Chapter 3: Like the Good Ol' Days

"Hey Squidward… Squidward… Squidward… Squidward… Squidwaaaarrd? Squidwardiard! Edward with a squid—"

"What."

In the 30 minutes since his spastic superior had left him to his task, Krusty Klass' newest hire had only managed to defrost 7 of the 50 frozen cases of fish paste. He 'click'ed off the hair dryer and put his tentacles at his side. "What. Do you want?"

"Oh!" Squidward's unlikely warden for the hour had been passing by on his way to the kitchen, carrying a tub of dirty dishes that was taller than himself, Oxford shoes to forehead. Naturally, SpongeBob never went anywhere around the restaurant empty handed if he could help it. Efficiency tactics died hard, especially when they were on a time crunch. Yet, at the risk of burning a few precious moments, he simply couldn't resist confiding in Squidward about something. He leaned around the dishes. "Are you busy?"

"Oh, no! Noooo…" He waved a slop-covered tentacle. "Don't mind me and the hundred cases of overpriced chum you've left me to thaw in less than two hours, by my-self! Oh, please, what can I do to prolong this submersion in the cesspool that has become my earthly existence, and assist you further…" he gritted his teeth as if the next words were actually painful to articulate. "... Mister… SquarePants?"

"Uh, I just wanted to say, it's great to have you back onboard the Krusty Krew, Squidward! Between you and Pat, it's just like the good ol' days! Only better!"

"Oh, yeahhhh. The good ol' days. Same migraine, different dA—" His eyebrows launched up from his forehead, hit the ceiling, and fell back down, smacking the top of his head as if they suddenly weighed as much as soap bars. "OW! Wait a minute. Did you say—?

"Krusty Klass is in session!"

Squidward's head pivoted sharply to the right. Down the dark hallway, emerging from the kitchen was the faithful pink starfish, dressed in a long black graduation gown. He held the matching tasseled cap as he jogged forward and met SpongeBob and Squidward under the lightbox just outside the freezer door. "Ah, it's a good thing I kept this gown from high school! Never did get that diploma, but the outfit's snazzy!"

"WHAT THE?!" The octopus's head spun between the graduate that never was, and the manager that never should have been. "Patrick, what are you doing?"

"I'm just asking SpongeBob if this outfit will do for the party tonight!"

"YOU'RE INVITED TO THE GALA, TOO?!"

"Well of course!" SpongeBob said cheerfully. "Patrick's a wiz at party decorations!"

"And I was made for celebrity balls! I am a star, after all! How's this, SpongeBob?" He struck a model pose, putting his hands on his hips and arching his back, head turned to the right.

"Hm." SpongeBob rubbed his chin. "Lay on your side for me."

Patrick did as he was told, plopping down right there on the floor. Head propped up in one arm, top leg crossed over the other. "Draw me like one of your French narrators."

"Hm. Maybe just wear this tie with your best trunks tonight." From his pocket of seemingly endless useful oddities, SpongeBob retrieved a long, clip-on black tie for the starfish. "Then everybody will know you're part of the staff. You did your laundry recently, right?"

"Just like Gary showed me," nodded Patrick vigorously.

"Wh-wh-wait wait a minute!" Between them, Squidward was still reeling. "Staff?! I thought you said you could only hire one more staff member for the party!"

"I did!"

"I'm working under the table," Patrick said, ripping off his graduation garb and tossing it offscreen.

"Under the table?!"

"Yup! In between doing dishes for Mr. K, you're looking at the official Krusty K. Rocket-Mop! Stand back and observe!"

And producing his tongue, he bent forward and slapped the tip flat against the hallway floor. He then went back and forth down the length of the narrow hallway, from where the freezer stood, all the way back to the kitchen doors from where he came. Picking up speed, Sponge and Squidward stepped out of the way as he swooped up the mess of ice and fake tuna Squidward had made in just two passes. In less than a minute, he was done, having made the entire length of the floor sparkle beneath the sparse lightboxes.

"See?" He stuck out his tongue, which was now covered with tiny splinters. "Etz ezay."

"He's like a smart-Swiffer," SpongeBob jabbed an elbow at his next door neighbor, "ay Squidward!"

"Oh, golly. While I'd love to add myself to the dance on the grave of what it meant to be 'smart'—," Squidward handed the hair dryer back to SpongeBob, "—if the Klass Dunce is done with dishes, then he can help you finish this! I am taking my fifteen to freshen up! And you'd better hurry up and get this back to Krabs before he finds out what you're doing with it and busts that last unstented artery of his!"

"Wha? Oh, that's not Mr. Krabs' blow dryer!" SpongeBob chuckled.

"I was wondering where that was." Patrick swiped the blow dryer from Squidward and stuck the lip under the waistband of his trunks, behind his turned it on. "Ahh, toasty buns! It's just like a boat seat warmer!"

Squidward's eye began to twitch. "The biggest social event of the seven seas… and the blow dryer that was defrosting the appetizers is now currently warming Patrick's—"

"But!" SpongeBob cut him off, "since you asked, Squiddy, when you're back, I could really use someone to help me finish polishing the silver!"

