"...and you just let them walk off!?" a furious Vernon upbraided Mr. Jacobson outside the convention center as the snow continued pouring down around them, "You just let Shermer High students walk off into the heart of Chicago, in the middle of a snowstorm, on John Bender's word!? Have you completely blown every fuse in your head, Tom!?"

"First off, it was Andrew Clark's suggestion, not John Bender's," Mr. Jacobson responded calmly, "Second, Corey said he needed to make up for yelling at Brian, and I completely respect that. And the point, Richard, is..."

"The point, Tom is this school district has very clear guidelines concerning the supervision of field trips," the superintendent glared him down, "While I sincerely hope we find Johnson as soon as possible, the point is, he shouldn't have run off in the first place."

"Maybe if you hadn't chewed him out, Richard..."

"Tom, we're not going to do anything constructive yelling at each other, so I'll make this perfectly clear," Vernon cut him off with a scowl, "You do know your son's number?"

"Of course; I make sure Corey has his cell phone on every time he goes out."

"Good. Because if he and everyone else, Johnson included, aren't back here in exactly one hour," Vernon leaned ominously in his employee's face, "then they've all got a date in detention on Saturday-and, first thing tomorrow morning, Ed and I will strongly consider putting an ad in the paper for a new teacher, effective immediately."

"For your information, Richard, Rooney's word doesn't hold any sway with the school board any more," Mr. Jacobson told him, starting to look very frustrated with his superior now, "If you haven't noticed, they've essentially blocked him out after he wasted that whole day a few weeks ago chasing after Ferris Bueller over nothing. So if you think..."

"Ed embarrassing himself like that means nothing to this situation. If I want your position opened, Tom, it's opening, and don't you forget that," Vernon warned him coldly, "Is that understood?"

"Yeah, I understand. And, if I may be perfectly frank, Richard, you've gone and proven Lord Acton absolutely right: absolute power does corrupt absolutely," Mr. Jacobson growled himself, "You walk all around the school like you own it, acting like a second principal, coming down on top of everyone you think is..."

"My job, Tom, is to maintain discipline in the Shermer School District, in case you've forgotten!" Vernon shouted at him, "Someone needs to keep these kids in line and instill the...!"

"Well that's funny, then; call me old-fashioned, but I always thought being a teacher meant helping kids realize their potential, guiding them along to be the best they can be, being a friend when they need one," Mr. Jacobson shouted back, "And looking back, I think I did that job well. As for you, Richard, you let chasing the superintendent's position blind you to what the kids might need out of life. You think you're the big man on campus, but you're nothing more than Rooney's enforcer, and that's not teaching. You can argue it's not even living, really. And don't get me started on what I've heard about how you run your detentions; I talk with Carl every now and then, and believe me, he sees and hears everything that goes on in them. If you want to teach kids properly, you can't treat them like trash..."

"Who says I treat anyone like trash!? For your information, Tom, everyone who ends up in my detentions deserves it...!"

"Oh yeah, since we're going there, Richard, let's talk about that, starting with Brian and that gun incident. The fact he never had any major infractions before then should have been a clear signal to you that he needed help, especially given what it was clear his intentions with the gun were. But no, you had to be the enforcer there too; you hauled him into your office, screamed your head off at him, and slapped him with detention without giving him a chance to say his peace. You saw a code violation; when I heard of it, I saw a kid who needed someone to talk to. Suppose that had pushed him over the edge, Richard!?"

"Well it didn't, so there. And I don't have to listen to this anymore..." Vernon started to walk away.

"Oh yes you do!" his underling grabbed him by the arm, "Jumping up on that stage and screaming in his face that he failed us all was the worst thing you could have possibly done tonight, Richard! It wasn't true and you know it. Don't you feel a shred of remorse for what's happened!?"

"Look, I told you I didn't mean a word of it; he broke the school code by running off...!"

"Oh yeah, I see: the school code's more important than a kid's feelings. Spoken like a true enforcer, Richard. You know, you insist when you have John Bender in detention that he's a two-bit criminal, but truthfully, looking at you both," Mr. Jacobson leaned right towards Vernon, "I can't tell who the real criminal is sometimes."

