This story is rated PG-13, but don't expect to encounter anything more offensive than what already appears on the show.

Disclaimer: I am not Matt Groening, nor am I affiliated with the FOX network or (thankfully) their reality TV division.

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Author's introduction: Springfield Springs Forward is the first in a planned epic series of Simpsons adventures taking place one year after the timeline of the TV series. (In other words, Lisa is 9 and Bart is 11.) It will stay close to the spirit of the show, while also introducing THoH-style fantasy elements.

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Repeat the fourth grade.

Repeat the fourth grade.

"Don't try to stop me, Seymour!" shrieked Edna Krabappel, fervently clutching the rope around her neck.

"I won't, I promise," said Principal Skinner uneasily as sweat poured down his cheeks. "But please, before you flee this life, tell me what it is you're fleeing from. Is it Superintendent Chalmers? God knows, I've felt his whip against my back as well."

"I tried every trick in the book to advance Bart to the fifth grade," moaned the despondent teacher. "I intentionally left the wall map hanging open so he could get an A on the geography test. But it wasn't enough. He failed. He faaailed…"

"What you're experiencing is commonly known as 'post-Bartum depression'," Skinner explained. "It's a treatable medical condition. Now if you'll just let me…"

He stopped abruptly as Mrs. Krabappel released her grip on the noose, kicked the wooden chair out from under her pumps…

…and crashed to the floor in a heap.

Skinner winked slyly at Groundskeeper Willie, who had stealthily climbed atop the desk and unfastened Edna's rope from the ceiling fan. "Ye owe me a beer, lad," said the bushy-faced Scot.

Repeat the fourth grade. The words pounded again and again in Bart's head, as if all the bullies at Springfield Elementary had formed a jazz ensemble and were using his skull and eardrums as a drum set.

While he dolefully poked at his bacon and eggs, Lisa shoveled down one spoonful of oatmeal after another, as if anxious to store fuel for the thrilling day ahead. From the sparkle in her wide eyes to the well-coiffed points in her hair, she looked like a little girl about to be crowned Princess Regent of a European country.

"Hurry up and finish your breakfast, Bart," said Marge, who was bracing up little Maggie by the hands in hopes that the baby girl would take her first steps.

"Mom, this breakfast is the only thing standing between me and another year with Mrs. Krabappel," said Bart miserably. As if to encourage him, Santa's Little Helper suddenly draped his paws over the plate and devoured the eggs and bacon. "Thanks a lot, Man's Best Friend," Bart grumbled.

Maggie, between thoughtful sucks on her pacifier, succeeded in moving her foot slightly forward. "She's taking a step!" gushed Marge, dropping the infant while lunging for the video camera.

While she taped more footage of Maggie sprawled on the floor, Homer burst into the kitchen, arms waving, clad only in his briefs. "Good morning, everyone!" he bellowed.

"Er, Dad, aren't you forgetting something?" said Lisa helpfully.

Struck with terror, Homer patted his chest with his hands. "Omigod! My bra!"

"You don't wear a bra!" Marge reminded him.

"I don't?" Homer sighed dejectedly. "No wonder my boobs sag."

"Homer, why do you always get drunk on the night before the first day of school?" asked Bart.

"Do I?" Homer marveled.

"It's because he loves you very much, and this is a very special day for you," explained Marge.

"Nah, it's just coincidence," said Homer dismissively.

Lisa glanced down at her empty bowl. "I'm finished," she declared proudly.

"What about you, Bart?" said Marge.

"I'll just starve," the boy groaned. "Hopefully, to death."

"Get your things," Marge ordered. "And, Homer, don't go to work like that."

"Fine," groused Homer, removing the flowerpot from his head.

Darkness and dread filled Bart's soul as he lashed onto his back the same books he had spent the last school year occasionally opening. Lisa seemed to skip on air in her pink dress and red buckle shoes. She missed her Systems Analyst Malibu Stacy lunchbox, but she wouldn't need it where she was going.

While Marge drove away in the red sedan with Lisa and Maggie, Bart trudged hopelessly to the bus stop. His best friend Milhouse was among the children congregated there, so he tried to put on a pleasant face.

"Hey, Bart," the bespectacled boy greeted him. "Too bad you can't go to fifth grade with the cool kids. And me."

"Yeah, but look at the bright side," said Bart, forcing a smile. "I'll be the biggest kid in the class. Well, except for Kearney."

"Ha ha!" Nelson taunted him. "You failed fourth grade!"

"Ha ha!" Bart retorted. "Summer's over and you don't have a new catchphrase yet!"

"What's your new catchphrase, Bart?" asked Sherri and Terri in unison.

"Hasta la manzana, dudes," said Bart with a casual wave.

Sherri giggled. "I don't get it," said Terri in confusion. "See you apple? That doesn't make sense."

"Sherri took Spanish last year," Sherri told Bart.

"I'm Terri," Terri pointed out. "You're Sherri."

"Whoops," Sherri realized. "We switched lunchboxes again."

Shortly the school bus arrived, and Bart was the first to board. An obese, nearly bald man in a pink shirt and shorts welcomed him from behind the steering wheel. "Yo, Bart dude!"

"Yo, whoever the hell you are," was Bart's cold response.

"It's the Lyme disease, man," muttered Otto sadly as he watched the boy stroll past.

Bart tried to occupy the space next to his one-time natural enemy Martin Prince, who turned his face in disdain. "Do not contaminate me with your aura of underachievement," he said haughtily.

As the bus began to roll, Bart gave up and sat down next to Ralph. "How does it feel to be in third grade?" he asked, trying to start a conversation.

"What's a grade?" said Ralph innocently.

Bart sighed in despair.

"Miss Hoover says I'm special," said Ralph, sticking a finger up his nose.

When Bart shuffled into Mrs. Krabappel's room, he encountered a sea of threatening faces. Many were kids he knew. Many were kids he had wedgied. The others seemed curious to know if the legends of a Bart Simpson were really true.

"We meet again, Bart," scowled Edna as the unhappy boy sat down at his old desk. "This time you'll make it to fifth grade—even if it kills you."

Not long afterward, Lisa sprang from the passenger seat of Marge's car and literally danced her way through the wide-open gates of the place she would call alma mater for the rest of the school year, and with any luck, for the rest of her elementary education.

Springfield Preparatory School.

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To be continued! Reviews! Suggestions! Bring 'em on!