eyes snapped onto his, unusually pale, and nodded.

As he walked past Zack on his way out of the room, flanking his father, he 'bumped' his hand against his side and whispered a simple warning, almost completely silent even in the dead quiet of the room, "Poetry."

Zack's fingernails dug into the couch's arm.

Ham chose that moment to wander back into the room, and took in the uncomfortable look on Olga's face, the clear upset on Chris,' and the fury in Amanda's, before meeting Zack's eyes with furrowed eyebrows. Awkwardly, he sidled up by him and muttered, "What did I miss this time?"

Zack glanced at him. His smile was strained, but sincere. "I'll fill you in as soon as I've figured it out."

"Ow, ow, ow, ow—This is really undignified, Dad, seriously—"

He only just managed to stop himself from slamming the patio door shut. He did not release his son's ear. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't ground you for the rest of your life."

Phil huffed impatiently, the olive green of the patio chairs making his eyes seem supernaturally bright as they rolled away. "Okay, maybe because you can't actually do that 'cause I'll eventually turn eighteen and be completely out of your jurisdiction—"

"Do you want to test that on your mother?"

Phil clamped his mouth shut.

"Glad we're on the same page. Now then, care to explain your actions or would you like me to recite my understanding of them back to you?"

"That would be rich," he heard Phil mutter just under his breath before he gave a sharp pull on his ear. Phil's breath caught. "Okay! So, you wanted your matchmaking to be a secret, whatever—How was I supposed to know? You were so obvious about it—"

"Phil," he snapped. "I'm not matchmaking. I haven't been from the beginning."

Phil's bark of laughter was sudden enough to cause him to flinch, much to his chagrin. "Oh, criminy, is that how I sound when I lie? That's terrible, Dad, it really is."

"Interesting," Arnold ground out, yanking at his ear again and watching Phil wince with a crude satisfaction, "seeing as I wasn't lying." At Phil's skeptical look, he sighed and lowered his arm, lightening his hold. "Really. Maybe I should have just told you from the beginning. I thought your reactions were funny, but, no. I realized early on in our tutoring sessions just how much of a distraction Faith was to Chris. He deliberately acts out around her, and it wasn't conducive to getting him through the third grade. After the first couple unsuccessful weeks, I set up for her to go straight to Harold and Patty's after school, and bought some coloring books for her to work on when that wasn't an option. It's only been in the last month, with Chris coming over more often, that she's been around again."

Phil's eyebrows furrowed in incomprehension. "You're really not trying to..."

"Of course not. Amanda is seven, Chris is eight. They're not..." He sighed and finally let go of Phil's ear, just so he could run that hand down his face. "They're just not. At first, I'll admit, I did want to have them together as much as possible. I thought Amanda would be good for him. But whenever he's around, she's not... herself." He ignored Phil's snort, for now. He looked down on him sternly. "But none of this is important, Phil. No matter the circumstances, you never should have behaved like that. It wasn't just inappropriate. It was cruel."

"Cruel would have been to let it continue without saying anything," Phil snapped this time, glaring at him. "Cruel is telling an idiot you can magically turn him into a smart person when it's impossible, because said idiot is too idiotic to actually attempt anything scholastic. Cruel is dragging it out for months, and making everyone you claim to care about above all others uncomfortable. Cruel is shoving two people together who want nothing to do with each other because you think it's cute."

Arnold's eyes were wide. "Phil!"

"Well, it's true!" Phil all but ran to the other side of the patio, where a potted plant sat decoratively in one corner. It was tall, almost taller than him, with a few flowers just starting to bloom. He fingered them, his back turned. When it inevitably came, it was quiet but harsh, "I'm sorry."

Arnold breathed deeply and leaned his head against his arm over the door, trying to reign in his anger and think rationally. He watched Phil as he thought a few moments, still fingering at that plant, before he managed to speak with some measure of his usual calm, "This isn't like you. You're frustrating, but usually you have some tact. He's been around our house for a little over a month now, and you haven't done anything like this. Why now? Why in front of your aunt?" When he didn't respond, he thought it over some more. "Did something happen at school?"

His hand jerked away from the plant, and Arnold knew he'd hit the nail on the head. He sighed and walked over to pull up one of the patio chairs, settling in for a long discussion. Just before his pants hit the seat, he found himself pausing, just for an instant, hit with a sudden startling clarity. It had been a while since they'd done this. Too long. He wondered why, even as he knew the exact reason. He settled a tad more forcefully into the chair than necessary, and folded his hands tight between his knees.

"Tell me what happened."

From this new angle, Phil was able to see him out of the corner of his eye, and was watching him now. Arnold lifted his eyebrows, and he glanced away. "I don't see the point in doing that."

Arnold didn't quite gnash his teeth. He just... breathed in a little too much cold January air at once. That was all. He told him, "Just as well, I would like an explanation." When Phil just chewed on his thumbnail, Arnold went on a bit sterner, "Dr. Bliss is meant to aid communication between us. Not halt it all together. You know that, right?"

Phil let out a harsh burst of breath and abruptly met his eyes. "I don't like people intruding."

Arnold's eyes softened, infinitesimally. "He needs help, Phil. I can't just abandon him."

"But why do you have to help him here? Or at home? Or the boarding house? Why do all your charity cases have to crowd over into—" He cut himself off, and crossed his arms.

Arnold's eyes were on his arms. He was closing himself off, again. He flicked his eyes back to his son's, and held, hoping none of his sadness leaked through. "I'm an open-hearted person, Phil. I wish you could be, too."

Arnold may not have gnashed his teeth, but Phil did.

Arnold decided full-disclosure would be a good idea, in light of recent events. So, leaning back some in his chair, he said, "He reminds me of someone." A beat passed. Seeing that he'd captured Phil's interest, he felt reasonably encouraged and went on, "I can't put my finger on who, but it's been driving me crazy ever since I met him. I have a vague memory from when I was a kid, of someone calling me 'Monkey Boy.' I helped him, too. But it was a long time ago, too long, and I can't..." His face strained with frustration.

"You've helped a lot of people," Phil quietly filled in the blanks.

Arnold smiled tightly. "He's an orphan, Phil. He lives with his aunt. His dad left him when he was four, his mom before even that."

Phil's arms had slackened, and his face was loose with confusion. His intention was clear, and Arnold knew he knew what he wanted to do. Much to Arnold's happiness, he asked, "You... Can't you just do a search for his last name? Or ask his aunt?"

Arnold shook his head. "He has his mom's last name, and I've already talked to his aunt about it, many times, but she said she doesn't know much about him past that he bears a strong resemblance to Chris and her sister used to refer to him as Voldemort." They both had a father-son eye roll moment. "They never married. Apparently, they separated, his mom gave birth to Chris, and didn't tell his dad until... Well. It's weird. Chris doesn't even have very many memories of his mom. Before that point, he was mostly raised by his uncle, a mechanic that lives a few states over. Fawn told me he was dropped off pretty suddenly into his dad's care, and a year later, he located her and did the equivalent of leaving a basket on her doorstep." Phil made a choked noise, and Arnold nodded his agreement. "He left a letter. He sends money all the time, and presents on his birthday. But... none of them were signed, or had a return address." He sighed and ran a hand over his hair, pushing it back. "The only way to get his name would be to ask Chris, and I've tried. He never wants to talk about it, and I can't blame him."

They drifted into a solemn silence, his words an almost physical weight between them. This wasn't the first tragedy he'd told to Phil, and it wouldn't be the last. He didn't want his kids to be under any misconceptions about the world. Phil was right, adults could be wrong, very wrong, and Arnold was glad that he knew it. He just wished he wouldn't use it as an excuse to act out. Arnold wasn't perfect, he'd gone to great lengths to make Phil aware of that, but he was his father. He needed respect. Full respect, that meant Phil trusting that he knew what he was doing and wouldn't do anything to ever hurt his family. Not just the words and occasional looks of contrition.

Phil had trust issues, and he was irrationally paranoid. It was one of the reasons he regularly met with Dr. Bliss. Arnold missed talking things out with him himself, though. He hadn't felt that closeness to Phil for too long. He missed the surprise hugs and sincere, secret smiles. It had always been frustrating to get him to open up to him, like trying to pull a tree out of the dirt with your bare hands, but the end result had always been rewarding. Nowadays, the only people he ever spoke with like that were Helga and his therapist.

He was growing up, and becoming more distant with each passing month.

Arnold hated it.

Phil's arms suddenly tightened up again, and his face cast down, eyes reflecting back the same hollow frustration Arnold was suddenly feeling in droves. That frustration was cleared away by Phil's next words, "Some girls were bugging me today."

Arnold was hit with a sudden burst of deja-vu.

He must have twitched or something, because Phil braced himself and went on at a fast pace, "This girl who called herself Lee Breeze cornered me in the lunch line and tried to possess my soul with cheap pickup lines and bad acting. When I ignored her, she and her friend started throwing stuff at me and following me around trying to get me to lose my head."

Arnold's eyes were wide. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." His eyes remained glued to the floor. His tongue made a small bump in his cheek, as his eyes drifted back over to the plant.

Several things clicked into place in Arnold's head. The girls, Olga's visit, the matchmaking... Slowly, his face fell into wary understanding. "Oh."

Phil jerked his head to the sky and still refused to meet his eyes, looking uncomfortable enough that Arnold wanted to hug him. "I'm sorry, I know it's stupid—"

"Triggers are not stupid, Phil," Arnold muttered patiently, thinking, considering the situation through new eyes.

Phil sighed harshly and tried to dig out his eyeballs with the heels of his thumbs. "But I'm over it. I've been over it. It shouldn't make me act like this anymore." He rubbed his eyes more vigorously. "Stupid, evil witch—"

Arnold started; he reached over and nabbed his wrists, gently prying them from his eyes, and smiled warmly at his son when his eyes popped open. "Really, I think you are over it. You just have a natural impulse to protect your sister. That's not foolish. Was there a better way to honor that impulse? Yes." He gave him a particularly firm look. Then it gentled. "But there's nothing wrong with loving someone or wanting to protect them."

Phil's face was dry, blank. "You're sounding like an after school special again, Dad."

"That's fine." He swept the hair from Phil's eyes, and felt a warmth wash over him at the startled look in those eyes, wide and green and honest. "You know I love you, Phil?"

"Unless you want to become intimately acquainted with my stomach acid, you'll stop talking now."

"I'll take that as a yes." He pecked him on the forehead and sat back, releasing him. He stood and patted down his plaid shirt, ready to return. "You're gonna apologize to Chris, and you'll be raking leaves and shoveling snow for the next two weeks to pay for the tires you damaged."

Phil's groan was explosive. "Aw, come on, I only did that 'cause I thought you were matchmaking! It was purely defensive!"

Arnold deadpanned, "And that's the only reason I'm not punishing you for a month." Arnold patted his cheek as he passed him on the way to the door. "You have to learn to trust me. If you have concerns about something I'm doing, talk to me. Don't take it out on my car." He rolled his eyes.

He heard Phil groan again behind him, sounding to be about mid-death throes now, and had to struggle not to laugh. Placing one hand on the door handle, he turned to Phil and raised an eyebrow. "Ready?"

Phil took the hands off his throat and slunk slumped over to the door. Arnold took that as a yes and opened the door, but just as Phil was about to slink inside, he stopped and said, "I'll try here, but you know how effective my apologizing usually is—So once I'm done, I think I'll head over to the community center."

Arnold blinked down at him, bemused. "The community center? What for?"

Phil flicked his eyes up to him, eyebrows furrowed, as if offended he was even asking. "I just know this isn't gonna end well, so it'd be best if I left—"

"No, why would you go to the community center?"

Phil was looking at him like he'd grown a second head. "For my saxophone lessons... Willy won't mind if I show up early—"

Arnold blinked, his eyes wide. "You're taking saxophone again? I didn't know that."

Phil's weirded look cleared to the default half-lidded eyes, and he smiled, just slightly. Nearly laughing, he huffed, "Oh. Really? I told Mom." With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he walked inside. Arnold watched him go speechlessly, breathing a little too quickly again.

Really was cold out this January.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye then, and looked over to see someone in a large, well-tailored coat step out of the yurt. It was surrounded by flowers at the far back of the yard; and it was not a big yard, certainly not big enough that any part of his and Phil's conversation could be misheard from any location within it. Arnold knew who it was before the figure even turned around, and was mildly surprised to see him, but any words he might have spoken died in his throat when Bob met his eyes. It was with the usual gruff expression, no hint of emotion allowed to the surface, but lacking its usual intimidation. He leaned on a thick cane and watched him, simply, without greeting.

Arnold stared back a while, his own face blank, before tilting his head subtly down in acknowledgement, and walking inside the house.

Bob looked down as the door pulled shut.

"What the fuck do you mean Phil left?"

The sound of a roaring start. That right there.

Arnold swept a few stray locks of hair out of his face and sighed, leaning suspended on one hand on the kitchen counter. Helga stood across the room, frozen in the process of stacking freshly prepared finger sandwiches on a plate as she stared with unsettling intensity at him.

Phil's apology had been about as awkward and mind-melting as Phil had predicted it was going to be—which, Arnold thought, was probably why it ended up being that way. Phil really had no faith in his ability to be a nice person, and it showed in the twitching and half-glaring as he'd grated his way through, "I'm sorry for calling you stupid even though you are stupid—" a tight hand landed on his shoulder, "I mean, it's not like you can help it," the hand tightened, "Amongst your own age group, who knows? Comparatively, you could be Einstein, what do I know—I mean, I know the chances of that are like one in five kerfillion, but—" Arnold all but crushed his shoulder, "Speaking of Albert, did you know he hated school? Because the system is dedicated to turning knowledge not into a pursuit but a chore to be rewarded with soulless marker scribbles? And we're legally bound to attend and have the heart of all curiosity and joy crushed out of us or face having our guardians get thrown into jail for our disobedience? Really, it makes perfect sense that you hate it. I hate it, too, and I'm actually smart. We should start a protest."

By that point, Phil's heading to the community center was no longer a choice.

Arnold took a moment to identify the source of his wife's anger before beginning, "I talked to him about why he was acting out and punished him. When he gets back, you can punish him, too, if you'd like. He said he was just... having some bad flashbacks thanks to these girls at his school bugging him. He was on edge. He lashed out. We... both agreed it'd be best if he left for a while." Hoping to deflect some of the hot growing alarm in Helga's eyes, he commented mildly, "I'll also be interested to hear later why I wasn't told he'd started saxophone lessons again."

It worked. Some of the heat drained from Helga's eyes as she rolled them up and then down to focus back on the sandwiches. "It was a recent thing, Arnold, don't get all bent out of shape about it. I've had a lot on my mind lately." Wheeling around suddenly, she walked over to him and shoved a finger sandwich into his hand. "Now here, tell me this tastes delicious. You can tell me about these girls while you eat."

Arnold eyed the sandwich warily, and Helga snorted. "Oh, for Pete's sake," she exclaimed. "It's a sandwich the size of my palm. I'm not that hopeless in the kitchen. Would you just shove it in your head already?"

It was Arnold's turn to roll his eyes this time. He examined the sandwich a bit more, held it at eye-level, fiddled with the bread as he said, "I don't understand why you insist on these pissing competitions every time Olga comes to visit." Despite his words, he obediently placed the sandwich in his mouth – the whole thing, demonstrating his faith in her – and began to chew. A moment later, he stopped, blinked, and started chewing again. He hummed, "This is actually pretty good."

"Oh, how I blush," Helga drawled sarcastically. "Now, about those girls?"

Arnold scratched at the base of his jaw as he swallowed. "He didn't say much about it. But then, I got the impression there wasn't really much to tell. Enough to rattle him. Apparently someone named Lee Breeze flirted with him and when he ignored her, she became hostile."

Helga went very still. "Lee... Lee as in Beverley?"

Arnold looked at her curiously. "I don't know."

He didn't bother to ask why; he knew Helga telling him was an inevitable outcome. He was surprised to see her pause and pull her phone out of her pocket, though. She spoke as her fingers glided, tapping along the keyboard, "You remember Summer Breeze, I trust?"

"Who?"

The tapping ceased. "Summer... That platinum blonde bimbo you got all dopy about at the beach when we were kids?"

Arnold's face and mind remained blank for all of five seconds, as Helga watched him almost cautiously over the glow of her cellphone, until finally a foggy recollection creeped into the edge of his consciousness. His eyes slowly widened. "Wait... You still remember that?" One invisible eyebrow went flying, and he almost felt the compulsion to laugh. He didn't know why he was surprised. His voice went high in his incredulity, "How do you know her last name? I didn't even know her last name."

Helga's eyes narrowed, looking impossibly blue in the luminous aqua light directly below her face. "Uh, because I've been tracking her, donkey brain. The slut moved back to Hillwood recently, not too far from us. And, surprise surprise, she apparently has a daughter, because who else's kid is gonna go around telling people her last name is Breeze?" She snorted several times, decorously, before going back to tapping away on her phone.

Sliding his hands to his hips, he leaned back and took a moment to process this. "You don't think Breeze is her real last name," he concluded.

"Of course not," Helga said impatiently. "Summer Breeze? Gimme a break. It's a stage name, obviously."

"Wait, wait," Arnold waved a hand, placing the other on his brow as he clenched his eyes shut, questions overwhelming, "you asked me if her name was Beverley. Why would you ask that if you didn't know—"

Helga suddenly threw herself in his space, and he dropped his hand in surprise. She fluttered her eyelashes not five inches away, smiled seductively and said at breakneck speed, "So I did some covert work before we left the beach that week and found out her mother's name was Beverley, it was pure curiosity, now stop analyzing every detail of my wordage and look at this." She dropped the phone into his hand.

Arnold blinked several times, trying to gain back his equilibrium after she backed away from him. He took a breath, decided he probably didn't want to know, and looked down at the phone.

It was Summer Breeze's IMDb page. He blinked again, straining his eyes to focus and understand exactly what he was looking at. The picture portrayed a sexy smiling blonde in black spaghetti straps, her hair falling in bouncy curls around her shoulders, skin gold and radiant, eyes sparkling sultrily at the camera... "Ohhhh," Arnold drew out as he examined the picture, amused, "I remember Summer now."

The phone was snatched from his hand the next second, and Arnold's eyes were bright with hilarity as Helga hastily scrolled the page down and shoved it in his face again. He squinted and saw that it was a list of TV shows, movies and commercials—a pretty impressive one, in fact. Helga spoke hastily, a hand spinning through the air, "She's an actress. Fairly popular. No Marilyn Monroe, but she's got the typical fan base of mindless sore wrists going. I did some research on her when I heard she'd moved back, and found a whole trove of whiny teenage gossip forums and some actual proof that she's been-been sleeping with producers to get good parts and then dumping them as soon as the role's over! She's been doing it for years, apparently, I know you're shocked."

Arnold stared at the phone another second before pushing it out of his face. "What does this have to do with anything? I mean, it's, uh, interesting, I guess-"

Helga clicked her phone off and shoved it in her pocket, glaring at him for his confusion. "Didn't you hear me? She's moved to Hillwood again—Why would she do that? Hillwood's full of nothing but old, crazy people, backwoods hill billies, suicidal cubical men, and muggers. We have nothing to offer an actress on the hunt for fame and fortune..." She raised an eyebrow, slowly, deliberately. "Do we?"

Arnold hummed, catching on. Just to make sure, though, he asked, feigning innocence, "No?"

Helga saw through him. A brilliant smile sprung across her face, and she slapped his arm admonishingly. "Leave the acting to the professionals, sweetheart. It's the exact same reason Olga's here, I'd bet every dime I have on it. We'll be 'running into her by pure happenstance' any day now."

Arnold smiled faintly. Stepping around her, he plucked another sandwich up from the plate and took a neat bite. His back to her, he asked mildly, "You sure she didn't just realize what a huge mistake she made all those years ago and isn't looking to win me back?"

A hand suddenly slammed down on his crotch. Arnold positively jumped, mustard shooting out of his sandwich and splattering against the counter. Helga whispered hotly in his ear, "You really ought to stop provoking my jealousy. It's a fruitless effort, we both know—your dick is mine."

Arnold swallowed the squeak in his throat and forced himself to relax. "Helga," he scolded, effortlessly sweeping her hand aside. He finished off his sandwich and willed his blush away as Helga cackled behind him.

"Oh, man," her laughter spiked, "it just hit me. Your ex-slut's daughter tried to put the moves on our son. Only, only—" she wheezed hoarsely, falling against Arnold's back and slinging her arm around his shoulders for support as she cried into his back, "inst-instead of becoming a big ball of pathetic love goop like his hapless father, he gave her the-the old Phil frost bite shoulder and that pissed her off," her shoulders heaved, "so-ho badly she threw a fucking diva tantrum." Painful laughter wracked her slight frame. "Oh, sweet creation, that is brilliant."

Arnold sighed long-sufferingly. "Helga..."

"Oh, G... Oh—Arnold, can't you see? This is it! This is why we had a kid with absolutely no romantic interest in anything! It was for this moment!" She gripped him tighter, fingernails digging into his shirt, and hissed against his shoulder blade, "Sweet justice."

Arnold's face was drawn and dryer than the dessert; eyes shut, face long. "You... really need to learn to let go of these things."

Helga made a wet noise behind him, and he felt her free hand come up to wipe something away. "Never," she croaked.

Without thinking, he protested, "You became friends with Lila."

