Special THANKS go out to Thomas Mikkelsen and Nemo Blank for their patience and assistance in beta reading these stories!

The stench reminded me of dead fish, rotting wood, rusting metal, cheap booze, and cheaper human scents caught in the tin and plaster wall of the warehouse I was crouched next to. In short, it reminded me of Kevvie. The night's arctic air couldn't wipe away the rancid odor. All it could do was make me wish I'd brought along my coat every time a cold wind slapped my face. This was the seediest pier in the harbor district. I hated it. The fact that it smelled like the football team's post-victory party room kept rent prices down and legit businessmen at bay.

On this section of the docks, there were nine warehouses. Four on my side, four down and over the rotting wood which passed for a pier, and an 85-meter wide one at the end, connecting the L-shaped cluster of buildings. My objective was that corner warehouse. An easy enough stroll for anyone else, but Jodie was waiting for me... somewhere... close by.

There! She was on the top of the second warehouse across the way! Ah, dammit, she had a full view of the surrounding area. More than ever I wanted to circle around back to get to my warehouse, but that route was booby-trapped. I should know, I was the booby – while sneaking around the garbage dumpsters a few minutes back, I tripped a laser-sensor and caught a knife slash in my shoulder. It'd be days before I could rah-rah with the rest of the squad. I didn't press my luck (or my blood) looking for the rest of the traps; I knew they were there. Jodie and I've played opposite before.

Jodie was a stout woman with fast reflexes and a cold attitude she acquired in student council. Or was it from living at home? I was never sure on that one. Her 5-8 frame was lean but muscular. I'd heard some say she was a looker – at least she didn't have any problems landing a guy. Then again, neither did I. We were virtually identical in build, speed, intelligence. Virtually, but that wasn't an absolute. She was black – whereas I'm white. Don't get me wrong, this had nothing to do with racism; this was purely business.

A week ago I wasn't in this mess. Close to it, but not yet recruited. Overnight my paranoia took a path toward a higher intensity, a night two of my friends – Daria and Jane – bought it in a Ford pick-up. Less then 12 hours later, BCIC Finn – the Big Cheese In Charge – contracted me to knock off three rival snipers. Two of them were responsible for the deaths of my friends. The third was Jodie.

It took awhile, but yesterday I eliminated two-thirds of that assignment, along with 20 kilos of good ol' Trinitrotoluene explosives and my favorite digital watch. My birthday was coming up so I hoped Dad remembered to get me a new watch. Again. This morning I went to an airport drop-off locker to pick up additional information on Jodie's whereabouts, as well as more gun toys and my spare pom-poms considering the originals were sacrificed in loving memory yesterday.

I got more than I bargained for.

After I punched the lock a few times for not opening, a slip of paper fell out from between the cracks. On it were the words: "IT'S JUST YOU AND ME NOW." Then I heard the ticking. I ran like hell for a whole three seconds before the charge exploded, taking my ammo, equipment, and this week's comic books with it. Bloody bitch! The weapons I could live without, but I was really looking forward to reading how Archie handled Veronica's latest trap.

Oh well, I didn't think the damage was too extensive. I figured I could always replace the books (even though I'd have to pay outrageous back-issue prices). Of course, a few lockers were also destroyed, and a section of the wall blackened, as well as a dozen or so air-traffic controllers were bandaged for concussions and then returned to work while still in a daze (not that it made much difference).

All of those memories pounding away at my conscience failed to elicit a response. Worse things have happened. Besides, I didn't have time to wonder what my presence did to any of the passerby's in the terminal area; I was too busy avoiding the A.P.B. some moronic cop attached to my face. I'd always been amazed at the stupidity of those jerks and this only served to heighten that impression. Why they thought I'd bomb my own locker was beyond me. It's not like I'm Upchuck or someone trying to hide my porno collection from Ms. Li's bloodhounds.

I kept most of my weapons and gear stored in lockers at public places (bus stations, train depots, foreign embassies), and the cache in the warehouse was the only accessible stuff I had that I could pick up without advertising where I was on short notice. Somehow Jodie had found out about it and laid a trap. But an ambush was only as good as the surprise it relied on. Time to move.

Jodie had the advantage of position, but I couldn't let that bother me – a momentary lapse in concentration would prove fatal. However, I had an advantage over Jodie in that I knew she carefully planned her locations and assaults for maximum effect. This in itself wasn't a bad trait, but she usually left herself no margin for error and when the unexpected happened, it took her a minute or two to figure out the best way to cope with it. And during that time she was fighting blind.

As for myself, I conceptualized battle plans as the need arose; I played it by ear so to speak. That way I kept my options open and my mind alert, if not a bit reckless. Cheerleading does that to a person. Alert recklessness. Why else would someone get on top of a human pyramid comprised primarily of non-muscular women?

Jodie was subsequently caught off guard when I sprinted from the warehouse I'd been hiding behind and squeezed off a few rounds to keep her head down. I think she was expecting me to try and sneak my way by so she could snipe me down, or try a swim for the warehouse and let hypothermia take its course. Instead, I wasted several clips of bullets keeping Jodie pinned down on my sprint. Most of the slugs tore up the bricks she was hiding behind, but as I had neglected to bring armor piercing slugs, none penetrated.

