On the way to first period, we passed Mr. Appleby. He gave Isadora a look, and kept on walking.

Usually first-period is the longest, but it went by so fast it's indescribable.

It seemed like an eternity since I'd seen Jenny. So right before third period I phoned her.

She answered. She was doing something, and I heard a male voice in the background. "Hello? Duncan?" she said.

"Can we meet at the edge of my school's campus tonight?" I asked. There was a pause, and I heard flipping pages. There was an extended "Sure" and we agreed.

I walked with Quigley by my side. Pierce was all-talk, but he wasn't a wire-thin freak. He had a bit of muscle, and obviously, Quigley couldn't take him.

Then when I was talking to someone I knew, Pierce threw Quigley up against a locker and got him in a hard headlock. Quigley tried aiming blows at his stomach but it was no use. Then Pierce started slamming him into lockers.

When Pierce eventually stopped, I grabbed him firm by the collar. "Touch my brother again and you'll have to deal with me," I threatened.

"So what?" he said casually. "I ain't afraid of you, Duncan."

"You're afraid of John Hermann," I said. "Leave him out of this," Pierce growled. I let Pierce go, and checked on Quigley. He had a slightly bloody nose, but otherwise was okay.

That night, I quietly snuck out to meet Jenny. She was lying on the grass, and she appeared to be asleep.

I shook her awake, and she said, "Oh, Duncan, it's you. What time is it?" I looked at my watch. "Uh, about a quarter till nine."

She bolted up. "Oh no!" I looked at her. "What's wrong?" "I was supposed to work late," she said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"B-but you just got here," I said. She shook her head. "Actually…you didn't designate a specific meeting time, did you?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so…in any exact terms, no I did not." "Well, I don't think I'm busy tomorrow night," she said. She pulled out her Palm Pilot and tapped her stylus to a few buttons and there was a weekly schedule. "Nope, nothing tomorrow," she said. "Tell you what. Since we can't do anything tonight, how about tomorrow, we go catch a Blizzard and go to the movies?"

I nodded. "Sounds good. I mean, if there's no random popup in your schedule, like the past week." She looked away. "Sorry…but there's been a recent accident, and plenty of people are piling into the hospital. I promise nothing will get in the way tomorrow."

She looked at me. I looked at the ground. She sounded pretty sure of herself, but what if she had to work late again. She unlocked her car and got in, and drove off.

The next day, during the first-period stampede, I saw Isadora talking to Mr. Appleby.

"Look Quagmire, I'm gonna say this one last time, so listen and listen well. You CANNOT resubmit, you CANNOT sass me, and most importantly, you CANNOT bother me over and over! You got it?"

"What do you have against the opposite sex, Clyde?" Isadora hissed. "You will respect me and you will call me 'Mr. Appleby' for that is my name," Mr. Appleby growled. "Now get to class before I give you a tardy slip."

He stomped off, and Isadora mumbled, "Bite me."

During class, the winner of the contest was announced. "The winner of the Poetry Contest is…" Ms. Kennard drum-rolled on her desk. "Viktor Martinez!"

We all turned around. Viktor Martinez is this Mexican guy who sketches on his desk and foams when he's mad. Sometimes he even draws in his notebook during term. What could his poem have been like?

"Why don't you read us your poem?" Ms. Kennard suggested. Viktor grinned. "Yeh, shoore," he said. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and began to read, then stopped. "It's a limerick, and it may be offending," he said.

Ms. Kennard frowned. "Then let me read it," she said.

He handed it to her, and she read it aloud:

"My name's Viktor,

And it's not Ricktor,

So shut up idiots and scum, you're rude."

We all stared. She kept reading:

"You think you're hot stuff,

So get off your duff;

Hot stuff's my favorite food."

I didn't know if it was supposed to be funny, but everybody laughed. Except for me, Violet and Quigley.

"What do we tell Isadora when she finds Viktor won?" Quigley said. "She'll practically be insulted, as if she already isn't!"