"Li—Okay, first of all, Lila never crafted an elaborate ruse to break your heart and use you for her own personal gain." Her hand brushed lightly against his shirt a few times. He ignored what that likely meant as she went on, much calmer now, "Granted, she was a manipulative little bitch, but so was I at that age, hell. And second, when I first met Lila, I liked her just fine. The only reason I hated her later on was because you randomly decided you liked her liked her," she sweetly mocked, perching her chin on his shoulder and smiling when he glanced at her. "Once that was over, I found myself liking her again. Sue me." She rolled her eyes casually away. "Of course, none of that matters anymore since she shacked up with Arnie. Kinda hard to be friends with someone when they're constantly shadowed by tall, pasty and fish-eyed."

Arnold snorted. "I'll still never understand that."

"I know it's mean," she ignored the twitch in her husband's shoulders, "but I can't help but find it delicious. She was always all morally self-righteous and holier-than-thou about everything, even more than you were, for cripe's sake, and we all know that's saying something—and yet, Arnie is what passes for perfection in her eyes? I'd say we dodged a bullet with that one." She hummed, her mouth flattening out in consideration. "Although, maybe it was worth it for the look on Olga's face at their wedding."

Arnold started to turn around, gently so that she had time to move away. Once they were facing again, he smiled and pulled her closer. "I still say you need to learn to let things go. We knew Summer twenty years ago. A lot has changed. She could be a completely different person now."

Helga was unconvinced. "Did you miss the part where she's been whoring her way to the top all this time? A lot may have changed, dear, but the seasons are ever fixed."

"She's a mother, Helga," Arnold said softly. "Kids change people. You can't deny that."

Helga sighed and pushed away from him to pick up the plate of sandwiches. "Not everyone," she reminded. With a deep inhale that made her shoulders rise up, she turned a blindingly evil smile on him. "Now I'd better get back out there with these before they resort to cannibalism out there," she said, happy to change the subject. "You mind making some hot chocolate? The tea in this house tastes like leaves."

Arnold smirked. "Sure."

Helga pecked him on the cheek in thanks and left the kitchen. Just as Arnold was putting the kettle on, he heard Helga's voice carry with the words, "Well, hey, jackass, I see you've decided to grace us with your sparkling presence once more!" Arnold snorted and went in search of cocoa powder.

Just as he was pulling it down from the top shelf, Zack walked in. Zack's tired eyes took note of the container in his hand and the kettle on the stove before breaking out in a grin. "Hot cocoa?"

Arnold sat the cocoa down pointedly and turned around with one hand on the counter, the other on his hip. The look he gave him reminded Zack very quickly that his dad wasn't happy with him and the grin faltered. "Uh," Zack started, bemused, "would it make things better if I told you I left on assignment?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow, but otherwise, his face remained unchanged, eyes still half-mast, mouth still tilted down. Zack specified, "A school assignment," but Arnold didn't budge.

Zack sighed, as if Arnold was the difficult teenager, and bounded over to pat him on the shoulder. "My partner will be here any minute, Pop. If you don't want to scare her off, you might want to wipe that look off your face." Half his eyebrow went up in an approximation of his dad's expression. "You don't want to be the one responsible for me getting an F, do you?" He glanced at the container again. "Or dying from chocolate deprivation?"

Arnold shut his eyes, and brought a hand up to slowly, methodically, rub the bridge of his nose. Zack took this as a victory and burst into chuckles. "Aw, Dad," he laughed, wrapping his arms around him in a hug, patting him on the back. Arnold just shook his head and didn't reply.

Finally, when Zack stopped laughing and just stood there, arms surrounding him, Arnold said, "You're all going to be the death of me."

Zack gave him another pat. "Maybe, but it'll be a happy death, yeah?"

That got Arnold to uncoil. He sighed and lifted his arms around Zack's back. "You can't run out without telling anyone where you're going or what you're doing. Least of all when your Aunt flew halfway across the country just to visit us. That was rude, inconsiderate, and unsafe."

"So it was the Helga thing to do," Zack said, his voice very understanding, very joking. "Be more Arnold?"

Arnold gave his back a light slap and pushed away. "Be more Zack," he corrected, sternly. "You're better than this."

Zack's amused smile softened into something slightly more sincere. "Calm down, Dad, I knew Olga wouldn't mind. I wasn't even gone an hour." He scratched at his nose. "Besides, you guys have this whole tutoring thing going on today, I thought I might as well find something to keep me occupied."

Arnold's eyes narrowed. "And all that makes this okay how—"

The doorbell rang. Both their heads jerked in the direction of the front door, and when they slowly met each other's eyes again, Zack was grinning. "That'll be my partner," he said smugly, but before he could make a move to go answer the door, Olga's voice rang out throughout the house with a pretty, "I'll get it!"

Zack nearly jumped. "Wait, those two in the same room? This I've gotta see—"

He had whirled around and was already hot footing it for the door, but Arnold grabbed him by his sleeve and stopped him in his tracks. Arnold gave him a firm look. "Tell someone where you're going next time," Arnold murmured. "Don't be so impulsive. You're only sixteen, and you may think you know everything, but you don't. We're your parents and your safety is of the utmost importance to us. Do you understand?"

Zack was smiling and rolling his eyes before he'd even finished talking, and Arnold was a second away from going full judge and jury on his insubordinate ass when Olga walked in, looking about as baffled as he'd ever seen her. She blinked several times at the both of them before saying, "Zack, your... wife is here?"

And that's when Pam skipped in, looking like she'd just stepped out of a bad 50s sitcom. The deep red strands of hair that typically fell into her face were combed back and pinned out of the way, a big yellow daisy sat behind her ear, her tennis shoes were traded out for black heels, and her jacket and capris were nowhere to be seen, replaced with a red polka dot shirtwaist dress, complete with belt, flared skirt and matching gloves. A string of pearls hung around her throat to complete the look.

Zack's jaw unhinged. Arnold's arm fell and swung forgotten at his side. Olga was still blinking in puzzlement. They all stared.

Pam just beamed at everyone before turning to Olga. "Thank you ever so much for letting me in, Mrs. Pataki. Zackums would've left me out on the stoop all day if he could." She wrinkled her nose delicately and whipped a playful hand in Zack's direction, shooting him a quick, chiding glance. "Oh, and may I just say again that it is so wonderful to finally meet you."

"Zachary's..." Olga uttered faintly, sounding vaguely out of body as she continued to blink, "talked about me?"

Pam broke into giggles and jerked a thumb in Zack's direction. "Who, this wise guy? Oh, no, he only ever opens his mouth to rant about Nascar, gas prices and NASA staging the moon landing. He never tells me anything personal. No, I used to see your shows all the time when I was a little girl. You're Olga Pataki, broadway star! Of course I know you."

"Ohhhh," Olga cooed, suddenly fully animated once again with eyes bright and dark. She clasped her hands together in front her chest and grinned. "Well, aren't you a sweetheart. It's always so lovely to meet a fan. I..." and here she faltered, her face falling again, just slightly, along with her hands which now fell below her waist, "Pardon me, but it was my understanding that Zachary was still with Sophie."

Pam gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth in shock. It fell only to say, "Has he been telling people that again? Oh, dear me. My poor Zackums." She skipped over to grab him into a bear hug, pulling him down to her height so she could wrap his stunned body more securely in her arms. She turned, uncaring of how he had to stumble to keep from falling flat on his face, and stage-whispered to Olga over his head, "Sophie died last year. Horrible whaling accident. Zacky still has denial issues. It's been very difficult for us." Zack snorted at that and opened his mouth to speak, but Pam cut him off with a tut-tut-tut and crushed him tighter in her arms, making sure to be extra obnoxious about it. "Baby, did you forget to take your meds again?"

That was it. Zack burst into laughter and pushed out of her rapidly slackening arms. "Oh, no, no, no, I see what you're doing." Looking to Olga, he said, "This is Pam, she's my English partner for a marriage project due in a week. She likes to push my buttons." He turned a cocky smirk on Pam and got down into her face to properly mock, "Or at least try to."

Arnold spotted something very familiar flashing in Pam's eyes, but it was gone the next second and replaced with a sorrowful look. She shook her head pitifully. "Oh, you poor thing, you really are having another one of your spells, aren't you?" She tilted her head apologetically towards Olga, sending flickering intermittent glances at Arnold. "Would you mind terribly if we had a little privacy? Once he's lucid again, he's going to be so embarrassed."

"Oh," Olga laughed in a high pitch, placing a hand over her heart in relief. "I—Of course, I—"

Zack was caught with disbelief. He placed his hands on his hips. "Did you really believe Pam and I were married? We're sixteen, we're barely allowed to drive."

Olga blinked, yet again, eyes deer wide. Then she laughed again, softer this time, more calm. "This is going to sound so silly, but I know the marriage laws in the San Lorenzo Green Eyed community are much more, ahm, relaxed than they are in the US. Did you know they married your mom and dad when they were only ten years old?"

Zack and Pam whipped their heads around to gawk at Arnold. He flushed slightly and ran a hand over his eyes. "It didn't count. We had no idea it was happening."

"Be that as it may," Olga went on in a sparkling voice, underlined with warm amusement, "I've heard a lot of stories about you, Zachary. I know the way you tend to act around pretty young ladies—"

"You thought I would elope?"

"And also," Olga went on despite his outcry, giving Pam an odd look, "ah, Pam, was it? You bear a striking resemblance with an old friend of mine—a very sweet and honest friend of mine. It didn't even occur to me to question you at first. Though it was terribly confusing." She giggled against her palm.

Pam smiled and fell into Zack's side, startling him. "I'm afraid the fault lies with me there. I just have one of those naturally sweet and honest faces." She turned to flutter her lashes at Zack. "Isn't that right, Zacky-Whacky?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow above wide eyes and stepped around to get a better look at his son's face. His eyes widened further at the blank speechlessness he found there. He'd seen Zack speechless a handful of times in his life; and angry an even smaller amount, for that matter. Pam had a very peculiar effect, an ongoing one that Arnold could no longer hope was an anomaly. He knew Zack said they'd become friends and everything was fine now, but she still obviously struck a cord in him if he was at a loss for words now. Arnold wasn't sure how he felt about witnessing it again. Currently he was just shocked, a little worried, and then relieved when Zack snapped out of it with a scoffing laugh, briefly catching his eyes with a smile full of 'Can you believe this?' before turning his eyes on Pam, his eyelids falling.

"Certainly, Pookie," Zack cooed disgustingly and wrapped her in a side-hug, effectively breaking Pam out of character as a small frown appeared on her face. Held together like that, Zack faced Olga again with an aching grin and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't want to get you in on our crazy family drama right away, but I guess there's just no hiding it." He sighed. "Here it goes. The day after Sophie's accident, Pam swooped in like-like I don't even know. A superhero. First I was crying on her shoulder, next we were boarding a plane to Central America—I still can't explain exactly how it happened – the memory's all a blur – but here we are! Happily married almost a full year later, and I think that's explanation enough. It's funny how love works, isn't it?" His expression changed abruptly into one of blazing desperation and he leaned forward with a jerk, whispering loudly, "She locks me in the basement at night and feeds me the leftover sticks from her lollypops, help!" He then threw himself back and hugged Pam to himself, giving her a good cuddle. While Pam was stiff and trying to figure out how to get out of this, Zack mouthed to Olga, "Call 9-1-1," and waved an invisible phone by his ear.

Olga laughed out loud, Arnold put a hand to his mouth in a sad attempt to mask his own chuckle, and Pam harrumphed and broke free of his arms. "I do no such thing," she said, trying to turn things back around in her favor. Zack shook his head, though, and patted her on the stomach suddenly, smiling wide. "And would you look at that beautiful baby bump there—not even twenty yet and well on our way to being parents. Crazy."

Pam looked down at the small pouch of fat she'd managed to foster in the last year, and then back up at Zack. Then back down. Then finally – slowly – back up, her eyes in tiny slits. "Oh, it is on like a sumo at a goddamn buffet," she whispered fiercely. Zack smirked viciously.

Arnold could spot a fire hazard from twenty miles off, and right now he was being practically blinded by one. Swiftly, before any toasters could get tossed, he threw himself between the two and pushed them a safe distance away from each other. "Okay, game's over," he announced sternly, doing his best to ignore the unchecked laughter still pouring from Olga's mouth. "Let's all just calm down."

"But, Mr. Shortman, he made a fat joke," Pam objected. "You've got to let me finish him off."

"Yeah, Dad, she's gotta finish me off," Zack whined childishly, stamping his foot a little and bouncing up and down. Pam shot him a glare and looked about to yell something back, but Arnold intercepted.

"No, no, no, no finishing. I think we've all been sufficiently embarrassed. I—" The kettle started to steadily whistle. Arnold looked back at it. "That. I've got drinks to make and a child to tutor. I need to know you two are going to act your age so long as you're together. I don't want to hear anymore fights."

"Well, we might as well file for divorce right now then," Zack declared, spinning slowly on his heel with a defeated wave of his hand, his other on his hip.

Pam placed a hand on Arnold's shoulder and smiled when he looked down at her. "Your son is a very difficult person, sir, I just wanted to pay him back for some of the trouble he's caused me today. I didn't mean to add onto your stress. I apologize."

Arnold offered her a tired smile and patted her hand. Meanwhile Zack had turned back, scratching his neck, and gave her a strange look. Arnold said, "That's all right, Pam. It's actually... kind of refreshing to see Zack get a taste of his own medicine for once." He cocked an eyebrow at his oldest. Zack's eyes darted to it and his previously flat mouth stretched into a grin. Arnold sighed and gave Pam's hand a couple more quick pats, and turned to the kettle when her hand retracted.

Meanwhile Olga was still laughing. Not her usual silvery titter, but full-blown, honest to God laughter. Zack didn't find this too strange, and Arnold had seen similar displays from his sister-in-law before so he as well could easily disregard it and work on making the drinks, but Pam was flustered as hell now that she didn't have to fight to keep in character. Blushing brighter than her hair, she leaned over and whisper-screamed at Zack, "You didn't mention that your aunt was Olga Pataki."

Zack looked at her curiously. "I didn't think it mattered."

"Of course you didn't," she complained, distressed. "Because your mom is a best-selling author, your Uncle Hyunh or whatever is a retired country star, your Grandma and Grandpa are renowned explorers, and your aunt is a famous broadway actress. You probably don't even think about it." She chuckled a little desperately and plucked the flower from her hair, ripping it apart in her hands. "And what the hell is San Lorenzo, Green Eyes, what—"

"It's a republic in Central America, and the Green Eyes are one of its main inhabitants. My dad's San Lorenzo's ambassador," Zack stated plainly, like he'd had to give the same explanation a hundred times before.

"Your dad's an ambassador?" she whisper-screamed even louder than before, and Arnold turned around with a tray of hot chocolate and a wide smile.

"Take one," he said, walking over to offer up the tray to them. Zack grinned and eagerly grabbed a bright blue cup with snowflakes and Pam gingerly plucked a lighter blue one with a snowman.

"I feel betrayed," Pam said playfully, despite the disconcertion still plain on her face as she looked at Arnold. "Thanks for the cocoa, Mr. Shortman, but still—I thought you were one of the only normal ones, a humble teacher who just so happened to come home to a crazy family every day, and here all this time you've been a diplomat to some foreign place I've never even heard of? How could you?" A delicious whiff of thick warm chocolate slammed her in the face suddenly and her breath caught. She took a quick gulp, hissed as the hot liquid scorched her mouth and all the way down her throat, and waved a rabid hand to try to fan the heat away from her tongue. Zack choked out a laugh beside her, but she ignored him.

Arnold's smile remained, wide and relaxed on his face as he pulled the tray back, and Pam's eyes widened slightly at how much he looked like Zack right then. He sat the tray down on the island and walked over to the cupboard. As he turned around with a cup, he shrugged and replied, "The Green Eyes are very fond of me, and the natives in nearby villages impressed that they're even willing to talk to me, let alone welcome me into their city. They wouldn't accept anyone else. I fly down to represent them on occasion, at least once a month, but otherwise it's a pretty quiet job." As he was speaking, he'd flipped the faucet on and filled the glass with water, and as he concluded, walked over to hand it to her. Pam eagerly grabbed it and, sitting the cocoa on the counter behind her, took long, chugging gulps, tears catching in the corner of her eyes. Zack blew gently over the top of his own cocoa before taking a small sip, smiling smugly as he swished it around in his mouth.

Olga had finally started to calm down, and asked over her breathy giggling, "Did you really see my shows when you were a little girl?"

Pam blushed again at the direct address and coughed a little on the water, pounding a fist against her chest. She smiled sheepishly and nodded. "My dad has connections. My favorite was your modernized rendition of Rats. It was the first show I ever got to see, and I still know all the songs by heart."

"Really?" Olga chuckled, eyes warm and shining with amusement. "That's my sister's favorite, too. Although for vastly different reasons, I hope." She walked over and looked at her imploringly.

Pam smiled, starstruck. "Nibble, nibble, nibble, nibble," she started to sing in a surprisingly pleasant voice, if a little hesitant and breathy with excitement, "underneath the grimy street. What a dreary kibble life is, what a bitter dish, defeat."

Olga laughed again and eagerly joined in, "The rodent's life is pain, impotent and inane—There's only one thing worse than cats—"

"Rats," they sang in harmony, "we're rats! We're maudlin and repressed! We live in sewers, love in sewers, that's why we're so depressed!"

"Oh my God," Zack gasped, taking a quick sip as he raised his index finger in the air and turned to bid a hasty exit. "Geekfest! I must escape!"

But Pam and Olga each caught him by an arm and jerked him back, hooking him in place as they sang in his ears, "And oh, the pain, we need to share with you! And in three hours, you're gonna feel it too!"

"Cruel and unusual," Zack started, but was interrupted with a loud burst of, "Ohhh, rats! Rats, rats, rats!" The two broke into laughter right over his head, Zack rolled his eyes and downed as much of his hot chocolate as possible, and Arnold chuckled at the entire situation.

Helga's voice cut in, shouting and far off, "What the heck's going on in there?"

"Oh!" Olga abruptly let go of Zack's arm and placed a hand on her cheek. "In all the excitement, I nearly forgot about Chris!" She grabbed Arnold by the forearm and began pulling him towards the exit. Arnold grabbed the tray as he was pulled past the island, and Olga smiled apologetically at Pam over his shoulder, "It was wonderful to meet you, Pam! I hope we can talk again very soon!"

"Yeah," Pam only just got out before the two were gone, their feet audibly shuffling up the hall. Alone like that now, Pam looked around, then down at Zack where she still had his arm hooked with her's. At a loss for anything else to do, she let go and swept her hands along her ponytail. Zack slunk slowly down to the floor, carefully cradling his mug, and took another slow, deliberate sip as he looked up at her from under a half-arched eyebrow.

Pam found herself flustered all over again, and hated herself for it. "So," she said awkwardly.

Zack just blinked and took another sip of his drink. "Where'd you get that outfit?"

Pam stared at him, wide-eyed, relieved he didn't seem the least bit concerned with her singing, and then a little offended he didn't deem it worthy of a reaction. She shook herself of the ridiculous emotions and replied, happy that her voice sounded strong and relatively unruffled, "I dropped by Sophie's. Her mom has all sorts of clothes just lying around gathering dust, and I knew there had to be at least one that would embarrass you." She smirked and grabbed fistfuls of her dress, striking a pretty, cliche pose with her legs. "Don't think I'm done, either, I plan on giving your family material to tease you for months."

"No kidding." Zack grinned, unafraid. "I wonder if Mr. Carpenter's got a matching suit. What do you wanna bet if we walked into class like that we'd get an A plus on the spot?" He gave a loud hum suddenly and sat his cup in his lap, looking at her a little queerly. "Hey, wait. I didn't know you and Sophie were friends. When did that happen?"

Pam's eyes narrowed. "Back in the good old days, shortly before I met you. She was handing out flyers."

"Ah." He bobbed his head, accepting this.

Pam was deeply irritated now. She had been sure this would have him blue in the face, but he looked totally chill. It must be the chocolate. There was no other explanation for him not being an asshole. And then she remembered that he was an asshole and her arms crossed, her face going red again. "I can't believe you made a fat joke," she huffed. "I can't believe I'm even surprised."

Zack was calm. "Whaling accident," he said. "Fair's fair."

"Oh, please. Sophie knew I was gonna make that joke before I even got over here. She laughed."

Zack just shook his head. "You can't murder a guy's girlfriend without some repercussions." He swished the last bit of his hot cocoa around in his cup before throwing it back and humming contentedly.

Definitely the chocolate. Pam shook her head with a small sigh, resigned, and turned to pick up her own mug and blow cautiously over it, wary of burning off anymore taste buds. A shadow fell over her then and a deep voice asked in her ear, as a finger came down on the opposite side of her head to point at her mug, "You gonna drink that?"

Pam elbowed him back and spun around to glare at his stumbling body. "Don't even think about it, Sasquatch."

He was frowning at long last, looking at her like she was a stranger standing in his kitchen as he rubbed at where her elbow had made contact. Something flashed in his eyes and he opened his mouth to take a loud breath and say something, but then seemed to think better of it and clamped it back shut. He complained, "What happened to that bag of lollypops I got for you? How much sugar does one person need?"

"As much as possible," Pam declared, and took a pointed, greedy gulp of her warm cocoa. And then she stopped, because holy shit this was good. Blinking wildly, she gulped half the cup down and wiped her mouth with a blissful pant.

Zack seemed begrudgingly amused by this. After a moment of reluctance, he quietly divulged, "My dad has a passion for hot chocolate. He's spent years perfecting his recipe."

Pam took a lingering sip, her eyes falling closed at the taste. She nodded at his explanation of Olympus. "Good man."

When she opened her eyes, he was looking away. Blinking, she shrugged it off and happily nursed her cup, finding it next to impossible to be angry herself now. Which, really, particularly in Zack's company, that was a miracle. Her mouth twitched at the thought. "You know, about our project," she started, feeling curiously neutral and blank all of a sudden, "how are we supposed to get anything done for that if we're busy trying to dig up dirt on your little brother?" She sipped her drink.