"WHAT?" Squidward threw his tentacles up in the air. "This workload is getting ridiculous! Why don't you get your 'assistant manager' to do something useful?" He gestured to the doors in the middle of the hallway, leading out to the dining room. "Instead of sitting out there with the customers, moping over his phone."

"Moping? What are you…?" SpongeBob spun around, and ran down the hallway to the double doors. Sure enough, peeking out from the staff doors, slouched over on the far back table, one of the only ones already set and ready for a guest, was the twenty six year old fish, using the thumb of his fin to scroll the phone.

"See? What are you going to do about that, Big Cheese?" asked Squidward smugly.

"Ohhhh…" SpongeBob balled up his hands into fists, biting his lip. Confronting employees was his least favorite part of the job, but it had to be done.

"Fergus, you know I hate to be the bad guy." SpongeBob approached him tentatively. "But we can't really afford extended breaks today!" He reached for a particularly dusty champagne glass on Fergus' table, and began frantically scribbling something on the surface with his pointer finger. "But the Krusty Klass manual states that breaks cannot extend beyond the fifteen minute break period and one minute punch in-out period!" He presented the glass to Fergus, in which he'd instantaneously copied the entirety of the break procedures in the thick layer of dust. All 69 tiny words, Times New Roman. "We've only got three hours left until the party starts, and you haven't even got the glasses done!"

"I mean, I did two."

"Only two?"

"There can't be that many, are there?"

"Only… two hundred…" SpongeBob felt himself getting nauseous.

"Oh. I'll get to it." Fergus waved his fin over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off his phone. "You can count on me."

Hearing the defeated nature of his tone, SpongeBob took a closer look at his assistant. "Wait a minute. I know a frowny face when I see it. What's wrong, Ferg?"

"Well." The fish boy pointed to the screen of his phone. His confident smile from this morning had been turned upside down. "You know that house I was gonna buy?"

"That five bedroom, three bath, for a steal?" SpongeBob didn't have a perfect memory, but when it came to his friends and acquaintances, he remembered things incredibly well.

Of course, it helped that Fergus had talked about it quite a lot in the last few days since the sale closed. But he didn't look so happy about it, now. "Yeah… a steal. Let's go with that."

"Don't tell me there was a fire! A flood? Gasp!" His knuckles went into his mouth. "A m-m-mmu- Martian attack?!"

"Might as well have been all three, for all the good it is to me now!" Fergus slammed the phone face-down on the table and massaged his temples. "Someone else cast their line in the water at the last minute and bid a grand over me! One thousand clams, and the house is gone!"

"But that doesn't make sense." SpongeBob was puzzled. "I thought you said the sale was closed."

"Apparently not! Somebody must've known the homeowner and overruled the action… I don't know. I paid ten thousand down just to get into the auction! And I just ordered a new love seat and a five thousand dollar glass pool table! Now what am I gonna do?"

"Welp, that's what you get for joining a sketchy online betting war," declared Squidward. Having abandoned his chore, he was at SpongeBob's side. "Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Now, if Mr. Finnegan could get over himself and finish this and go help Patrick so I can thaw out my frozen tentacles, we might stand a chance of being done before Krabs throws us all in the blender instead!" His eyes widened as one thing Fergus said resounded in his head. "Did you say. Five. Thousand. Dollar. GLASS. POOL. TABLE?"

"Squidward, go easy on the guy!" SpongeBob put a fatherly hand on Fergus' shoulder. "Can't you see he's taking it real hard?"

"Oh yeah? While he sits and wonders how his 'too good to be true' scam turned out to scam himself, I'm up to my eyeballs with iced lab-grown meat!"

"Squidward—"

"No no, sir. SquidMan is right." Fergus slipped his phone in his side pants pocket and stood up. "Doesn't matter what I'm going through. I have a job to do. And I won't let you down."

"Atta boy!" SpongeBob pumped a fist in the air. "That's the spirit! OH WAIT!" Using that same hand, he reached for one of the back pockets of his long pants, producing a long, cylindrical metal can. "Squidward, I have this blow torch you can use to speed up the defrosting! I'll come and help you as soon as I finish my check list! Ferg, forget the hanging glassware. We'll pack it away and leave what's already on the tables to serve the guests. You go help Angel with clearing the lunch rush of dishes. Report to me the second you're done, and I'll give you the next task."

And in a flurry of bubbles, the Quickster was gone.

"Aye, aye, Capt'n," said Fergus, calmly popping a bubble with the pointy tip of his fin as it came close to his face. "Heh. You'd think he walked right out of a cartoon or somethin', huh?"

Squidward scrutinized the young man who stood eye-level with him. "Nice try. I'm onto you, kid!"

"Man, I don't know what you're on."

"Don't play stupid with me! You came here and worked just hard enough that Krabs and Captain Calamity promoted you to assistant, and now you're just coasting on their ignorance!"

