Ah, yesterday was interesting. Second period I have chorus, which is pretty much a do-nothing-but-sit-on-your-butt-until-you-die-of-bordom class, refreshing in small doses, but supernaturally horrible as an every day occurence. As I was staring into space blankly, Disney sountracks swelling in an intolerable crescendo around me, Carrie came in wearing a revealing top and triumphantly waving a yellow pass. Melting with gratitude, I followed her into her Chemistry class, another do-nothing period but given the element of surprise by the teacher, Mr. Maher. Mr. Maher has his nipples peirced and is obviously whispered to be gay. He also has balding grey hair slicked back in a ponytail that brushes the collar of his hideously repulsive shirt. The most defining quality about Maher, though, is his personality. It is widely suspected that he is randomely ordered around by rolling decaptiated heads that hiss at him to yell at students, which he does at the most unexpected moments and seemingly without reason.

Carrie and I slunk quickly into a seat in the corner, our train of though that Maher's vision was similar to that of a turtle's : if you stop moving, he can't see you. Flushed with our success, we were not expecting Maher to suddenly explode into a schizophrenic fit. The bubbles of laughter in the room instantly stopped when Maher barked "Dane!" in a voice that immediately prompted a flock of birds to fly frantically away from a nearby tree outside. Dane, a cute skater guy who was perched on a stool chatting, glanced at him with one eyebrow cocked.

"Yes Mr. Maher?" he answered smoothly. I was duely impressed with his courage. If that had been my name Maher had barked, I would have been on my knees kissing the hem of his wrinkled jeans while pledging my eternal regret at whatever I had done. Dane merely stared at him.

Obviously Mr. Maher was not used to a sardonically quiet reply, because he looked quite shocked for a moment before regaining his composure.

"Get in your seat!" he yelled gruffly, his pink jowls quivering.

"There's someone in my seat." he said, staring, pointedly, at me. "Do you want me to fly over her?" The class was watching this exchange with unconcealed interest when, with slowly creeping horror, I realized that I was the dreaded seat stealer. It dawned on me that my escapade out of chorus would cost him a month of detention or similar fate, and I scuttled out the orange plastic chair as if it burned with the calescant fires of hell and into a quietly accusatory blue one. The 'do you want me to fly over her' remark, dripping with sarcasm, seemed to wetly slap Maher in the face, and he stood dumbly for a moment as if the awaiting punishment for this kind of talk was more than his tiny pulsing brain could handle.

"How dare you speak to me like that! I'll call your father in here, would you like that?" Dane cocked his head quizically to one side, and seemed to carefully consider Maher's words.

"Yeah. I would. Go call him right now." he said with a marked nonchalance, sliding into his now empty seat and placing his chin in his cupped palm. It seemed, to the class at least, that Dane's manner was one of calculated amusement, and this thought seemed to strike Maher not nearly as admirable as it hit us.

"Come outside. Come outside NOW." he growled loudly, his hawaiian print shirt trailing behind him in all its glory as Dane casually followed with a wink to his friend Spike, who gave him a thumbs-up. We could only hear a soft din coming from the hallway as Maher and Dane battled as Darth Vader and Obi-Wan, but not from lack of trying, as the whole class had jumped from their seats and crowded around the doorway. Finally both strode back in, neither seeming the victor, and Maher stood at his desk like a disgruntled pig as he pointed a shaking finger at our hero.

"GET OUT OF MY CLASS! GET OUT OF MY CLASS NOW!" he roared, and Dane, rolling his eyes, fetched his backpack from the tile floor and shouldered it without complaint. With a last grin at the class, he slid out the doorway and into the hall with an effervescant thrill.

He was free.

He had won.