I was running zigzag pattern #3 with three warehouses to go when Jodie cut down on me with her Mauser. Damn! Damn! Damn! What a fool I was! I'd run this gambit before, and she must've remembered it.

Quicker than I could say, "Sayonara, sucker," Jodie pressed a detonation button. Suddenly the warehouse I had just passed exploded and showered napalm – the pier was burning. I ran faster. The second run-down dump went up in a propane blast which knocked me off my feet. The third building collapsed in on itself and the fourth detonated in a fit of dynamite. The corner dump, my place, was left untouched.

Events quickly went from bad to worse. While struggling to get up, local boneheads Fred and George, a pair of overpaid dock-cops earning minimum wage, showed up in a 20-year-old Plymouth, barely getting the brakes to work before they ran into debris from the first warehouse. I knew them from reputation only. I thought most of it had been exaggerated, but I was wrong. I guess there actually were people that moronic.

Like the clowns they were, they stumbled out of their vehicle and pointed their guns at me. One was a .22 and I could swear the firelight from the burning building was reflecting off of a pellet pistol.

Fred, the thinner of the two obese non-calorie counters, yelled, "Freeze, toots! Make one move and Ah'll blow you away! Don't matter much t'me, but George h'yer is itchin' to use his 'baby'! So don't even breathe!" To add strength to his "powerful" character, he spat out a large chunk of black chewing tobacco and spittle.

"Yeah, boy, move! I haven't used 'baby' here in a week! Hyuk, hyuk," added George in a somewhat fake Texan accent just like his partner's.

Talk about redneck rent-a-cops. His 'baby' was a .22 auto 10-shot. Wow. Soooooo impressive. I could barely contain myself. I wonder if he bought it at Wal-Mart or got it as a prize in a cereal box.

"Uhm, George, that's a girl, not a boy."

He took a harder gaze at my direction. I scowled for effect while figuring out my next move.

"You sure?" he asked his partner.

"Shore. See, she all's got blond hair and pigtails."

"My nephew's got that."

"Just shut up already," he commanded, then looked up. "You there! On the roof! Yer unner arrest!"

"Gee, Fred, I don't think y'all got his attention. Want me to get it? Puh-leeeeeze?"

"Ah think it's another toots, George, but yeah, go ahead. Hyuk, hyuk."

"Thanks. Hey, whoever you are! Get your dumb ass down here!" With that he squeezed off a couple rounds, aiming at Jodie's head.

I couldn't help but laugh at their bad timing. Bad for them, good for me. In retaliation, Jodie sent down four armor piercing bullets and did a good job of destroying their engine block. I had hoped that would've caused them to re-think their position and get the hell out of here. Maybe go scrounge up some reinforcements, which would leave Jodie and me plenty of time to finish this.

Not a chance. They returned fire at Jodie. She countered with two rubber slugs from her riot gun. Fred and George went down. I didn't blame Jodie for shooting the dock cops – this fight was between her and me. But if I stayed on my back any longer, it would be just her.

I got to my feet and limped toward my warehouse. I pumped another clip at Jodie. The building she was on and those next to it were still intact, though most likely wired to explosives. There was only one thing to do.

While Jodie was under cover, I ducked into the fourth warehouse, the burning one. The place had a great ventilation system, moreso now that the blast had shattered all the windows and the back wall. Desperately, I searched for the staircase leading to the roof. I sure as hell didn't want to buy it in a joint that specialized in storing hot auto parts.

Outside I could hear Jodie screaming, "Shit! Shit, shit! Good try, Brittany! But stupid! You're going to roast in there!" her voice went horse as she yelled above the din the blaze was making. Cautiously, she made her way through the door frame, an AK-47 at the ready.

"That's what you think! Eat cafeteria food, you stinker!" I emptied my remaining clip at Jodie, and missed. I got the doorway, though. Then I threw my UZI at her and was rewarded with a dull thunk (the sweet sound metal made when hitting flesh) and some imaginative cursing of my heritage.

I didn't wait to see if she'd come after me. I charged up the stairs taking them three at a time, using my arms to pull myself up along the banister, all the while wishing I'd had good air to suck in. Jodie didn't follow. The ache in my leg was receding. I guess my brain had other more important things to worry about (like the damn fire) than a slight bruise on my calf. But I knew I'd have to get something to cover it up before next Friday's big game. No sense looking bad while cheering on the team.

Getting through the door to the roof was no problem – mainly because there was no door, just some burning wood. I shoved my way through and then ignored the pain as I rolled across the rooftop, putting out the fire that had conveniently attached itself to my shirt. I didn't worry about burn-scars on my torso; if I survived the night they'd make an interesting contrast to the barbed-wire scars on my legs. Besides, a little moisturizer and it would all go away. Hmmm, maybe I'd have to ask Quinn about that. Or Sandi. No, wait. Sandi bought it yesterday. Quinn, then.