"Duh!" Violet said. "She probably already does, anyhow. But what we need is a way to get Isadora to read her poem out loud, in front of the entire student body. If the majority likes it, and they learn Mr. Appleby didn't accept it because of his discriminating, they'll force him to let her win."

"Forget it," I said. "Vice-Principal Elyas Finch Verne has no concern whatsoever for what happens. He's like a robot, except most decent robots would fight crime. Verne's creed towards it is, 'I came, I saw, I paid for the ticket.' Face it. He just doesn't care."

"Wait a sec," Quigley said. "How can he be vicing, if there's no official principal?" "There's probably a real principal coming soon," Violet said. "That's what he said," said I. "But I won't be surprised if Mr. Verne stays longer than his welcome."

At lunch, Klaus said, "So who won the poetry contest?"

Isadora glared at him, then forked in some spaghetti and chugged down her glass of water.

"Viktor Martinez," I said. Izzy said nothing. But she looked over to where Viktor was sitting, and went over to him. She whispered something in his ear and his swelled to the size of earmuffs, and she returned to our table.

"What was all that about?" Quigley asked. "I told him congratulations, and I was sure his poem was so horrible that Appleby had to make him win or he'd kill him," Isadora said.

Then she excused herself and went to the bathroom. I heard she threw up.

The next period, we had Ms. Paulo. She's Hispanic, and everybody used to say that she's related to Viktor since she's the only other Hispanic in the school, except Julio Cortez.

"Doesn't it suck to have your mom as a teacher?" Lewis Berwick joked. "Shut up," Viktor said. "We don't even have the same last name. Mine's is Martinez. Hers is Paulo."

"Congratulations, Viktor," she said, as everyone applauded. "You get five-hundred dollars and a free tuition, for next year, no?" "Don't remind me," Isadora grumbled.

"Quagmire, don't be jealous I'm a better poet than you are," Viktor said cockily. "Why don't you read us your poem?" Izzy suggested. "I didn't hear it last time."

Viktor blushed. "I-I don't know," he said. "It may deem offensive an' all-" "If you're risking that, why'd you write it?" Isadora challenged. "But read it. We all want to hear it, don't we?"

Everyone beat on their desks and chanted, "Read it! Read it! Read it! Read it! Read it! Read it! Read it! Read it! Read it!"

"That's enough!" Ms. Paulo yelled. "Viktor, please read it, if you are comfortable doing so."

Viktor read it.

Everyone applauded. Isadora folded her arms. "Now, in the poem you're implicating that people make fun of your name, correct?" she asked. Viktor nodded.

"But no one does," Isadora said. "So it really doesn't make sense." Viktor shrugged. "The poems don't really have to have a point to it."

"Also, in the last lines of the poem, you said, 'you think you're hot stuff, so get off your duff; hot stuff's my favorite food.' The other part didn't make sense, so would it make sense you like hot food?"

"Sure, I do," Viktor said. "Don't you?" "Sure," Isadora said. "But do all Hispanics like hot food? Do you, Julio?"

"Yeah," Julio said. "Especially huevos rancheros." "What about you, Ms. Paulo?" Isadora asked. "Do you like hot food?"

"Well, yes," Ms. Paulo said. "But Isadora, we do have a lesson plan. Let's continue with class, shall we?"

"Does everybody like hot food?" Isadora asked, standing up. I elbowed her in the ribs. "Sit down and shut up," I mumbled. She turned to me. "How about you, Duncan?" I think she was serious.

"Hot food's okay," I said. "Now sit down." "Violet, do you like it?" Isadora said. "I thought we came to learn, not to take a poll," Violet said. "Yes, I like hot food. Now come on!"

"Klaus?" Isadora said. "Isadora Quagmire, take a seat right now and let us learn," Ms. Paulo warned. "I'd hate to send you to the office."

"Anybody like cold food?" Izzy volunteered, as if she hadn't heard Ms. Paulo.

She was sent to the office.

We waited outside. "What happened?" Klaus asked, as she stepped out back in the lobby.

