Hello again! Sorry that took so long.

kissbangx3: Thanks for reviewing every chapter! You're awesome! Yeah, I like writing Jill's parts. She's a fun character. They're all fun characters! I love this story… (trails off wistfully)

Mrs. Gerard Butler: I'm late a lot, too, but not as late as Alex! Thanks so much for putting me on your favorites – that made my day! And thanks a ton for reviewing!

I'llTryMyBestToBeGlindaTheGood: I like the harp idea too. I think I'm really going to write that story. Do you have any suggestions for a title? Thanks for reviewing, and please keep reading! I loved writing this part, it was so much fun!

Last period English on Friday was almost unbearable. I lay there, staring at the board, willing myself not to look back up at the clock. Just wait a little longer… there were only ten minutes until the end of class the last time I checked, so now there would probably only be two or three…

I sneaked a peek.

And swore under my breath.

Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds had passed since I last looked at the clock. That was forever ago! How could time pass this slowly? The clock was broken. It was a conspiracy. The CIA had found out about the guys under the Fox and were slowing down time so they would have time to go down and find them before I got the chance.

My foot was tapping out a rapid beat on the floor. Jenny looked like she was trying to ignore it, but she was failing. I stopped and she relaxed slightly, but my foot started up again without me realizing just two seconds later. In fact, if you added in a few notes, you could almost turn the tapping into a rough version of Yankee Doodle.

Of course, now that I had thought of this, I had to go on and sing the entire song in my head.

I looked at the clock.

Eight and a half minutes left.

Well, I'd wasted a minute with Yankee Doodle. Now what?

"Alex, would you please refrain from looking at the clock and pay attention?" the English teacher said sharply, glaring at me. "I'm sure you have more important things you'd rather be doing, but at the moment, the only thing you should be concerned about is comma splices."

I gritted my teeth and she turned back to the book. I looked down at the page and tried to pay attention. It was impossible. My foot started tapping again. Jenny elbowed me in the ribs.

"Ow," I muttered.

"Quit it."

"But I already know everything I'll ever need to know about comma splices," I muttered to her. "They're bad. Why should we need to know the grammar behind something we're never supposed to use?"

"Alex," the teacher said warningly, turning around to look at me.

I smiled at her innocently. "I'm listening."

She rolled her eyes – that again! – and turned back to the book.

"Your mom's a comma splice," I muttered under my breath, and then chanced a look at the clock.

Six minutes left.

I closed my eyes, held back a groan, and imagined my teacher being attacked by the Phantom. I watched as he expertly tossed the Punjab and secured it around her neck. She screamed in horror as he leaped down beside her and glared at her through glowing yellow eyes.

"Agh! Noooooo!" she wailed.

"Your mom's a comma splice," the Phantom hissed, eyes flashing in delight, as he pulled on the rope.

I replayed this scenario about ten times, adding more pleading and screaming on my teacher's part and a few evil laughs for the Phantom. I also substituted a fat bald guy with 'comma splice' printed across his shirt, and the Phantom lassoed him, too.

All the while, I was sitting there in English class, giving an occasional evil chuckle. I watched the scenes replay in my mind, listened to the pained screeches of both my teacher and the comma splice dude, and muttered, "You should've kept your hand at the level of your eyes."

"What?"

I blinked and realized that Jenny was staring at me. I had said that out loud by accident. Whoops. But before I could even open my mouth to explain, the bell had rung.

"Yes!"

The word tore from my mouth. Before anyone else was even out of their seats, I had raced to the door, flung it open, and was faced with an empty hallway. The end of school. The beginning of a weekend.

I sped to my locker, got my books, and was the first one to the doors. I pushed them open and managed (miraculously) not to trip. "I'm free!" I called out to the open sky.

I was the first one on the bus.

Motivation can do a world of wonders.

We got to the Fox on time, despite a problem with trying to find a parking space. I tell you, walking three blocks in a skirt and heels definitely isn't easy.

Poor Jill.

I was so tempted to laugh at her from where I walked calmly along in dress pants and flip-flops, but the look on her face told me I would be dead if I so much as chuckled. I wisely kept my mouth shut. She made it to the Fox, but there were already blisters all over her feet.

"Remind me never to do this again," she groaned as we waited in line for our tickets.

I gave her a sympathetic look. I'd never been a heels person, and this was just one of a very long list of reasons why. "I'd carry you if you weren't taller than me."

This got a smirk of satisfaction. My sister always loves to gloat that she's two years younger, and yet two inches taller than me. In heels, she was even taller. Do you know how obnoxious it is, having to look up at your younger sister?

Anyway, we were shown to our seats by a rather snappy usher. Shame. I was hoping for the cute one that had shown us our seats during the Phantom of the Opera. This one was an angry old lady.