I ditched the shirt and more than ever I wished I had brought a coat. The night was a few degrees over freezing and even though right now I was in the middle of an inferno and more than a little on the warm side, give it a few minutes after I made it to safety and then it would feel like being in a freezer.

Half the roof was burning, fortunately not the half next to my warehouse or I'd have been dead. Vertigo wasn't a problem with me, so I had no problem looking over the side of the burning building at the distant, distant, distant ground. The warehouse was only a three-story affair, yet it felt like a 30-story nightmare. Maybe I was wrong about vertigo.

There was a 10-foot leap waiting for me if I was to reach my building. It was possible for me to jump it; I had done longer jumps in gym but when it came to reality, the ground looked deathly final if I slipped on my approach.

There was no time to think, only to jump. The exertion was different from the way it was portrayed in the movies. For one thing, I wasn't in slow motion. I wished I had a stuntwoman to take the jump, but there I was spitting into the wind again. My double had been waxed as soon as the contract was put out on me.

It wasn't a perfect landing, but I was alive. I looked over the side of my warehouse for one last nostalgic look – I wasn't ever going to do that again. Surprisingly, from this side it looked like a simple three-story drop.

Down below I saw Jodie and somebody else enter my building. There wasn't much time to wonder who that other person was, but I didn't mind wasting brain energy on my way down from the roof. When I got to the second level, a name still hadn't presented itself. Everyone I knew who associated with Jodie was six feet under, or heavily sedated in the hospitals. Who was this person?!

I stopped on the second floor and went to the First Aid box where I pulled out an Emergency Use Only .357 Magnum I'd hidden in the bandages as well as a new shirt. It only had six shots, so I had to make every one count.

At a growing limp, I made my way out of the offices and onto the catwalks that crisscrossed the space above the storage area. I heard Jodie and company long before I saw them. The talking I heard wasn't Jodie's, and wasn't hard to recognize. I wished that it were, but wishful thinking never helped before.

It was my boyfriend, Kevin.

"C'mon, Jodie, a joke's a joke," Kevin whined, his voice echoing through the building. "Let go of my arm and take me home! Owwww! Jodie, quit walking so fast, I can't keep up! Haven't you heard of the no hurting the QB rule at school?"

Bap. "Owwww!" he whined again. "I think I broke my toe on this stupid crate!" To emphasize his point, he kicked the crate, hurt himself again, and started sobbing in earnest.

"Keep quiet," Jodie hissed in a low but forceful tone.

He still bitched, but now it was at a whisper. "What the hell did I ever do to you, babe? I'm tired. When can I go home? My mom's going to kill me for being out late on a school night."

Jodie stopped and sniffed the air.

I cursed myself for not staying in a higher position. She smelled my presence; after all, singed hair and smoldering clothes weren't natural scents in a warehouse that reeked of booze, dust, rotting wood and urine samples. Even with the smoke from the other buildings sneaking in, burning polyester overpowered it like bad breath canceling a first date.

"Jodie," I started in a normal voice, letting the echo effect amplify the delivery and hide my location, "let Kevin go, amigo. Bringing him into this isn't going to help you! I'm not sentimental!"

"Brittany?" Kevin asked, more in annoyance than surprise. "Is this another one of those stupid games you two babes are playing again? I'm telling my mom!"

Poor Kevin. He really didn't understand. Not that I blamed him, since he had to grow up in Lawndale of all places. Jodie too, considering we'd been neighbors for quite a few years.

"Glad you could join the party, Brittany," Jodie said. "Careful now, chicka. You wouldn't want to hit your boyfriend and upset your father, would you?

Did I? Dad did like Kevin and considered him a future hall of famer in the NFL. Then again, he thought giving me a crystal megaphone was the end all to beat all. "Eat hot lead, sister!" I snapped, wasting all six rounds at the area Jodie vacated seconds before I began firing.

She anticipated my moves. It was a trait I thought every good assassin should have. She was the first I'd gone up against who had it.

"Try harder," came a distant jab. Then a quick laugh.

I followed the voice, trying not to make a sound. No good. A hail of lead welcomed me before I'd taken five steps.

"Low blow!" I taunted Jodie, trying to get her to reveal her position. As usual, she did.

"Thank you," was her enthusiastic reply.

I picked up a crowbar and began trailing her again. I deftly dropped down from the catwalks, took off my Nike's and began circling around to their position. I also put my ventriloquist lessons to good use, throwing my voice in the hope it would distract Jodie. Once close enough, I would brain her with the crowbar. "I'm coming for you, Jodie. There's no escape."

The voice didn't fool her. "Sneaking up on me, eh? Better luck next time, peroxide!" she yelled, then threw another volley of lead toward me.

Now that was just downright mean. My hair color was a natural blond. I didn't need chemicals to keep it that color.

While I was hiding, I saw her grab Kevin, push him through a door, go in herself and then close it. "Brittany! Help! Jodie's gone crazy! Help me, babe, we've got a big game this Friday night! C'mon, I'm the QB! Babe?!"