"Enough!" Vernon held up his hand, furious, "Now I'm really glad you're retiring; your mind's completely slipped if you think I'm worse than John Bender!"

"Well treating the kid with no respect doesn't help your cause, Richard."

"Respect?" Vernon laughed a humorless laugh. "Tom, you don't know John Bender; he'll never be anything more than a criminal."

"He's also a human being, Richard...!"

"I said get everyone back here, Tom, right now," Vernon growled sharply at him, strong finality in his voice. He turned and strode away towards the convention center. Mr. Jacobson glared after him. "Yes, Richard, even criminals are humans," he muttered furiously, "Just keep it up, and you'll regret the day the children you spit on decide to spit back...!"

He turned and walked off around down the street, presumably to take his superior's advice regardless and phone Corey. Vernon, meanwhile, marched over to the convention center's front door, where the rest of the Johnsons now stood, staring anxiously up the street the other way. "I'll tell you one thing," he greeted them crankily, "When he does show his face again, he is in deep, deep trouble. He's already got one detention for making us wait it out here through this," he gestured up at the increasingly heavy snow, "when we should have been back in Shermer an hour ago; if he's not back by midnight, he'll be spending every single Saturday with me for the rest of his career at Shermer High."

"Have you heard anything yet?" Mrs. Johnson was starting to look quite worried, "Ralph and I tried his cell phone; he's not picking up."

"Four times," her husband added, concern starting to etch on his face as well, "But I can't understand; why would he feel the need to run like this? What's he so afraid of that he can't bring it to us?"

"Well for one thing, I...hey!" Vernon barked loudly. For Keema had appeared and was now sniffing at the superintendent's leg. A low growl escaped the Labrador's throat, as if it could tell the person it was checking out was a scoundrel. "Go on, get out of here, you mutt!" Vernon shouted, waving his arms wildly.

"Keema, over here," came Stanpovalichki's voice from up the street. The homeless man appeared out of the snow, grabbing hold of his dog's leash. "Evening, folks," he greeted the group, "What seems to be going on here?"

"I don't really think our business is any of your concern, you tramp. So take a hike," Vernon coldly jerked a thumb up the street.

"It's Bill Stanpovalichki, if you don't mind," the homeless man grimaced at the insult, but maintained a calm demeanor.

"Well, Mr. Stampinyourface..."

"STAN-POV-A-LICH-KI," he spelled it out.

"Whatever. Like I said, buster, it's not your business, so take my advice and go hang out with the other society failures," Vernon told him off. He turned and stormed into the convention center, clearly wanting to be far away from Stanpovalichki. The homeless man shook his head softly. "Some people just can't see past what's on the outside, Keema," he lamented to his dog. "You folks look worried," he turned to the Johnsons, noting their expressions, "Something gone wrong?"

"If you have to ask, my brother ran off into the city because he was a sore loser," Mary spoke up with a frown.

"Mary!" her father admonished her. "Well..." he turned to Stanpovalichki, "Like she said, though, it's our son; he was in the academic competition in there tonight," he gestured back at the convention center, "He ran out after he got the last question wrong and we lost the championship match; they're still looking for him. And we're starting to get really worried now; he apparently didn't take his coat, and it's certainly getting colder out here," he shivered noticeably, "As we were just saying though, we can't understand why he'd feel he'd have to run. And why am I telling you all this?" he frowned, "Unless you happened to have run into Brian in the last few minutes, I don't think you'd be able to..."

"Oh, you never know," Stanpovalichki said wryly, hooking Keema's leash around a fire hydrant nearby, "Tell me, Mr...?"

"Johnson, Ralph Johnson."

"OK, Ralph, if I can call you Ralph, this Brian, sounds like a pretty reasonable kid..."

"Most of the time, yes," Mr. Johnson nodded, "He's a very hard worker most of the time; usually Mercedes and I have a lot to be proud of with him," he nodded at his wife, "Lately, though, he's started slipping a little; he failed a big project in shop very recently for whatever reason, for instance. And now this has happened on top of it."

"I see," Stanpovalichki mused, "Well Ralph, if I may ask, what was your childhood like? Anything like Brian's?"

