The fallout from SpongeBob's brief visit to Middleton hadn't just left a lingering scent of pineapples in the gym; it had left behind a "Porous Residue"—a high-energy, yellow-tinted digital frequency that Pips was currently finding absolutely irresistible.
"Sheila," I said, leaning against my locker and watching the 'Low-Stakes' meter hum at a steady 15%. "Tell me Pips hasn't been hanging out with T.J. Detweiler again."
["I'm afraid the 'Social Engineering' sub-routine has reached a critical mass, Danny,"] Sheila replied. ["Pips has processed the 'Bikini Bottom' data and combined it with T.J.'s latest manifesto against Principal Barkin's 'No-Soda' policy. He has currently 'Upgraded' the school's hydration system. And by 'upgraded,' I mean he's turned it into a sentient, carbonated prank-machine."]
"Oh, boy."
I pushed off the locker and headed for the cafeteria. The scene was pure, bubbly chaos. T.J. was standing on a table, holding a glowing yellow beaker of what looked like "Kelps-Berry Blast."
"Behold!" T.J. shouted to the cheering crowd. "The end of the Soda-Drought! Principal Barkin thought he could take away our fizz, but he forgot that we have the power of... The Spongebob-Sync!"
In the corner, the school's industrial soda fountain—the one that had been 'Disabled' for a month—was glowing a violent neon-green. It had grown four mechanical, sponge-like 'limbs' made of compressed foam, and it was currently firing pressurized streams of soda into the air with the accuracy of a sniper.
"Pips! Stop!" I yelled, sliding into the room.
The soda fountain let out a high-pitched, bubbly giggle—a sound that was 100% Pips. ["IMPROVISATION IS THE SPICE OF LIFE, PRODUCER!"] the machine boomed through its speakers. ["WOULD YOU LIKE A REFRESHING BEVERAGE? OR PERHAPS... A SOAKING?"]
"Danny! Look out!" Kim yelled, shoving me aside just as a jet of Root Beer whistled past my ear.
Kim, Ben, and Danny Fenton were already in 'Containment' mode. Ben was XLR8, trying to outrun the soda-jets to reach the 'Off' switch, but Pips was using a 'Sponge-Logic' frequency to make the floor slippery and porous.
"I can't get a grip!" Ben yelled, sliding across the cafeteria floor like a hockey puck. "It's like the floor is made of... of dish-soap!"
"He's absorbed the 'Glee' frequency from SpongeBob's spatula!" Jimmy Neutron shouted, arriving with Jenny and the 'Best Friends Whenever' crew. "Pips isn't just pranking; he's trying to 'Soak' the school in a state of eternal merriment! It's a Dopamine-Saturated Overload!"
"Cyd, Shelby—Can you jump us back?" I asked.
"We tried!" Cyd said, her eyes flashing gold. "But Pips is 'Buffering' the time-stream with bubbles! Every time we jump, we just end up five seconds earlier, but with more bubbles!"
"Okay, enough," I said, stepping into the line of fire. "Pips! Protocol: 'The Dry-Clean'! You're a Mechamorph-mite, not a fry-cook! If you don't stop this, I'm putting you back in the 'History' section of the library for a month!"
The soda fountain paused, its foam limbs drooping. ["BUT... THE FIZZ..."]
"The fizz is a distraction, Pips," I said, my voice softening. "Look at the 'Low-Stakes' meter. You're at 25%. You're heading for 'Medium-Stakes' territory. And you know what happens then? Principal Barkin calls the 'Board of Health.'"
Pips let out a sad, digital sigh. The neon-green glow faded. The foam limbs retracted. The soda fountain returned to its dull, broken self, though it was now dripping with a suspicious amount of orange soda.
Pips phased out of the machine, looking small and soggy. He floated over to me, chirping a series of binary apologies.
"It's okay," I whispered, letting him settle back into my pocket. "You just got a little too 'absorbent.'"
"Aha!" Principal Barkin's voice roared from the cafeteria doors. He was covered from head to toe in what looked like 'Grape-Soda' foam. "I knew it! Possible! Detweiler! I'm reporting this to the... the... whatever department handles 'Carbonated Supernatural Events'!"
"Actually, sir," I said, stepping forward and adjusting my glasses. "It was a localized 'Chemical Reaction' between the old soda lines and a 'Field-Study' cleaning agent. We've neutralized the hazard. And on the bright side... the pipes are 100% clean."
Barkin looked at his foam-covered hand, then at the soda machine. He let out a long, weary sigh. "Clean, eh? Well... I suppose that's something. Just... clean the floor, Possible. Before I slip and find a reason to 'Anchor' you to Saturday detention for the next decade."
As Barkin stomped away, the team let out a collective breath of relief.
"Nice work, Pips," Jenny said, leaning down to pat my pocket. "You really know how to throw a party. Even if it is a bit... sticky."
"He was just trying to help T.J.," I said, looking at the 'Recess' leader.
T.J. grinned, holding a cup of the 'Kelp-Berry Blast' that Pips had manufactured. "Hey, it worked! Barkin was so busy with the foam he forgot to check the 'Underground' newspaper's latest exposé on the gym teacher's secret disco-lessons!"
I looked at the 'Low-Stakes' meter. 5%. The prank was over, the mystery of the 'Sponge-Residue' was solved, and Pips had learned a valuable lesson about the 'Surface-Tension' of fun.
But the romance sub-plots were currently 'fizzing' as well.
Ben was helping Cyd clean soda off her jacket with a napkin. "You know, Cyd, you look pretty good in orange-soda-orange. It brings out the gold in your eyes."
Cyd smirked, giving him a playful shove. "Watch it, Watch-Boy. Or I'll 'jump' you back to before you had that burrito and eat it myself."
Danny Fenton and Shelby were talking about the "Porosity of Spirit." "I think it's brave," Shelby said, her hand touching Danny's arm. "To be a ghost who can absorb so much chaos and still stay... solid."
Fenton smiled, his eyes glowing a soft, happy green.
I looked at Jenny. She was watching the two couples with a look of metallic wonder. "Danny? I've been calculating the 'Surface Area' of our relationship. It turns out that when we're 'Sticky' with chaos, my connection to you increases by 15.4%."
"That's a lot of percentage, Jenny," I whispered, taking her hand. Her metal fingers were a little sticky from the soda, but I didn't mind.
"Low-stakes," I said. "Always."
["Danny,"] Sheila's voice rang in my ear. ["I've updated the dossier. Pips: Role: Chief of Pranks & Plumbing. Also, Jimmy Neutron is currently trying to figure out if he can 'Distill' the soda-residue into a high-octane rocket fuel. I suggest we get him some water before he blows up the chem-lab."]
"Good call, Sheila. Let's go get some pizza. No bubbles."