Zack actually looked surprised at this. "Marriage is all about working together through the random hustle-and-bustle of the every day, isn't it? Being good partners, not killing each other?" He raised his eyebrow. "Two birds, one stone."

Pam cocked a brow at that. "This is every day for you?"

"What? Revenge?" Zack thought that over. "Yeah. But not in the way you're thinking. I don't usually go out of my way to get dirt on anyone. Most people just confess all their secrets to me within the first forty eight hours of knowing me. Otherwise I just wait for them to do something really embarrassing."

Pam blinked, feeling disgust floating somewhere outside the haze of chocolate. "And you use that to blackmail them..."

Zack shrugged. "Only if it's necessary. It rarely is, but it does come up. I just like knowing the option is there. You can never know with people. Case in point: Phil." For a second, he looked almost grim, but the look was swapped out for a wide smile quickly enough it was easily overlooked. "He's just forgotten who it is he's dealing with. All he needs is a little reminder to put him back in his place and we can all move on and put this whole unfortunate experience behind us."

Pam eyed him. "You are a seriously warped individual."

"You say the sweetest things, darling."

Pam shook her head, but was enjoying her sugar-high too much to argue further on the subject. She was kinda sick of standing around in the kitchen with him, even if it was a really nice kitchen, and wanted to move along the proceedings so she could get home as soon as possible for a good, long nap (and to get in some fighting with her mom and brother). She looked around, enjoying the warm walnut cabinets and white marble countertops as she casually said, "Yeah, you never told me what exactly your plan was in dragging me here. What's first on the pointless revenge agenda?"

Zack's smirk was sinful when she looked back. He chuckled darkly, sending a frisson of alarm up her neck, and he took his time in shaking his head. "You just met her." His smirk morphed into a lopsided grin.

Two Years in the Past

"A campfire lass?"

The exclamation carried from the bottom of the stairs and into the room, echoing off the stairwell. Helga blinked in surprise and turned from where she'd been shuffling in the closet. The closet door was partially closed, and she stepped over to peek out. There was a furious shushing, sounding closer than before as footsteps pounded quietly up the stairs, and Helga bit down a gasp. She grabbed the closet door and pulled it fully closed, clicking the lock with a panicked jerk of her wrist. Assured of her privacy, she turned and quickly placed the birthday present she'd come up here to hide on the highest shelf, where Phil would never be able to reach it, and placed a few shoeboxes around to conceal it. Amanda stared at her, crooked in her arm against her side and sucking her thumb in consternation. Helga placed a finger erect over her lips and looked at her sternly.

Phil's voice was a scratchy muffle through the door. "Keep it down, bozo, if Mom and Dad hear I'm toast."

If Helga was a dog, her ears would have perked up. Just as well, her eyes went wide and she silently plastered herself against the door to listen more closely. A second passed before she realized what she was doing, and she huffed and slapped a hand over her eyes, scrubbing over them. Eavesdropping in a closet. She was eavesdropping in a closet. Goddamnit.

She felt a heavy stare and suddenly lowered her hand to meet Amanda's wide, accusing look. Helga blinked and issued a soft glare. Amanda's lips curled up.

While Helga was exchanging faces with Faith and being a terrible role model, Josh's voice came, just as alarmed but quieter, "Obviously. Just last week, Mom said the next campfire lass that showed up on our doorstep was gonna 'get her butt kicked into the next edition of milk cartons.' " Helga's eyes narrowed at the crude voice impression.

A groan. "I heard."

"And Dad can't even look at chocolate turtles without his face turning green. He complains about their accents every time someone brings them up. Dad doesn't hate anyone, Phil, but he comes really close to hating campfire lasses. That's really saying something."

"I know!" Frustrated impatience. A short scuffle.

Josh responded in kind, as a quiet, "Oof," rang out, "Then choose someone else! What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? This is the only girl in the whole school that doesn't hate my guts! She doesn't know anything about me, Josh."

"So, what? You can have a fresh slate and pretend to be somebody you're not?"

The sound of flesh smacking against flesh was heard very distinctly. "Of course not! Do you know me at all? Criminy. It's just nice to meet someone who doesn't automatically think I'm evil, that's all. This way I can show my nicer side."

"You have a nicer side?"

"Shut up."

"You're not making this anymore believable." A beat. "And stop hitting me! For Pete's sake. I'm on your side!"

That awful nasally tone Helga hated, "You're not making it anymore believable."

"Geez, sorry I don't want Mom and Dad freaking out on you. I'll try to be less considerate. Now what's her name?" There was a pause. "Tell me you got her name."

"I did! It's Sara."

"Sara...?"

"Sarina. But she said everyone calls her Sara."

"Sarina...?"

"Yes."

A slap pierced the air, and Helga could just imagine Josh's hand whipping against his forehead. "Do you have any idea how common that name is?"

"Yeah, okay, Josh."

"No, I'm not—It's just that if I'm gonna ask around about her so we can make a game plan, asking people if they know a 'Sara' might not..."

"Oh." Another pause. "Well, uh. She had dark hair, a... face, two ears, all her fingers—"

"Defining features, Phil."

"She had purple eyes."

"...Seriously?"

"Yeah. Well, they were really pale. Maybe more of a lavender. I don't know, I'm not a color person."

"People don't have purple eyes, Phil."

"Oh, and they do have football heads? Don't get on my case, you geometric abnormality."

"...Right." She heard him inhale deeply. "Okay, purple eyes. I can definitely work with that. I'll ask some people about her tomorrow, see what I can find."

"Whatever, just be discreet about it, ding-dong. The last thing we need is Dad finding out."

"Would you stop with the name-calling?"

"Hey! I preach only the truth. Stop being a ding-dong and we'll talk."

"I could pound you."

"You could also shut up, but that's never gonna happen either, is it?"

Amanda burst into giggles. Helga cringed and tried to shush her, but her attempts only made Amanda's giggling more furious. With a start, Helga realized Josh and Phil had gone silent on the other side of the door, and sighed her resignation. The jig was up.

For them, she cackled mulishly. Mentally, that is.

Putting on her best take-no-prisoners, 'your ass is literally mine' expression of supreme momitude, she slowly opened the door. Amanda flew into another round of giggles at the boys' faces. They looked like they just got caught putting the beatdown on a koala bear. Helga raised a severe eyebrow.

All was silent for a long moment, save for Amanda's stifled laughter.

Then Phil flew into motion, and before Helga's eyes grabbed Josh, threw him down on the couch, snatched the remote, and flipped the couch into the wall. Josh yelped and yelled, a little muffled behind the wall, "You're dangerous with that thing! Hand it over!"

"Shhh!" Another slap.

Helga shared a look with Amanda. She walked over to stand beside where the couch would be, and leaned against the wall, hopping Amanda in her arms. "What's all this talk about campfire lasses and girls hating your guts? Is this about the curse?"

"You can't prove anything!" Phil's quiet voice shouted through the wall. After a loud, phlegmy scoff, the sounds of a struggle broke out.

Helga spoke over the sounds of glass-smashing, thumps and Amanda's laughter, "You found a campfire lass to replace your bully with and you're plotting to make her develop feelings for you—"

Just then the couch flipped back out, with Josh right-side up with a firm, triumphant smile, remote in his grasp, and Phil upside down, neck and spine bent at an awkward angle with his legs in the air. He took one look at Helga leaning against the wall, saw her move to straighten, and threw himself to the floor with a gasp so he could scramble to the opposite end of the couch and hide behind Josh. Peeking out from behind him, he gripped at his arms and muttered, "Don't kill me. I have a hostage."

Josh seemed less concerned with dying, and more concerned with sending exasperated looks at Phil and strange, curious ones at Helga. "What were you doing in the closet?"

Helga's brain did a flip. She took a quick, deep breath and gave him a withering look. "It's your father's closet, so by extension it's also mine. I think I should be allowed to explore it without being questioned. A better question would be why you two are having secret conversations about your parents behind their backs." She raised a sharp, parently eyebrow, then patted herself mentally on the back for being such a damn fine mom. Amanda just smiled and watched the two attentively.

Phil looked like he was about to put Josh in a headlock to further his hostage angle, but Josh must have sensed something because he elbowed him away. Phil stumbled back, scared, then swallowed and took a step forward, avoiding Helga's eyes.

"You know, the campfire lass thing doesn't even matter," he hedged, looking adorably flustered and Arnold-like, trying to be all calm and reasonable. Helga's heart melted a little but she made sure it didn't show on her face. Damn fine mom, indeed. "I ordered some candy from her, but I'm paying for it—It won't affect you at all, I promise! You and Dad won't ever even see the box. Or the girl! Don't be mad. It's fine. It probably won't even work out anyway, girls always end up hating me."

Helga tut-tutted him. "Oh, don't say things like that, sweetheart. Have a little faith."

Phil snapped his eyes to her and blinked. "Huh?"

"No, seriously, I've been holding her for half an hour now. Have a little Faith." She dropped Amanda into his arms, gave her neck a good crack, and ran her fingers through her hair to retie it into it's original ponytail. "Now. Phillip. I'm gonna avoid commenting on your girl problem just this once because... well, because I'm sick of beating the horse. Instead, I'd like to have a discussion—" Phil winced, knowing 'discussion' was one of his Mom's code words for yelling at him, "about the fact you think getting engaged is gonna solve your 'problem.' " Her voice was rich with sarcasm.

Phil blinked again, and then once more because Amanda's hand slipped down from his forehead to fall in front of his eyes before landing on his cheek. He pursed his lips at her, cheerfully ignoring the fact Amanda was trying to wrap his head in her arms like an uncoordinated octopus. "Mom, I know her being a campfire lass isn't the greatest—"

Helga's eyes shot wide open at that, and Phil cowered, prepared for the 'discussion' to begin. "I don't care if the person you inevitably fall for is a campfire lass or a stinkin' lamp post so long as you're happy about it!" She closed her eyes a moment and, with a long sigh, abruptly calmed. "That's not what this is about. You are not ready for a relationship. You're an eight-year-old—" she caught his expression and rolled her eyes, "nine-year-old boy."

"You and Dad—" Phil tried to argue.

"Tried to date when we were ten and it was a complete disaster. Sure, it was cute for a while, but I was emotionally unstable and adept at making Arnold lose his shit. We fought more than we made up. Now, I have nothing against you experimenting, but don't do it because of some stupid curse." She let out a hoarse sigh and rubbed a palm over her eyes, mumbling, "Criminy, it's monkeynucleosis all over again—"

Phil cried, "Monkey what?"

"Nothing," Helga snapped, shooting him a sharp look of warning. "Darling, you still have regular temper tantrums. You cuddle stuff in your sleep. You cry when you stub your toe. I won't argue that you're a very good, smart, responsible boy, but you're also a feisty little shit who believes fiercely in the boogie man and the last thing on your mind should be getting a wife. So cross emotional upheaval off your to-do list, you got that?"

Phil looked the picture of misery by the end of her speech, and had his mouth open like he wanted to say something but didn't know what would help, while Amanda chewed happily on his hair and patted him comfortingly on the forehead. Josh just raised an eyebrow and asked, a little annoyed, "Mom, you don't think it'd be healthy for him? All he ever does is do homework and yell at people."

"Oh yeah," Phil muttered sourly, sulking at the floor. "Josh thinks I should 'loosen up' and have fun—"

Helga split a sharp look between the two. "If Phil was a normal kid, I might agree." She noticed Josh's surprise. "No, he is a huge wet blanket, he does need to relax," she ignored Phil's whipped glare of utter profound betrayal, "but a girlfriend's the last thing that's gonna help him do that," she snorted and scoffed. Then she stepped over to grab a handful of Phil's hair and ruffle it affectionately as she cooed, "Anyway, he's got too many big, important things to do than worry about any of those icky old girls with their nasty cooties, blegh."

Phil threw his head back and groaned, "Mom!"

Helga ignored him and raised an eyebrow at Josh over his head. "You know, I'm surprised you're in on this. You believe in the curse?"

Josh frowned. "I don't know. Not really. I just think having a crush would do Phil some good."

Helga's face had gone flat by the time he finished speaking. "Uh-huh."

Phil darted an unhappy look between them both before whining, "Zack and Josh have had girlfriends before, why can't I?"

Helga barked out a harsh laugh and grabbed his head in her hands, startling a squeak out of him. She pressed several kisses to his head before pulling back with a smirk, enjoying the frozen horror on his face. "Firstly, honey, Zack is fourteen and trying to keep him from drooling after skirts is impossible—" She let go of his head and placed her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes up with a hushed utterance of, "Plus it doesn't hurt that he bounces back faster than a kangaroo." She looked back down at him dryly. "And second, Josh knows how to keep his head on straight. He understands that whoever he crushes on now probably won't end up his wife, and he's okay with that. I don't have to worry about him having any breakdowns."

Phil's frown widened. Running his fingers blindly through his hair to try to un-ick it, while Amanda enthusiastically undid any progress he managed to make, he surmised, uncertain, "But you worry about me..."

Helga smushed his cheeks and gushed affectionately, "Of course I do, you're my sweet sensitive little baby boy, you're too soft and precious not to worry about—"

Phil gagged and stumbled awkwardly back, snapping, "Mom, stop it!" Amanda giggled obnoxiously in his ear and he whipped a furious look at her. "And you, stop laughing at my expense!"

"But it's funny," Amanda giggled helplessly.

"Don't think I won't drop you, 'cause I will," he threatened in his best scathing tone, but the pouting mouth ruined it and Amanda giggled harder.

A grin suddenly broke out across Helga's face, and she whipped her phone out of her pocket to snap a picture. The flash made both Phil and Amanda stop and shoot her nearly identical looks of confusion, but Helga was already busy tapping away on her phone and snickering dirtily to herself. "Oh yeah, those old hags on Pinterest are going to love this one. Janice'll be seething with jealousy. You think you're the crème de la crème just 'cause you put your two-year-old in a duck hat? Think again, bitch."

"Mother," Phil yelped, glaring sternly. Helga gave him a sheepish grin over her phone.

Josh had grown sick of the hijinx by this point and asked loudly, trying to veer them back on point, "Why are you worried about Phil?"

Helga's eyes twitched in his direction, before she gathered herself and shut off her phone with a centered sigh. Once more the best mom ever, she tucked the phone away in her back pocket and answered, "Well, like I said, Phil is..." she shifted, "sensitive."

Phil was extremely offended. "Am not!" Amanda giggled again, but Phil loosening his grip for half a second, just enough for her to drop down half an inch with alarming speed, caused her to clam up.

Josh ignored them, focused fully on the only semi-sane adult in the room. "So?"

"So has it ever occurred to you what Phil having a crush on someone might look like?"

Josh hesitated. "Uh... I just... figured he'd be annoyed that he didn't hate someone for once, but he'd get over it and it would go from there."

Phil gaped at him. "I'm right here!"

Helga's eyebrow was sharp and assessing. "And if it ended up not working out? Especially if he thinks failure equals getting stuck with someone he doesn't like?"

Josh's lips had been parted while she spoke, but as his brain worked out the answer to her question, it snapped closed. "He'd freak out."

"Right. Here," Phil said. "Two feet away from you."

Josh shook his head rapidly at the idea. "I still say it'd be healthy—"

"You can't force a baby to walk when it's still learning to crawl, dear," Helga softly interjected.

"I'm not a baby!"

"Zack and I had crushes way before his age, Mom, and so did you and Dad," Josh argued, stubborn. "It's genetic, and the fact Phil hasn't—"

Helga was laughing by now. "Oh, you just want him to be preoccupied so he'll stop scolding you—"

"You know, Kori said something similar and I really resent that—"

Phil had reached his limit, and yelled at the top of his not-so-powerful lungs, "Shut up!" They did not. He grumbled and headed for the door. "Always about me or at me, never with me. Disgusting. Come on, 'manda, let's go find something to eat while these jerks kill each other." He opened the door and began down the stairs. As he descended, he told Amanda seriously, "Don't ever let anyone treat you with any less than you deserve, okay? If someone's mean, scream at them. Don't let it escalate. Not unless you want to get stuck marrying them."

Amanda smiled and nodded fervently. "'kay." She threw her arms around his neck, giggling when she heard him fake-choke. "If no girls ever like you, that's okay. I'll always love you, Philly."

Phil groaned like he was dying. He stepped off the staircase with a loud thud. "If you think I've forgiven you for stealing my room and filling it with dolls, you're wrong. We are enemies for life, destined to hate each other forever and ever and have ferocious battles of wit on the holidays, just like Grandpa and Mitzi, and I don't want to hear anything more about it. Understood?"

Amanda kissed him wetly on the cheek and murmured in the negative. He sighed and started down the second set of stairs.

Just as they made it to the landing, Amanda asked quietly, "You're still gonna look for a girlfriend, aren't you?"

Phil stopped at that. He adjusted her so she wasn't as heavy and replied, as he started walking again, "I have to, you heard what Mom said about the curse."

She shook her head. "You shouldn't have to do anything you don't wanna. Mama says you're not ready."

They reached the kitchen, and Phil was relieved to note it was empty. He kept his voice low anyway, aware there was always the possibility of eavesdroppers. "There are lots of things I haven't been ready for." He sat her at one of the chairs by the table and sighed, rubbing at his arm. "Hasn't stopped me yet."

"Why?" Amanda blurted, apparently not caring if anyone overheard.

Phil huffed and walked over to yank the door to the refrigerator open. Hidden thus, he replied, "Because life stinks but you have to do stuff, that's why."

"If you don't want a girlfriend, you shouldn't have to get one," Amanda insisted. "Christian says you shouldn't have to do things you don't wanna."

"Who's Christian?"

Amanda blushed. She glanced down and plucked at a loose string of lace on her dress. "A friend."

"Oh yeah?" Phil threw the door shut and placed two wrapped slices of watermelon up on the counter. "Well, tell your friend he's an idiot."

Amanda was shaking her head before he'd even finished. "No way. That wouldn't be friendly at all."

A plate of watermelon was clattered down on the table in front of her, along with half a cup of Yahoo. Phil slid into the seat beside her and took a sip from the bottle, grimaced, and sat it down with a clunk. "Friends are stupid," he sighed. "You'll learn."

Amanda frowned at him. "Why do you always drink Yahoo if it makes you so unhappy?"

Phil poked at his food, head rested in his hand. He mumbled to the table, "Because it's the only choice I have." He shoved her plate closer to her. "Eat."

"This gentleman, the prince's near ally, my very friend, hath got his mortal hurt," a freckled nine-year-old girl read passionately at the front of the class, "in my behalf; my reputation stain'd with Tybalt's slander—Tybalt, that an hour hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, thy beauty hath made me effem… effem-in-ate and in my temper soften'd val-or's steel! Benvolio: O Romeo, Rome—"

"Thank you, Eleanor, that's enough," Mrs. Freitag said as she clapped her hands together once. Eleanor looked like she wanted to say something, but then just sat down with a frown. "Pete, you take Benvolio."

After a significant lull, Pete stood up, adjusted his glasses, and began to slowly and carefully read, "O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead. That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, which too untimely here did scorn the earth." He sat down.

Mrs. Freitag resisted rolling her eyes. "Georgia."

Georgia stood up, placed a fist upon her lips, and loudly cleared her throat. Twice. She then placed the finger of that hand on the book, slowly tracing it down the page to where Pete had left off, and with a deep breath, opened her mouth to say, "Yeah."

She then sat.

Mrs. Freitag nodded. "Very good, Georgia. Mercy, go on."

Mercy stayed seated, eyes glued to the page, and read in a cold, nasty tone, "Here comes the furious Tybalt back again."

Mrs. Freitag nodded and focused her eyes on Phil. "Mr. Shortman, since you've been so enthused, you may proceed."

Phil glanced up at her from under bored, half-lidded eyes. At the narrowed look Freitag sent him, he sighed and stood, the book flopping to one side in his hands. Ignoring Eleanor's scathing look, he read in a smooth, crackling monotone, "Alive, in triumph. And Mercutio slain. Away to heaven, respective lenity, and fire-eyed fury be my conduct now. Tybalt enters. Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, that late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul is but a little way above our heads, staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him." He flopped back in his seat.

"Thou, wretched boy," Mrs. Freitag spoke.

Phil looked at her sharply.

She ignored the movement and read on from her book, "That didst consort him here, shalt with him hence. And Romeo replies to Tybalt, 'This shall determine that,' and they fight." Once finished, she snapped it shut with a single motion of her hand and met the eyes of the room. "Now then, let's talk about Romeo. How do you think he's feeling in this passage?" She snapped her eyes back to Phil. "Mr. Shortman, why don't you explain it to us."

Phil grumbled, "Why is it always me?"

"Mr. Shortman."

Phil threw his head back in a moment of exasperation before spreading his arms out in irritated surrender. "He's ticked off that his friend died so he wants to avenge him," he stated, aggravated.

Freitag's eyes narrowed. "And how do you know this?"

"Uh, because he said so? 'Fire-eyed fury be my conduct,' remember? And then he said one or both of them had to join Mercutio in death. Duh." He crossed his arms aggressively and grumbled, "What a stupid question."

Mrs. Freitag stared at him very hard for a long time before finally forcing her eyes to land on someone else. "Pete, what do you think?"

Pete looked at her nervously. "I, uh. I… think…"

"This century, Pete."

Pete looked down, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I think he's, uh, probably feeling pretty bad 'cause his, um… his friend is gone." Inconspicuously, he looked out of the corner of his eye at Phil. Phil was staring impassively at the wall, paying no mind to anything or anybody. Pete swallowed and looked away.