Fergus looked left and right before letting his lips curl into a handsome smirk. "Takes one to know one, huh?"

"You bet your pathetic suck-up tie I do! I bet there wasn't even a house up for auction at all, was there?"

"Harsh words, SquidMan." Fergus looked him up and down seriously for the first time. "Tell you what: You worry about you, and I'll worry about me. We good, then? Oh, and by the way," he reached up and flicked a bit of fish paste from Squidward's nose. "There we go. Wouldn't want Squilliam to see bro as anything less than fabulous, would we?"

WHOOSH!

Smoke trickled up from under the crack of the staff room doors. The restaurant patrons listened as the voice of the franchise owner sobbed in distress.

"Mr. Finnegan! To the kitchen! Bring a fire extinguisher! And tell me ya actually know how to use it, because I do-oh-oh-ohn't!" "

"On it!" Fergus jogged behind the staff doors with the extinguisher (which, Squidward too quickly realized was never far out of reach since he himself had been gone). By the time he was out of sight, Squidward's fury had turned his entire body from blue to red, steam wafting up from his skull.

"Mmm…" One of the last customers sniffed the air, then called over to Squidward. "Hey, sonny, how much for the calamari?"

"Four o'clock, and all is not well!"

SpongeBob exited the kitchen, startled by where the hands sat on his watch face. "Tartar sauce!" His feet were starting to blister, and he hadn't eaten anything all day, not even snagging scraps from the kitchen. At this point, he'd take a squirt of tarter sauce to the mouth if it would quell his uneasy stomach, but unless he ran past a bottle of their in-house salad dressing, there wasn't a moment to lose.

On the outside, the Krusty Klass was the same size as the original Krusty Krab next door. Much like Squidward's comment earlier, however, on the inside, it seemed so much bigger somehow. Even with square shaped balusters instead of round ones, and dark oak walls on the far left and right sides, with only the patio windows letting in natural light.

Only a handful of customers remained as SpongeBob weaved around these support beams, and in-between all the tiny two-seat tables that had been newly set for the party. It was as I'd he knew the layout as well as the boating school track layout.

Interestingly enough, had he'd been behind the wheel of a boat, he likely wouldn't have dodged even one obstacle as effortlessly as he did on foot, with a clipboard smack in front of his face.

Attached to this board were a dozen checklists, and in his other hand was his work phone. "Let's see, our Finbook account is finally up and running, the digital donation box is set up, the photo booth is ready, Patrick should be setting the curtains for the stage—OOMPH!"
Whatever he slammed into was not a piece of restaurant furniture. But it was tall and firm, and made him splat like a wet sponge against a kitchen wall. "Whoa there, chief!"

He knew that voice. He knew that voice all too well, even though he hadn't heard it for weeks. The top of his head peeled away like a sticker away from its backing, and he landed a foot away, next to the clipboard and a scattering of papers. He opened his eyes to a wall of white material that made up a high tech dive suit. "Sandy!"

She chuckled comfortingly. "Where's the fire?"

"Where's the fire? Hehehe…" Only in his cheeks, his pits, his… everywhere. Her voice might as well have flicked the lighter.
SpongeBob had been running nonstop all day, and only now, as he lay on his back on the floor, did he feel his cheeks prickle with a hot flash. And a doozy at that. Oh, Neptune… was it obvious through that helmet of hers?

Thankfully for him, no. Sandy's attention was quickly snagged by the young angelfish, speeding between the tables, doing four things at once. "Seems the fever's catchy."

"Oh, that's how Angel always is." SpongeBob got back onto his feet, following her line of sight. "Although he might be a bit on overdrive. Though I suppose two cans of Cracken and waiting for the semester's Finals results will do that. Bahaaha…" He trailed off as he took notice of his clipboard, overturned with crinkled papers scattered around the floor. "Ah, barnacles."

"Here, let me help." Sandy bent down and reached for pieces of paper nearer to her. "Hey, I didn't hurt you a minute ago, did I?"

"Hurt me? Oh, no, no… In fact, I was… gonna ask you the same thing," he said finally. SpongeBob took the papers from her and calmly clipped them in a disorganized heap on top of the board before tucking it under his arm. "Silly question though it may be, me being a, well, you know, talking mattress and all. Hehe… AHEM. Uh… What-what are you doing here?"

"I got a few tests runnin' back at the lab." Sandy shrugged as she got back up. "Computer's tied up 'til it's done. While I waited, I thought I'd pop in and say, well… Happy Birthday! I wanted to ask, since yer tied up tonight with that big party, if maybe you wanted to get something to eat together tomorrow? Or maybe snag a movie? But it seems plain obvious you haven't got time for chatter. Maybe I'll give you a ring later, and we can plan something—"

"No no! It's okay! I've always got a minute for you, Sandy." His eyes trailed down to the briefcase she'd just set down. "There, uh, wouldn't happen to be anything for me in there, would it?"

"Huh?" She looked at her own right hand, and slapped the top of her helmet in frustration. "Ah, nuts! The water samples!"

