"Hello? Room service?"

That CUTE line in "Hawaiian Vacation," the one where Ferb drops that silent, "I'll-just-let-Phineas-do-the-talking" demeanour and does his own thing, inspired me enough to write this one-shot. Enjoy! It's Ferb's POV.

"Hello? Room service?"

Talking is not my strong point. I prefer analytical mental deliberations to long winded chatter – what is there to be gained from speech that cannot be attained through thought?

I used to think that the answer to that query was "Nothing." I used to think the activity of the mind was preferable in every way, shape, and form to holding and having conversation with others, but then Phineas came along.

Heavens, what a special kid.

He was a chatterbox and an optimist, my polar opposite. The best brother a boy could ask for. Around him, I began to utilize the extensive vocabulary I had obtained but never before put to work. But quietness seeps into the bones of an individual that practices it, and I still couldn't talk much. It was not natural for my numerous thoughts to shape themselves into words.

The transformation from silence to slight, scattered sentences was slow, and, in the beginning, I appreciated Phineas as a pleasant acquaintance and nothing more. I didn't believe he was on the same mental level as I, didn't think he could understand anything. We were friends for a brief while, but as we grew, we started drifting apart. I couldn't act naturally around him - I envied his imagination and felt that he must consider me standoffish and dull. After all, what had I to offer? He made people laugh where I could not. And I did not share his talent, then what did I have to contribute? Friends should operate on the same level, each should bring something to the relationship, the same way people bring refreshments to share at a party. It makes the experience tasteful and enjoyable. But I didn't believe I had anything, any talent or likeability, that he didn't.

Then we started inventing. He would draw up the blueprints and try to build, but often he'd be stuck, lost for words, his pencil useless against the paper he didn't know how to conquer.

That's when I took the plans from him and adjusted the calculations, that's when I started piecing together the creations he designed. And for a while, all was well.

But "well" is a sorry little word – it doesn't suffice. We were enjoying ourselves immensely, and I came out of my shell to a certain degree. The rift in our comradeship was healed – I was bringing something to the friendship, not by attempting to be like him and failing miserably, but by just being myself. If I tried to be funny and overly cheerful, tried to be charismatic like he was, there wouldn't be diversity. There would only be two Phineases, one meant to be that way and one a shadow, a parody of the other. If that makes sense. And so I was myself around him, and everyone else, the quiet thinker of the group.

And so we grew closer, and our friendship deepened. We started having "the best days ever."

But things can only go so far, things can only be so fun, if there is utter silence on an individual's part. And so I started talking.

Telephones were still a challenge, though, a daunting one. Each of us got cellular phones for the Christmas of our eleventh year, but I didn't use mine. Ever.

Telephones are the farthest, highest branch in the tree of awkwardness. You speak – note that, you must speak, or else the person on the other end can't tell what you are saying – and you can't tell if the person on the other end is giving you a look full of loathing, hating your guts, or batting their eyelashes and drooling over your words. It's extremely disconcerting. You can't get cues from expressions and body language as to what you should say. Besides all that, I can't explain why I hate talking on the telephone. It's simply something I struggle with.

It took me so, so long for me to get over the insecurity of long-range conversations. I wasn't expecting the epiphany when it came.

We were in Hawaii, and me and my brother were in a pickle. It's a rather long story, and the tale is irrelevant to the point I'm attempting to get across. Anyhow, we were in our hotel room, and one of us had to call room service to order a giant flashlight – I know, it sounds intriguing, but, honestly, I'll tell you another time.

Phineas was puzzled – or, at least, he was pretending to be. And he posed a simple question.

The answer was to call room service, and I knew it. He knew it as well, and he grinned as I picked up the phone and spoke into it.

"Hello? Room service?"

It was easy. I felt cool, calm, collected, riding the wave of my personality and the confidence I suddenly felt.

Telephone conversations are still hard, in general. But I suppose that, in the end, the old cliché is true – just be yourself. Honestly. It works.

Watch "Hawaiian Vacation" if you're still confused. :) Thanks for reading! Please review :)