Mrs. Freitag nodded. "How about you, Bard?"

Bald Kid looked up from the book with a scowl. "Who cares how he feels? Can't we just move on to the fighting already? I wanna know who gets it!"

Mrs. Freitag turned away to the board to hide her smirk. She began erasing the past lesson. "Exactly why we stopped here. Suspense is everything in literature."

"Yeah, more like you just love watching people suffer," Phil said.

Mrs. Freitag's hand froze mid-erase, right over the word 'feud.' After a moment, she finished erasing and turned back to the front of the class. Her eyes were like stone as she met his. "Perhaps."

Phil held her eyes for a little bit, but then tilted his head over to look at Bald Kid. "Everyone knows Romeo doesn't die 'til the end. Mercutio dies. Tybalt dies. Juliet dies. Romeo dies. Everyone dies."

Bald Kid gasped and spluttered, choked with outrage, before finally managing to spit, "Well, thanks for ruining the whole play for me, genius!" He slammed his book closed.

Phil snorted and turned his face back to the wall. "No problem."

It was at that moment the bell chose to ring, and the room exploded with activity.

Phil, for once, raced to be the first one out. It wasn't difficult, since his desk was the closest to the door, and before anyone knew it, he was cruising down the hall towards Josh's classroom.

Home free, he sighed blissfully as he turned his second corner, just before he was slammed into the wall.

Bald Kid and Silver glowered down at him from both angles, eyes appearing to glow in the dim shadows and teeth set in menacing glare. He gasped and plastered himself against the wall.

"Thought you could give spoilers and get away with it, huh?" Bald Kid sneered, keeping him pressed against the wall with one hand on his chest. "Well, you thought wrong!"

"So wrong," Silver added with a mean grin.

Phil reigned in his shock and sighed in heartfelt relief, pressing a hand to his head to still the steady throb. "Oh, criminy, it's only you two. Thank goodness. You can't sneak up on me like that, guys! You'll give me a heart attack."

"Not a bad idea," Bald Kid ground out, pressing him further into the wall. Phil grunted.

"Come on," he whined, impatient to get away so he could speak with his brother, "I told you, everyone knows how Romeo and Juliet ends! It's not about the plot. It's how you get to those points. It's the moments in between. I haven't really spoiled anything."

"Oh yeah, smarty-pants?" Silver asked snarkily, an eyebrow raised and hands fisted on his hips. "Who told you that load? Your mommy?"

"My dad," he corrected, before realizing his error. He grimaced painfully.

"Oh? Which one?" Bald Kid predictably joked, and burst into mad, dirty laughter. Silver threw his head back and joined him.

Phil's nostrils flared. With a violent jerk, he managed to loosen BK's hold, enough that he could almost slip out to the side. But he wasn't fast enough. Bald Kid caught him by the arm and slammed him back into the wall with a growl. His head bashed against the concrete. He cried out and grabbed at his head.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing? Let him go!" a voice called suddenly, sounding far away.

BK and Silver paused, blinking, and turned around. Kori stood at the end of the long hall, speed-walking towards them with no hint in her body language that she'd be stopping anytime soon. Her eyes were alight with fury.

Bald Kid took in her height, rectangular glasses and pinned back hair with an indifferent eye. "What is this? Revenge of the Nerds?"

Meanwhile, Silver was slowly retreating backwards, hands up in surrender and visibly shaken. "No, dude, that's Josh Shortman's pet."

Kori stopped dead in her tracks, her dark face going unusually pale in the fluorescence. Her breathing elevated at an alarming rate. She shouted in renewed outrage, "What do you mean pet? I ain't nobody's pet!" She rolled up her sleeves and began walking again with added purpose.

Bald Kid's eyes had widened as soon as the name Josh Shortman was dropped, and now seeing her pursuing after them again, gasped in a terrified breath. "Oh shit!"

"Run!" Silver wailed, before practically tripping in his haste to turn and escape.

Halfway down the hall, Silver registered the fact that there were no footsteps pounding behind him, and stopped. Spinning around, he saw Bard still frozen in his spot as Kori got closer and closer. He groaned and ran back to grab him by the arm. "Come on, man! Before she has our profiles completely memorized and reports us back to Josh! Do you wanna get creamed? Come on!" He pulled desperately at his arm.

Bard snapped out of it and nodded weakly. The two were off the next moment.

Kori stopped next to Phil and huffed at their retreating backs. She rested her hands on her knees and panted lightly. "Man, I gotta join track or something." She glanced at Phil, and her eyes softened. "Hey, you all right?"

Phil snapped out of his stupor and shot a glare on her. He said forcefully, "I'm fine. I was fine the whole time, thanks." He pushed away from the wall and started down the hall in the opposite direction of Bald Kid and Silver.

Kori slowly straightened and turned so she could gape at him. "Fine? You were about to get your organs rearranged!"

Phil stopped. His back still to her, he curled his hands into fists and commanded, "Just don't tell Josh about this, okay?"

Kori's mouth clapped shut and frowned. "Are you kidding? He'd have it so those jerks never bothered you again, and you want me to keep it a secret? You know Ham and I don't have secrets."

Phil's shoulders pushed up into a hunch. He wondered derisively, if he was so capable, why didn't he ever do anything about Mercy and her crones? Out loud, he just grumbled, "He's the whole reason it started in the first place."

Kori stepped closer. "What?" she asked, having heard nothing but a mumble.

Taking in a breath, he braced himself and turned around. For a second, he tried to pretend he was Zack and forced a wide smile, clasping his hands unassumingly behind his back. "Look, forget about them. I've never said anything about them before because they don't bother me. I can deal with a couple stupid bullies. Don't worry about it. It's not a secret—it's just irrelevant." By the look on Kori's face, he'd failed spectacularly at looking believable. He dropped the smile and gave her his usual half-grimace. "Whatever. I've gotta talk to Josh anyway, maybe I'll tell him. It's not your place—"

"Oh yeah?" Kori crossed her arms and swaggered over to him, head tipping to one side. "Josh, huh? You were gonna talk to him about that Sara girl, right?"

Phil's mouth shut. He blinked a couple times. Then, finally, he narrowed his eyes. "Yeah."

"Wrong-o!" Kori declared and gave a big thumbs down. "You're lucky Ham and I tell each other everything. If he hadn't filled me in on his plans this morning, the whole operation would've been kaputz. I still can't believe he didn't think that Josh Shortman asking around about a particular girl wasn't gonna turn heads." She shook her head to the floor.

Phil's eyes flew open as wide as they could go. "There would have been rumors and Sara would have heard all about them!" He slammed his fist in his hand. "That idiot!" Then it hit him that he hadn't thought about it either, and he slapped his hands over his face with a groan.

"Er…" Kori's arm drooped and eyes shifted. "I thought the same thing at first, but now I'm not so sure."

Phil's hands slowly lowered, enough to display his confusion. "What do you mean?"

A few kids had started milling around and looking at them curiously, so Kori put a hand on his back and patted him along. "Walk with me. We've got a lot to talk about."

Phil grunted at the hand on his back and sped up his pace to escape it. "What? Why? All I need—"

"Is to know what she's like, what she likes, who she hangs out with, the complete stalker starter pack—Yes, I know. But, man," she looked down at him, and though now she looked hesitant, her voice didn't falter, "there's no way this is gonna work out. You've gotta pick another girl."

"What?" Phil drew out in alarm, only to grunt again as a fresh burst of kids came streaming from one hall into their's and Kori gave him a sharp push to go faster. She gave him no opportunity to complain before she was speaking again. Her voice was hushed.

"I asked everyone I could think of and no one could tell me anything about her. I even called my dad's contact, Fuzzy Slippers, to see if he could dig something up for me. All he could get was a list of clubs. I thought, great, that's a start, right? But I went to the clubs, I asked the people, and still nothing. I finally broke down and asked the school gossip, that Vienna kid, and she didn't even know who I was talking about! This girl's a ghost, Phil. She has no friends, no one knows anything about her, and she talks to no one. She doesn't exist."

Phil stopped dead. Kori tried to push him along again, but he gave a short growl and yanked himself out of her reach. Pulling his shirt on tighter, he huffed, "What are you talking about? She talked to me just fine. Heck, I couldn't get her to shut up."

Kori released a faint, hollow sigh through parted lips, looking unsurprised at his behavior. She glanced around, seeing that the hall was mostly clear, and looked back down at him seriously. "A couple campfire lasses said she's pretty good at selling. Don't know how she'd be able to do that if she couldn't talk to people occasionally, at least when it suits her."

"Then what's the problem?"

Kori's eyebrows shot up. "The problem? No, there are several problems. Let's start with the fact you're not her customer anymore. You're just some kid. Why would she talk to you?"

Phil blinked and frowned. "Because I'm a stubborn brat who doesn't know how to take no for an answer?"

Kori snorted and grabbed one side of her glasses, slowly pulling them down the end of her nose to look at him over the rims. They were prescription glasses she needed to see and they both knew it, so the action was performed solely to look cool and irritate him in the process. It was super effective on both counts. She said lowly, "You know, normally I'd ask if you were joking, but I know you're not – not really – so I'm going to be very blunt with you here. The words that just came out of your mouth were horrible and you should feel horrible. Unless you want to die alone and possibly in a jail cell, wipe that thought and all related ones from your mind. Thank you." Sighing, she took her glasses off fully and wiped them absently with the edge of her skirt. Just to suck, Phil stepped out of her line of vision, and smirked when she didn't react. She went on, "Sara is clearly an avoidant introvert. No one expends that much energy eight to ten hours a day just so they don't have to speak with anyone meaningfully unless they have some serious issues. If you're determined to go after this girl, it's going to take extreme delicacy. The type of delicacy someone who makes ugly faces at a visually impaired person simply does not possess." She raised an eyebrow into open air.

Phil's eyes widened. He took his thumb off his nose and retracted his tongue. He coughed and looked quickly away, not-pouting at the floor. "Right."

Kori replaced her glasses and turned her head to face him once more, expression dry. "Pick someone else, Phil. There's no way you and Sara could ever work as a couple. In any universe. And that's coming from someone who's done extensive research on the multiverse theory." She gave a short laugh and widened her eyes at him with an amused grin, in hopes of lessening the blow of her words, then began turning to walk away.

Phil grabbed her arm to hold her in place. When she looked at him again, he met her eyes and stated with peculiar firmness, "She's the best shot I've got." A beat. He swallowed. "There's no one else. We've gone through the yearbook. You know there's no one." When all she did was stare at him, he took a breath, regrouped, and let go of her arm. Casually, he said, "So, you talked to Gerald's contact."

Kori recognized the opener for what it was. His eyes blared at her, 'Gonna help me or not? Because if not, I'll just go and do it myself.' She looked to the wall, placing a hand on her hip as she did, and sighed exaggeratedly. Finally, after a long moment spent watching him squirm restlessly in her peripheral, she clapped her hands together, just to watch him jump, and said as she faced him, "I did. Like I said, all he could get me was a list of clubs."

Phil, rubbing the side of his head to clear an ache, gave her an unimpressed look. "Fuzzy Slippers could only get a list of clubs? He couldn't access anything else? No report cards, address, phone number, nothing? Are we or aren't we talking about the guy who once infiltrated a drug base that'd been running since 1995—"

In an instant, Kori's dawning look of horror was blurred in the motion of her shooting forward to slap a hand over his mouth and pull him back against her chest. Phil gasped against her hand and tried to struggle, but was shocked into complacency when she began pulling him backwards and hissed in his ear, "I told Ham that in confidence!"

He stumbled to stomp her foot, and it was enough of a surprise to her that her hand slipped from his mouth. He seized the opportunity to laugh harshly and say, "S'not my fault you didn't check behind the couch!"

Repulsed, both by his words and his struggling, she pushed him away. When he turned to her again with a wry look, she pointed a finger at him and whispered thickly, "You'd better not tell anyone about that! I wasn't even supposed to know!"

Phil laughed again and waved her off. "Relax, I won't tell anyone. I'm better with secrets than you'd think." Relishing how her face was several shades paler than usual, he said, "So, about what he got on Sara..."

That snapped Kori out of her unhappy stupor, enough that she jerked her head back and scoffed, tapering into a high, incredulous laugh. "You really think I had him hack into an elementary girl's personal file? What kind of a business do you think we're running here?"

He blinked.

"No, he went very shallow into the PS 118 database. I don't think he even hacked anything. I'm pretty sure club members are listed publicly on the website. I'm kinda mad I didn't think to do it myself, but after hearing nothing but 'Sara who?' and 'Oh, that weirdo who stares at people?' all day, I figured joining a club would be the farthest thing from this girl's mind. The campfire lass thing was weird enough." She shook her head. "No, no. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right. Whatever you want to know about her, you're gonna have to hear straight from her own mouth. And not because you nagged her into it or tricked her or tied her up and locked her in your basement or slipped her some cockamamie truth serum—"

Phil's eyes were wide and eyebrow high. "What kind a business do you think I'm running?"

Kori spoke right over him, "You've just gotta remember that people like Sara are really difficult to get close to and any breach of trust will lose her to you forever and then we'll be right back where we started, so please just—pick someone else! For Pete's..." By the end of her speech, her hand was over her eyes and she looked the picture of misery. A second later, she quietly groaned, "This entire project is going to end in a restraining order, I just know it." She removed her hand and shook herself, trying to summon some semblance of composure. She met his eyes seriously then, with only a marginal edge of hysteria. "Okay, look. Originally, since we're on a deadline, I was hoping we could go for a more direct approach with this, but now that that's no longer an option – since, you know, you decided you're attracted to the Proenneke types – we're gonna have to be more discreet. Hang around her, be as unobtrusive as possible, give her time to get used to the idea of you, and—God, just pick someone else! You are the literal worst nightmare of every Sara on the planet!"

Phil's response was a fierce glower. "Who crowned you the grand knower of all things recluse?"

Kori's eyes went round, as if she could hardly believe he'd just asked her that. "You want me to cite my sources? O-kay." She stood up perfectly straight and began counting on her fingers. "Myself, my best friend, my brother, my mom..." She began walking down the hall once more, and Phil fell into step beside her, still glaring.

"I don't buy that. You're only quiet around adults. Otherwise you're totally obnoxious." Phil thought he heard her mutter something about pots and kettles, but ignored her. "And Josh has tons of friends."

"Tons of friends—right. And how many of those friends does he bring over to the house? Have dinner with? Sleepovers, movie nights, long phone calls...?"

Phil mulled that over. "Well..."

"Me, right? Just me." Kori glanced at him, then looked ahead. "Ham is weird. He's popular because he's nice, talented, and attractive. It's all very generic, and he knows that. It's why he's not very close with many people." When all Phil did was stare at her, she exhaled and tapped at her chin. "Let's see, how can I explain this... See, there are friends, people who only see you for face value and hang out with you mainly because it's convenient, and then there are friends, people who prop you up when you're down and don't mind seeing your more vulnerable side. Friends that you trust. And, Josh doesn't have many of those. In that way, he's pretty reserved."

Phil watched her soberly for a little while after she finished speaking, then turned his eyes to the floor. He took care to only step on the orange and red squares, avoiding the cracks out of habit.

Kori thought he looked bored and blew a strand of hair out of her face. As she slipped it back in with the rest of her flawlessly pinned hair, she asked blandly, "Are you sure there's no one else that would work? I'm not messing around when I say there's a one in ten billionth chance this ends well."

A few seconds later, Phil threw her a sarcastic grin. "Since when do I turn down a challenge? Bring it on. I know you have a plan, asian."

Kori returned his sarcasm with a sickeningly sweet grin of her own. "You bet I do, you pasty turd. I'm planning on sedating you and dragging your limp corpse down to your father's closet to shower you in bow ties so you can look your absolute cutie-patootiest when you go on your first disastrous date."

Phil's grin grew painful in its intensity. "What makes you think my dad has bow ties?"

Kori's eye didn't twitch and her cheeks didn't ache. "Your dad is the dorkiest man on the planet. He has bow ties. Probably a bowler hat, too. And sock garters." She broke character suddenly to burst into laughter. "All in plaid!"

Phil's grin went up in flames. "Would you just tell me what to do?" he yelled.

Kori 'fffff'ed at him and waved a hand. "You can't guess? I told you Sara's in a few clubs."

Phil eyed her cautiously. "You want me to join one of them."

"No, I want you to join the navy."

Phil nodded solemnly and started to turn. "I'll get the submarine."

Kori snatched him by the back of his collar and pulled him along. "As precious the image of you in a sailor suit is, that won't be necessary. She's in three clubs that meet on a regular basis, all you've got to do is pick one of them."

Phil reclaimed his spot at her side, dislodging her hand, and nodded. "Okay, what are they?"

Kori laced her fingers together. "Well..."

Five minutes later

"No."

"You already rejected the Campfire Lasses and gymnastics. This is the only one left!"

"No."

"All right then!" Kori threw up her arms and started down the hall leading to the library. "I'll get you a leotard then! If we're lucky, maybe they'll still have neon pink tiger print in stock!"

"No!" He lunged and grabbed her arm. She looked back at him with a look of utter exasperation, and he floundered desperately for a way around it. Kori's eyes ignited into a slow simmer. "I'm done arguing about this, Junior," she fumed. "Do you want to torment this girl or not?"

Phil gaped at her stupidly.

Josh chose that moment to walk up and ask, "Hey, what's going on?"

Before Kori could signal for him to make a run for it, Phil had already started shouting, "I can't do it, end of story! There has to be another way!"

Josh spun on his heel and walked away, waving a hand never mind. Phil glared at Kori, paying no mind to his brother's retreat. Meanwhile Kori frowned at Josh's back, pained, then slowly turned her eyes back down to Phil's. Her face was dangerously still.

Phil pursed his lips at the look in her eyes and stiffly – stubbornly – crossed his arms. "There's no way I'm joining the drama club!"

Many five minutes later

"I can't believe I'm joining the drama club."

Kori tapped a fan open with a jerk of her wrist and fanned herself with an airy sigh. "Ah, the things one does to avoid marrying their arch nemesis."

Phil glared at her intensely and hissed, "You're not funny."

She giggled at his face. "Oh, come on, what's so bad about drama?"

Phil short-circuited. "What's bad? What's bad? Other than the fact these people dedicate their lives to skipping around on stage like a pack of idiots? That the majority of them are just attention-starved losers and egotistical morons? That every year they act out the same humdrum plays that got old twenty years ago and everyone always smiles and claps like it's the best thing they've ever seen so the idiots won't cry? Well, how about the fact that Tristan Redmond is one of the main idiots behind this enterprise, the very same idiot who's been trying to get me to join the drama club as far back as I can remember, and he's gonna think that he finally managed to convince me and be insufferably smug about it for the rest of eternity?" Phil shouted the last part and had to take in a deep, gasping breath at the conclusion of his rant.

Kori looked beyond bemused. She wanted to point out the fact he'd just criticized the drama club with a dramatic speech, but decided it was too easy and chuckled. "O-kay, if that's really your opinion, it's never too late to turn back and find someone else." She tried not to sound too hopeful.

It was in vain either way, because Phil easily waved her off, as if he hadn't just had a mental breakdown. "Nah. Sara's obviously one of the attention-starved losers, so once I'm around, she won't need this crap anymore and we can not-skip into the sunset."

Kori rolled her eyes. "Right. Well, just remember not to come on too strong and scare her off. We don't know enough about her yet to know if she's receptive, so you're gonna have to be very… subtle."

Phil looked up at her as if she'd just broken out in perfect Hindi. "Subtle?"

"Yeah…" Kori spoke and nodded slowly as she realized whom she was talking to. Taking in a quick breath, she folded her fan up and tucked it into her shirt. "I see I'm gonna have to set some ground rules here. That's fine, but you're gonna have to listen to me very carefully. Are you willing to do that?" At Phil's nod, she took in another breath and began, "Rule number one: No marching up to her and announcing you're her future husband."

Phil made a sound of complete disgust. "Then how am I supposed to explain the direness of my situation?"

"Save it for later, Casanova. When you know for sure 'I want to be cursed in eternal limbo with you' isn't gonna send her heading for the hills. Got it?"

Phil didn't look happy, but he said, "Fine," albeit begrudgingly.

"Good. Rule number two: No cornering her in a dark alley and snipping off a lock of her hair so you can add it to your locker shrine and sniff it between periods."

Phil's eyebrows shot down so fast Kori nearly lost it. Giggling manically, she waved her arms at him to show she wasn't serious. "Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to see your face. And ah, you didn't disappoint. Awesome. Okay, okay, seriously now, rule number two: No attempting to start deep, personal conversations right off the bat. Remember, the entire point of this is to get her comfortable with you. So keep things simple. Small talk only, at least for now. Okay?"

Phil made an uncaring motion with one side of his body. Kori decided it would do and moved along.

"Rule number three: Don't do that thing that you do."

"What thing?"

"You know what thing. The one where something absolutely horrible happens and you giggle like someone gave you cake."

"I don't giggle like—"

"Yeah, whatever you say, just don't do it. It puts people off, but I'm not gonna explain to you exactly why right now. Time is of the essence." She tapped pointedly at her watch. "Speaking of which, are you sure you have the time to dedicate to this?"

"What do you mean?" Phil asked a little absently, fiddling with the buttons of his overshirt. Open or closed, that was the question. He wanted to seem casual and friendly, but at the same time, if Tristan came up, he wanted to be as buttoned up and closed off as possible. He had to take any advantages he could get here.

Kori saw what he was doing and snuffed, amused. Walking over, she gently pushed his hands away and began buttoning as she spoke, "I mean, don't you have homework and studying to do around this time?"

Phil watched her hands with a frown. "Not anymore."