Bitch, moan, gripe, groan. He was always complaining about something. I made a run for my crate of weapons, fumbled with the crowbar in haste while prying the top off and mentally swore every time I cracked a nail. The lid came off and eight weapons were waiting for me, ready for use.

It had been some time since I last oiled these, and I sure as hell didn't have time now. I just hoped it wouldn't explode in my face. I loaded a MAC 10 and went back to the door. It looked locked and was very thick; I should know, I'd had it installed. Chances were my shoulder would be bandaged before the day was out. "Aaaaaahh, screw it," I muttered as I backed up and then ran towards a really stupid idea.

I expected a solidly jammed door, and to have to ruin my collar bone a few times to get it open. Lucky me. It wasn't locked. It hadn't even been completely shut. And after bursting through the door, I went sprawling on my face, my weapon sliding into the shadows.

Blood began trickling down my nose but I couldn't stop to tend the wound. I had to keep moving before Jodie tagged me. Turning over, I saw a snubnose .38 Special hovering over my face with Jodie grinning triumphantly behind it. She stepped on my right arm and moved the weapon over my nose.

In a greedy voice she said, "Bang. You're dead."

The air went silent. No breathing. I could smell the sulfur from the .38. Kevin had stopped complaining. I could hear the dust settle between each heartbeat my panicked cardiovascular system pushed out.

"Dammit!" I exclaimed. "That's another kill for you! You're getting good at this."

"I practice."

"It shows. How does best three out of five sound?"

"Sure." Jodie got off my arm and reached down to help me up. With practiced ease, she slipped her .38 into a shoulder holster.

"Ahah! I knew it! I just knew it!" Kevin screamed. Jodie had stashed him behind a large crate, hands still tied and leg cuffed to a large metal grate, but he'd crawled out to get a view of what was happening. "I knew you two weren't really trying to kill one another. Well, not really really trying to kill each other, babe. Not like the time when you caught Angie and me... um... I mean, not really really really trying to kill each other. I mean, it's not like when you try to get me and I'm your boyfriend. Hey, waitaminute. Is Jodie your boyfriend?"

"You know, it really wasn't a good idea on your part to bring Kevin into this," I said to Jodie. "I mean, it didn't matter much to me whether or not he got his ticket punched – I just wish you hadn't let him whine all this time. My eardrums are killing me."

"What can I say? I took a chance. Nobody's perfect." Jodie knew what I was talking about. After all, she was the one who forgot the gag to keep Kevin quiet.

"Well, what say you untie me and we can do a threesome and forget this whole thing, okay?" Kevin grinned, eyes going wide with anticipation.

My eyes narrowed. Jodie said, "What say we kill you now and end our misery for all days?"

"You got any live rounds for your .38?"

"I used them up earlier," she replied.

A light went off in Kevin's head. It was actually closer to a flashbulb and usually lasted about as long, but this time he actually put 2 and 2 together to get 4. "Oh, now I get it, babe. This was another one of your assassin hunt games you and Jodie are always playing. Heh-heh. You had me going. How about untying me already?"

Jodie and I looked at each other. Then I looked back at Kevin. How the hell could I have been attracted to him? "I don't think so," I said simply. For him, the simpler the better.

"You look really good in bracelets, Kevin," Jodie quipped.

I smiled at that as did she.

Kevin didn't find it so funny. "Laugh now, you gun-crazy babes, 'cause I hope kidnapping me helped your ratings. Because you're going to need something to rely on when my mom and dad find out your friends are snatching me in the middle of the night, babe! And I'm gonna see to it that you're never gonna do this again! Maybe I'll finance the next episode of your assassin hunt. Yeah! Me and my dad'll... uh... where you put money to do something...

"... back it?" Jodie supplied.

"Yeah! Back it! And we'll make specific instructions to get you two out of the way fast. Instead of starring roles, you'll end up like an extra! C'mon, uncuff me already! I've got phone calls to make!"

I could hear Kevin yelling for us to untie him as Jodie and I made our way down the pier. "Hey! Come on back, okay?! C'mon, guys! I was only joking! Babes?! You rats! I'm not going to go out with either of you if it's the last thing I ever do! Well, maybe after the Prom, Brittany! Hey, you can't do this! I'm the QB!!"

The pier had a surrealistic look to it, probably emanating from the burning buildings. While we were inside fighting it out, several more warehouses, plus a ship, had managed to catch a stray spark and were now raging infernos. Two of the warehouses had already fallen into the water. I had to admit, Jodie had really outdone herself on this hunt. It felt good to work with a fellow professional who knew the PR value of burning buildings.

The dock-cops were gone. I wasn't sure whether they'd left voluntarily or involuntarily – there was a big hole burned into the dock where we'd left them. If they went down, I hoped they knew how to swim. Jodie couldn't have cared less. Come to think of it, neither did I.

Jodie and I began making plans for our next assassin hunt while calmly slipping into the gathered crowd of gawkers. Once the explosions started, other cops had moved to seal off our sections of the waterfront. I resisted the childish urge to follow a firetruck. Other people didn't, though, and were forcibly pushed back into the ranks of the idling idiots. What a reporter wouldn't do to get a scoop.