"You… got me water samples? That's, uh… neat, I guess."

"No! It's—ugh. There is something, I promise! Drat. I guess I was in such a rush to get out to the fields to collect more samples, I forgot to grab the present, too! I'll head home and grab it now."

"No, Sandy! Don't go! You're fine!" He gave a nervous chuckle.

Don't go.

The echo of his own voice in that nightmare made his chest tight. "Really. I wasn't expecting anything anyway." An unexpected visit from Sandy in itself was not a gifted seahorse to be looked in the mouth, especially not these days, as said visits were fewer and farther between. "I'm just… happy you came to see me." Suddenly, eye contact was becoming difficult. He meant that way more than he wanted to. "Feels like we don't really get to hang out much anym—OOF!"

Sandy had swept the sponge up off his feet in her arms. "You're the best," she said. "I'll make it up to you."

"Hehehe… that's okay." Her hugs were strong enough to cut a cinder block, forget a talking block of cheese. How uncomfortable he'd be if he didn't like it so much.

He wished he didn't like it so much. "Really… Ohhh…"

Calm down, Sponge. She's hugged you a billion times. It never meant anything before. It doesn't mean anything today.But it feels different! Is this just because of my dream? She's holding me sooo tight, and—and maybe it isn't different? Maybe I just want it to be? But she's letting it linger so long—is this just all in my head? Oh, gosh, my heart, she's gonna hear it! I can't take it she's holdingmeshe'sholdingmeholdingmeeeeeeeeeeee

"Ohhhh—HERE!" SpongeBob produced a golden envelope from his pocket. His heart was beating like he'd just ran a marathon, and if it wasn't for her suit, she definitely would've felt it. He had to put space between their bodies, now. "Take this!"

This did the trick. "For me?" Sandy set him down on his feet. "What is it?"

"VIP invitation to the party tonight. Mr. Krabs gave me two of them to hand out to whoever I want." He handed it over, then fiddled with his fingers. "Dinner and entertainment paid."

Sandy turned over the envelope. The type font was calligraphy style, and the back was held closed with a white Mother of Pearl shell-shaped seal, to contrast the gold. The old miser didn't skimp on expenses for this event, even if the restaurant's very own manager was only allowed two paid guests of his own.

Krusty Franchise

would be honored by your attendance to benefit

The United Sailors of the Seven Seas, on their 86th consecutive year.

Held at the newly renamed restaurant, grill and five star sand bar, "The Krusty Klass."

Date: July the 14th, 2016. Time: 7:00pm to 11:00pm.

Black tie and dress are highly encouraged, not required. Be sure to wear yer dancing shoes! Take lots of pictures, and be sure to add #KrustyKlassGala to add to our online album!

And most of all…

Get ready to donate LOTS of money!

Yours respectfully,

Eugene H. Krabs, veteran shipboard cook, founder and CEO of Krusty Franch.

"I gave the other one to Pat," SpongeBob explained, "since he agreed to help set up for the party. Provided he gets first dibs on the appetizers." He dug his toe into the floor, hands behind his back. "You're not busy tonight, are you?"

"Well." Sandy lowered the invitation. "I'm looking into somethin' kinda important right now."

She had to get these samples back to the lab and try to get to the bottom of whatever in Sam's Hill was going on in Jellyfish Fields, before it became a problem. Or stop it if it already was. It was her job. It's what I'm here for.

But SpongeBob SquarePants was mighty difficult to say 'no' to. At least for her. He could already see that she was about to turn him down, and the visible disappointment on his face twisted her heart somethin' fierce.

She had been working pretty hard lately. They both had. And his carefully tailored square pants were startin' to look loose on him. If she came to the big shindig tonight, maybe she could convince him to sit down and eat somethin' other than salad dressing. Talk about somethin' other than work. Maybe he'd start to look a little more like the SpongeBob that she used to know. The same darlin' boy she'd nearly laid down her life to protect more times than he realized.

A night off wouldn't mean the end of the world. "Ah, shucks!" She swung at the air with one mitt, tucking the invitation in the outer hip pocket of her suit with the other. "What kinda jerk would I be if I didn't spend the night with my best buddy on his birthday?"

"TERRIFIC!" SpongeBob leapt into the air with his fists to the ceiling, his loose pants nearly flying off as he rocketed upwards. Saved by the belt. By the time he came back down on his feet, the sponge was a whole shade brighter. "You won't regret it, Sandy!"

"HOLD THE SHELL PHONE!"

Scraping scorch marks from his sleeves, a burnt Squidward stormed out from the doorway of the backroom, up to his new square manager. "You mean you can just pass out free VIP invitations to whoever you want? Then I want an invite!"
"Not so fast, Benedict Tentacles!"

A huge, red claw appeared and grabbed Squidward by pinching his noggin. Mr. Krabs then appealed his arm clear across to the other side of the dining room, until he had Squid within five feet of eye contact. "Those invitations are for loyal Krusty Krew staff and managers to give to their friends and loved ones. NOT for last minute rehires! Now clock back in, get in the kitchen and help me start blending that appetizer!"

