Middleton's "Bowl-A-Rama" was usually a sanctuary of polyester shirts and the rhythmic crashing of pins, but today, the "Possible" sensors were picking up a localized seismic vibration that suggested the "Low-Stakes" meter was being hit with a heavy-duty bowling ball.
"Sheila," I said, leaning against the shoe-rental counter while Jenny tried to figure out why humans wore shoes that were "literally 10% traction and 90% aesthetic failure." "Scan Lane 13. I'm detecting a high-level concentration of parental competitive energy and a 40% chance of a localized 'Ecto-Gutter-Ball'."
["The 'Paternal-Competitive' index is currently at 98%, Danny,"] Sheila replied. ["Principal Barkin, Stan Pines, and Jack Fenton have formed a 'Low-Stakes' bowling league called 'The Authority Figures.' They are currently playing against a team of robots from the 'Techno-League.' And Jack Fenton just modified his bowling ball with a 'Fenton-Force' thruster."]
"Oh, no," I groaned. "He's going to turn a 7-10 split into a dimensional rift."
I looked toward Lane 13. Principal Barkin was in a military-grade bowling stance, his 'Authority' shirt tucked in tight. Stan Pines was currently trying to convince the snack-bar attendant that 'Grunkle-Bucks' were a valid currency for a pitcher of soda. And Jack Fenton was holding a glowing, neon-orange bowling ball that was letting out a high-pitched, electronic whine.
"WATCH OUT, BOYS! THE 'FENTON-STRIKER' IS PRIMED FOR GLORY!" Jack roared, releasing the ball.
The ball didn't just roll; it ignited. It rocketed down the lane, leaving a trail of orange sparks, and hit the pins with the force of a localized sonic boom. The pins didn't just fall; they were vaporized into a fine white dust.
"THAT'S A STRIKE!" Stan Pines cheered, high-fiving a very confused Barkin. "And I bet the 'Techno-Dorks' can't match that! Pay up, bucket-heads!"
Across the lane, the opposing team—a group of 'Training-Drones' that Jimmy Neutron and Barry had "accidentally" donated to the community center—let out a series of electronic beeps. Their "Sportsmanship-Logic" was currently failing.
"Danny! We have a problem!" Jimmy yelled, running over with Barry. "The drones were programmed to be 'Competitive,' but they've interpreted Jack's 'Fenton-Striker' as an 'External-Aggression.' They're currently 'Upgrading' their bowling balls to include 'Heat-Seeking' guidance systems!"
"It's a Bowling-Arms-Race!" Lincoln Loud shouted, his walkie-talkie buzzing. "If the drones fire back, the Bowl-A-Rama becomes a war zone!"
I looked at the 'Low-Stakes' meter. 12%. This was the ultimate parental-intervention mission.
"Protocol, move in!" I commanded. "Kim, Ron—distract the 'Authority Figures'! Keep Barkin and Stan away from the score-sheet! Danny Fenton, phase into the lane and 'Dampen' the drone's guidance systems! Jenny, you're the 'Mechanical-Ref.' You need to recalibrate the drones' 'Fair-Play' parameters!"
The mission was a masterclass in 'Suburban-Diplomacy.' Kim used her 'Negotiation' skills to distract Barkin by 'reporting' a suspicious lack of lane-waxing on Lane 14. Ron used Rufus to 'accidentally' jam Stan's 'Grunkle-Buck' machine.
Meanwhile, Jenny skated into the drones' lane, her eyes glowing a soft, authoritative blue. "Attention, Units! My 'Sports-Logic' database indicates that 'Heat-Seeking' is a violation of the 'League-By-Laws' of 1954! Please return to 'Manual-Aim' or face immediate 'Disqualification'!"
The drones stuttered, their robotic arms retracting the guidance lasers.
I stepped up to the 'Authority Figures' lane just as Jack was prepping his second ball. "Jack! The 'Fenton-Striker' is currently causing a 'Seismic-Disruption' to the snack bar! We're going to have to 'Confiscate' the thruster for 'Research Purposes'!"
"Research?" Jack's eyes brightened. "Well, if it's for the 'Protocol,' Danny-boy... help yourself!"
With a quick flick of a 'Possible' screwdriver, I neutralized the thruster. The 'Fenton-Striker' became a normal, heavy, orange ball.
The rest of the game was a masterpiece of 'Low-Stakes' normalcy. The 'Authority Figures' won by three pins, Stan Pines managed to 'find' a ten-dollar bill on the floor, and Principal Barkin actually smiled for a total of four seconds.
As the team gathered in the parking lot, the 'Low-Stakes' meter hit a perfect 5%.
"Nice work, team," I said, leaning back against the van. "We saved the bowling alley, we saved the dads' egos, and we avoided a robotic insurrection."
But the romance sub-plots were currently 'Striking' in the evening light as well.
Jenny walked up to me, her eyes a soft, pulsing violet. She was still wearing the 'Bowling-League' shirt I'd made her—a blue-and-silver one with 'Protocol' on the back. "Danny? My 'Shared-Activity' database has recorded a 15% increase in 'Domestic-Happiness.' It turns out that watching you 'Audit' a bowling league is very attractive. Does this mean our 'Official Dating' phase is entering the 'Stable-Routine' sub-routine?"
"I think it's the best routine we've ever had, Jenny," I whispered, taking her hand. I reached out and gently adjusted the collar of her 'League' shirt. "You're the only person I'd want to 'Split' a pizza with after a mission."
Jenny's cooling fans whirred in a happy, rhythmic pulse. She leaned in and gave me a quick, metallic kiss that tasted like 'Victory' and 'Low-Stakes' wax.
Meanwhile, Ben was currently trying to convince Cyd that he could 'Bowl' better as Cannonbolt. "I'm telling you, Cyd! I am the ball! It's 100% accuracy!"
Cyd laughed, her eyes glowing. "Watch it, Watch-Boy. Or I'll 'Jump' you back to before you got that 'Gutter-Ball' and make you watch it again."
I looked at the team: the Middleton crew, the Amity ghosts, the Retroville geniuses, the time-travelers, the Loud strategist, and the Mystery twins. We were a family of heroes, even in the strike-zone.
["Danny,"] Sheila's voice rang in my ear. ["I've updated the dossier. New Entry: 'Paternal-Sync Management.' Also, Principal Barkin just asked if he can join the 'Possible' Field-Study on a permanent basis as the 'Discipline-Coach.' I suggest we tell him the position is 'Literally' filled by Lori Loud."]
"Good call, Sheila. Let's go home."
The End of the Second Semester.