I wondered if the game was worth all the trouble.

Jodie noticed my expressions and had me look at the commotion, the yelling firemen, the bumbling cops, the ashen faces of the by-standers. And at Kevin's screaming visage as the flatfoots led him away. "You guys can't do this! I'm the QB I tell you!! The QB!!"

Yes. It was worth it.

I smiled at Jodie and she grinned in return as we moved further back into the alley. We'd done a great job tonight. Fires, explosions of any kind – exploding buildings, exploding cars, etc. – always brought in better ratings. Even shooting overpaid dock-cops did wonders for the old image.

...creak...

Speaking of which... "You boys want something?" I asked, turning around at the noise.

Jodie casually mimicked my moves and we both turned around to see our two favorite dock-cops, slightly singed and fully drenched from a dip in the freezing water, moving towards us. The smaller of the two pulled out a familiar looking piece of hardware.

"Isn't that your .38, Brittany?" Jodie asked, recognizing it.

"Yeah. I thought I lost it when you started the explosions."

The dock-cop clicked the hammer and then sighted down the barrel. "It doesn't look to badly damaged," he finally said, all traces of redneck-ism gone. "I found it under some debris. Here you go," he said, gently letting the hammer down. He confirmed that the weapon was unloaded and handed it over.

"Thanks," I replied, making a quick inspection of it and making sure the safety was on.

"You two did a fantastic job tonight," came a new voice from the shadows. I looked over and a new figure approached, this one dressed in a 3-piece suit that screamed money.

"Hey, Finn," Jodie greeted. "You get it all?"

"Every part. This was pure gold tonight, ladies. We're going to kill the competition with this episode."

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Just make sure you get my .38 back to my weapon's locker, okay?" I tossed the weapon to Finn's waiting hands. Jodie handed over her shoulder holster to one of the dock cops/actors.

"So what happens to Kevin?" I asked, notching a thumb at the crying QB in the back of a squad car.

"Oh, not much. He'll be hauled into the local cop-shop where the detectives on the case will charge him with all the damages done in the last week, all the while sneering at him with "make-my-day" voices and facial expressions – hey, did I tell you? Those Dirty Hairy movies are making a comeback this year. We're thinking of doing some remakes. You should invest in some studio stock while you can. Anyway, the feds'll be called in and then, just in the nick of time, our Network lawyers will intervene and get him off the hook."

"Time frame?" I asked, not liking where this was going.

"About three weeks until trial and Mike and crew show up to get him off the hook."

"Not good enough," Jodie put in almost immediately.

"What do you mean?" Jerry Finn asked cautiously.

"Look," Jodie began. "We may have set up our contracts with you TV executives to foot all the damages while we hunt each other down for your ratings, but both Brittany and I know you have a certain grey area in the contract in regards to kidnapped siblings, friends or parents."

"And while Kevin may technically be my boyfriend," I inserted, "though God knows why, he is still the QB which has an impact on others I do consider my friends."

"So?" inquired Finn.

"So we have a big game this Friday night which he needs to be in since he is the QB and all that crap," I replied. "Get him released and all charges dropped tonight or else."

"Or else what?"

"If you want me to do my VO work later this week, I can't have the distraction of not having the QB around and having to answer multiple questions as to where he is and why. He needs to be out." I looked Finn in the eye. He caught my meaning. I didn't give a rat's ass about Kevin but for some reason others did and I cared for those other people.

Finn sighed and pulled out a cell phone. "I'll get him out, Brittany. But you do the VO without shooting any of the board operators, agreed?"

"Jerry," I smiled, scratching him a little on his slightly balding head, "have I ever let you down before? And besides, I'm sure they learned their lesson after last time."

Finn shook his head and smiled anyway.

"Say, um, Ms. Brittany," the smaller of the two dock-cops/a.k.a. actors said. "Are you doing anything later on? If not, maybe we could go out for a drink or something."

He wasn't too bad looking and certainly had a few more brain cells than Kevin did on his best day. "I'm sorry, but I can't. It's a school night and I have to get back home before my dad notices I'm gone. But tell you what – give me a raincheck for another year until I graduate and you're on."

He nodded his head and smiled. "You're on," he said.

"You ready to go back undercover?" Jodie asked, breaking the light mood in the glow of burning buildings.

"No," I replied. "I hate that character, but the length I'll go for a TV series. Okay, give me a cue."

"Your name is Brittany. Blond and perky. Tell me you remember her," Jodie started.

I kept my eyes closed and felt the familiar slumber come on down. "I remember her," I replied. "I remember the mini skirts. I remember the Alamo. I remember the Wizard of Oz. Billy Barty, say it's ain't so – 'cause I sure as hell don't want to go. Brit's here, brain's there, let's get the show on the road. Zimba zoomba."

I opened my eyes. Where was I? Or was that eye? Hmmm. I'll have to ask Daria about that. I saw Jodie. "Um, hi, Jodie. What's going on? Why're you in my house?"

"We're not at your house, Brittany. We went on a walk, remember. We went to find Kevin and we did. See? He's over there."