Kori finished buttoning his shirt up halfway and stuck her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She smiled at her work as she eyed him over. "Rescheduling it then?"

"Something like that." He put his hands in his pockets, too, and rocked on his heels as he glanced anxiously down the hallway. "So come on, what's rule number four?"

Kori gave him a quick two taps on the forehead, and smiled wide when he snapped his eyes back on her. "Smile, be nice, and above all, relax. That's it. Everything's gonna be okay."

Phil exhaled slowly and tucked his hands deeper in his pockets. He muttered, "That's what you think."

Kori snorted and bopped him on the forehead once more. He pulled out a hand to wave her furiously away like an errant fly, and she snickered. "Yeah, yeah. I gotta go now. My dad'll be looking for me by now." She winked at him over her shoulder as she started walking away. Her smile was teasing. "Go get'm, tiger."

He stuck his tongue out at her back, not even certain why he felt the compulsion. He just did it 'cause it felt right, somehow. Or maybe because he was feeling a little on edge. He ran his now-free hand over his face at the thought and pushed his hair back out of his forehead. It was now or never.

He walked down the hall for a little while, stalling the inevitable turn that would take him to the auditorium entrance, until even his slow pace couldn't save him. Looking up, he saw the old sign, Woodrow Wilson's Auditorium, and couldn't stop himself from gulping. There were so many things wrong with this picture.

His eyes slowly widening at the sign, he abruptly looked down and huffed at himself. "Come on, it's just idiots. You deal with idiots every day. This isn't any different from normal." He paced to the left and huffed again, chuckling almost hysterically before cutting himself off and glaring at the ceiling. "And that's the crux of the problem right there." He looked back down and shook his head. "Criminy, I am an idiot. Don't be an idiot." He smacked himself a few times rapidly on the forehead and forced himself to turn back to the doors. Looking at the door handles like they were poisonous snakes, he pushed his way through with one final growling mutter, "She'd better be an angel."

The first thing he saw upon entering the room was chairs. A lot of chairs. Beyond that, curtains, and… lights… and a bunch of kids standing on stage tossing a banana around and screaming that it was cursed.

Oh. Wonderful.

He tried to discreetly duck into one of the rows, but one of them spotted him – a chubby kid with slits for eyes and a broken tooth – and pointed straight at him with a hoarse scream, "It's the wizard!"

All eyes were on him in the span of a second. He nearly blacked out from sheer horror, but managed to pull himself from the brink at the last minute and shake his head at them, hands waving furiously. "No! No wizards here!"

Tristan had frozen at the sight of him and looked too stunned to say anything, as the other kids seemed to expect him to, so a girl came up – Eleanor from class, he recognized with a distant, numbing sense of displeasure – and stood tall on the edge of the stage. Throwing her head up and down, as if giving him a once over even though he was far enough away such a thing was pointless, she declared, "It is the wizard! He is trying to deceive us!"

"That fiend!" another kid yelled behind her.

"Ah, but your tricks are no match for my cunning," Eleanor went on arrogantly, throwing her braid over her shoulder. "You thought you could curse all the food in the land and put us all to sleep so you could take over the kingdom, but I know you're hiding the cure in that hat of yours."

"I'm not wearing a hat," Phil practically squeaked.

Eleanor scoffed and looked down at him like she was terribly clever, and announced dramatically, "That is because you made it invisible!"

All the other kids gasped at this revelation.

Having had about enough of this, Phil clenched his fists and marched stiffly up to the stage. If she wanted nonsense, she'd get nonsense.

Once only a few steps away from the stage, he looked up at her, placed his hands on his hips, and spat with utter scorn, "I haven't made it invisible, you stole it! You hired me to create the curse so you could take the throne yourself, but I got concerned so I created the cure and hid it away in my hat. So I could intervene if I thought things got out of hand. But I realized it was missing yesterday, so I traveled all this way to set things straight."

A murmur broke out over the kids. Eleanor's face went pink.

Oddly enough, Tristan chose that moment to yell, grinning from ear to ear as he did, "But she's the one who discovered the curse in the first place and came to warn us! How could this be? Why would she do that?"

Phil shot him a glare and didn't miss a beat. "What better way to throw suspicion off herself?"

Another kid spoke up, "Then why did she say you had the cure? Would not she want us to be unaware there is a cure?"

"She knew getting me out of the way was more important, because I'm the only person who can make it. She knew I didn't have it, but she wanted you to all fight me and lock me up so I couldn't get in her way anymore. Probably planned to fake the cure breaking in the struggle to get it out of the way."

Tristan rubbed his chin, smiling so hard it was painful just to look at him. "That makes sense…"

A silence settled over the stage. A kid in the back threw the banana at the back of Eleanor's head. It clunked and fell in a harmless plastic clatter to the floor. Eleanor didn't so much as twitch.

Phil suddenly screamed and pointed at an overhead light. "Dragon!"

All the kids burst into a frenzy. Some just ran around in a panicked circle, others stared in terror, and others raced around shouting things like, "Evasive maneuvers," "Get the shot guns," "We're all gonna die!" Eleanor just continued to stare at him, and Phil realized with a start that she'd recognized him and that was why she wasn't reacting. Seizing the opportunity before it passed, he ran up the stairs and made to run at her, but then snapped back at the last minute and gasped, loudly and emotively enough that several kids stopped and looked at him. Faking a sad face, he told them, "The dragon got her."

Eleanor's mouth fell open.

Breaking the sudden silence and effectively stunning everyone in their spots, the squinty chip-toothed kid fell to his knees and wailed in anguish. "Why, cruel world?" he screamed, falling forward to bang his fists on the floor. "Why do they have to die so young?" He buried his face in his arms and started to sob, his shoulders violently shaking.

An almost vicious slapping of skin against skin made Phil's head snap around. There in the front row, standing up and clapping like his life depended on it, was Eugene Horowitz. A small pair of metal spectacles bounced on the end of his nose, and he chuckled a little as he stopped and reached up to still them. "Really great job, guys! You managed to create a fun, engaging story in the span of ten minutes! And I was glad to see that you kept going even when interrupted." He turned his stained grin on Tristan and dropped it. He walked up to the stage and began at once up the steps, an energy about him that had the kids instinctively moving out of his way. Though his smile was for the most part absent now, there was still the whisper of a grin at his mouth that seemed never to fade. "Although I appreciate that you were trying to be inclusive, Phil here," he stopped next to him and patted his shoulder, ignoring the way he shrunk away from him, "is new to the club." He looked down at Phil, smiling good-naturedly. "Do you know what you were just doing?"

Phil blinked up at him. "Goofing off?"

Eugene chuckled. "No. You were improvising! Improv is a, well, a sort of game us actors play to hone our skills." He looked back to Tristan then, smile lessening, and raised an eyebrow. "Tristan, you know better than to ask questions like that, especially to a new member."

Tristan offered up an easy smile as retribution, though there was very little apologetic in it. "Bro could handle it."

Another boy stepped up, with dark red hair that looked almost purple in the shadows, and Phil recognized him as the kid who'd questioned him shortly after Tristan. "I only asked because Tristan did," he said reasonably, heavy-lidded and about as expressive as a rock.

"Well, remember, it's not good to put all the pressure on your partner. Come up with stuff on your own, and stick to the information given. Uh," he noticed the chip-toothed kid was still sobbing on the floor, "Jeff, you okay over there?"

Jeff sat up and grinned. "Sorry, I wasn't sure we were done."

Eugene grinned brilliantly back. "That's fine. As always, love the energy. Keep it up." He clapped his hands. "Everyone, gather 'round!" Placing his hands on his hips, he spoke with a wide, jovial smile as they formed a semi-circle in front of him, "In case you didn't hear, we have a new member. Everyone, I'd like you to give a warm welcome to Phil." Putting one hand to the side of his mouth, he whispered playfully, "He's Mr. Arnold's son."

"Oh, we know who he is," Eleanor announced, lips puffed out as she scanned Phil from top to bottom. "What I'd like to know is what he's doing here."

Phil carefully crossed his arms at her scrutinizing gaze, unconsciously setting his legs apart as he shifted. "I found myself some free time so I'm trying new things." It wasn't a lie.

Eleanor stared at him with that same puffy expression for another few, long seconds, wherein Phil hardened his face to stone and prepared himself for a verbal smackdown, when a grin suddenly split her face in half and she took a step closer to enthusiastically offer her hand. "That's great to hear! It's always good to have newbs around. Welcome to drama!"

Phil just barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping. Though he managed for the most part, it still hung a little open as he stared down at her hand. "Uh…"

His arms having gone slack, Eleanor easily grabbed one of his hands, rubber in her grip, and shook it generously, grinning all the while. "I'm Eleanor Dixie, daughter of Senator Dixie and granddaughter of the once great Mayor Dixie. Pleasure to meet you." She released his hand to flop to his side.

Jeff jumped in beside her and pointed a finger at his own chest. "And I'm Jeff!" He pointed to the dark, red-haired boy beside him. "This is Morris!"

"Hello," Morris calmly greeted.

"And that's—" Jeff tried to go on, but his next introduction was cut off by the very person he was pointing at.

"Jordan," the goth girl from the cafeteria said, smiling brightly. At his look of horror, she giggled and waved her black fingernails at him. "Mellow, man, we don't bite." She gestured to the girl on her right, a bubbly blonde with sparkly blue eyes and flowers in her hair, practically vibrating with excitement. "This is Mika." Mika waved enthusiastically, as Jordan went on, "She's an aspiring mime, but she sings like an angel. Just sings."

Mika placed a finger over her lips and smiled with all her teeth.

One by one, each of the kids introduced themselves, each seeming friendlier than the last, and all with genuine warmth and enthusiasm. Phil had to press a hand to his mouth to keep the vomit down.

"I'm Carmen!"

"Carolina!"

"Mathius here."

"Greyson."

"Orlando."

"Peyton York."

"Khalil."

"Godric."

"—Refugio—"

"—Jacob—"

"—Aubrey—"

"Cheryl—"

"—Hattie."

"And the boy who needs no introduction, Tristan!" Jeff exclaimed, bouncing on one leg as he gestured to the boy in question while he walked up to the group. "His dad funds all our plays 'cause he's rich!"

Tristan grinned at him, all the usual laziness in his expression and stance replaced with something alarmingly close to pride. His eyes shone with delight. "Glad you've finally decided to join us, little dude."

Phil's head was spinning, his stomach churning, and his lungs stinging from this influx of information and welcoming faces and easy acceptance and—the fact he'd stopped breathing at some point. So he did the only thing he could do. He shoved all the confusing emotions down, doused them in gasoline, and set them on fire. Hoping his eye wasn't twitching as badly as it felt like it was, he dropped his hand and managed to say, not at all hysterically, "Yeah, that's swell. Anyone know where Sara is?"

"Who?" Jeff asked loudly.

Eleanor laughed like he'd just told a good joke. "The water girl? She's in the back!"

"Eleanor," Eugene admonished, though he looked vaguely amused. "Sara's not the water girl, she's a valuable member of our group."

"Sure thing, Mr. Horowitz." Eleanor sent him a winning smile, before turning away to admire her nails.

Eugene sighed and shook his head, smiling as he did, and turned his eyes on Tristan. "You know Phil?" At Tristan's happy nod, he hopped on his toes. "Super! He's gonna need some buddies to show him the ropes. Think you're up for the task?"

"Sick."

"I'll take that as a yes! We're gonna take five. Do whatever you want, kids! Just make sure it's safe!" He took one step to the left, yelped as the wood gave way, and careened to the floor, landing hard on his side. At the looks of concern a few of the newer kids shot him, he swiftly sat up and waved them off, chuckling. "I'm okay! Go on! Everything's fine!" They reluctantly obeyed. He pulled his foot free, tutting with a resigned sort of amusement at the ruined leg of his pants, and stood.

As soon as Mr. Horowitz walked away and the kids began dispersing, Tristan walked up to him and grinned. And grinned. And grinned…

Phil looked at him like a small girl might observe a leech. "I didn't join because of anything you said, so you'd better wipe that stupid look off your face."

Tristan didn't. Phil took a couple steps back. Tristan still stood, teeth all on display and eyes twinkling, insufferable in his idiocy.

Finally, he said, "I knew you'd fit right in."

Phil was so not dealing with this right now. Throwing his head back, eyes almost brutal in their rolling, he pushed past him and started backstage. "Go dance off a cliff, Tristan, I don't need a buddy."

"Really, dude?" Tristan asked, following behind him, no doubt still with that grin. "I remember your exact words being that you did need friends."

Phil almost stumbled. Determined not to let any weakness show, he kept walking, almost stomping now. He ground his teeth, not even caring they were gonna be nubs by the time the week was up.

"I remember," Tristan emphasized pointlessly, like a dog begging for treats.

Phil ignored him, pushing a curtain aside so he could stick his head backstage. Rather than finding the entire reason he was putting himself through this torture, he came face to face with Jeff's squinty brown eyes. Phil gave a shout and threw himself back from the curtain, falling back into Tristan, who caught him with a surprised grunt. Phil hung from his arms like a rag doll, dazed and about ready to just shut down and sag there forever.

Jeff came through the curtain and tilted his head at them. "Gee, sorry. I just got you a water." He held out the bottle.

Phil blinked at it, unsure how to respond, and unwilling to try to figure out how. Jeff frowned slightly and took one of his limp hands in his warm, pudgy ones, molding it with his own around the bottle before letting go. Phil almost dropped it, but remembered how to put effort into something at the last second. It was that remembrance that snapped him back to reality, and he realized with a start that Tristan was touching him—He jerked away with a sound of raw disgust and had the bottle open in a second flat, gulping water down like it might cleanse him of the occurrence.

Jeff was enthralled, a hand poised at his cheek as he smiled crookedly at him guzzling like a lunatic. "Man. You're sorta weird."

Phil choked and coughed, water spilling out over his chin and trickling to the floor. He wiped it away furiously with his sleeve and shot a narrow-eyed look at Jeff.

Jeff caught the look and smiled wider, leaning back. "It's okay! I like it. That thing with the dragon was killer." He shared his smile with Tristan. "We don't get nearly enough dragons in improv."

"I also found Eleanor's subsequent demise most killer," a blank voice said directly beside him.

Phil jumped a foot off to the right, shoulder hunched in a self-preserving, defensive pose. Morris merely blinked, arms hanging at his sides and face still utterly void of expression. Gaining his wits back, Phil stuttered and spat, "You-You can't just sneak up on a guy like that!"

Morris' stared at him. "You are socially awkward. I accept this. Did you know my father hates your father?"

Phil clutched at the water bottle like his only line to sanity. "What?" he croaked.

"You are confused. I am as well. I asked my father about it once but all he replied with was," he made a series of odd, aggressive grunts and short moans. "He was eating at the time. He is always eating. Knowing him, it likely has something to do with food."

Phil tried not to cry. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought it would be best to get it out of the way."

"Hey," Jeff whispered, having leaned over so his mouth was right by his ear. Phil clutched tighter. "Did you know everyone hates you?"

Phil exhaled, feeling something that had fallen loose the moment Eleanor grinned at him snap back into place. He turned his head to him with a heavily sarcastic look. "I've gotten that vibe, yeah."

Jeff nodded, taking him serious, and whispered as he leaned back, "'Kay, just checking."

Morris spoke up again, "Do not let Jeffrey's words fool you. We do not hate you. You have given us no reason to do so. I am more inclined to think of us as friends."

"Hey, me too, if you want," Jeff said, grinning. "You seem fun. Maybe our next improv we can fight dragons together!"

"We're a family, dude," Tristan added, smiling at him. "You're one of us now."

"One of us, one of us," Jeff chanted, sticking his arms out and walking towards him like a zombie.

Phil was running out of gasoline. Breathing too rapidly for comfort, he waved his arms at them, signaling for Jeff to quit advancing, and said, "Look, I'm not here to—to do whatever it is you—I just really need to find Sara, she has something I need!"

Jeff was confused. "I already got you the water—"

"No!" Phil snapped, giving him a look of utter antipathy. The water bottle clunked to the floor. "It's something else! And I really need to talk to her, so if you could just…" he breathed shakily out, "leave me alone. That would be great."

Not waiting for a response, he turned and pushed past the curtains.

Whatever he expected backstage to be like, it was… pretty much exactly like this. The whole place was wooden, with wood floors much less polished than the stage, and plain wood walls, all bleeding together in a mass of deep brown. Wooden beams suspended high above with sacks of flour hanging from them. Several white doors stood along the walls, a few with large yellow stars hanging on them, and old props lined against the far wall. It was dark, and had a very private, intimate feel to it that promoted an easiness of spirit. As soon as the shadows settled over him, Phil felt himself uncoil. He sighed and leaned against the wall, burying his face in his hands.

He could hear them speaking on the other side, asking Tristan what was wrong with him, and shuffled farther away from the curtain so he didn't have to listen.

For a minute, he just focused on leveling out his breathing. He didn't think about the kids; he didn't think about drama; he didn't think about Mr. Horowitz—and for that one minute, all was calm.

Once he was sure he wasn't going to snap and start hyperventilating like a wounded banshee, he looked up. It was peaceful back here, the only sounds being muffled sounds of chatter coming from the other side of the curtain. It was very still, very quiet… Unusually quiet, even.

Suspicious now, he stepped away from the wall and began his search. Despite a few benches, props and boxes, it was bare. No sign of life, no water bottles, no footsteps. Pausing, he called out, "Anyone back here?"

Silence.

He opened all the doors and looked inside.

Empty.

He pushed a few props aside and looked behind them.

Nothing.

Starting to get seriously peeved, he ducked down and looked under all the benches.

No one. Not even a spec of dust. Kori's words resonated in his mind.

This girl's a ghost, Phil. She has no friends, no one knows anything about her, and she talks to no one. She doesn't exist.

"Great," he groaned, sitting back on a bench. "Of all the people in all the world, I had to pick a phantom." He humphed and rested his chin in his hand, closing his eyes. "Maybe if I'm still enough, she'll abduct me." He waited a while, half-expecting her to do just that. When nothing happened, he growled and shot up from the bench, opening his eyes to glare into the darkness. He started in the direction he came, part-stomping with wild gesticulations. "Forget this, I'm going out there and telling Eugene I quit right now! This is hopele—"

His nose smashed into something warm. The something—someone gasped and stumbled, but just before they crashed into the floor on top of each other, the person did—something, brushing against his face, darkness then a burst of shadow—and next thing Phil knew he was staring up at the ceiling, and someone was… beside him…

Dread building steadily in his stomach, he slowly turned his head to look, and came face to face with light purple eyes wide with mirroring shock.

Sara blinked at him, her head miraculously upside down next to his. She smiled awkwardly. "Hello again."

Phil gawked, and for whatever reason, didn't scream and scramble away like he normally would have. He just felt… done. Raw. He puffed out a sigh through his nose and lowered his eyelids. "Why are you upside down?"

"Why were you looking for me?" she countered.

"I asked you first."

"You're avoiding the question."

"So are you!"

Sara blinked, and smiled that funny smile. "Maybe I don't want to answer."

Phil didn't care that he was laying on the floor. He crossed his arms and glared, air hissing past his teeth as he breathed out. "Has it occurred to you that maybe I don't, either?"

She just blinked again. Her eyebrows furrowed. "You don't want to tell me why you were looking for me?"

Phil huffed. "It's no weirder than you not wanting to tell me why you're upside down!"

She raised an eyebrow at that and stared at him. He glared back, standing his ground. Or... metaphorically, anyway.

Finally, she seemed to give in, because she sat up, folded herself in some odd way with her hands on the floor, and pushed herself up so she was standing on her hands. Looking him dead in the eye, she then dropped back and fell so she was on her back, upside down from where he was laying once again. Phil sat up and twisted around so fast he almost fell. "You're lying."

She smiled at him in that funny way again and started sitting up. "I was told you wanted to talk to me."

He noticed for the first time that she wasn't in her Campfire Lass uniform this time around, as she tucked her feet underneath herself and faced him. Absently, he noted that it was some pinkish dress thing with a black sash, and thought little more of it than that. It was an improvement from the uniform at least, but then, so would a paper bag. He shook his head. "You're lying," he repeated, glaring at her for the trick.

She tilted her head down slowly, eying him. Her expression was inscrutable. "If you say so. You want to talk to me?"

She was lying, his mental voice insisted helplessly. A large part of him didn't want to let it go, and not just because he really needed to avoid her choice of topic. He wasn't really sure why – Kori had said she was in gymnastics, and his family did acrobatic stunts all the time, so why couldn't some girl? – but then, he wasn't sure about much, so whatever. He continued to glare, partly out of habit, partly because he needed to feel in control of something. "I don't."

Which… wasn't technically a lie. He didn't want to do any of this, it was purely necessity. All of this was.

Thank creation for semantics. He'd be Kentucky-fried three ways to Sunday a hundred times over without them.

Sara's face blanked. "If this is about the turtles…" she began hesitantly, and seemed to wait for some confirmation. When he just stared at her, she licked her lips and finished, "I'll be by to drop them off in three to five business days. I expect you to have the money by then." She glanced at the curtain. "They've probably started a new game by now. You should go."

His frown deepened. "You're not going?"

She shrugged. Systematically, she brought her legs out and gracefully stood. As she walked away, deeper into the back, he couldn't resist snapping, "What? No back flips?" When she didn't respond and just continued walking, he mentally scrambled a bit before crying out in hair-pulling aggravation, "What are you doing in drama club if you don't do anything?"

That got her to turn her head, just for a moment, and meet his eyes. Her face was perfectly serene as she asked, "What are you?"

He blinked hard, and in the amount of time it took to open his eyes, she had disappeared. He sat, staring into the darkness with a screwed expression, for he didn't know how long. It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, before the curtain separated to reveal Morris' dispassionate face. Morris looked at him as if sitting on the floor doing nothing was the most normal thing in the world.

