"Wow, those girls are something else, huh?" Micky asked Mike, Peter, and Davy as the four bedded down (in separate beds, that in case you were getting the wrong idea) for the night. A chorus of affirmative grunts came back from three different directions. Micky tried again. "And how about getting' that gig at the surf contest?"

"Micky, shut up." Mike protested sleepily, "We'll be there tomorrow. We can talk about it then."

"Fine," Micky huffed. He lay quietly in bed as the others drifted off, one by one. As usual he was the last one to fall asleep. He was used to it-he usually fell asleep and woke up equally late. What he wasn't used to was thinking about one girl so hard it hurt (Ed. Note: Where would it hurt? Sorry, felt the need for some MSCL references. I'll hide in my corner now). If there was such a thing as love at first sight, then this was most certainly it.

Little did he know, Cordelia was across the hall thinking thoughts about Micky. However, these thoughts were not about love. She was wondering how someone she had thought to be so perfect could be so vain, so selfish, so juvenile!

"Damn you, Micky," she muttered before rolling over.

But as awake as these two were, they still did not hear the rustle of bushes as Mr. Schnool left his perch under the window of the Monkees' bedroom. Nor did they hear him scheming sinisterly. "A surf contest, eh," he cackled, "Perfect. Then I can look for the girls and see Davy with no shirt on at the same time!"

Sunlight slanted through the curtains and woke Honey up. At first, she couldn't remember where she was, but as soon as she did she let out a squeal of excitement. She bounded out of bed with the grace of a gazelle and looked around the room she was sharing with her three best friends: Cordelia Hotchkiss, Zelda McDougal, and Majandra Poland.

A faint sound of music (minus Julie Andrews) reached Honey's ears. Puzzled, she turned to her friends. Unfortunately, all of the were fast asleep-Cordelia going so far as to bury herself in her covers. Well, she would just have to go without them.

Honey followed the music out of her room, downstairs, across the living room, and through the French doors onto the porch. It was there that she discovered the music's origin. Mike Nesmith sat strumming his guitar and humming softly.

Mike didn't hear Honey, he was too absorbed in the song he was writing. A song, ironically, about Honey herself. Soon, he started to sing quietly.

"All men must have someone, have someone who'll never take advantage of a love bright as the sun. Someone to understand them, and you just may be the one."

Caught up in the beauty and power of hearing that song live, Honey whispered something she would otherwise never have dared to say.

"You have magic fingers."

Mike whirled around, startled and embarrassed by Honey's sudden appearance.

"I didn't see you there," he stammered.

"Well, you were busy and I didn't want to interrupt."

"How much did you hear?"

"Enough to think that it's the most beautiful song in the world."

"Aw, shucks," Mike replied, turning a most becoming shade of red, "It's not that good."

"Oh, but it is!" Honey cried, "It's great! You should play it at the gig today!"

"Well, I wasn't plannin' on doin' that. But if you want me to, shotgun."

As Mike trailed off, Honey thought, There's that 'shotgun' again, and her legs turned to Jell-O. Mike darted forward quickly, concern clear in his eyes.

"Oh, my God, Honey; are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said quietly, "And I really would like you to play that song at the contest today." She slowly leaned closer and closer, until only inches of space remained between their lips

"Morning, you two!" Davy sang out perkily.

Honey shot him a look of pure contempt, but either Davy chose to ignore it or he just didn't see it because he remained chipper and cheerful-and very much still there.

Mike backed away quickly, muttering something about feeding chickens before he stepped off the porch and disappeared into the yard.

"Take it from someone who knows the signal, dahling. I think Mike quite fancies you!" Davy squealed.

"Gee, ya think?" Honey snapped, whirling back into the house.

"Was it something I said?" Davy called after her.

But Honey could no longer hear the small maraca/tambourine player. She was making record time up the staircase and back into her room. She went so fast that she did not see Peter and Zelda chatting on the couch, or even Majandra puttering about in the bathroom. "AAARGH!!!!" Honey screamed, "Why did Davy have to ruin that?"

"I'm awake! I'm awake!" Cordelia shouted groggily from beneath the mounds of covers.

"Oops, sorry, Cordelia. I forgot you always sleep late," Honey said, not actually sorry at all.

"Wait, what did Davy do?" asked Cordelia, waking up completely after she realized where they were.

Honey related the story, and Cordelia comforted her with token phrases like "He didn't!" and "No!" and "Aaw, honey" (not to be confused with "Aaw, Honey," which she also used). In fact, Cordelia was so good at comforting, and the smell of breakfast was so tempting that Honey soon felt much better and the two friends made their descent to the kitchen.

By this time, Micky had roused himself and was seated on the armchair in the living room. At the sigh of Cordelia in her short, pink-flowered nightdress, he let out a long wolf whistle.

"Nice legs!" he called upwards.

"Yeah, well, apparently Davy doesn't bring home many tall girls, all right, I'm sorry," Cordelia snapped in reply.

"Hey, no need, babe," Micky answered, "I like the look."

"Ugh, honestly!" Cordelia exploded before stomping off into the kitchen; Honey and Mike following.

During breakfast-courtesy of Mike-Micky and Davy announced their intention to enter the surf contest.

"But, guys," Mike protested half-heartedly, "We're there on a job."

"We know, Mike," replied Micky, "but we've got it all figured out. The band only has to play before and after the contest, so there's no reason we can't still compete."

"Well, all right," Mike finally replied, reluctantly.

"Thanks, Mike!" Davy and Micky chorused.

"Wow, I'd better go polish my board," said Micky eagerly, "Wanna help, Cordy?"

