Dinner felt necessary that night, and I celebrated with bread and butter. I was gracious enough to offer Madam Bovary a slice, but she declined and instead made ready to retire, saying that once she had her evening tea, that was that.

“You’re not going to eat the whole thing, are you?” Mr. Narrator asked when I was on my third slice.

I don’t want it to go to waste. Sure, it might save in a breadbox, but there’s no way those other girls will leave it alone—trust me.

“The bindle will keep it good as new—along with the butter, too.”

“Yeah?” I questioned, my mouth still stuffed with bread. “Fancy that! And here I was wondering why there wasn’t an icebox around.”

I waited until lights out to head back into the dorm room. Everyone but Patty Pig was already tucked in and asleep. It had been a particularly long day, and I wasn’t feeling exactly sociable.

“Same time tomorrow?” Mr. Narrator asked.

Nah. Let’s wait for the alarm clock, at least.

“But what about the call board?”

I yawned wide and settled into the curve of the mattress. “It’ll keep right where it is.”

Another day, another argument. This time, Shirley and June were fighting over the vanity, each trying to use an oversized powder puff at the same time. I took the cue from Patty, who had somehow snuck in during the middle of the night, and rolled up in my blanket to avoid ending up in the crossfire. After a few minutes, all the rest of them left, and I was left with a softly snoring pig.

“Sally…” Mr. Narrator prodded.

Later.

…

“Sally?”

I’m still sleeping.

…

“Sally!”

Mr. Narrator seemed out of sorts at this point, so I sat up, let out a long sigh, and stretched my arms up over my head farther than should have been possible. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly as rewarding as it should have been, since my back never let out a crack. I glanced a bit blearily about the room, noting it was finally empty.

“Ahh. Peace and quiet.”

“That’s all you have to say, sleepyhead?”

With a shrug, I slipped off the side of the bed.

Oh, right. Good morning!

“It’s almost noon!”

Still counts.

“Sally, what’s the plan for today? How are we going to earn our keep if you don’t keep to a schedule?”

First, I’m gonna shower. And you, sir, are going to pay me no mind. I’ll call on you when I’m done. In the meantime, why don’t you find something good to listen to?

“Of course I’ll make myself scarce, but—”

“Oh, I know. This one!” I imagined putting a record on a phonograph.

“I Got Rhythm?”

I nodded. “Give it a spin. Who knows? Maybe we’ll both get something from the singer’s confidence. Anyways, have a gas swinging to it.”

He cleared his throat. “The label says from the Musical Comedy ’Girl Crazy?’ Sally, what are you trying to say about yourself?”

“Hey! I ain’t saying nothing. Just listen, yeah?”

And leave me to my ablutions.

Needless to say, it was early afternoon before I headed out to the studio lot. It was a sunny day, and I intended to take it easy. With a bounce in my step, I headed down the dusty path.

I got rhythm

I got music

I got my man

Who could ask for anything more?

I got daisies

In green pastures

I got my man

Who could ask for anything more?

“You’re teasing me, Sally, I just know it.”

I paused, waiting for Mack the Security Dog to open the studio gate.

Maybe just a little. But be honest—it’s catchy, right?

Mr. Narrator let out a heavy sigh. “Downright contagious. But I still don’t understand the plan.”

I got night school tonight, right? So, I’m taking it easy for now.

Mr. Narrator didn’t believe me for even half a second. “So why are we here, then?”

I just want to look around, you know, see the sights?

“You’re up to no good, I just know it.”

I chuckled.

Mr. Narrator, do you think I’m casing the joint or something?

“Incredibly specific answer, Sally. Incredibly specific.”

“Auditions,” I said aloud, walking into the studio lot. “I want to see where they’re held.”

“That’s all?”

For now.

The studio lot was still busy as ever, with several toons acting as go-betweens, running messages and boxes around the soundstages. Rounding a corner at a wide crossroads, I found what I was looking for. There was a writhing crowd outside an open soundstage door, all of them talking and bouncing over each other as an unlucky fella with a clipboard tried to holler names nobody seemed to be answering to.

A large sign declared the building behind him to be “Central Casting,” and a temporary swing sign below noted that they were now calling “Rank 1 extras only—no exceptions!”

I would have moved a little closer to peek inside through the doors, but sure enough, June Rabbit was forcing her way to the front. Whether or not her name had been called, I’d never know.

Rank 1, huh?

I wonder how many SPP I gotta earn to rank up and join the masses—

I froze.

Mr. Narrator! Do I have to buy ranks?!

And here I spent my points on food I didn’t necessarily need…

“No, Sally. SPP is applied to your Rank as you earn it, not as you spend. You have a grand total of 10 SPP in Rank 0.” He emphasized my total heavily, making it sound a bit sarcastic.

What a ruthless taskmaster.

“I’m looking out for you, Sally. You have to keep earning! You don’t want to be seen as a drain on society.”

There’s more to life than working, you know.

Mr. Narrator didn’t say anything to that, though I could feel he was both in agreement and grudging about that fact. I just shrugged and decided to keep exploring, since it didn’t seem like I’d be learning anything else from watching the mob. Instead, I went back to following those working Below the Line, carrying boxes and messages back and forth as if their life depended on it.

One horse caught my interest, since he was carrying an entire sack of horseshoes over his shoulder.

