The Book of Boba Felt

The Book of Boba Felt

By Superfolder Peyton

Warm… Or Luke-Warm…

By Jack

A dimly lit room. The smell of Little Caesars wafts into my nostrils, that weird, almost nasty cheesy smell. On top of that is the putrid concoction of Axe Body Spray and the occasional sweet — almost too sweet — perfume that you can find at Justice and Claire’s. Yep, this is the place. 

A crowd — a large, large group of kids, all huddled together, and that’s where the fourth olfactory sensation, sweat, hits me full-on. Four things I can smell: Perfume, Axe Body Spray, Little Caesars, and Sweat. I want to puke. It’s so dark, and that lamp, this ugly, dangling monstrosity swings around slightly, as the crowd wobbles over the game. I slowly push the boys and girls out of the way. Their puppets rest on their fingers, and the wielder isn’t grumbling – they are. The various ‘Utinis’ of the Drawas, and the ‘yub-nubs’ from ewoks. I hear a “Bad feeling about this” as I take a seat amongst the four other players. 

“Deal me.” I say. 

To my right, a girl starts to chuckle. She holds about ten cards in her hand, and resting on her middle finger is the bald, gray puppet of Aurra Sing, “We’re in the middle of a game, kid.” 

And then to my left, a kid with one of almost-hundreds Luke Skypapers laughs as well, “Aurra Crease, you’re one to speak. Cikatrorigami has one card left; he called Uno. We got to work against him.”

“Skypaper, you grate on my ears.”

So it’s one of those gatherings. They’ve been cropping up in recent years, because at a certain point the kids lose their names and they just become the puppets. If his name is Tony, Michael, Bob, Donatello, Hades, JC — It doesn’t matter after a while. So many kids have Aurra Sings, that I can’t take a guess as to who this girl is. Same with Skypaper, and even Papertine.

Cikatrorigami, the kid sitting directly across from me, is my target. He has been bullying this poor little girl, a kindergartener, and throwing eggs at her home. No real reason for doing it, except eighth graders suck. The kindergartener wielded a really crappily folded R2-D2 puppet, so I was hired by a droid who never got to meet this character to stop him.

It goes around the table: +4, +4, and so that meant Cikatro must take eight… but then… 

An additional +4. Twelve total cards, and they all are given to Luke Skypaper, who doesn’t even bother picking them up. Cikatrorigami won. Aurra and Luke leave the table, leaving just me and Cikatrorigami.

“One v. One?” I asked.

“Listen, I just earned fifty dollars, plus the twenty five I put down. It’s a good night for Uno.” Cikatrorigami tells me, “So unless you have something better to bet, I’m fine.”

I take out my wallet: tons of gift cards, a fifty dollar bill, and two ten dollars. Also my social security number. I don’t know the point of it.

“Three hundred dollars worth.” I say. The crowd oohs and ahhs. He has to match the deal, so he takes out three hundred dollars from his pocket. He must’ve been playing a lot. Whoever wins would get a lot of money.

To kids that don’t need the money, six hundred dollars can buy you a new computer, or ten video games for the console. Six hundred dollars could get you some nice clothes (which you probably already have), and probably a couple nice meals.

Me?

The four hundred-something I’ll take will probably all go to my lunch money, which, until I have a better job, will be parsed out and budgeted for the next couple months so I can at least have lunch every day. Our bets placed, the cards are dealt out to us, shuffled by a girl with a Leia puppet.

Here, in this hive of scum and villainy, the puppets do not match the actions. Leia, a leader… shuffling cards.

“What’s your puppet, kid?” He asked. 

“That does not matter to you.” I said. The same thing I tell everyone at these gatherings, and in that moment I saw a slight face of recognition. It’s so common to hear me say that, and he then grimaces… because he knows.

It was a red six. We each had five cards for our person, and it was very rapid – Red from me, a blue that matched the number, yellow that matched that number, he makes me draw two, then he throws down another yellow. I throw a wild card, changing to green. He takes a card. 

So on, and so on… until he was down to Uno, and I had dos.

He smirks.

Then I throw down the block, back to me. “Uno.” I say. He groans, as if he was faster, he would’ve been able to get me on a plus two.

“What are you going to do, kid?” He asked.

I look down at my card, and I remove from my pocket my puppet. I place down the plus four card, “Change it to green.” I say. Sitting on top of the plus four, and the entire stack, is the Boba Felt, my puppet.

Cikatrorigami throws a hissy fit, throwing his money at me. I take my earnings.

“Why the Hell are you here?” He asked. The rest of the group start to crowd around me, squeezing closer upon myself.

“I’m here to cash in a bounty, Cikatrorigami. I need that puppet, and your promise not to bother Art2-D2.”

“That Kindergartener?!” Cikatrorigami yelled. Then, the rest of the room echoed a similar sentiment. He started laughing at me, “How much did she pay you?”

Nothing. I thought. She came up to me, crying, sobbing her eyes out, and I saw a Piece of Crap that needed a talking to.

“It does not matter.” I said.

