"Fulton! Yo, Fulton, wait up man!"

I stopped walking and waited for Portman to catch up with me.

"So, you ready for the big game tonight, bro?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess so."

"You guess so? What's up, buddy, someone die or something?" When I said nothing he continued, "Was it that prick Benson? That guy's been riding my ass since we got here, and I think he hates you even more than me. What's his problem anyway? I thought the teachers here were supposed to favor us jocks."

"I guess he reserves his goodwill for the rich, preppy ones."

"Well, rich and preppy you're not," Portman said, slapping me on the back. "So where to man? I'd say the caf, but it looks like you're in need of a little herbal stimulation, get your mind off Benson and his bullshit."

I had to grin at him. Portman can make you grin no matter what, even though my thoughts had been purely homicidal a few minutes ago. "I think you're right. Let's go."

We headed down the hall together, weaved our way through the crowd of kids trying to get into the cafeteria, and ducked into the small corridor that lead to our private "presidential suite" as Portman referred to it. The two of us had discovered the room during the second week of classes, and to my knowledge, we were the only ones who knew about it.

We had been trying unsuccessfully to find the swimming pool when we wound up in this hall instead, which had only five rooms. The first was a grotty old faculty bathroom with a broken sink, then a room filled with busted chairs and music stands, and a couple of janitorial closets. The door at the end of the hall was locked. Portman dared me to pick it, and I had, using a skill I acquired under the tutelage of this kid on my block named Ryan Oldman, who was now in juvie for stealing a car. The door opened onto a long wooden staircase, which lead to an old attic of some sort. It was big and dusty with low slanted wooden ceilings and a window overlooking the courtyard.

We immediately fell in love with the privacy offered by the place, and we now we came up here whenever we could. It was a great place to stash stuff, and to hang out in when we didn't feel like being around all those Eton kids, but its chief recommendation was that it was the only place inside the school where we could smoke weed.

Portman plopped down on the ancient couch in the corner of the room, sending up a small dusty cloud and causing the springs to groan in protest. I pushed aside a box of old textbooks, pried up the loose floorboard (a cliched but effective hiding spot) and removed the small wooden box stashed underneath before joining Portman on the couch.

"Wanna pass me a book, man?" I asked.

Portman leaned over the arm of the couch and pulled a thick, black leatherbound book out of the box beside him and handed it to me. I had already removed the baggie of weed and was busy cutting up the buds on the book when Portman let out a laugh.

"You know what book that is?" he said, still grinning. "That's a copy of the bible, dude. I wish the guidance councellor could see us now. That bible-thumping prick McNally's always saying that the reason I get into trouble is because I haven't let Jesus into my life."

"Yeah, he tells me the same thing," I chuckled as I rolled a fat joint. "Funny, I always thought it was because I keep skipping class. He'd say that this is a prime example of the fundamental moral disintegration of today's youth."

"Yeah, we're all going straight to hell. What do you say, Fulton, should we renounce our evil ways before it's too late?"

"Nah," I replied, firing up the j and taking a deep hoot before passing it to Portman. When it felt as if my lungs were about to pop I let the smoke out in a great cloud. "If the only people who get into heaven are guys like McNally, then I don't really think it's a place I'd like to be. St. Peter can kiss my ass, cause I'd pick hell anyday."

"Yeah, hell'd be where it's at," Portman wheezed. "Do you think cutting buds on a bible is enough to guarantee us a seat? I mean, isn't there a law against that type of thing? It's sac...sacree..."

"Sacriligious," I finished. I was watching the smoke curl and twist in little ribbons above our heads before it dissipated. It was really pretty.

"Yeah, sacriligious," Portman said, trying unsuccessfully to blow a smoke ring. I giggled, took a hit, and let the smoke out in a series of perfect O's. "Show-off," he muttered.

"What class do we got next, man?" I asked.

"Ummm...I don't know. What day is it?"

"Tuesday...I think."

"Then we got English. Romeo and Juliet here we come." Portman stood up and walked over to the window. He gazed down at the kids gathered in the courtyard while he smoked reflexively. He looked like Sherlock Holmes, but with a better build. And a cuter face. And without that annoying opium habit. "Look at them," he said. "Bunch of cattle in loafers and sweater vests. Probably all going to grow up to be bankers and lawyers and accountants and have 2.4 kids. Shit, Fulton, what are we doing here?"

I shrugged. "Playing hockey, I guess." It felt weird for me too. I couldn't stand most of the kids here. The only Ducks I saw much outside of hockey and class were Charlie, Adam, Julie, Guy and Connie, and even around them I didn't talk much. But then there was Portman. Without him I'd have dropped out within a week.

