Taylor

When Scott stepped back into the room, his lips were twisted into a thoughtful little frown.

"Dad is not happy," he informed me quietly. "The only way you can spend the night is if we spend time with Clint, Bob, and Dave, if he's here."

"Do you not want to do that?" I asked.

"Well, Clint is kind of pissed at me right now, and I am at him," he replied crossly, frowning and shrugging a hand through his hair.

"Well, maybe I should just stay at home tonight with Dad and Isaac."

"Aw, hey, no - believe me, I would never wish hours upon hours of Yahtzee upon you. I don't doubt Isaac is the family champion." Scott's smile made me smile, and I shrugged.

"Well, this could be useful. You could patch things up with Clint . . . tell him what he wants to hear," I mused, thinking of any color of excuses for the recent odd behavior both Scott and I had been exhibiting. Scott emitted a low, amused chuckle.

"Clint wants to hear me admit I'm an asshole, which, believe me, I would never admit to anybody except you."

I smirked at Scott, choosing not to reply to that in words. Instead, I added onto my earlier thought. "You know, we could just show him the picture you just got . . . if he wants to know, this is close to the truth without having to admit what's actually going on. That way we won't have to really lie . . . just leave parts out."

"Well, what if he tells my dad? I just - I don't see how we could let our parents in on what's going on and have them still let us be alone." Scott shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"I don't know." I shook my head, and a moment of silence crept upon us as we swam in our separate seas of thoughts. Scott was the first to break the surface.

"Here's something," he ventured. "I know Clint, and if we tell him, and swear him to secrecy, the more concerned he's going to be, and the more likely he is to tell anyone he can about it. And it seems kind of odd that we'd keep a simple photograph a secret from our parents and families, especially a threatening one, and I agree, we shouldn't lie, I mean, that only causes more trouble. What if - we got Zac and Dave to help - to lie for us - and got them to say to Clint that it was some huge prank they were pulling on us? He'd fall for it, trust me . . . he'd probably even offer to help them."

A twisted smile played at Scott's lips at his last thought.

"And why would we be keeping this a secret from our parents?" I asked, since he'd left that part out.

"Well, I'll just say, if he asks, that we freaked out at first but then figured it was just a - what was the phrase you used earlier? . . . Teeny off the deep end."

I nodded slowly. "Okay . . . yeah. A few plot holes, but I doubt anybody will notice or ask. I bet Zac and Dave would help us, I mean, they owe it to us, don't you think?"

"Definitely."

"We'll wing the rest if we need to." I stood.

"I think we're masters of cover-up schemes," Scott commented as I joined him at the doorway.

"This shutterbug of ours should take lessons from us," I agreed. "Though I have to admit, the person's got me confused and a bit intimidated."

"At least he seems to like you, Tay . . . I think he has it in for me. Probably some 11-year-old Hanson fan who's anti-Moffatts using one of those voice manipulators like in Scream." Scott opened the door and we came out of the room laughing.

"Is that laughter I hear from our moody little guitarist?" Frank rang, turning in his seat to look at us.

"I got him to lighten up," I grinned, poking my elbow into Scott's ribs.

"Ow, your elbows are sharp, buttmunch," Scott winced, taking on Guy Friends Mode. Clint barely glanced up from his book and hadn't moved from his position on the chair in the corner, curled up in a pair of red plaid pajama pants and a black t-shirt. Bob, however, appeared to be roaming around the hotel room. He perked up when he saw us, and pointed to the coffee table.

"Finally, no more solitaire. Sit down, we're playing poker." I then noticed the deck of cards in his hand.

"Wow, you leave us with so much of a choice, there, Bob," Scott lamented. But if there was an opportunity to make amends with the twins, especially Clint, this was it . . .

Dave

The glow on Zac's face wasn't just from physical exertion, and I had to admit, it seemed like we were onto something. All the coincidences back in the office were just a bit too freaky for my tastes. In a way, I was glad Zac pried the film from the camera. If anything, we would either find our brothers' scary, obsessive fan or find reassuring evidence that the office of T. Hanson had nothing to do with our T. Hanson.

Then, it dawned on me.

"Oh, no, Zac - the film's probably exposed," I blurted. Zac frowned and leaned back against the elevator wall.

"Ohh . . . man . . . but - it's still worth a shot, don't you think?" His voice sounded more pleading than confident. "I mean, what if there are incriminating pictures on this film? Then not only would he not have them anymore, but we'd know who's torturing Tay and Scott."

Zac's statement echoed my previous thoughts.

"Well, do you have a darkroom in your pocket too?" I asked him. "Where do you suggest we take that film that isn't closed by . . ." (I checked my wristwatch) "8:32 PM."

"Why, Dave, you should know I carry around a darkroom at all times," Zac said sardonically. "What about that drugstore that's like two blocks down? You know, the one we joked about getting condoms at in the taxi and made the driver glance at us funny in the rear view mirror?--"

He was unable to continue, for we'd both burst into peals of laughter.

"You know, we could get some while we were there," I managed, gasping for air.

"I wonder if they have any edible orgy butter))#*$!)@#(!!!"

"SHUT UP, I WOULD ONLY DO YOU ZAC, NO ORGIES!"

"Not even with our very own dear brothers?? Let me say, I for one am shocked, Dave . . ."

I grabbed his hand and squeezed it meanly, laughing.

"Well, as long as I don't have to get near Scott, I'll participate. Taylor is pretty, after all."

"I think you have a crush on him, Dave, yo."

