November 27, 2004

Well, I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving! I hope you all gorged on turkey, and mashed potatoes (my personal favorite), and cranberry sauce, and stuffing, etc. From Thanksgiving to Christmas is the best time of the year! It's such a nice time… geez, I'm practically crying from happiness.

It's been a month and a half since my last update. I'm sorry, but school has been murder, and it takes away all my desire to do anything the least mentally challenging. Writing fanfic with convoluted plots? Waaaay too difficult. I just sit around, watch TV, and drool now. It's so sad.

Well, I tried to make up for it with a chapter that's much longer than ususal. I've been working on this for a month and a half, adding bits and pieces here and there. That's why it has so many different tones: humor, angst, sap…

By the way, at some point I'll be redoing the first chapter. It makes me cringe because it's so poorly written. It also has some details that I've decided against adding in the story, and I want to redo it to make it more interesting. If I read that first chapter, I wouldn't want to continue reading the story.

Thanks for the wonderful reviews everyone! And I have to address one review I got, inquiring to whether or not I'm still writing this fic. I'll say it now: I will never just abandon this fic. If I do decide to stop writing it (which I don't anticipate doing), I will post one last chapter with a summary of the rest of the plot, so everyone won't be left hanging. I already know what I want to write; the hard part is just getting it all down.

And I have to address one review I got, inquiring to whether or not I'm still writing this fic. I'll say it now: If I decide to stop writing it (which I don't anticipate doing), I will post one last chapter with a summary of the rest of the plot, so everyone won't be left hanging. I already know what I want to write; the hard part is just getting it all down.

So without further ado…

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

Chapter 13: Returning Home

I was sitting in the hospital waiting area, stretched out over three chairs, reading an old copy of Weird magazine. Bart was lying on a coffee table beside me. The few other people in the room were giving us dirty looks, because we probably shouldn't have been sitting as we were, but seeing as we had a long wait ahead of us, I wanted to be comfortable. And if those other waiters didn't like it, well, there was nothing they could do about it.

"Lis," said Bart, "it's four in the morning. I really think you should try to get some sleep."

"Sorry, Bart, but I can't do that. I'm too wired. And anyway, do you know how hard it is to sleep on these damn chairs? I don't think they were made to support the human skeletal system."

"You want to try my nest?" he asked, indicating a mass of old magazines, shaped to make a passably comfortable bed.

"Uh…no thanks," I declined, my eyes on a nurse who was shuffling towards us. She eyed the coffee table nest, which Bart quickly vacated.

"Sir, you'll need to fill this out," she said, handing Bart a clipboard with a medical form for information about Tommy. "And I'll need to get you to give me a phone number where I can contact his father or mother."

Bart gave me a sidelong glance, and then said, "What are you talking about? I am his father!"

I inwardly groaned. Bart may have been older than Tommy and me, and he may have possessed the Simpsons Wonder Stubble, but he did not look old enough to be Tommy's father.

Apparently the nurse agreed with me. "Who are you trying to fool, kid? I may have detached retinas, but even I can see that you're just a kid, like the other one."

Bart looked aghast. "I am outraged by this insolent disregard for my integrity! I'm telling you, I am his father!"

"Do you have any proof of your identity, sir?" asked the nurse skeptically.

"Why, certainly! I'm a responsible citizen; I never go anywhere without my driver's license," he responded confidently. He pulled from a pants pocket an ID that I didn't know he had.

She snatched it, and looked at it suspiciously. After studying for a moment, she said, "Bort Seinfeld, age thirty five?"

I felt like slapping him.

"Yes, madam, you are talking to the one and only Bort Seinfeld! Certainly, that is who I am. No question of that!" I noted wryly that after several years behind bars, Bart seemed to have lost his touch when trying to deceive people.

"I thought," she asked dubiously, "you told us his name was Flanders."

Bart grabbed at his chest, and gasped dramatically, "Do NOT bring up my tempestuous relationship with Maude Flanders!"

"He still bears the mental and physical scars of that marriage!" I chimed in.

