Coming back from a high-society haunting in Gravity Falls to the sticky-floor reality of Middleton High should have been a relief. But as we pulled into the parking lot, I realized that while we were busy with residual data-demons, T.J. Detweiler had been busy with something far more dangerous: Democracy.
The front lawn of the school was a sea of cardboard signs. The "Recess" crew had fully integrated with the Middleton student body. Vince was organizing a perimeter of athletes; Spinelli was intimidating anyone who looked like they might want to go to class; and Gretchen was handing out meticulously researched pamphlets on "The Nutritional and Psychological Benefits of Frozen Beverages."
"What is this?" Kim asked, stepping out of the van and looking at a sign that read GIVE ME BLUE RASPBERRY OR GIVE ME DEATH. "T.J., tell me you didn't start a riot because the cafeteria replaced the smoothie machine with a 'Kale-Kale-Kale' dispenser."
"It's not a riot, Kim, it's a principled stand!" T.J. shouted from his perch on top of the "Middleton High" sign. "Barkin has overstepped. He claims the smoothies were a 'distraction to the educational process.' I claim the kale is a distraction to my taste buds!"
"He's right!" Ron yelled, holding a sign that featured a very sad-looking Rufus. "The Naco feels lonely without a frozen companion!"
I looked at the 'Low-Stakes' meter. It was humming at a perfect 12%. This was the ultimate palette cleanser—no supernatural stakes, just a school-wide standoff over frozen sugar water.
"Sheila," I whispered, "Is Barkin in the building?"
["He is currently barricaded in his office, Danny. He has the sprinklers on standby and is threatening to 'reset' the school's social hierarchy with a week of mandatory silent lunch. Also, Jenny's internal fans have finally cooled down, but she's still refusing to look at you."]
I glanced at Jenny. She was standing by the van, her hoodie pulled up, her metal pigtails drooping slightly. The Pacifica Northwest encounter had clearly left a "Logic-Grip" on her processors.
"Hey," I said, walking over to her. "You okay?"
"My scanners indicate that 'Pacifica Northwest' has a 400% higher probability of wearing silk than I do," Jenny said, her voice sounding small and digitized. "And she has 'Natural Pores.' I have 'Reinforced Ventilation Grills.' Why did you let her touch your collar?"
"Because she's a Northwest, Jenny," I said, stepping closer. "She thinks everything is a transaction. But I'm a Possible. We don't sell our collars. Especially not to people who use ' residual data-demons' as a conversation starter."
Jenny's eyes flickered from violet back to a soft, hopeful cyan. "Really?"
"Really. Besides," I added, offering a small smile, "she doesn't have a laser-drill. And she definitely doesn't know how to save my life in a logic-loop."
Jenny's cooling fans let out a happy, rhythmic whir. She reached out and gave my hand a quick, metallic squeeze. "I'll go help T.J. with the 'Logistics' of the strike. My internal speakers can broadcast a 'Siren-Call' of frozen beverage commercials at a frequency that will break Barkin's resolve in three minutes."
"That's my girl," I whispered, before realizing exactly what I'd said.
I turned back to the strike just as Jimmy Neutron and Danny Fenton joined the fray.
"Goddard has successfully hacked the cafeteria's inventory!" Jimmy announced, his hair-loop vibrating. "The kale isn't just kale—it's a highly-compressed vegetable byproduct designed to lower student energy levels by 15%! Barkin isn't just being healthy; he's trying to 'quiet' the school through nutrition!"
"That's cold," Fenton said, his eyes glowing. "Even for a principal."
"Alright, Protocol," I said, taking center stage. "T.J. has the numbers. Jimmy has the tech. Jenny has the 'Siren-Call.' Kim, you're the negotiator. You go in there and tell Barkin that if he doesn't bring back the smoothies, we're going to let the 'Field Study' team—that's us—publish a report on the school's 'Sub-Standard Hydration Levels' to the State Board."
Kim smirked, pulling out her Kimmunicator. "I love a good negotiation. Barkin won't know what hit him."
The 'Slushie Sedition' lasted exactly forty-five minutes. Between Jenny's hypnotic beverage-audio and Kim's 'State Board' threats, Barkin surrendered. The kale was vanished, and the smoothie machine was restored to its rightful place, now featuring a "Special Edition" flavor that Jimmy had 'improved' to include essential vitamins and a faint glow.
As the school celebrated with a localized "Frozen Beverage Jubilee," I sat on the lawn with the team.
Ben was drinking a blue slushie so fast he was getting a 'Way Big' brain freeze; Ron was sharing a red one with Rufus; and T.J. was being carried around the courtyard like a conquering hero.
Jenny sat next to me, sipping a smoothie through a specialized internal intake valve. "This is a good 'Low-Stakes' day, Danny," she said, her head leaning onto my shoulder.
"The best," I agreed.
I looked at the 'Low-Stakes' meter. 5%. Perfection. But then, my watch chirped. A message from an unknown number in Retroville had just bypassed Jimmy's personal firewall.
"Need help with a 'Small' problem. The ants are wearing tiny suits. And they're organized. - JN's Dad (Hugh)"
I sighed, leaning my head back against the grass.
"Sheila," I whispered. "Get the 'Pest Control' dossier ready. And tell Hugh we're going to need a lot of pie."
["Already on it, Danny. And for the record? The 'Slushie Sedition' has officially been filed as the most successful peaceful protest in Middleton history. Also, Pacifica Northwest just 'liked' your last social media post."]
"Ignore her, Sheila. I'm busy with the ants."