Author's Note: Thank you to Farley Drexel for always supporting my work and for helping to create the idea of Nick's disguise in this chapter. What started as a brainstorming session for our season four episode plan morphed into one our longest running jokes.
Since Nick had yet to have a class in the home ec wing, Courtney led the way towards the school's west side. "How did you nearly make it through sixth grade without a cooking class?" Courtney asked.
"I took woodshop instead. I made a pretty cool key holder."
"Oh wow. Do you put your car and office keys on there?" Courtney smirked and said, "I baked a delicious goat cheese tart."
"At least I still have the key holder," Nick shot back. He stopped at an intersection and asked, "So where's the sewing studio?"
"Over here," Courtney turned left and halted in front of the first door. "Just follow my lead. Home ec kids don't like outsiders."
Courtney opened the door to a massive classroom cordoned off into a labyrinth of room dividers. A large waiting area was devoted to a Z-shaped pleather sofa. Beside it was a marble side table offering a decanter of apple juice and a trio of rocks glasses. In each corner of the lobby stood four motionless middle schoolers pretending to be mannequins. Each sported a new futuristic design of the Tailor.
"Oh my gosh they've changed everything," Courtney stared around in shock. "Wow, look at those mannequins. They're practically lifeless."
Nick walked towards the side table and reached for the decanter of juice. The nearest room divider's door opened and revealed a scowling seventh grader.
In a heavy Swedish accent, the boy asked, "Why are you here?"
It took every bit of self control Nick had to keep his jaw from dropping at the boy's appearance. He wore blindingly aureate platform shoes, steel parachute pants, a white mesh tank top exposing his midriff, a slanted black derby hat, and two monocles connected by a bridge.
Nick clenched his jaw in place, closed his eyes, and took a calming breath. "We need to see the Tailor. Can you get him please?"
The boy glowered back. "Not possible. End of year dance season has begun. Do you know how many prom dresses the Tailor has to make? We have an opening in three weeks. Come back then."
Courtney stopped staring straight into a fake mannequin's eyes and joined Nick. "Look, what's your name?"
"Gjord," the boy answered.
Nick cocked his head. "Like the vegetable?"
"Like the name," Gjord bristled.
Courtney went on, "We're on official H.A.L.L.P.A.S.S. business, so you have to let us in." She elbowed Nick and said, "Show him the golden pass."
Nick flashed his ID, but Gjord brushed him off. "We've committed no crime. Return in three weeks."
"We don't have time for this," Nick grumbled while stopping towards Gjord. "Listen, you tell the Tailor that this is a personal favor for Jimmy Neutron."
Gjord crossed his arms and said, "I control entry, so I say that will not matter."
Nick leaned towards Gjord and said, "Then next time I see the Tailor at lunch I'll tell him you refused to help Neutron. And my guess is you'll be out on the street faster than you can blink."
Courtney nodded and said, "Just go ask him if we can see him. For your own good, Gjord."
The boy shuffled in place before huffing and saying, "He is finishing with a client. It will be a few minutes."
Courtney plopped herself on the couch and grabbed the decanter. "That's fine, we'll wait."
Gjord stormed towards her and ripped the vessel from her grasp. "I am taking the juice."
"Oh, man," Courtney pouted as Gjord disappeared through the divider.
Nick sat on the sofa arm nearest Courtney and said, "I guess we should fine tune our plan while we wait."
"Sounds good. We need to get proof that the restaurant is stealing lunches. They stole protein bars this morning, right?"
Nick nodded. "Yeah, five bars of Muscle Mike's. If we see that or any of the other stolen goods we know of," he patted the file folder tucked in one of his trench coat's inner pockets, "that'll be a good start. It would be even better to find a master key."
Courtney went on, "Plus we have to recover that Hypno-beam. It takes away our biggest threat." As Nick agreed, Courtney rubbed her chin. "As for disguises, I've been thinking. If we're going to both be having lunch undercover, we should pretend to be on a date."