"After I posted her bail," Bart continued, "she stayed around long enough to deliver our child, and then fled! And ever since then, I have been a kind and devoted, and albeit, overprotective father. I want the absolute best for my son, and frankly, I am appalled at the callous attitude your staff have towards us! I have half a mind to pull young…young…"

"Theodore," I quickly supplied.

"Ah yes, young Theodore, from this hospital, and bring him to another one that is better educated in the art of human compassion!"

"Whatever, kid," said the sarcastic old woman. "Just fill out the damn info, and don't cause any trouble." She turned, as if to leave, then added, "I have a son named Bort."

"Oh, you do, do you?" asked Bart, feigning curiosity.

"Yeah. He lives at home, smoking pot and watching dated sitcom reruns." With that, she shuffled quickly away, to return to the tedium of the front desk at four in the morning.

The minute she was out of hearing, I turned to stare up at Bart. "What were you doing?!"

"What do you think I was doing? I was convincing her that I was Flanders' dad."

"That is the worst job I have ever seen! You're lucky she's so apathetic towards her job, or who knows what might have happened!"

"Whatever. The point is, we got off ok. Now help me fill this sheet out."

I filled out half of it, until I got to the part that asked for medical insurance. "Bart, what do I put here?" I asked, a bit concerned.

He looked at the clip board, then said, "Eh, don't bother putting anything."

"But they need his insurance in order to pay his hospital bill! If we don't know it, we'll have to pay out of pocket, and we don't have that kind of money!"

"Don't worry about it, Lis," he replied in his 'sly' voice. "Besides, I'm sure old man Flanders didn't 'believe' in insurance anyway. He'd probably pray at a time like this."

"Perhaps," I said. What was Bart implying? We had to pay for it somehow. If he was suggesting that we run for it……

I guess he saw the skepticism on my face. "Trust me," he reassured. "I can pay. I have a bit of spare cash that should cover it."

"Spare cash?" I asked incredulously. "Bart, we're talking about a trip to the emergency room for immediate attention to major injuries. Broken ribs! Split lips! You think you can cover that with spare cash—"

Bart interrupted me. "Look, I had quite a nest egg hidden in my room, from before I went away. And I've been doing business since I got back… and before you ask, no, I will not tell you what my business involves. Just know that I'm making a ton of money." As if to prove this point, he glanced around conspiratorially, pulled out his wallet, and opened it up to show me its contents.

I stared, dumbfounded, at the mass of crumpled hundreds that lay inside. There must have been two dozen, if not more. I stared up at Bart, seeing him in a whole new light. My brother was rich… rich from shady dealings, no doubt. But who was I to interrogate him, when he had offered to pay the exorbitant hospital bill? So I merely said, "Wow."

He had a smug look on his face. Then, he asked, "Do you think the vending machines take hundreds?"

"Ha ha. Very funny. Why don't you go find out?"

"Well, I think that's a good idea," he replied, and walked off, towards the vending machines a few hundred feet away.

I finished filling out as much of the clipboard as I knew. I lied about the address, and telephone number… there would have been a day when lying on a form would have bothered me. Strange, but I had no qualms anymore…

I got up to return the clipboard to the sour nurse, and returned to my chairs. Using some old magazines as a pillow, I proceeded to lie down, and close my eyes, finally deciding that maybe it would be in my best interest to get some sleep.

I wasn't out for very long; the sound of crinkling wrappers woke me from my repose. I opened my eyes, and before me lay a huge mound of junk food. I sat up, and asked, "What's all this?"

"Well," said Bart, holding a bag of Chippos, "the machine would only give me five dollars change, so –"

"So you bought ninety-five snacks," I said, smiling.

"Exactly. Help yourself," he offered, stuffing his mouth.

I selected a bag of Soy Crunchies, and tucked in with vigor.

-O-

"How much longer is it going to be?" I asked at the reception desk.

"For the tenth time, the doctors don't know yet!" said the receptionist. "Why don't you just run along home, and we'll call you when your friend is ready to go home? I think that would be best for all of us."