“I can pay more, Boba Felt. Just tell me how much and I’ll double it.”

“Send your lackeys out of this musty basement.”

“Fine. Mom! Heat up the pizza rolls!” Cikatrorigami yelled.

“Okay, hon! Boys! Girls! Pause the game and come on up!” Like ravenous creatures, every single kid that was crowded in this disgusting, dimly lit room, dash up the stairs.

“Listen. I got a lot of money, candy, etcetera. I know who you are, Jack. I know what you do. If I paid you enough so that you didn’t starve the rest of the semester to bully that girl for me, you’ll do it.”

“Why her?”

“Why her? Look at her! She’s a kindergartener that looks so easy to tease. I’m so happy to know I’ve gotten to her and her family, to the point that they hired a bounty hunter like you. Come on, how much was it?” It’s not the kid, it’s the puppet speaking to me. I reach over, and I tear it from his finger. I tear it in half.

“If I hear you egg that house or bully her again, this puppet won’t be the only thing torn when I come back.”

I wasn’t here to make deals. I wasn’t here to take up another bounty. My job was done.

My back to him, heading up the stairs, I hear his voice slither, “I’ll listen to you, Felt. I won’t bother her, but let me tell you this: you say nothing matters. You say that it doesn’t matter who gives you the job. You say it doesn’t matter what puppet you wield. I don’t think you realize it, but in truth, you’re the only thing that doesn’t matter at McQuarrie Middle. Can’t wait to see your homeless, orphan $@$ in the halls again. Have a great school year.”

I didn’t say anything. I closed my eyes, and continued walking out and away. The job was done.

New Year, New “Me”

By Jack, the Boba Felt

A hallway, long and covered in red balloons. Happy music blasts over the intercoms, but a line forms before you can enter the fun time to be had.

This is not the McQuarrie you know of.

A long, long time ago (pretty much a decade or so), there was a group of kids that dedicated themselves to fighting an evil Funpire, using puppets of Star Wars characters to get their point across. These kids grew up, but most of them spent time collecting these stories, and compiling them into these memoirs, called “The McQuarrie Files.” All the work was there for Tommy “Tom Angleberger” Lomax, he and his editors just needed to cut out some of the other drawings, and correct the grammar.

Immediately, these books became a nationwide success. Everyone was talking about this. Just like Greg Heffley’s Wimpy Kid memoirs, it brought unnecessary attention to Lucas County, and McQuarrie Middle.

Families flocked to the small town, quickly turning this place into something more than it was before. McQuarrie Middle had such a high attendance that there weren’t enough seats to fit the students. Every parent seemed to think they could make the next best selling story off of their kids’ experience at the middle school, but that never ever happened it seemed. It was chaos, leading to McQuarrie becoming a school that could only get kids in based off of some weird, rigorous application process.

So, I’m surrounded by rich kids that don’t wear uniforms, and I am, it feels, the sole exception. 

Still in line, I shuffle back and forth on the balls of my feet, ‘I don’t think you realize it, but in truth, you’re the only thing that doesn’t matter at McQuarrie Middle.’ Cikatrorigami’s words ring in my ears. I’ve had this puppet for a school year and a half now, and an entire summer too. Maybe I don’t matter. 

“Woah, woah kid. Slow down.” A muscular hand blocks me from walking into the hallway, snapping me out of my dread.

I look up at him, “I’m sorry, sir.”

He’s wearing gray. A full gray uniform, but I can at least see his face, and it’s kind. He has a badge, with a little calculator smiling on it. 

“Name?” Another guy asks me as the guard walks me in front of a camera.

“Uh, Jack.”

“Last name?” He is typing this out.

“Don’t have one.”

 “Jack N/A.” He says, “Weirdo…” He sighs under his breath.

“What’s your grade, Jack?” The guard that stopped me asked.

“Eighth.” 

“Smile for your— wait, McKay, he has a puppet in his shirt pocket.” The guy typing this out says to the friendly guard, McKay. McKay sighs, and he walks over to me.

“I need that puppet, Jack N/A.” 

I thought he was cool, “No, it’s okay.” I said, “I’ll just put it in my back–” He reached above my shirt pocket, and plucked it from me. Suddenly, McKay wasn’t the cool guy anymore.

“This is like the twentieth one I’ve seen all day. It’s that new show, right?”

“I would really like that back.” I said. He brought out a large bin, full of puppets. I even saw Cikatrorigami. 

He stared at me, and then, right there, he tore my puppet in half. I tried to not look affected as the camera flashed.

And then he tore it again.

Then McKay dropped Boba Felt into the bin.

“Jack N/A, here’s your ID. Hold onto it, and do not lose it.” McKay then told me as he handed a card, freshly printed with my face. I gazed at the ID, staring at my bald head, my grimace – the pain forever across my face. 

“Welcome to the new school year, bud.” McKay said with a pat to my back. I walk away, practically dragging my backpack towards Mr. Cunningham’s class, while I still looked at the ID. 

Edufun.

Funtime…

They run the school now, and they just tore my puppet in half.