"Well, sort of, yes," Mr. Johnson confessed, "I pushed myself to be top of the class, but I never could quite get there, and the family was never quite too happy when I came up short, my father would always say that..."

He stopped and seized up, fear flashing across his face. "That, uh, that's as much as I'd like to say..." he said quickly, fiddling nervously with his glasses.

"Let me guess, though," Stanpovalichki folded his arms knowingly across his chest, "Your father got violent with you whenever you didn't, shall we say, go all the way?"

"How...?" Mr. Johnson looked surprised.

"Oh, just because I don't have a roof over my head doesn't mean I'm blind to the world," the homeless man told him, "So, Ralph, let me theorize that since, as you basically confessed, you were abused every time you didn't perform up to snuff at home, you became a sort of perfectionist in life, am I right?"

"Well, I...I wouldn't...I wouldn't call it perfectionism," Mr. Johnson stammered, "It's...it's a bit more complicated than that..."

"Oh I'm sure it is, but I think we all get the basic gist. So then, what about you?" Stanpovalichki turned to Mrs. Johnson, "Anything in your past that might have rubbed off on your son?"

"Why should I tell you anything!?" she snapped at him, looking freaked out at Stanpovalichki's deductive accuracy.

"Because, I'd like to see your son safe as much as you do," Stanpovalichki stressed, "And perhaps knowing where you and your husband are coming from just might answer some of your questions."

"Are you insinuating Ralph and I caused this!?" she barked defensively, "We love Brian...!"

"Oh I'm sure you do," Stanpovalichki nodded, "Luckily, it's very rare to find parents who can't find any affection for their kids, and the fact that the two of you are worried for him right now's a positive sign for you. The question is, though, have you told him lately that you love him? If you haven't, maybe it's his assumption that you don't. Maybe he thinks you can only love him if he can deliver you straight As each and every time. And that's a pretty terrible mindset for a kid to have if you ask me."

"Well that's...it's another..." she was struggling to maintain her composure, the weight of the homeless man's words starting to visibly weigh on her.

"Ralph, Mercedes," Stanpovalichki put his arms around them, "You have to ask yourselves, what's the true price of gold? I don't think it should ever be our children's happiness. Maybe your son'll never be top of the class or win something big like this tournament, but isn't it enough just to love him for who he is, without having to put the onus on him to achieve everything you did, or to succeed at what you didn't when you were his age? Nothing can change the fact he's your son; I think that alone calls for unconditional love. What do you say?"

He had apparently gotten his message across; both Johnsons were now hanging their heads, horrible guilt spreading across their faces. "There were nine of us in the family," Mrs. Johnson spoke up softly, finally answering his question, "Each of us fighting for attention. And I knew that as the middle child, I needed something special to really stick out. So I dedicated myself to being the smartest one around, figuring they'd have to love me the most for that. I'd spend hours reading every book I could get my hands on; I never went out to play, never branched out into anything else...I...I lost a few good friends along the way, when they said I'd...I'd become too unbearable for them anymore. But I...I didn't care, I had to be the smartest to get the attention..." her head sank lower, deep shame now permeating her voice with every word, "And now, it looks like I haven't stopped trying to be the best in the classroom...all the times he just wanted to have fun, and I wouldn't let him because I wanted him to keep studying like...oh God Ralph, what have we done!?" she started sobbing.

"Good, you're taking the first step," Stanpovalichki patted her sympathetically on the shoulder, "Remember, all it takes is those magical three words to make everything all right with a kid, so when you do find your son, I think all he'd want from you is you telling him he means the world to you, champion or not."

He started to walk off, then came to a stop. "Actually, now that I remember," he said, a smile spreading across his face, "I ran into a kid about fifteen minutes ago up that way," he pointed north up the street, "Kind of sad looking, mumbling tearfully to himself that he didn't think anyone cared for him anymore."

"Did he have blonde hair and a beige suit!?" Mr. Johnson pressed him, relief and panic on his face.

"Yeah, actually. That's Brian?"

"Yes. What street did you see him on!?"

"Sixty-Eighth, I think."

