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Rescue Team

Phineas and Ferb Spirit Week, Day 11: Friendship Group Without the Flynn-Fletchers

Ao3 link here!

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Stranded in a town an hour from Danville at ten at night, the last thing Isabella wants to do is worry her mother. Though she is perfectly capable of handling herself, Buford insists she sit on the phone with him and Baljeet until they arrive to pick her up. So they are privy to the interaction Isabella has with a couple of men who sexually harass her. The creeps picked the wrong teenager to mess with.

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Isabella’s pink and white sneakers slapped against the cement, her breaths coming out in short pants. She veered around the corner, her eyes growing wide at the sight of her bus slowly pulling away from the curb. “No! Wait!”

She waved her arms wildly, but the bus only picked up speed, the occupants pointedly avoiding her pleading gaze. Isabella came a halt, the lingering exhaust sour in her nostrils, helpless to do anything but watch as the bus grew smaller and smaller as it travelled down the street.

She dropped onto the steel bus bench, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands. “Perfect,” she whispered.

There wouldn’t be another bus for two more hours. She shouldn’t have lingered after the event, but she had so many questions for her favourite author that she risked staying an extra ten minutes. The interaction had been amazing, even more so than the book talk, and she’d achieved her goal of getting Hallie Straw’s contact information so she could schedule the popular author as a speaker for future Bonfire Girl meetings.

But now she was paying for her ambition. She had begged and pleaded with her mother to let her attend the book talk an hour outside Tri-State Area’s border. Vivian hadn’t been enthused by the idea of her teenaged daughter being by herself in an unfamiliar city until ten at night. But Isabella had reminded her mother about all the martial arts patches she had earned. If the situation arose, she was perfectly capable of defending herself.

Isabella groaned in frustration, looking around the dark, empty street. There were a few people out and about, walking dogs or pushing along fabric shopping trolleys.

Twisting the bottom of her pink blouse, Isabella considered her options. She could call her mother to pick her up, but the very thought made her feel terrible. Her mom would already be in her pajamas, catching up on her stories. She also knew her mom would do nothing but worry the whole trip up to Hill Heights and Isabella didn’t want her to go through the stress.

Isabella pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled through her contacts. The blue glare lit up her face, giving her an eerie glow. She sent a quick text to her mom, telling her she was on the bus, but the bus was delayed, so she would be late.

Ignoring the surge of guilt for fibbing, Isabella drummed her fingers against her knee as she contemplated her options. She would have called the Flynn-Fletchers in a heartbeat, but they were gone on a family trip to Washington, D.C. In her Favourites tab, listed beneath Phineas, Ferb, and Candace, was Buford’s number.

She tapped it, bouncing her foot anxiously as it rang.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m stuck in Hill Heights, on a bus bench five blocks away from Benny’s Bookstore,” spoke Isabella, too stressed to scold Buford for stealing her catchphrase. “The next bus isn’t for another two hours. I know I’m far away—”

“I’m on my way.”

The answer was swift and immediate. “Really?” asked Isabella hopefully.

“Of course,” said Buford gruffly.

“Thank you so much.” Her shoulders sagged with immense relief. “Um, I didn’t really tell my mom I’m sort of stranded. She thinks I’m on a delayed bus.”

“Well, she won’t hear it from me.” There was the sound of rustling and then the jingling of keys. “I��ll call you back in a few minutes.”

“Why are you—?”

Her question was interrupted by the dial tone. Shrugging, Isabella rested her phone against her lap and did a scan of the street. The dogwalkers and late-night shoppers had moved on, leaving her the sole occupant of the area. The darkness was permeated by murky yellow streetlights, and the bench she was sitting on had a streetlight directly above her. She shifted on the bench, stretching out her legs, and gave herself a decent view of her surroundings.

She checked the time on her phone. It was 10:30, and it would take Buford an hour to get to her. She would make it home by 12:30. The bus she had missed would arrive in Danville at midnight, so she wouldn’t be too far behind.

Her phone trilled again, with Buford’s picture flashing on the screen. She stared at the video call request in confusion for a second before accepting it. She was greeted with a horizontal view of the interior of Buford’s van, with Baljeet in the passenger seat.

“Baljeet?” she said in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“I am coming along with Buford to pick you up.”

His eyes were glassy and he was wearing a wrinkled blue sweater and plaid pajama pants. Isabella frowned sharply. “Buford! Did you wake him up?”

“Yup,” replied Buford, not taking his eyes off the road.

“It is okay,” Baljeet said with a sleepy but sincere smile. “I want to come.”

