O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O

Spinning for Hours

-O-

by Sir Mocha (!!!)

O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O

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Chapter 11: The Start of Something Big

"Yes, I think that winter months are possibly the best months of the year," said Needa with conviction.

"Are you crazy? Yeah, winter is the best if you like subzero temperatures and runny noses," I replied a bit sourly.

"Well, I meant foodwise. The best foods are in winter. There are savory stews, and hot chocolate—"

"And veggie pot pies?" I added, taking a big bite out of my delicious lunch. "I'll have to agree with you there. Nothing beats a nice pot pie with a group of friends."

"Awww...you'll make me cry from all the smarm," said Akila. We all laughed.

It was the last week in January, and for once, I had decided to eat in the Corvid Dining Hall. Needa, Akila, Anna, several others, and I had forsaken the frigid halls of the school (which maintained that heating was too expensive for the average Springfield taxpayer), and had instead chose to dine in the Corvid Dining Hall.

I looked in complacency towards the roaring fire that heated the room very pleasantly. We had snagged a table in the middle of the room, and the combination of warmth and satiation of hunger was making me very drowsy indeed.

"So," said Anna, "I wonder what the 'Big Surprise' is that Mrs. Finch is going to tell us about after lunch. Knowing her, she'll probably give us another physics project on top of the molecular bio one we already have. Sometimes I think it's waaaay too much work to be smart."

"I have no clue," I added, "but I hope that it's something that won't be too stressful. With the band concert coming up, and that stupid bio project and English essay, I'm working hard enough already. Another big project could be disastrous."

At the time, I didn't realize just how disastrous everything was going to get.

-O-

"Well, my beloved students, I believe that I promised you all a surprise after lunch! And I hope that you all will be very pleasantly surprised by the news I'm about to give to you.

"It is my joy to inform you that on Monday, which is four days from now, we will be traveling to Capital City, the Windy Apple City, the capital of our dear state, to take part in the preliminary round of the Albert Einstein National Knowledge Bowl!"

Hissing filled the room as many of my classmates whispered furiously to one another. Apparently, this was big news, though it meant nothing to me. I looked questioningly at Martin next to me, but he just shrugged. On my other side, Ralph produced much the same response.

"I can see," said Mrs. Finch, her eyes glittering in my direction, "that there is a bit of puzzlement among you all. I implore the older students to be patient with me, as I explain to our little freshmen the enormity of this news."

She pushed herself up on her desk, then sat down on it cross-legged, a stance I could tell meant that we were in for a long explanation.

"Of course, you all know that we alone are not the only magnet program in the country. There might even be schools with students smarter than you all, though I highly doubt that. But the fact remains that all the most brilliant school love to show off the fact that they truly are the most brilliant. And that is where the Knowledge Bowl comes in.

"The top five percent of the smartest high schools in the country are invited to take place in an annual competition that pits school against school in a brilliant battle of wits. The preliminary competition weeds out the schools of only mediocre genius, and so the preliminary round is the crucial round. The top 25 percent that do the best in the preliminary round are invited to take part in the Finals, and from the Finals, a champion is crowned.

"Every year, our MBHS A and B magnet teams qualify for the preliminaries. The A team is always eliminated, but B team, our Corvid team, is always one of the top-ranking. Last year, we came in second in the Finals, beaten only by our arch rival, The Enriched Learning Center for Gifted Children."

She sneered this last part, and the rest of the class looked very angry at the mention. The name of the school sounded very familiar, yet I couldn't quite figure out where I had heard it before...

Mrs. Finch continued. "Springfield contains the best and the brightest, and it is always a thrill when the two Springfield schools battle it out for Number One. And considering that the Center is an exclusive, and very, very expensive private school, while MBHS is a normal public school funded with government money, and not by snooty parents, I think we do quite well for ourselves."

Suddenly it clicked in my brain. I had heard of the Center because, many years ago, Bart had cheated on an aptitude test, and had been put in that school. I could remember listening to him describe the advanced computer technology, and the multitude of books in the vast library, and the hands-on experiments they did there. And I had been completely and utterly jealous of him, and the fact that he got to go to such a wonderful school, while I was trapped in an elementary school with a promotional periodic table supplied by Oscar Meyer. (The atomic weight of bolongnium? Snack-tacular!)