"He told me to stop my rude and disruptive behavior," Isadora said. "I tried telling him how Appleby discriminated me, but he wouldn't listen."

"What was all that hot food/cold food stuff about?" I said. "You acted like a drunken Mexican Harley girl." "Somebody had to show Martinez what was coming," Izzy said. "That's the worst poem I ever heard."

"Okay, it sucked," Quigley said crustily. "But you didn't have to show him up like that. You didn't even read your own poem!" "So?" Isadora snapped. "Face it. Heck, he probably only one because Appleby favored him, maybe nothing to do with discrimination at all!"

"So you don't think you were discriminated?" I asked. "I didn't say that," Izzy said.

Pierce Farms walked by. "Time's running out, Quagmire," he said threateningly. "Axe Unlimited is only six bucks at Wal-Mart Super Center. Want to buy me a new one, and keep the one you stole?"

"Want to shut up and get out of my face?" Quigley hissed. We all gasped. So did everyone in the hall.

Pierce walked right up to Quigley. "What'd you just say to me, Quagmire?"

"You heard me," Quigley said. "Get out of my face and shut your venom-trap. And that was my Axe to begin with; I'm not "giving it back" or buying you a new one. So shut up and go milk yourself."

Pierce didn't make a move. But he said, "Locker-room. Tomorrow. Be there."

Then he stomped off.

"Dude, you just stood up to Pierce!" Klaus said. "With every action there's a consequence," Violet reminded Klaus. "Luckily Sunny's in her class right now," Isadora said.

"You've exposed her to graphic violence and strong language, how about a verbal confrontation in the hallway?" I said.

She went to the bathroom, and John Hermann came out of the male restroom.

That night, at dinner, I said, "Jenny and I are going out. See you later."

I snuck out of the cafeteria, and I realized the front door was right across the office, where Mr. Verne and the office-workers were eating a pizza they'd apparently ordered.

I crouched, and made my way to the door. Then I stood, flung it open, and ran for the edge of the campus.

Jenny was in her car, and she was waiting for me. The engine was running. It was a red Corvette convertible. I jumped in and buckled, and then she said, "Which movie should we see?"

I looked at a copy of the newspaper lying around. "How about, Fantastic Four?" I suggested. She nodded. "All right."

We stopped at Dairy Queen, and then headed for the theater. Apart from Fantastic Four, we also saw Batman Begins, which is now one of my personal favorites.

She dropped me off back at school, and I headed back to my dorm. Elyas Finch Verne was standing guard on my dorm building. Oh, crap!

I quietly snuck along the back of an array of tall shrubs aligning the school lawn. Then I reached the back of my dorm building.

There was a backdoor. However, some office workers were standing there as well. What does a guy have to do sneak back into his dorm?

Izzy, Quig and I were really good at climbing trees. But I was always the best. There was this fifteen-foot tall tree in our backyard, almost no branches or hand/foot momentary placement foundation. There was, though, a large, thick, long branch at the top. I'd racy Izzy and Quigley to the top, and win.

Now I was being faced with the choice of trying to sneak in or sleeping outside. Just then, I remembered my cell phone and dialed Quigley.

After two tries he answered. "Hello?" he said. "Quigley?" "Duncan?" "Yeah," I said. "You see, I'm in a little trouble here. I'm at the side of the building, and Vice-Principal Verne is guarding the entrance, and there're a couple teachers at the backdoor. Do you think you could get down here to the back door, and start distracting them long enough for me to slip inside?"

"Duncan…" He sounded weary. I heard some movie playing in the background. "Come on!" I said hurriedly. "I'll give you five dollars. If I get busted again, I'll be suspended-or worse!"

"Fine," he groaned. "I'll be down in five minutes."

It was pretty cold out here, and I noticed Mr. Verne was only wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and not very low trousers. Plus, I heard him yell, "Sure is hot out here!" as if anyone would reply. He didn't even have much fat on him! Man, what was he made of, anyway? Fur and wood, possibly, or perhaps marble stone?

Then I heard Quigley's voice, "Ms. Bellum! Mr. Allan! Someone's trying to sneak in the front way!"