Squidward pounded the floor as he followed Krabs. Bits of unintentionally cooked tuna dripped from his uniform as he went.

"Golly. Never thought I'd see the day he stumbled back into this place," Sandy thought out loud.

"I know! Isn't it great? With you, me, Patrick, Squidward, and Mr. Krabs, it's really starting to feel like old times, now!"

And SpongeBob really meant it, to. But there was something special about the addition of Sandy to this unofficial reunion. For as long as he'd known her, Sandy had been his safety net. His bungee cord, keeping him from disaster. Not just in physical danger, but problems he couldn't overcome with his own limited knowledge and wisdom. Between her, and Patrick, and Squidward, and the serine memories associated with them, he felt something like confidence finally solidifying. Maybe things haven't changed as much as I thought they have. Maybe I'm not all on my own just yet—

"Mr. SquarePants!"

Four syllables, and SpongeBob was instantaneously reeled back to the present. "Angel?"

His best employee stood before him as the sponge turned around, and he was soaked. Even his spiky black pompadour hair was weighed down with a sticky, off-green colored liquid that smelled distinctly like vinegar.

SpongeBob watched Fergus march his way to the other side of the restaurant, avoiding the trail of liquid dripping from Angel's clothes. "What happened?"

"A customer complained there were no pickles on his Krabby Gourmet. So I asked Mr. Finnegan where I can find more pickles, and he said to look in the utility closet. And I said I didn't find any, and he said 'well, you didn't look hard enough.' And I said I'm going to ask Senior Krabs, because at least he has some idea about what's going on around here! So we got into an… a sort of argument? And one thing lead to another, and he tells me to go '¡Meter la cabeza en el refrigerador, ya que de todos modos paso gran parte de mi día libre allí!'"

"Whoa whoa, slow down!" SpongeBob wagged his hands. "I don't understand!"

"¡Ese idiota no hace nada por aquí!"

"Er. Sandy?" SpongeBob turned to her. "You picked up some Spanish living in Texas, right? Wanna translate for me?"

"Uh…" She hadn't lived in Texas in a decade, and even back then, she wasn't fluent. "Somethin' somethin' about pickles and a jerkface. That's all I got."

"Ah! Now I got it!" SpongeBob snapped his finger. He then laid a consoling hand on the fuming fishe's shoulder. "Angel, I know our clientele can be kinda snooty and uppity, but that's no reason to let them get under your scales! You are a proud Krusty Klass soldier!" He reached behind his back and produced a clean, white towel, handing it to him. "Now dry yourself off, march into my office and get that jar of pickles I keep taped under my desk. And when you feel you're getting frustrated, just imagine you're stuffing them between two delicious sesame seed buns, and you'll feel so much better!"

"I'll pretend I'm stuffing them in someone's buns for sure," Angel muttered. He inhaled deeply, funneled all his frustration into it, and in a flurry of fin-steps, went flying back through the double doors. "FOR THE KRUSTY KLASSSSSS!"

"Atta boy!" SpongeBob pumps his fist in the air. seeing the puzzled look on her face, he explained. "I've kept a jar of emergency pickles on hand since the Bubble Bass incident."

Sandy scrutinized the teen as he went. "That boy's more stressed out than a sunburnt clown locked in a bullpen!" she thought out loud. It reminded her of somebody she knew all too well. Or at least, someone she used to know so well. Someone she used to be closer to n' bark on a tree. "But he works like he got a twister in his blood." Her eyes then darted to the chameleon fish, who'd taken not so subtle refuge behind a baluster as he went back to looking at his phone. If there had really been an argument behind the staff doors, Fergus didn't seem too bothered by it. "And if that fella stands still long enough, he'll grow algae! I know I shouldn't be stickin' my nose where it ain't wanted, SpongeBob, but why ain't that angelfish your next in command?"

"Oh, well, Mr. Krabs has this thing about teenagers being in charge. You remember the strike incident I told you about? Plus, I already gave the job to Fergus before Angel applied. I can't break his heart by giving it to someone else!"

"Yeah… break his heart." She folded her arms. If there was one thing this Texaner couldn't stand, it was snakes in fish clothing. She wanted to fix this herself, but she had to let SpongeBob wake up to the problem. "Sounds like a real odds and ends crew you've got in yer mitts."

"Sure, the boys are a little… rough around the edges—not like I don't know what that's like…. Bahahah…"

SpongeBob had to look away from her. It'd been so long since they had a one-on-one conversation like this, he was afraid that he'd look at her too long, she'd see something, detect something she was not supposed to. "… But they're the finest fish in the entire sea!"
Sandy and SpongeBob stepped out of the dining room, out onto the patio. Currently, no one was seated outside, which worked in Sandy's favor. She wanted to ask this question in private. "So, you're not nervous that you'll get everything done by tonight?"

