Sunday was rather uneventful aside from Scott whining all day about his shoulder. Jimmy knew it was Scott's intention to come off as rude, but it still made Jimmy feel awful. So much so, that Jimmy stayed home from school Monday morning, claiming to have an upset stomach.

"Wait, you're not-" Scott shook his head. "How am I supposed to- I- You said you'd help me-"

Jimmy sighed. "I know," he said. "I just..." He sighed again. "I'm sorry.

"Jimmy, you don't even have a fever," Scott pointed out, quirking an unimpressed brow at the other boy.

Daniel huffed a chuckle. "He can stay home for a couple hours, and I'll send him in later if he's feeling better," he said. "Don't worry, I'm sure someone'll have the heart to give you a hand, Scott."

Jimmy nodded in agreement, glad that he was seeming to be able to get out of this one. "Yeah, Grian would probably be the first to volunteer," he said, shifting semi-awkwardly. "He's gotten pretty attached to you since you spent the night the first time."

Rolling his eyes, Scott still was upset. "Yeah, but you promised to help me carry my things. You promised, Jimmy."

"I can't help if I'm not feeling well."

"You seem perfectly fine to me."

"Just because I seem fine, doesn't mean I am."

"At least your arm doesn't feel like it's being pounded on constantly."

"Now, now," Daniel cut in before Jimmy could retaliate. Jimmy was thankful for that, or he might've said something he would regret later. "Jimmy, go upstairs and sleep a bit more. Scott, I'll help you with whatever you need to finish getting ready for school. I'll bring Jimmy up to the school in a couple hours if he's feeling better."

Scott huffed, looking so frustrated he might cry. "Fine," he spat, turning to march away.

For the first time, Jimmy felt like he hated Scott. Why does he have to act so petty? Jimmy thought half-bitterly. Yeah, I fractured his shoulder, but it was an accident! He said it himself - I was only trying to help. So why is he acting like this?

"Why don't you head back to bed," Daniel whispered to Jimmy. "Give it a bit."

Jimmy sighed. "Okay..."

*   *   *

"No Scott or Jimmy today?" Ms. Gold asked, looking around the theater. Frowning, she sighed and scribbled onto her clipboard. "What a sha-"

"Just let it go," a boy shouted from the double doors. Ms. Gold turned to see Scott walk in, followed by a confused Jimmy. "I don't care."

"But, you said you wanted me to hel-"

"I don't need your help!"

"Scott, you're dropping stuff-"

Scott whirled around. "Then pick it up," he said.

Jimmy scoffed, crossing his arms. "I thought you didn't need my help," he rebutted, and Scott's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Exactly."

Scott groaned and turned away, continuing to walk into the theater. "Fuck off, asshole," he grumbled.

"Oh, so I'm an asshole now? I've been trying to help you!"

"Well, you're not doing a very good job of it!" Scott shouted. "If you really wanted to help me, you would've come to school this morning!"

"I was sick!"

"No, you fucking weren't!"

Mr. Harding sighed. "Alright, alright," he said, unsuccessful in gaining the two boys' attention. "That's enough bickeri-"

"Well, maybe," Jimmy continued, despite Mr. Harding's attempt to break them up, "I would've felt better if you hadn't been all, 'my shoulder hurts. Jimmy hurt my shoulder, and now I'm gonna die.'"

"I don't sound like that," Scott said, more calmly than he looked.

Jimmy scoffed. "Yes, you do."

"Shut the hell up."

Harding rolled his eyes. "Boys-"

"I should tell that to you, Mr. Everything Revolves Around Me Because I'm So Traumatized," Jimmy spat. "My boyfriend's a dick to me, and I refuse to break up with him so I can be the victim and get sympathy from people. I'm so special and fragile and cute, everybody loves me."

Scott huffed as he turned away from Jimmy. "You're ridiculous," he mumbled.

"Right. I'm the ridiculous one."

Scott whipped his head back around to look at Jimmy. "Excuse me?"

"I said: Right. I'm the ridiculous one," Jimmy repeated slowly, acting as if Scott was deaf. "Because I totally have an abusive boyfriend that cheats on me that I chose to stick around with, even though I like somebody else."

Scott gasped. "Jimmy, you-"

"And I'm the one who thought it was a good idea to date a senior and lose my virgi-"

"That is enough out of the both you!" Mr. Harding shouted. "What has gotten into you two?"

Scott didn't respond at all, and Jimmy answered for the both of them.

"I was only trying to help him," Jimmy huffed, "and he was set on being an asshat to me because I didn't feel well this morning - as if I can control that." The last part was spat in Scott's direction.