"Every year," said Mrs. Finch, "we work hard to beat the Center. This year, with an exceptional Captain, and three excellent Team Leaders, I believe that our chances of beating them are highly probable."

I spoke up with a question that had been nagging me. "Isn't this competition a little unfair? I mean, I don't think we freshmen should be expected to know as much as the seniors."

"You're correct, Simpson. Each grade level is given a different category, which applies across the board. Last year, all the freshmen teams competed against each other in biology. So in essence, each school is split into four or so teams. And each team earns points towards its school. The school with the highest total points wins! And we came within 100 points of beating The Center last year."

"And this year," called out Soapy, "we are going to win, no matter what! I think it's about time that we kick those Center snobs off their high-horses, and show that knowledge can't be bought, but has to be earned! We'll show them just how competent an average public school really is!"

But we're not an average public school, I thought to myself. We Corvids are treated much better than the rest of the school is. Just looking at our lunches alone is evidence of that.

But apparently, none of my classmates showed the same doubt I did. They seemed every bit as eager as Soapy to prove that 'normal public schools' were superior to private schools. And who was I to argue with their fervor, and their excitement? Seeing Soapy's look of utter determination made me realize just how important this contest was.

"It's always nice to hear the Captain give so inspiring an address to his teammates. But I would also like to remind everyone that, no matter how satisfying it would be to finally beat the Center, being second out of the entire country is no mean feat. And no matter how low you may score, I for one will be proud of each and every one of you.

"But I really do think it's time to give the Center a taste of second place."

Good grief, I thought, Mrs. Finch is as into this as all my classmates are. Suddenly, something she had said came back to me with a jolt.

"Mrs. Finch, did you say that we're doing this in four days?" I asked incredulously. "Are we supposed to be prepared for this huge competition in four days?!"

She smiled. "It's a country-wide policy, only four days of study. They won't even email me the categories until tomorrow morning, so you all can't start studying ahead of time. I'll take the opportunity to mention that all other homework I assigned you is temporarily suspended, until after the contest. I want you focusing on learning you topic inside out, and upside down."

There was a halfhearted cheer at the news of no homework, but I think most of the class felt, as I did, that studying for such a serious contest was homework enough. Fortunately, as it was only Wednesday, I couldn't start studying tonight, which meant that my evening was free.

"I just wanted to tell you all the news, and I take it that many of you are indeed surprised. Thursday and Friday will be devoted completely to learning your topics, but that doesn't mean we can't spend today learning about the joys of microbiology! Take out your workbooks, and turn to page 342..."

-O-

"Now, Batman, I'll show you why it's not a good idea to put kryptonite in my insulin! Haiiii-YA!"

"Haha, you think you have me, Superman, but you're in for quite a shock! Look behind you!"

"Spiderman?! Where did you come from?!"

"The Power Rangers gave me a call a few minutes ago. They got a tip from the X-Men that you were angry when you found out that Batman has been sleeping with your chick, Lois."

"He WHAT?!"

I can tell you that Wednesday nights are not the best nights for television. It was either 'Superhero Smackdown' (which, contrary to popular belief, did have its merits), or 'Trading Spouses: The Hillbilly Edition'. As you can see, I opted for the former, and figured that after months of hard work at school, I was allowed to rot my brain watching a lame movie with no plot, character development, or acting skill.

At one point, I became so engrossed trying to figure my way out of a plot hole, I forgot the dinner I had cooking on the stove. Only when it started to hiss and bubble, did I remember, and I hurried to the kitchen at once.

As I passed the window, I thought I saw something other than the bushes that were overgrown on the side of the house. But when I looked out, I could see nothing amiss.

I returned to the couch, and my C-Grade movie, but I didn't allow myself to sink back into the mindless stupor I was in a few minutes ago. After being home alone for months, I had grown a little edgier, and recently, it seemed that I was noticing every odd little sound, and every shadow produced by a passing car's headlights against a trash can.