"Nervous? Why would I be nervous? Why should I be? I know what I'm doing! It's not like I'm in charge of the biggest event of the year!" He began pacing the width of the stone and rock aisle between the tables without even realizing it. "And if tonight's song of success isn't pitch perfect, it'll be all my fault! And it's not like Mr. K will even consider taking the restaurant away from me or something, right? When I haven't had a moment to stop or eat or even take a full breath and I still won't get to for the next I-don't-know-how-many hours?! And that everything I've worked and sweated and dreamed over will come crumbling down right before my eyes? RIGHT? Right? "

Sandy watched her old friend pant for breath. She thought for a moment, then proceeded cautiously. "Well, if you're so sure, I—" She looked up and pointed to the open windows. "OH MY GOSH, SpongeBob, look over there!"

"WHERE?"

"HEEEEEYYYYYYYYAAAAAA!"

With his head pointed away, Sandy brandished a swift chop to the back of his head.

SpongeBob went flying across his own restaurant like a homerun baseball. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHH!"
"Never," she called after him, "Let yer guard down, SquarePants!"

The Sponge went soaring through the air, tumbling head over shoes by the length of his square body. Landing on an empty patio table with such force, it brought the whole set folding inward, umbrella down to feet.

CRASH!

Despite the catastrophic noise made by the table coming down. SpongeBob crawled out of the cloud of dust and debris without a mark to be seen. Much to Sandy's relief, he took the surprise attack about as well as he could have. "No fair!" he said, brushing off his pants. "I'm still on duty!"

"Sorry, but all's fair in love and war, mister Nacho-Head-Honcho. That is," she narrowed her eyes with a playful smile, "assumin' there ain't a rule against karate outside the restaurant during business hours. Is there?"

"Oh, I don't know. But the manager may look the other way, just this once, as long as Mr. Krabs is still preoccupied." SpongeBob got to his feet. "How'd you do that?"

"Years of practice. Though it helps that I've had to practice with a dummy, ever since yer promotion. An empty cereal box with four shoe laces taped to the sides doesn't stand much in the way of defense."

"Ah, shucks. I'm sorry. To be honest, I'm feeling pretty beat up after work lately. I don't know when I'll find time to practice again."

"Ain't nothin' to be sorry for! But I'd be lyin' if I said I was hoping you'd at least practiced Harai Goshi."

"Is that the one I call 'the Flipper'?"

"The one that overpowers stronger opponents." Sandy spread her arms and feet apart. "Let's try again."
Standing five feet away, SpongeBob pressed his hands together and bowed before her. He then limbered up his fingers. "Okay… here I go!"

And then he went for it. He rushed towards her, panting as he went. And just before he collided, he spun around, so that his back faced her. And then he reached behind himself, grabbing her arms.

"I'm doing it?" SpongeBob staggered with the suited squirrel raised in his arms. "I'm doing it! I'm lifting San—UMPH!"
He'd kept her up in the air for two seconds before collapsing with her on top of him.

Sandy lay on the back of her yellow mattress, feet kicking the air. "Nice try. But yer tryin' to lift a squirrel, not a sack a' potatoes."

"Aww." His voice was muffled with the ground. Sandy got off of him and SpongeBob got up, dusting off his pants. "What'd I do wrong that time?"

"You forgot a step again." She turned around and showed SpongeBob with the toe of her own boot. "See how my right foot is on the outside of yours? This means I can lift up my leg, lock your elbow down, put you on my back—"

"Uh-oh…"

"HEEEE-YAAAAAAAAAA!"

Sandy had scooped him up like he weighed nothing at all. The sound when he hit the ground was like glass. The next thing he knew, he was flat on his side, facing the restaurant. When his mouth opened, his tongue rolled out of his mouth like contents from an overturned cardboard box.

When she came around his legs to stand before him, the sun was high in the west, casting the tips of the fur on her tail, and the edges of her helmet in a triumphant glow. "Maybe next time you'll listen when I give the full instruction."

"Your mistake, sensei!" cried SpongeBob, still laying on his side. "If there's one thing a fry cook knows, it's how to flip! Once I master this move, you'll never beat me in a match again!"

"Yeah." Sandy looked away and frowned. "Hey, uh, I'd better let you get back to work."

"Oh!" He got back to his feet. "Uh… yeah. Work."

"But I'll see you tonight! I promise! Save a dance for me!"

"A dance? Yeah…" He looked down at his watch again. "YEEEAAAAGHGHGHAH! Five o'clock The decorations!" He began sprinting back for the doors, unaware that sometime during the practice, the back half of his pants ripped away to expose his underwear. "Bye, Sandy! I-I'll be waiting for you!"

I sure hope you learn to defend yourself someday, partner, she thought as she marched away, collecting her briefcase before heading home. She was determined to not let her troubles be apparent. If we only had more time for me to teach you.

"I can't thank you enough for all the help, Pat."

"Sure thing, buddy."

Seated on the floor in the Krusty Klass utility closet, Patrick brought an uninflated balloon to his lips, just to lower it back down again. "So, how much am I getting paid, anyway?"

