Obi-Wan Kenobi was boooooooored.

Seriously? A two-hour class on geography? He was just about to doze off when the teacher's voice snapped him to attention.

"Mr. Kenobi? Please tell me the name of the moon on the board?"

Master Fisto pointed at the ghostly blue projection. He was a nice teacher, but he was tricky. Obi-Wan squinted, thinking hard.

"It's not a moon. It's a space station," he answered.

Master Fisto looked pleased. "Correct. You are learning well. For extra credit, please tell me the location of the planet Kamino –"

Suddenly, his comlink buzzed. He sighed. "What is it?"

"Can you please send Obi-Wan Kenobi to Admiral Ackbar's office? Room 294, please." Asked the tinny voice that came out of the speaker.

"Will I get him back?" Master Fisto demanded.

"Perhaps."

"Hmm . . . alright. Mr. Kenobi, you may go. Consider yourself lucky to get out of today's pop quiz."

The class groaned as Obi-Wan gave a big grin and waltzed out of class.

Now, why the heck did Admiral Ackbar want him? Suddenly, Obi-Wan's stomach lurched. Admiral Ackbar was the flight and navigation teacher, and Obi-Wan was practically failing that class. It wasn't his fault! He hatedflying!

He followed the twisting hallway to Room 294 and pushed the door open. He gaped in surprise. The room was small, with two big armchairs facing each other. The bright yellow walls were covered in cheesy posters saying things like "Search your Feelings!", "Keep Calm or you will turn to the Dark Side!", and "It'll be ok . . . even if your dad is a Sith Lord!"

Apparently, Admiral Ackbar was also the school guidance counsellor.

When he saw Obi-Wan, his fishy face broke into a wide, wet smile.

"Sit down, Obi-Wan. Make yourself comfortable."

Cautiously, Obi-Wan lowered himself into one of the squishy armchairs, noticing the biggest poster behind him, which read: "Fear leads to Anger, Anger leads to Hate, Hate leads to Suffering!"

Cheerful. Reeeaal cheerful.

"So, Obi-Wan. I understand you've been a bit troubled lately."

Obi-Wan tried to joke. "Like, as in, 'Troubled you look, young Skywalker?'" he was completely confused. He'd always considered himself relatively untroubled. What was he doing?

"Um, I'm not sure I . . ."

"Denial is reasonable, of course." Ackbar continued.

"I'm not in denial. I just don't think –"

"I'll cut straight to the chase. I've been quite concerned about you recently. First off, there's this." He picked up the end of Obi-Wan's Padawan braid. "Is there a particular reason you feel the need to change your image? Remember, you can tell me anything."

Obi-Wan watched the tasselled end of the braid dangle in his face. Some girls thought it was nerdy, but he thought he rocked it pretty well.

On Anakin, though, it doesn't look too good, he thought, stifling a laugh.

"The braid, sir? It's just a fad. I rather like it."

Ackbar jotted something on his notepad, muttering "Feels the need to fit in . . ." under his breath.

Now Obi-Wan was growing annoyed. "There's nothing wrong with me!"

Ackbar totally missed the point, jotting down "easily angered" on his notepad.

Obi-Wan heaved a sigh. May as well play along.

For the next half-hour, Admiral Ackbar questioned him about his life, friends, classes (sigh), hatred toward Lunch Lady Grievous ("He's so uncivilized," Obi-Wan had replied), eating habits, and personal hygiene (that was getting personal).

And then, Obi-Wan understood. It was like a light bulb switching on in his brain: Admiral Ackbar had nothing to do.

The more crazy students at school, who he was SUPPOSED to be counselling, were completely unreachable. (Just look at Anakin.) so to keep up his job, he had to "counsel" the more level-headed students.

Aaaah . . .he thought, I see it now. Well, may as well give the Admiral some job satisfaction. Here goes.

"Well, now that you mention it, sir . . ." he began.

Admiral Ackbar peered over his giant, squid-sized spectacles. "Yes?"

Obi-Wan buried his face in the cushions and pretended to sob (while trying not to crack up). "Oh, sir, I haven't been the same since Master Qui-Gon was fired. I've been hearing voices in my head . . . not sleeping at night . . . eating obscene amounts of chocolate . . ." (That last part was actually true. Obi-Wan loved chocolate almost as much as he hated flying.)

Obi-Wan continued listing his made-up symptoms of depression, schizophrenia, and obsessive Slashing-the-Walls-With-a-Lightsaber Disorder, while Ackbar gleefully listened, bobbing his head and writing in his notepad, which was now smoking.

At the end of the day, Obi-Wan emerged from the guidance counsellor's office. Anakin was waiting for him so they could go home from school together.

"So, how'd it go?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan grinned. "I made his day."