Nick's stomach churned as his face fell. "Uh…a date?"
"Yeah," Courtney turned away from him. "Sorry, I didn't realize it was that offensive of an idea."
"It's not," Nick assured her. "I just…have never been on one."
Courtney spun back on her partner with an eager look. "Whoa, really?" When he slowly nodded, she sat criss-cross applesauce and leaned towards him. "That's wild, Nick! Why haven't you? You could have any girl in the universe."
Not any girl, Nick told himself. As he began to wonder if that was true, he forced himself to answer, "Just haven't been ready, I guess." Desperate to shift the conversation's focus, he asked, "What about you?"
Courtney shook her head. "I haven't had a date either. I'm ready, but guys haven't been fighting each other to ask out a tall nerd with glasses."
"They're nice glasses, though," Nick offered.
Courtney touched her curved red frames and smiled. "You really think so? I had to argue with my mom for twenty minutes to get them. She said they look too wild."
Nick huffed and said, "That's parents for ya. They look fine." He glanced at the partition door, but there was still no sign of Gjord. "So if neither of us have been on a date, could we really be convincing at it? We don't want to raise any suspicion."
Courtney sat upside down on the couch and hung her legs by Nick's head. "I wouldn't worry about it. I've read a lot about dating. All you do is talk about how nice each other looks and the economy."
"The economy, huh?" Nick rubbed his chin. "I think the stock market is open today."
Courtney said, "And we already complimented each other. We are nailing this!"
Gjord opened the door and trudged inside looking utterly defeated. He offered Courtney the decanter of juice and said, "The Tailor has requested your immediate presence and offers his sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting." Gjord fell to one knee and hung his head in shame. "I beg your forgiveness."
Nick said, "Don't worry about it. Can we just see him, please?"
Gjord rose beckoned the duo inside. "Of course. You may follow."
Nick and Courtney followed Gjord down a short makeshift corridor. Gjord opened another door inside a room divider and motioned them through. "Wait in there. The Tailor will arrive soon."
Nick headed into a workshop filled with a half dozen foldout tables. On each rested a sewing machine and a half-finished creation. Once Courtney had stepped inside, Gjord closed the door.
Two spotlights hanging from the ceiling immediately shone in the middle of the room as the opening to Gustav Holst's Jupiter swelled through unseen speakers. A four-foot circle opened in the floor and a platform rose up carrying a heavyset sixth-grader.
His back was to Nick and Courtney. An orange mohawk graced the boy's freckled cheeks and a magnificent golden cape trailed down his back. The boy spun around, his cape flapping with a magical flourish. Carl Wheezer beamed as soon as he spotted his guests. "Hey guys!"
Nick sighed in relief that Carl was acting his normal self. Well, as close to normal as he can manage, Nick thought. "Hey, Wheezer. You've really had a busy couple of weeks, huh?"
Sweat immediately beaded on Carl's brow. "Yeah, really busy. You make one dress in sewing class that revitalizes the fashion industry and suddenly you run an empire that's got a hundred orders lined up. But it's fine!" he shouted. "I'm handling it!"
Courtney simply answered, "Cool. Well we hate to add more to your plate, but we need to go undercover at Chez Chic and were hoping you could help us look the part."
Carl breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's easy. I've already made a couple of designs for some highbrow eighth graders who went to the grand opening. I have a gown for you that I can alter in a flash."
Nick grinned and said, "Great. What about me? Do you have a suit or something?"
Carl studied Nick for a few seconds and waved a hand. "Sorry, I don't see it."
"What do you mean?" Nick asked. "Should I wear a tux instead?"
"Oh dear," Carl's voice fell in abject pity. "You don't understand. How should I say this?" He tapped his chin and explained as he would to an even smaller child, "Chez Chic only lets the fanciest kids in. I can make you look the part, but fashion is a reflection of one's purest self. I can't turn you into someone who would eat there."
