Second Intermission

Don’t Even Have To Say It

Casey “Cassandra” Jones Jr. knew a lot of things.

He knew how to read and write. He still had trouble adding and subtracting but Professor Donatello already sang his high praise about what a genius Junior was. A four-year-old who could read and write! It was Donnie’s dream.

Junior also knew how to draw. Master Michelangelo taught him. They started off drawing things he had never seen before. A bright sun, houses lined up in rows, trees and flowers, animals in nature. His mom said he was practically an artist!

He knew that by the wobble of her mouth, that his mom was lying. She always did that when she really wanted to laugh. Junior didn’t mind. He loved his mom’s laugh. It felt like she took up an entire cave just by being around. She brightened up his day the minute he’d lay eyes on her.

Junior knew that his mom loved him. So did her friends–auntie April, Master Michelangelo, Sensei Leonardo, Professor Donatello, and Raph.

Just Raph.

They always hugged him and gave him kisses and would fight over who got to give him rides on their shoulders until he’d be tired enough to fall asleep after laughing the day away.

Professor Donatello didn’t do hugs.

Well, it would be more accurate to say he didn’t hug often and, even then, it was on his own merits. He’d give affectionate pats on the head or participate in some playful banter. Nothing Junior had ever done warranted that but, boy, did he want it. So he devised a plan.

He entered the medical bay on time for his check-up with Professor Donatello.

“Hi Danny,” Junior greeted, voice lisping. He recently lost his front two teeth.

“Donnie,” the turtle corrected gently. He hadn’t turned from his spot at his computer. “Come, come. I’m going to get your height and weight. We’ll see if the increased rations have helped.”

Junior followed Professor Donatello’s instructions–he knew best, of course–and got onto the scale. A flat piece of metal immediately flung out to rest against the highest point of his head. He stuck out his tongue in concentration.

“I’m tall like you now! Right, Dan–Donnie?”

“Not quite,” Professor Donatello laughed. Laughed! Junior smiled brightly. His plan was already working. “I’m gonna keep you on increased rations. We’ll check again during your next visit. As for your heart–” Whatever Professor Donatello was saying died down as he turned to look at Junior. “What?”

Standing on the scale was a very purple Junior. He had somehow found the turtle’s old gear and threw it on. Everything was five sizes too big. Not to mention he was wearing them incorrectly. The only thing he had on right was the mask, two large eyebrows wiggling across his forehead. He smiled at Donnie.

“I’m you, Donnie!”

Professor Donatello was speechless. He went closer to Junior without saying another word. It made Junior doubt his absolutely perfect plan. Had he done something wrong?

Just as he was about to apologize, Professor Donatello snorted. Then came the full-on howls of laughter. Junior instantly brightened up. He had never heard the turtle laugh so hard. He waved his arms around excitedly, eyes sparkling with excitement. When Professor Donatello finally calmed down, he gave Junior an affectionate pat on the head.

“Purple suits you, Junior.” Then he pulled the loose-fitting mask over the kid’s eyes. “But maybe try again in a couple years.”

Mission: successful.

Art provided by Karday! Find them here and here.

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