I had also been looking for any sign of Tommy. I hadn't heard from him in months, and I was truly concerned for him. When he was little, he was so skittish and protected, and when he got older, he became irrational and hasty. Out there, alone, I sincerely hoped that he was living okay. The thought that I could just curl up on the couch, eating pasta, while he was Buddha-knows-where eating Buddha-knows-what, well, that made me feel guilty. I felt that I should be doing something, anything, to find my best friend.

But I couldn't, at least yet. I still had that bedamned competition on Monday, and from the sound of my classmates, if I screwed it up for them, they would flay me. And I didn't want to forsake their companionship with them, because, as corny as it sounds, I needed them, because I had no one else.

Over the sounds of Wonderwoman brawling with the Incredible Hulk, I definitely heard something moving around outside, rustling the bushes. I stared out the living room window, wide open to the whole world, and felt goosebumps prickling on my arms.

Stop being silly, I chastised myself. You're letting your imagination get to you. A mad-axe man is not waiting to slaughter you when you step out of the living room, you know! But you should probably close the blinds anyway – it is rather dark out, and anyone can see inside.

I got up quickly, and scurried over to the window. With a tug on the cord, the Venetian blinds covered over the window, but I had to admit that they looked like very scanty protection against anyone, or anything, trying to get in.

I tried to return to watching my movie, but now adrenaline coursed through my body at the thought of someone trying to get into the house. And my fear multiplied as I heard footsteps walking...right...by...the...house...

You're pathetic, you know that? asked my treacherous brain. Just because you're all alone, at night, while lunatics prowl the streets looking for innocent victims, you expect that one will just barge into the house and hold a knife to your throat?

Glancing at the clock, I decided that perhaps it was the appropriate time to go to bed. After all, I would have a long day of studying ahead, and I wanted to be well rested. Not to mention that my warm, secure bed with my cozy, protective comforter looked very inviting...

And once in bed, I allowed myself to chuckle at my folly. Sometimes it was a curse of the imaginative, to work themselves into a frenzy over nothing.

Ding Dong

And there it was again, my imagination making things up, trying to scare me for no—

Ding dong ding dong ding dong

My heart beat rapidly, as I realized that, in this case, it wasn't my imagination. It was a living, breathing person, standing at my front door, alerting me to their presence. And the chime of the doorbell now had a sinister timbre that I had not heard before.

I considered just letting it ring. After all, who would be visiting me so late at night, on a school night? I couldn't think of anyone... except...

I tiptoed over to my window, trying to see out of it to the front stairs below. I was looking for the glimpse of red hair that would show me that it was Tommy ringing the doorbell. But the night was dark, and the malfunctioning streetlamp cast too weak and inconsistent a glow to discern any details about the mysterious individual.

With the possibility that I would get to see Tommy at long last, I walked cautiously downstairs towards the door. It reminded me strongly of my sleepover a few months ago, and I bolstered myself with the knowledge that that too had been scary, yet nothing bad had come of it.

The stranger chose to knock this time. And once I heard the knock, I flung the door energetically open, and embraced the stranger in a big bear hug.

"I would recognize your special knock anywhere, Bart!" I screamed, possibly waking the neighbors, but I didn't care.

"Hey, Lis," he said, tightly hugging me back. "Have you missed me?"

I suddenly stiffened, and withdrew from his hug. Then, after looking up and down the street, I yanked him inside, and slammed the door shut. "What are you doing here?" I asked incredulously. "This will be the first place the police look for you! You definitely shouldn't be here! You'll be caught for sure!"

Bart looked quizzically at me. "Where else am I supposed to go?"

I did some very fast thinking, trying to figure out a place where I could keep Bart without making him leave entirely. Even if he was in danger staying here, I did not want him to leave yet. Not until we had had some quality time.

And the place suddenly came to me. The perfect place for Bart to hide out. "Come with me," I told him, grabbing a coat from the coat rack and throwing it over my PJs. "I have the perfect place for you to hide out! And then we will have a good, long conversation."

