By the time Danielle said goodbye to the group and watched them disappear beneath the surface of the pond, she noticed it was starting to get dark outside. She wasn't all that hungry, but it did occur to her she wasn't totally sure where she was going to spend the night. "Dang it, I should have asked Sarah or Dr. Octavius about that before they left."

She considered wandering around aimlessly until she happened on something, but then she remembered the map she had purchased from Heisenberg's Uncertainty Shoppe. She pulled it out of her pocket and unfolded it.

*

For a change an item purchased from the Uncertainty Shoppe was what it appeared to be. Or at least mostly so. It actually was a map of Quartzwater City, although it only showed places where Danielle had already been. It was also printed on a rare form of paper that was known to cause extreme drowsiness in certain types of weeds. So it was the dandelion hitching a ride on her pant leg fell deeply asleep.

*

"Well, I guess there's always that Airless Coffin place. Am I that desperate?" Danielle shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe I'll head that way and see if I come across any better options."

As she left the Buttermoss Gardens, she was accosted on the street by a red anteater holding a clipboard. "Excuse me, ma'am, could I have just a moment of your time?"

"Uh, I guess so," Danielle shrugged.

"Oh, wow," the anteater said. "I can't tell you how much this means to me, lady. I've been harassing people all day and you're the first one who's actually stopped to talk to me."

"Did you just say you've been harassing people?" Danielle asked.

"Did I? Oops. No, I meant to say appealing to people's better natures. It's a cold, cruel world out there and most people are too callous to want to make a positive change. But that's where you come in."

"How so?"

"Why, by signing this handy dandy petition I've got. Now, if you would just be so kind as to put your signature on this blank space right here..."

"Hang on a minute, I don't even know what this is a petition for. I'm not signing something when I don't know what it is!"

"Oh, did I fail to mention that?" the anteater said. "Sorry, I'm a little out of practice at the whole petitioning thing, what with the fact that not a single person has stopped to talk to me in weeks!"

"If no one's stopped to talk to you, where did you get all those signatures from?"

"Oh, uh, those. Well the first one is my mom. The rest I sort of filled in myself. Can you tell? I tried to alter my handwriting, but it's tougher than it looks. There's only so many times you can switch to your non-dominant hand, you know what I mean?"

"So even though it says you've gotten fifty-six signatures, you've actually only gotten two?" Danielle asked. "As in yourself and your mother?"

"Well, yeah, technically. But it's okay. They expect you to fill in a few signatures yourself. Standard practice in the industry, you know what I mean? But it would really help me out a lot if I could get a few more actual signatures from other people, so if you don't mind doing me a solid and signing right here I'd really appreciate it."

"You still haven't told me what this petition is about."

"Oh, yes. The petition! Sorry, I got a little sidetracked there. Did I mention I'm a little out of practice? It's a shame I used to be the best petitioner in the western hemisphere, but that was before the zamboni accident."

"Right," Danielle said. "And the petition?"

"I'm sure you want me to tell you more about the zamboni accident, but I've got to say that was a really dark time and I'm not comfortable talking about it."

"It's okay, I don't need to hear about your accident. But if you want me to sign your petition you're going to have to tell me what it's for. Are you trying to make zambonis safer?"

"No. I'm not. Although that would probably be a good idea. Do you have any idea how dangerous those things are? Someone should really do something about them."

"Okay, well, if you're not going to tell me about your petition I guess I'm just going to be on my way."

"No, no, no, no, no, no," the anteater jumped to block her way. "This is a cause that's really important to me and I would feel a deep sense of shame if I failed to get any signatures. You want to know what this is about? I'm about to tell you what it's about. What I've got here in my hands at this very moment is a petition to put an end to..."

He paused for dramatic effect.

"The Adolescent Menace!"

"What is the Adolescent Menace?" Danielle asked.

"It's kids today. They're what's wrong with the world. Especially teenagers. I've had enough of their disrespect and crassness and I say it's time to put an end to it."

"I see. And how do you propose to do that?"

"By making teenagers illegal."

"But they can't help being teenagers," Danielle said. "It's something that just happens to you at a certain time of your life. Specifically between the ages of thirteen and nineteen."

"Yeah, well, that's what I'm trying to change. If you don't have the good sense to go straight from twelve to twenty then you deserve what's coming to you."

"I don't think that's the way things work."

"Well, they'd better figure out a way to make it work or they're going to find themselves on the wrong side of the law."

"So your plan is to have them arrested for merely existing as teenagers?"

"You're darn right I am," the anteater huffed. "How dare these little pukes have the audacity to walk around being pubescent? I'll learn them a few things once I reach my mandatory eight thousand and three signatures."

Danielle rubbed her temples. "I'm not sure you've really thought this plan of yours through very well. First off, you're never going to reach eight thousand signatures."

"Eight thousand and three."

"Yes, right. Eight thousand and three. That's a lot of signatures. And I'll be honest, I think a lot of teenagers are obnoxious, too. But they can't help it. That's part of what being a teenager is. It's pushing boundaries and finding out who you are and sometimes you're going to be an annoying little twerp in the process. But it's part of life and an important one at that. But even if being a teenager was a complete waste of time, you still can't stop it from happening. The only thing that cures being a teenager is time."

"I refuse to accept that," the anteater said.

"I'm not trying to be mean, but you're out of touch with reality. Unless you're friends with some sort of mad scientist who can create a machine that eliminates adolescence, teenagers aren't going anywhere."

"Dang," the anteater said. "You're probably right. Say, you wouldn't happen to know any mad scientists, would you?"

"Um, no. Never had the pleasure of meeting any. What's got you so riled up about teenagers, anyway? They're not really that bad. Weren't you a teenager once?"

"I was, but it was a dark time. Much like the zamboni accident. I'd really rather not talk about it. As for my current beef with teenagers, there are some hoodlums that like to hang out in my street and they keep pulling pranks on me. Their latest kick is something I believe they like to call ding-dong ditch. This involves ringing my doorbell and then, get this, running away. It's monstrous!"

"Hmm, yes, I believe I might have played that game once or twice myself as a youngster. You want my honest opinion? It sounds like these kids are just bored and looking for something to do. I hardly think this merits outlawing them. Tell you what, if you want, I can go with you and we can have a talk with them. Maybe we can get to the bottom of what's causing their antisocial behavior and see if we can get them to use their time more constructively."

"You'd really do that? Gee, lady, that's awfully nice of you."

"Instead of lady, would you mind calling me Danielle?"

"Oh, okay. Since we're friends now and everything, you can call me Andrew."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Andrew."

"This sure means a lot to me, Danielle. If there's anything I can do for you in return, just name it."

"I'm kind of looking for a place to stay tonight that preferably isn't a horribly seedy motel that's recently been a major crime scene."

"I don't really know much about hotels, but we've got a spare bedroom in our house you could probably stay in. My mom always makes sure it's got clean bedsheets."

"Okay, well, let's go have a talk with these teenage friends of yours and then I just might take you up on your offer."