I sneered, and stomped away, muttering about rude receptionists and their lack of respect for those younger than they. Bart watched me from a chair in the corner of the room; come dawn, they had made him disassemble his nest.

"They still don't know how long it's going to take!" I said in consternation. "Why don't they know?! They're doctors! Don't they have any idea how long it's going to take to cure a patient? They don't even need to fix him totally! Just enough to get him home safely." I paused a minute. "I think I'm going to go tell them that. Wait here." Hah, like he had anywhere else to go.

I decided to avoid the reception desk; the receptionist was looking murderously at me, and I didn't like the close proximity of her hand to that decorative desk cactus. Instead, I decided to find where they were keeping Tommy, and ask them directly how long it would take.

However, I hadn't realized the size of the hospital. I had had presence of mind to remember where Bart was sitting, but after a half-hour of walking the halls, I had no clue how to get back.

So it was quite fortunate that I managed to stumble across the ICU. I flagged down the first white-coated person I saw, and asked, "Do you know where I can find Theodore Flanders?"

The doctor looked at me like I was some kind of kid. "Are you related to Theodore?"

"Of course I am!" I replied. "I'm his half sister…his half sister Lindsay."

"Mmm hmm," said the doctor, not completely convinced. "Well Lindsay, visiting hours are from nine to five, so you're a few hours too early. But even if you weren't, I couldn't let you see Theodore. He's scheduled to go into reconstructive surgery in about half an hour."

"Reconstructive surgery?" I whispered. That sounded bad. That sounded really bad.

"Well, he was severely injured, worse than we had originally believed." He saw the look on my face, and hastened to add, "Oh, he'll be perfectly fine, as long as we tend to him as soon as we can. There's almost no chance that there will be any serious lasting consequences. After surgery, and rest, he'll be fine."

"Well, thank you," I said. "You don't know how long all of this is going to take, do you?"

"Well, the surgery should be fairly quick, but Theodore will need to rest for a while after that. The other doctors will probably want to keep him overnight, just to make sure he's recovering correctly."

I groaned out loud. Overnight!? I don't want to wait around all night! I'm already bored out of my mind. "Well, thank you. You will tell us when we can see him, right?" I asked.

"Of course," he said.

"Ok. And, um, this is kind of off topic, but you wouldn't happen to have any aspirin, would you? I have a really bad migraine." Well, you would have one too if you had had only intermittent sleep for the past 24 hours.

"Follow me. I think we can get you something."

-O-

Well, whatever magical painkiller that doctor gave me put me out like a light. I remember being led back to the waiting room, asleep on my feet. And then I don't remember anything for the next ten hours or so. I do remember waking up, sometime mid-afternoon, my stomach growling ferociously.

"Well, someone's up," remarked Bart, chewing on a Fudge Toaster Pie.

"You keep eating all that, and you're going to need your stomach pumped," I said dryly. Then, I said, "Mmmm, so hungry….."

"You wanna go out and get something to eat?" asked Bart. "I bought a book from the hospital gift shop, and I've been reading all day. I can't stand it; if I don't stop, I might actually learn something."

I laughed. "Going out to eat sounds like an excellent idea. Thought I don't understand how you have room for real food, after eating all that junk."

"Lis, after living for years on prison rations, my stomach could not get enough now," he said, getting to his feet. "Now what do you say to dinner at Artie's? I saw one on the way into town." Artie's, opened by our bizarre family acquaintance Artie Ziff, was a causal sit down place where you could order just about anything you could imagine. And I had an intense craving for a veggie and cheese omelet…

"I'd say that Artie's sounds pretty good," I told Bart, and we headed for the car.

-O-

For the second night in a row, I sat in the hospital waiting room, waiting for Tommy. Only tonight, I was in considerably better spirits. I knew that Tommy was going to be fine, and I knew that we were going to be going home the next morning.

I had read all the magazines on the coffee tables, so Bart had so kindly bought me a paperback from the gift shop. I was curled up on a chair, engrossed in Time-Share Condo of No Return. It was a crappy book, but it was interesting enough that I didn't notice the grumpy old nurse until she was "ahem"ing for my attention.