Mr. Cunningham

By Jack N/A

Mr. Cunningham is teaching us… Math.

At least, I think that’s what he’s supposed to be teaching us.

“I can’t believe they’re making me teach this crap to eighth graders.” He mumbled at his seat. Behind him sat a sock puppet, with long ears. Next to it was half of a puppet of Darth Vader, the puppet he had in the McQuarrie Memoirs. 

Every kid didn’t care about math, or whatever Harvey was going to teach.

“Excuse me,” a girl raised her hand, “Is it true that you had met a kid with a Miss Peregrine puppet?”

Harvey looked frazzled. He looked really annoyed, and he stared at her, “You know what? Sure. Yeah. I guess at one point me and that gang did, okay?”

“Did you really defeat Funtime?” Another one bumped in, “And then had Emperor Pickletine? And ruined a field trip?”

“Did– did you even read the books? We defeated Funtime, yes–”

“Then why are they here now? And why is Gizmo the Calculator and Professor Funtime about to teach us and you’re not?” From the hazy screen of the projector and smart board appeared Professor Funtime and Gizmo, waving their arms around about Addition.

“Just… Because, okay? They’re teaching all of you this because.”

“We want rebellion!” 

“Yeah!”

Harvey was getting frustrated now, “Everyone! Shut up, and let me get introductions out of the way.” He stepped in front of the projector, some of Gizmo going over his body. He motioned for me to turn on the light, as I was closest to the exit. 

“I’m Harvey Cunningham, but you will be calling me Mister Cunningham. That’s ‘mister’ in full. I don’t like the ‘Mr.’ stuff, I mean Mister. I’m supposed to be your math teacher this year, but this whole Funtime stuff has really thrown a wrench in the whole thing. Yes, I’m that Harvey. No, I will not be a total crap-hat all the time, and no I will not be putting comments at the end of your tests. I’m not a kid anymore.

“I also will not be helping you with writing any stories. Trust me, I know some of you have written fanfiction in which I, as a kid, is somehow involved. That’s weird. I don’t care if it’s on the Folders Connection or that subreddit, it’s weird. Okay? Yes, I live alone. Happily. No, I don’t talk to the gang anymore. This will be the only time I’ll talk about it.

“We’re going to be using EduFun’s virtual learning software to teach this year, as opposed to my teaching methods. I am not happy about it, as my plans and outlines are now all kaput, but you know what? Silver lining. Fourth year of teaching now, and I don’t have to make lesson plans. I’ll be here as a guide, I guess. So you’ll learn stuff, and if you have any questions…” He pauses, looking at the whiteboard for a bit too long, “… that Gizmo the Calculator can’t help you with, you’ll ask me. Got it?”

Murmurs of ‘yes sirs’ echoed throughout the room.

“Today is supposed to be an introduction day, so I’m just going to continue.” He said, “I graduated a few years ago from university, and I spent some time being a teaching aide at Roddenberry, a prestigious boarding school. There were some things that happened after my time there; I moved around for a minute, and then I landed a job here. I don’t like the Origami we have now, I’ll say it! Frankly, I’m glad they took the paperwads away. From the stories I read, it was the same things over and over. ‘There was once a kid who had this puppet,’” He started, like he was telling a story, “‘And I had a puppet of his enemy, and then we started PUNCHING AND KICKING!! And then I won, and then it was all happy and cheery.’” He then scoffed, “Give me a break. I know I said it’s the last time I’ll talk about it but you kids want to be the next McQuarrie Gang, but you’re all fighting. You’re all just unwilling to see. You’re not going to be heroes, you need to know that your parents wasted time moving to this small town. This is your last year here, and I’m sure you’re going to go on back to your Madisons and your Breevorts, and your freakin’… Jutefruces. Who the heck names a city Jutefruce?”

He looked at his classroom, and saw the morale down. He sighed, “Listen. Don’t get too attached. To me, to your classmates, even this school. It’ll all… it’ll all change when you get to high school. Anyways. Class dismissed.”

Everyone started to leave, and they all left quietly. But I stayed, and I lingered.

I needed to talk to Harvey. I needed to inspire him.

A Pitch

By Jack N/A

“Excuse me, Mister Cunningham?” I say. 

“Yeah?”

“I have a question for you…” I say. I look at him. He looks nothing like the drawings. The chin isn’t as pronounced, he’s not always grimacey. In fact, he looks like… like if Adam Driver and Dane DeHaan blended together to make one person. Ugly, maybe a tad musty, but fangirls might find him attractive. Alright — listen, I can’t describe it properly. You just gotta believe me. I’m better at describing places, anyways.

“Already? What’s your name, kid?”

“Jack.”

He looked down at his class listing, “Jack… Jack… Jack ‘N/A’? Non-Applicable?”

“Yeah. I just… don’t have a last name.”

“Dang, kid. That sucks. So, what’s your question?” I kind of liked this response. It made me respect this guy more.

“Well, like, I’ve read the memoirs, and like, there’s this whole Funtime—”

“Jack, did you even listen to a single thing I said? No. I’m not stopping them, and I’m not helping you stop them.”