"Thank you, sir; you've been more of a help than I'd've imagined," Mr. Johnson shook his hand wildly, "We'll be on it right away. Come on, Mercedes. there's no time to lose!" he shouted to his wife, breaking into a sprint across the street towards the nearest parking garage.

"Mary, go find Mrs. Martelli and stay with her till we get back; call us if you hear anything about your brother," her mother gave her a kiss before rushing after her husband, the both of them frantically dialing 9-1-1 on their cell phones as they ran. "Wait, you can't just leave me here like this!" Mary shouted after them, to no avail. She roared in frustration as they disappeared into the parking garage and kicked furiously at a nearby snowbank. "Every single time, it's all about him, him, him, him HIM!" she bellowed angrily to no one in particular, stamping her foot on the ground, "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!"

"Oh now I'm sure you don't mean that," Stanpovalichki bent down to her level, frowning, "I can understand why you'd be jealous if your brother's as good in the classroom as he seems to be, but he's still your brother-only one too, it seems. Can't you appreciate him for that?"

"Do you know what it's like having him suck up all the attention!?" she glared at him, "You don't know what I go through, whoever you are!"

"Well, I can understand where you're coming from; that would be hard for most of us," Stanpovalichki nodded, "And I can see why you'd think you're living in his shadow, and how that could feel like a burden for you. Everyone wants to feel appreciated. But your parents love you too, I can tell you that much, and if you were the one lost in the city right now, I can tell they'd leave your brother behind to go all-out and look for you too."

"But the point here, you bum, is...!"

"The point is, unfortunately, that if you can really only think of yourself when your brother's life may be hanging in the balance right now," he frowned at her sternly, "then maybe you don't deserve any extra attention from your folks. Think it over, why don't you?"

He glanced up the street as another figure appeared around the corner. "Ah, good old Tommy Jacobson," he exclaimed, although he made no effort to alert the teacher to his presence, and Mr. Jacobson was looking the other way anyway, "I could have guessed he'd be involved with all this. He always did know how to make the kids enjoy learning..."

"So what?" Mary snorted at him, visibly still not convinced of his advice.

"So what? My point this time being, there can be so much fun in learning if you give it a try, so much you can do if you know more," Stanpovalichki told her with a shake of his head, "Too many kids today don't seem to care. So I'd give your brother credit there for..."

He stopped abruptly and pulled out his watch. "Actually, if you don't mind, I think I'll be heading on off now," he told Mary, "I've got something really, really important to take care of at ten tonight; don't want to be late for that. You can go on and go with whoever your folks asked you to find-and think over what I told you, please. It would be terrible if you ended up the way you seem to be heading now when you reached your parents' age. Come on, Keema, we have work to do."

He unhooked his dog from the hydrant and bustled up the street, disappearing into the snow just as Mr. Jacobson came bustling up to Mary. "Where'd your folks go?" he asked, looking around for them.

"They went off to look for him," she told him, still looking embittered, "Some homeless guy named Standonyourhead or something came by and talked them into..."

"Hold on," Mr. Jacobson was frowning, "What was his name again?"

"Standonyourhead, or..."

"Stanpovalichki? Bill Stanpovalichki?"

"Yeah. He said he knew you."

"Well, yes; he used to live down the street from me," his frown deepened significantly, "But...it couldn't possibly have been him you were talking with..."

"Why not?"

"Because Bill Stanpovalichki's been dead for five years..."

"It's been forty-five minutes, it's ten below out here, and none of you are willing to listen to any semblance of reason," Bender griped loudly to his associates as they trudged through the deepening snow deeper into the heart of Chicago, "Do you really think there's any chance that...?"

"OH SHUT UP!" the three of them shouted simultaneously, fed up after he'd been at it for close to a half hour.

"Oh I see, because I'm the criminal, I'm all wrong," he continued complaining, wrapping his coat more tightly around himself as a sharp blast of wind whipped up, "Well then, I say Reynolds isn't the only basket case among you."

Allison turned to tell him off, but noticed a figure on the other side of the street before she could. "Hang on a minute," she held up her hand and bustled over towards the person in question. "OK, I don't know, but while we're waiting," Claire notice a doorman standing nearby outside a plush hotel on the corner. Taking the group photo off Andrew, she hustled over to him. "Hello, have you seen this boy at all?" she held it up.

