Z's money making plots

i totally almost forgot about this.
how tragic.
well, fear no more, for i remembered it.

Draper and i were standing outside ms. bastian's room talking about one of the dances.

Me- "yeah, I'm not going."
Draper- "me neither, it's so boring."
Me- "i mean, who wants to be trapped in a room with crappy music and screaming school girls? and the dramadramadrama..."
Draper- "i know! at my old school, it was like a fad or something for people to breakup with each other, so there were all these freaks just bawling their eyes out everywhere you turned."
Me- "exactly. none of that for the tortilinie."

then, Z teleported out of nowhere[actually, his room's right next to ms. bastian's and he's always standing in front of the door looking for people to talk to.]

"but here's what you do, mallory-"
i began to wonder how long he had been standing there because i think draper and i were discussing something not-so-appropriate beforehand.
"you go to the dance, no matter how awful the music is or how much you hate the people in there-"
*adjusts glasses*
"and you watch the drama unfold before you. Now, here's where things get interesting.."

oh dear. the Z had an idea. O_O

"you watch for the warning signs of a possible break-up, for example, whispering groups of students of the same gender acting all nervous and panicked, then YOU swoop in-"

oh god.

"you see, mallory, you take pictures of these people crying because their hearts have just been ripped open by their long-lasting relationship of about two weeks[haha. that made me laugh.]. these pictures must be snapped directly in front of their face to increase anger. the more embarrassing, the better. a photo of them hitting you is worth millions. then-"
*laughs maniacally*
"then at the end of the year...."

Z paused for dramatic effect, a crafty smile played upon his face.

"then you show them these incredibly embarrassing photos and charge them- oh, i'd say about 25 bucks or more depending on the shot- to get them back. the ones that don't sell get put in an envelope that "accidentally" gets slipped under the door of the room of the yearbook staff."
*silence*

Me- "OH MY FREAKING JESUS, Z! YOU'RE FREAKING BRILLIANT!"
Z- "of course i am- yet, many refuse to listen to my genius ideas."

immediately afterward, i frolicked down to the office and bought a dance ticket.