"Yes, yes, your seats are there, have a wonderful time," she said shortly, and then turned to help a young couple. I hate when people say stuff like that, in the tone of voice that says 'I don't really care, just get away from me so I don't have to talk to you any longer.'

Under my breath, I muttered, "Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, lady."

Jill heard me and rolled her eyes, but I saw the slightest hint of a smile and knew she had found that at least a little bit funny. She probably agreed with me. I watched the young couple hurry away from the usher to their seats, looking intimidated, and knew that they agreed with me, too.

I sat there, twitching impatiently, until finally the lights dimmed and the room grew dark.

I think that was when it really hit me. I'm back. I'm going to see the Phantom of the Fox again.

The music started, and people cheered. The music in Rent wasn't as beautiful as Phantom of the Opera, but it was more modern and – at least to some people, Jill included – more fun to listen to.

One of the singers, Roger, a washed-up rock god, came on stage in plaid pajama pants. I laughed aloud at the sight he made, and Jill echoed me. "He's so cool!" she whispered, grinning like crazy. "He's cooler than he was in the movie, even! And he sounds almost exactly the same!"

I grinned. "Sounds like he's the new Charlie Pace."

She gave me a horrified look. "How could you? No one will ever replace Charlie!" She turned back to look at the stage and cocked her head. "I bet he'd look good in plaid pajama pants, though, too."

I rolled my eyes and then took a moment to try and imagine the Phantom in plaid pajama pants.

Ew. Horrible mental image. Forget that.

The musical continued through all the songs that had been in the movie, and even a few more. It was great, but after a while, I couldn't stand it any longer. I just wanted the intermission to come so that I could get out of there as fast as possible.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, it came.

"Okay," my dad said, "I'll buy you girls drinks now, if you want."

Jill nodded eagerly, stealing another glance at the stage, where Roger was exiting. He'd changed out of his plaid pants, but he was still her favorite. She didn't like Mimi. The singer wasn't nearly as good as the one in the movie, and she couldn't hit some of the high notes.

I spoke quickly. "Guys, I'm gonna run to the restrooms. The lines are always really long, so if I'm a little late, don't wait up."

They nodded distractedly and left.

I grinned. Score. I had ten or fifteen minutes to go find and talk to the guy. It wasn't enough time to do any serious talking, but I might be able to ask him if there was a back way into the theater so that I could sneak in and talk to him another time. Then I could use the excuse that there was a shop nearby that I wanted to visit and get my parents to let me come.

I snuck past the restroom line and down the same empty hall as last time. Since I knew the way, it didn't take me long to find the trapdoor. I didn't even trip over it this time.

I knelt and pulled it open, feeling my excitement build. I was actually going back down.

I held onto the edges of the door and dropped carefully into the room below. I didn't worry about getting back out – the Phantom of the Fox could help me, like he did last time.

I took a moment to look around.

The place looked the same as it had the first time – lonely and rugged. I decided that I liked it. Sure, it wasn't the same as the Phantom's lair, all perfect and pretty and grand, but at least it had a feeling of mystery around it.

I walked through the room with the torches that were stuck in the cracks – from now on, I'll call them the crack-torches – and sank deep into my thoughts.

Maybe I'd get to see the other guy this time. Him. Whoever he was. I was still wondering why the guy I'd met, the one I dubbed the Phantom of the Fox, was so sure that he was all right. I had seen him vanish from the top of the Fox. How could he be all right?

Unless he, like the Phantom, knew about secret pathways.

I liked this idea. Maybe he hadn't fallen. Maybe he'd disappeared down a secret set of stairs or something.

Cool, I thought to myself, smiling as I crossed from one room into the other. I was in the harp room. This place has two Phantoms of the Fox. I really hit the jackpot, didn't I? This is awesome.

I paused just inside the harp room and looked around. There were doors leading to other rooms, but at the moment they were all closed, and I was slightly afraid of what lurked behind them. In the Phantom's lair, you didn't go around opening doors. You'd probably end up in a torture chamber.

For once, I was smart and didn't go to open any of them. If the Phantom of the Fox was down here, he'd find me eventually. He did last time, after all.

That reminded me of what I had been doing last time. I had been about to pluck a string on the harp.

I really need to get cracking on that story, I remembered. The Phantom and the Harp, or whatever I was going to call it. It'd be cool. I'll write some tonight when I get home.

My eyes lingered on the harp. I wanted to hear it at least once.

I walked over. I did the same as last time – let my fingers hover over the strings, trying to decide which would be the one to touch first. I was almost waiting for the voice of the young man who had interrupted me last time. I almost expected him to do the same now and startle me with his words.

In fact, that's exactly what he did.

The thing was, it wasn't the fact that he spoke that startled me.

It was what he said.

"Touch that harp and you'll be dead before you turn around."