"Phil, Mr. Horowitz has—"

The fabric of the curtain suddenly exploded out, revealing Jeff's excited face as he wrapped his legs around Morris' back and gripped his shoulders tight. He declared, "I claim Phil as my partner!"

Morris wobbled a little before grabbing for the curtain. "Jeffrey, calm yourself."

Jeff blew a raspberry at the ridiculous suggestion. "I smell jealousy!"

"That is not possible. Jealousy does not have a smell."

"Yeah, it does! It smells like sour limeade mixed with garbage juice. It's terrible, but also strangely addictive."

Something in Phil snapped. He wasn't cognizant of standing, but knew he must have because the next thing he knew he was standing in front of the two taller boys and glaring with everything he had. "Let's just get one thing clear," he barked, startling the two, "I am a living, breathing human being with a brain and a will—not something for you to call dibs on. I do what I want, with who I want, and right now I want..." He flicked his eyes between the two boys, before settling them on Morris. He grabbed him by the arm and tugged him out of the curtain. "You, come on."

The sudden turn had Jeff sliding off Morris' back and falling on his behind. He watched the two walk off with a tiny frown. A moment later saw him shrugging and racing away to happily accost another kid for his partner.

Once several feet away, Phil let go of Morris and turned to him. Morris looked untroubled by this turn of events and met his eyes blandly. He said nothing.

Phil found himself becoming unsettled by the unrepentant stare and shuffled a little in his spot. Eyes shifting across the boy's face, he explained, "You seem quieter."

To his relief, Morris nodded and replied forthwith, "Jeffrey is exuberant. He is also understanding. If you asked him to calm down, he would."

All Phil's disconcertion was lost to righteous disbelief. "He wouldn't with you!"

Morris nodded again, like his response was entirely expected. "That is because I have known him for three years. Once he is comfortable with you, he believes he can get away with anything. So long as you keep him at arm's length, emotionally, you should be fine."

Phil snorted. Having had about enough of this conversation, he glanced around. Kids were still pairing off, as the ones already partnered up played patty-cake and whispered amongst themselves, and Phil pursed his lips. Linking his hands, he asked, "So... what do we do?"

"We wait for Mr. Horowitz's cue," Morris explained. "Once everyone is paired, we each take turns center stage and select a hypothetical situation from a hat. We then act out that situation. We will not begin for another few minutes."

"Oh." Phil looked to his shoes.

Morris seemed totally content to stand beside him in silence, but Phil was growing antsy. The white noise in his head was getting to subatomic levels, and Phil's tic was acting up. He hated not having something to do. He needed to be watching something, or reading something, or talking to someone—or thinking, but right now that wasn't an option. A large part of him was determined to numb itself to the entire experience of drama – the word rang mockingly in his head – and ignore anything and anybody involved with it, but the silence was going to kill him if he didn't do something.

So, Phil blurted, "You don't call me Phillip, so why do you call him Jeffrey?"

Morris actually looked surprised at his outburst. Phil guessed he'd be a little weirded out, too, if someone told him they preferred his company 'cause he was quiet then tried to force him into conversation, but he really couldn't care less at the moment. A short pause later, Morris replied, "I said I have been trying to keep him at arm's length. Formality is one of my methods. I feel no need to use it with you. You do not seem like the type to pounce on me and try to play like I am a horse."

Phil almost laughed at that, but he managed to restrain himself. "Yeah, you're, uh..." he coughed into his fist, "safe from me."

Morris nodded. He seemed to like doing that. "I am glad you chose me for your partner. I was going to ask you before Jeffrey interrupted."

Phil grunted.

He was relieved that Morris seemed to catch onto his plight and continued talking. He kinda hoped he'd move on from the topic of partners, but really couldn't care less about what he said so long as it gave him something to focus on. As it was, he was resigned to having to chat with this contractionless freak, and settled in for the beginning of a long, boring relationship. "I am amazed you have never done improv before," Morris said, blandly. "You are not bad."

Phil had to roll his eyes at a statement like that. "It's just make-believe. Any two year old could do it."

"Make-believe?"

"Yeah. You know, pretending you're a gangster, pirate, airplane attendant. I used to do that a lot."

"Used to?"

Phil was just opening his mouth to speak again when Morris spoke, and clapped it closed again in surprise. Really, he was used to rambling and having others either walk away, gape or try not to fall asleep, so the genuine curiosity in Morris' voice was startling enough as is, but added onto that was the response itself. A pang hit him low in his belly that he couldn't explain, and he glared at Morris for causing it. "Yeah, before I got better things to do."

"Like what?"

Phil narrowed his eyes further. "Like working to become a valuable member of society."

Morris seemed to chew on this bit of information before he replied, "That sounds boring."

Phil decided then and there that Morris was an idiot. "Plenty of things in life are 'boring,' " he used air-quotes, because darn if he was gonna give the word any power in this discussion, "and believe me, I know boring," like your face, "but that doesn't change that they need to get done. They're important. If people just didn't do stuff because they got bored after a while of doing them, we wouldn't have lightbulbs, railroads, airplanes, computers, television." He turned his nose up. "And besides, the tedious things in life always have the sweetest rewards."

Morris' stare really was annoyingly intense. "Like what?"

Phil sniffled and swiped at his nose with his sleeve, breaking eye contact. "Respect." He blinked and added as a casual afterthought, swaying to the side as he clasped his hands behind himself, "And a healthy economy."

Morris' line for a mouth shrank, and he turned to face the front just as Mr. Horowitz started walking up the steps. "You are an odd child," he muttered. "We will be good friends, no matter our fathers' opinions. Like the platonic Romeo and Juliet. We will die famous."

Phil snorted, quietly as Mr. Horowitz began walking down the line. "I don't even know you, let alone like you."

Morris didn't miss a beat. "Then we will be Romeo and Rosaline. That is fine. There is less death."

Phil was glad Eugene reached them with the hat before he had to reply, because he really had no response to that.

"See, there's a lot of different types of curtains. There are those that go up to reveal the stage, and these are called Austrian curtains or drapes—also known as a puff curtain. There are some variations on this, such as a waterfall, but I won't get into those for now, since you probably won't encounter too many of them. Now, the type we have is the most common, and it is called a traveler curtain, draw curtain, bi-parting curtain, or, simply, a traveler." Eugene smiled down at him. The auditorium was empty, the last of the kids having trickled out some twenty minutes ago. His words held an odd echoing quality to them when he stepped too close to the middle of the stage. Now, he stood at the back, one hand folded around thick rope and eyes gleaming with a kind of quiet enthusiasm. Phil stood beside him with wide eyes, silently observing. "They're pretty standard because they're so simple to operate. There's two ropes, one that opens, and one that closes. You just pull on them, like so." He gave the rope a light tug, causing the curtains to swoosh a tad. "Want to give it a try?"

Phil nodded breathlessly, practically bouncing on his feet. Eugene chuckled at the look in his eyes and stepped aside, gesturing to the curtain. Phil grabbed onto it and pulled. Phil stopped a moment and looked, saw that the curtains hadn't moved, and clenched his teeth. Holding tighter to the rope, he closed his eyes and pulled with all his might. Eugene gave an innocent cough and inconspicuously took hold of the rope, pulling it with little effort. The curtain parted grandly, revealing the bare, dimly lit stage to the nonexistent audience. Phil opened his eyes and gaped, awed. He breathed, "Cool," and hugged the rope to himself.

Eugene smiled fondly. "It is pretty cool, huh?" He turned to observe the stage, the overhead lights casting specs of dust in enchanting focus as they drifted through the air. A sort of longing drifted over his face.

Phil looked at him curiously, still clutching tight to the rope. "I didn't know you knew so much about theatre stuff. I mean, I knew you were interested in it, but…"

Eugene chuckled, brought out of whatever place he'd just lost himself in. "Ah, yeah. It was, kind of one of those passions that take a backseat after a while. It's not that important." He turned away and walked over to a chest sitting against the wall. Turned away as he was, he made no attempt to push back the melancholy that wanted to steal over his face. It appeared in a frown on his lips and a lowering of his eyes as he opened the chest.

Phil sensed it all the same. He turned as well, still by the curtain, and tilted his head at the man. He glanced down at the rope in his hands and let go with a slight unclasping jerk of his wrists. Looking back to Eugene, he stated bluntly, "I know it's more than that." A little more casually, he followed, "You can tell me, if you want."

Eugene straightened with a brief, unsurprised chuckle, shaking his head. He held a mask in his hand. His head turned to reveal a close-lipped smile and warm eyes. "You are just like your dad."

Phil didn't comment on that.

All at once, a weight seemed to settle over Eugene's shoulders, and he walked back over to where Phil stood, pulling up a stool as he did, and gestured that Phil should sit if he like. Phil stood and watched him. Eugene sighed, his eyes focused forlornly on the mask. "Well. I don't know. As a kid, I used to love all this…" He looked up at the rafters and waved a vague hand to it all, then the hand fell and clasped in a fist before his chest. He bit his lip and looked back down. "But. There was a lot of teasing. It wasn't so bad when I was young, I never let it bother me—never let anything bother me, but after a while, I just…" He shook his head, at a loss for words. He glanced at Phil's face, saw the crease between his eyebrows, and smiled. "It's difficult to explain. When you're a kid, things are a lot simpler. You know who you are, what you love, who you want to be, and you don't think too hard about stuff. Everything comes natural. But, as you get older, all that gets… foggy." He looked to the mask. "I got foggy, I guess you could say."

Phil was eight years old. Eugene may as well have been talking about molecular physics in regards to rabies-infested ostriches for all Phil understood of it, but he absorbed this information as well as he was able. "So, you just… forgot about it."

A puff of air whooshed out Eugene's nose. He threw a tilted smile at him. "Oh, not for long. Don't get me wrong. High school is hard, but it does pass. People mature. I eventually got over it and moved on. I did all the usual stuff in the beginning—went to auditions, practiced every day, tried to make a name for myself. But… we can't all make the big time, kiddo. There are a lot of talented people out there, with just as much enthusiasm, and you learn after a while that it's more luck than anything else, and I never had luck in abundance." He chuckled. "Oh sure, I got into a few plays, had some laughs, but then a letter came. It was a… a college acceptance letter." The smile faded. His knuckles paled against the mask. "In the end, the decision wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. I got my doctorate and haven't looked back since." He looked up at the curtain, smiling bright and sad. "All I ever wanted was to protect people, to help them and make their lives better. I'm doing that now. I don't regret it. But there are some days… Well." He shook his head at the floor and lowered the mask. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Phil observed him. "It sounds a lot like it does."

Eugene grinned. "Maybe a little. That's why I'm so thankful to have this opportunity." He spread his arms out to the sides, stepping back to give a slow spin, gesturing to all of the auditorium. "To have all this, where I first learned my love for theatre. To impart that love onto the still-sprouting youth and build up their confidence. It's great!"

Phil was glad he wasn't looking at him, because he couldn't have held back the eye roll if he'd tried. He looked to the stage with a twisted quirk of his mouth and half-closed eyes. "Uh-huh. What's up with all this anyway? An elementary drama club? Somehow I doubt that was Principal Deon's idea."

In the midst of his spinning, Eugene threw himself back to sit on the chest. He neglected to recall that he hadn't closed it, however, and fell right in amongst the props with a startled "Oof!" Blinking his surprise, he wiggled a little, before deciding it wasn't so bad and settling in. He smiled. "You're right. It was Alan Redmond's."

Phil looked to him with flying eyebrows. "Tristan's dad?"

"That's him. He's a pretty spectacular guy. He thought Tristan wasn't being given enough opportunities at PS 118, so he funds a lot of the school clubs now. He can't be here all the time to supervise things, though, so your dad talked to me about it, and I thought it was such a great idea that I volunteered to help run drama." He chuckled and tried to stand, but found that his butt was stuck. Biting his tongue in concentration, he tried to push himself free. "Of course, there's also Mr. Leichliter."

"Who's that?"

"He's…" Eugene hesitated. Stalling his answer, he gave one final, strong push and crashed headfirst into the floor. The mask went clattering somewhere. He yelped but popped his head up fast, eyes wide, and declared, "I'm—"

Phil waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, you're okay. Mr. Leichliter?"

Eugene blinked and sat back. He worried his bottom lip. "He's the director."

Phil snorted and held back a nasty grin. "He must be a real pest if that's the only thing you have to say about him."

Eugene managed not to roll his eyes, but only just. Something about being around Phil brought out such tendencies in him. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing, but he was very comfortable around the boy, so he'd always figured that must count for something. Standing up, he hummed, "Yeah. I mean, no. Well." He chuckled suddenly, real and genuine. "He's a nice guy deep down. I'll admit he's a bit prickly, and, er… eccentric! But I've found him to be a warm, congenial fellow beyond that."

Phil smirked. The guy was a toad, he was sure.

Eugene saw the look and tilted his head down at him, smiling in a stern, friendly sort of 'now, now' way. "Really, be nice to him. He's no different from you or me."

Phil mock-huffed and poked absently at the rope. "Gosh, no need to be insulting."

This time Eugene did roll his eyes, but he did so with a smile as he looked around for the mask. He spotted it a few feet to his right and so went over to obtain it. "I mean he's always been a sort of underdog."

That got Phil to look at him again, with a funny expression. "Underdog?"

Eugene straightened from picking up the mask and swung his fist. "Yeah, you know! The dark horse, the little guy, the poor, the weak, the—the… well, the loser." He grinned crookedly.

Phil bit his cheek and looked away. He'd always known he was a loser, and considered little, poor, and weak by general consensus, but he couldn't recall ever having been under any dogs. He was also fairly sure he wasn't a horse, or a dark one at that, but whatever. Phil liked Eugene enough to let him blabber, so he ceased his mullings and met Eugene's eyes again. "Mr. Leichliter is a loser?" he asked dryly.

Eugene chuckled and looked off, taking a moment to reflect on the old theatre critic. He couldn't call himself friends with the man, not exactly, but there was a respect there, a mutual admiration that had gone unspoken as far back as their first play together when Eugene was nine. He'd even recommended him to a few directors, and given him one role in a small-time production he'd put on when Eugene was still performing. Eugene was both gratified and ashamed to know, if it weren't for Mr. Leichliter, he wouldn't have been in any shows at all.

Though he also may not have been shunned as much if Mr. Leichliter hadn't become involved with him, since he'd apparently managed to anger more than half of the musical community during his career and next to nobody wanted to have anything to do with the man, but he didn't like to think about that too much.

When Eugene told him he'd given up theatre to pursue medicine, he hadn't needed to hear the man spluttering to know he'd lost a fair measure of respect. Even after seeing him again years back when he first started running the drama club and working with him for all that time, Mr. Leichliter held his nose up around him. He still liked him, Eugene knew that, but they didn't talk about anything outside of business. It almost made him sad. But now, thinking of him, Eugene could only smile. "Sort of," he granted. "He knows what it feels like. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but it's not exactly a secret, so..." He shrugged, like it was inevitable. Then with an eager excitement, asked, "You know 'Eugene, Eugene!'?"

With downward eyebrows and a small frown, Phil's look was almost troubled. "Your name?"

"Oh! Gosh." Eugene took the stool he'd pulled up for himself and scooted closely to Phil. Phil let him, but his expression seemed to intensify. Eugene was too delighted to notice and babbled away, "It's an old classic! A famous broadway musical, and one of my favorites. I can't believe you've never heard of it. I played Eugene when I wasn't too much older than you, and your dad got the role of the antagonist." He poked Phil in the stomach. His eyes twinkled when Phil squeaked and moved away. "Eugene is the perfect example of an underdog, and in a way, Mr. Leichliter, too—he's a loser, he's a klutz, and things never seem to go his way. But he's so darn loveable, you find yourself rooting for him anyway."

Phil was baffled. "How is he anything like Mr. Leichliter?"

"Oh, see, in the play, Eugene falls for a sweet, beautiful woman named Betty, but a wealthy business tycoon named Lawrence falls for her as well and plots to steal her away. He's the perfect opposite of Eugene, where he's optimistic and kind, Lawrence is cruel and controlling. Still, Betty is torn between them and for a long time stays with Lawrence. But in the end, she realizes Eugene is her true love and they dance pas de deux—a touching ballet duet. Mr. Leichliter is a lot like Eugene because he fell for a woman named Betty, but she left him for... another man." He coughed and hoped his sudden awkwardness on the subject wasn't too noticeable, or at least that Phil would ignore it. "Anyway, Betty eventually found him again and they've been together ever since, but for a long time Leichliter was convinced good-hearted losers were just losers. He was torn up about it for a long time, even to the point he rewrote 'Eugene, Eugene!' so the villain would get the girl."

Phil tried valiantly not to fall asleep on his feet. "That's... interesting."

Eugene caught the lie and smirked, just slightly. "My point is that Mr. Leichliter isn't too different from either of us, so don't be too rough on him. Here." He handed the mask off to Phil and tapped the plastic face of it with a beaming smile. "A bonafide prop, used in countless plays. It was donated by one of the high schools not too long ago."

Phil stared down at the white half-faced mask with unseeing eyes. He glanced at Eugene, strangely. "You really think I'm an underdog?"

Eugene seemed to find this amusing because he smiled, the corners of his mouth cutting into his cheeks and making his eyes sparkle. "Well, you're an unlikely hero, wouldn't you say? You're small, you're kinda dorky—" he smiled teasingly, "No one would expect it. Well, except maybe those closest to you." He clasped his shoulder and squeezed. "Like me."

Phil fingered the mask, unable to look Eugene in the face. "Seriously?"

Eugene's smile warmed. "Sure." He glanced at his watch. "We'd better get going. I told your folks I'd get you home before seven." His glance was sly. "But first..."

The man hopped up from the stool and bounded back over to the chest. He rooted around for a bit – a blue feather boa was flung over his shoulder, a velvet hat fluttered to the floorboards, a parrot squawked and flapped frantically to the rafters – before he turned triumphantly with a short, heavy fabric draped from his fingers. It was pitch black and iridescent, shining in the harsh overhead light and showing slivers of deep, rich brown on the other side. Eugene's smirk turned just on the edge of nefarious as he watched the mask slip from Phil's fingers and clatter to the ground. "You ever worn a cape?" he asked knowingly.

Phil's jaw fell.

Just for an instant, as they were searching for a hat and Eugene was laughing at a donated plastic princess tiara, Phil thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something distinctly human-shaped. But it was gone by the time he got to look, and Eugene claimed his attention again the next second.

He knew better than to think it was nothing, but just this once, he pretended it didn't matter.

Jeff took a large bite of his sandwich as he unabashedly stared across the cafeteria. A smidge of mayonnaise clung to the side of his mouth, and a small shred of lettuce sat in his hair. His eyes were wide as he chomped out another gargantuan bite, and distractedly wiped at the corner of his mouth, smearing the mayo across the length of his cheek. Morris mumbled from beside him, "It's rude to stare, Jeffrey."

"He just looks so pathetic," he smacked.

Morris glanced over expressionlessly. Across the way, not two tables over against the wall, Phil sat eating by the trash cans. He was propped against the wall, partially hidden from view as he shoved some weird pie-looking thing in his mouth. Morris had a passing thought that it may be a quiche of some kind before he looked away. "Yes, but it's still rude to stare."

Jeff chewed like he thought. Loudly. And with his mouth wide open. "Why d'ya think everyone hates him?"

"He is morally pretentious and hypocritical with no care for anyone else's thoughts or feelings besides his own," Morris replied, not missing a beat.

"Yeah, it's weird." He took another bite and squinted severely, trying to squeeze the answers out of Phil's distant body. "But why do people hate him?"

Morris sighed and sat his juice box down. "I have no answer for you."

Mika placed a finger on her bottom eyelid and slowly trailed it down her cheek.

Tristan watched Phil glare at people for another minute or so before standing. "I'm gonna go invite him over."

Morris looked at him blankly. And then his mouth fell open. "You have asked him to sit with us at least three hundred times the last month. They have all resulted negative."

Jeff snapped his head around. "He'd have to have asked him like ten times every day!"

Morris picked up a fruit cup and slowly peeled the plastic cover away, holding Jeff's eyes the entire time.

Jeff pursed his lips and nodded. "Point taken."

Tristan shook his head at the two, his movements as languid as ever. "Oh, chill out, bros. It's totally different now. He joined the club, didn't he?"

Jeff looked uncertain, Morris shrugged, and Mika gestured with great animation.

Tristan smiled brightly. "You're so right, Emily. Thanks, I feel ya."

Mika stared at him a moment, beaming, before she picked up her tray and walked away. Jeff watched her go with a funny expression. "Dude, her name's not Emily."

Tristan's frown was immediate. "Whoa. Really? What... What is it then?"

"No idea." Jeff bit into his sandwich with relish, and spoke between chews, "Jwust know i's not Emwy."

"I've been calling her that for two years..." Tristan continued to frown for three more seconds, before he shook it off and started off towards the trash cans.

By the time Tristan had reached the wall where the trash cans were positioned, Phil was scooted completely out of sight. Tristan blinked, and with a twitching mouth, pushed one of the cans away, just enough to look at him. He was seated at the far wall, as far from him as possible without leaving the sanctity the garbage shield offered, staring very pointedly at nothing. Tristan relaxed at the sight and smiled. "Nerdy dude numero uno." He glanced around at the empty spots surrounding him. "Literally uno."

"Go," Phil breathed severely, "away."

Tristan was content to watch him obliterate a lemon bar for a while. Something about the brutality of it was captivating, but soon enough, he had to ask, "Wanna come sit with us?"

