User blog:American che/The Holiday Party (told from Phineas's POV)

This is a short little fanfic I wrote about Phineas, Ferb, and Isabella three years into the future. Hope you like it!

"Merry Christmas... Merry Christmas... Merry Christmas..." I'm standing on a street corner, trying to garner as many people as I can to donate money for charity. I know it sounds stupid. My name is Phineas Flynn, and I am thirteen years old. My stepbrother, Ferb Fletcher, and the girl I have a crush on (but she definitely doesn't like me back, I'm pretty sure), Isabella Garcia-Shapiro, are standing with me. We're all waving bells like crazy. I don't see how many people could like this. "The ringing gets to you after a while, huh, Ferb?" I remark to my stepbrother. He nods. Isabella pauses for a minute, taking a drink of water. "Phineas, how much longer do we have to do this?" I look down into the overflowing money tin. "We should have been let off ages ago," I observe, "but since Mr. Moncrief is such a generous man, always thinking of others, he's probably going to make us stand out here for at least another hour." "Greaaat." Isabella sighs and runs into the convenience store nearby. She returns a moment later, clutching three hot chocolates. "You're a life saver, Isabella," Ferb compliments her. She curtsies. "Thank you very much." Mr. Moncrief, a jolly-faced, white-bearded man who looks very much like Santa himself, emerges from the fog that I can barely see through. "Great job, you three!" "Thanks," I say. "I'm going to let you off for the night. Thanks so much for spreading the holiday spirit— Merry Christmas!" "Come on, you guys," I say. "It's getting pretty dark out, and this fog is unbearable." Isabella shivers. "It's so cold." "I'm thinking of Florida, to be honest," Ferb says. "Being struck by lightning doesn't sound too awesome, to be honest," Isabella says. "What is UP with this fog?" "Beats me," I say. "Come on, let's go to my house before we all freeze to death." We're silent most of the way to the house. I can't exactly see through the mist; everything is hazily defined, taunting me with its blurriness. We focus hard, squinting, and wonder if this is my house or Isabella's coming up. "I say it's not mine," Isabella says. "One way to find out," Ferb says, striding up to the door and tapping lightly. A series of clipped barks sound from inside the house. "It's Isabella's," Ferb says decisively. We amble across the street to my house. Walking through the gate in the backyard, I can hear my eighteen-year-old sister, Candace, gabbing away on her cellphone to her best friend Stacy. Probably freaking out about Jeremy or something. When we get in the house, my mother calls out, "Phineas, is that you?" "Yes, Mom, it's me," I say. Isabella shivers as she stomps the snow off her boots. "It's so cold out there!" "So I've been told," I say, winking. She blushes. My mom shows up in the living room. "I have great news!" "What is it?" Ferb asks. "We're having a holiday party!" my mom says. She's clearly pumped at the chance to show off her kitchen. "Cool!" Isabella says. "So, I was wondering..." Mom says. "Is there anyone you'd like to invite?" "Could I invite Emily?" Ferb asks. Mom's smile falters for a second, but she apparently feels it and pulls her smile back up. "Sure, dear!" She turns to Isabella and I expectantly. "I was wondering if you could invite Fireside Girls Troop 46231?" Isabella asks. "Or would that be asking too much?" "Oh, no, Isabella! The more the merrier!" I've never seen my mom this happy. "What about you, Phineas?" "There's no one I really want to invite," I mumble. "All my friends are already coming." "Well, okay, if you're sure," my mother says. "Just in case you're worried, I've already called Biffany; Buford can't come, I'm afraid. I also tried Baljeet's mom— what's her name?" We all shrug. "Well, I tried his mom, and she says Baljeet has a polka recital, so he cannot come either." I most certainly don't mind. I don't want to be called Dinner Bell all night. The front door opens and a woman with long, black hair steps in. It's Mrs. Garcia-Shapiro. "Isabella," she says. "You forgot to feed Pinky." "Oh, that's right!" Isabella exclaims. "I guess I have to go. Bye Phineas, bye Ferb." "Bye, Isabella," I say. Ferb waves. I sink down on the couch and look out the sliding glass door. I flash back to when I was ten, revealing a giant rollercoaster to the neighborhood. That was fun. Life was much simpler at ten. Before, there was no being confused about Isabella, no Mr. Moncriefs making you stay out all day in the freezing cold. Life was fun. But now this holiday party is weighing down on my brain. All I can think of is the party and Isabella. I look over at Ferb, slouched in an armchair, and see him thinking the same thing— but hopefully not the Isabella part. "Why do you seem so down?" I ask. "Why do you?" he replies. Touché. "I'm thinking about this stupid holiday party and Isabella." "Me too," he says, and my heart leaps into my throat; I feel a surge of anger: Isabella is mine! "But not the Isabella part, right?" I ask, trying to keep my voice as even as possible. "Oh, yeah," he says. "No, I'm thinking about Emily." "Emily?" I ask. "Who is this mysterious Emily?" "Emily was my old friend from before I came to the States," Ferb says. "We were the best of friends until one day my father met your mother and fell in love. I think he was going to a Love Händel concert with her." "That's right," I say, then pause. "Remember when we were ten, getting Love Händel back together for Mom and Dad?" "Yes," says Ferb. "'Don't just stand there, kiss her!' Good times." I sigh a little. "This is going to sound so girly, but waiting for this party is going to kill me." "It's next week," Ferb points out. "But still."