"Kevin?! Oh, no! Hey, why's my Kevin being put into that police car?"

"You caught him cheating on you, Brittany," Jodie replied calmly. "And this time the cops came after him because of what he did to you."

I looked at her with what I could feel was a tremble on my lip. " Really?"

Jodie sighed. "No, not really," she confessed. "But it sounds better than saying he was in the right place at the wrong time, doesn't it?" Hey, a positive spin could do wonders.

I sniffled again. "I guess so. Waitaminute. How could he cheat on me? Again?! That rotten, lousy, no good..."

Jodie put a consoling arm around me and said, "I don't know, Brittany. But my friend here will get a lawyer to look into it, okay?"

I sniffled again and looked at Jodie's friend with the cell phone. "Really?" I asked hopefully.

Her friend with the cell phone looked at me seriously and replied, "Really. After all, you have a big game this Friday."

"Hey, that's right!" I squeaked. "I hope he's okay going to the big house and all until Friday. You know, maybe if I go over there and explain to the cops that I'm not mad at him anymore..."

"Hey, Brittany – what happened to your hair?" Jodie quickly changed the subject.

"My hair?" I grabbed a pigtail and sniffed it. "Eeep! That's not my conditioner! Maybe I've been cheating on Kevin. Oh no! Sob! What'll I ever do?!" I dropped my head on Jodie's shoulder.

"How about some cheese-fries?" Jodie offered.

" ...no."

"And a milkshake?"

" ...no."

"With a real whipped-cream topping?"

" ...no."

"I'll drive."

"Okay," I squeaked perkily.

Nick: Discussion. What conclusions can you draw from this story? Mike? Naomi? Who is Brittany Taylor?

Naomi: That's a harder question to answer than you think, Nick. It's almost easier to tell you who she isn't.

Nick: No problem. Tell me who she isn't then.

Mike: She wasn't a ditz. She wasn't an airhead.

Naomi: She wasn't trapped into conventional thinking.

Nick: Those are concepts. Can you give me something a little more concrete?

Mike: On a hunch, I did a world-search on Assassin Hunt and was surprised when I got a match. It appears that this was a reality-based program shown in Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Finland about the same time that Brittany was in High School. It lasted almost two seasons when it was suddenly cancelled without reason. My guess it wasn't a ratings winner and the TV execs got rid of it before losing any more money. It never caught on in any other countries.

Naomi: But what was interesting about it was that some of the highlight clips still exist now and they show someone looking very similar to Brittany. But on the show she's simply known as Blue.

Amy: Quit with the crazy talk already, Bob. You say that about everything

Mike: I...

Naomi: We.

Mike: We found that Brittany didn't go to college after graduation and instead went to Hollywood. She apparently impressed show producers enough to oust Vanna White from the Wheel of Fortune so she could be the show's new letter activator. However, the show was soon cancelled anyway from dealing with too many lawsuits prompted by a rogue program that caused all letters to activate once Brittany touched one screen, allowing contestants to shout out answers at the same time and all wanting the prizes.

Jon: "The stupider you are, the luckier you are."

Mike: Exactly. She coined the phrase over 40 years ago.

Rich: I thought the phrase was older than that.

Mike: It is. But before she proved the relationship of stupidity to luck, it was only believed to have existed, not really known. But since her theory went public, she's gotten the recognition. In fact, I was able to download a copy of her initial tests on this very subject thanks to the FOIA. Nick, could you load it?

Nick: Loading... now.

The electronic blackboard flickered to life.

November 2008.

Location: Science lab at Cal Tech. Time: afternoon.

Brittany, wearing a traditional white lab coat, her hair tied back in a ponytail, is securing Kevin Thompson into an electrical chair. She puts multiple wires attached to round stickies on his exposed skin and head. Kevin seems to be waking up.

Kevin: Ooohhh, my head. That kegger last night... (notices what's going on) Um... What's going on, babe?

Brittany: Quiet, Test Subject #1.

Kevin: It's Kevin, babe.

She presses down with her thumb on a hand-held clicker, zapping him with electricity.

Kevin: Aaaahhhh!

Brittany: I won't tell you again, Test Subject #1. Quite. Right. Now that the test subject is securely strapped in place, it's time to begin the tests.

Kevin: Who're you talking to, babe?

Brittany moves off camera and we see Kevin is firmly secure in the chair. Outside light filters in through drawn shades in the lab. There is no one else in the lab except those two.

Brittany (VO): Why, I'm talking to the evaluation board, Test Subject #1. Now quiet.

Zzzzzaaaaapppp.

Kevin: Aaaahhhh!

Brittany (VO): As you can see, the Test Subject is secure. Next, we introduce the level of his stupidity. Test Subject #1! What is 2 times 2?

Kevin: Is this some sort of trick question?

Zzzzzaaaaapppp.

Kevin: Aaaahhhh! Um... Moby Dick?

Brittany (VO): Nope. Sorry.

Rrrrrrriiiiinnnng.

Brittany (VO): Hello? Nope, sorry, he's in the middle of something right now. Okay. I'll let him know. Bye. Hey, Kevin?

