Thanks for the reviews, guys! Remember, it doesn't take much longer to leave a review than it does to put this story on your alerts or favorites or whatever…I swear ;)

Okay, this is an insanely long chapter. I'm sorry about that. But seriously, these girls can pack some fun into an hour! There's a lot going on and like I said, it's very long, so (if you can get through it) enjoy!

Attention: The girls laugh a lot in this chapter. It may get tiring. You have been warned.

Chapter Three/Hour Three

"Prank Hour"

Lola's POV

10:00 PM

Lola stifled a bored yawn—but not, she assured herself, a tired one—as she hit the power button on the remote, causing the TV screen to go black. Silence filled the room with the absence of noise from the television, and she turned too look at her roommates.

"Now what?" she asked. "I don't think I can take any more TV without falling asleep."

"Same here," Quinn agreed, stretching. Zoey wiggled down further into her sleeping bag and popped open a new can of Blix. Then:

"I have an idea," she said, propping herself up on her elbows.

"She has an idea!" Lola exclaimed. "This is good."

"Hallelujah," Quinn said, half-joking.

Zoey reached into the circle and rooted through the junk food, eventually extracting her pink cell phone. She grinned and jerked her head to motion Lola and Quinn forward; they flopped down on their sleeping bags and eagerly leaned in.

Wordlessly, Zoey dialed a number into her cell but shielded the screen from her friends. Lola and Quinn exchanged curious glances.

"Do your best and leave the rest to me! Leave it all to me…"

Lola looked around in surprise. That was her ringtone. She scooped her phone up from where it lay by her sleeping bag and looked at it: Zoey was calling. What the heck? She shot Zoey a questioning look but flipped it open.

"What?" she asked, feeling silly for talking into the phone when Zoey was twelve inches away.

"This is Pizza Hut; may I take your order?" Zoey said in a deep voice entirely unlike her own.

Lola couldn't help it. Now that she understood what Zoey was getting at, she squealed loudly into the phone.

"Ow, my ear!" Zoey laughed, snapping her cell shut and ending the connection.

"Prank calls," Lola said excitedly, tossing her phone aside. "Yay!" As an actress, she loved any opportunity to flex her acting muscles; as a teenage girl, she loved bothering people over the phone to the point of insanity.

"So who should we call first?" Quinn asked.

"Gimme that," Lola said, still excited, as she snatched Zoey's phone out of her hand. "I know exactly who we should call."

"Hey!" Zoey protested, staring at her now-empty hand with something akin to indignation. "It was my idea."

"But I'm a better actress," Lola said, punching in numbers rapidly.

"Fine," Zoey said. She rolled her eyes. "But I get second call. And don't forget to star-sixty-nine it, so my name won't show up on Caller ID."

"Deal," Lola said. She cleared a spot in the middle of the circle and placed Zoey's phone there, turning the speaker on. The three girls leaned forward and listened intently to the ringing.

"Dean Rivers' office, secretary speaking, how may I help you?" asked a polite female voice.

"You called Dean Rivers' office?" Quinn mouthed at Lola incredulously.

"Shh!" Zoey hissed, giggling slightly.

"Yes, ma'am," Lola said into the phone, putting on her most professional-and-adult-sounding voice. "I need to speak to the Dean, please."

"One moment." Tinkling elevator music began to come through the phone as they were put on hold.

"What are you going to say?" Quinn whispered.

Lola shrugged, feeling giddy. "Improv," she said. Before either of her roommates could respond, the muzak stopped suddenly and a deep male voice answered:

"This is Dean Rivers speaking."

"Why, howdy," Lola said loudly, dropping her businesslike tone in exchange for an exaggerated Texas accent. Zoey and Quinn clapped their hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter.

"Is this the local Pizza Hut?" Lola asked, taking a cue from Zoey's demonstration. She still sounded like she came from a badly-acted Western (Of course, she meant to—she would never act badly unless it was acting. If that made any sense.). She didn't give the Dean any time to respond before continuing, "I'll have fourteen deep-dished pizzas with ev'rything on 'em, and twenty bottles of Coke. Ev'rything 'cept anchovies, that is, 'cause anchovies give me indigestion—if ya know what I mean."