"Well, I've already hired Squidward for the night." SpongeBob was squeezed in the six foot closet between Pat, the mop and bucket, and all the balloons already blown. He tied a ribbon to the end of his newest balloon, and carefully let it float to the ceiling, next to the old, lone little lightbulb. "Not sure if I can afford to add another name to the payroll. Worst comes for worst, I'll just give you my paycheck for the day."

"The restaurant manager's pay? For this precious artisan work? Pfft ." Patrick scoffed, letting another half-spit, half-air filled balloon rise to the ceiling. "You drive a hard bargain Mr. SquarePants. It's a good thing you're my best friend."

"Thanks. Hey Patrick… do you think I'm doing good? Y'know, as a boss?" This was the first time he'd gotten to talk to Pat alone in weeks, and in that time, he'd become more insecure about it than ever before.

"Well, sure, SpongeBob! What? You think any loser they could grab from off the street could do this job? Put together the biggest bash in Bikini Bottom with just six people, and keep from going crazy?"

"Never thought of it like that." The sponge needed this compliment. He'd acquired a throbbing headache, and every part of him was sore. And the rest of the normal crew weren't much better off, from what he could see. Despite the odds, they'd cleaned up the restaurant, with decorations being the last thing on the checklist. "Maybe I'm not doing that bad after all."

"Uh, hey SpongeBob? You'd… you'd let me know if Mr. K opens up another restaurant, wouldn't ya? Being a manager would look really nice on my resume for the royal guard!"

"Oh! Sure thing, Pat—Wait a minute—the royal guard?"

"Sponge BOB!"

The closet door swung open, and Squidward stood in the doorway, face as red as his long gone shirt, and looking ready for a fight with the first yellow box he could get his hands on. "Mr. SquarePants, I need to lodge a complaint, and I need to do it—OW!"

"Sorry, Squidward." Patrick had let his balloon go, and it flew around the room in imperfect figure 8s until it hit Squid in the eye. "They call that lucky in some parts of the world."

Squidward peeked the searing plastic from his eyeball, then threw it on the ground. "Listen, SquarePants!" He jabbed a tentacle in the sponge's direction. "I agreed to bail you out in your hour if needed, not be up to my shoulders in putrid, cretaceous slop!"

"Mr. Krabs having stomach problems again?" asked Patrick.

"Furthermore, as a curator of all things fancy, I must critique your managing style for this party! I mean, really!" Squidward gestured to the plastic orbs populating the ceiling. "A black tie event, and we're blowing up BALLOONS?"

"Black and white balloons, Squidward!" Patrick's baby tooth sparked as he spoke.

"With glitter writing!" SpongeBob held up a newly finished one in front of his face as an example. "See? 'Krusty Gala!' Free to take home!"

"Oh! My bad!" Squidward clutched a tentacle to his chest. "That makes ALL the difference!"

"C'mon, Squiddy!" Even SpongeBob could tell he was being sarcastic, now. "Besides, really, what's a party without balloons?!"

"The kind of party thrown by adults without an intellectual handicap?"

"Well, who's throwing that party?" asked a puzzled Patrick.

A 'whoosh' of air from his ears preceded Squidward's head deflating, like a pierced basketball.

"Don't be salty, Squid! You can join us!" SpongeBob blew up another white balloon, just like the last only this time it grew into a long, narrow, hotdog shape. He then reached behind his back for a long, black balloon, and in a flurry of fingerwork, he tied them together, and then presented Squidward with his creation: Balloon art of Squidward Tentacles, in his black and white Krusty Klass uniform, holding his own tiny balloon of SpongeBob in the ends of his tentacles. Both grinning happily.

"We've still got a couple hundred to go," said Patrick.

"But with your help, we'll get done in a third of the time!"

"No, and thank you, Bozo and Rusty!"

"Well, okay!" SpongeBob rubbed his sleeve and stuck the balloon to Squidward's nose. The static held it in place. "I've got another job you can do! Go push table 7 and 8 over there together for me! I've got a big party coming at 7!"

"So now I'm doing manual labor? YEEEOOOWWW!" Squidward plucked the balloon from his nose, zapping himself with the disconnected static in the process. "Why don't you ask the Incredible Bulk here to do it? He's stronger than I am!"

"Under the table," the starfish reminded him.

"And we can't really afford a lawsuit if Patrick throws out his back," explained SpongeBob. "But if you do, we're insured for that!"
Squidward growled under his breath, turned and stormed for the door, slamming it behind him.

"I can't believe I'm dressed to the nines, just to give my chiropractor a pay day!" Squidward folded his arms across his chest. "Meanwhile, the airhead manager and his bubble brained best friend can hide out in the closet and blow up balloons ?"

"I heard that!" shouted Patrick from inside the closed closet.

"And that is MR. AIRHEAD MANAGER SQUAREPANTS SIR to you, Tentacles!" Patrick pointed to the closed door. "And you will address him as nothing less!"

"Er… thanks," said SpongeBob.

"Don't mention it." Patrick plopped back onto the floor. "What's the matter?"