Kevin: Yeah?

Brittany (VO): Coach says you're starting QB now that Smith suddenly came down with food poisoning a few minutes ago.

Kevin: Alright! That's sure to impress Angela!

Brittany (VO): And who's Angela?

Kevin: She's this really cute chick I've been trying to go out with but she only dates the starting QB. But don't tell my girlfriend about it, okay?

Brittany (VO): And who's your girlfriend?

Kevin: Brittany...

Brittany (VO): Wrong answer!!

Zzzzzaaaaapppp.

Kevin: Aaaahhhh!

Zzzzzaaaaapppp.

Kevin: Aaaahhhh!

Zzzzzaaaaapppp.

Kevin: Aaaahhhh!

Rrrrrrriiiiinnnng.

Brittany (VO): What?! Nope, sorry, he's still in the middle of something right now. Fine. I'll let him know. Bye. Kevin?

Kevin: (whimpering) Yeah?

Brittany (VO): Weren't you supposed to pick up my laundry yesterday?

Kevin: (whimpering) Yeah.

Brittany (VO): And I gave you money to pay for my dry cleaning, right?

Kevin: (whimpering) Yeah.

Brittany (VO): And I told you that I needed those clothes for a very important function last night, right?

Kevin: (whimpering) Yeah.

Brittany (VO): But you said you couldn't find the place yesterday, right?

Kevin: (whimpering) Yeah.

Brittany (VO): Even though it is right next door to your dorm?

Kevin: (whimpering) Yeah?

Brittany (VO): Did you buy a lottery ticket with my laundry money instead?

Kevin: (whimpering) No. I bought beer with it instead.

Brittany (VO): But you did buy a lottery ticket last night, didn't you?

Kevin: (whimpering) Yeah. I used my allowance from my mom.

Brittany (VO): Congratulations. I lost out on landing a part in a Bond film while you got hammered with the rest of the team last night. And you just won 26 million dollars.

Kevin: I did?! Cool!

Zzzzzaaaaapppp.

Kevin: Aaaahhhh!

Kevin apparently passes out.

Brittany (VO): Hmmm. Maybe I should refocus this test to Kevin's stupidity as it interacts with the luck factor vs. that of trying to program a moron to do the dangerous work for the CIA. God knows the stupider Kevin is, the luckier he is.

Mike: And as they say, the rest is history. Brittany went on to publish her later findings and was recognized for her accomplishments when her video came out highlighting the stupid acts of Test Subject #1 – or Kevin Thompson – and the lucky consequences he had. In fact, one of the best examples I saw was when Kevin was contacted by NASA...

Aaron: Hey! Don't ruin our reviews, Mike. Kevin's on our list, not yours.

Mike: Sorry. Anyway, Brittany became famous for that, made some money and then vanished.

Nick: Speculation?

Naomi: Rumor has it the CIA wanted their initial grant money back and she had to go to work for them in order to pay it off. Another has it the Air Force took her underground for other research projects they were working on and she's now at Area 51. Another is she got some bad plastic surgery and went into hiding so she wouldn't have to show it in public. Whatever "it" is. But no one really knows for sure.

Mike: Especially Kevin's lawyer who still has an outstanding lawsuit against her for defamation of character to his client, Test Subject... no, um, Kevin Thompson. That's it.

Nick: So now the question becomes: why did Brittany write that story? Dan?

Dan: I'm betting she saw that show in Europe and it was simply wishful thinking on her part.

Debbie: That's not it. She was acting our her frustration.

Nick: Explain, Debbie.

Debbie: Since she was a cheerleader, she was simply venting her frustration against her jock boyfriend. The parts where she says he keeps cheating on her – ahh, all jocks are the same. They all cheat.

Larissa: Hey, I represent that!

Debbie: I'm sure you do.

Laughter.

Geoff: Just because she's on the varsity squad is no reason to say that.

Larissa thinks about her comment for a moment.

Larissa: Hey, that's not what I meant.

Debbie: Did you mean to say that she wasn't on the mark with her boyfriend's description?

Larissa: Yes... no! Quit trying to trick me.

Mrs. Whitmore: Okay, class, settle down.

Larissa: Mrs. Whitmore – can I have that conversation stricken from the class record?

Mrs. Whitmore: What's in it for me?

Larissa: 10?

Mrs. Whitmore: 30.

Larissa: 15?

Mrs. Whitmore: 30.

Larissa: 25?

Mrs. Whitmore: 30.

Larissa: Okay, okay. Thirty it is. Funds transferred... (she slides plastic card across slit in her desk) now.

Mrs. Whitmore: Class computer, delete Larissa's comments of last five minutes, security AW165543-Dopey. (To class) Now, who else has something they'd like to add?

Rose: She wasn't stupid, we know that. She went on to a post-grad degree in Physics as well as Biology. So then why act clueless in high school?

Colin: Maybe it wasn't an act. Maybe she didn't care about her studies and simply went to school for social interaction. Didn't Einstein flunk out at some point in his school years?