“I appreciate it,” said Isabella with a warm smile. “Well, I’ll see you guys when you get here.”

“Don’t hang up!”

Isabella’s finger froze over the End Call icon. Buford’s gaze flicked over to where his phone was mounted to the dashboard. When he saw Isabella’s face still filling the screen, a muted yellow glaze of light dousing her features, he returned his attention to the road.

“Don’t hang up,” he repeated.

“Why not?” asked Isabella in bafflement.

“You’re sitting at a bus stop in the dark. You’re staying on the phone until we get there.”

Isabella’s eyes narrowed. “Buford Van Stomm, are you damsel-in-distressing me?”

“I’m being realistic. You’re a pretty girl, alone at night, which is when the creeps are out in full force.”

There was a laptop sitting in Baljeet’s lap and he turned it slightly so Isabella could see that the browser displayed Google Maps, open to her coordinates. “We have you covered!”

“That’s very sweet, guys, but I am trained in several martial arts,” said Isabella.

“Don’t care. If you hang up, you’re gonna get it,” warned Buford.

Isabella smirked. “You wouldn’t beat up a pretty girl, would you?”

“Any other pretty girl? No. You? Always.”

Baljeet squinted. “You told me to call 911 if she was being harassed. So should I call now?”

Keeping one hand firmly on the wheel of his van, Buford used his other to briefly swat at Baljeet. “Shut up.”

Baljeet stuck out his tongue, rubbed the spot on his neck where Buford smacked him. “How was the author talk, Isa?”

Isabella brightened. “Oh, it was amazing! Hallie is such an eloquent speaker. She told us all about her writing process and how she came up with her most recent story. It’s based off a moment in her life, when she was on a family trip to Jamaica.”

Isabella reclined against the metal bar of the bus bench, resting the bottom of her phone against her stomach. She described Hallie Straw’s event with great detail, emphasizing her favourite talking points. She squealed about how kind Hallie was, and how she had scored the author’s contact info to schedule her for a future Bonfire Girls event.

“Pfwt Pftwwwwwwww!”

The wolf whistle echoed down the desolate street. Isabella’s back immediately straightened, her hackles rising. She stared at the two white men coming in her direction, leering at her with no shame. She quickly assessed them, calculating her ability to take them in a struggle.

They were both tall with greasy faces and gross unmaintained beards. One of the men flashed her a wide smile, which had gaps due to missing teeth. Isabella kept her expression hard and uninviting.

“Get 911 ready, Jeet,” growled Buford, his voice drifting from the phone’s speakers to Isabella’s ears. Her nerves eased, comforted by the virtual presence of two people she trusted most in the whole world.

“Hey, Mamacita!” the man with the bald spot crowed. They paused at the end of the bus bench. “Mind if we take a seat?”

“Are you waiting for the bus?” Isabella asked shortly.

“Nah, but we can’t leave a pretty young thing like you all by yourself.”

“Yes, you can,” she replied coldly, “because I am a minor.”

Missing Teeth’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline. “Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “Show me your ID.”

“Turn the phone around, Isa.”

Buford’s voice was ice-cold. Isabella lifted her phone and flipped the camera, so Buford and Baljeet had a clear view of her creepy pursuers. There was a screech of tires against asphalt and Isabella’s heart stuttered in her chest at the sound. She would have whipped the screen back to face her if Buford’s voice hadn’t emitted from the speakers seconds later.

“Get the hell away from her, perverts.”

“Who are you?” sneered Bald Spot. “Her boyfriend?”

“I am the guy who is going to destroy you if you say one more word to her,” snarled Buford. With his van pulled to the side of the road, he was able to give the men his full, furious attention.

“You ain’t anywhere near here,” said Missing Teeth, his tone edged with irritation. His finger snapped out and Isabella shouted in anger as he abruptly ended the video call. “Now, honey—”

His hand reached towards her shoulder and she gripped it, getting to her feet as she did so. She twisted her body and flipped Missing Teeth straight over her shoulder, letting him take a hard impact against the concrete.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouted, taking several steps back with her phone clutched against her chest. “Get lost, creeps!”

When Missing Teeth struggled to get to his feet, Bald Spot hurried over to his side. The disgusting, flirtatious smile had completely fallen, replaced with pain and hatred. “You bitch,” he said viciously, holding his lower back as he tried to stand up. “Think you’re too good for us, do you?”

“I am sixteen, you moron,” said Isabella hotly. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’m calling the cops.”

“Prove it,” demanded Bald Man. “Show us your license.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re a lying slut.”

