Title: Community Service
Rating: PG
Summary: Zoey intends to teach Logan a lesson, but it all goes terribly awry.
AN: I wrote this first part in February of 2008... I remembered it all of a sudden last night, August 29, 2010, and decided to go see if I still had it saved on my computer. Obviously, I had, but I don't think it will make it any farther than this stage. Unless I'm hit with a sudden burst of inspiration to get back into Zoey 101 (not very likely, but eh?), this will probably remain dormant like so many of my other stories. :P Bummer. I figured I'd just put it out here for the sake of posting it though.

"What on Earth is going on now?"

"Just Logan's latest misguided attempt to share himself with the world," Chase said, taking a bite from his prematurely-picked apple with obvious disdain. Whether the expression was a result more from the sour fruit or from the mere mention of his supposed best friend was not clear. "It's another one of those auction things that schools are doing now. Apparently, it's some sort of fundraising trend." Another frown.

"Fundraising for what?" Lola, oblivious to Chase's dissatisfaction, checked the cuticles on one hand with mild interest.

"You didn't hear?" Michael scoffed with disbelief. "It's all he's been talking about. It's one of those 'Self Services for Starving Offspring' charities, where you auction yourself off for twenty-four hours to help feed hungry children."

"Basically," said Chase, finally surrendering his unwanted apple to the garbage can. "You sell yourself—which was, you know, illegal, last time I checked—as a slave—very illegal—for a whole day in order to feed a kid."

"Is it legit?" Zoey asked, her interest growing.

"I don't know," Chase shrugged with annoyance. "It has to be, I guess, what with the government funding and whatnot. Logan's just directing it here."

"Hey, I don't care who made it or why—I'm just excited about the free refreshments all of the participating slaves are given." Michael could always be trusted to have his mind on food, after all.

"What's that supposed to be for?" Quinn placed her hands on her hips, scandalized. "Some sort of weak compensation for what horrors await them?"

"Ahh, I'm sensing some negativity," Logan appeared behind Michael and Chase, placing a hand comfortably on each of their shoulders. "I assure you, all orders and demands of the servants must be appropriate as thoroughly explained in the contract that all participants must sign… quite a disappointment, I'm sure, to all of my lovely hopefuls, waiting to purchase my, ah… services. For a hefty price, that is."

"Logan, do you think you could possibly speak one sentence without being a completely gross jerk?" demanded Lola, finding time to break her gaze away from her perfectly manicured fingernails.

"But where, my dear Lola, would the fun be in that?" And so he left, quite haughtily, to oversee the proceedings of the fundraiser.

"Wow," Chase said, unsurprised. "Just when you think he can't get any more conceited." He shook his head pityingly.

"You know…" Zoey said, the formation of a plan slowly developing in her mind. "I will buy him."

A moment of silence.

"What?"

"You can't be serious, Zoey," Lola stared in utter disbelief. Chase still remained frozen at her side, mouth agape in unadulterated shock. "Think of what kind of person he is—why on earth would you want something like that following you around for a whole day?"

"I mean, really, Zoey," Michael added. "No amount of money is worth Logan's… services… whatever they, ah, may be." Everyone turned to him in disgust. "What? I didn't go into detail!"

"Ew, Michael, what are you thinking?" Zoey exclaimed, offended. "I wouldn't buy Logan for that."

"Then why bother b—b—buying him?" Chase sputtered, suddenly regaining his mobility, as sporadic as it was. "You obviously can't want him, after all," his voice reached a whole new octave. "I mean, this is all a joke, right?" He turned to Michael, accusingly. "Right?"

"Guys, think about it." She smiled. "This is a great opportunity."

Chase looked faint.

"Look at this way," she continued, ignoring Chase's illness. "If we all pool our money together, we wouldn't have any problem beating the other contenders—"

"You have yet to convince me why this is an acceptable idea," Quinn interrupted.

