The tinny speakers of Orangeside Community College crackled to life, heralding another day of administrative whimsy.
“Good morning, Orangeside,” Dean Joshua Starmer’s voice sang over the quad. “This is your Dean reminding you that among your school’s prestigious alumni is Mr. Benicio Del Toro—celebrated actor and Puerto Rican-American icon. This Friday, we will be dedicating a statue of Del Toro and unveiling our brand-new school song. So, boy, I don’t know about you, but this sure feels like a real college to me. Orangeside, Orangeside, Orangeside!”
Chase Wright adjusted his sports coat, navigating the hallway with his usual practiced ease. He was stopped by Professor Yuji Miyamoto, who was leaning against a locker looking uncharacteristically smug.
“Good morning, Chase,” Miyamoto said, his accent dripping with feigned warmth. “How is student life, my dry-witted friend?”
“Probably the same as teacher life,” Chase replied without breaking stride. “But less tragic, because I get to leave.”
“Very dry. Very witty. Not a great friend,” Miyamoto muttered, falling into step with him. “Listen, I wanted to ask you about that young lady in your Computer Science class. The blonde with the pouty, strident Cate Blanchett sexuality? Christina?”
Chase slowed down, his eyes narrowing. “That’s the one. What about her?”
“Are you two an item?” Miyamoto asked. “And if so, would that item be impervious to sabotage?”
Chase stopped and looked the professor dead in the eye. “You have the savoir-faire of a hyena, Yuji. How is it that you and ‘Deathnote’ come from the same island?”
“Message received,” Miyamoto smirked. “I’ll just wait for you to finish striking out first. Arigato.”
The Honor of a Shaman
In the back of the Computer Science lab, Tyrone was leaning in close to Elvis, his voice a low, conspiratorial whisper.
“Do you think Benicio Del Toro will ever come to visit his statue?” Elvis asked, his eyes wide. “If so, I’d like to ask him about his movie choices.”
“Yeah,” Tyrone nodded solemnly. ” Benicio Del Toro is on a private jet from Hollywood right now because he can’t wait to have that conversation with you.”
“Really? How does he know about me?”
“Because he called me on my cell phone,” Tyrone lied, his face perfectly straight.
“Why would a movie actor call you?”
Tyrone leaned in closer. “I didn’t know if I could trust you… but I’m Donald Trump’s godson.”
Elvis stared at him, absorbing this “fact” with the intensity of a hard drive being formatted. “You never mentioned that.”
“I’m also the guy who actually invented the Popsocket for phones,” Tyrone added.
Nearby, Chase was trying to get Christina’s attention. “So… I guess the cell phone number you put on the contact sheet was fake? Which I just learned after a month-long text affair with a dude from Boulder.”
“Sorry,” Christina said, not sounding sorry at all.
“Just give me your real number,” Chase sighed. “I’ll cleanse my palate while Kyle rethinks his marriage.”
“I’ll give it to you if you promise not to use it for anything other than friendship.”
“Pass,” Chase said immediately.
Suddenly, a heavy book slammed onto the front desk. Señor Pablo S. Cabar stood there, his eyes twitching with a dangerous, electric energy.
“Silencio, por favor!” Cabar barked. “Pirate-Guy—that means you.”
“My name’s David, dude,” the student with the pirate hat grumbled.
“Well, maybe you should spend seventy dollars on a hat that says that for your head,” Cabar snapped. He held up a tiny, crumpled piece of paper as if it were a thermal detonator. “Last night, I graded your tests. I’m not gonna tell you how you did until I find out who did… this!”
“What is that?” Amelia asked.
“It’s a tiny piece of paper,” Cabar hissed squinting sarcastically at the tiny piece of paper. “Containing all the information covered on the test. A crib sheet. Whoever did this insulted my honor. You have twenty-four hours to come forward, or I wax off everyone’s score and the whole class gets a zero!”
The Firestone Jingle
Back in the study room, the air was thick with accusation.
“The only difference between Mr. Cabar and Stalin,” Chase noted, leaning back, “is that I know who Señor Cabar is.”
“Did you hear him call me ‘Jackee’?” Sharon asked, her voice trembling with indignation. “Like I’m some caricature? If the Good Lord hadn’t been watching, I’d have slapped him.”
“Who do you guys think cheated?” Amelia asked, her leg bouncing nervously.
“Whoever made that crib sheet wasn’t a real cheater,” Chase observed, picking up his pen. “Just… insecure and naive.”
“I may be naive, but I’m not stupid,” Christina snapped.
“Well, I may be stupid, but I’m not trying to look like I’m not,” Tyrone added.
“I can’t handle this stress right now,” Amelia moaned, burying her head in her hands. “I’m already overwhelmed by the school song committee. I hired a local composer, but he’s a disaster.”
