The Misadventures of Samantha and Malcolm/Chapter 3 School Dayz

The cafeteria was the usual low discordant hum of hundreds of children’s voices. Malcolm sat solitary at a table, watching the display screen alternate between the usual drab announcements and motivational graphics that would never motivate anyone. As he chewed his peanut-butter, mayonnaise, and banana sandwich (don’t knock it till you try it), he heard a chatter of laughter to his left. He looked over to see Rinni passing a table of giggling girls, her skirt pinned to her shoulders, displaying her pain-tees to the world, and red spanked skin all the way to her knee hallows. Whatever she did, it must have been bad. That’s the only kind of harassment the teachers allow, thought Malcolm. ''Maybe that’s why I feel better here. I mean the spankings suck, but now I only have to worry about the teachers, never the kids. When I was a kindern in school, all the teachers were on my side, and all the kids were either against me or didn’t care. The kid with the good grades and the good behavior is alone. I was the outsider because I didn’t want to play ‘shoot the alien’ and the kids never let me forget it. I couldn’t go two steps without getting called a name three times. Now it’s different. All the kids are more or less in the same camp, and the 24-hour audio surveillance and the teacher’s eagerness to punish means that anyone stupid enough to harass a fellow student receives immediate corporal correction. I mean so long as I toe the line and get good grades…''His train of thought was interrupted when Natalie sat down across from him. The presence of a female made his brain go stupid. “Hey,” said Natalie. “Hey,” said Malcolm. “Um…congrats on the last test,” said Natalie. “Oh, uh yeah, thanks…” said Malcolm. “Uh, how’d you do?” “96,” she said. “Close,” he said. “But no spanking!” grinned Natalie. “Hey I was doing a science…project on warp drives, and I was wondering…how could I get on a ship that has one…just to look.” Malcolm’s head started working again. She wants to hijack a ship! I should tell on her…but that would get her into major trouble, probably Jade and Anthony too, but if she could get access to one, her friends are commandos, so they could maybe…WHAT AM I THINKING! I’ll get caught again for sure just helping her could get me in trouble…but if she could…she’s waiting. Okay I’ll just tell her how hopeless it is. I can’t get into trouble for that. “It’s impossible,” he told her. “No civilian may own or operate a ship with a warp drive.” “Really?” asked Natalie. “Well, you see, what started as a quarantine law evolved into general policy. I mean, there’s barely any craft out there that can even break the atmosphere. There’s one or two millionaires who own space craft, and there’s one commercial company that does extra-atmospheric around the world flights, very fast, very expensive. Government agents are the only ones authorized to operate a ship with warp capability. And if the government has any ships that can, they are not advertising them.” “What about ships from…” Malcolm cut her off with his hand. He pointed to the teacher’s table, pointed to his ear, and then to his collar. Natalie’s mouth opened and she nodded, understanding he was telling her ‘they are listening to you through your collar.’ He pulled out a pencil and note paper and presented them to her. “What about a ship from before the plague?” she wrote. “Might there be one in a junk yard?” “Assuming it wasn’t impounded?” wrote Malcolm. “There might be some rusted hulk in the furthest junk pile on the planet beyond the reach of regulation.” “And if there is, could you get it running again?” she wrote. “Getting a century and a half old spaceship working again,” Malcolm thought about that. “If I had 30,000 kilos of palladium, 15,000 kilos of iridium, 10,000 kilos of platinum, four good assistants, a fully stocked workshop, an unlimited supply of caffeinated beverages, three months time, and a much more permissive set of parents.” He set down the period of his last sentence with some force. Natalie looked at the list forlorn. “Thanks anyway,” she said. And then she walked away. Malcolm spent the rest of the lunch hour failing to muster up the courage to walk over to her table and talk to her more. Maybe I could write her a message or something, thought Malcolm. Maybe I could make her something…Get your mind in gear! Malcolm thought as he sat at the kitchen counter before an open book. Malcolm had spent roughly half of what was supposed to be study time thinking about how he would approach Natalie. ''Poetry? Oh