Ms. Bellum said, "Preposterous! Mr. Verne is there." "No he isn't! He just drove off! Come out and see!"

She and Mr. Allan made their way out of the building, flashlights equipped. I dove behind a tall shrub, and when the coast was clear, I took off for the building. I came in the back door, and Quigley and I scrambled back up to our dorm room. I wonder if Ms. Bellum and Mr. Allan knew the door locked behind them.

When we got up to the room door, I said, "Unlock the door! Quick!"

He checked his pockets, and said, "Um…" "Oh Lord, no…no," I moaned.

"At least I locked Ms. Bellum and Mr. Allan outside," Quigley said optimistically. "Mr. Verne's probably going to unlock the door for them," I said. "Let me see if I have my lock-picks with me."

Last summer, we all made lock-picks, in case we ever forgot our keys.

I pulled mine out of my pocket. "Bingo!" I cried. The door next to us opened, and Dave Stanton stepped out. "Did somebody mention bingo?" he asked. "No, now go back to your room," Quigley informed him.

Dave ignored Quigley and said, "Hey, is that a lock-pick?" I nodded. "Lemme see," Dave said, reaching a hand towards it. Did I mention my lock-picks are on a keychain?

Before I could do anything, Dave grabbed it away. "Hey, give that back!" I yelled. Dave shut his door and locked it. I pounded on his door. "Gimme that back, you little weasel!" I shouted.

I turned to Quigley. "Do you have yours?" I asked. He shook his head.

Just then, Quigley got an idea. "Hey, I know!" he said excitedly. "We could climb up the side of the building and-" "That's exactly what I was thinking of doing before I called you," I said glumly. "It probably would have been a good idea, except we have no rope or anything."

"You could bribe Stanton," Quigley said, "with money." I turned and stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Try it," Quigley suggested. I groaned and got out my wallet. I pulled out a dollar. I knocked on Stanton's door. "One dollar if you give me back my lock-picks," I said.

He answered, "One dollar? That's it?" "Five dollars," I said. "Final offer."

The door opened a crack. "First hand over the money," he said. I shook my head. "Sorry, that's not how it works," I said. "Lock-picks first. Then money."

"Gimme the money now or you never see these things again," Stanton said. I groaned and shoved the five-dollar bill under his door.

Five minutes passed. "Okay, I'd like my lock-picks back now," I said. "I'll pay you handsomely for them," Stanton said. "How's twenty dollars?"

"How's nothing?" I said. "Okay, I'll keep them," Stanton said. I was about to smash his door down on top of him, when I got an idea.

"Say Stanton," I said. "Are you a lady's man?" "Sure am," he said. I opened my wallet and got out my former girlfriend Brielle's picture and phone number.

"I know a girl who's interested in your type," I said. "And good-looking, too."

There was a pause. "Do you have her picture?" he asked. I slid it under the door. "She's pretty hot," Stanton said. "And she's interested in the Stantonator?" "Yep," I said. "I have her number too."

"You do?" "Yeah," I said. "And I can give it to you, if you give me back that picture, the five dollars, and lock-picks."

"All right, all right," he said. He opened the door wider and gave them back to me. "What's her number? No, wait, wait, wait, let me write this down." He got a pencil and paper ready. "It is 555-0101." He wrote that down, and I put the picture back in my wallet and the lock-picks in my hand and the five-dollars in my wallet as well.

He shut the door, and Quigley said, "Was that really her number?" I shook my head. "No way!"

I unlocked the door, and put the picks back in my pocket. We talked about my night, and watched Napoleon Dynamite. It was at the part where Lyle the farmer shoots the cow as a school bus passes by, and all the kids scream that made us jump.

I asked him about Pierce Farms, and reminded him about their fight in the locker-room tomorrow.

"I wish I'd kept my big mouth shut," Quigley said. "Sure I'm scared." "But he might not fight, though," I said. "John Hermann told me they fought months after Pierce declared war." "This is different," Quigley said. "I'm going to bed. Good night."