"Ma'am," the Dean tried to cut in. "I'm afraid this isn—"

"Could you add extra cheese, please?" Lola overstressed the words 'cheese' and 'please', sending Quinn and Zoey into paroxysms of giggles. "I do love myself some good ol' cheese. Why, I was sayin' to my cows jus' the other day, I was sayin', 'Now y'all listen real good, ya hear, 'cause I don't got no time to be a-wastin'—"

Zoey and Quinn grabbed pillows and buried their faces in them to muffle their laughter.

"Madam," the Dean said, sounding slightly irritated. "This is not—"

"'Y'all'd better produce some dang good cheese', I said, ''cause what's a farm without some decent dairy, ya know?"

"I'm afraid you have the wrong number," the Dean said, now sounding definitely annoyed. But Lola wasn't done yet…

"Anywho, do you have Orange Blix down there? 'Cause here we only got the stinky red kind, and I was sayin' to my sister jus' yesterday, I said—"

"You have the wrong number!" This is not Pizza Hut! I will hang up now!" the Dean basically exploded. Lola couldn't see his face, obviously, but she had a feeling it was bright red.

"Wait—what?" Lola said. "Hang up? No! Don't do that! This ain't the Pizza Hut, you say? Well why in cacti's name didn't you say so in the first place? And you don't needa be so rude 'bout it, neither, not when a girl's made an honest mistake—"

"Ma'am," Dean Rivers said tiredly. Suddenly Lola switched back to businesslike.

"This is Pizza Hut, Tracey speaking, may I take your order?" she asked.

"I—what—" the Dean stammered. Annnnnd…dial tone.

As soon as the Dean hung up, the three girls let loose with their laughter. Gasping for air, they laughed till their sides hurt and their faces ached.

"Oh…my…God," Quinn gasped out, clutching her stomach and rocking back and forth. Lola grinned. Done, done and done. Success.

They shared a round of high fives, then took deep breaths to recover.

"How did you even know Dean Rivers' number?" Quinn asked.

"I never reveal my sources," Lola said with a grin. Well, that answer sounded much more mysterious than the plain and boring truth.

"Okay, my turn," Zoey said, taking the phone and scrolling through her contacts. She put the phone back in the circle and again, they all leaned forward to listen.

"Hello?" The voice of the person who picked up at the other end of the line was slightly garbled, not from sleep but from a full mouth.

"Is this Coco Wexler?!" Zoey asked in a boisterous voice.

"Yeah, whaddaya want?" Coco said, chewing noisily into the phone.

"Congratulationnnnnnnns!" Zoey sang into the phone. Lola had to give her credit—Zoey said it so convincingly that Lola half-expected confetti to come raining down from the ceiling. "Youuuuuuuuu've just won a full year's supply of RAVIOLI!"

"What?!" From the sound of it, Coco had spit out whatever she was eating—most likely ravioli—at the news. Lola felt rather like she had accidentallyh inhaled some of the breath spray Quinn had once invented (though of course Quinn had eventually solved that particular side effect, and added something to the solution that cured snoring (though did not, thankfully, stimulate hair growth)), she was laughing so hard—but completely silently.

"Thaaaaaaat's right!" Zoey said, sounding like an overly enthusiastic announcer on an infomercial. "You just need to give me your credit card and social security numbers and the ravioli is yours yours yours—free!"

"Sure!" Coco said, her voice brimming with excitement. "Just hold on."

Quinn's eyebrows shot up on her forehead. Lola's jaw dropped. Wow. Coco sure was susceptible to fraud…

"Um, nevermind," Zoey said quickly, most likely not wanting to get sued. "Just…run outside! The truck should be pulling up any minute!"

"Okay!" Coco said happily. The girls heard a door slam, both through the phone and outside of their room.