Phil swallowed and still refused to look at him. "What part of 'go away' don't you get?" Tristan opened his mouth, but was cut off, "It's two words. They can only have one meaning. I also seem to remember telling you we no longer associate, and yet, still, here you are."

Tristan's eyes narrowed in confusion. "You joined drama club."

"I told you I didn't do it for you," Phil muttered just loud enough to hear, as he looked at him for the first time. His look was cold, unfamiliar.

Tristan stepped fully behind the trash cans and stared down at him, gold eyes studying him in their typical blank, clouded way, void of any true understanding. Phil looked away. "You're in the dumps, dude. S'not even a metaphor. You're surrounded by garbage. Are you sure you're sure about this?"

"Who doesn't love garbage?" he said sarcastically, taking another bite of his bar. Crumbs dribbled down onto his shirt. He swept them aside without looking. "Leave."

Tristan stayed, leaning himself slowly against the wall. Several moments of cafeteria chatter passed without a word, until Tristan spoke again. Somehow despite his voice coming out of the blue, there wasn't anything sudden about it, but Phil's hand twitched just the same. "If the world was dead," the taller boy began, almost contemplative, "like, it was apocalyptic and stuff, birds were dropping outta the sky and like... and you were alone in the desert thousands of miles from anybody not-dead, and I drove up and offered you a ride, would you get in?"

Phil inhaled sharply. Just as Tristan thought he might get a positive answer, though, Phil sneered, snapped his head around to look him straight in the eye, and bluntly stated with an air of intense irritation, almost hatred, "Heck no."

Tristan blinked at him. "I think you've got a problem, man."

"Yeah," Phil agreed passionately, his glare heated and filled with broken glass, "it's your face. In mine. Get it out, thanks."

Tristan shook his head and departed with a defeated wave of his hand.

Phil finished his lunch alone, and Morris listened as Tristan gave the sad news that Phil wouldn't be sitting with them anytime soon. And it was sad, because Tristan looked genuinely unhappy about it, even though it was the expected – indeed, statistically only possible – outcome. Morris' eyes shifted some time after Tristan had calmed back into his usual state of contentment, and caught the eye of Mercy several tables away. Her eyebrows lifted to hide beneath her stiff, perfect bangs, and he turned his attention to Jeff, listening as he blabbered on about something irrelevant and Tristan laughed and laughed.

If Morris' chewing was a little quicker than usual, no one said anything.

"I have to get out of this monkey barrel."

Morris looked down at him from where he stood on the ladder, one hand fisted in a cloth sign that read, "Auditions Tomorrow." It was about twenty minutes before the rest of the club was scheduled to join, and Phil had been more or less dragged here by a very scrambled Eugene Horowitz. Apparently they were announcing the play they were going to be performing today, which meant that everybody he'd seen muttling about so far had been either bouncing up and down or prematurely balding. Phil didn't know why anyone was anxious, everyone knew they hosted Romeo and Juliet this time of year. There was never any change, but even after he informed several children of that, they whined and moaned and ran off to find a private place to chew their fingertips off. Personally, Phil was just ticked he'd be spending the eve of Halloween playing Random Villager #3 (since that would be the only role he would accept), and not out scarring first graders for life.

Or at least, that was his first thought when he came in this afternoon. His second was... vocal. Enough so that a few of the kids meandering around turned to give him a funny look, but apples and oranges if Phil gave a crap. There was no way he was spending two weeks dressed like a homeless person making surprised faces whenever anything completely expected happened. And no way he would be wasting precious time on something he'd never held anything but distaste for when he could be figuring out what his costume was going to be this year. For years now, Phil had helped out with the Wellington-Lloyd haunted house, dressed as a goblin or ghoul or something else completely cliche. This was the first year Phil would be considered a big kid, and as such, he had to figure out something really scary to wear. How was he gonna do that if he was busy every day after school practicing this nonsense? It was time-consuming. There were props to paint, and backdrops to hang, and costumes to sew, and lines and stage cues and—Phil hated just thinking about it. The point was, Phil had always known it was time-consuming because nearly every castmember almost always ended up wearing their stage costume for Halloween. That meant there was always at least one kid in tights wandering in Phil's line of vision every Halloween, and it was hilarious.

Not so hilarious when you were the one in the tights.

Phil shuddered, and with a single shake, was resolved to getting out of this hell hole as quickly as possible.

Morris blinked down at him before turning back to go back to feeling around for the nail. Phil humphed and turned away as well, thinking he was going to be ignored, when Morris' low timbre startled his eyes into snapping wide, "To what barrel are you referring?"

Phil glanced back at him. Morris' normally lean frame was ensconced in shadow, and Phil had to take a step back and lean away a little just to see him as high up as he was. He had a passing thought that tall people were really annoying before he responded, scoffing, "What one could I be talking about? The one I've been stuck in for five days!" His nostrils flared as he breathed out and muttered beneath his breath, turning his head bitterly downwards, "With zero success."

Five whole days. That was ten hours of his life he'd never get back, as in 600 minutes of misery, 6,000 seconds of agony, and 6,000,000,000,000 nanoseconds of anguish. Granted, two of those had been Saturday and Sunday, but the overachievers and friendless losers could still come in on those days if they wanted to, and Phil couldn't afford to not attend. But even in all that time, he'd only managed to speak with Sara twice more. Once on day two when he caught her handing out water bottles backstage and snagged one out of her hand, purposely grazing her fingers when he did, and asked seductively if she liked water, ignoring the fact his seductive tone sounded like he had to use the bathroom. She'd just blinked at him, replied with a simple, "Yes," and Phil looked at her really hard and thought she looked kinda nice cast in near-total darkness. He hadn't known what to say then, and she walked away after she ran out of bottles. He hadn't seen where to and kicked himself the next three days for not watching to see where she kept wandering, because no matter where he looked after that, he couldn't find her. She finally turned up on his doorstep yesterday in her Campfire Lass garb with two boxes of chocolate turtles, and he nearly killed himself racing down the stairs to answer the door.

Their interaction had gone something like this:

"Here's your money, marry me."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, that came out wrong. Do you like jazz?"

"I'm sorry, but I have other houses I have to be at, so I can't really talk..."

"You know, if you can't even carve out a few measly minutes for your soulmate, you have a serious priority issue."

"What?"

"Nothing, it was nice talking to you."

Needless to say, Phil was losing patience. Improv was fun enough, but they hadn't done it for a while. Variety, keeps the kids on their toes, Eugene had said. And hey, Phil was all for variety, but not if it involved him doing stuff he didn't want to. Like singing, dancing, touching people, having other people touch him, having people fake-smile at him, having to fake-smile at other people because his part demanded it (in a non-sarcastic manner, too—what even), and, oh, that one project Eugene had them do where they had to create a character that was their complete opposite and do a short performance. Phil had yawned, walked on stage, and channeled his brother. There was a lot of grinning, referring to himself as 'Mr. Perfect-Britches,' throwing his arm around people, and trying not to blank out whenever he heard someone laugh and whisper "accurate." He'd wandered backstage afterward and stared at nothing.

He spent a lot of his time backstage, hiding and looking for Sara.

Yet still, for all his hard work to not start plotting ways to build a stinkbomb and plant it under the soundstage, Sara did not turn up. Phil was so dejected, he thought he must already be in love with her. He spent most of his free time thinking of her, wondering what she was doing, where the heck she was. The times he had managed to talk to her, she'd seemed nice, she had a pleasant manner, her smile didn't make him want to throw up and switch states—All in all, he thought himself heavily infatuated, and wondered more than once if this was what heartbreak felt like. It had to end.

With this in mind, Phil threw his head back and not-whined, "Do you know where Sara is?" at the precise moment Morris asked, "Why do you hate drama?"

Phil turned full around just so he could issue the full force of his glare. "What?"

Morris was staring down once more, his half of the banner successfully hung, and replied, "You are entertaining, possess a natural affinity for drama, and enjoy performing. The majority of the club are openly welcoming and friendly to you. Both Mr. Horowitz and Tristan have the utmost faith and admiration for you. Yet still, you shun us. Also, I do not know where Sara is, as I did not yesterday, or the day before that. I have not, nor will ever, know where Sara is, so you should stop asking." He then turned back and slid down the ladder, efficiently folding it together and setting it aside.

Phil gaped at his back. He hadn't seen Morris anything but calm in all the time he'd known him. The kid was like a sheet of paper, and kind of stilted and awkward to boot. Of course, he did have expressions, some pretty strong ones in fact, but they only ever seemed to come out when he was acting. At any other time, he was completely straight-faced and mild-hearted. In a lot of ways, he reminded him of Pete. Except he actually talked back, had a decent vocabulary and never said "okay," but that was neither here nor there. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Morris just developed an attitude with him.

After a minute, Phil finally gained back his wits, folded his arms pointedly across his chest and demanded, "Who said I enjoy performing?"

Morris turned to him, still as lax as ever. "You told me you used to play pretend a lot. It was implied."

Phil blew a raspberry and pushed back the hair that fell from the action. "The two are completely different things!"

"You said yourself they were completely the same."

Phil raised a finger up and opened his mouth lightning fast, but then – like a cable snapping – faltered. His hand fell a couple inches. After a moment, he put that hand behind his back and declared, "Well, I used to enjoy pretend, but I told you I outgrew it. So logically I also outgrew acting years ago." He turned away then, satisfied and feeling important, and stated, "Besides, I'm pretty good at picking my nose, but that doesn't mean I want to take it on the road."

"What do you mean?"

Phil turned his head to him, eyebrow raised. "You said I'm a natural."

"Yes, but I said nothing about you turning it into a career."

Phil's eyes widened. He looked away again. "Oh." A moment passed. He flexed his fingers. "Well, good."

Morris blinked and slowly turned – eyes on him – to pick his ladder back up, and only looked away to grab onto the hanging end of the sign. He spoke as he walked to the other side of the stage, his voice echoing slightly off the auditorium. "I do not understand why you are so against it. Why are you even in the club if you want nothing to do with anything that we are?" The ladder clicked open as he sat it down.

Phil watched him out of the corner of slitted eyes, pouting unconsciously. "I have my reasons."

Morris settled them into a minute of silence as he climbed, then began feeling around for the nail. He asked absently, "Reasons to do with Sara?"

Phil tensed. He clenched his teeth a moment before responding sharply, "Reasons that have nothing to do with you."

"I see," the taller boy murmured, as he found the nail and pinched it, so he could keep its location while he looked down at the sign, feeling for the hole to hang it by. His voice was quiet, but carried well across the auditorium, "I should warn you not to let Tristan know your true motives. He will slap you."

Before Phil could ask him what the heck, the boy in question wandered up behind him and asked, "Who's slapping who for what?"

Phil jolted to one side and snapped around to glare at the intruder. Tristan stared back, as usual smiling like he'd just gotten out of bed.

Phil raised his hand up high and scowled at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes were bright as he said, "I'm slapping you for years of not listening to me when I tell you not to startle me," and shouted the last part. Then he did just that.

Tristan didn't put a hand up to nurse his stricken cheek. Still as chill as ever, he rolled his jaw a little before responding, "Wow, bro. Talk about weak sauce." He smiled, looking suddenly excited. "You need a new weapon of choice. Maybe a bow and arrow, since you're sorta shrimpy. Wha'cha think?"

For a moment, all Phil could do was gawk. "Are you being deliberately condescending, or just stupid?" Tristan opened his mouth but Phil cut him off with, "Never mind, I know," as he turned back to where Morris was just stepping down from the ladder. "I don't know why you think Tristan thinking highly of me is a good thing. If I talk to him for more than two minutes at a time, brain cells start popping off. Do you know how much brain damage I've suffered thanks to this guy?" He threw a thumb back at him. Tristan smiled at Morris over Phil's shoulder, mouthing, 'Isn't he great?' through a grin.

Morris blinked morosely at them as he sat the ladder aside. "Tristan is not stupid. I do not know why you think that. He has been on the honor roll since second grade."

Phil was struck dumb. He slowly twisted his head to look at Tristan, all fluffy copper hair and droopy golden eyes full of absolutely nothing, and then back to Morris. He blinked several times before he replied, eloquently, "How dare you."

"I dare you not."

Tristan broke in, "I have tutors in all subjects. "

Phil turned to him, intent. "Oh yeah? Do they do your homework for you and whisper the answers in your ears during tests?"

Tristan looked amused by that. "Nah. My parents would kill me and have me replaced with a robot."

Phil immediately took hold of his arm and squished deliberately around on it. "Hm. Feels organic, but it could just be really authentic."

Tristan looked delighted by this and laughed, but Morris could barely keep his irritation in check at the scene before him. It showed in the crinkles around his eyes as he leaned his shoulder against the wall, until finally, after a minute more of back-and-forth between the two, where Phil grew more and more convinced Tristan was a Dino Land issue animatronic android and Tristan more entertained, Morris had had enough. His eyes rolling up, he stated loudly, "Phil joined drama club because he has a crush on Sara."

There was a long pause.

Then a sharp slap pierced the air, accompanied by the stunned shout, "You have a girlfriend!"

Phil gaped. His forcefully batted away hand swung disbelievingly at his side.

Tristan's expression was a deep furrowing of eyebrows and a twisted downward pull of lips. The backs of his wrists rested low on his hips, as he radiated a fine, lethargic disapproval, and Phil was starting to wonder if anyone in drama club ever slept. "I never would have expected this of you, little dude. I know there are some pretty icey cool babes out there, but you can't let that ruin what you have with Nerdy Babe number one! That's special!" His voice changed to a slow drone, "No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. But, like, with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it."

Phil was flabbergasted. "What the heck are you talking about?"

Tristan deflated a bit. "I don't know, I heard it on TV once. I thought it sounded relevant."

Phil eyed him uncertainly, turning a little to the side, away, just in case he decided to try slapping him again. He wasn't really sure what to say. No one had ever known the true nature of his and Dolly's relationship beside Pete. Even his parents didn't know much about it, other than an inkling that she might have a crush on him, as his mom's gentle teasing had revealed one evening and Phil had just stuffed his mouth full of mashed potatoes and pointedly ignored her about. The San Lorenzian spell beads in her room were never spoken of, nor the countless voodoo dolls, or love potions or incense or bags full of human hair or the big leather bound copy of Ancient Spanish Rituals and Sacrifices—and, well, Phil wasn't about to bring it up.

And least of all now, in the middle of a stage in drama club with Tristan Redmond.

So, rather than explaining, he shot a nasty glare back at Morris and shouted, "Why would you tell him that? You just told me not to bring it up!"

Morris' lips were suspiciously thin as he tilted his head sharply back and to the side. "I figured, knowing your brash disposition, that you would inevitably reveal it to him no matter what I said so I might as well get it out of the way."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever—"

"Phil," and Phil's previously livid eyes shot to Tristan's in shock, because he never called him by his name, "I never would have expected this from you." Tristan slouched towards the floor, looking genuinely upset. "I'm radly disappointed."

Phil blinked, eyebrows furrowing. Radly disa...? Whatever. He glared at him. "Well, it's a good thing I don't care then." He turned away and marched over to Morris. "And you," he stopped in front of him, look firm and vaguely sulky, "I don't know what your problem is with me, but let's get something out of the way—I don't like drama club because it's pointless. None of you are contributing in any valuable way to the community so you may as well just lay down and stop trying—in fact, please do. This whole miserable group is useless and if I wasn't desperate, I wouldn't have touched it with a fifty foot pole. But I am desperate, so here I am, wasting my time talking to you when I could be doing things that actually make the world better." He flailed suddenly, short and jerky. "I shouldn't even have to explain this to you! How I prefer to spend my time and who I spend it with is none," he poked an erect finger into his nose, "of," poke, "your," poke, "business." Keeping his finger on his nose, he hissed out with finality, "You paper-faced freak."

Morris' eyes flickered. "Paper-faced? Is that a jab at the fact I do not emote?"

"Good job."

"I do not emote because I am saving my facial energy for when I act," Morris nearly seethed. "It is no different than a singer who speaks softly before a show."

Phil snorted so loud Morris took an involuntary step back. Phil just took a step forward to compensate and spat, "That's not how that works."

Morris' sheet paper expression broke into a full blown scowl. He proclaimed, "I think I have finally figured you out."

Phil raised a mocking eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Morris mocked right back. "I think the reason nobody likes you is because you will not allow them to. I do not think you want anyone to like you."

Now both of Phil's eyebrows were extended. He leaned back, arms crossing, and widened his eyes. "Well," he finally commented, "I stand corrected. That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Morris positively quivered, just before he shoved his face into Phil's, brown eyes burning low and vibrant, and Phil was momentarily caught off guard by his vehemence. "Then you are the stupidest thing," Morris said, with a sudden, inappropriate calm.

"Oh!" an obnoxiously feminine voice suddenly crowed, and both Phil, Morris and Tristan looked over to see Eleanor standing by the curtain, a surprised look on her dark freckled face. "Sorry, was I interrupting?" They stared at her, and her entire demeanor shifted. She placed a hand on her hip, and canted them forward as she raised an eyebrow. "Don't look so shocked. This is drama club, you don't really think you're the first gays I've stumbled in on?"

Phil stuck his tongue out in disgust and ripped away from the entire group, storming towards the curtain, past Tristan, and grabbed a thick hold of the fat material in his fist. Snapping his head back around, he glared at the general crowd, yelled, "You don't know my life," and whipped the curtain open, just enough to disappear behind it.

They all stared for a long, awkward period, Tristan with a pained frown and Morris with his usual blankness. Then, Eleanor's voice echoed across the stage, "Gosh, who spat in his custard?"

"Sara!" Phil barked into the shadows.

He whirled around and shouted in the other direction, ripe with fury, "Sara! Water girl! Ghost! Weirdo! Whatever the heck—I'm at the end of my patience, come out or I blow you out!"

A couple kids peeked out from some rooms to see what the ruckus was, but one look at Phil made them pop back into their rooms and slam the doors shut. Phil's fists trembled at his sides.

"I don't like this," Phil yelled, stomping his way through the backstage area, eyes sharp and darting. "I know you can't be this stupid! I've been trying to talk to you for a week! Come out and face me, or I'll... I'll..." he stepped up on a bench, "I'll jump!"

His breath huffed out of him in harsh pants. The room spun below him suddenly, inexplicably, all warm browns and sinister blacks. He gulped and scrabbled his hands across his face, hardly knowing what was happening anymore.

The next he was cognizant of his surroundings, he was crouched, arms around him, his face pressed against someone's shoulder. He was being rocked, and someone was rubbing his back. He nearly jumped out of his skin pushing away from the stranger, and realized with dizzying velocity just how fast he was breathing. He then realized what must have happened, and his blood turned to ice.

There was no time for thought, no time for consideration. He simply reacted. His hands slapped over his mouth and nose, trying to slow the breathing in the only way he knew, and he kicked his legs against the floor to scoot, scramble, away from the intruder. His eyes were slammed shut, an ocean crashed against his ears, leaving behind a dull throb and a sting in his eyes. If he could be aware of anything but the need to escape, he might have wondered at how little he truly was aware. So unaware he didn't hear the gasp, or the knees knocking against the floor, and was barely even alert of where the stranger was until a hand slammed down on his shoulder.

His eyes popped open, desperate for some kind of understanding. Microscopic spots danced like static, revealing total blackness, and that wasn't right. Backstage was dark, but not this dark. Wherever he was, it wasn't Kansas—and that horrible thought brought with it a startling clarity. His faculties began rapidly returning.

"Calm down," a voice swam to him urgently. "Stop. Listen to me. You need to be able to breathe properly."

No kidding, Admiral Apparent.

"Breathe slowly. Force yourself. In through your nose, hold it a few seconds, and then let it out through your mouth. Can you do that?"

The hand on his shoulder moved. He didn't know where to for a second, but then it landed on his cheek, trying to pry his hands off. He blinked hard and slapped it away, offended.

"I," he gasped, his voice coming out like a hiccup, "am," gasp, "just," gasp, "fine." He wanted to tell the voice and grabby hands to go climb a mountain or start a talk show or something, anything that left him in peace, but he also kinda wanted to cry, so he stayed silent after that, hoping it was enough to get his message across. He made a point to breathe very loudly through his mouth.

It seemed to work. The hands withdrew, and it was even quiet for a minute while Phil tried to perform some of his standard regulation, but then the stupid voice came back again, "That isn't funny."

What did he look like, a comedian? He tried to say that but found himself unable. He focused harder on his breathing.

The stranger's voice was soft, but darn if he could figure out its source's gender. He wished it wasn't so flipping dark. "You were threatening me up there, and screaming and stomping around. Everyone could hear you. And then when I finally managed to find you, you were nearly passed out."

Oh.

And just like that, he stopped breathing.

"You're not fine," Sara stated, without inflection. "Don't say you are when you're not."

He snapped forward and pushed her to the floor, all adrenaline, his torso bearing down against hers. He knew his hands were by her head, he could feel her hair on the floor, under his fingers, and something like skin grazed his nose just before he jerked his head up, away. Wherever they were, it smelled like dust, a little like Josh's feet, and something else choking and chemical, almost flowery. It was enough to make him cough and he pushed a hand up over his nose. "Geez, what is that smell?"

She said nothing, and he was reminded with a start that he had her pushed against the floor. He slammed his hand back down to bar her on the floor and scrambled to gain back some of his intensity.

"You," he hissed, somewhat weakly now. Hearing himself like that stoked the fires of his anger and he managed a purely authentic growl.

If Sara was affected, she didn't show it. Her voice was calm, "What are you doing?"

"I love you," he snapped, almost accusatory.

It went silent again. All Phil could hear was their breathing, his fast and angry, hers slow and quiet. Her hair felt like hundreds of tiny razorblades against his fingers. Until, finally, "What is this about?"