"I've just had a lot on my mind. Pat, you remember when we met Sandy? The first day at the treedome, I mean?"

"Of course! Hehe, you sounded funny and all dried up like that."

"Patrick, you got dried up in the treedome, too!"

"Oh, yeah. Good times, good times."

"Yeah, yeah they were. Um, do you… remember what I said about her that day, all those years ago?"

"Something about her being a girl, and putting on airs."

"You said that. Do you remember what you thought I wanted from her?"

"Bull riding lessons?"

"No."

"An atomic wedgie?"

"No!"

"You wanted her to be your girlfriend—nah, that's not it."

"NO! I MEAN YES, I mean!— GAH!" SpongeBob ripped the napkin he'd been twisting in his hands in half. How could Patrick could just come out and say the words that had been forbidden from passing his lips for so many years? "Ah, barnacles! That's coming out of my salary!"

"Our salary," Patrick corrected.

"Ooh..."

"Relax! Everything happens for a reason!" To demonstrate, he took a napkin piece and blew his nose into it, then handed the snot filled rag back to his stunned best friend. "See? Perfect size hanky. I'll shove the other in my pocket for later."

"Eeugh." SpongeBob tossed the used hanky over his shoulder. "Do you remember why I decided against dating her, anyway?"

"Something to do with the helmet, and how you can't do the big Hollywood Motion-Picture kissy face with one of you guys wearing that?"

"That's… part of it, I suppose."

"I'm glad you were never really that into her to begin with. I mean, I can't imagine how weird it would be to stay so close with someone and pretend like you don't think she's hot. Like, really hot."

"Well… "

"How could you stand rolling around on the ground, pinning down, touching, feeling, smelling, looking at someone who lights your skin on fire?"

"I don't know…" SpongeBob murmured, an ache in his voice.

"How could you look into their eyes, watch their lips when they're talking when you're all alone, when your brain is screaming for you to figure a way for you two to kiss—?"

"Dear Neptune." SpongeBob's pupils had shrunk to the size of pinheads, the half-inflated balloon between his fingers letting out air with a whimper. "How have I been doing this?"

"—I'm just glad my girlfriend and I were clear with our feelings from the start," Patrick went on obliviously. "It'd be way too hard to play it off when you've got it that bad for someone."

This news totally sidelined SpongeBob's revelation. "You have a girlfriend?!"

"I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND ? Where-where is she?"

"Patrick."

"Oh. Wait. Nevermind. That was a puppet. But, I am undaunted! This single man has had his good-eye on one pretty lady in particular for a long time now, and this one's flesh and blood. SquarePants, let me tell you, the next time I see her, I'm going to woo the heck out of her, whether she laughs at me or not!"

"Wow. That's actually pretty brave, Pat. Who is she?"

"That's for me to know, and you to see draped over my arm someday. Just you wait! Yes, buddy, as I see it, it's better to lay your heart out now. Who knows what'll happen tomorrow?"

"Huh. That kinda sounds a lot like something Grandpa SquarePants would've said." SpongeBob reached behind his back and produced his Jellyfishing glasses, slapping them over his nose before speaking in a raspy voice: "Sometimes you gotta lay out your high card in the first round if you really want to win the jackpot. After all, you'll never know if you'll live long enough to see the next round! Bawhahahaw! "

"That was a terrible impression," said Patrick.

"I suppose. I never did meet the guy, but I—Hey, wait, how would you know? You've never met him, either!"

"I rest my case." Patrick folded his arms across his chest and looked away.

"Hard to take advice from a dead guy, anyway," thought the sponge out loud. Grandpas were supposed to be wise, but based on everything he'd been told about his paternal grandfather, SpongeBob didn't quite think the man was any more a fountain of wisdom than the other patriarchal figures in his life, like Mr. Krabs, or Mermaid Man. As such, SpongeBob suspected that particular nugget wasn't meant to be taken for anything riskier than a box of Bran Flakes, and getting more raisins. "Especially about poker. I'm more of a Crazy 8s kinda—WAIT A MINUTE. You—" He stood up. "You think I should just go ahead and tell her? Let her know how I feel?"

"Only if you think there's the slightest chance she likes you back."

"Hm." SpongeBob remembered that hug in the dining room earlier. It was so intense, and it lingered. Almost as if she was trying to tell him something without telling him…

What if it was…?

"Oh, Patrick!" He leaped into the air and gave his buddy the tightest hug he could manage. "Thank you! Sometimes your wisdom is just what I need! Hey, uh, cover me while I go pick up my party suit from the dry cleaner, would ya? This is gonna be the biggest moment of my life, and I can't afford to look anything less than my best!"

"Sure thing, buddy." As the door to the closet closed, Patrick raised another uninflated balloon to his lips and blew. "Now, how am I supposed to do this again?"

But as soon as he let go, the air shot right back into his mouth and up into the tip of his head, making his eyes POP! out like airbags. Fully expanded, they were half the size of his body.

"Ah, man! And I just had those replaced, too!"