"Look outside!" Lola said, getting off of her sleeping bag and rushing to the window. Quinn flipped on a small lamp and turned off the main light. She and Zoey quickly joined Lola at the window. Their eyes took a second to adjust as they peered out, but soon they could see a shadowy figure run outside and stop on the curb, shifting from foot to foot as though unable to contain excitement.

"Oh my God!" Zoey said, laughing. "Look!"

"Coco waiting for the ravioli truck," Quinn confirmed. Even she, Lola noticed, who was usually a wee bit nicer to Coco than Zoey or Lola—well, nicer than Lola, anyway—couldn't help but laugh at Coco's situation.

"What?" Coco's voice said through the phone. "Sorry, you say something?"

"Uh, no!" Zoey said into the cell. "Bye!"

"She's still standing there!"

Actually, Coco continued to wait on the curb for several more minutes before the girls got bored and returned to their sleeping bags to eat popcorn.

"All right," Quinn said, crunching noisily. "My turn."

"Who're you going to call?" Zoey asked, handing her cell over.

"You'll see," Quinn said with a mischievous smile. They followed the same procedure as the last two times, then listened as the phone gave several long rings.

"Did he turn his phone off?" Quinn wondered aloud. Lola and Zoey still didn't know who she was talking about, until they heard Michael say groggily, "'Lo?"

"Hola, señor! Puedo ir al baño, por favor?"

"I…wha'?" Michael said, sounding like he had just woken up (which most likely the case).

"Señor! Tu eres entupido? Te nombre eres Tonto!"

"Ay caramba!" Zoey whispered. She and Lola clutched each other amidst their giggles.

"Listen," Michael said, half-whispering. "I don't speak French, and I'm trying to sleep!"

"French?" Lola mouthed to Zoey. She shook her head. Oh, Michael…

"Yo no encontré mi madre! Ayúdame! Mi falda es no aquí! Ay Dios míos!" Quinn said, spewing out Spanish words faster than Lola could keep up with them. Of course, that may have been because she couldn't speak Spanish, either (but at least could recognize he difference between that and French).

"Lady," Michael said. "I don't know what you're saying. I…how did you get this number?"

"Este numero? En el baño, naturalmente. Yo no puedo hablar en alemán. Tienes ropa interior?"

"No!" Michael said, sounding frustrated. His voice was getting louder and louder. "I think you have the wrong number. I'm going to hang up now, okay?"

"Mi hermana es muy caliente! Jugaba con Power Rangers!"

"I—what—don't you kn—have y—UGH!" Dial tone.

"This is too much fun," Lola gushed as they fought their way out of laughter again. "Just one more."

"Three more!" Zoey said, tossing Lola the cell. Lola grinned.

Only two rings, this time, before a chipper voice answered:

"Shtacey Dillshen shpeaking!"

"Hello?" Lola said, pinching her nose between her fingers so her voice came out whiny and nasal.

"Hello!" Stacey said. "Who ish thish?"

"This is Ramona Bixby from the Federal Bureau of Cotton Swabs, also known as Q-tips, aka the FBCSQT," Lola said. "Have you bought any cotton swabs lately?"

"Oh, yesh! Yesh! I bought onesh with green shtichks on Monday, and on Shunday I ordered a shipment of chyan shwabs, and—"

"Did you buy any of the Special Edition Sparkle Swabs?" Lola asked, knowing full well she had, as Stacey had paraded them proudly around the lounge just the day before.

"Yesh! The Shpecial Edition Shparkle Shwabs for only sheventeen dollarsh and ninety-nine chents!" Stacey said, obviously excited out of her mind to be talking to someone from the 'FBCSQT'.

"We have received word that they may be contaminated," Lola said nasally. "Have by any chance your swabs come into contact with white glue?"

"Um," Stacey said. She was starting to sound a little worried. "Yesh? Did you shay contaminated?" Her tone had quickly moved from worried to panicked.

"Please, stay calm," Lola said, allowing a little fake fear to creep into her annoying whine of a voice. "Proceed to the contaminated objects."