Naomi: Or maybe the answer was at the end of the story. Maybe that work of fiction wasn't so outlandish. I got together with Nick over the weekend and ran a search for post-story comments. This is what we found. Nick?

The electronic blackboard flickered to life.

December 2001.

Location: Lawndale High, hallways. Time: morning.

Jane and Daria are standing at their lockers, chatting.

Jane: So which lucky victim's work did you peruse last night?

Daria: Brittany's.

Jane: Lucky you. So which romance novel did she plagiarize?

Daria: Actually, none. It was a very well thought out story.

Jane: This the same Brittany we're talking about?

Daria: Yes.

Jane: Perky? Blonde? Couldn't write her way out of a traffic ticket if she needed to?

Daria: She doesn't need to. Not with her two friends and some healthy breathing to help her out.

Jane: Daria!

Daria: Sorry. Her story just got me to wondering.

Just then, Brittany and Jodie walk by.

Daria: Brittany? Do you have a minute?

Brittany: If I do, then it's Kevin's fault! I told him to wear protection!

Daria: Um... okay. I didn't want to know that.

Brittany: (perky) Okay. (begins to leave)

Jane: Brittany, what Daria meant was do you have time to answer a question?

Brittany: Boy, Daria, you sure have a weird way of asking a question.

Daria: It's almost as if I'm speaking another language.

Brittany: Wow. You speak another language? Like French? My Kevvie speaks French. At least, that's what he told me... hey, wait a minute. You don't speak French, do you?

Daria: Non, mais je parle espanol.

Jodie: What do you need, Daria?

Daria: I just got done reading Brittany's story for the Time Capsule.

Brittany: Eeep! We're not being graded on those, are we?

Daria: No. But Brittany, I wanted to ask you what you meant by it.

Brittany: Um. That Kevin's romantic?

Daria: I don't think that was mentioned anywhere in the story, Brittany.

Brittany: Um, Daria... Can you keep a secret?

Jane: You mean like you and Kevin making out in the backseat of his car last Friday night?

Brittany: Yeah. Hey! How'd you know about that?

Jane: Know about what?

Daria: Brittany? Me keep secret. You betchum.

Brittany: Um, okay. Anyway, Daria, I didn't write the story.

Daria: Then who did?

Brittany: I think it was my brother. I was working on it one night last week but I fell asleep and the next thing I knew when I woke up the next morning was that it was done. You won't tell anyone, will you?

Daria: Your secret is safe with me, Brittany. No one will ever know.

Jane: Know what? See? It's working already, Brittany.

Brittany: (relieved) Whew. That's a load off my chest.

Daria: (to Jane) Now if she could just get rid of that other load off her chest.

Brittany and Jodie begin to walk away.

Daria: After all, how good is a self-hypnotic command like Zimba Zoom...

Jodie suddenly pushes Daria against the locker and covers her mouth with her other free hand.

Jodie: Don't...

Jane looks towards Brittany whose face has changed a bit. Her eyes narrow as Kevin walks by.

Kevin: Hey, babe.

Kevin continues walking by with his friends as they clown around with a football. Brittany makes like she has a gun in her hand and is targeting for a shot.

Nick: So what was in her time capsule?

Mike: A set of pom-poms. Strangely enough, there was also a digital watch in there. And the handles on the pom-poms were hollow. A chemical analysis revealed trace elements of gunpowder.

Mrs. Whitmore: So why do you think she wrote it?

Naomi: I don't think it was simply Brittany writing this. I think it was her alter-ego wanting to express itself.

Nick: I'll go with that. Good job, you two. Okay, who's up next?

Two students raise their hands.

Nick: Bridget – Colin? You two volunteering? Good enough.

E-Mail me if you want.

Disclaimer

Copyright (C) 2001 by Steven A. Brown, all rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, with the exception of 1) brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews (yeah, like that's going to happen), and 2) the complete, unaltered text of this work, including this disclaimer (or an electronic document containing same and which has been data-compressed using a lossless algorithm) when used or reproduced for private and non-commercial use only (again, like that's going to happen).

Permission is granted to repost, republish, or retransmit this work in any way, shape, or form as long as these disclaimers remain intact, and no one except Glenn Eichler, Susie Lewis, MTV Studios, or Viacom, the parent of MTV receive financial remuneration.

The Characters of Daria Morgendorffer, Quinn Morgendorffer, Jane Lane, Trent Lane, Kevin Thompson, Michael Jordan "Mack" MacKenzie, Brittany Taylor, Jodie Landon, Sandi Griffin, Timothy O'Neill, Angela Li, Anthony DeMartino, and many more, even if not mentioned here, are the creation of Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis and Copyright MTV Studios. This story is in no way to be construed as a challenge to said copyright.

The Characters of future students are entirely fictionalized and only sounds like the names of other fan fiction authors whose work I have read and enjoyed. Just wait until I start putting in other author's nam... er, that is, it's all a coincidence I tell you. A coincidence! To those of you who may be offended, remember: this is a cartoon. This is not and could never be real. Or could it? I leave questions like that to philosophers, or to OTR drivers who have experienced significant sleep deprivation.