“Well, I don’t want to stop them.”

Harvey looked really disappointed in me, just for a moment, before sobering up, “That’s good.”

“I think you and the McQuarrie gang should.”

Harvey laughed. He looked at the ground, shaking his head, and then he slowly looked back up at me, “The gang doesn’t speak anymore. I mentioned that too. Man, what a way to start the year off, apparently I was just speaking to a brick wall.”

“But, sir, they’re ruining everything. They’ve taken the origami away, they’ve practically made your job a glorified babysitter. Don’t you want to be something more?”

“It sounds to me like you want to do something, to be something, to matter.” He struck me, right to the core, “And kid, I get your plight. Trust me, I hear you. But giving the task to a guy like me… it’s not going to do it.”

“Come on…” I said, “You can get back in touch with them, Mister Cunningham. You can bring back the Rebellion.”

“Did you even read the same case files I helped write? I wanted nothing to do with it, I questioned from the start. Besides, don’t you think it’s creepy for someone like me, a teacher well into his twenties, to get other rapidly-approaching middle aged people to come back to a place that, frankly, they don’t look back on?”

I started to crack, and I looked down at the ground.

“Holy crap, Jack. It sounds like you want to be the next Foldy-Wan Kenobi, the next… Origami Yoda, Pickletine, heck, maybe you want to bring back Darth Yoda, have an Origami Shadow Squadron, a Little OrigAni… General Creasous, I don’t know man, I’m running out of puns, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is: you can’t. Everyone here wanted that, or their parents did. Everyone here wants to be that hero. You can’t. And you’ll never be.”

“I… I know.” I said, “That’s why I’m asking you to—”

“We. Don’t. Talk. Anymore.”

“… Why?”

Harvey sighed, and then he reached into his desk, taking out a journal.

“I have never been good at formulating my thoughts, or recounting memories.” He said, “So, I wrote it all down, right here.”

He then slid the journal to me, flipped to a page from 2018.

Funeral for a Principal

By Harvey Cunningham

Hey Journal,

Well. Uh.

Ummm… 

Rabbski passed away a few days ago. I mentioned that a couple entries back. I had left Roddenberry and Boston to come pay my respects, along with see Mom for a couple days. I didn’t really expect to see the gang again, like, ever again.

They were there for the visitation. It was boring, and slow, and everyone was coming up and paying their respects. Lance and Amy were up in New York, now, running a dance dojo. Murky’s married now, and… Tommy and Sara have made it big.

Kellen was there too. He’s been doing well for himself over in Jutefruce, making money doing freelance art and really keeping to himself. He had flown all the way over there, too. Practically all of us had, except for Dwight, Sara, and Tommy.

Sorry— he wants to be called “Tom” now. He’s been touring the nation, teaching kids how to fold Five-Fold Yodas and making buckoos. Kellen jokingly said “Where’s my cut?” Which led to Murky jumping in with the same question, and Lance, and Amy… even Rhondella…

What was a joke became very real. These were not just Tommy’s stories, but ours, too, and he just stole them up.

“Seriously, Tom. Where’s our pay?” I asked.

“Yeah, like we deserve some percentage.”

“Guys, come on. There’s our old Principal, our Princess Labelmaker in the casket. Can’t this wait?”

“I don’t mean to pipe in,” Mr. Howell had said, “But I agree with them. Be an adult, Tom. Give them what they’re owed.” Even the grieving, large man knew that we had been done dirty.

Tom grabbed Sara’s hand and sighed, “Ladies, gentlemen, it was great to see you all, but It’s hopeless, seeing all of us here like this. We can be more than kids begging for money.”

“You’re… you’re nostril, Tommy.” Murky said. That was the last thing Tom heard.

He was the one in the wrong. We all agreed that he screwed us over. Kellen especially. He had to fight to get something of a royalty check, we learned. We all mourned Rabbski for a moment, and we all started to go our separate ways.

Before Dwight and Caroline barged in. Dwight was sobbing, his hair frizzled up into various shapes. In his hand he held something — an older, improved version of Leia. He placed it into Rabbski’s casket.

“Where’s Tommy?” He asked. He had ‘normaled’ up over the years, I guess. Caroline wrapped her arm around his.

“He left.” I told him.

“… Seriously? What about Quavondo?”

“Ninety Day Fiance filming.” Lance jumped in, “Yeah… Literally.”

Looking at the gang, and looking at how washed up our lives were, I started to leave. This was supposed to be in memory of Rabbski, not in memory of the gang. Performing a good old Irish Exit, I didn’t say any goodbyes, but Dwight followed me out, Caroline in tow.

“Do you… Harvey, would you like to grab a drink? Catch up?”

I looked at my watch. I had time. I looked at the guy, the adult in front of me. He was still wearing stained shirts, he still looked a bit kooky, but he mustered a smile.

“Sure.” I said. 

I… I don’t want to talk about what our catching up was. It was not reminiscing, but it was talking about progression, improvement. Dwight is doing well for himself, he and Caroline are still together, somehow. He told me he still kept an emergency five fold on him, for advice. We gave each other our phone numbers, and I hope I stay in contact with him some. Though I hope I don’t find my way back in Lucas County.

