He gave me a look. "That's not funny."

I couldn't suppress my laughter. "That's never stopped you before, now has it?"

He buried himself in his blankets, pouting.

"If we don't go to school, I'm not going skating with you tonight," I threatened.

"What about next week?" he asked, peeking out from beneath his covers.

"Not next week or the next week either."

He pouted again. "Let's go to school. We HAVE to continue our traditions for six more years. If we don't...it will be chaos."

He all but leaped out of bed and into his closet. He didn't even stop to look at the clothes he was putting on. He grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me down the stairs and to his car.

"G'bye mom!" he cried, slamming the door behind us.

I barely had enough time to buckle myself in when he pulled into reverse and out into the street. I clung to the seat for dear life as he drove 85 mph in a 25 mph zone. If a little girl had tried to cross the street, we never would have even seen her.

We made it to school in record time. One minute and eighteen seconds, to be exact. We had only missed about five or six minutes of first block. And, if Finny could come up with a logical story, we could just walk into Ms. Stephen's classroom.

We sneaked past the school office and toward the art room. Finally, we made it to our first block class. I gasped as Finny's hand shot out to grab the doorknob.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"Opening the door?" he offered in a normal tone.

"Without a liable excuse?" I demanded.

"I've got it all up here," he assured me, pointing at his forehead. He reached for the doorknob, gave me a wink, and swung open the door. Everyone in the room stared at us. I was about to ask him what he thought he was doing, but before I could, Phineas began to lean on me, as if for support, his arms draped over my neck awkwardly.

A few people in the class began to whisper amongst themselves; a few of them gasped; Ms. Stephen gave us an incredulous look.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for Finny to give an explanation, which he did give marvelously.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, dramatically groping at my shirt. "It was horrible! HORRIBLE, I TELL YOU! Gene and I! We were walking into school and suddenly! OH, SO SUDDENLY! A tree branch! A really, REALLY BIG TREE BRANCH! It was falling! It was gonna hit Gene! I had to push him out of the way! It would have TAKEN HIS VERY LIFE!"

I was having a hard time keeping a straight face while he dramatically told this story to our very trusting class and teacher.

Finny carried on with his story in the same dramatic tone he used for the plays he was in. "And, so! The tree branch keplankled me!"

"Keplankled?" Ms. Stephen repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Finny cast me a short, unnoticed glance, telling me to make a quick excuse for the word.

"Well," I began, in a nervous voice, "it hit him on the head, and obviously, it rattled his brain."

"Yes, it keplankled me," Finny said, obviously enjoying the new word.

Ms. Stephen sighed. "Take a seat, boys."

Finny staggered over to our table, enjoying the end of his performance. He still had the eye of everyone in the room. I followed him, trying to make a compassionate face.