I opened the door, looking around cautiously for any sign of flashing police car lights. You're being paranoid, my brain told me, but I figured it was better to be too cautious than not cautious enough. Once I saw that the coast was clear, I walked stealthily out of the house, and gestured to Bart to follow me.

The two of us shortly found ourselves in the Flanders' back yard. I walked over to the patio, and began counting the stone tiles, looking for the correct one. And it was no simple task in the unlit backyard, with only the waning moon for light.

"Lisa, what are we doing out here?" asked Bart impatiently.

"I'm looking for the tile that will—" And then I found it. I pulled up the tile, and stared, stumped, at the combination lock. "I don't suppose you have a light, do you?" I asked Bart.

"Sure," he said, reaching into a pocket of his ragged-looking coat. He pulled out a cigarette lighter, and held it aloft for me while I spun the dial.

There was a click as I reached the last number, and then Bart whistled in surprise as an entire section of the patio lifted about an inch. I heaved the section up, and as it swung on its hinges, it revealed a dimly-lit stairway below.

"This," I said smugly, "is the secret entrance into the Flanders' second basement, which is where you'll be staying."

"Why the hell did the Flanders have a second basement? And I assume they don't live here anymore, because you know that I refuse to stay with them."

"Don't worry," I assured him. "The Flanders haven't been here for months." I paused, thinking again of Tommy. "And they built this basement to 'hide away from the sin and debauchery of the world, until the glorious time of the Apocalypse'."

Bart raised an eyebrow, but he followed me down the stairs. I opened the door, and entered the spacious room underneath the basement. The decorations were sparse, but it was comfortable, and well-stocked with supplies, and had plumbing and electricity, and all the essentials.

"This ain't a bad place, Lis," he said, looking around in approval. "You're positive the Flanders aren't here?"

"Bart, I think I would know if the neighbors chose to move away or not."

"Well," he said, settling down on an austere couch, "it sure beats the slammer."

I sat down next to him. "Speaking of the slammer, why did you run away? I know you wrote to me, and said that you were going to run, but I didn't think you'd actually do it! You'll be in SO much trouble if you're caught! Was it really worth it?"

Bart looked at me seriously. "Absolutely. I can imagine nothing worse than going to jail. They'd make mincemeat out of me. You don't understand, because you've never been there. But I've been to juvie, which is just a miniature jail; all I can say is, it's a damn good thing that I'm one of the big guys, because the young guys and little guys get pounded on all the time. And I'll admit that it's fun to be the one doing the pounding."

I studied his face. He had gone off to juvie when he was fourteen; nearly three years had passed, and the change in him was apparent. For one thing, he looked a lot older than I remembered. His hair was longer, and I could see stubble from a not-quite-recent shave (a trait shared by nearly every Simpson man). His eyes were where I could see the biggest difference; at fourteen, they had been full of juvenile mischief and disobedience. Now, they were the eyes of a young man who had seen more in his short life than he wanted to.

After a moment of silence, he said, "So why are the Flanders gone? And where's Homer? And how's Milhouse doing? Geez, it's been so long since I talked to any of you."

And even though it was a school night, and even though I suffered from migraines caused by sleep-deprivation, we talked well into early Wednesday morning. A little voice in my head kept telling me, You really should get to sleep, you know. You have a big day ahead. But I figured that it was the small price I had to pay for the great reward of having my brother back.

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O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O

August 21, 2004

Sigh... all this writing about school reminds me that I have only a little more than a week left of summer freedom. On August 30, it's back to the drudgery and toil of school...

Grrr... for whatever reason, my header doesn't work anymore, so I had to make a new one. Damn this stupid system...

Well, some of you asked when Bart would be back. As you can see, I have not failed you. This calls for a round of Bart Plushies on me!

I can't believe some of the reviews I've gotten! Some of you are very nice, and I thank you a great deal! And some of you simply go A and B the C of D! Like those of you who give me 9 reviews... that's amazing! Big hugs! And I'm glad to hear from some of my older reviewers, too! It's nice to know that I'm not forgotten...