"It's a restaurant inside of a middle school," Nick clenched his hands into fists. "Just give me a suit and I'll be fine."
Carl shook his head. "The best I can do is turn you into a dock worker."
"Wheezer, please don't make me punch you."
"Wait," Courtney held a halting hand in front of Nick's chest. "Maybe Carl's right." Nick opened his mouth to protest, but Courtney cut him off. "Listen. If we go undercover on a date like you desperately wanted-"
"I hate both of you."
Courtney went on, "Then we only have access to the front of the restaurant. But if I'm eating in front and you are loading cargo in the back…" she trailed off and gestured for him to finish.
Nick sighed and said, "Then we get more intel and I can access the stove. But how would I be allowed into the kitchen? I can't just show up at the docks and start working there."
Carl chimed in, "No, but I can get you a job! The foreman of the dock workers club owes me a favor. I made a dress for his niece's christening."
"There we go," Courtney excitedly said. "I'll have the best meal Retroville can offer and learn what I can from the waiters. Meanwhile, you'll haul freight and skulk around the kitchen."
"Fine," Nick agreed. "Wheezer, let's get this started."
"Oh, Gjord can take you," Carl snapped his fingers, and Gjord shot like a rocket out of the hole in the floor. Carl turned to Courtney and offered her a hand, "You are my project of the day."
"Hoh hoh hoh," Courtney haughtily chuckled while offering Carl her palm. She let him lead her through another door and said, "Good luck, Gjord!"
Nick turned to the downtrodden Swede and said, "Alright, let's see what you can do."
"And it is done," Gjord stated while stepping away from his work. He roughly grabbed Nick's arm and led him in front of a mirror. "It is good."
Nick studied the unrecognizable kid before him. His clothes had been swapped for a striped dress shirt covered by a dark blue jumpsuit. Nick tested the suspenders keeping them all together before straightening his grey flat cap. He scratched his itching fake pencil mustache before staring at his scuffed leather work boots.
Nick asked, "So the dock workers' club is old-timey? Why don't they just be regular dock workers?"
Gjord crossed his arms over his visible chest and asked, "Why would anyone be regular?"
Considering that he was going undercover to catch a serial lunch thief, Nick could only shrug. "Well, I didn't recognize myself in the mirror, so you did a great job. Thanks."
Gjord offered a half smile and said, "I'm happy to help the Tailor. But remember, clothes are not everything. You must be a dock worker."
Nick considered this. "I guess that means, uh, be strong?" As Gjord's smile fell, Nick protested, "Look, I'm not an actor! What do I do?"
"Be Brooklyn."
"What?" Nick asked.
Gjord stepped towards Nick, grasped his shoulders, and stared dead in his eyes. "Your grandpa was dock worker. Your father is dock worker. You will be dock worker, so when you moved here from Red Hook you were desperate to join this club. You want to continue the family tradition. So who are you?"
"I'm Brooklyn?"
"You are Brooklyn Nick! Let me hear!"
In the faintest possible Brooklyn accent he could manage, Nick said, "I'm Brooklyn Nick."
"More!"
Nick swallowed hard and said more intensely, "Ayy, I'm Brooklyn Nick!"
"More!"
Nick closed his eyes and pictured Cindy waiting for him to succeed. He gripped his suspenders, puffed his chest, and opened his eyes. With the most outlandish accent he could manage, Nick shouted, "AYYYYY, I'm Brooklyn Nick!"
"No," Gjord said while grabbing a bucket of grease off of the floor. He dunked a paintbrush inside then flicked it so that a healthy coating splashed over Nick's outfit. "Now you are Brooklyn Nico."
Nick looked back in the mirror and saw Nico from Brooklyn staring back at him. "Thanks, Gjord."
Gjord nodded and opened the partition's door. "Your partner is waiting in the lobby. Good luck, Nico."