For the next week, I kill my time volunteering to Mr. Moncrief and his money tin. When I come home at night, I'm as tired as anything, my legs hurt, I'm having to thaw myself out, and my head is killing me from the constant jangle of bells. The only good part about this is Isabella and Ferb have decided to stick with me the whole time I'm volunteering, which makes it slightly better. But I'm still glad when the party rolls around. The morning of the party, I wake up and shut off the alarm before it rings, a habit I've been stuck in since I was ten. My mother opens the door, not even bothering to knock, and says, "Wake up." "Wuzzgoinon?" Ferb asks drowsily. I whack him with a pillow and he wakes up completely. "I just wanted to let you guys know, the party tonight is formal," she says, stressing the formal. "That means no high purple overalls or orange-striped t-shirts." "What does it mean, then?" I ask. "It means I want both of you to wear a tuxedo," my mother says to our shagrin. I wonder if Isabella likes tuxes. My mother walks out of the room, and I sink into a horrible nightmare... I'm at the holiday party in my tux. My dream self remembers Isabella telling me earlier that I looked good. Just then, I see Isabella and Ferb bump into each other under the mistletoe. Isabella throws a snotty glance in my direction and kisses Ferb. "PHINEAS!" I wake up. "Whut?" I ask. "You were screaming in your sleep," Ferb says. "What were you dreaming?" "I dreamt... I dreamt... I dreamt we were at the party... Isabella had told me earlier I looked good in my tux... but then you and her bumped into each other under the mist— the mis— the mistletoe," I spit out. He pauses. "Wow..." is all he can say. "I never knew you felt that way. She was really obvious that she liked you, you know." "WHEN?!" How could I have missed this? "She used to be so obvious when we were like, ten." Ten... "Did you ever see anything before?" Ferb's got the master memory of anyone I know. "Yes, yes I did. She was always fawning on you since the day you first met." "You remember being two years old?" "Amazing memory." We look at each other and laugh.

Later that day, I'm sitting on the couch, watching a rerun of some old show in my tux. I've never felt so dressed up. I feel like I got specially dressed up for the occasion of watching TV. The doorbell rings. I look out the window and see a small chihuahua, so I take it to be Isabella. When I open the door, it's all I can do from gasping aloud. Isabella is standing there, like I predicted. But it's not Isabella like I've ever seen her. Her hair is twisted up into a shiny knot, she's got a beautiful (wow, I sound like a girl) pink dress on, and she's looking at me with bright eyes. "Hi, Phineas!" she chirps, observing my tux. She says a bit softer, "You look really good." Oh, snap. This sounds like my dream. "Thanks," I say. "You look great." The doorbell rings steadily for the next ten minutes, letting in all of Mom's bridge club. (I had no idea that many people could fit in the Garcia-Shapiro house.) The chatter of a hundred men and women fill my house. I must say, it looks very festive. The banister has been wrapped with tinsel, there's mistletoe hanging over every doorway, and little red and white lanterns are hanging from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the room. I'm sitting in the kitchen, eating a peppermint brownie and trying to keep out of the way of all the bridge club members. I take a glance at the food line and see that it is still heavily populated. You'd think that in my own house I'd be able to get some food, but I'm supposed to be a perfect little angel for Mom. Noticing that the drink line has significantly shrunk, I walk over to the drinks and help myself to some hot chocolate. I end up not drinking it and tossing it in the trash. Hope Mom didn't see that, seeing as she's all for the environment. As I'm about to exit the kitchen, I run into Isabella, obviously going to the kitchen to get a drink or something. "Oh!" she exclaims. "I'm sorry, Phineas!" Her eyes drift upward to my face, and then higher, up to the mistletoe hanging a foot above our heads. "Um..." I say, at a loss for words. Taking direction, Isabella bluntly leans forward and kisses me smack on the lips. Finally! "Merry Christmas," she says to me. I smile. "Happy Hannukah." Just then, my mother calls me over. "Phineas, I want you to come meet some people." As she's introducing me to half the bridge club, I wonder if she can feel the happiness I'm radiating. Apparently she does, because after she's done introducing me, she pulls me aside. "Well, what's got you so happy, mister?" I smile lazily, feeling my whole face light up. "Thanks for hanging the mistletoe." I see the comprehension dawn on her face. "Was it one of the Fireside Girls?" I pause. "Technically... yes. It was Isabella." She hugs me. "Oh, honey, I am so happy for you!" A normal boy my age would have pushed her away, but I let her hug me. It was, truly, one of the best Christmases I've ever experienced.

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