Phil's brain stuttered, then jolted forward like a rickety train car. He blinked in the darkness. Sara didn't offer any elaboration, though, so he huffed, scoffing, "I just said, I love you."

"No, you don't."

He wanted to beat his head against something hard. Since that wasn't an option, he muttered, brutally sarcastic, "And you'd know better than me, of course."

A beat. Another beat. A third beat. She smiled. He was blind as a bat, but it was loud and clear in her voice when she asked, "What's my favorite color?"

He squinted. "What?"

"What's my favorite color?"

It was a ploy. Some sort of weird girl trap. He knew it was. He groaned. "Do we really have to do this?"

"Tell me," she persisted.

He sighed. What choice did he have? "Purple?"

Yet another infuriating beat passed before she continued. "Who's my favorite president?"

"Abe Lincoln?"

"What kind of movies do I like? Where did I previously attend school? Who was my first best friend? What's my favorite food? Music? Book? Play?"

Phil's arms trembled and teeth bared. "Get to the point—"

"You don't know anything about me," she said simply, as though this was supposed to trigger some grand epiphany in him. Well, he was never one to not disappoint.

"And who's fault is that?" he yelled in incensed exasperation, feeling her shift uncomfortably at his outburst. "You're never anywhere! How am I supposed to woo you if you're gone all the time?"

That did it. Two hands came up to push on his shoulders, and the legs beneath him tried to rise. He dropped his whole weight on top of her and glared directly downward. She said tightly, "Get off."

"Why?" he whispered scathingly. "So you can disappear again?"

The fingers currently digging into his shoulders slowly retracted. She murmured, "I won't disappear. I'm right here, there's nowhere to go. Please get off."

Something about the way she said that struck a cord in him. Hardly knowing he did it, he sat back and allowed her to squirm away. There was a bit of shuffling, close enough that he wasn't alarmed, before she exhaled audibly and said, "Now, what is this really about?"

He blinked, feeling oddly drained now and glad for the first time it was so dark she couldn't see his face. He managed to muster some irritation, "Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because you've been acting strange," Sara muttered, and Phil snorted. She was one to talk. She ignored him and continued, "This seems pretty... out of character, for you. You're motivated by something, but it's not love."

"How would you know anything about my character?" Phil asked, suddenly suspicious.

Sara went silent again, and Phil felt the very genuine urge to pull his hair out. Then, there was a bump. Above him. And another bump, and another, and then... voices, muffled and far away. He looked up, his mouth falling open. "What..."

"I just thought—" Sara started, so fast and different from her usual tone that Phil sprung to his feet.

"Where are we?" he demanded. He lifted his arms in the air and jumped. Just as he thought, his fingers grazed something rough. He stumbled a couple steps back on the landing, gawking straight up. "Are we under the stage?"

Sara didn't reply, but he was learning to expect that from her. Bile rose fast in his throat, scorching, but he swallowed it back down.

"You've been spying on me," he whispered. Rage had his fingers curling. He heard his own voice in his ears, quiet and scratchy and screaming, "Was you coming to my house first even a coincidence? How long has this been going on?"

Light flooded his vision, and for one awful second, everything was pure white. It cleared, though, and he was left staring at Sara, scraggly bangs, light tan, unnatural eyes and all. An electric lantern hung from a yellow ribbon, tied around a small hook on the ceiling. Or floor, whatever. As soon as his eyes were fully adjusted, he leveled a glare on her. She pursed her lips at him, looking uneasy. "I haven't been spying on you," she said, so calm and dignified that Phil wanted to throw something at her. "Not intentionally. Sometimes I can't help but overhear things, though, and you do a lot of yelling up there."

"I do not," he yelled.

She blinked twice, and looked up. Then back down, her eyes a little squinted.

Phil got the message. Groaning, eyes rolling away, he placed a hand over his mouth before sliding it away. He lifted his shoulders and grinned at her sarcastically. "Talk quietly," he whispered, mocking. "Got it."

Sara scrubbed a hand across her forehead, under her bangs, and appeared to swallow. "Okay..."

Something dawned on Phil. "Hey, wait a second..." He whipped a finger in her direction. "If you've been able to hear me talking all this time, you know I've been looking for you! You've been avoiding me on purpose!"

"What do you want from me?" she asked, ignoring his accusation and sounding so helpless all of a sudden he twitched. "Why can't you leave me alone? Why have you been acting so weird?"

Phil gawked. Something roiling and uncomfortable swirled within him. "Why am I acting weird? You're signed up for a club that you don't even participate in. You're hiding under a stage. You have no friends—you're a total loser, I tell you I love you, and you throw it back in my face. If either of us is weird, it's you!"

Sara went still. Her eyes were wide, wider than he'd ever seen him, and her head was slowly tilting, like she was looking at him for the first time. Her eyes were striking as is, so this level of intensity was uncomfortable. He shifted, and she blinked. "I don't owe you anything," she finally said, not even angry. In fact, she sounded vaguely fascinated. "I didn't ask for you to... do whatever it is you're doing." She walked towards him kind of crookedly, slowly, the height of caution. "You understand that, right? That I'm a human being, with human rights? I can live my life however I choose, and choose whoever I want to live it with, and if I don't want you in it, you have to accept that."

Phil's breath spiked, recognizing that he was about to get booted from her life forever. "No, you don't understand," he pleaded desperately, hardly knowing what he was saying. "I'm sorry—No, you're right. Let me explain. There's this curse in my family that's been going on for generations. My dad married his bully, and my grandpa married his bully, and there's a good chance I'll end up marrying Mercy Laporte unless I find someone else to replace her! You're the only girl in the entire school that doesn't hate me and you have to be my girlfriend or I'm doomed!" He scrabbled for further justification, and blurted, "I joined drama club for you!"

Sara had stopped again, and was looking at him in that horrible intense way again, but it only lasted a moment and then she was walking cautiously towards him, her hands out like he was a wild animal. "I'm..." she paused, then settled awkwardly, almost questioning, "sorry." Once she was upon him, she stopped and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder, so gentle he almost didn't feel it. His mouth hung open as his eyes darted across her face, hardly believing she could damn him like this. Then her voice took on a very soothing pitch, smooth and serene and washing over his ears like the lap of a tide, and it was enough to startle him back. She just stepped forward again and replaced the hand persuasively on his arm, turning him, walking him away from the light. "I can't help you. I'm not interested in having a relationship right now, and besides, I'd make a terrible girlfriend. Like you said, I hide under stages, and you're more a center stage sort of person. We're just not right for each other. But I'm sure you'll find someone, someday, and they'll think you're wonderful. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. But for now, you have to go. I'm really sorry, it was nice talking to you, I hope you have a good rest of your day."

And somehow, someway, he found himself standing on the top of the stage once more, hardly knowing how he got there, and Sara was waving goodbye and hopping back down the hole like the quintessential Alice of Wonderland, pulling the sombrero back over to conceal the entrance and gone without so much as a goodnight kiss.

All he could do was glance around the storage room, bewildered. "Did I just get rejected?" He blinked. "Uh."

So he quit drama immediately, pouted through his mom's "I can't believe you didn't listen to me" discussion on the way home, and might have given Mr. Hyunh nightmares for the next three months at dinner that night, but he didn't care. He just didn't care.

Because none of that mattered. He'd just spent nearly a week chasing someone who didn't even want to be chased, everyone hated him, and all signs were now pointing rather aggressively to him becoming Mr. Phillip Laporte. His life was as good as over, but the good news was Grandpa Phil had a spare sock drawer filled to the brim with nothing but half-off coupons for high quality caskets and said he could have his pick, so at least he'd be able to rest in style, if not in peace.

Needless to say, he spent most of that evening locked behind the couch.

Kori just laughed and said, "I told you so."

A/N: THE END roll credits have a safe drive the trash cans are there for a reason don't litter

*hoarse hacking laughter* Oh, if only.

You know if I wanted to this entire segment could've been called, "Phil Getting Chewed Out For Being a Little Shit." I regret everything and nothing. But mostly everything. (that joke got old a long time ago but I don't care)

Gosh, I wonder why so many people have trouble getting along with Phil. I mean, look how friendly and empathetic he is. Golly gee. It's a mystery.

Another thing I realized recently that's made this a lot easier: segments. Yes, segments. These things I post every few months are not technically chapters, they are segments. Segments. (Let's see how many times I can say segments before God strikes me down with a meteor.) Each line break is actually a chapter. Like, if this was an actual printed book, that's how it'd be laid out. So, really, even though I've been calling Shortman Secrets chapters (Amanda's chapter, Zack's chapter, Phil's chapter), they're actually all books. Pretty cool, huh? I knew you'd think so. You're a pal. I'll tell you what, you, me, root beer floats. Let's go.

Honestly I may have already been aware of this but forgot it and here I am blathering on like it's news. Idk. I've been so scatter brained lately. I'm like scrambled eggs, only less tasty and not part of a balanced breakfast.

Let's get to the questions before I think up more things to write in this Achey Nostril.

Q - Could you PLEASE do something with the Gammelthorpe-Wellington-Lloyd twins? They're the kids of my second-favourite and fifth-favourite characters. I mean, I have a fair idea of what they'd be like by a few mentions of them and deviantart pictures (Something was written when Rhonda wanted Riley to get her hair cut?), but please could you write a chapter that heavily features them?

A - I actually got commissioned to do this a looooong time ago, and have another request for another chapter featuring them, too. But every time I attempted it (when I was first commissioned), nothing would come out right, so I kinda left it alone for some time and focused on getting the rest of the Shortmans' stories told. Right now I've got so many things on my mind, working on this would be next to impossible. The fact is, Reuben and Riley have been too underdeveloped for me to work with on a "heavily featured" scale... Notice I said "have been," past tense? It's been a long time, I've had a lot of time to think about this and them and everything, and I'm happy to say I have a much clearer picture of the twins, what they're like, how they act, their backstories, all of it, and I do have a ton lined up for these two. I'm excited for it.

The only issue here is time. I don't have a lot of it, and I'm a terrible multi-tasker. I'm only one person and I'm working with almost a hundred characters, in a huge fictional world with a million details, and I'm still just learning how to get this stuff right and manage all of it while also trying to create a life for myself. I am nineteen years old. I'm asking for patience. Will I be writing chapters that heavily feature the GWL twins? Hell yes! Is it probably not going to happen any time soon? Also yes, minus the hell!

I've seen you asking about this before, though, so I'm gonna give you some more information on these two (because you're awesome and I hate suffrage):

So Reuben is very proud of his heritage. He dresses fashionably, but he's actually not a fashionista. Rhonda is a famous fashion designer so of course she makes sure her kids are dressed to the nines, and Reuben's cool with playing Barbie (to a point). He does have a preference for formal wear, though—anything that makes a statement: ornate vests, colorful handkerchiefs, fricken cravats, you name it. He talks like he's from the eighteenth century (snob), walks without a hint of urgency because he doesn't cater to the world, the world caters to him (snob), and he's extremely protective of his sister and sensitive about his father (sno—wait, uh...). Thaddeus may dress and talk and walk like a sophisticated aristocrat when he's out in public, but he's still Curly and it shows. Most just perceive him as the eccentric billionaire type and turn a blind eye, but others aren't so kind. Reuben hates hearing the "crazy" comments and can sometimes go a little crazy himself if people refuse to let up. He also sees Riley as too carefree and naive, and believes she's going to get herself killed one day. He thinks she should have stayed in polishing school much longer and dating should be the farthest thing from her mind. Rhonda entrusts him to keep an eye on her and he takes that job very seriously.

As for Riley, she is rich, beautiful and always decked in the highest of fashion. She loves jewelry, sparkles, rainbows and pretty much anything that isn't haircuts. With her resources and personality, getting into trouble is pretty much inevitable. She lives for the lofty, but she doesn't know it. She is genuinely confused when people look at her funny for calling a private jet to deliver pizza directly from Italy. Despite having a reputation for being something of a loon, it's actually not because she does a lot of jumping around or freeing animals—she was pretty hyper affectionate as a kid, but that was beaten out of her both in polishing school and by her mother. She's actually very calm, graceful and princess-y most of the time—No, her insanity lies in her way of thinking. She's always saying things that get heads turning, sometimes to the point of neck strain and pinched nerves. She is very, very, very weird, she knows it, her mom knows it, half of Europe knows it, and she's happy that way. She is also completely aware that her brother thinks she's naive, but she just thinks it's funny. She enjoys going behind his back about things and watching him try not to freak out.

AAAAND Reuben has his dad's body type so he's prone to chubbiness. He's obsessed with the gym and cries at the sight of potato chips. Riley takes after her mom and can eat whatever she wants and never get fat. Reuben hates her, just a little, for that.

I just had to add that. Really, the GWLs are almost as insane and convoluted as the Shortmans, so there are many variables to take into consideration. I could write novels about these guys. But, alas, I cannot. Regardless, I hope this helps satisfy your curiosity!

Q - Will we get to read whatever happen with Josh/Ham and Chris and Amanda Shortmen thing going on there again? I love Phil and Zack, BUT I want to read more about Josh/Ham and then go back to Amanda and Chis dilemma.

A - Oh, yeah! Breathing Slowly is Phil's book, so it focuses primarily on him, but it's not only his story. It's also Amanda and Chris,' just Chris,' just Amanda's, Zack and Sophie's, Zack and Pam's, just Pam's, Zack and Jaron's, Zack and Phil's, Phil and Ham's, aaaaaand just Ham's. And Kori's. And, of course, Arnold and Helga's. And Eugene's. And Olga's. And Mr. Leichliter's. And Phil and Vinny's. And, pffft, duh—Sara's! Phil and Sara's. Also Tristan's. And Morris.' And a whole bunch of other people's. Did I mention Dolly? It's Dolly's, too. Her and her "boyfriend's." And I make those distinctions because that's just how I organize this stuff in my head. I think it's important to keep relationship backstories and character backstories separate. I'm certain there are several I'm missing there but I'm getting nauseous so I'm gonna stop.

Honestly, if Breathing Slowly was only Phil's story, it would have been over by now.

Q - Is there a possibility that Josh/Ham crush will crush him like Ruth, Lila Sawyer and Cecelia(Helga in camo Girl mode) like with Arnold Shortmen? I feel that Josh/Ham will have the Shortmen luck when it comes to Crush's.

A - Well, Arnold's girl issues were always triggered by his tendency to crush on girls that were completely unattainable. He always went for older girls (once even a full-fledged adult, like what the hell, Arnold), and typically only 'cause he thought they were pretty (and had boobs). Then there was Lila, but he pursued her the most viciously only after he'd rejected her and it became clear she was done with his football headed ayse. I always took this as him trying to run away from his feelings for Helga. Kids may take after their parents in personality and taste, and that may make them prone to getting into similar situations, but everything else is up to circumstance, psychology... Don't expect these guys to be exactly like either Arnold or Helga when it comes to their love lives. And especially don't expect any shrines.

That said, Ham is hot, athletic and a ridiculously good person. How could he have anything but great luck with girls? Of course they love him. Or, at least they do in the barest of terms. The thing of it is, most of the girls that get interested in him are like Pam. They only like him for superficial reasons—the idea of him. It's like Kori explained in this segment. Very few people see Ham for what he really is, and he isn't exactly falling over himself to set people straight. He's reserved; a wallflower; he keeps himself bottled up. Who here really knows anything real about Ham? Anyone?

I've done this on purpose. Ham is enigmatic, and that's how I want to keep him for now. Details like this will all get explained in his book. :)

Q - Is there a chance to SHIFT Josh/Ham and Kori relationship instead of seeing each other as CLOSE childhood friends into SOMETHING romantic? Yes. Just let me down gently if there NO WAY Josh/Ham Shortmen and Kori Johanssen will not be together. They seem to make a cute couple just by reading this chapter. When Josh/Ham ego is inflated Kori deflates him, Josh/Ham is athletic and Kori Johanssen is smart and they both have there own LAY BACK attitude on being ANNOYED with there relatives for Demanding stuff out them.

A - You've pretty much hit the nail on the head for why these two are bffs. My face hurt from grinning when I read all that. You are right, they mesh together perfectly. But, like I said before, anything romantic is murky water. Just because two people get along doesn't mean they're gonna fall in love, and lots of people who seem perfect for each other have no spark. I feel like that's pretty apparent with a lot of the characters in this story. Gonna keep that sentence vague, interpret it how you like.

No matter what happens in the story, though, you know you can still ship these guys? I encourage shipping of any kind, whether canon with my story or not. If you want to think of Ham and Kori as in love and picture them in a secret relationship, you can by all means do so. I'll be the last person standing in your way, believe me... I ship pretty much everybody in this story at least a little. x'D When I'm not being completely professional, of course.

Q - Does ANYONE in the NEXT Shortmen generation know Karate/Martial Arts or how to fight like a Pataki? Surprisingly. BOTHE sides of the Shortmen and Pataki family are capable fighters. Pataki's have the aggression and ambition to FIGHT, even with each other. Shortmen are surprisingly Athletic and Patient fighters that use there Head in a fight. At least that what I figure.

A - Well, Phil was banned from learning how to fight pretty early on. I mean, Arnold and Helga won't even let him use forks if they're too sharp, the last thing on their minds is gonna be teaching him twelve different ways to kick someone in the balls. Helga and Arnold know what karate did to Arnold (and he's actually nice), so Phil with that kind of power, with all that aggression and anger towards the world? No.

Zack learned some karate when he was a kid, but he never finished training. After the whole August ordeal, he kinda just... stopped. He has basic training, but he never uses it. Honestly, if someone ever did try to fight him, legitimately, even with the training he'd probably still just freeze up and let himself get beaten to a pulp. He's got some issues, in case you haven't noticed. Really, I think he tried using it on August once and it ended up being a disaster so he completely shut down and lost interest. Zack encompasses the "lover, not fighter" mentality.

Josh is all Pataki. He was never even remotely interested in karate as a kid. He's a huge Wrestlemania fan-he throws his fists at people and goes with his gut, he doesn't have time for all those precise, thought-out, choppy motions. He gained more of an interest in it later on, but he's already got so much on his plate with school and sports that he hasn't had the time to attempt any serious training.

Amanda is well on her way to becoming a karate master and could destroy us all if she wanted to.

Q - the Sophie/Zack stuff was really cute. but what was it that got Sophie so sure he was perfect for her? was it just that he was the only guy not scared off by her dad?

A - Oh, no, no. See, Bridget and Mr. Smith both went into hiding when they found out Bridget was pregnant. They had some bad guys on their tail, they were on the run, and they didn't want their kid to be endangered. Sooo they changed their name to "Carpenter" and moved to a land far, far away. Sophie has no idea her parents are secret agents. She was homeschooled for the majority of her life and was allowed little to no social life or free reign of anything. Bridget always tried to make concessions for her, but you know Mr. Smith—the dude's paranoid as shit and insanely private. He'd dress her up in heavy coats with hats and glasses as much as he could get away with. Finally, the agency contacted them and said the bad guys had been neutralized, so they were free to do whatever again. That's when they moved back to Hillwood.

Sophie went a little stir crazy growing up the way she did. Her first day of school, when Zack flirted with her, it blew her fricken mind. Her brains were like a mosaic on the wall, man. Zack was the first boy she ever got to talk with up close, let alone go on a date with, so it was like the textbook example of love at first sight. Of course, she'd never had a crush before or been on a date, so she had no idea how to act, and her parents' reactions to the whole thing made it even worse. She was depressed about it for days, and when she saw Zack already with another girl not even a full week after the fact, she... well, you can imagine. So when she walked downstairs one day to see Zack there, all smiley and laughing with eyes all bright and blue, she just lost it. Hence the scene Zack describes.

Q - I feel like Ham is so much more... I don't know- HAPPY in these chapters, so much less reserved. but maybe it's just that he has Kori to bonce off of here that makes it seem that way... no, I feel like I've been getting that vibe since he first opened that locker door. It's hard to tell, though. he just always seemed to fade into the background, what with all the craziness going on around him, how couldn't he? so, is it that he IS different in these chapters, or is it just that he has more of an opportunity to show more of his personality in these chapters.

A - I love that someone noticed this! Thank you, puff. It is a combination of him having someone to bounce off of and being different. He was a lot happier and more open in that happiness when he was a kid. The older he got, the more closed off he became. I'm so glad that's been coming across.

Q - Well, Doi! I know there was a poem on the napkin! I ant dum beleves it's a not! but, I just though based on all the tension in the scene Zack might have had written some thing snippy in it. like a haiku that cleverly explains how totes awesome he is or a limerick with an innuendo about mike's mama in it or something like 'Roses are red, violets are blue. I have a bigger penis, so screw you.' you know, like that.

A - OMG, sorry, I know you're not dumb! It's just I had someone ask me that already so my knee jerked. I didn't even think about that possibility... That would be hilarious x'DDD But no, I'm afraid it was just one of his usual poems. Mike reacted the way he did because he's a musician, he lives for good music, but he's got serious problems writing lyrics. It's extremely difficult for him. So seeing some dopey little unibrowed twerp crap a beautiful poem out like that with next to no effort struck a royal nerve. xD

Q - Fun thought, why don't you set up a family tree of all the characters?

A - Actually, puffball17 already did this! You can check it out on her deviantart page. :)

Okay, that's it for now, guys. We're nearing the end! Only a few chapters to go. Let's do thiiiiiiissssssgnakglnsgnjksgnwhy

Next chapter is gonna be a doozy, so... Any and all support is appreciated and loved and cried very emotionally over—but never required. Support, thoughts, opinions, speculation, constructive criticism... So long as it's not a flame, I dig it. It all fuels the fires of authorship.

Until next update! Thanks for reading!

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