Fan-Mail Failure

By Jack N/A

Harvey’s whole thing left me shaken. I sat down in the room my foster family gave me, and I looked for a piece of loose leaf. 

Yeah, I’m an orphan. There’s this rumor going around that my parents didn’t show up to my birth, and, y’know what? Let’s just go with that. I don’t even know my last name. 

I take my pen out, and I stare at the piece of Loose Leaf.

Dear Mr. Lomax, I start. Then I stare at the piece.

Man. Tommy was a crappy dude. What would I even say? How would I even say it? I looked at the piece of paper, and I just sighed.

“What a bunch of BS.” I said to myself. I crumpled the piece up and threw it away. Besides, I needed to do something else, something more important:

I needed to remake Boba Felt.

I used instructions Kellen had made years ago and posted them online.

First, I folded the edges to the center, and then the corners behind. After that, I folded the top down, giving the shape of his helmet. I then folded down the top to match the helmet, and I folded the bottom underneath, giving Boba Felt a more square head. I then folded the sides behind, and I reverse folded the corners, rounding the shape out. Turning it over, I folded the top corner up for his little antenna, and then I folded the arms out, and I started decorating. 

This Boba needed to be decorated, and he needed a new shine to his armor. I gave him a darker green, and a better shine overall. He fit nicely on my finger, and I smiled.

What always gets me, though, is that something must have changed within the last couple years, or maybe I wasn’t a magical folder like Dwight. The puppet never offered advice, and it never gave me strength.

I have to be the one to do that, not the puppet.

Requests

By Jack “Boba Felt” N/A

I wander past the Funtime guards and I head to my locker. Red, spacious. At the bottom of it are my books and notebooks: red for Math, blue for English, green for Science, and purple for Social Studies. Sitting above that are the requests. Usually, I get these from kids that can’t afford to pay me anything. So, it’s filled to the brim with things like “Help me with homework” and “Get me grilled cheese.” These are my free ones, and they make me feel good the most.

Those requests, those… simpler times, they were full of simple requests, things I could do. Now, it’s filled to the brim with more abstract requests: people are going to me, asking for help on destroying this whole organization.

And it’s too much.

Seven Notes.

“Please get rid of Funtime.”

“Distract Funtime so me and Darth Maul can have a lightsaber duel (I have Jar Jar Pleats)…”

“Force the Funtime Lunch Lady to feed us something better than ‘brain food.’”

“Take down Funtime.”

“Resculpt the Shakespeare head to be in the shape of Professor Funtime and then burn it,” that one was funny, but I didn’t know how to sculpt.

“Convince Funtime to let us have recess.”

I started to feel really stressed over this, my breathing picked up, and I began to get really, really nervous.

Then, the last note.

“Find Hope. For us.”

That… I can do, maybe. I may not be able to take down the Funpire alone, but I can find hope for these kids.

It’s time to pay a visit to the Archives.

I could miss Math for this, as I walked down the hall and stepped into the office near the entrance, I found myself in the archives office, The Thomas Lomax Archives Office, to be exact.

Because McQuarrie has gotten so big in recent years, this place had been opened, documenting the hard evidence of the memoirs, from early drafts, to even some of the original puppets, all except for Origami Yoda, which has been lost.

It was crazy, looking around in the room. I wasn’t even sure if I was supposed to be in there. It had no natural light shining in there, and, behind a glass display was the original gang’s puppets, including the Pickletine, minus the pickle. There were three emergency five folds, trying to compensate for the lost original.

I walked over to the yearbook section, and I grabbed one from Tommy and the gang’s seventh grade year. There has to be something here. I thought. There just has to be. This was my bounty, my job, my task — I could not go back empty handed. Even a note, something lost to time.

Then, I found it.

“The Origami kids!” An article written by some kid that helped with the yearbook. It was at a time where the school didn’t understand these kids that believed in the Yoda. The article talked about Dwight, mostly, but it referenced Harvey’s crazy ideas as a heckler and doubter, and even his stint with Darth Paper. Then, it mentioned something weird.

“There was even a time where the roles were switched up, and one of the kids had to take up an Origami Chewbacca for a moment.”

This made no sense. Yeah, there was a mention of an Origami Chewbacca, but there was also the Fortune Wookiee, which was totally separate from the origami Chewbacca. This yearbook seemed to have been written before Fortune Wookiee’s events had occurred.

What… what was the time where “roles were switched up?”

I asked the only guy I knew, Harvey.

“Kid, I told you, don’t come talking to me about this stuff!” He exclaimed.

“Mister Cunningham, sir, I just need to know this one thing…”

“I don’t want to talk about the old gang, alright? I moved on, I even showed you why. Can’t you leave a man in peace?!”

“I can, and I will, I promise you, but I was looking at this old yearbook—”

“That’s just creepy.” He interrupted.

“I’m sorry, I know.”

“It’s fine, I guess. Anyways, what did you see?”