Without making it too obvious, I followed behind him. He made his way back through the lot to a particularly tall building that had a seemingly endless line going both in and out of its double doors.

“Prop warehouse,” I murmured, noting the sign above the door. “And it looks like you’ve got to show your card to enter.”

I watched the chaos for a little bit.

“If I wanna audition and show off some gags, I might need my own basic props?” I mused, already moving down the path. “Ah well, I better get them the ol’ fashioned way.”

Security was tight, and I didn’t blend in enough yet to try to negotiate my way in.

Then a snippet of conversation from around the corner caught my attention.

“Did ya find it?”

“No, I didn’t find it. You know how many fishing rods there are in there?”

“A lot?”

“Seventy-three! And none of ’em are Mr. Eagle’s!”

“Are you sure? You checked the bottom of the rods, right?”

“You checked the bottom of the rods, right?” the other mocked. “Of course I checked ’em! You think I’m stupid?!”

I flinched and swore under my breath, but it only came out as censored scribbles in a speech bubble.

“We better check that rod you nicked the other day,” Mr. Narrator advised crisply. “The odds aren’t in your favor.”

You’re an accomplice, you know.

Mr. Narrator wouldn’t take the bait. “You’re going to return it to its rightful owner, aren’t you?”

Yeah, yeah.

I had stuffed it under my bed, just in case there was a future opportunity to trade it for star power points. But if it was marked, it’d be too dangerous to keep around.

Well, with this one, maybe I’ll even get a reward.

“You’ll be lucky to break even!”

He sounded quite anxious. With a sigh, I realized I had probably pushed him too far today. Mr. Narrator was too straight-laced to put up with my nonsense.

I promise I’ll return it. No harm, no foul. And I won’t ask for any compensation, either. Will that make you feel better?

“Marginally, Sally, marginally.”

How about if I do it now?

Mr. Narrator seemed to consider it. “The sooner, the better.”

I nodded. “Let’s go back to the dorm.”

Retrieving the fishing rod from under my bed was easy enough, since the dorm was still empty. I even found the incriminating claw mark etched into the bottom of the rod. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t see anything else interesting about the rod. It wasn’t bad or anything, mind. Just a plain, wooden fishing rod. The problem was how I was going to return it without raising eyebrows.

“Hide it in the bindle,” Mr. Narrator suggested. “Then we can put it back where we found it.”

And what if Mack searches it when I head back into the studio? I don’t know if those looking for it were security types or just go-betweens.

Then a flashbulb lit over my head with a loud poof. “No, we’ll do it your way. Half of it, anyway.”

Funny thing about packing the bindle.

If I untied the kerchief from the stick, all I had left was a piece of wood and a picnic place mat. Tied back together, though, I could reach in through the gaps at the corners and pull out everything I’d tucked away; pocket watch, provisions, and all.

Dubiously, I tried shoving the fishing rod in lengthwise, and it didn’t give me a lick of trouble.

I spent most of the walk to Cel City turning the trick over in my head, trying to work out how it worked. In the end, I settled on cartoon magic, but not before I’d entertained the notion that the space inside must fold in on itself somehow. Mr. Narrator considered that idea too, and found it downright absurd, and more than a little frightening besides.

“You might be right,” I admitted. “You’d need an iron to straighten it back out, and I don’t know of any iron that presses the fabric of space.”

Why are you calling space a fabric?

“Well, that’s what the kerchief is, ain’t it? A space fabric.”

Whatever he made of that, he kept it to himself.

Ink & Main was still bustling, but I wasn’t too interested in storefronts. Instead, I made my way to the gate of Marquee Heights. Again, two uniformed security bears were guarding it. I cleared my throat, puffed myself up, then deflated a bit, going for a more innocent look.

“Hello, mistahs,” I said after approaching, rocking back and forth on my heels to turn up what I hoped was cuteness.

The two bears gave each other a side glance, a small, non-committal grunt coming from the one on the right.

“I’mma biiiiiig fan of Mr. Eagle,” I declared. “And I—”

“No tours, kid. Scram!”

Perfect.

“No, no, I wouldn’t dream of bothering Mr. Eagle! It’s just…” Then my eyes began to water as I leaned in, sniffling. “I found something I think belongs to him down at the creek. I can’t hardly imagine him all heartbroken over losing something of his, so I brought it to you guys, knowing you’d make sure he got it back. You’ll take care of it for me, right?”

The bears looked at each other for real this time, then loomed over me as one boomed, “Show us what you think you found.”

I nodded, trying not to gulp as they blocked out the sun. “I knews it was his, cause of the mark.” I pulled out the fishing rod from the bindle and handed it off. “And that’s my good deed for the year, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“You’re not going anywhere,” the bear on the left roared, scaring some ink out of me.

I threw up both hands, dropping my bindle with a clatter. “I didn’t mean no harm, I swears—”

“Here,” the other grunted, slapping a card in my raised hand. “The perfect reward for a big fan, right?”

I slowly lowered my arms and looked at the card.

Then I stared up at the tall, imposing bears, and kicked the bindle up off the ground to catch it in my free hand.

“Just swell.” With a strained, nervous grin, I nodded and took one big step backward, stretching my hamstrings as far as they would go. “So swell, I’m gonna go use it right away! So long!”

And with that, whoosh! I skedaddled away just as fast as my wobbly legs could take me.