yeah I’m sure she would be enthralled by my insightful analysis of inertial dampeners. Maybe I could ask Samantha.'' An unexpected impact with the back of his head gave him a start, he looked down to see a foam dart. “Head shot! The assassin strikes again!” said Samantha from the living room. Maybe not. “You’re going to regret that later, young lady!” promised Alison, never taking her eyes off the oven. ''Maybe I could make her something. He picked up one of the cupcakes his mother had just set next to him. Yeah, a metal heart that would unfold into a picture of her.'' He bit into the cupcake. ''Steel, no no OH! You know what I could make it look like, that beveled heart the Tin Man had in…''his thoughts were interrupted by the rhythm of his mother tapping her spatula upon her palm. “Malcolm.” Tap “Calvun.” Tap “Martin.” Tap. “Who told you that you could eat one of those cupcakes?” He froze, he had completely forgot that those cupcakes were for the tea party Samantha was going to! Alison picked Malcolm up off his stool and carried him to the straight backed chair in the living room. “You were perfectly free to ask permission to have a cupcake,” she admonished as she undid his pants and let them fall to the ground. “But no. You just assumed that you were entitled to one,” she pulled his underwear to the floor. “And what happens when you assume?” Malcolm knew the answer to that, she had drilled it into her young charges. “It makes an ass of you and me,” Malcolm stuttered as he quivered. “That’s right!” proclaimed Alison as she hoisted her half naked boy-convict over her knees. “You’re going to ask permission before you take treats from now on!” she lifted the spatula high in the air and brought it down with force. SPANK!“AAAAOOOOOOWWWWWW!” SPANK! “EEEEYYYYAAAAAAHOW!” SPANK “MOOOOOOOMEEEEE! “And whether you get permission or no, you will STILL say thank you after!” SPANK! “YEEEEEBMAAAAAM!” SPANK! “IBEEEEGOOOOO!” SPANK! “SOOOOOOOOOREEEEEEE!” “What do we say?” she asked. Samantha was giggling from behind the big chair. “Tank you fo spanking me *sniff*, Mommy” Malcolm coughed through snot. “Come on up now,” she said as she eased her crying child into a hug. “You’re going to ask permission next time, right?” she asked, her voice full of reassuring compassion. “Yes Ma’am, Yeas Ma’m.” Malcolm repeated as she produced a handkerchief and applied it to his nose. “Come on now, blow,” she said, he obeyed. “There you go.” She hugged him close. “What’d he do?” Jet asked as he entered with half a cupcake in his hand and the other half clearly passing beyond his tonsils. Alison gingerly placed Malcom on the sofa, handed him his clothes, and turned towards her husband with a manic grin, spatula in hand. “He.” Tap. “Stole.” Tap. “A.” Tap. “Cupcake.” A much more forceful TAP! Jet looked at the cupcake in his own hand, looked at the spatula, and then looked at his wife’s face. “Words, Alison,” he said as he inched towards the stairs. “Use your wohORDS!” he bolted up the stairs. Alison vaulted over the couch and followed him full speed, waving her spatula like a Norse berserker. “Oh I have got to see this!” whispered Samantha as she dashed up the stairs. Malcolm took the opportunity to hop off the couch and restore his clothes. He had some trouble discerning the sounds emanating from the second floor, but eventually he recognized his sister’s voice pleading. “NO! NO! NO! NOT THAT!” He heard several more muffled protests (but oddly enough not the familiar sound of hand or wood striking flesh). He reclaimed his book from the kitchen, but sitting on the chair disagreed with his posterior, so he set his book on the coffee table and stood while he studied. Eventually he head a new percussion from the second level, the sound of a six year old girl stomping as she walked. Samantha slowly stormed down the stairs wearing the flounciest dress he had ever seen her wear. “Not one word,” she ordered as she stood in front of him. Jet followed shortly. “Won’t your sister look adorable at the tea party tomorrow?” he asked in his most annoying baby voice. “Yes, sir,” agreed Malcolm. “Have you ever seen such a girlly girl in your life?” asked Jet. Samantha’s face could not be more sour. “No, sir. I have not,” said Malcolm as he wondered if Samantha would have preferred a spanking to being “cute.” Jet buckled Samantha into her travel seat. And turned around to find Malcolm at his feet. “Dad, will Natalie Cummings be at the tea party?” he asked. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said as he walked into the living room. Malcolm followed him. “Well, can I come?” asked Malcolm. “Are you sure?” asked Jet. As he opened the punishment chest. “Yes, and besides, why does Samantha get to go to a party? All she’s done all week is shoot me with that dart…gun,” he realized that Jet was holding Samantha’s paddle and corner stool. “Or I could sit this one out.” “Good choice,” said Jet. “Oh, by the way. I want to add insult to injury, so if you want to get back at her for the darts, I left you something to play with while Samantha is at the party.” He winked. Samantha still had on her “girly-girl” dress and her bottom was still a shade of pink beneath it as her father placed her corner stool in the dining room corner. “I already had corner time,” she meekly said. “This corner time is to punish you for all those unwarranted attacks on your brother with that targeting game pistol that Uncle Bob gave to both you AND Malcolm.” Samantha lowered her head. “You were supposed to use that to only shoot the holographic targets. And that is exactly what Malcolm did. You, on the other hand, used it on both the targets and your brother. And did Malcolm ever shoot you back?” “No, sir,” she said. “And that young lady is a credit to his willpower. But if you want to escape your corner time, maybe you should accept a ‘Challenge.’ “What?” asked Samantha. “A double or nothing bet on your corner time. Win and you are free of this chair until your 4-step tonight. Looses and your minutes are doubled.” “What’s the challenge?” said Samantha, cautiously. “You don’t get to learn that unless you take the wager,” said Jet. Samantha’s gambling nature was stirred. As a man, she always had trouble passing up a wager. “Okay,” she said. “What’s the game?” “Get to your room, and don’t get hit three times,” said Jet. “Don’t get spanked three times?” she asked. She took several steps towards the door to the living room. “Don’t get hit…” Jet took a step towards her, “three times,” he said again. She bolted into the livingroom. Only to spot a foam dart turret. The device consisted of a tripod, some automated machinery and cameras, and an “SMG” type dart gun (made by an off brand company that did knockoffs of Samantha’s choice of pistol, but one on the barrel end seldom puts much thought into brand names). It turned its muzzle toward Samantha and let out a rubber tip dart, that caught her on the arm. “That’s one!” announced Jet. She ducked behind the couch as three more foam darts whizzed by. She peeked around and saw that her chuckling father had the holocorder running. Well, I’m glad SOMEONE is enjoying this, she thought. Sam ducked back as another dart whizzed past her head. I’m on my own, she thought. All of her holo-game experience came rushing back. Okay, it’s only one enemy turret. And it definitely has a limited ammo supply. Maybe I can get it to…She peeked out the other side and saw the device’s weakness: its power cord. If she could get to the power socket the turret was plugged into, she could yank out the cord and win this stupid game. She reached out to the lamp table and grabbed whatever could be used as a shield, which turned out to be a copy of “Faust.” Another dart clipped her hand. “That’s two!” said Jet. Once chance, She thought. She screwed up her courage, and leapt from the cover of the couch to the cover of the comfy chair. Two more darts missed her. There was only six feet of open space between her and the socket. If she ran it she could make it! She dashed for it, blocking off two darts with the book. She made it! SHE PULLED IT OUT! The turret ceased to hum and turned its barrel to the ground. “I DID IT!” she raised her arms in victory. A foam ball hit her in the head. Samantha turned her gaze to the top of the stairs. Malcolm was sitting there with a foam ball blaster. “That’s not fair!” she protested. “That’s escalation,” said Jet. “Now get on your stool,” said Malcolm, triumphantly. “It’s amazing the things the impound yard doesn’t need,” said Jet as he dressed for bed that night. “I wish I could have seen Malcolm’s face when he saw all the materials I left him.” “I’m surprised you did something so unorthodox,” said Alison as she slid under the covers. “You’re usually the definition of “by-the-book.” “Well,” said Jet as he joined her in bed, “I wanted to reward Malcolm for showing the willpower to not retaliate, I also wanted to teach Samantha the consequences of carelessly spreading malice, and most importantly, to teach Samantha that gambling will only ever get her in hoc deeper. And I did it without actually raising my hand to either of them.” Alison kissed her husband. “You’re a softee,” she said.