“You owe me a drink for nearly breaking my back,” hissed Missing Teeth, his eyes flashing. “Actually, you owe me a whole lot more than just a drink.”

Isabella’s phone started to trill and she promptly answered it. Baljeet’s voice erupted from the speakers. “Rory McGully and Dick Smith, I know where you live!”

The two men froze. “Who the hell is that, and how does he know our names?” asked Missing Teeth.

“None of your business,” said Baljeet frostily. “You should really be more careful about what you post on social media. McGully, you live at 5466 Rainy Road. Dick Smith, you reside in apartment 44, at the Carpet Towers, on 35 Wilson Street.”

Isabella took great delight in the fear that descended on their faces.

“I’m calling the cops,” spoke Bald Spot, reaching into his coat jacket.

Isabella gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, that’s so rich. Yeah, call them. I can’t wait to tell them how you sexually harassed a teenager.”

“Did they touch you?” bellowed Buford.

“Nope. Wouldn’t let them lay a finger on me,” soothed Isabella.

“Listen here, assholes.” Buford’s voice was like thunder, deep and ominous. “You’re not gonna do shit. You’re gonna go on your pathetic way, and if you utter one more word, I’m going to pay you a visit. You won’t know when. It’ll be in the dead of night, and you’ll wake up screaming, because I’m breaking your kneecaps with a metal bat.”

“His family has ties with the Mafia,” said Isabella flippantly. “So he’s got some experience with breaking kneecaps.”

Though the two men refused to believe she was a teenager, they apparently didn’t want to challenge this claim. Bald Spot lugged Missing Teeth down the street, and Isabella stared after them until they disappeared around the corner.

Her breath left her in a long rush. “Ugh, some men, I swear.” She reclaimed her place on the bus bench, turning the phone so she was once more in the camera frame. The van was still in park, and relief crashed over Baljeet’s expression when her face once more filled Buford’s screen.

“Are you okay?” he asked urgently.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she assured. “Thanks, guys.” She darted her gaze to Buford, who was sitting stiffly in the driver’s seat, his fingers clenched into his lap, his chest heaving with agitated breaths. “Hey, Bu, look at me.” When his eyes dragged over to hers, she said gently, “I promise you, I’m fine. I full-body flipped Missing Teeth when he tried to put his hand on my shoulder.”

Buford’s shoulders sagged slightly. “Did it hurt?”

“He walked off still hunched over, so I think he’s definitely going to need some chiropractor appointments.”

“Good.”

Relaxing fully, Buford’s fists unfurled and he gripped the wheel. As he merged back onto the road, he said, “All right, tell me how my family has ties to the Mafia.”

“I don’t know,” said Isabella with a laugh. “You’ve watched The Godfather about five thousand times?”

“Nah, you can do better than that.”

Isabella spent fifteen minutes spinning an elaborate tale about the Van Stomms being bodyguards for prominent Mafia families, protecting mob bosses from assassins, shoot-outs, snitches, and tax investigations. When they got bored of playing in that fictional world, Buford turned on the radio, and they listened to music as they made idle chatter.

Isabella’s eyes lit up when Buford’s van finally cruised down the street. She leapt from the bench as he parked and she clambered into the middle section of the vehicle. “I love you guys,” she said warmly, squeezing between their seats so she could wrap her arms around them.

Baljeet’s arm looped around her waist, his cheek pressed against hers. “We love you too.”

“Yeah,” said Buford roughly, putting his arm around her shoulders and squeezing. “You okay?”

“I’m amazing,” said Isabella honestly, placing a kiss against his temple and ignoring his grumbling.

She plopped into her seat and buckled her seatbelt. Baljeet twisted around and pointed to the blue cooler bag nestled by her feet. “Help yourself.”

As Buford started the journey back home, Isabella curiously unzipped the cooler. Propped against an icepack were bottles of water, her favourite brand of raspberry iced-tea, granola bars, and her favourite chocolate bars.

She had finished her water bottle two hours ago, and she hadn’t eaten since a small bag of chips on the bus ride to Hill Heights. As far as she was concerned, this cooler was a treasure chest, and she teared up as she cracked open a water bottle.

“You guys are the best,” she said with a sniff.

Buford cast her a quick look in the rearview mirror, lips quirking in bemusement. “Girls and food. I’ll never understand why it makes them so emotional.”

Cozy in the interior of the warm van, with two of her best friends within reaching distance, Isabella had never felt safer.

#phineas and ferb #pnfspiritweek #pnf #isabella garcia shapiro #buford van stomm #baljeet tjinder #friendship #platonic relationships #sexual harassment

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