Review of stylish dress up games for girls::How to Dress in New York

Review of stylish dress up games for girls::How to Dress in New York

ＣＨＡＰＴＥＲ               1                Ｉ               ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｅｘｐｅｃｔ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｓａｙ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍｙ               ｌｉｆｅ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｂｉｇ               ｐａｒａｄｉｓｅ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｍｙ               ｍａｋｉｎｇ               ａｌｉｙａｈ-               ｗｅｌｌ,               ｉｔ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ. Ｎｏｔ               ｒｉｇｈｔ               ａｗａｙ,               ａｎｙｗａｙ.                Ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｏｆｆ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｂｏｙ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗｈｏ               ｍｏｖｅｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｅ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｆａｍｉｌｙ               ｍａｄｅ               ａｌｉｙａｈ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｍｉｎｅ               ｄｉｄ. Ｗｅ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｍｅ               ｓｈｕｌ. Ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｍｙ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｗｈｉｌｅ,               ｔｏｏ. Ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｈｅ               ｓｗｉｔｃｈｅｄ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ｄｉｓｔａｎｔ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｅｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｕｓ               ａｔ               ｓｈｕｌ,               ｌｉｋｅ               ｈｅ               ｎｏ               ｌｏｎｇｅｒ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｕｓ.                Ｗｅ               ｌｉｖｅｄ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｔｗｏ-ｓｔｏｒｙ               ｗｈｉｔｅ               ｓｔｏｎｅ               ｈｏｕｓｅ               ｏｎ               ａ               ｈｉｌｌ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｄ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｃｕｌ-ｄｅ-ｓａｃ               ｉｎ               ｎｏｒｔｈｅｒｎ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌ               . Ｉｔ               ｏｖｅｒｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｃｒｕｂｂｙ               ｈｉｌｌｓ               ａｎｄ               ｄｅｓｅｒｔ-ｌｉｋｅ               ｐｌａｉｎｓ               ｎｅａｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｒｏｗｉｎｇ               ｍｅｔｒｏｐｏｌｉｓ               ｏｆ               Ｃａｒｍｉｅｌ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               Ａｒａｂ               ｖｉｌｌａｇｅ               ｏｆ               Ｒａｍａ               . Ｊｉｍｍｙ'ｓ               ｆａｍｉｌｙ               ｌｉｖｅｄ               ｒｉｇｈｔ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔｒｅｅｔ. Ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｆａｍｉｌｙ               ｈａｄ               ａｎ               ｏｒａｎｇｅ               ｇｒｏｖｅ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｆｌｏｕｒｉｓｈｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｏｗｎ               ｂａｃｋｙａｒｄ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｒｅａｔｅｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔａｋｅ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｅｉｇｈｂｏｒｉｎｇ               ｙａｒｄ               ａｓ               ｗｅｌｌ. Ｉ               ｇｕｅｓｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｕｂｊｅｃｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｄａｙ               ａｔ               ｍｙ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ'               ｈｏｕｓｅ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｃｏｍｉｎｇ               ｈｏｍｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｏｎｅ               ｄａｙ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｌｅｔ               ｌｏｏｓｅ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ａｔｔａｃｋｅｄ               ｂｙ               ａ               ｒｅｓｉｄｅｎｔ               ｎｅｉｇｈｂｏｒ               ｓｉｍｐｌｙ               ｆｏｒ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ａ               ｍｅｍｂｅｒ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｆｆｅｎｄｉｎｇ               ｆａｍｉｌｙ.                "Ａｔｔａｃｋｅｄ?"               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｉｎｃｒｅｄｕｌｏｕｓｌｙ. "Ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｙ'ｖｅ               ｈａｒｄｌｙ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｍｏｖｅｄ               ｉｎ!"                Ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｋｎｏｃｋ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｒｏｎｔ               ｄｏｏｒ,               ｆｏｌｌｏｗｅｄ               ｂｙ               ａ               ｌｏｕｄ               ｂａｒｋｉｎｇ. "Ｒｕｆｆ               ｒｕｆｆ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｃｌｏｖｅｒ,               ｓｈｕｔ               ｕｐ."                "Ｙｏｕ               ｇｅｔ               ｉｔ,               ｈｏｎｅｙ,"               ｍｙ               ｍｏｔｈｅｒ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｊｕｓｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍｏｍｅｎｔ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｌｏｕｄ               "ｆｔａｃｈ               ｅｔ               ｈａ               ｄｅｌｅｔ"               ｆｒｏｍ               ｂｅｈｉｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｏｏｒ. Ａｐｐａｒｅｎｔｌｙ,               ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｕｓ               ｔｏ               ｏｐｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｏｏｒ. Ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｌｏｕｄ,               ｖｅｒｙ               ｄｅｅｐ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉ               ｖｏｉｃｅ.                Ｍｙ               ｍｏｔｈｅｒ               ｐｅｅｒｅｄ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｏｌｅ. "Ｐｏｌｉｃｅ,"               ｓｈｅ               ａｎｎｏｕｎｃｅｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｉｎｓｔｅａｄ               ｏｆ               ａｎｓｗｅｒｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｏｏｒ,               ｓｈｅ               ｓｔｏｏｄ               ｂａｃｋ               ａｎｄ               ｓａｉｄ               "Ｈｏｎｅｙ,               ｙｏｕ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ａｎｓｗｅｒ               ｉｔ. Ｔｈｅｙ'ｒｅ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ａｓｋ               ａｂｏｕｔ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ'ｓ               ｃａｓｅ."                Ｃａｓｅ? Ｊｉｍｍｙｓ? Ｗｈａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｅｃｋ? Ｂｕｔ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｄｅｍａｎｄ               ａｎｙ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｏｆ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｔｈｅｒ,               ｔｈｅ               ｄｏｏｒ               ｓｗｕｎｇ               ｏｐｅｎ.                "Ｅｘｃｕｓｅ               ｍｅ,               ｃｏｕｌｄ               Ｉ               ｓｐｅａｋ               ｔｏ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｍｏｔｈｅｒ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｓａｉｄ.                Ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｔｏｗｅｒｉｎｇ               ｐｒｅｓｅｎｃｅ. Ｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｈａｖｅ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｓｉｘ-ｆｏｏｔ               ｔｈｒｅｅ. Ｔｈｅ               ｂｏｏｍｉｎｇ               ｖｏｉｃｅ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｄｏ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ａｌｌｅｖｉａｔｅ               ｍｙ               ｎｅｒｖｅｓ,               ｅｉｔｈｅｒ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｃａｒｅｄ.                "Ｓｌｉｃｈａ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｂｒａｖｅｌｙ               ｓｔｏｏｄ               ｍｙ               ｇｒｏｕｎｄ. "Ｍｙ               ｍｏｔｈｅｒ               ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｔａｌｋ               ｒｉｇｈｔ               ｎｏｗ,               ａｎｄ               ｂｅｓｉｄｅｓ,               ｙｏｕ               ｗｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｔａｌｋ               ｔｏ               ｈｅｒ               ａｎｙｗａｙ."                Ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｉｇｎｏｒｅｄ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｂａｒｄ               ａｎｄ               ｆｏｃｕｓｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｅｙｅｓ               ｏｎ               ｍｅ. "Ｉ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｏ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ               ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ａｂｏｕｔ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               Ｇｏｌｄｇｒａｂｂｅｒ."               Ｈｅ               ｐｒｏｎｏｕｎｃｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｎａｍｅ               "Ｊｅｅｍ-ｅｅ               Ｇｏｌｄｇｇｈｒａｂｂｅｒｒｈ,"               ｓｏ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａｌｌ               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｄｏ               ｎｏｔ               ｔｏ               ｌａｕｇｈ. "Ｕｍ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｃｏｖｅｒｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｉｄｅ               ｏｆ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｕｔｈ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｏｎｅ               ｈａｎｄ,               "Ａｎｉ               ｌｏ               ｍｉｄａｖｅｒｅｔ               Ｉｖｒｉｔ."               Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｓｐｅａｋ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ. Ｉ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔｏｏｄ               ｉｔ               ｗｅｌｌ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ,               ｂｕｔ               ｔｏ               ａｓｋ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｈａｖｅ               ａ               ｃｏｎｖｅｒｓａｔｉｏｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｉｓ               ａｒｍｏｒｅｄ,               ｈｕｌｋｉｎｇ               ｂｅａｓｔ-ａ               ｔｗｏ-ｗａｙ               ｃｏｎｖｅｒｓａｔｉｏｎ,               ａｔ               ｔｈａｔ-ｗａｓ               ｄｏｗｎｒｉｇｈｔ               ｕｎｒｅａｓｏｎａｂｌｅ.                "Ｌｏ               ｉｃｈｐａｔ               ｌｉ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｉｔ               ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ               ｍａｔｔｅｒ. Ｈｅ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｃａｒｅ;               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈｅ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｍｅ               ｗｈｅｔｈｅｒ               Ｉ               ｄｅｓｉｒｅｄ               ｉｔ               ｏｒ               ｎｏｔ.                "Ｍａ               ａｔ               ｙｏｄａ'ａｔ               ａｌ               ｈａ               ｃｈｕｔｚｐａｎ               ｈａｚｅ               Ｊｅｅｍ-ｅｅ?"               Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｔｒｏｕｂｌｅｍａｋｅｒ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ. Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｌａｕｇｈ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｔｉｍｅ.                "Ｕｍ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｗｈｉｌｅ               Ｉ               ｐａｃｅｄ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｌｉｎｏｌｅｕｍ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｒｏｎｔ               ｅｎｔｒａｎｃｅｗａｙ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｒｉｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｂａｃｋ.                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｉｎｔｒｏｄｕｃｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｆｔｈ               ｇｒａｄｅ,               ａｎ               ａｂｅｒｒａｔｉｏｎ               ｉｆ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｅｖｅｒ               ｗａｓ               ｏｎｅ. Ａｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｉｍｅ,               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｔａｌｋ               ｔｏ               ｂｏｙｓ               (ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｉｎ               ｍｙ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ'ｓ               ｇｒａｄｅ,               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｅａｒｌｙ               ｂｌｏｏｍｅｒｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｏｕｔ               ｉｎ               ｆｉｆｔｈ,               ｓｏｍｅｔｉｍｅｓ               ｉｎ               ｆｏｒｔｈ               ｇｒａｄｅｓ),               ｂｕｔ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｉｎｔｒｏｄｕｃｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｅａｃｈ-ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ. Ｂｙ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｍｕｄｄｌｉｎｇ,               ｉｎｔｅｒｆａｎｇｌｉｎｇ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ               ｉｆ               ａｎｙ               ｗｏｒｄ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ｕｓｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｄｅｓｃｒｉｂｅ               ｔｈｅｍ.                Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               'ｒｅ-ｉｎｔｒｏｄｕｃｅｄ'               ｔｏ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               (ｏｒ               ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｓａｙ               ｒｅ-ａｃｑｕａｉｎｔｅｄ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｏｕｒ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｉｎｔｒｏｄｕｃｅ               ｕｓ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｔｉｍｅ)               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｕｓ               ｌａｓｔ               ｗｅｅｋ. Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｓｉｔｔｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｒｏｎｔ               ｓｅａｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｕｓ,               ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｅａｔ               ｄｉｒｅｃｔｌｙ               ｂｅｈｉｎｄ               ｈｉｍ. Ｗｅｌｌ,               Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ａｎｙｂｏｄｙ-ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｂｌａｍｅ               ｍｅ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,"               ｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｕｓ               ｈａｄ               ｃａｒｔｅｄ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｌｏｐｉｎｇ               ｓｔｒｅｅｔ               ｏｆ               ｏｕｒ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｖｉｌｌａｇｅ,               "ｗｈａｔ               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｓｌｕｇｓ?"                Ｗｈａｔ? Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ａｓ               Ｉ               ａｂｓｏｒｂｅｄ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｗｈａｔ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｍｏｒｏｎ               ｗａｓ               ｈｅ? Ｗｈａｔ               ｈａｄ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅｓｅ               ｙｅａｒｓ               ａｔ               ｐｕｂｌｉｃ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｄｏｎｅ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ?                Ｉ               ｔｒｉｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｂｒａｖｅ               ａｎｄ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｊｉｍｍｙ               Ｇｏｌｄｇｒａｂｂｅｒ,               ｒｉｇｈｔ?"                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｉｇｎｏｒｅｄ               ｍｅ               ａｎｄ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               Ｓｔｅｉｎｈａｒｔ,               ｒｉｇｈｔ? Ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｍｙ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ,               ｒｉｇｈｔ? Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｌｅｆｔ               ａｎｄ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｄｉｆｆｅｒｅｎｔ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ,               ｂｕｔ               ｗｅ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｍｅ               ｓｈｕｌ. Ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ?"                Ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ               Ｉ               ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒｅｄ,               ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｔｒｙｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｐｒｅｔｅｎｄ               Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ. Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｉｆ               ｈｅ               ｓｐｏｋｅ               ｉｎ               ｃｏｍｐｌｅｔｅ               ｓｅｎｔｅｎｃｅｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈｉｓ,               ｔｈｅｎ               ｗｈｙ               ｄｉｄ               ｈｅ               ｓｔａｒｔ               ｂｙ               ａｓｋｉｎｇ               ｍｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｌｕｇｓ? Ｗａｓ               ｈｅ               ａ               ｌｏｓｅｒ               ｏｒ               ｎｏｔ?                "Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ               Ｉ               ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｔｒｙｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｋｅｅｐ               ｍｙ               ｃｏｏｌ. "Ｔｈｅ               ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎ               ｉｓ,               ｗｈｙ               ｄｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｔａｒｔ               ｂｙ               ａｓｋｉｎｇ               ｍｅ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｌｕｇｓ?"               Ｔｈｅｒｅ. Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｐｕｔ               ｉｔ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ. Ｉ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｇｅｔ               ｍｙ               ａｎｓｗｅｒ               ｎｏｗ.                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｆｏｌｄｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ａｒｍｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓａｔ               ｂａｃｋ               ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｓｅａｔ. "Ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               Ｉ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｅｓｔ               ｙｏｕ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                Ｊｕｓｔ               ａｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍｏｍｅｎｔ,               ｔｈｅ               ｌｏｕｄｓｐｅａｋｅｒ               ｅｒｕｐｔｅｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｎｏｉｓｅ:               "Ｙｅｌａｄｉｍ!"               (Ｃｈｉｌｄｒｅｎ!)               Ｔａｆｓｉｋｕ               ｌｉｈｉｓｈｔｏｌｅｌｌ! (Ｓｔｏｐ               ｒｕｎｎｉｎｇ               ｗｉｌｄ!)               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ａｌｍｏｓｔ               ｓｔａｎｄｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｏｕｒ               ｓｅａｔｓ,               ｂｕｔ               ｗｅ               ｈａｄｎ'ｔ               ｎｏｔｉｃｅｄ               ｉｔ. Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｇｒｏｕｎｄｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｓａｔ               ｄｏｗｎ!"                "Ｑｕｉｅｔ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               "ｏｒ               ｅｌｓｅ               ｈｅ'ｌｌ               ｈｅａｒ               ｕｓ."                "Ｄｏｅｓ               ｉｔ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｍａｔｔｅｒ?"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｔｈｅ               ｂｕｓ'ｌｌ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｒｕｎ               ｆｌａｔ               ｏｎ               ｉｔｓ               ｆａｃｅ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｗｅ               ｒｅａｃｈ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ,               ａｎｙｗａｙ."                Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｈｏｃｋｅｄ. "Ｗｈａｔ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ?"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｃｏｖｅｒｉｎｇ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｕｔｈ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｙ               ｌｅｆｔ               ｈａｎｄ               (ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔａｒｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓｔｒｉｐｅｓ,               ｎｏｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｂａｌｌｏｏｎｓ-Ｉｎｄｅｐｅｎｄｅｎｃｅ               ｄａｙ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ               ｓｏ               ｌｏｎｇ               ａｇｏ               ａｎｙｗａｙ). "Ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｒｙｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ａｎｇｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｒｉｖｅｒ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ｕｓ               ｋｉｌｌｅｄ?"               Ａｎｄ               ａｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｐｏｉｎｔ               Ｉ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｍｙ               ｓｅａｔ               ａｎｄ               ｈｕｇｇｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｉｎｄｏｗ,               ｇｌａｄ               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｇｅｔ               ａｎ               ｅｘｃｕｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｗｒｉｔｅ               ｈｉｍ               ｏｆｆ               ｏｎｃｅ               ａｎｄ               ｆｏｒ               ａｌｌ.                "Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｍａｋｉｎｇ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｍｕｃｈ               ｓｅｎｓｅ               ｎｏｗ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｏｂｖｉｏｕｓｌｙ               ａｎｇｅｒｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｍｙ               ｒｅｆｕｓａｌ               ｔｏ               ｅｎｇａｇｅ               ｈｉｍ. "Ｉ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｙｏｕ               ｎｅｅｄ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｓｅｎｓｅ               ｐｕｔ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｙｏｕ."                Ｓｏｍｅ               ｓｅｎｓｅ               ｄｅｆｉｎｉｔｅｌｙ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｐｕｔ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｍｅ. Ｓｏｍｅ               ｓｅｎｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｔａｙ               ａｗａｙ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ. "Ｗｈａｔｅｖｅｒ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｉｄ               ｅｎｄ               ｕｐ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｗｒｏｎｇ,               ｈｏｗｅｖｅｒ,               ｗａｓ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｄｒｏｖｅ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ               ｗｉｌｄ.                Ｔｈｅ               ｃｌａｓｓｅｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｃｏ-ｅｄｕｃａｔｉｏｎａｌ               ｆｏｒ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｃｌａｓｓｅｓ,               ｓｉｎｇｌｅ-ｓｅｘ               ｆｏｒ               ｏｔｈｅｒｓ. Ａｎｄ               ｗｈｉｌｅ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｔａｋｅ               ｏｆｆｅｎｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏ-ｅｄｕｃａｔｉｏｎａｌ               ｃｌａｓｓｅｓ,               ｈｅ               ｄｅｆｉｎｉｔｅｌｙ               ｅｒｕｐｔｅｄ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｏｆ               ｓｐｌｉｔｔｉｎｇ               ｅａｃｈ               ｃｌａｓｓ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｉｄｄｌｅ               ａｌｏｎｇ               ｇｅｎｄｅｒ               ｌｉｎｅｓ.                "Ｂｕｔ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               ｈｅｒｅ!"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｐｏｉｎｔｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｄｅｍｏｎｓｔｒａｔｉｖｅ               ｍａｎｎｅｒ,               ｉｎ               ｆｒｏｎｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｌｕｔｃｈ               ｏｆ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｈａｄ               ｇｒｏｗｎ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｑｕｉｃｋｌｙ               ｓｉｎｃｅ               ｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｓｈｏｕｔｉｎｇ,               "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               ｉｓ               ｍｙ               ｂｅｓｔ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ! Ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｔａｋｅ               ｍｅ               ａｗａｙ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｈｅｒ!"                Ｔｈａｎｋｆｕｌｌｙ,               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ,               ｗｈｏ               ｈａｄ               ｓｐｏｋｅｎ               ａｎｄ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔｏｏｄ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｗｅｌｌ,               ｈａｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｅｓｅｎｃｅ               ｏｆ               ｍｉｎｄ               ｔｏ               ｗａｉｔ               ｈｉｍ               ｏｕｔ               (ａｎｄ               ｎｏｔ               ｅｎｔｅｒ               ｉｎｔｏ               ａ               ｓｈｏｕｔｉｎｇ               ｍａｔｃｈ). "Ｊｉｍｍｙ,"               ｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｓａｉｄ,               "ｗｅ               ａｒｅ               ａ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ. Ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌｓ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               ｍｅｎ               ａｎｄ               ｗｏｍｅｎ               ｌｅａｒｎｉｎｇ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ               ｔｏｐｉｃｓ               ｔｏｇｅｔｈｅｒ."                "Ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｄｉｄ               ａｔ               ｍｙ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ａｔ               ｏｎｃｅ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｅｎｔｅｒ               ｏｆ               ａｔｔｅｎｔｉｏｎ. Ｍｙ               ｃｈｅｅｋｓ               ｆｌｕｓｈｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｍｙ               ｅａｒｓ               ｇｏｔ               ｈｏｔ.                "Ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｎｏｔ               ａｓｋｉｎｇ               ｗｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｉｄ               ａｔ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ,"               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ,               ａ               ｗｏｍａｎ,               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ               ｉｎ               ｂｒｏｋｅｎ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ. Ｈｅｒ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｈｅａｄｓｃａｒｆ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｍｅｎａｃｉｎｇ. "Ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｏｎｌｙ               Ｃｏｎｓｅｒｖａｔｉｖｅ,"               ｉｔ               ｓｅｅｍｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｓａｙ. (Ｏｕｒ               ｆａｍｉｌｙ               ｗａｓ               ｏｎｌｙ               Ｃｏｎｓｅｒｖａｔｉｖｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｎｏｔ               Ｏｒｔｈｏｄｏｘ)                "Ｅｎｏｕｇｈ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｍａｎ               ａｄｄｒｅｓｓｉｎｇ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｉｄ               ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ-ａｃｃｅｎｔｅｄ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ               (Ｉ               ｗｏｎｄｅｒ               ｉｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ｏｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａｗｅ               ｏｒ               ｉｆ               ｔｈａｔ               ｓｉｌｅｎｔ               ｓｅｒｉｏｕｓｎｅｓｓ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｆａｃｅｓ               ｗａｓ               ｏｂｅｄｉｅｎｃｅ).                "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｏｋａｙ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒ               ａｓ               ｈｅ               ｓｔａｒｅｄ               ａｔ               ｍｅ,               "ｈｅ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｍｙ               ｂｅｓｔ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ. Ｈｅ'ｓ               ｏｎｌｙ               ａｎ               ａｃｑｕａｉｎｔａｎｃｅ."                "Ｗｈａｔ?"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ａｎｇｒｉｌｙ               ａｔ               ｍｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｄｏｗｎ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｌｏｏｒ. Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｆｅｅｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｅａｔ               ｒａｄｉａｔｉｎｇ               ａｎｇｒｉｌｙ               ｏｆｆ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｍ. Ｙｏｕ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ｃｌｏｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ               ａｔ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｐｏｉｎｔ,               Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ. Ｎｏｒ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ａｎｙ               ｓｌｕｇ.                "Ｙｏｕ               ｓｔｅｐ               ｂａｃｋ               ｈｅｒｅ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｔａｌｌ,               ｐｏｗｅｒｆｕｌ               (ｉｔ               ｓｅｅｍｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ)               ｍａｌｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｉｎｄｉｃａｔｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｉｎｃｉｐａｌ'ｓ               ｏｆｆｉｃｅ. Ｈｅ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｉｎｃｉｐａｌ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ａｌｌ.                "Ａｎｄ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ               ｓｔａｎｄｉｎｇ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ               ｉｎ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ               (ｔｈｉｓ               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ). Ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ               ｍｏｖｅｄ               ｇｒｕｍｐｉｌｙ               ａｗａｙ.                "Ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕ               ｇｉｖｅ,               ｙｏｕ               ｇｅｔ               ｂａｃｋ               ｉｎ               ｒｅｔｕｒｎ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｓｉｇｈｉｎｇ,               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｗｏ               ｏｆ               ｕｓ. "Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｏｎｃｅ."                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｂａｃｋ               ａｎｄ               ｗａｌｋｅｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｉｎｃｉｐａｌ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｉｎｃｉｐａｌ'ｓ               ｏｆｆｉｃｅ. Ｆｉｎｅ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ. Ｂｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗａｙ.                Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ               2               Ｔｈｅ               ｓｅｃｈｕｇ                Ｔｈｅ               ｌａｒｇｅｓｔ               ｔｈｒｅａｔ               ｅｖｅｒ               ｆａｃｉｎｇ               ｍｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌ               ｅｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ               ｃａｍｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｆｏｏｄ. Ｉ'ｍ               ｎｏｔ               ｋｉｄｄｉｎｇ-ｆｏｏｄ. Ｉｔ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｍｙ               ｎｅｍｅｓｉｓ               ｓｉｎｃｅ               Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｇｏｔｔｅｎ               ｔｏ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌ               ａｎｄ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｍｙ               ｎｅｍｅｓｉｓ               ｅｖｅｎ               ａｆｔｅｒ               Ｉ               ｌｅｆｔ. Ｈｅｒｅ'ｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｈｉｎｇ:               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｅａｔ               ｚｃｈｕｇ               ｏｎ               ａｎ               ｅｍｐｔｙ               ｓｔｏｍａｃｈ.                Ｚｃｈｕｇ:               ａ               ｐａｓｔｙ               ｓｏｌｉｄ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｏ               ｃａｌｌ               ａ               ｓｐｒｅａｄ-ｙｏｕ               ｓｐｒｅａｄ               ｉｔ               ｏｎ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｐｉｔａ,               ｌａｆａ,               ｗｈａｔｅｖｅｒ               (Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ               ｗｈｏ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｕｓｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｕｓｅ               ｉｔ               ｏｎ               ｃｈａｌｌａｈ-Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｔａｌｋ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｄｅｓｅｃｒａｔｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓａｂｂａｔｈ). Ｎｏｗ,               ｚｃｈｕｇ               ｉｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｓｐｉｃｙ. Ｉｔ               ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｂｕｒｎ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｔｏｎｇｕｅ               ｏｆｆ. Ｉｔ               ｒｏａｓｔｓ               ｉｔ.                Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｌｅａｒｎｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｓｐｅａｋ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ               ａｎｄ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｃｏｍａ. Ｍｙ               ｔｏｎｇｕｅ               ｗａｓ               ｐｕｔ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｃｏｍｍｉｓｓｉｏｎ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｗｏ               ｗｅｅｋｓ. Ｉ               ｔａｌｋｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｔａｌｋｅｄ               ｂｕｔ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｍｙ               ｔｏｎｇｕｅ               ｗａｓ               ｗａｇｇｉｎｇ               ａｎｄ               ｆｌｏｐｐｉｎｇ               ｉｎｓｉｄｅ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｕｔｈ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｎｏ               ｆｏｃｕｓ,               ａｌｌ               ｔｈａｔ               ｃａｍｅ               ｏｕｔ               ｗａｓ               ｓｐｉｔｔｌｅ. Ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｉｓ               Ｉ               ｇｕｅｓｓ               ａｐｐｒｏｐｒｉａｔｅ,               ｇｉｖｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｎａｔｕｒｅ               ｏｆ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ-ａ               ｇｕｔｔｕｒａｌ,               ｓｐｉｔ-ｆｉｌｌｅｄ               ｌａｎｇｕａｇｅ.                Ａｔ               ｌｕｎｃｈ               ｏｎｅ               ｄａｙ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｉｆ               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｔｒｙ               ｉｔ. "Ｓｕｒｅ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｔｒｙｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｉｍｉｔａｔｅ               ｈｅｒ               ｓｐｉｔ-ｆｉｌｌｅｄ               ａｃｃｅｎｔ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｉｔ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ.                Ｍｙ               ｔｏｎｇｕｅ               ｒｏａｓｔｅｄ.                "Ｒｉｓｓａ,               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｏｋａｙ?"               ｍｙ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ               Ｎａｏｒ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ               (ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｐｅｒｍｉｔｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｅａｔ               ｔｏｇｅｔｈｅｒ).                "Ａｈｈｈｈ!!!"               Ｉ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｈｉｍ,               ａｎｄ               ｒａｃｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｂａｔｈｒｏｏｍ.                "Ｓｔｏｐ               ｒｕｎｎｉｎｇ!"               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｆｕｃｋ,               ｆｕｃｋ,               ｆｕｃｋ. Ｓｈｉｔ,               ｓｈｉｔ,"               Ｉ               ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｅｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｐｌａｓｈｅｄ               ｗａｔｅｒ               ｉｎ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｕｔｈ.                Ｉｔ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ａｂａｔｅ. Ｉｔ               ｇｏｔ               ｗｏｒｓｅ.                "Ｓｈｉｔ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｃｒｙｉｎｇ,               ｒｅｔｒｅａｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｔａｂｌｅ.                Ｎａｏｒ               ｗａｓ               ｌａｕｇｈｉｎｇ.                "Ｆｕｃｋ               ｙｏｕ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｆｕｃｋ               ｗｈａｔ? Ｉ               ｎｏ               ｈｅａｒ."                "Ｆｕｃｋ               ｙｏｕ."                "Ｓｔｏｐ               ｉｔ,"               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｅａｔ               ｂｒｅａｄ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｉｎ               ｈｅｒ               ｂｅａｕｔｉｆｕｌ,               ｍｅｌｌｉｆｌｕｏｕｓ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ.                "Ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ..."               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｓｔｏｐｐｅｄ.                Ｉ               ａｔｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｒｅａｄ.                "Ｈｅｙ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ!"               Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ. Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｆｏｌｌｏｗｅｄ               ｂｙ               ａ               ｓｔｅｒｎｌｙ               ｃｌａｄ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅ               ｏｆｆｉｃｅｒ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｊａｉｌ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｅ?"                Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ               3--                Ｉ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ               ｎｏｗ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｉｓ               ｎｏ               ｆｕｎ               ｉｎ               ｊａｉｌ-ｏｒ               ａｎｙｗｈｅｒｅ. Ｈｅ               ｇｅｔｓ               ａｌｌ               ｄｉｒｔｙ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｒｏｌｌｉｎｇ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｉｒｔ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｏｔｔｏｍ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｅｌｌ               ａｎｄ               ｌｅｔｓ               ｏｕｔ               ｔｒｕｍｐｅｔ               ｂｌａｓｔｓ               ｏｆ               ａｉｒ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｈｅ'ｓ               ｐａｎｔｉｎｇ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｉｓ               ｏｆｔｅｎ. Ｈｅ               ｄｏｅｓ               ｉｔ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ｍｙ               ａｔｔｅｎｔｉｏｎ-Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｉｔ. Ｂｕｔ               ｗｈａｔ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               Ｉ               ｄｏ,               ｙｏｕ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ? Ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               Ｉ               ｒｅｊｅｃｔ               ｈｉｍ,               ｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ｈｅ'ｓ               ｓｏ               ａｔｔａｃｈｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ? Ｈｅ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｈｅｌｐ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｓｏ               ｂｅａｕｔｉｆｕｌ! Ｅｖｅｎ               ｍｙ               ｄａｄｄｙ               ｓａｙｓ               ｓｏ.                Ｂａｃｋ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｅｓｅｎｔ:               "Ｗｈａｔ               ｔｈｅ               (ｂｌｅｅｐ)?"               Ｉ               ｙｅｌｌ,               ｒｅａｄｙ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｒｏｗ               ａ               ｐｕｎｃｈ               ａｔ               ａｎｙｏｎｅ,               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｒｅｐｅａｔｓ               ｓｎｉｄｅｌｙ,               "ｙｏｕ               ａｒｅ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｅ. Ｙｏｕ               ａｒｅ               ｕｎｄｅｒ               ａｒｒｅｓｔ. Ｉ               ｈｅｒｅｂｙ               ｒｅａｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｒｉｇｈｔｓ."                "Ｓｈｔｏｋ               (ｓｈｕｔ               ｕｐ),"               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｃｏｍｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｅ. Ａｎｄ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｓｏｒｒｙ               ｔｏ               ｔａｋｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｌｕｎｃｈ               ｈｏｕｒ."                Ｆｏｕｒ               ｄａｙｓ               ｈａｄ               ｐａｓｓｅｄ               ｓｉｎｃｅ               Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ. Ｎｏｗ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ａｒｒｅｓｔｅｄ.                "Ｏｋａｙ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｇｏｏｄｂｙｅ               ｔｏ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｎａｏｒ               (ｗｈｏ               ｇａｖｅ               ｍｅ               ａ               ｔｈｕｍｂｓ               ｕｐ). "Ｉ               ｎｏ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ               ｓｗｅａｒ               ｓｏ               ｗｅｌｌ,"               ｈｅ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｍｅ.                Ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｐｕｓｈｅｄ               ｍｅ               ｉｎ               ｆｒｏｎｔ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｍ               ａｎｄ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｍａｒｃｈ."                "Ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｉｒｏｎｉｃ,               ｈｕｈ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｓｍｉｌｉｎｇ-"ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｐｅｒｆｅｃｔ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａ               ,               ｗｈｏ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｓｐｅａｋｓ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ,               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｊａｉｌ."                "Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｓｅｅ               ｈｏｗ               ｍｙ               ｓｕｐｅｒｉｏｒｉｔｙ               ｈａｓ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ.                "Ｏｈ,               ｉｔ               ｈａｓ               ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ａｎｄ               ｉｔ               ｃａｎ               ｈｅｌｐ               ｍｅ               ｇｅｔ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｍｅｓｓ."                Ｃｏｎｆｕｓｅｄ? Ｉ               ｗａｓ.                Ｂｕｔ               ｆｉｒｓｔ,               ｗｅ               ｎｅｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｂａｃｋ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｂｅｒｔｏｏｔｈ               ｔｉｇｅｒ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｅｘｉｓｔｅｄ,               ｗｈｅｎ               ｔｒｉｃｅｒａｔｏｐｓ               ｒｏａｍｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｌａｉｎｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｈｕｍａｎｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ               ｂｕｔ               ａ               ｄｕｓｔ               ｍｏｔｅ               ｉｎ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｐｒｉｍｉｔｉｖｅ               ｒｏｄｅｎｔ'ｓ               ｅｙｅ. Ｉｎ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｗｏｒｄｓ,               ｗｅ               ｎｅｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｂａｃｋ               ｔｏ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｂｏｒｎ               ｙｅｔ,               ｗｈｅｎ               ｍｙ               ｓｕｐｅｒｉｏｒｉｔｙ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｙｅｔ               ｒｕｌｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｕｎｉｖｅｒｓｅ.                Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｂｉｔ               ｃｏｎｆｕｓｅｄ               ｂａｃｋ               ｔｈｅｎ,               ａｓ               ｗｅｌｌ.                Ａｌｌ               ｍｙ               ｌｉｆｅ,               Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｐｅｒｆｅｃｔ:               ｐｅｒｆｅｃｔ               ｇｒａｄｅｓ,               ｐｅｒｆｅｃｔ               ｐｉｇｔａｉｌｓ,               ｐｅｒｆｅｃｔｌｙ               ｃｏｍｐｌｉｍｅｎｔａｒｙ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ. Ｍｙ               ｄａｄｄｙ               ｌｏｖｅｄ               ｍｅ. Ｍｙ               ｍｏｍｍａ               ａｄｏｒｅｄ               ｍｅ. Ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｓａｙ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｉｎｇｅｎｉｏｕｓ,               ａｆｔｅｒ               ａ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ. Ａｄｏｒａｂｌｅ. Ｃｕｔｅ. Ｈｏｔ,               ｅｖｅｎ               (ｗｅｌｌ               ｃｏｍｅ               ｏｎ,               ｅｖｅｎ               ｙｏｕ               ａｇｒｅｅ). Ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｈｏｗ               ｔｏ               ｌｏｖｅ.                Ｕｎｔｉｌ               Ｉ               ｍｅｔ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ.                Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈａｔ               ｉｔ               ｔｏｏｋ               ｆｏｒ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｌｏｖｅ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｗｈａｔ               ｍａｄｅ               ｍｅ               ｄｏ               ｉｔ. Ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｄｏ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ｉｔ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｒｉｇｈｔ               ｔｈｅｒｅ,               ｉｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ.                "Ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｉｎｓｉｎｕａｔｅｄ,               ｈｉｓｓｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｆａｃｅ               ｕｐ               ｔｏ               ｍｙ               ｅａｒ,               "Ｉ               ｎｅｅｄ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｓｋｉｌｌｓ               ｏｆ               ａｃｔｉｎｇ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａｎ               ｉｎｎｏｃｅｎｔ               ｔｗｅｒｐ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ｍｅ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｍｅｓｓ."                "Ｙｏｕ               ｆｒａｍｅｄ               ｍｅ!"               Ｉ               ｙｅｌｌｅｄ               ａｔ               ｈｉｍ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅｍ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｉｎｖｏｌｖｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｗｈａｔｅｖｅｒ               ｐｌｏｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｎｑｕｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｅｉｇｈｂｏｒ'ｓ               ｂａｃｋｙａｒｄ               ｏｒ               ｗｈａｔｅｖｅｒ               ｒｕｃｋｕｓ               ｙｏｕ               ｈａｖｅ               ｐｌａｎｎｅｄ               ｌａｔｅｌｙ! Ｍａｙｂｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｇｏ               ｂａｃｋ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｌｕｇｓ,               ｙｏｕｒ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｄｉｒｔ. Ｂｕｔ               ｗｈａｔｅｖｅｒ               ｙｏｕ               ｈａｖｅ               ｐｌａｎｎｅｄ,               ｋｅｅｐ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｄｉｒｔｙ               ｈａｎｄｓ               ｏｆｆ               ｍｅ."                Ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｓｈｏｖｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｈａｎｄｓ               ｉｎ               ｂｅｔｗｅｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｗｏ               ｏｆ               ｕｓ.                "Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｙｏｕ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｅａｃｈ-ｏｔｈｅｒ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               "ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｍｅ."                "Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｉｄ               ｈｅ               ｓａｙ?"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｇｅｔ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｏｎ               ａｌｌ               ｆｏｕｒｓ               ａｎｄ               ｄｏ               ｔｗｅｎｔｙ. Ｋｎｏｃｋｓ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｅａｄ,               ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓ."                "Ｏｈ,               ｖｅｒｙ               ｆｕｎｎｙ."                "Ｑｕｉｅｔ!"               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｓｔ               ｔｉｍｅ."                Ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｗａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｔｈ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｃａｒ. Ｗｅ               ｐａｓｓｅｄ               ａ               ｃｏｕｐｌｅ               ｏｆ               ｏｌｉｖｅ               ｔｒｅｅｓ. Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｔｏｏｋ               ｏｎｅ               ａｎｄ               ｂｅｇａｎ               ｔｏ               ｃｈｅｗ.                "Ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｅａｔ               ｔｈａｔ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｔｏｏ               ｂｉｔｔｅｒ."                "Ｈｕｈ?"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｇｏｔｔａ               ｃｈｅｗ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｒｅａｌ               ｈａｒｄ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｓｈｕｔ               ｕｐ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,"               ｓａｉｄ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ.                Ａｆｔｅｒ               ａ               ｃｏｕｐｌｅ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｓｔｅｐｓ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｒｅｔｃｈｉｎｇ. "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ!"               ｈｅ               ｇａｓｐｅｄ.                "Ｅｎｏｕｇｈ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｇｅｔ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｃａｒ."                Ｗｅ               ｒｅａｃｈｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｃａｒ;               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｈａｄ               ａ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｒｉｖｅｒ'ｓ               ｓｅａｔ. Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｂｅａｒｄｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｓｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               ｒａｂｂｉ. (Ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ,               ｙｏｕ               ｗｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｅ               ａｂｌｅ               ｔｏ               ｄｉｓｔｉｎｇｕｉｓｈ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ               ｓｅｃｔ               ｈｅ'ｓ               ｆｒｏｍ.)                "Ｗｈａｔ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｈｅｒｅ?"               Ｔｈｅ               Ｂｅａｒｄｅｄ               Ｍａｎ               ａｃｃｏｓｔｅｄ               ｍｅ               ｓｕｓｐｉｃｉｏｕｓｌｙ. Ｈｉｓ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ               ｗａｓ               ｈｅａｖｉｌｙ               ａｃｃｅｎｔｅｄ.                "Ｗｈａｔ?"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｉｄ.                "ＯＫ,               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｂｅａｒｄｅｄ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｉｎ               ｂａｒｅｌｙ               ｃｏｈｅｒｅｎｔ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ,               ｔｕｒｎｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ:               "Ｙｏｕ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ               ｎｏｗ,               ｉｎ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ. Ｖａｔ               ｉｓ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｏｎ?"                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｃｏｎｆｕｓｅｄ. "Ｗｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｈｅ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ?"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｈｅ'ｓ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕ               ｈａｖｅ               ａ               ｓｍａｌｌ               ｐｅｎｉｓ."                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｆｕｃｋ               ｙｏｕ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｗｈａｔ               ｅｘａｃｔｌｙ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ?"               ｈｅ               ａｄｄｒｅｓｓｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ. "Ｐｌｅａｓｅ               ｓａｙ               ｉｔ               ａｇａｉｎ."                "Ｈｅ               ｅｅｓ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ,"               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ,               ｗｈｏ               ｗａｓ               ｂａｌｄｉｎｇ               (ｅｉｔｈｅｒ               ｉｎｔｅｎｔｉｏｎａｌｌｙ               ｏｒ               ｎｏｔ,               ｗｅ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ)               "ｔｈａｔ               ｈｅ               ｖａｎｔｓ               ｔｏ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｈａ-ｗａｔ               ｉｓ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｏｎ? Ｚｅｙ               ｄｏ-ｎｏｔ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｕｓ               ａ               ｌｏｔ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｚｅ               ｉｎｔｅｌｌｉｇｅｎｃｅ. Ｅｅｔ               ｉｓ               ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ               ｚａｔ               ｗｅ               ｋｎｏｗ,               ｚｏ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｗｅ               ａｒｅ               ｅｅｎｔｅｒｅｓｔｅｄ,               ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ."               Ｈｅ               ｐｅｅｒｅｄ               ａｔ               ｕｓ,               ａｌｔｅｒｎａｔｉｎｇ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ,               ｕｎｔｉｌ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｓａｔｉｓｆｉｅｄ. Ｈｅ               ｗｉｎｋｅｄ. "Ｙｅｓ,               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈａｔ               Ｉ               ａｍ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ."                "Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｆｒａｔｅｒｎｉｚｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎｅｒｓ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｂｅａｒｄｅｄ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅｍａｎ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ               ｔｗｅｒｐ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ               ｍａｎ               ｉｎ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ. "Ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｔｒｙｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｕｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ."                Ｗｅ               ｒｏｄｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｅｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｉｎ               ｓｉｌｅｎｃｅ-ｕｎｔｉｌ               ｗｅ               ｇｏｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｌｉｃｅ               ｓｔａｔｉｏｎ.                ........................................................................                "Ｂｕｔ               ｗａｉｔ!"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ. "Ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｕｒｅ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｎｏｔ               ｍａｋｉｎｇ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｕｐ?"               Ｉ               ｓｍｉｌｅｄ               ａｔ               ｈｅｒ. "Ｄｒｕｇ               ｒｉｎｇ?"                "Ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               ｓｅｒｉｏｕｓｌｙ,"               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ. "Ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               Ｉ'ｄ               ｂｅ               ｍａｋｉｎｇ               ｕｐ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈａｔ?"                "Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｎｏ. Ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｎｏｔ."                Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               ｌａｕｇｈｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               ｈｙｅｎａ. "Ｓｅｒｉｏｕｓｌｙ,               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ,               ｙｏｕ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｆａｋｅ?"                "Ｎｏ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｉ               ｏｐｅｎｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｉｎｄｏｗ               ａ               ｃｒａｃｋ. Ｓｏｕｎｄｓ               ｏｆ               ｓｔｕｄｅｎｔｓ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｆｉｌｔｅｒｅｄ               ｉｎ:               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｎｉｃｅ               ｗａｒｍ               ｄａｙ               ｏｕｔ,               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ｐｌａｙｉｎｇ               ｆｒｉｓｂｅｅ.                "Ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｏｕｔ?"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｗｈａｔ,               ｔｏ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｍｏｒｏｎｓ               ｏｕｔｓｉｄｅ?"               Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｃｌａｓｓｉｃ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               ｆｏｒ               ｙｏｕ.                "Ｎｏ,               ｆｏｒ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｏｗｎ               ｈｅａｌｔｈ!"                "Ｆｕｃｋ               ｈｅａｌｔｈ. Ｂｏｏｚ               ｉｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｍａｔｔｅｒｓ."                Ｉ               ｓｉｇｈｅｄ. Ｃｌｅａｒｌｙ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ａｎｙｗｈｅｒｅ.                "Ｌｉｓｔｅｎ,               ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔｏｒｙ               ｏｒ               ｎｏｔ?"                "Ｆｉｎｅ. Ｇｏ               ｏｎ."                "Ｉ               ｈａｖｅｎ'ｔ               ｇｏｔｔｅｎ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｒｕｇ               ｒｉｎｇ               ｐａｒｔ               ｙｅｔ."                "Ｉ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ!"                "Ｏｋａｙ,               ｌｉｓｔｅｎ               ｃａｒｅｆｕｌｌｙ."                ________________________                Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ               4                Ｔｈｅ               ｓｔａｙ               ａｔ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ               ｗａｓ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｄｒｅａｒｙ. Ｔｈｅ               ａｃｃｏｍｍｏｄａｔｉｏｎｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｕｉｔａｂｌｅ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｉｇｈ-ｃｌａｓｓ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎｅｒｓ               ａｔ               Ａｌｃａｔｒａｚ--ｅｘｃｅｐｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｆａｃｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｍａｄｅ               ｕｓ               ｗｅａｒ               ｗｈｉｔｅ               ｓｈｉｒｔｓ               ａｎｄ               ｂｌｕｅ               ｐａｎｔｓ. Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔｅｒｅｏｔｙｐｉｃａｌ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ               ｚｅｂｒａ               ｓｕｉｔ               ｉｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｕｓｕａｌｌｙ               ｈａｖｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｍｉｎｄｓ... ａｎｄ               ｏｕｒ               ｏｕｔｆｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｄｅｆｉｎｉｔｅｌｙ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ. Ｏｎｅ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ               ｇｕａｒｄ               ａｃｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｃｏｍｍｅｎｔｅｄ               ｏｎ               ｈｏｗ               ｇｏｏｄ               Ｉ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｉｔ.                "Ｔｈａｎｋｓ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ａｈ,               Ｅｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ?"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ａｒｅ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ."                "Ｙｅｐ."                "Ａｈ,               ｎｉｃｅ!"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｉｎ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｍｅ               ａｎｄ               ｍａｋｅ               ａｌｉｙａｈ?"                "Ｙｅｓ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ａｈ,               ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｍｙ               ｈｏｕｓｅ,               ｙｏｕ               ｅａｔ               ｓｃｈｎｉｔｚｅｌ!"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｍｅｅｔ               ｍｙ               ｗｉｆｅ!"                "Ｓｕｒｅ!"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｒｅａｓｏｎａｂｌｙ               ｉｎｔｅｒｅｓｔｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ａｗａｙ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｍｙ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ,               ａｎｙｗａｙ.                Ｗｅ               ｕｎｐａｃｋｅｄ               ｏｕｒ               ｂａｇｓ               (ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｈａｄ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｐａｃｋｅｄ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ),               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｃｏｎｓｉｓｔｅｄ               ｏｆ               ｏｎｅ               ｓｅｔ               ｏｆ               ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ:               ｐａｎｔｓ,               ｕｎｄｉｅｓ,               ｓｈｉｒｔｓ,               ｗｈｉｔｅ               ｐａｎｔｓ,               ａ               ｂｌｕｅ               ｄｒｅｓｓ,               ａｎｄ               ａ               ｔｏｏｔｈｂｒｕｓｈ               ｆｏｒ               ｂｒｕｓｈｉｎｇ               ｔｅｅｔｈ               ａｎｄ               ｆｕｎｇｕｓ               ｏｆ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｌｉｍｂｓ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｒｅｓｕｌｔｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｅａｔ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｃｏｒｒｏｄｅｄ               ｔｏｉｌｅｔ. Ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｂａｃｋｗａｔｅｒ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               Ｎｏｒｔｈ               ｏｆ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌ,               ｈｏｗｅｖｅｒ,               ｔｈｅ               ｆａｃｉｌｉｔｙ               ｗａｓ               ｄｅｆｉｎｉｔｅｌｙ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｍｏｄｅｒｎ.                Ｓｅｅ,               ｔｈｅｓｅ               ｇｕａｒｄｓ               ｈａｄ               ｂｒａｎｄ               ｎｅｗ               ｆｏｕｎｔａｉｎ               ｐｅｎｓ,               ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｔｗｉｒｌｅｄ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｂｏｒｅｄ               (ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｗａｓ               ａｌｗａｙｓ). Ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ａｌｌ               ｈａｉｒｌｅｓｓ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｏｐ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｈｅａｄｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｈａｄ               ｂａｄ               ａｔｔｉｔｕｄｅｓ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｕａｒｄ               ｌｅｔ               ｍｅ               ｈａｖｅ               ａ               ｃｉｇａｒｅｔｔｅ.                Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｆａｄｅｄ,               ｓｌｉｇｈｔｌｙ               ｄｒｙ,               ｓｌｉｇｈｔｌｙ               ｂｒｏｗｎ               ｓｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｃｉｇａｒｅｔｔｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｂｌｅｎｄｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ               ｗａｌｌｓ. Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｉｔ               ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｇｉｖｅ               ｉｔ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ. Ｔｈｅ               ｃｉｇａｒｅｔｔｅ               ｂｒｏｕｇｈｔ               ｂａｃｋ               ｍｅｍｏｒｉｅｓ               ｏｆ               ｓｕｃｈ               ｉｎｎｏｃｅｎｔ               ｅｘｐｅｒｉｅｎｃｅｓ... ｌｉｋｅ               ｗｈｉｆｆｉｎｇ               ｍａｒｉｊｕａｎａ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｏｎ               ａ               ｂｌｕｓｔｅｒｙ               ｓｐｒｉｎｇ               ｄａｙ               ｉｎ               ｓｅｖｅｎｔｈ               ｇｒａｄｅ,               ｗｈｅｎ               ｗｅ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉｓ               ｗｅｒｅｎ'ｔ               ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ａｌｍｏｓｔ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ｃａｕｇｈｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｉｔ! Ｔｈａｎｋ               ｇｏｏｄｎｅｓｓ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｒａｂｂｉｓ               ａｒｅ               ｓｕｓｃｅｐｔｉｂｌｅ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｕｔｅ               ｆｌｉｒｔ. Ｂｕｔ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｒａｂｂｉｓ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈａｔ               ｍａｒｉｊｕａｎａ               ｉｓ,               ｏｒ               ｌｏｏｋｓ               ｌｉｋｅ.                Ａｎｙｗａｙ.                Ｓｃｒａｔｃｈｅｄ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ               ｗａｌｌｓ               ｗａｓ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｍａｎｔｒａ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｉｎｖｏｌｖｅｄ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ               ｓｏｍｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｎａｍｅｄ               Ｎａｃｈｍａｎ'ｓ               ｎａｍｅ               ｏｖｅｒ               ａｎｄ               ｏｖｅｒ               ａｇａｉｎ... ｉｆ               ｙｏｕ               ｓａｉｄ               ｉｔ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ               ｔｉｍｅｓ               ｏｕｔ               ｌｏｕｄ,               ｉｔ               ｍｉｇｈｔ               ｂｒｉｎｇ               ｍｅｓｓｉａｈ. Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｉｔ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｔｉｍｅｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｓｃｒａｔｃｈｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｎａｍｅ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｌｌ. Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｏｆ               ｗｈａｔ               ｍｅｓｓａｇｅ               ｔｏ               ｗｒｉｔｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               "ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               ｆｕｃｋｅｄ               ｕｐ."               Ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｗｒｏｔｅ               "ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               ｆｕｃｋｅｄ               ｕｐ."                Ｉｎ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ.                Ｉ               ｓａｔ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｉｎｋ. Ｉｔ               ｓｅｅｍｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｉ               ｈａｄｎ'ｔ               ｄｏｎｅ               ｍｕｃｈ               ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｓｔ               ｆｅｗ               ｄａｙｓ-ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｙ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｄａｙ               ａｔ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ,               ｄｅａｌｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｙ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ'               ｗｏｒｒｉｅｄ               ｂｌｕｓｔｅｒｉｎｇｓ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｈｏｗ               ｔｈｅｙ'ｌｌ               ｆｉｔ               ｉｎ,               ｄｅａｌｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｉｎｃｉｐａｌ,               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ. Ｉｔ               ｓｅｅｍｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｔｒｕｓｔ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｍｙ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ.                Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               Ｉ               ｍｅｔ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｂｏｔｈ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｈｏｗ               ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅｎ'ｔ               ｆａｍｉｌｉａｒ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｎｇｕａｇｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｈｏｗ               ｍａｎｙ               ｔｅｓｔｓ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｆｏｒｃｅ               ｕｓ               ｔｏ               ｔａｋｅ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｙｅａｒ. Ｔｕｒｎｓ               ｏｕｔ               ｈｅｒ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ               ａｒｅ               Ｒｕｓｓｉａｎ,               ａｎｄ               ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｏｆ               ｈｅｒ               ａｓ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉ,               ｓｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｍｏｖｅｄ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｙｅａｒｓ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ.                "Ｂｕｔ               ｙｏｕｒ               ａｃｃｅｎｔ               ｉｓ               ｓｏ               ｂｅａｕｔｉｆｕｌ!"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｈｅｒ               ａｔ               ｌｕｎｃｈ,               ｔｈｅ               ｄａｙ               ｗｅ               ｍｅｔ.                "Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｔｒｕｓｔ               ｔｈｅ               ａｃｃｅｎｔ. Ｔｈａｎｋ               ｙｏｕ,               ａｌｓｏ. Ｉ               ｔｒｕｓｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｏｗｎ               ａｃｃｅｎｔ               ｉｓ               ｂｅａｕｔｉｆｕｌ               ａｓ               ｗｅｌｌ?"                "Ｉｔ               ｓｏｕｎｄｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｃｒａｐｐｉｎｇ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｕｔｈ."                Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｌａｕｇｈｅｄ. "Ｎｏｔ               ｓｏ               ｍｕｃｈ."                "Ｙｅａｈ,               ｎｏｔ               ｓｏ               ｍｕｃｈ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｏｎｌｙ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｌｉｓｔｅｎｉｎｇ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｃｌｏｓｅｌｙ."                Ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｄａｙ               ｏｆ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ,               ｓｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｓａｖｅｄ               ｍｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｅｍｂａｒｒａｓｓｍｅｎｔ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｐｉｓｓｅｄ               ｏｆｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｅｎａｃｉｎｇ-ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ｗｏｍａｎ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｈｅａｄｓｃａｒｆ.                "Ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,"               Ｍｒｓ. Ｒｏｔｈｅｎｂｅｒｇｅｒ               ｈａｄ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｓ               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｐｏｌｉｓｈｉｎｇ               ｏｆｆ               ａ               ｃｌａｓｓ               ｏｎ               Ｉｓｓｈｉｕｔ-ｔｈｅ               ｓｃｉｅｎｃｅ               ｏｆ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ａ               ｇｏｏｄ               Ｊｅｗｉｓｈ               ｗｏｍａｎ-"ａ               ｗｏｍａｎ               ｈａｓ               ｔｏ               ａｎｔｉｃｉｐａｔｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｅｅｄｓ               ｏｆ               ｈｅｒ               ｈｕｓｂａｎｄ               ａｎｄ               ｍａｋｅ               ｈｅｒｓｅｌｆ               ａｖａｉｌａｂｌｅ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ."                Ｉ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ａｔ               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｅｌｓｅ:               ｔａｋｉｎｇ               ｎｏｔｅｓ               ａｓ               ｉｆ               ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ               ｈａｄ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ. Ｉ               ｒａｉｓｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｈａｎｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｓａｙ               ｔｈａｔ,               ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ               ｗｏｒｒｙｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｈｏｗ               ｉｔ'ｌｌ               ｍａｋｅ               ｕｓ               ａｌｌ               ａｃｔ-ａｓ               ｓｌａｖｅｓ               ｔｏ               ｏｕｒ               ｈｕｓｂａｎｄｓ!"                Ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｇａｓｐｅｄ. Ａ               ｃｏｕｐｌｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｓｍｉｌｅｄ               ａｔ               ｍｅ.                "Ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｎｏｔ               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               ｕｐｏｎ,               ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｗｉｌｌ               ａｄｄｒｅｓｓ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｃｏｍｍｅｎｔ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｅｌｂｏｗｅｄ               ｍｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｉｂｓ;               Ｉ               ｓａｔ               ｕｐ               ｓｔｒａｉｇｈｔ.                "Ｉｆ               ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｐａｙｉｎｇ               ａｔｔｅｎｔｉｏｎ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｈｏｌｅ               ｌｅｃｔｕｒｅ,               ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｂｅｈａｖｉｏｒ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｎｔｅｘｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｅｄｒｏｏｍ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａ               ｂｉｔ               ｓｎｉｐｐｅｓｈｌｙ.                Ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｔｉｒｅ               ｌｅｃｔｕｒｅ               ｎｏｗ? "Ｕｍ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｉｎ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａ,               ｉｔ               ｍｉｇｈｔ               ｂｅ               ｄｉｆｆｅｒｅｎｔ."                "Ｒｅａｌｌｙ? Ｐｌｅａｓｅ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｕｓ,"               Ｍｒｓ. Ｒｏｔｈｅｎｂｅｒｇｅｒ               ｒｅｓｐｏｎｄｅｄ.                "Ｕｍ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｉ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ａｔ               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｅｌｓｅ. Ｔｈｅ               ｓｔｕｄｅｎｔｓ               ａｌｌ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ａｔ               ｍｅ               ｅｘｐｅｃｔａｎｔｌｙ. "Ｉｔ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｉｓ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｈｏｗ               'ｉｔ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｉｓ'               ｃｏｎｓｔｉｔｕｔｅｓ               ａｎ               ａｎｓｗｅｒ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｕｍ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｉ               ｆｅｌｔ               ｍｙｓｅｌｆ               ｔｕｒｎｉｎｇ               ｂｅｅｔ               ｒｅｄ. Ｉ               ｄｅｃｉｄｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｓｔｒｉｋｅ               ｂａｃｋ. "Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｎｏｔ               ｔｉｅｄ-ｄｏｗｎ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｍｅ,               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ... ｌｏｎｇ               ｓｋｉｒｔｓ..."               