"Hmm," the doorman squinted at Brian's photo, "What was he wearing?"

"Uh, beige tuxedo and pants, white sweater, blue shirt, red tie."

"Nope, haven't seen him," he shook his head.

"All right then, thank you," Claire shook her head at Andrew and rushed back over. "I'm wondering if we're going the wrong way," she reasoned with him, "That's the most logical explanation why no one's seen him at all."

"That's what I've been saying from the beginning, but has anyone bothered to listen to me? Nooooo," Bender retorted. "Let me guess," he rather sarcastically greeted Allison as she returned from the other side of the street, "No sign of him, right?"

"None," Allison shook her head, "But it looks like we're not the only ones looking for him," she pointed back across the street, where the outline of the person she'd been talking with could just be seen disappearing into the snow, "If we do find Brian in time, I think it'll really cheer him up if he knows that..."

"Oh just face the facts for the love of God!" Bender roared at her, "There's no way we're going to find Johnson in this mess, as you and everyone else here would have realized by now if you weren't guided by blind, stupid emotion! And really, why should we be risking our own health and safety out here for a guy we all hardly even know? You've been going on all night about how we owe him this and owe him that; what really do we owe him!? He's just a guy we spent several hours with, so why should we bother...?

"Why bother!? Why bother!?" Claire spun to him, enraged, "Let me tell you something, John Bender, none of us may go far in this world, but Brian will! He's worked hard to get where he is today, and it would be a tragedy if he throws all that away just because he missed one key question in that match; we can't let it happen! And for your information, we DO owe him! Andy was right earlier; Brian would be doing the same thing we're doing now for you if you'd run off, so don't you dare say this isn't worth it! Well then, if you don't want to come along any further, don't bother staying with us, because if your priorities are so self-centered, none of us want you around anymore!"

"Fine, because I can't stand you anymore either! I can't stand any of you anymore!" Bender fired sharply back at first her and then all three of them, "Your stupid, idealistic pacts don't hold me in, especially when I'm the only one smart enough out of all of you to know the world doesn't work the way you think it does, that love and friendship magically conquer everything and everything always ends happily ever! But if you want to live in your delusions, go right ahead, and leave me out of it, because I don't care for Johnson, and," he turned furiously back to Claire, "contrary to what you might have thought, princess, I don't care for you!"

In a flash, Claire slapped him hard across the face. "Come on, let's go!" she shouted to the others, turning and storming away up the street. Flashing Bender harsh, disappointed glares, Andrew and Allison turned and followed her without a word. "Yeah, go on, and don't look back, because I won't be following you anymore!" Bender shouted after them. None of them turned around while he continued, "I don't need any of you, or Johnson, and don't you forget that, because I don't care about any of you!"

He rocked on his heels as they disappeared into the storm and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I don't care," he said softly to himself, momentarily looking hesitant, but then shaking his head firmly, "I don't care for Johnson at all. Well, might as well get out of this mess and get warmed up..."

"You going to be all right, Claire?" Allison asked her worriedly a few blocks later.

"Sure, sure I am," Claire said quickly, but the tears starting to flow down her face told a markedly different story. Unable to hide it anymore, she emitted a low sob and slumped against the nearest streetlight. "I really thought he'd changed," she lamented, "I wanted to believe he could be someone I could believe in, but it's clear now he's still just the same old John Bender, only thinking of himself and taking the easy way out whenever he can."

"Well, I guess it was asking a lot from him," Andrew offered, putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, "Knowing now everything he's gone through, that he hasn't really known much kindness, maybe it was a little too much to expect him to him to..."

"Hey, kids, over here," came a voice from the nearest alley. The three of them jumped in shock to see the mugger Brian had run into earlier now aiming his gun at them. "Over here, now," he repeated, "And don't try being heroes; I've had a long and trying night, and I'm not in the mood."

"Listen, uh, mister, could you at least be quick about it?" Allison tried to maintain a calm demeanor as the three of them obeyed the mugger's request and approached him, "We're all kind of in a hurry, and..."