"No, I don't. I would rather get dressed, as some people feel that I'm not properly covered," Cordelia grumped, "And don't call me Cordy."

She turned from the others' blank expressions before she could see the hurt on Micky's face, but she could hear him call after her.

"I never said you weren't properly covered! I liked it!"

"AAARGH!!"

"Well," chirped Davy, "would you like to help me polish my board, Majandra?"

"Would I ever!" she replied earnestly.

"Excellent! To the bedroom!" Davy cried.

"Hey, wait a minute. You don't keep your surfboard in the bedroom," Mike said suspiciously. "Oh, I realize that," Davy replied brightly, "but that's not the only thing that could do with some polishing, if you know what I mean."

"Good grief," Honey muttered just as Mike yelped, "Davy, there are ladies present!"

"Oh, all right," Davy huffed, "We'll go to the garage."

They skipped along out back as the remaining friends started to clean up the kitchen. Honey was hoping that Mike might try to repeat what had almost happened that morning, but he passed the time until the surf contest with her in a polite but distant way. Her one consolation was that he did play "You Just May Be The One" for her as the first song of the first set.

"Okay, guys, that was great," grinned the contest's announcer once the Monkees had finished their set, "You're free to enjoy the contest until we need you again."

"All right!" Micky screamed, tearing off his shirt and grabbing his board. Davy followed suit, but not as quickly, as his legs were much shorter than Micky's.

All the contestants drew lots for their order, with Davy drawing second to last and Micky drawing last. Most of the surfers were excellent and no one had a terrible wipe out until Davy's turn.

"Wish me luck," he cooed to Majandra, who in turn murmured something sickly sweet that caused Mike, Honey, Micky, and Cordelia to exchange disgusted glances. Peter and Zelda would undoubtedly have joined in this, had they not at that very moment been picking flowers in the beach grass.

Davy grabbed his board and paddled out into the ocean. A wave came-good-sized but not enormous-and Davy caught it.

"Go, Davy, go!" shrieked Majandra

And Davy did go all the way underneath the water. Seconds later, he emerged, hitting his head on the surfboard and coughing up brine.

"Rough luck, babe," Mickey said, patting Davy on the back as he returned dejectedly from the ocean, "But it's my turn now."

Mickey swam out quickly and soon a nice wave came up. He caught it easily and began to all kinds of tricks-riding the tunnel of the wave, skimming along the top, and dipping the front of his board up and down.

The crowd erupted with cheers, and even Cordelier let out a loud whoop as he drew close to shore.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer's voice rang out, "I think we have a winner! Your surf king of 1965 is Micky Dolenz!" The whole crowd cheered-except Davy and Majandra. Davy was pouting and Majandra was trying to make him feel better. Unsuccessful, she finally whispered something in his ear.

"You mean it?" he asked, his dark mood lifting. Majandra nodded slyly.

"Groovy!" he yelled, joining the rest of the band minus Micky up on the stage.

"Uh oh," the announcer said in mock horror, "The surf king hasn't picked out his queen yet!!" Girls all down the beach started to scream, but Micky didn't even look around; he ran straight to Cordelia and held out his hand.

"May I have the honor?" he asked, bowing deeply.

"Oh, fine," Cordelia consented (after all, he was Micky Dolenz).

"But now we don't have a drummer," Mike stated nervously.

"Yes, you do," Zelda replied with a giggle, "I can play."

Mike, Micky, Davy, Cordelia, Honey, and Majandra gaped at her incredulously while Peter found his heart beating faster. The girl was not just a hippie, but a musical hippie at that!

So Zelda played the drums-for, beneath all the giggling, she was a girl of many secret talents-and Davy passed out the music he wanted played. Micky led Cordelia out to the center of the crowd. Soon, the sounds of "Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow)" could be heard.

"So, I heard you whoop for me," Micky started playfully.

This time, Cordelia didn't give a stinging reply-probably because Micky was holding her very, very, verrrrry close, and he still wasn't wearing a shirt. Somewhere, Davy could be heard crooning "Mary oh what a sweet girl"

"Yeah, well," Cordelia finally replied, "You did really great." They lapsed back into a comfortable silence, and Cordelia felt again the reasons why she had loved the curly-haired drummer. So when Micky gently pulled her even closer, she went so far as to lean her head on his chest, prompting a joyous glance between Mike, Peter, and Davy, and another between Honey, Zelda, and Majandra.

But all this was spoilt far too soon as Davy neared the conclusion of the song and yelled, "SANDRA, I love you!" looking right at Majandra as he called out, "That's for you, dahling!" Majandra's face fell.

"Number one," she muttered quietly, "There's a Mary? And number two€¦" Here, the music stopped and Majandra broke down, screaming, "MY NAME'S NOT SANDRA!!" before running off down the beach.

In the stunned silence that followed, a hideously short and troll-esque man tapped timidly on Davy's shoulder. The pasty horror of his bare chest and large bald spot reflected the light and made the entire crowd gasp and step backwards.

"I can be Sandra," Mr. Schnool simpered.

"That is just disgusting," someone cried, and even Davy looked shaken up.

The brief respite reminded Honey, Zelda, and Cordelia that they needed to find Majandra immediately. Cordelia began to pull away from Micky. Without thinking, he pulled her back. "No," he cried, "Stay here with me."

Cordelia looked at him hard.

"No, Micky. No."

Micky felt the closeness that he had so briefly felt with her slip away that very moment. As he watched her tear off down the beach with her friends, he could only whisper, "Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit!"

continued