Wilson Firestone cleared his throat, his chest swelling with self-importance. “You’ve got an accomplished pianist and songwriter sitting three feet away from you. I did roadie work for Metallica. Hell, I inspired the song ‘Wherever I May Roam’ from my trucking days. I would have done your song for free.”
“Smooth move, McGroove,” Tyrone muttered.
“Tyrone,” Elvis whispered, “you should help. You invented house music, and you’re related to Donald Glover and the President.”
“Hey, man,” Tyrone said, turning back to Elvis. “That stuff I said this morning? I was just messing with you.”
Elvis blinked. “You were lying?”
“Yeah, as a joke. You’ve never had anybody mess with you before?”
Elvis paused, then looked at the table. “Yes. Just kidding. No. Like that?”
“This isn’t a table,” Elvis said, pointing at the desk.
Tyrone and Amelia shared a concerned look.
“Ha ha!” Elvis barked. “That’s funny.”
The Confession
The next morning, the Computer Science lab felt like a pressure cooker. Cabar stood at the front, counting down the final seconds of his ultimatum.
“Ten seconds,” Cabar whispered, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk. “Starting now.”
Amelia let out a high-pitched, strangled scream freezing the entire class, “No! I’ve never gotten a zero before!”
“I did it,” Christina said, standing up.
The room went silent. Save for one hushed whisper in the back near a dead plant. “Christina cheated, but why?“
Chase stared at her, genuinely shocked.
“Christina!” Amelia gasped.
“Well, you really took your sweet time with that one, Chritina AguFAILure,” Cabar sneered.”
Christina valiantly replied, “How dare you terrorize a class by threatening their grades. It’s not that easy to get human beings to turn on each other.”
Cabar pointed a finger at her. “Turn on her and you get an A!”
Suddenly, paper balls flew from every corner of the room.
“Ow!” Christina ducked as she was pelted. “Real mature!”
“That’s right!” Cabar shouted. “Too mature to sit in a class with a cheating, lying poop-face!”
Counsel for the Defense
Chase found Christina in the student lounge later, looking frustrated.
“Wow,” Christina said. “I bet you’re enjoying this.”
“I gave a quarter to a dirty bum today,” Chase replied, “He might be in a better position than you are right now.”
With a hollow voice Christina asked,”What do you think they’re gonna do to me?”
“Not giving you a quarter till we get to the bottom of this, Hi. I’m Dean Starmer,” the Dean chirped, appearing out of nowhere. “You would be Christina Puhr. I just spoke with S. Cabar. Orangeside takes this very seriously. Your case will be reviewed by a disciplinary tribunal tomorrow in Carnes Hall. You could be facing expulsion.”
“Isn’t Carnes Hall the pool?” Christina asked.
“There is an Olympic-sized pool there, yes,” Starmer nodded. “But we will be next to it, using its six-thousand-dollar judge’s table!”
“Is she allowed to have counsel?” Chase asked, stepping forward. “I may not be a practicing lawyer anymore, but relative to this place, I’m Alan Dershowitz.”
“Oh, okay, ouch, and yes,” the Dean replied. “I’ll be Dean-ing you later.”
“I’m not gonna sit while some hokey tribunal gets its jollies judging me,” Christina snapped.
“Follow my lead, deny everything, and you’ll walk,” Chase promised. “That’s the Wright-Way of doing things.”
“I get it,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You think you’re gonna save my bacon and send me into fits of grateful arousal.”
Chase smirked. “I can neither confirm nor deny that. See how good I am?”
The humidity of Carnes Hall was a physical weight, smelling strongly of chlorine and ambition. At the edge of the Olympic-sized pool sat a massive, polished wood desk that looked entirely too expensive for a community college.
“I am convening this disciplinary tribunal at our state-of-the-art judge’s table,” Dean Starmer announced, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. “It has its own built-in sound system. Take that, Yale.”
Chase sat beside Christina, looking remarkably composed for a man in a pool house. Across from them sat the judges: Starmer, Miyamoto, and a very twitchy Mr. Cabar.
“Gentlemen, point of order,” Chase said, leaning forward. “How can Pablo S. Cabar be a judge? He’s the accuser.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got Captain Hentai over here,” Cabar snapped, gesturing to Miyamoto, “who’s your drinking buddy.”
“Oh, got me and most of Japan,” Miyamoto deadpanned.
“I am impartial!” Starmer chirped. “So I go both ways, so it should even out.” he continued,“The tribunal calls Pablo S. Cabar.”
Cabar stood, clearing his throat with theatrical importance. “It was a Tuesday. Crack of dawn. 5:58 a.m. I got up, I took my morning dump, I made a breakfast consisting of—”
“Objection,” Chase sighed. “Relevance?”
“Let him finish, Chase,” Miyamoto smirked. “I’ve cleared my whole day for this.”
The Creative Womb
While the trial dragged on, Wilson Firestone was huddled over a piano in the rehearsal space. He struck a single, mournful note.