"Okay," Stacey said, starting to hyperventilate.

"Please do not touch this highly toxic and dangerous form of waste with your bare skin," Lola instructed. Zoey and Quinn shook with silent laughter.

Stacey gave a yelp that indicated she had indeed touched the 'highly toxic form of waste' before receiving that direction.

"Miss, do you have any socks in the area?"

Shocksh?" Stacey asked, sounding confused and distressed.

"Miss, please just do as you are told. Time is running short and the fire department may not arrive in time if you choose to wait for them."

"Shorry!" Stacey cried. "Shocksh, shocksh, shocksh…gee, it'sh a good thing my roommatesh are shlepping outshide tonight! Again. I guessh they musht really like camping…"

"Miss," Lola said warningly. A cackle escaped Quinn, and she slapped her hand over her mouth.

"Shocksh! Okay, shorry, I've got the shocksh. Now what?"

"Proceed to put the socks on your hands," Lola said. 'Then slowly and carefully pick up the contaminated swabs."

"Are you sure?" Stacey asked fearfully.

"Just do it!" Lola snapped, breaking character. She took a deep breath and pinched her nose again.

"Okay, shorry!" Stacey said, apparently too startled by Lola's outburst (and panicked by the possible inflammation of cottom swabs) to recognize her voice.

"Now, get your swabs out of the building and away from any living creature as soon as possible."

"Right!"

Suddenly, the girls heard an animalistic yell. They rushed to the window just in time to see a giant model-ship made entirely of cotton swabs fly out of a window and through the cold night air, eventually crashing onto Coco's head.

Whoops.

The girls quickly closed the window and shut the blinds, retiring to their sleeping bags.

"Okay, I'm next," Quinn said, grabbing the cell.

"Hey, it's my turn!" Zoey said.

"You can go next," said Quinn. "I just really want to make this call…" She dialed and they waited.

"Hello?" Mark's voice was bored and monotonous, as always, so it was impossible to tell whether he had been sleeping or not. Lola had to wonder why Quinn had dated him for so long. She deserved so much better…and eventually, Lola hoped, she would get it.

"Hello, sir," Quinn said, disguising her voice well (though not as dramatically as they had been the last four calls). "Is this Mark Del Figgalo?"

"Yeah."

"I'm calling from the Pacific Coast Health Care Center. We just wanted to check up on you. How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Pause. "Why?"

"Well, we heard you took a nasty fall today when a sixth-grader ran his bike into you."

Lola snorted. It was true. It was also one of the funnier things she had ever seen. Especially when the tiny sixth-grader got mad at Mark for getting in his way.

"We have the offender in child custody right now," Quinn continued. "He swears he didn't know the punch he dealt you after you ruined his bike was one of the twelve illegal moves, but we are still investigating this claim. If it proves to be true, you may not have to worry, as it is doubtful he knew how to perform the move to its full effect."

There was a long pause while the girls held their breaths. Then came the inevitable: "Illegal move?"

"Oh, you probably don't have to worry," Quinn said airily. "It's been over six hours and you haven't noticed any strange red splotches." She waited a beat. "Have you?"

"Uh…" Mark said. "No. I don't think so."

"They'd be on your lower back," Quinn encouraged.

"Um…" They heard through the phone the unmistakable sound of Mark Del Figgalo walking in tight circles like a dog chasing its tail, attempting to see his lower back. "I can't see…is there a mirror in here?"

"You're probably fine," Quinn assured him in a fake-calm voice. "As long as you're not feeling numb anywhere. Or dizzy. Do you feel dizzy?"

"Yeah…oh, it's getting worse," Mark panted. Lola didn't doubt it—he seemed to be spinning pretty fast.

"Just remain calm. How well can you see?"

"Not great," Mark said, apparently forgetting that this was because it was nighttime and all the lights were off. "What do I do?"

"I'm afraid nothing can be done at this time until we have a fuller assessment of your condition. If you're still functioning properly in twelve hours, we should be able to treat you. In the meantime, try to relax. And whatever you do, don't sweat. Or blink."

