The next day, when I woke up, I completely freaked out.

Andrew, Brownley, and Quigley had left without me.

I'd slept in an hour late. I sprinted into the bathroom, showered, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and got dressed.

As soon as I stepped out the door I heard snickering. I pulled the door back to reveal Brownley, Quigley, and Andrew laughing their heads off.

Andrew stumbled out laughing. "We got you good!" he cried. "We set your clock forward an hour! It's only seven o' clock!"

I slapped him, and the silly grin on his face turned into a frozen, silenced stun. "Whose idea was it?" I yelled. "'Cause whoever it was is going to pay big time."

Andrew and Brownley pointed at Quigley. He smiled sheepishly. "Just a little friendly brother prank," he said, draping an arm around me. I scowled.

"You guys are retarded," I said, walking out the door and slamming it behind me.

The noise was so loud a chubby boy waddled out his door. "Shut up over there!" he shouted. "It's an hour till school starts for Pete's sake!"

My fist crumpled, smacking the side of his head. He stumbled and fell backwards inside his room. Regardless of who heard, I draped my schoolbag over my shoulder and headed down to the cafeteria.

Surprisingly, Andrew, Brownley and Quigley were already down there. I went up to the line and selected a sausage egg biscuit with undercooked sausage, almost pitch-black egg and crumbly bread.

Andrew said, "Why are you eating that crap? Wait 'til breakfast starts."

I ignored him.

Brownley said, "We can sneak off campus and go get some real breakfast. I stole the keys to dorm manager Qwerty's car."

I said, "Good for you." Quigley asked, "Are you okay?"

I bolted up. "No I'm not okay. Know why? Three jerks made me get up an hour early nearly giving me a heart attack in an attempt to be funny and you wonder if I'm okay?"

Then I totally lost it. The first person that stepped inside the cafeteria I threw the biscuit at. It was the vice principal himself, Nero the Magnificent.

"What the heck?" He hurled it at the ground. Then he glared up at me. "Quagmire!" he yelled. "See me in my office immediately!"

I could have stayed put, challenge him. My parents were dead, I had no guardian. The school was my guardian. But I followed him.

In his office, he said, "Do I look like a target to you, Quagmire? Do I?"

Fine time for him to start taking his job seriously, the old idiot. I thought any minute now he'd bust out laughing. But he didn't, and things didn't get any better.

"Yes," I said. "In fact, I was aiming for your eye. Don't they always say to aim for a bull's eye?"

"Don't be stupid with me, boy!" he roared. "I've enough trouble without your sassy mouth!"

"And I've enough trouble without your ironic personality!" I yelled back. "All your life you've never taken your job seriously. So what's so important? Did you finally get a rabies shot?"

Nero went crazy. He whirled like a mad tornado, hurling papers and folders everywhere. Then he turned back to me. "Do you want me to call your parents?" he gnashed. "Permanently remove you and your records from this school?"

"My parents are dead!" I screamed, my eyes welling up with tears. "We keep telling you, and all you do is stick a needle through your ears! All you care about is being paid for your job! You don't understand me or anybody else! You don't know anyone in this school, or care what happens to them! Did you know that Carmelita Spats was recently jailed and all you said to the informant was, 'Good for her. Now stop bothering me so I can get back to my work.' You wouldn't care if everyone was murdered in the middle of the night! The only thing you care about is your monthly salary!"

Nero's ears sort of wiggled. A teacher walked by, and he ordered, "Bring me the file of Carmelita Spats."

Seconds later, she thrust a fat binder into his lap. He skimmed through it. Then he looked back up at me.

"If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it," he snapped. But his voice shook, and I knew there was a lump in his throat filled with concern. "It's eight fifteen. Go to the secretary and she'll give you a hall pass."

The secretary gave me a light purple hall pass, and I headed down the sets of halls toward my first-period class.

Halfway there, a hall monitor stopped me. "Where's your hall pass?" he growled. I shook it in his face. "Now let me go. I'm late for class."

I shoved past him and hurried down the hall. "Stop!" he yelled. "I have to sign the hall pass!"

I kept running. A hall monitor swooped in out of nowhere and wrestled me to the ground. "Let me go!" I yelled. The hall monitor refused.

I sported a wrestling move I learned when I was younger called the half-nelson. I was on my feet in no time.

When I finally made it to class, I showed the teacher the hall pass. "A hall monitor was supposed to sign it," he said. I groaned.

"Just hurry up and take a seat," Mr. Harlow said quickly. "You can slide this time."