“This article, right? It talked briefly about you guys, during the first couple of casefiles, and it mentions an Origami Chewbacca, and roles being switched up.”

“That’s Sara and her Fortune Wookiee.”

“You’d think that, but this was released before that stuff happened.”

Harvey grimaced, and then he sighed, “Kids seem to know more about my life than me.” He grumbled.

“So there was this Origami Chewbacca story, but I have no—”

Harvey groans a loud, strained groan, “I just remembered something I repressed…” He sighed.

“What kind of Star Trek—” I started.

“Listen, I’ll be back.” He promised, “I’ll be right back.” Then, he left the office, and left me waiting.

Heading to the Locker

By Harvey Cunningham

I can’t believe I’m doing this crap for this kid.

I guess he reminds me of a younger Tommy; that optimism is still in his eyes, he still has some sort of pride within him, a desire to do good, to make some change. He doesn’t want to do this to get rich, it seems. He genuinely wants to help.

… It’s just funny, I guess. It’s incredibly funny. A repetition of the cycle, a fresh start, new beginnings.

His locker has been cordoned off for removal. Funtime may be unable to get the books out of syndication, and they hate those memoirs so much, but they can get rid of the archives, and the symbols we have around here. Kellen had done a mural a few years back, which I’ve heard with the new principal that they want to get rid of. This is Funtime’s McQuarrie.

Tommy’s Locker, for some reason, has always had a leather rope around it, as though kids cannot access it, or should not access it. Some think that he comes back and picks up the puppets they try to slip into the locker, but I know he hasn’t been back here in years.

It doesn’t look any different from any other locker from the school, if a little bit faded in color as it has not been repainted for a decade.

His code. 03-01-10. He always hated how close the numbers were. It unlocks like a charm, and all these old puppets come rolling out. Some of the notebooks are still left in there; did the archivists even bother looking in here? There’s prime material.

At the bottom was a binder — well, a couple of them. Stories gone unreleased to the public.The Lost Case Files.

I pick up the very bottom one. I always hated that he chose a sickly brown color for the binder. There it was, “Origami Chewbacca: The Return of the Wookiee”. I flipped through the pages.

Gosh… This does not make me look good. I really did repress this one, huh.

The kid was still in my classroom. I handed him the binder, “Here, kid. Don’t ask me for anything else.”

He smiled and thanked me, running off.

Journal, I… I felt good. I was a hero again.

The Origami Chewbacca and the Conclusion

By Jack “The Boba Felt” N/A

“This is it.” I said, holding this unseen memoir in my hand. Sitting inside, in the binder sleeve, is the origami Chewbacca, from so, so many years ago. It feels like it hasn’t aged a day, it’s been preserved for so long.

I open the binder up, and I begin reading:

***

Origami Chewbacca: The Return of the Wookiee

A One-Man Case File by Tommy Lomax… and Murky… (Kellen helped too!)

Emperor Papertine’s Arrival

I don’t know what it is with this school as of late, but after the whole Darth Paper stuff, it feels like some kids – like, two or three –  have been taking up any puppet that they can make. This story isn’t exactly a case file on that, and it’s probably something I need to look further into if it actually becomes a problem, but this is something that I feel like I need to tell. This has to be the most interesting thing that happened to me in seventh grade, and I am kind of sad that it’s not going to be in the other case files.

All of us were chilling in the auditorium, waiting for something to happen, I guess. We were told to go there by some note in our locker, and it felt weird, because, well, we were the only ones there. When Sara was getting ready to leave, someone entered the space.

He was a kid in a hood, and I couldn’t quite make out his face, or who even was under the mask, “Paperwad fools,” He yelled to me and the gang, “You’ll never… ever stop me!”

His voice was so familiar, but I couldn’t make out the face of the wielder. Kellen stood up, and did something that I did not expect the artist, the pants wetter, the madman to do… but, we got to go back a bit.

Darth Paper’s Announcement

This started on that first month when Origami Yoda and Darth Paper first started fighting in class. It was already getting really old, but then in Biology class, Harvey stood up and yelled to the class in that familiar, nasally voice: 

“Darth Paper has an announcement!” We were in the middle of the lab, and our teacher was already looking annoyed. For some reason, though, he looked serious. He held up his puppet, “There’s been a great disturbance in the force,” his puppet said, “My old master… Emperor Papertine. He has contacted me, over Skype…” We all shuddered, Skype. It was serious, “He has a message for all of us.” Harvey, and Darth Paper, glared directly at Zack Martin, “Bullies as well.”

“He is coming to McQuarrie Middle School. His family has let him transfer. If you all do not do what I tell you, he will destroy us all… except for the bullies, or bully. Zack, you… you really are the only bully around. For you, he will keep you in mind,” We all kind of clocked out as he gave Zack these commands, “Anyways, as for the rest of you, you must prepare for his arrival… immediately! We need… Cheese! A ladder, and a welcome banner! He is going to be coming at the end of the month, right after lunchtime.” Then, he sat back down, like nothing happened, and we all went back to looking at Bacteria under our microscopes.