"I do not!! You take that back - God, you suck." I blushed, only now realizing that I did find Taylor attractive, though I hadn't consciously noted it. It probably did sound like I was joining the ranks of Scott.

"You should know . . ." Zac was responding.

We both laughed uproariously again, finding ourselves uncannily hilarious.

Zac stopped. "Are we not to the seventh floor yet?" I shrugged and grinned. "We could have had wild monkey sex by now and gotten dressed again." Zac shot me a wicked smile.

My stomach tingled with a strange flavor of joy, and I squeezed his hand tightly. "You know we only do it in the shower."

Zac squeezed my hand back. "I just like getting you squeaky clean."

Then, the same thought seemed to settle on us both.

"Oh my gosh, we sound like Scott and Taylor," I announced.

My blond friend chuckled. "I was just going to say that."

"I don't know what's freakier - Sergeant Nutbar or us sounding like our brothers, who are - lovers." I added that last note as the thought arose. Zac wrinkled his nose up like a bunny rabbit.

"I vote for Rent-A-Cop."

I decided on reverting back to our previous topic. "I wonder if that drugstore would develop the film right away or if we'd have to come back."

"Maybe if we bribe them," Zac said, and I had a feeling he was serious.

"Okay." I felt an organizational moment come upon me. "We'll stop by your room and see who's home, then we'll stop by mine to make sure we have money and to tell them we're going somewhere. To the ice machine or something."

"For an extended field trip," Zac nodded in mock seriousness. "Kind of like they used to go to the crayon factories on Mr. Rogers Neighborhood."

"Yes," I smirked.

"Okay. We'll do this. We'll either play detective and solve a mystery or we'll be dumb kids." Zac looked down at the film like he wanted to kiss it with those gorgeous lips of his.

"I hope it's not all ruined," I mused. But nonetheless, I smiled at Zac. "It never hurts to try, eh?"

Taylor

"Oh, you dork, 'kwijibo' is not a word!"

"Yeah, it is."

"It just got you sixteen points," Frank observed to Scott.

"What the - DAD, that is not even a word!" Bob insisted, looking quite amazed that no one was arguing about this with him.

"Quit being a sore loser," Scott smiled charmingly, picking out seven new letters and looking pretty satisfied with himself for succeeding to use all seven of his letters.

"I'm pretty amazed that you managed to find letters to spell that," I commented.

"I'm talented, it's true." I received another dashing smile from the teen across from me.

"'Kwijibo' is not a word." Bob was fuming at his side. Clint, who was on my team, looked at his brother weirdly.

"What the hell is a kwijibo, Scott?"

"Oh, if you don't know, I'm not telling you." Scott managed to find an angering response.

"I call your kwijibo," Frank spoke up thoughtfully, taking up three letters and adding on "I-M-P" in a vertical line off the 'W' in Scott's either fantastical or very obscure word.

"Wimp," laughed Bob.

"I thought you spelled wimp with a 'wh.'" Scott looked at the board.

"No, it's right," I said. Scott shot me a glare for the sake of acting like we being competitive, but from the sparkle in his eyes I could tell he didn't mean anything by it.

"So there." Frank poked at his son.

"Gee, it got you a whopping eight points, too, Dad," Clint remarked.

"Woo hoo!" said Mr. Moffatt. "Your team's turn, Tay and Clint."

"Hm." I gazed at me and Clint's horrible letter selection. Clint gazed over my shoulder and couldn't offer anything. G, K, O, L, B, Y, R. What the hell kind of word can you make from that?

Then, there was a knock on the door that made everyone glance up from our little circle around the Scrabble board.

"Oh, gee, don't leap up or anything. I'll get it," Bob said sarcastically as he realized everyone in the circle was staring at him expectantly. He rose, and we all turned back to the game, but looked up again when Zac and Dave bounded into the room in a whirl of cargo pants and Hawaiian-print fabric. Fly-aways from Zac's purple streaks were surrounding his head, making him look like he had a faded violet glow around his blond hair. Their cheeks were pink and they were breathing like they'd raced here - which, knowing Zac, they probably did. The pink of their cheeks made me glance at Scott. If we'd come into the room like that, guilty smiles of satisfaction would be smeared all over our faces . . . However, Zac and Dave just broke a right into the bedroom, scampering away from our little game.

"They are crazy," commented Bob, coming back to sit down again and smoothing his hair behind his ears. Scott and I exchanged quick looks beneath our lashes. No one knew that more than we did.

"Did you go?" Frank queried. I shook my head and frowned at the stupid letters I had.

Dave and Zac came tearing back out of the bedroom, skidding to a stop beside us.

"SCRABBLE!" Dave enthused. Zac panted. "Whose turn?"

"Ours - but we have crappy letters," replied Clint, doodling on the scorepad.

Dave stepped over Frank's lap and came to gaze over my shoulder at me and Clint's letters. He took about two nanoseconds and chose out letters, placing them down on the board with quite an air of being a Scrabble veteran. "'O' in kwijibo . . . R . . . G . . . Y. There ya go."

Scott and I erupted in laugher immediately, but the twins and Frank stared at Dave for a moment before their own faces crumbled into smiles and then, laughter.

Zac thew something at me - a brown envelope. My heart stopped and my laughter faded.

"What's this?"

"From your admirer," Zac said softly.

"This was in my backpack." I thew an angry stare at Zac, clutching the envelope.

"I know. I was looking for money."

"You what??"

"Believe me, you'll thank me later!" With that, Zac and Dave sensed it was time for them to make their exit, and bolted from the room in the same flash of hair and sneakers.