"Just tell me we're not going to end up like them," he said., gesturing to the kids below.

"Not much of a chance of that, man." I was staring at my fingers, but they seemed so alien, I could swear they hadn't looked like that before. What was going on here? An idea came to me: maybe they weren't my fingers at all, maybe Portman had stolen my fingers somehow and replaced them with his. I eyed his hands suspiciously.

"Dude, what the hell are you staring at?" Portman's voice broke me out of my marijuana-induced reverie. I tried to think of how to answer, but it sounded stupid even to me, and I burst out laughing instead.

"Your...your hands..." I choked out between giggles.

Portman stared at his hands. "My hands? What about them?"

I was too busy laughing to reply, when Portman leant over to me and showed me his hands. "Look, Fulton, I've got hair on my fingers. I'd never noticed that before. Eww! Between the second and third knuckles too! Do you have that?"

"No, only between the first two knuckles," I said, inspecting my fingers once more. "Third-knuckle hair is a recessive gene, you know."

"Uh, yeah, I knew that. Who doesn't? " Portman said sarcastically. "Hey, was that the bell?"

"I think so, we'd better go." I rose, packed up the box and returned it to its home. It felt like I was moving in slow, completely fluid motion.

"You know," Portman said as we walked down the hall. "I'm going to fail English if we don't stop getting stoned before class."

"Nah, you never learn anything imporatant in English class. As long as you can write a coherent essay, you'll be fine. I'll do the next one for you if you want, though."

"Thanks, book boy. I knew having you around would come in handy eventually." Portman opened the door and we went for our usual seats at the back of the room. I sat down, but some girl was already sitting at Portman's desk. He stood there a moment, then cleared his throat. The girl turned, and I recognized her. She was dating one of the Varsity defensemen. She was a senior. What was she doing in our class? I looked around. The rest of the students, as well as the teacher, were also staring at us. The teacher was a tall balding man with thick black glasses and a gap between his front teeth. He was not our English teacher.

"You aren't Ms. Kinney," Portman said in confusion.

"And you aren't one of my students," he said drily. "One of us is in the wrong classroom. Care to guess who it is?"

I stood up slowly, grabbed Portman's wrist and backed out of the room. "Oops," he said when we were back in the hallway. I could have kissed him he was so cute. We managed to reach the correct room without further incident, and slid into our seats only a few mintutes late. Ms. Kinney seemed not to notice, as she was busy writing quotations on the blackboard, including one from one of my favourite Shakepearean passages of all time, Mercutio's Queen Mab monologue.

I was spacing out, tracing the gouges in my desk with my fingertips, my thoughts alternating between food and how Guy, who was sitting in front on me, seemed to have resurrected his old green hat, which the rest of the Ducks had prayed was gone forever. I was wondering how he could have seen that thing in a store and thought to himself, 'Say, that's a smart looking chapeau. I think I'm going to buy it,' when the kid on my left (Portman was on my right, and he too was staring off into space) jammed me in the side with his pencil and jerked his head toward the front of the room. Everyone was staring at me. I didn't know what they wanted, so I just stared right back.

"Didn't you hear me Fulton? " Ms. Kinney asked, and I could tell she was annoyed. I shook my head. "Very well, I merely asked you to finish reading where I left off, since it seemed such a fitting passage for you and your friend Dean over there," Portman looked up at the mention of his name. "Come on now, 'Love goes toward love...'"

"'...as schoolboys from their books, but love from love toward school with heavy looks,'" I murmured, looking down at my desk. I hated talking in front of the class, I hated the feel of their eyes on me, which didn't turn away when I finished. What now? I didn't remember anymore, and I didn't have a copy of the play to look at. "Did you want me to keep going? I uh, left my book in my dorm," I said. Ms. Kinney only shook her head silently, gave me a strange look, and finally shook her head and continued reading the play. It was then that I realized I must have made a mistake of some kind.

I looked over at Portman, who was watching me with amusement. "What did I do?" I whispered.

"I guess she hadn't expected you to know the lines by heart," he grinned. "She wanted to catch you out and you threw it back in her face."

"Are you kidding? It was just a couple of lines, and pretty memorable ones at that!" But I sort of saw his point. I guess she thought I wasn't reading the play like I was suppposed to be doing. I wasn't, but that was only because I'd read it before. I'd have to be more careful in class from now on. The last thing I needed was a chat from Ms. Kinney about untapped potential. Ug.