"But—" Mark said.

"Bye!" Quinn giggled, and hung up.

"Don't you just love manipulating people?" Lola sighed happily, holding up a hand for Quinn to slap.

"Poor Mark," Zoey laughed. "Do you have any idea how panicked he must be by now?"

"Yup," Quinn said, opening another can of Blix. Lola had to wonder at how completely Quinn had gotten over their breakup three months previously.

"All right, last call…to a Mr. Logan Reese," Zoey said with a positively wicked look in her eyes.

Suddenly Quinn spewed Blix all over her sleeping bag, choking, spluttering, and gasping. Her face was bright red as she coughed, and her eyes watered.

"Quinn!" Zoey said. "Are you okay?"

"Blix go down the wrong pipe?" Lola asked sympathetically.

"Um…yeah," Quinn muttered, still coughing. She grabbed a napkin and took another, more careful, sip of Blix. She cleared her throat and said, "Aren't you guys tired of prank calls? We should do something else."

"Are you kidding me?" Lola asked. "This is fun!"

"Just one more," Zoey promised her, and before Quinn could protest any more, she hit a number on her speed dial and they listened to it ring.

They had to call twice before Logan answered. "Hello?" he muttered into the phone, sounding tired.

"Hey," Zoey said in a low, sultry voice. Lola nearly laughed out loud, but for some reason Quinn was biting her lip and looking anxious.

"Who is this?" Logan asked through a yawn.

"Melanie Coltrane," Zoey purred, naming the 'hottest girl on campus' according to half the male population at PCA. "What's up?"

"Sleep?" Logan said in a voice that suggested he didn't think 'Melanie' was the sharpest tool in the shed.

Zoey gave a tinkling laugh. "You're so funny," she said. "And totally hot." Lola mimed sticking a finger down her throat; Zoey nearly cracked up. "I really like you, Logan." Zoey tried to make her voice sound as flirty and sexy as possible. If Lola didn't know it was really Zoey, she might have been convinced it actually was Melanie.

"Yeah, well, a lot of people do," Logan said absently. It was obvious he was more intent on getting back to bed than on this conversation.

Zoey giggled again. Quinn buried her face in her hands, most likely to conceal laughter.

"So," Zoey said, getting so into the act she was actually twirling her hair around her finger and batting her eyelashes. "I was thinking…do you wanna catch a movie tomorrow?"

"Not really."

Well, that was surprising. Lola could tell Zoey was taken aback too, but tried to keep evidence of it out of her voice.

"Or…we could grab some food. Or hang out in my dorm." Zoey layered thick implications on her last suggestion. "I hear you're, like, an amazing kisser."

Quinn made an unidentifiable sound into her pillow. It was probably a laugh, Lola figured.

"Yeah, I am," Logan said calmly. "But no thanks."

Now Lola was just plain confused. This was not the Logan they knew… Suddenly, she realized what must be happening.

"Zoey! Hang up!" she hissed urgently. "Now!"

"What—?" Zoey started to question.

"Now!"

Without another word, Zoey pressed "end" on her phone.

"Okay, what up?" she asked Lola at normal volume.

"I think he knew," Lola said quickly, her words tumbling over each other in their haste to leave her mouth. "That it was us, I mean, or a prank call, anyway. Why else would he not respond to Melanie Coltrane flirting with him?"

"Because maybe he's not interested in Melanie Coltrane?" Quinn guessed. Lola looked at her like she was crazy.

"Right," Zoey said. "Logan not interested in a hot girl. Okay, what have you been drinking?"

"There's no other explanation!" Lola said. "Obviously he knew."

"You're probably right," Zoey sighed, tossing the phone away. "We've run out of people to call anyway."

"So, then," Lola said. "Are you ready for a real prank?"

"Just what would you call what we've just been doing?" Zoey demanded. "Stacey Dillsen threw her cotton swab ship out the window, which landed on Coco who was waiting for a ravioli truck, while Mark does his best not to blink for fear of his deadly disease thingy and Michael dreams in Spanish."