Nick stepped over the threshold, walked down a short corridor, and headed back into the lobby. He froze in place as soon as he saw his partner sitting on the arm of the sofa.
Everything about Courtney was different. Her hair was a perfectly laid blanket of Senegalese twists. Her glasses had been swapped for a pair of black and white Burberry cat eyes. Her red dress was gone; in its place was a floor length, round neck black evening gown. She no longer wore sneakers but instead sported a pair of ivory kitten heels.
"Well?" Courtney asked while motioning at herself. "Did Carl do good?"
Nick stared at her for a long moment, then managed to say, "Uh huh." He swallowed hard and forced himself to stop gaping. "How did he do your hair that fast?"
"Jimmy gave Carl a Barber Bot to help with the whole fashion empire thing. It's my new favorite invention of his. The settings are way more diverse than I expected!"
"What was your old favorite?"
"Brobot, obviously. I miss that guy every day." Courtney crossed her arms and studied Nick's attire. "Gjord really went all in, huh? Though your mustache is loose."
Nick quickly patted his upper lip and smoothed his disguise down.
"There ya go," Courtney beamed and hopped off the couch. She quickly poured two more glasses of apple juice and walked over to Nick. She handed him one and held hers up for a toast. "Well, here's to us capturing the Hungbringer."
Nick dutifully clinked his glass and took a sip while staring at her short heels. "How do you walk in those things, anyway?"
"Lots of practice," Courtney answered.
"I've never seen you wear heels before."
"Well, except for that time we fought aliens we've never hung out outside of class."
Nick tried to conjure up a memory to protest this, but came up empty. "It is crazy. We all went through insanity at Lindbergh. But I never really got to know anyone except Betty and Ike."
Courtney shrugged and took a seat on the sofa. Nick sat on the arm across from her and they both sipped their drinks. "We were all like that. Libby had her weird crew, Oleander had Emily, I had Rose and Yentl."
Nick nodded and said, "But it's better now, though. I feel like we're all working together more."
Courtney raised her glass in support and said, "Foam wars will do that."
Nick thought, Maybe. But for me it was a random malt at the Candy Bar. Nick smiled as he thought back to that summer morning, then felt his stomach twist as the guilt came rushing back. Neutron helped you that day, he asked you to save the school with him, and all you do is try to stab him in the back.
"So the heels," Nick forced his mind away from the dance. "Why do you wear them a lot?"
Courtney swirled her rocks glass. "My parents are always going to fancy dinners. They usually drag me along."
"So Carl was actually right? You do belong at Chez Chic?"
"I do," Courtney conceded. "But despite you really pulling off the dock worker look, he was wrong about you. You could have fit in at the restaurant."
"As long as I had you to show which fork to use. Is it true they give you more than one at a fancy place?"
Courtney sipped her juice and said, "Yeah, there are four."
"Four?!"
Courtney rolled her eyes. "I know. One would get the job done. But they insist on splitting it up. One each for entrees, salad, dessert, and oysters."
Nick shook his head and asked, "How rich are you?"
"Fairly," Courtney shrugged. "Mom's a lawyer and dad's a surgeon. What about your parents?"
"My mom's a cop," he answered. When Courtney narrowed her eyes, he added, "A good one."
"Well, she raised you and you're alright, so I'll let it slide. What about your dad?"
Nick's jaw tightened until he said, "Not around. So not quite as many fancy parties as you."
"Trust me, they get old quick. It's all just watching adults talk about their jobs, vacation plans, and politics."
"I'll take your word for it," Nick said while finishing his drink and rising from the couch. "I guess we should get going."
Courtney chugged her own glass and said, "We'll have to hide our walkies in the restaurant, so we'll be incommunicado."
"If anything goes really wrong, I'm sure we can signal each other. We won't be that far apart."
Courtney made an exaggerated thumbs up. "You ready?"
Nick grinned and offered a thumbs up back.