I’d expect this from Dwight, but Harvey? No way! It all went downhill from there…

Origami Yoda and the Return of the Wookiee

By Tommy (Using MY recorder… –Kellen)

Me: Kellen, what do you remember about the Origami Chewbacca?

Kellen: … What?

Me: The Origami Chewbacca, remember? 

Kellen: … I thought that was a gorilla with a tie on…

Me: Come on, Kellen.

Kellen: Well, Origami Yoda was like “Hrrm, listen to Darth Paper we must,” and you know me, I listened to Yoda’s advice, but that was crazy! So I was like, “Why should we listen to him?!” and he was like “MUST!!!” And I mean, like, yeah. I guess that makes sense. So Dwight puts Origami Yoda in his pocket, and then he grabs something from his backpack, and I was scared that it was going to be a squirrel or something, but it was that gorilla with the tie on, or… Origami Chewbacca, I guess.

Me: Wow. Not even an Uh or Um, man. Great job.

Kellen: Thanks, man. It means a lot, but I felt confident in talking about that. So Origami Chewbacca couldn’t really talk like Dwight’s Yoda, but he can do a crappy growl sound. I think Dwight showed it to me to bring us like, uh… hope, or something. To remind us that even if this Papertine dude is real, we have, well, Yoda and this Gorilla thing.

Me: Thanks, man!

Kellen: No problem, man.

Origami Chewbacca and The Wedgie

By Murky

So… Tommy was sick from school, and, like a lot of us, sick of Harvey. So he told me to write about something strange, and I had something about a crappy sandwich, but then this happened, and so, well, let’s just get on with it.

Dwight walked into the cafeteria with the most straight face I’ve ever seen. I hated it! We’re so used to his weird, croaky looking face, but he was, for just this moment, completely sane! There were no problems with him, and we had a totally normal conversation together. It was going really well; we were talking about sports and stuff, and then he takes out that Origami Chewbacca, and he forced him to “speak.”

“The Emperor has captured Kellen in the bathroom!”

“Chewbacca doesn’t speak.” Dwight looked at me, and then growled and grunted a weird, howling sound, “Okay, okay, stop man, stop.”  

I know Kellen has had bad bathroom problems before, so I got up and I walked to the restroom. The dude…

Guys… He was in a wedgie, hanging from the bathroom stall. I tried to not laugh as I saved him. When I got him down, he told me what was up.

“This morning, Harvey hung me over that door and brought in half the seventh grade to have a laugh at me! It… It really hurt my feelings, man.”

I tried to not laugh, and I comforted my friend for a bit, before going back to the seat. 

“Why’d you lie, man?” I asked, “It was Harvey that did something, not the Emperor… Unless…”

“Purple!” Said Dwight, smearing his biscuits in gravy like some maniac. 

So… That happened.

Dwight lied to me, or his Origami Chewbacca never knows the full story.

Harvey’s Comment: Sure, sure. Just believe his new paperwad! I didn’t do anything wrong!

Origami Chewbacca and the Final Week

By Tommy

I really enjoyed that sick day, and the three day weekend, but Murky’s story concerned me. I thought, for a second, that this new normal Dwight was gonna be the regular Dwight, but his purple at the end kind of made me have second thoughts about that. Today was no different, I was greeted by the same old, crazy, paper folding Dwight, and his Origami Yoda.

So, Sara, Lance, Quavondo, and I have been preparing the school for Emperor Papertine’s arrival. I really, really wanted to talk to Sara, but she was so focused, and so… pretty… 

Harvey killed the fun, walking in, waving his Darth Paper around.

“Your preparations betray you,” Darth Paper said to us, “You’re not ready… for him.”

I groaned, “Harvey, you’re making this harder for all of us, man. Why? You’re not helping at all.”

“Be warned… Be afraid, be worried.” Harvey said in his stupid Darth Vader impression. He then faded away from the auditorium that we were decorating.

“I don’t even know why we’re preparing for this kid. Do we even know his name?” I asked.

“Who’s to say it’s a he?” Sara asked.

“Ooh… lady Palpatine. All gross and wrinkly…” Lance grumbled.

“Worry, do not.” Origami Yoda said as Dwight entered, “Fall into Cheese, Harvey will. Warnings, we need not.”

It was a weird prediction, and I didn’t understand the obsession with cheese.

Anyways, those next four days were torture. There was the “Bully-to-nerd ratio” and Dwight was totally devastated to learn that Caroline Broome, who we all knew he was crushing on, was transferring. And then the end of the week came, and things got… crazy.

Harvey fell into cheese. Papertine’s favorite snack was tubs of nacho cheese, and Harvey slipped and fell into it. He went to change his pants, and we started to get nervous, because Dwight wasn’t there. This was Papertine’s arrival, and we needed the kid. But he left Origami Chewbacca with Kellen, so that was good. He even wrote on the back: There’s our hope.

By lunchtime, we were ready to greet Papertine. Harvey talked with us before he arrived, while we all sat in the auditorium.

“If you guys apologized to me and Darth Paper, I could go and tell Papertine to not destroy you.”