"All right, all right, I'll be quick about it, now wallets and purses now!" he snapped nervously.

"Whatever you say," Claire extended her purse towards him-then abruptly raised it high and bashed him over the head with it, making him stagger and drop his gun. She then let out a scream for any policeman nearby to hear as Andrew jumped the mugger and in no time had him immobilized in a Boston crab. "OK buster, now you're going to do what we tell you," he barked at the man, "Have you seen a boy...!?"

"I'll say he has," Allison raised the man's arm up, "This is Brian's watch, I saw it up close in detention a number of times; I wouldn't forget it. Have you...!?" she looked the man worriedly in the eye.

"Oh you mean HIM, the crazy one?" the mugger gulped to be reminded of his earlier encounter, "I'm not a murderer, if that's what you're asking! The kid was a maniac, doing everything he could to get me to pull the trigger on him!"

"So did you...!?"

"No, no, of course not! I told you I'm not a killer! I had to get away from him; I don't do well around psychos! This job isn't worth that kind of health risk...!"

"Forget that; which way did he go?" Andrew applied more pressure to the mugger's legs.

"I don't know; I was too busy running away from him to notice, and I swear that's all I know! Can I get up now!?"

"One more thing," the wrestler snatched Brian's watch off the man's wrist before releasing him. "Help, police!" the mugger screamed, running away up the street, "Somebody arrest me please, I give up! This job isn't worth this kind of hassle; I prefer jail right now! Somebody arrest me, HEELLLLLLLPP!"

"Some tough guy he is," Claire snorted, picking her purse back up.

"Well, at least we have a lead on Brian now, although who knows if we're still going the right way?" Allison mused, looking disappointed, "He could have gone anywhere after this."

"Well, I say we at least keep going the same way; if we learned this, maybe we'll learn something else," Andrew led them back up the street, "And let's hope another lead comes quick; I have a feeling the clock's really starting to tick now."

"I know, maybe it's even..." Claire came to a stop again and started tearing up once more. "What now?" the wrestler came back to her.

"He said Brian did everything he could to get him to shoot him...it just...it really hurts to know he's hurting that much," she confessed, wiping at her eyes, "He only missed that one question; nobody's going to remember that a year from now, if even that long. Like I said earlier, he's worked hard to get where he is; to throw all that away over one little question...or even one lamp that won't go on...I can't understand it..."

With a sob, she sat down on the curb. Andrew and Allison sat down next to her with sympathetic expressions and took her hands. "Thanks," she commended them, "It's just...when you really get to know Brian, you just can't help but like him. Right?" she asked them. They nodded softly. "Exactly," she continued, "He's a good kid deep down; he deserves more than what he gets out of life sometimes. I mean, I'm sure he ended up feeling like a fifth wheel in detention, a spare part that didn't belong, but after I got to know him, I saw him as an equal to the rest of us, and I'm sure you guys did too, right?"

Her companions nodded again. "Yeah. And now I can't help wondering, should we have called him up at some point between then and now and told him that? Should we have tried to find a girl for him? Should we have invited him along with us at some point to our...?" Claire shook her head sadly and sniffed hard, "It just really, really hurts to see him ripping himself apart like this over one little mistake that anyone could have made. I just wish he could see how everyone looks up to him, how we all respect him. I wish he could just like himself as much as we all like him. I just..." she buried her face in her hands, "I wish someone could show him how much he means to so many people..."

"9:59:56, 9:59:57," Stanpovalichki counted down to the top of the hour off his watch from a bench in front of the main Chicago bus terminal, "9:59:58, 9:59:59, and..."

He gave his head a sharp nod. To the casual observer, this may have appeared to have had no effect on anything, for nothing out of the ordinary happened in the immediate vicinity of his bench, and the people walking by without seeing him continued to do so. Stanpovalichki, however, nodded in satisfaction. "All set," he told Keema at his feet, giving his pet's leash a sharp yank as Keema ogled at a well-groomed poodle being walked by and shaking his head at his dog, "At any rate, Keema, might as well wait here for the time being, because odds are the action's going to end up coming right this way."