Nick opened the loading docks' door and braced himself for another onslaught of rats. Instead, the fog was gone and the entire space was awash in activity. Two trucks were parked outside the loading bays, a dozen students of various ages were hauling in cargo, and overseeing it all was a scowling tenth grader with a clipboard.
Nick made his way towards the foreman, took a deep breath, and plastered a smile on his face. "Ayy, I'm Brooklyn Nick…o!"
The foreman spun around, stared at Nick, and shook his head. "Carl didn't warn me you were a middle schooler."
"Ayy, how can ya tell?" Nick asked.
"Because you R.M.S. kids take this way too far." The foreman motioned at the hardworking boys and girls in the loading boy - only the middle schoolers were garbed like Nick.
Nick shrugged and said, "Ayy, I'm from Red Hook, man! Unloading docks is in my veins. This outfit belonged to my nonno."
"Whatever," the foreman rolled his eyes and checked his clipboard. "I have you unloading that truck," he pointed at the right loading bay, "with Antoni," he swiveled his finger towards a beanstalk of an eighth-grader. "He'll show you the ropes. Now get moving."
"Ayy, ya got it, boss."
The foreman shook his head and turned away. Nick basked in self-pride as he made his way towards Antoni, whose outfit mirrored his own.
"Ayy, I'm Brooklyn Nico!" Nick cheerily said while waving at the teen. "I heard you could show me da ropes."
The teen rubbed his thin stubble and said, "Name's Antoni. Nice to meet ya, kid. Lemme ask ya something. Have you worked the docks before?"
"Ayy, no!" Nick laughed. "It's in my blood, but I haven't been able to get my hands dirty yet. So throw me right in so we can get this stuff to Chez Chic!"
"Oh, we'll deliver this cargo. Just after I tell you one thing about how working the docks goes here at R.M.S."
"Ayy, what's-uh-dat?"
Antoni spat on Nick's shoes and glowered at Nick with unbridled hatred. "That's what this school thinks of us. We break our backs and our spirits for this place and what does it give us in return? A quarter an hour and more disgust that you can measure. We're lower than dirt to the people we haul freight for. But there's a way to change that. You see, I've been paying attention in history class. Have you ever heard of the Bolshevik Revolution?"
Nick's face fell as he moaned, "Ayy, I just wanna go to Chez Chic."
Antoni's features softened as he clasped Nick's left shoulder. "I used to be like you. Thinking if I worked hard I could climb up the corporate ladder and wind up at a place like that restaurant. I hate to break it to you, but the ladder is greased to hell from us clambering all over it. Struggle to climb it all you want, you're just going to slide back down."
Nick had no idea what to say. Antoni offered an approving nod.
"You're taking it all in. Good. I like your style, kid. You're a hard worker with an open mind. So what do say we do something a little, heh, explosive to change things around here."
Nick gulped. He glanced around, but none of the other workers nor the foreman paid them any mind. "Ayy, maybe, uh, we just plan this out while we work today? And have a revolution on Monday?"
Antoni laughed and clapped Nick's arm. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. Eager for change but don't waste it by diving in unprepared."
"Ayy, right!" Nick nodded.
Nick sighed as Antoni's grim features returned and he leaned towards Nick. In a conspiratorial whisper, he explained, "Well don't you worry about that. We've been planning this for months. We were just waiting for the last puzzle piece to fall into place. And now you're here."
Antoni pointed as a cardboard truck pulled up to the loading bay. The corrugated cabin had a window which showed the driver, but hid her bicycle seat and pedals. Antoni opened the cardboard cargo bay door and said, "Let's get going, Nico. We're bringing some of my boys with us on this delivery."
Nick gulped as he spotted two barrel chested eighth-graders sitting amidst a dozen boxes in a large wagon bed. One container had the word explosive which had been hastily scribbled over.
Antoni gently shoved Nick towards the cargo bay and said, "We've got a hell of a job ahead of us."