Harding sighed. "Mr. Solidarity, there is no place for petty comments here," he said level-headedly. "Control your anger, please."

Jimmy pouted and crossed his arms over his chest like a child put in time-out.

"Scott?" Mr. Harding said, suggesting Scott tell him his side of the story.

Again, Scott didn't respond. At least, not right away. He sniffled and, directing his words at Jimmy, whispered, "I can't believe you just said that."

Jimmy quirked a brow. "Said what?" he asked incredulously. "That I can't control whether I feel ill or not?"

Scott shook his head. "No, not that." He paused and lifted his eyes to meet Jimmy's indifferent gaze. "About... me dating a senior, and-" He cut himself off to inhale deeply, shaking his head again. "I hate you." And with that, Scott grabbed his belongings and rushed out of the theater.

*   *   *

"It says it needs to have some sort of beneficial function," Grian said, squinting at the list of criteria.

Mumbo hummed. "Well, your design doesn't really have any arms," he pointed out, earning a half-hearted glare from the dirty blonde next to him. "Frankly, it looks like a funny little lamp."

Grian rolled his eyes. "I get it, there's flaws in my desi-"

"Flaws?" Mumbo echoed. "Are you kidding? I think it's great."

That made Grian smile. "Really?"

Mumbo nodded. "Yeah. Though... what kind of beneficial function can we give it?" he asked. "It doesn't have arms, so..."

Grian tapped his pen against his chin. "Could we make it like a calculator?" he wondered aloud.

"A calculator?"

Grian snickered. "Y'know, like... make it answer questions, or something," he explained. "Like a calculator."

Mumbo sighed. "Grian," he breathed. "I'm not a math whizz like you are. There's no way I could program it to function as a calculator."

Grian gave Mumbo an expressionless stare. "Exactly, so use my brain to input the equations, you goof," he deadpanned. "But what if we didn't only use it for math, though?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we can't make it act exactly like a calculator, because those already exist. Is it possible to program it to answer any question regarding, like, any school subject?" Grian asked. "I mean, you're a tech mastermind. Surely you know how to do that."

Mumbo was hesitant to nod. "Yeah, but it's... a little complicated," he said with a nervous laugh. "That's a lot of coding to do, and we have about a month until the fair."

Again, Grian tapped his pen, though this time on the table with a hint more impatience. "Is it too difficult to program it all into the robot itself?"

"I mean..." Mumbo trailed off before sighing. "I'm not sure." He looked around for a moment then raised his hand. "Mr. Hermann?"

The teacher looked up from the paperwork on his desk. "Yes, Mumbo?"

"We need help," Grian answered for the other, and Mr. Hermann scribbled something down before getting up and walking over.

"What seems to be the issue?" the teacher asked. "Do you have a question about the criteria?"

Mumbo shook his head. "How do we..." He paused and hummed, thinking of how to phrase his question. "How do we program something to answer questions?"

Mr. Hermann quirked a brow. "Like a fortune-teller?"

"No, like-"

"Like to answer homework questions," Grian finished.

Mr. Hermann laughed. "Like a search engine?" Grian nodded, and the teacher sighed. "That would take a lot of effort. I have no doubt you'd figure it out" - that part was directed specifically at Mumbo - "but are sure you're willing to put in all that work?"

Grian and Mumbo looked at each other for a moment. "Yeah," they answered simultaneously.

"Alrighty, then."

Mumbo and Grian spent the rest of robotics club with Mr. Hermann figuring out ways to make the programing work without needing direct help from Mr. Hermann in making it.

"What about programing different chips for each subject?" Mumbo suggested suddenly after a long moment of silence.

Mr. Hermann thought for a moment. "Like a series of memory chips?" he questioned.

"Yeah."

"It's certainly plausible," Hermann said slowly.

"I can figure it out," Mumbo said, leaning forward onto the table. "I know how to make the chips and programs. All I need is to figure out how to get the circuit to recognize the different chips."

Grian blinked rapidly as he stared at Mumbo in confusion. The what to do what?

Mr. Hermann considered it for a moment. "You know what? Go for it. Impress me."

Mumbo punched the air in celebration of his small victory, his wavy hair bouncing into his face. Grian found himself staring, not in a confused way anymore, but in a fond way that made his stomach flutter with affection.

Standing up from the table, Mr. Hermann clapped his hands together once to get everyone's attention. "Alright, everyone," he said, a bit louder than a normal conversational volume. "We are out of time today. You're challenging yourselves and testing how far you can push your limits, and I love to see it. Make sure to get together with your partners sometime during the week to take more about it, and we'll see each other back here on Friday." He smiled. "You're all dismissed."