I looked up at her inquisitively. "What, are there more forms for me to fill out?" My hand cramped at the mere thought of the miles of forms I had already completed.

"Ha ha," she said humorlessly. "If you would tame your sarcasm long enough to let me talk, I could tell you that the doctors said you can visit your pal."

I jumped out of my chair, book flying off somewhere. I gave the nurse a spontaneous hug, as if to thank her for delivering her encouraging message. (I probably gave her a heart attack, too; we were not on the friendliest of terms.) Then I flew off down the corridor, leaving Bart back in the waiting room looking a bit dazed. But I didn't care; Tommy was awake, and I could finally talk to him!

I bet I made record time to his room, the way I tore down the hall like that. I remember doctors and nurses jumping out of the way as I sped past, but that didn't phase me. Not one bit.

I had enough presence of mind to, when I finally got to his room, open the door gently. (After all, who knew what stage of recovery he was in? I didn't want to hurt what the doctors had spent so much time fixing.) I walked in cautiously, and said, "Tommy?" in a quiet voice.

He looked up at me from a mass of tangled wires and tubes that littered his bed. "Hey, Lisa," he said in an equally quiet voice, punctuated by the electronic beeping of the vital-stats monitor.

"Tommy!" I said emotionally, tears filling in my eyes. I walked over to him, and lowered myself into a chair at his bedside. "You sound so hoarse! You feel ok?"

"Well," he said, raspy, "If you had tubes down your throat all day, I think you'd be a bit hoarse too. And yeah, I'll admit that I've felt better, but compared to last night…" he trailed off.

I sniffed. "Well, you're ok now, and we're going home tomorrow morning! Tomorrow night, you get to sleep in your own bed again."

"That'll be nice," he replied. "Going home again." He sighed.

We both burst out laughing. "That was so cheesy!" he said.

"I know!" I responded. "Just dripping with sap." Our laughter died down. "But seriously," I added, "you will be going home for the first time in months."

"Mmm, yeah. After living in that commune, and then on the streets…" he trailed off for a second, then said abruptly, "I'll be glad to be back in Springfield."

"Ding dong!" said a voice from the door. Both Tommy and I looked over to see Bart leaning against the doorframe. "I'm sorry to interrupt the two lovebirds, but the doctor told me that you need to leave, Lis."

I scowled. "We aren't lovebirds, dear brother. We are blood siblings." I held up my arm to show him the faint scar on my palm. "That has been an established fact since summertime."

"Well, that was a stupid thing to do. What if he had AIDS, or something?"

"Hah," laughed Tommy. "My…my mom… and Ned were about as prude as two people could get. And besides, I know for a fact that I'm clean. I had to be tested before I moved into the commune; they wouldn't take anyone who was 'marked by the sin of the Devil'."

"Well, I hate to tear you away from your 'blood brother', Lis, but he really has to get sleep if you want to bring him home tomorrow morning."

"Ok, ok," I conceded. I got up, and carefully hugged Tommy through his mass of wires and tubes. "I'll see you tomorrow morning," I said to him.

"Goodnight, Lis," he said, and I wished him goodnight as I walked through the door, turning the light off.

-O-

I tore my eyes away from the last riveting pages of Time-Share Condo of No Return to watch as Bart yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched. He wiped sleep out of his eyes, and looked around, dazed, for a few seconds, before focusing on me. "What time is it?" he asked hoarsely.

I consulted my watch. "Quarter to seven."

He looked me over. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Well, I dozed off for about twenty minutes when I got to a boring part of my book. Otherwise, no."

"You haven't slept since yesterday afternoon! And that was only a few hours. You're going to be dead today!"

"I'll sleep in the car."

"I wish you would. I know that you're going to be gabbing away to that Flanders kid the entire ride home. And then you're going to go home and crash. And unless you have a worse memory than I do, you will have remembered that you have a ton of studying to do tonight for that nerd competition you have tomorrow."