“Look, Harvey, if you’re Papertine, just tell us, man. We set up all that stuff for you, just tell us.” I said.

“Typical Tommy, thinking I’m the bad guy.”

“You have a Darth Paper puppet, man.”

“Oh, yeah? Where’s your puppet?!” He exclaimed. Just then, Kellen punched Harvey, right in the nose! He had Origami Chewbacca on his finger, and Harvey held his nose as he stumbled backwards on the ladder, which fell over, and in this crazy rube-goldberg machine of chaos, led to the power box blowing a fuse, leading to the power cutting out throughout the entire school.

Kellen and Harvey didn’t have time to yell at one another before Emperor Papertine entered…

And so, we’re all caught up…

Origami Chewbacca and the Truth

By Tommy

Kellen jumped into action, like a Wookiee imbued with some mystical, animal rage, he ran towards Papertine. In that moment, Quovando turned on the powerbox, and then Kellen tore the hood off of Papertine, revealing…

“Dwight?!?” The gang exclaimed, along with a few of the “followers of Papertine.”

“What are you doing?!”

“I’m being Emperor Papertine.”

“I told you all so!” Harvey said, “I said, ‘it’s not me!’ Kellen, you owe me nose surgery!” I was really confused with Dwight then.

“Listen…” He was sounding normal for a moment, “Harvey and I would not stop fighting, and I lost a bet, and I had to be Origami Emperor Papertine.”

“You… Seriously?” I said.

“Yeah, and I mean, I lost, clearly. But I wasn’t going to play Emperor Papertine lying down, so I tried giving you all hope with Origami Chewbacca.”

“Dude, you don’t have to listen to losing a bet! There’s no bet jail, man.”

“I mean, you’re right. Thanks!”

“All of this was because you lost a bet?!” I was so shocked over it, and the rest of the gang just shook their heads. Kellen stopped me on the way out.

“Hey man, here.” He said, handing me the Chewbacca.

“Why?” I asked, gazing at this puppet. He did look like a gorilla with a bow-tie.

“Because… I know you, man. You’ve been writing this story already. Let’s just… never talk about it again.”

I looked at the auditorium, and the gang, and I sighed. There’s probably better adventures to come than this.

“Sure.”  

“See you next week, Tommy!” Kellen said, leaving me in the auditorium. No one can know that Dwight was Papertine. No one can know this story… Well, happened. Though I’m sure it’ll be in a yearbook or something. They get everything…

***

Going against Tommy’s wishes, I uploaded scans of the story to the Folder’s Connection. It even had his old, crappy autograph, so it was legit. A full day had passed before I saw the effects.

Everyone had read it. IDs laid around the ground, someone was stomping on a Gizmo Calculator as I wandered the halls. The Principal, someone we hadn’t seen in person, got over the intercom:

“Whoever uploaded that story needs to head to my office immediately.” 

I ignored it, smiling. I did something. I brought hope.

I walked over to this pinboard, covered in Funtime and EduFun materials. Harvey looked at me, and he smiled a bit. The pinboard had Professor Funtime and Gizmo all over it, with math tips, and ideas on how to wash your hands. I tore them all down, and I heard McKay exclaim, “Hey!” as he walked towards me.

Then, I took out my Boba Felt, and the Origami Chewbacca of old, and I pinned them up next to the note from Dwight: “There’s our hope.” 

McKay started to drag me away, and I smiled as McQuarrie students gathered around the pinboard, looking at it. Looking at the first sign of rebellion in a long time. Someone threw Shakespeare’s head across the room, another was painting the walls. They all ran around with their puppets again. 

As he dragged me into the principal’s office, and I faced the guy, I smiled. I’ve become something more. I started the fire.

Epilogue

By Harvey Cunningham

“What the heck is going on?” Was the first words I heard on the other side of the phone, “I’m on tour in London, and Howell called me and told me that it’s chaos over there. Do you know how early it is?”

“It’s a pleasure as always to hear from you, Tommy.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, a kid found the binder, the one about the Origami Chewbacca story.”

It was silent over the line, “What?”

“Yeah.”

“That was supposed to never be released.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t we burn it?”

“Because it’s a story, Tommy. It’s a story about kids being stupid. It’s a story about… about my stupidity. About Dwight’s stupidity.”

“But they know now that—”

“Dwight is fallible, yeah. He’s human. We’re not just characters in your book, man. We’re people. I can’t believe this.” And then I started to unload upon him, “It’s been years, Tommy, since I’ve heard from you. You don’t check in, you don’t wonder what’s going on at the school or the people you used to get to the top. Check yourself, man. You only called because one of your precious ‘unreleased case files’ got released. Give me a break.”

“Harv, I—”

“Don’t ‘Harv’ me. No one ever called me that.” I scoffed, “Man, you really need to check in on us more. Reach out. Come on.”

“… Sara and the kids are asleep… I got words to tell you, Harvey…”

“I don’t want to hear them.” I said, and, like the stubborn, angry kid I was, I hung the phone up.

It’s time to fight this Funpire, again.

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