"True," Lola conceded, "but I meant something beyond prank calls…like the sort of things students do during Prank Week."

"Oh, stop beating around the bush," Quinn said. "Let's go sabotage the guys!"

It didn't take long for the girls to gather all the supplies they needed, and thus armed, they snuck outside their dorm once again. The night was colder and unmistakably darker than when they had been out last. They tiptoed across the soft grass as quickly as they could, trying not to drop what they were carrying and bemoaning the cool night air.

Eventually they arrived in Maxwell Hall and stood outside the guys' dorm room. In no short order Quinn had picked the lock and they were in.

The room was dark, with the only light coming from the moon filtering in through the window and the faint glow coming from various forms of technology: the red numbers on alarm clocks, slowly blinking lights from computers… The three forms that lay in the beds were breathing deeply, fast asleep once more.

The girls moved like a well-oiled machine, each silently moving to complete the task they had assigned themselves on the way over. Zoey began to TP the room and its occupants, flinging around toilet paper as though she was trying to create the illusion everything was covered in a blanket of snow. Quinn opened her toolbox and got to work rigging the electrical system to do what she pleased.

Lola started her sabotaging by taking out a bottle of shaving cream. Carefully, she squirted a dollop of cream into Michael's hand, then tickled his nose with a feather. Unconsciously, Michael reached up to his face and covered himself with whipped cream.

One down, two to go. Logan would be easy…though a bit ridiculous. It didn't take long to sprinkle just enough baby powder into his curly hair so that the next time he looked in the mirror, he would immediately get the impression he had dandruff galore. Usually it wouldn't have been that great of a prank, but Lola knew how Logan was about his hair…

Feeling like Lindsay Lohan in The Parent Trap, Lola next got out a tube of red lipstick and turned James into a canvas. She painted a giant "L" on his forehead and precisely wrote in large letters on his chest, "Property of Zoey Brooks". To complete the look, she over-applied the lipstick to his actual lips.

It wasn't hard to write "SIKE!" in capital letters using various makeup supplies on both the window and mirror, and Lola finished her job just as Zoey and Quinn were finishing theirs. They met in the middle of the room for a quick and whispered reconnaissance meeting.

"I rigged the alarm clocks to go off on high volume when the lights go on," Quinn told them, "and I disabled the snooze and off buttons. I replaced the light bulbs with high-voltage bulbs that should practically blind them for about thirty seconds. And…" she grinned, and pointed towards the guys' beds. "Cameras rigged too, to capture and record nice live videos of their lovely, blinded, makeup-covered selves and email them straight to my laptop. We'll be able to see the results of our genius as soon as we get back to our room."

Zoey and Lola laughed quietly in appreciation.

"Then I guess our work here is done," Zoey whispered. "We just have to put Vaseline on the door handle so they won't get out so easily and we're good to go."

They opened the door before spreading an ample amount of the greasy solution on the doorknob and then slipping out. They stood on the other side of the door, preparing to trigger the panic.

"One…two…" Zoey counted. "Three!" She reached in, flipped the lights on, slammed the door, and they ran, hearing the not-so-faint sounds of three alarm clocks going of simultaneously on their highest volume, followed by three anguished yells.

Upon returning to their room, they found the footage to be absolutely priceless. From Michael's shocked, cream-covered face to James frantically stumbling around in the brightness to Logan getting caught up in toilet paper and falling out of his top-bunk in a Chase-like move, their mission was considered by all three to be a Success.

All pranked-out, the girls collapsed upon their sleeping bags once more. Now it was time for something a wee bit quieter—usually. Something no sleepover would be complete without…Truth or Dare.

And so passes the third hour! Which prank/prank did you think was funniest? I apologize for my random Spanish words—and no, I'm not translating! If you really wanna know, look it up yourself. ;) Hint—I recommend Google Language Tools to get the gist of it. Next chapter is Zoey's POV again. Please, please review and oh!—don't miss Chasing Zoey tonight!