"Because," Zoey said, exasperated. "Just think of what it'd be like to show Logan what it's really like to be someone's slave. To give him a taste of his own medicine. You know…. teach him a lesson." Chase, though slightly placated, looked frantic still. The rest, however, began to process the depth of what Zoey was implicating.

"What it's really like, eh?" Michael mused, rubbing his chin pensively.

"A taste of his own medicine?" Lola smiled deviously. "How about a whole gulp?"

"Really now," Quinn said. "Is it really such a ridiculous notion to donate to the needy through education? Why must there be all of this—this—nonsense about slavery—can't we just hold a science fair?"

"You know, Quinn," Zoey began. "You could consider this an experiment… you could create your very own hypothesis to see how long it will take for Logan to break down." She couldn't help but smile at the thought. Quinn, herself, began to consider the possibilities.

"I do suppose it wouldn't hurt to conduct an experiment on such a controversial topic… you know, to reinforce my argument that slavery is by no means tolerable, not even for the sake of thousands of hungry children."

"And just think, guys," Zoey said, her smile growing wider. "Logan can't possibly hope to complain. Not only does it say something about accepting one's duties willingly, I'm sure, but I'm positive that Logan wouldn't want his whole program to fall through… what with he, himself, failing to commit to his own rules."

It was as good as done.

"So," Zoey smiled victoriously. "let's feed some hungry children."

"Five dollars, five dollars, five dollars, five dollars, do I hear six dollars? Do I hear six? Going once, going twice, twice it goes, going twice now, going three times, and—sold!" Applause rang throughout the courtyard as a newly-purchased "servant" was escorted to their owner.

"Thank you, thank you everyone," the auctioneer spoke. "As you know we've had a lovely success here today at PCA, that's right now, what a lovely day at P. C. A. Remember, every servant and their owner must sign both the 'Servants' Rights Agreement' and the 'Owner Manual of Appropriateness' before they leave the vicinity, so be sure you folks head back over to the registration booth before you head on out. And now, without further ado, you good folks of PCA, we have our final servant to auction off—please welcome everyone, our fundraiser director and the man with the child-feeding plan—Logan!"

Cheers erupted from the audience as he appeared from behind a black curtain, dressed to impress in the finest suit his family could buy and the whitest teeth his dentist could supply. Zoey looked around the area nervously, taking in the number of girls obnoxiously sighing and giggling, calling out his name and whistling continuously. She hadn't realized that Logan would have so many fans.

"Don't worry, Zoe," Lola said reassuringly. "There's no way any of them could match our price." She leaned back in her chair contentedly. "We've got him for sure."

"Right… no worries." But it wasn't just the possibility of missing out on an opportunity to annoy Logan that bothered her… it was the possibility that, just possibly, there might be a chance that there were girls out there that actually… liked, liked Logan for the perverted creep he was, despite his ceaseless arrogance and complete disregard for the feelings of others.

I don't get it, Zoey said, frowning. I don't see what's so great about him… It's just Logan. She shook her head. They just don't know him as well as we do, that's all.

"And now everyone, we'll begin the auction!" the man's voice become almost unintelligible, so fast were his words. "What, shall we begin? Let's begin, let's start the bid at three dollars—do I hear three dollars? Three dollars, that's three dollars towards the food for a hungry child, I say, do I hear a taker?" Every servant-less female hand in the audience shot up instantly, but only one number was called. "I see number thirty-four is a fervent young gal, thirty-four will take him for three, that's three dollars, do I hear any more? Do I hear four or will thirty-four take home Mr. _ for three?"

A number fifty-two called out six dollars. The auctioneer repeated the bid, before continuing to ask for seven. Number sixteen shouted ten dollars. The man began to stutter, so great was his excitement in having reached the double digits—no one else had received such a high offer… a fact that Logan was obviously aware of, his smile hiding nothing of his rapidly-inflating ego. A number eighteen shouted out fifteen dollars while number forty-one called for twenty. Another girl raised the bar to twenty-five, but was topped by an offer of thirty-five dollars. The man became so overwhelmed the onslaught of proposals and the rapidity of them that he, himself, was having trouble keeping up. It was becoming clear that some girls had surpassed their budget a long time ago and thus stopped calling out higher offers… only a few were consistently bargaining now.