I flinched. I'd been trying to forget the Knowledge Bowl, but there had been a guilt gnawing away at me all night. I knew that I had done no studying, and there were still pages and pages of information to memorize. And all those pages were at home, six hours away if the traffic was good.

"Look," I said, trying to convince myself more than my brother, "there's nothing I can do about that now. When I get home, I'll have a killer amount of studying to do. I can pull an all-nighter, or something. But there's nothing I can do now, so I won't let it bother me."

He looked at me skeptically. "If you say so," he said.

"I do," I said adamantly. "Now let's go get Tommy, and get home."

But it was a bit more complicated than that. They refused to let us take Tommy until he woke up naturally, and the lazy jerk (term of endearment, of course) decided to sleep till nine. And then after that, there were tests that had to be run, and forms of release that had to be filled out.

One thing that stuck in my mind as being quite peculiar was when it came time for payment. ICU, and a hospital room for two nights, and round the clock monitoring, did not come cheaply. And Bart, once again, pulled out his wallet which contained all those hundreds. This time, I tried to seriously figure out how he got so much money. Where had his 'nest egg' come from? I didn't want Bart in a business that was dangerous, or illegal. And as soon as we got back to Springfield, I was going to figure out what he was doing that made him so rich.

The crusty nurse looked cock-eyed at us, but took the wadded bills and muttered a "Thank you, sir." I looked at her nametag, and then said mock-tearfully, "Good bye Dolores! I'll never forget you, and the kindness and generosity you showed me, my brother, and my…um, my half brother. I don't know how I'll be able to go on, knowing that you're so far away!"

"I think you'll manage," she sneered, as I walked away.

We finally left the hospital at 10:30 am, Bart and me in the front, and Tommy stretched out in the back. And truthfully, Tommy and I did talk nonstop, at least until he fell asleep, near Sheldon City, about 200 miles from home.

"Bart, this traffic sucks," I groaned.

"Mmm," he agreed, looking out dolefully at the cars inching along the highway.

"At this rate—" I yawned loudly, "— at this rate, it'll take all day to get home!"

"You're tired," he said, glancing at me. "Why don't you sleep?"

"Be serious," I said yawning again. "I'm not tir-tir-ti…" But it took too much energy to finish the thought. I closed my eyes, only for a second, or so I intended. But I guess it was longer than a second, because when I woke, Bart and Tommy were having an emphatic discussion on the fine points of juvenile delinquency.

I looked reproachfully at Bart. "Being a criminal was the thing that got you into juvie in the first place!"

"And knowing how to sneak out of a juvenile correction facility was the thing that got me out!" he retorted.

"Touché!" inserted Tommy.

I stuck out my tongue at both of them. "Well, you can talk about being ruffians, but I will go back to sleep." I turned away from them, towards the window, and tried to sleep.

Only it was a bit harder, this time, to go back to napping. And when I finally got to sleep, it was not a peaceful sleep. I had quite a disturbing dream.

I was at school, and I was taking the preliminary test for the Knowledge Bowl. Then, from behind, a rope wound around my neck. I was trying to tear it off, but it kept winding around my neck, tighter and tighter, while everyone kept working, oblivious. I wanted to scream, "Help Me!" but I couldn't talk, I couldn't breathe.

Then the rope was hoisted up, and attached to a gallows. I was dizzy, and I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. I knew I had to get down, because if I didn't take the test, I'd be letting down all my teammates, all my classmates and friends.

Before me, a dark cloaked figure appeared. "You want to be released?" it asked in a sinister, chilling voice. "I can release you, and I can save you, but you must accept the consequences."

I couldn't nod, and I couldn't talk, but it seemed to know my answer. The rope unwound from around my neck, and I fell to the floor, gasping for breath. My rasping attracted the attention of the class, and they formed a ring around the gallows and me.

"You made a deal with the Devil!" accused Theo. "You must pay for your crimes!"

"I only did it," I said weakly, "to help all of you! So I could take that test, and not let you all down!"

"Satanist!" yelled Anna. "You must pay for your crimes!"

