"Take your time, Joe," Mr. Johnson said. "You don't have to be at my house until tomorrow night at six. You know my address?" he asked. At Joe's nod, he continued. "We will not discuss this again. By the way, I'm giving a quiz in class tomorrow. It will count as 10 of the grade. Are you going to pass?" he asked, then left the room, leaving Joe to think about his ultimation.
Joe felt sick. He left the room and went to the boy's bathroom and threw up. He had to talk to his dad. He would know how to handle this. No way he was going to tell Frank. Knowing Frank, he would probably go ballistic and beat the teacher to a pulp. Joe knew Frank would always protect him, but this time, that protection might put Frank in jail and Joe would never let that happen.
Joe skipped the rest of his classes and took the van and drove home. "Where's dad?" Joe asked his petite, blond-headed mother when he walked in the kitchen door a few minutes later.
"He's in his office," Laura Hardy responded with a frown at her youngest son. "What's wrong?" she demanded. "Has something happened to Frank?"
"No," he quickly assured his mother. " I just really need to talk to dad," he added, heading upstairs.
"Joe?" asked, brown-haired, brown-eyed, Fenton Hardy when Joe walked into the room he had converted into an office. "What's wrong? Where's Frank?"
"He's still at school," Joe said, coming inside and sitting down in front of his dad. "I've got a problem with my history teacher," he began.
"I don't want to hear it," Mr. Hardy told his son before he could continue. "You're grades have been going downhill for some time now. I expect to see those grades improved drastically or no more mysteries," he said sternly. "And your skipping classes isn't helping you at all," he added.
"But Mr. Jo..." Joe tried to tell his dad.
"No buts," ordered his father. "Go back to school. If you are having a problem with your teacher, talk to him and work it out." Joe sat still, stunned because his father wouldn't even listen to him. "Go to school!" ordered Mr. Hardy again.
Joe silently got up and left. He arrived back at school just as his study hall was ending. He went to his locker and removed his algebra book. Frank came up behind Joe and put a hand on his shoulder. Joe jumped and spun around.
"Are you okay?" Frank asked, upset by Joe's response.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Joe said, turning back to his locker and refusing to look Frank in the face.
"Are you sure nothing's wrong?" Frank asked, hurt at Joe's dismissal.
"Yeah," Joe said and closed his locker. "I'm going to be late for class," he said and walked away.
After school, Joe skipped football practice and walked home. He went straight to his room and began studying. Maybe if he did his homework right and took the tests and passed, he could save his papers and prove his teacher was failing him without cause. It was the only option he could think of. Not hungry, he skipped dinner and went to bed early.
The next day he went to history class with a stomach full of butterflies. Would Mr. Johnson say something that would give himself away? Would Joe have the evidence he needed by the end of the period to prove to his dad he really needed help? 'Man,' Joe thought , 'this is worse than giving a report in front of the entire school!'
"All right everyone," said Mr. Johnson entering the room. "Terri, please pass these out," he said to a shapely, brunette who sat in the front row. He handed her a stack of papers. "This quiz will count for ten percent of your grade." The class broke out into groans. "Now, now," he continued. "It isn't as bad as you might think," he added. "For some, this could be considered a freebie," he paused slightly as he looked at Joe. "When you finish with your exam, bring it and put it on my desk. I'll let you have your grade as you leave."
"Oh no," Callie said, looking at the exam. "I'm doomed."
Joe looked at the paper. They were questions about the deities. Some of the ones not covered on the exam. He spent ten minutes marking answers and turned his paper in. In less than twenty minutes everyone had turned in their exams and were spending the time reading on the night's homework. Five minutes before the bell, Mr. Johnson went to each desk and gave the papers back.
"Yes," Callie said, looking at her paper. She had gotten a ninety. Joe flipped his test over and looked at his grade. He had gotten a fifty-four. He put the test face down on his desk.
"Turn your papers in before you leave the room," Mr. Johnson ordered his students. Joe was the last one to stand up when the bell rang. "You can change that to a hundred," Mr. Johnson reminded Joe as he laid his test on the teacher's desk. Joe nodded his understanding and left the room.
As he exited the door, he walked into Callie who had been waiting for him. "What's going on?" she demanded.
"Nothing," Joe said, stepping around her and heading for the exit. Callie followed him.
"I cheated on that test," Callie admitted after they were outside. Joe turned and looked at her. "I couldn't afford to lose ten percent of a grade," she said.
She tried to look him in the eyes, but he avoided her. "I changed four answers so it wouldn't look like I had copied." Joe turned around and started walking for the baseball field. Callie had to run to keep up with his long strides.
"Don't you want to know who I copied off of?" she asked him.
"Stanley?" Joe guessed, knowing it wasn't so, but naming a person who sat near Callie besides himself.
"It was you," she said, catching up to him and grabbing his arm and spinning him around. "So if I cheated off you and got a ninety, how come you only got a fifty-four?"
"How should I know?" Joe asked, shaking off her arm and going off behind the bleachers. He sat down on the ground and, hugging his knees, buried his head. Callie came over and sat down beside him.
"What's going on?" she asked him gently. Joe never answered her. "Have you talked to Frank?" she asked.
"Mind your own business!" Joe shouted, looking up at her, silent tears streaming down his face.
"You are my business when you're hurting," she told him, pushing some stray hairs away from his eyes. "I love your brother and that means I care about you too," she added, pulling him close and holding him while he cried.
"Then you can't tell Frank," Joe said.
"Can't tell Frank what?" Frank said, coming up with Chet and Biff. They had seen Joe and Callie sneak out of school and followed.
"Nothing," Joe said, hiding behind Callie until he had wiped his eyes.
"What are you two doing out here?" Frank asked. Chet and Biff were looking at Callie and Joe like they had just committed a crime. Frank seemed to be in a state of shock.
"Just talking," Callie answered Frank.
"It really looked like it," Frank sneered.
"Easy bro," Joe said, standing up in front of Callie.
"I can't believe this," Frank said. "How could you?"
"How could we what?" Callie demanded, standing up.
"Shut up," Frank snapped at her. "How could you? I trusted you!" Frank shouted at Joe.
"What are you talking about?" Joe asked, confused.
"You're messing around with Callie behind my back," Frank spat out. "You're not my brother. Not anymore."