“♪ Orangeside… Orangeside… slop… ♪” He shook his head. “No. ♪ Orangeside isn’t a slop pail… ♪”
Amelia peeked through the door, looking anxious. “Hi, Wilson. Almost done?”
“You can tell the Dean I’ll have a song that’ll make the devil shit God’s pants,” Wilson grumbled.
“Mind if I hear what you’ve got so far?”
Wilson played two notes. “I’ll probably open with something like that. And end with a note like that. The rest is a surprise.”
Amelia frowned at his sheet music, which looked suspiciously like a Chinese takeout menu. “I’m a little worried. Your sheet music has ‘Moo Shu Pork’ written on it.”
“A musician sees music in everything, Amelia!” Wilson barked, turning back to the keys. “You are inside a throbbing, cosmic womb of brilliance! When this baby starts kicking, I cannot be responsible for your sanity! Now, let me play you out.” He began hammering a cheery, nonsensical tune until Amelia retreated.
The Alien Transmission
Tyrone was walking through the quiet hallway when he heard a strange, high-pitched warble coming from a storage closet. He opened it to find Elvis sitting in the dark, bathed in the green glow of a laptop screen, making rhythmic clicking and hissing noises into a headset.
“Beginning transmission,” Elvis whispered, his eyes glazed. “The primary purpose seems to be male bonding. The humanoid is approximately five-ten in height and very self absorbed.”
Tyrone froze. “What are you doing?”
“Oh. Hey, Tyrone,” Elvis said, not moving a muscle. “How long were you standing there?”
“Are you trying to mess with me?” Tyrone asked, his voice wavering.
“Yes. That’s what I was doing,” Elvis said tonelessly. “You got me. I was just messing with you pretending I’m a reptilian, but I guess I blew it again.”
Tyrone watched him for a second, his brow furrowed.
The Insanity Defense
Back at the pool, the trial had taken a turn for the disastrous.
“I cheated!” Christina shouted, her voice bouncing off the water.
“Objection!” Chase roared. “My client did not cheat!”
“Yes, I did!” Christina forcibly whispered.
Chase grabbed Christina’s arm and pulled her into a “recess” behind a stack of kickboards. “What are you doing? I had Pablo S. Cabar ready to fold!”
“I have a problem with dishonesty, Chase!” she snapped.
“Your are on trial for CHEATING.” Chase snapped back.
“And you’re only doing this because you want to sleep with me!” Christina bellowed out.
Chase stopped. He looked at her, his expression shifting from lawyerly calculation to something uncharacteristically raw. “Christina, look at me.”
Christina turned her head, unamused, “Yeah.”
“Look how handsome my face is. If all I wanted was sex, I could get it from plenty of women without going through all this crap. I’m here because I like you. I’d be psyched to be your friend.”
Christina softened, her shoulders dropping. “I actually believe you. I guess… I just have more experience being worthless. I think I left that crib sheet on the floor because I wanted to get caught. I’m so used to screwing everything up.”
Chase’s eyes lit up. “Wait. I think we have our defense.”
They marched back to the $6,000 table.
“Gentlemen,” Chase began, his voice dropping into a soulful, persuasive baritone. “My client is insane.”
“What?” Christina gasped.
“She doesn’t want to succeed because she doesn’t think she can,” Chase continued, pacing the poolside. “She goes out of her way to fail. That’s crazy! But do we really want to make it a crime to be crazy at Orangeside? Look at us! Miyamoto and Cabar are arguing about status at a college that correspondence schools make fun of. Dean, you want this place to be Ivy League so bad you’re risking electrocution by putting this table next to a pool! Everyone on this campus is nuts!”
Cabar sniffled, wiping his eyes. Miyamoto nodded slowly.
“I recommend the accused be exonerated,” Miyamoto declared, “on the condition that she receives psychological counseling on a weekly basis from a trained professional. Say… Fridays, nine-ish?”
The Way It Is
The entire school gathered on the quad for the unveiling of the Benicio Del Toro statue. The bronze figure stood tall, capturing the actor’s likeness perfectly.
“I’d like to introduce our student, Wilson Firestone,” Dean Starmer announced. “Who has written Orangeside its own school song!”
Wilson took the stage, looking triumphant. He sat at the keyboard and began to play.
“♪ Standing in the bookstore line… waiting for the bell to chime… ♪”
Chase frowned. “Is this Bruce Hornsby?”
“Yep,” Elvis whispered beside him.
“♪ Orangeside’s the way it goes… some things are still the same… ♪” Wilson belted out the chorus with total conviction.
“Can we get sued?” Amelia asked, horrified.
“Not sure,” Chase said, watching Wilson happily play a song that was an exact, note-for-note rip-off of The Way It Is.
Later, Chase found Christina by the statue. “You’re still annoyed about the ‘crazy’ defense, aren’t you?”
“Just don’t talk to me for a while,” she said, though she didn’t walk away.