"No!" I yelled weakly, but to no avail. They bound me tightly to the gallows, and piled kindling around my feet. Then my teacher walked up, carrying a flaming torch…

"NO!" I yelled, scaring Bart and Tommy half to death. After regaining composure, Bart asked, "What the hell was that?"

The details of the dream were slipping from my mind as quickly as I tried to recall them. "I don't know!" I said, shaking slightly. "It was a bad dream, and awful dream… but I can't remember what happened! But it was bad, and scary as hell." I unconsciously put my hand to my throat, and rubbed it.

"Well, like they say, Lis," said Tommy, "dreams are a window to the inner workings of your mind. I guess we know now that your mind is bad, and scary as hell…"

"Ha ha," I said sarcastically. "If you'd had that dream, you'd be peeing in your pants right now. Believe me, it was bad."

"Well it's all over now," said Bart reassuringly. "And now that you're awake, you can give your opinion on which classic is better: flaming dog doo, or sugar in the gas tank……"

-O-

Traffic hadn't been bad; it had been horrible. We got to Springfield at seven o'clock that night. In my mind, I was counting the hours until I had to go to school the next day. Well, if I stay up all night, I'll have 11 hours… but I need some sleep, or I'll be dead tomorrow, and I'll have a huge migraine to boot… but if I take lots of ibuprofen, I can probably get away with six hours of sleep… but that only gives me five hours to work…

"Hey, Lis," said Bart, interrupting my thoughts, "I think I'm gonna crash at our house tonight."

"Bart, you can't!" I said severely. "You have to stay away from the house! The police may be dumb, but they aren't complete idiots! They'll be watching the house!"

"Yeah, but someone has to be there to make sure you don't fall asleep," replied Bart poignantly. "Someone has to make sure you get your stuff done."

"Bart, have I ever neglected schoolwork?" I asked.

"Hmm… good point. Well, if you're sure you don't need me there…"

"I'll be fine," I replied confidently. "Why don't you stay with Tommy, and make sure he's ok. I'm still worried about you, Tommy. You suffered some serious injuries."

"The doctors are miracle workers, Spike. I feel fine." I smiled upon hearing my old nickname, given to me because of my once-spiky hair. "And speaking of that," he added, "your hair looks awesome! When I left, it was only a tiny bit blue."

I looked in the mirror at my hair, now with about six inches of blue. "It looks freaky," I said. "I think I'll cut the blonde off."

While I was assessing my looks, we pulled into the Flanders' driveway. Bart killed the engine, and for a moment it was silent in the car. I decided that it was a bit too awkward, and said, "Well, I'll be going, then. I need to study!"

Bart turned to me. "Well, if you need anything, we're right next door. Don't go to bed too late! You have to do well tomorrow so you can kick those other kids' asses."

I thought back to my induction into the Corvids. I thought about how all my classmates, upon learning that my name was Simpson, were whispering mean things about Bart and Homer. The thought, forgotten but not forgiven, made me angry. What did they know about Bart and Homer? Nothing. Yeah, they needed a good ass-kicking.

But they were my friends, too, and for that reason I had to stay up, and I had to study. I couldn't let the team down, when they were so set on winning. I had friends, for the first time in my life; I didn't want to make them mad at me, and I didn't want to lose them. I had to help them win the competition.

I bade goodnight to Bart and Tommy, and walked over to my house. I unlocked the door, and walked into the dark house. I glanced longingly at the refrigerator, and the delicious food it contained. My stomach rumbled. NO! I have to work first! I can eat later, after I've done some work.

But I better get that ibuprofen now, so it can work before the first vestiges of a headache develop. I walked into my bedroom, and over to my bedside table, where my big bottle of ibuprofen sat, waiting for me.

I swallowed two tablets dry, then went over to my desk, stacked high with thick, dryly written books. I opened the top one, and looked at the minute print that talked about the Great Depression.

Half a page down, I yawned loudly. My sleep over the weekend had been screwed up, and as a result I was suffering from a massive sleep deficit. It was too bad Bart wasn't there after all; he would have stopped me from dozing off. But no, I had sent him to the Flanders' house, and so it was my own fault when I fell asleep on top of the boring history book…

-O-

I woke in a panic. I looked around wildly, and then my eyes fell on the clock, which read 4:31am.