"Is that forty—do I hear—did I hear—forty?" the man, so calm before, was beginning to sweat quite profusely. Logan, meanwhile, stood smugly at the front of the stage, waiting for the highlight of his day take its course. The woman at the donation table was almost in tears, so overwrought with happiness was she.

"Are you serious," Chase muttered under his breath, as the race plowed on. "I can't believe we're going to waste our money on this!" His bushy brows knitted together furiously. "We didn't think it was actually going to get this high!"

"Neither did I," Zoey retorted through gritted teeth. "Just be quiet—I need to hear." She paused. "Besides, it will all be worth it, remember?"

"But—"

"That's fifty! I said fifty, fifty dollars!" A round of cheers erupted from the otherwise silent audience. The gatherers were so enraptured by the proceedings that most had forgotten to pay attention to their own newly-acquired servants. "That's fifty dollars, folks! Thank goodness for such kind-hearted souls—I tell you a whole village of children won't go hungry for—"

"Sixty dollars!" Screamed one of the two remaining contenders. "Sixty, I tell you!"

"Sixty-five!" Shouted the other. "I'll take sixty-five!"

"You filthy cow!" screeched the first. "You don't deserve him! Seventy dollars!"

The man looked as if it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. "Ah, ladies, I do believe we agreed that this would be a civil arrangement… there is no need for violence, just as there is no need for intolerable cruelty or abuse of the participants." An awkward laugh. The man was distinctly uncomfortable. Logan, meanwhile, merely watched with interest, taking delight in the uproarious turn of events. The woman at the booth sat counting the dollar bills in her cash box.

"You backstabbing liar! You don't have the money to back up your offer!"

"I beg to differ!" And so the first pulled out from her wallet the appropriate amount in cash, triumphantly displaying the bills for the crowd to see as the other shook with rage.

"Aha!" The second exclaimed. "But do you have five dollars more?" The girl produced eighty dollars, waving the valuable money through the air in the greatest sense of victory. The first looked as if tears were beginning to form. "I offer a total of eighty dollars!" The crowd burst into applause once more. Logan smiled mischievously. The auctioneer looked as if speech was unthinkable.

"Eighty—that's eighty—we have eighty dollars, folks." He stumbled across the stage. "Well," the man coughed. "It looks like, like we found our highest bidder."

The audience burst into the ultimate measure of applause. The occupants of Zoey's table looked at her expectantly. She looked around quickly, taking in the cheering crowd, the ecstatic face of the donation lady… she didn't have to spend their money on something like this. It was obvious that the other two girls wanted this desperately, so much more than she did. Was it really fair to deny them of… Logan?

She turned toward the stage, examining the smirk playing at his lips, the smugness in his gleeful eyes, the small laugh of victory she knew existed but couldn't hear. Her eyes narrowed. She stood.

"I, number seven, am willing to pay one hundred dollars for Mr. Logan and his services."

The woman in the donation booth fainted.

The crowd was silent. Zoey became aware that everyone's undivided attention was completely focused on her and her painted number, the scrap of paper that she was sure was now her enemy. Even Chase, Quinn, and Lola were stunned by the silence. Zoey merely stared at the auctioneer… not daring to look at Logan's reaction.

…this was a bad idea.

And out of nowhere, the multitude of cheers that exploded from the audience during the previous match was nothing compared to the ear-splitting clash of cheers that permeated the air now.

Zoey dared a glance at Logan, and instantly wished that she hadn't. Gone was the smug conceit... instead, Zoey found a fascinated kind of wonder and the smallest trace of an intrigued smile.

This was such a bad idea.