SHIT!! I have an hour and a half to learn all this! There is NO WAY I can learn all this that fast! SHIT!

I started to cry. There was NO WAY I could learn everything I was supposed to learn. There was NO FUCKING WAY! I was supposed to be the Captain of my team! Everyone depended on me to know this crap, and now that I didn't, they would all hate me…

I had been lonely all my life. It was great to have Tommy back, but I had friends, other friends, good friends, and I didn't want to lose them. I had lost Marge and Maggie. I had lost Homer. I had lost Bart and Tommy. I knew how it felt to lose people. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to handle losing my new friends. I had to keep them. I would do anything to keep them.

I sat there, wondering what I could do. I could pretend to be sick… but they'll still do the preliminaries anyway, and if I'm not there that'll be just as bad. Maybe I could explain what happened, and they'd understand?

No, they're dead set on winning this. They'd hate me.

Suddenly it came to me. I knew what I had to do. Forget that I was against it. I had done it before, and I could do it again.

I picked up the phone, and dialed the Flanders house. As I expected, the phone rang for a while, but it was finally answered by a groggy Tommy. "Hello?" he asked.

"Hey, Tommy…" I said, my voice shaking a bit. "Is… is Bart there?"

"Yeah… yeah, he's in Rodd's room…"

"Can you get him for me?"

Tommy yelled for Bart to pick up the phone, and then said to me, "Lis, is everything ok?"

I sighed. "No, Tommy, everything is not ok! I'm screwed unless Bart can help me."

There was a click, and then Bart said, "Lis, what is it?"

"Bart!" I said, beginning to cry again. "I fell asleep studying, and I have school in an hour and a half, and I don't know what to do, and everyone is going to hate me, and—"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down!" he said. "So, lemme get this straight, you have to take a huge test in an hour and a half, and you haven't studied at all?"

I said, sadly, "Yeah."

"Well," he said, "if it were me, I wouldn't worry about it. BUT," he added, when I tried to interrupt, "but because this is so important to you, I think I have a way of helping you."

"You do?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes I do!" he said confidently. "As long as you aren't averse to…to unauthorized study aids."

"I was hoping you'd say that. I'll do anything. If you can get me 'unauthorized study aids', I would kiss your feet."

"Ugh," he responded. "But give me an hour, and I can get you your test answers. What competition is this, again?"

"The Albert Einstein National Knoweldge Bowl, preliminary round. But Bart, this isn't some stupid school test. This is a national competition. I'm sure they have the answers locked away in a vault somewhere, guarded by soldiers with rifles…"

"Trust me, Lis. My guy will get you the answers. He's good."

"Who—" I started to ask, but Bart had already hung up the phone.

I looked at the huge pile of books in front of me. Screw this, I thought. I trust Bart. He'll get me the answers. I'll memorize them on the way to Capital City, on the bus tomorrow. My stomach gurgled. I haven't had any food all night. I think pancakes would be good right about now.

I don't know whether it was resignation, or despair, but I decided that studying would be futile now. And so I went down to the kitchen, and made myself breakfast.

An hour after the phone conversation, there was a knock at the door. I opened it, and looked at Bart hopefully.

He held out a manilla envelope, with the words 'HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL' on the front.

"Oh, Bart!" I said, and gave him a big hug, the biggest I could muster. "What would I do without you? First driving out to Scarletville and back for Tommy, and then getting these answers for me!" I started, once again, to cry. "I'm so glad you're back."

He hugged me back. "I'm glad to be able to help. I've been gone for years; it's time I made up for that." We let go of each other, and Bart turned to go. As he was walking out the door, a thought suddenly struck me. "Bart, how much did these answers cost?"

He turned to face me, and said, "Don't worry about it. He owed me a favor anyway, after I saved his ass." He paused, and then added, "and by the way, Nelson sends his regards."

I shivered. The last time I had procured test answers from Nelson, the repercussions had been awful.

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