Ｉ               ｐａｕｓｅｄ,               ｔｏ               ｓｅｅ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｒｅａｃｔｉｏｎ,               ａｎｄ               ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅｄ:               "ｗｏｒｒｙｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｐｉｓｓｉｎｇ               ｏｆｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｅｎ...ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ"               Ｉ               ｐａｕｓｅｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｂｒｅａｔｈｅｄ               ｉｎ               ａｇａｉｎ. "Ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｎｏｔ               ｓｃａｒｅｄ."               Ｉ               ｓｔｏｐｐｅｄ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ. Ｍｒｓ. Ｒｏｔｈｅｎｂｅｒｇｅｒ               ｓｔａｒｅｄ               ａｔ               ｍｅ. Ｉ               ｓｔａｒｅｄ               ｂａｃｋ.                "Ｏｋａｙ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｇｏｏｄ. Ｌｅｔ'ｓ               ｍｏｖｅ               ｏｎ."                Ｔｈａｔ               ｗｈｏｌｅ               ｔｉｍｅ,               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｐｕｌｌｉｎｇ               ｏｎ               ｍｙ               ｋｎｅｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｅｒ               ｆｏｏｔ. Ｉｆ               ｓｈｅ               ｈａｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｅｅｎ,               Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈａｔ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ. Ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ               ｉｔ               ｗｏｕｌｄ'ｖｅ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈｉｓ:                Ｉ               ｗａｉｔｅｄ               ｆｏｒ               Ｍｒｓ. Ｒｏｔｈｅｎｂｅｒｇｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｉｎｓｕｌｔ               ｍｅ,               ｏｒ               ｔｏ               ｓｏｍｅｈｏｗ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｇｅｔ               ｂａｃｋ               ａｔ               ｍｅ.                "Ｏｋａｙ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｗｅｌｌ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ..."                Ａ               ｃｏｕｐｌｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｇａｓｐｅｄ.                "Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｓａｙ?"               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｓｔｏｎｉｓｈｅｄ,               ｈｅｒ               ｅｙｅｓ               ｎａｒｒｏｗｉｎｇ.                "Ｕｍ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｓｏｒｒｙ."                "Ｓｈｅ'ｓ               ｓｏｒｒｙ,"               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｓａｙｓ               ｑｕｉｃｋｌｙ. Ｓｈｅ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｃｏｖｅｒｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｍｅ. "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｈｏｗ               ｓｈｅ               ｔａｌｋｓ."                "Ｗｅ               ｄｏ               ｎｏｔ               ｓｗｅａｒ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｃｌａｓｓｒｏｏｍ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｈｅｒ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｈｅａｄｓｃａｒｆ               ｄｒｏｏｐｉｎｇ               ａ               ｂｉｔ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｈｅｒ               ｅｙｅｌｉｄｓ.                Ｃｏｎｃｌｕｓｉｏｎ:               Ｉ               ａｍ               ｓｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｉｎｃｉｐａｌ'ｓ               ｏｆｆｉｃｅ               ａｎｄ               ｓｕｓｐｅｎｄｅｄ.                Ｔｈａｎｋ               ｔｈｅ               Ｌｏｒｄ               Ｉ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｐｏｌｉｔｅｌｙ               ｓｈｕｔ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｕｔｈ               ａｎｄ               ｌｅｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｌｅｃｔｕｒｅ               ｓｔｒｅａｍ               ｏｎ               ｕｎｉｎｔｅｒｒｕｐｔｅｄ. Ｔｈａｎｋ               Ｇｏｄ               ｆｏｒ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ. Ｓｈｅ               ｓａｖｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｓｋｉｎ,               ｂｕｔ-Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｌｅｆｔ               ａ               ｌａｓｔｉｎｇ               ｉｍｐｒｅｓｓｉｏｎ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               ｍｉｎｄｓ. Ｉ               ｌｅｆｔ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ               ｍｉｓｅｒｙ.                ****************************                "Ｙｏｕ               ｓｕｒｅ?"               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ａｓｋｅｄ. "Ｉｔ               ｓｏｕｎｄｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｉｓｅｒａｂｌｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｓｔｏｒｙ."                "Ｗａｔｃｈ               ｉｔ,               ｆｕｃｋｆａｃｅ,"               Ｉ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｈｅｒ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ｎｅｘｔ."                "Ｗｈａｔ,               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｒａｄｅ               ｏｆ               ｎｅｖｅｒ-ｅｎｄｉｎｇ               ｓｔｏｒｉｅｓ               ａｂｏｕｔ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               Ｓｔｅｉｎｈａｒｔ? Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｆｅａｒ,               ｔｈｅｙ'ｒｅ               ａｌｌ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｙｏｕ               ａｎｙｗａｙ!"                "Ａｎｙｗａｙ,               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｉｎｔ               ｉｓ,               ｉｆ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｈａｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｄｉｓｔｒａｃｔｉｎｇ               ｍｅ,               Ｉ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｏｎ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｍｙ               ｒａｎｔｓ. Ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｍｙ               ｅｐｉｃ               ｒａｎｔｓ."                "Ｅｐｉｃ               ｒａｎｔｓ,"               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ａｇｒｅｅｄ. Ｓｈｅ               ｐａｕｓｅｄ;               ｔｈｅｎ               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ:               "Ｗｈｅｒｅ'ｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｌｅａｒｎ               ｔｏ               ｓｗｅａｒ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈａｔ,               ａｎｙｗａｙ?"                "Ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｍｉｎｄ               ｔｈａｔ,"               Ｉ               ｍｕｔｔｅｒｅｄ. Ｉｔ               ａｃｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｗａｓ               ｍｙ               ｏｌｄｅｒ               ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ.                "Ｉ               ｇｕｅｓｓ               Ｉ'ｌｌ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｍｙ               ｏｗｎ               ｉｎｄｅｐｅｎｄｅｎｔ               ｒｅｓｅａｒｃｈ."                Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ               5                Ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｙｏｕ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｏｕｒ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｉｎ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ. Ｓｏ               ｌｅｔ               ｍｅ               ｄｏ               ｔｈａｔ.                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗａｓ               ａｌｌ               ｆｕｌｌ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｓｅ               ｏｂｓｅｓｓｉｏｎｓ               ａｎｄ               ｌｏａｔｈｉｎｇｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｅ. Ｈｅ               ａｂｓｏｌｕｔｅｌｙ               ｄｅｔｅｓｔｅｄ               ｍｅ,               Ａｓ               ｉｆ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｍｙ               ｆａｕｌｔ               ｗｅ               ｅｎｄｅｄ               ｕｐ               ｉｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｐｌａｃｅ!                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｃｌｅａｒ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｗｅ               ｇｏｔ               ｔｏ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｅａｃｈ-ｏｔｈｅｒ?"               Ｉ               ｄｉｄ. "Ａｎｄ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｇｏｏｄ,               ｒｉｇｈｔ? Ｕｈ-ｈｕｈ? Ｙｅａｈ? Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ?"                Ｉ               ｋｎｅｗ.                "Ａｎｄ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍｅａｎ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｙｏｕ?"               ｈｅ               ｒｅｐｅａｔｅｄ.                "Ｗｈａｔ?"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｃｏｎｆｕｓｅｄ. Ｍｅａｎ               ｗｈａｔ? Ｗｈａｔ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｉｔ               ｍｅａｎ? Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｏｅｓ               ｉｔ               ｍｅａｎ? Ｙｏｕ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ,               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ. Ｙｏｕ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ               ｗｈａｔ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｓｈｉｔ               ｍｅａｎｓ. Ｉ               ａｍ               ｉｎｖｉｔｅｄ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｓ               ｈｏｕｓｅ. Ｗｅ               ｓｍｏｋｅ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｗｅｅｄ               ｄｏｗｎｓｔａｉｒｓ. Ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｉｓ               ｇｏｏｄ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｌｅａｖｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｙ               ｆａｍｉｌｙ! Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｇｏｄｄａｍｎｉｔ! Ｗｈｙ               ｉｓ               Ｇｏｄ               ｓｏ               ｅｖｉｌ? Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｈａｓ               ｔｏ               ｒａｉｌ               ｏｎ               ｈｏｗ               ｈｅ               ｉｓ               ａｌｌ               ｈｕｎｇ               ｕｐ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｍｅ               ｎｏｔ               ｃａｌｌｉｎｇ               ｈｉｍ               ｅｖｅｒ               (ｌｉｋｅ               Ｉ               ｅｖｅｒ               ｄｉｄ),               ａｎｄ               ｍｙ               ｎｏｔ               ｒｅｔｕｒｎｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｃａｌｌｓ,               ｔｈｅ               ｈｏｒｒｉｂｌｅ               ｂｉｔｃｈ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｉ               ａｍ. Ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｔｏｏ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ａ               ｂｉｔｃｈ               ａｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｉｍｅ. Ｍａｙｂｅ               ｊｕｓｔ               ａ               ｃｕｎｔ. Ｂｕｔ               ｐｏｏｒ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ. Ｈｅ               ｇｏｅｓ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｒｕｇ               ｂｕｓｉｎｅｓｓ,               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｔｈａｔ. Ｈｅ'ｓ               ａ               ｐｕｓｈｅｒ. Ｈｅ               ｂｅ               ａ               ｐｕｓｈｅｒ. Ｅｌ               ｈａｂｌａ               ｅｓｐａｎｏｌ. Ｈｅ'ｓ               ｍｕｌｔｉｃｕｌｔｕｒａｌ.                Ａｈ,               ｇｌｏｂａｌｉｓｍ. Ｇｌｏｂａｌｉｓｍｏ,               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｐａｎｉｓｈ. Ｉ'ｍ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｅｄｕｃａｔｅｄ,               ａｆｔｅｒ               ａｌｌ.                Ａｎｄ               ａ               ｐｕｓｓｙ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｗｈｙ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               Ｉ               ｇｉｖｅ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ａ               ｃａｌｌ? Ｉ               ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅ               Ｉ'ｌｌ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｋｎｏｗ.                Ｓｏ               ｗｅ               ｐａｒｔｅｄ               ｗａｙｓ,               ｍｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ. Ｉ               ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅｄ               ｏｎ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｗｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｄｏ               ｂｅｓｔ,               ａｎｄ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｏｗｎ               ｅｍｐｉｒｅ.                "Ｉ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ａ               ｋｉｎｇ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔｌｙ,               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               ｆａｔ               ｃａｔ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｃｉｇａｒ               ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｍｏｕｔｈ. Ｈｅ               ｌｅａｎｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｂａｃｋ               ａｇａｉｎｓｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｒｉｍｙ               ｗａｌｌ               ａｎｄ               ｌｅｔ               ｉｔ               ａｂｓｏｒｂ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｃｕｍ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｆｅｓｔｅｒｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｓｉｎｃｅ               Ｇ-ｄ               ｋｎｏｗｓ               ｗｈｅｎ. Ｈｉｓ               ｂａｃｋ               ｗａｓ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｆｕｌｌ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｒｏｕｓ               ｓｔｕｆｆ               ｂｙ               ｎｏｗ. Ｗｅ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｈｅｒｅ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｗｏ               ｗｈｏｌｅ               ｈｏｕｒｓ.                Ｍｏｓｔｌｙ,               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｈｕｍｍｉｎｇ               ｐｏｐｕｌａｒ               ｔｕｎｅｓ               ｏｖｅｒ               ａｎｄ               ｏｖｅｒ               ａｇａｉｎ               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎｅｒｓ               ｙｅｌｌｅｄ               ａｔ               ｈｉｍ               ｔｏ               ｓｔｏｐ               ｏｒ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｗｈａｔ               ｓｏｎｇ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ.                "Ｅｖｅｒ               ｈｅａｒ               ｏｆ               Ｂｅｅｔｈｏｖｅｎ?"               ｏｎｅ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎｅｒ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅｄ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ,               ｔｈｅｎ               ｆｒｏｗｎｅｄ.                "Ｎｏ,               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｌｉｓｔｅｎ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ,"               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎｅｒ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｂｅａｒｄｅｄ               Ｒａｂｂｉ-ｔｙｐｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｈｅ               ｈａｄｎ'ｔ               ｅａｔｅｎ               ｂｒｅａｄ               ｏｒ               ｗａｔｅｒ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｗｏ               ｆｕｌｌ               ｄａｙｓ. "Ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｈｅａｒ               ａ               ｎｉｇｇｕｎ?"                "Ｍｙ               ｎａｍｅ               ｉｓ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,"               ｈｅ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎｅｒ. "Ｎｉｃｅ               ｔｏ               ｍｅｅｔ               ｙｏｕ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｈｅｒｅ,"               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｐｏｉｎｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｅｌｌ               ａｃｒｏｓｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｈｉｍ,               "ｉｓ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ."                "Ｖｅｒｙ               ｎｉｃｅ               ｔｏ               ｍｅｅｔ               ｙｏｕ,"               ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ-Ｆｉｇｕｒｅ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｈｅ               ｌｅｔ               ｕｓ               ｋｅｅｐ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ.                "Ｓｏ               ａｎｙｗａｙ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｉ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ａ               ｋｉｎｇ. Ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｒｅｖｅｌｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｍｙ               ｋｉｎｇｓｈｉｐ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｇｌｏｒｉｆｉｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｉｔ. Ｍｙ               ｈｏｎｏｒ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｇａｒｍｅｎｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｍｅ;               ｍｙ               ｅｎｅｍｉｅｓ               ｆｅｌｌ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｍｅ. Ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｍｙ               ｈｏｎｏｒ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｌｄｅｒ               ｔｈｕｇｓ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｉｔ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｍｅ."                "Ｗｈａｔ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ?"                "Ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ-ｐｉｅ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｐｏｉｎｔｅｄ               ａｃｅｒｂｉｔｙ,               "Ｉ               ｅｎａｃｔｅｄ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｅｎｔｅｒｐｒｉｓｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               Ｉｎｔｅｒｎｅｔ. Ｃｈａｔ               ｒｏｏｍｓ,               Ｍｙｓｐａｃｅ,               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ               ｎａｍｅ. Ｉ               ｄｉｄ               ｉｔ. Ｉ               ｓｐｒｅａｄ               ｍｙｓｅｌｆ               ａｌｌ               ｏｖｅｒ,               ｍａｄｅ               ｍｙｓｅｌｆ               ａｎ               ｅｎｔｒｅｐｒｅｎｅｕｒ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｃｒｅａｔｉｖｅ               ｓｈｉｔ. Ａ               ｃｒｅａｔｉｖｅ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｓｈｉｔ."                "Ｙｏｕ               ａｒｅ               ｖｅｒｉｆｉａｂｌｙ               ｃｒａｚｙ."                "Ｓｏ               Ｉ               ａｍ. Ｋｉｌｌ               ｍｅ."                "Ｎｏ. Ｉ               ｃａｎ'ｔ. Ａｎｄ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｉｆ               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄ,               Ｉ'ｄ               ｇｏ               ｔｏ               ｈｅｌｌ               ａｎｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｙｏｕ."                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓｔａｒｅｄ               ｂａｃｋ. "Ａｈ! Ｓｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｏ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｍｅ! Ｗｈａｔ               ａ               ｎｉｃｅ               ｓｕｒｐｒｉｓｅ!"                Ｉ               ｅｙｅｄ               ｈｉｍ. Ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｗｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｓａｙ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅ               ｃｏｎｎｏｔａｔｉｏｎ?                "Ｅｎｏｕｇｈ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗａｖｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｈａｎｄ. "Ｌｅｔ               ｍｅ               ｐｒｏｃｅｅｄ."                "Ｆｕｃｋ               ｔｈａｔ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｗａｓｔｉｎｇ               ｔｉｍｅ. Ｊｕｓｔ               ｇｅｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｒｔ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｇｅｔ               ａｒｒｅｓｔｅｄ,               ｆｏｒ               ｗｈａｔｅｖｅｒ... ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｄｏｉｎｇ. Ａｎｄ               ｗｈｙ               Ｉ'ｍ               ａｌｓｏ               ｓｕｓｐｅｃｔｅｄ               ｏｆ               ａｉｄｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕ               ｉｎ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｌａｔｅｓｔ               ｐｌｏｙ               ｔｏ               ｔａｋｅ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｏｒｌｄ."                "Ａｈ,               ｒｅｓｏｒｔｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｃｌｉｃｈéｓ! Ｔｈｉｓ               Ｉ               ｌｉｋｅ!"               Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｄｅｆｉｎｉｔｅｌｙ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ａｎｎｏｙｉｎｇ.                "Ｔｏｏ               ｍｕｃｈ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｆｉｎｅ,               ｆｉｎｅ. Ｉ'ｌｌ               ｇｅｔ               ｔｏ               ｉｔ. Ｂｕｔ               ｆｉｒｓｔ,               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｐｒｕｎｅ               ｊｕｉｃｅ?"               Ｈｅ               ｏｆｆｅｒｅｄ               ｍｅ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｈｉｓ               ｔｒａｙ.                "Ｎｏ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｆｉｎｅ,               ｂｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗａｙ!"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ａｎｙｗａｙ...                "Ｙｏｕ               ｌｉｓｔｅｎｉｎｇ?                "Ｔｈｅｙ               ｔｏｏｋ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｉｎ               ｅｉｇｈｔｈ               ｇｒａｄｅ. Ｊｕｖｉｅ,               ｔｈｅｙ               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               ｉｔ. Ｉｎ               Ｊｕｖｉｅ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｍａｎｙ               ｄｉｆｆｅｒｅｎｔ               ｋｉｎｄｓ               ｏｆ               ｋｉｄｓ. Ｂｅｉｎｇ               ａ               Ｎｅｗ-Ｙｏｒｋ               Ｊｅｗ               ａｎｄ               ａｌｌ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ａ               Ｌｏｓ-Ａｎｇｅｌｅｓ               Ｊｅｗ,               Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｍｕｃｈ               ｏｐｐｏｒｔｕｎｉｔｙ               ｔｏ               ｂｒａｎｃｈ               ｏｕｔ. Ｉ               ｍｅｔ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               ａｌｌ               ａｃｒｏｓｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｏｒｌｄ. Ａｍｏｎｇ               ｔｈｅｍ:               Ｓｗｉｓｓ,               Ｋｕｒｄｓ,               Ｍｅｘｉｃａｎｓ,               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎｓ,               Ｉｒａｎｉａｎｓ               (ｗｅｌｌ,               Ｉｒａｎｉａｎ               Ｊｅｗｓ)               ａｎｄ               Ｃｉｒｃａｓｓｉａｎｓ. Ａｎｄ,               ｂｕｍ               ｄａ               ｄｕｍ               ｂｕｍ:               Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉｓ! Ｏｆ               ａｌｌ               ｓｔｒｉｐｅ               ａｎｄ               ｃｏｌｏｒ:               ｂｌｏｎｄ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉｓ,               ｂｒｏｗｎ-ｈａｉｒｅｄ,               ｅｔｃ... Ｉ               ｃａｎ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ｂｏｒｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｃａｔａｌｏｇｕｉｎｇ,               ｓｏ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｓｔｏｐ. Ｂｅｓｉｄｅｓ,               ｙｏｕ'ｖｅ               ｓｅｅｎ               ｔｈｅｍ               ａｌｌ               ａｎｙｗａｙ."                "Ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ａ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｓｔｏｒｙｔｅｌｌｅｒ. Ｓｕｒｐｒｉｓｅｄ               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｈａｔ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ."                "Ｙｏｕ'ｖｅ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｓｗｅｅｔ               ｕｎｄｅｒ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｂｒｉｓｔｌｙ               ｓｋｉｎ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ-ｐｉｅ."                "Ｆｕｃｋ               ｙｏｕ. Ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｇｏｔ               ｍｅ               ｈｅｒｅ. Ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈｙＩ'ｍ               ｈｅｒｅ."                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓｔｏｏｄ               ｓｉｌｅｎｃｅｄ               (ｏｒ               ｒａｔｈｅｒ,               ｓａｔ). Ａｆｔｅｒ               ａ               ｍｉｎｕｔｅ               ｏｒ               ｔｗｏ,               ｈｅ               ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｅｄ,               "Ｉ'ｍ               ｓｏｒｒｙ. Ｈｏｎｅｓｔ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｊｕｓｔ               ａｎ               ｅｒｒｏｒ. Ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ               ｅｌｓｅ               ｉｎ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｃｅｌｌ."                "5               ｍｉｎｕｔｅｓ               ｔｏ               ｌｉｇｈｔｓ               ｏｕｔ!"               ｙｅｌｌｅｄ               ａ               ｗａｒｄｅｎ.                "Ｗｈｏ?"               Ｉ               ｄｅｍａｎｄｅｄ.                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｈｅｓｉｔａｔｅｄ. "Ｌｏｏｋ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｍｙ               ｉｄｅａ               ｔｏ               ｈａｖｅ               ｏｕｒ               ｆａｍｉｌｉｅｓ               ｍｏｖｅ               ｔｏ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌ."                "Ｗｈａｔ?"                "Ｉ               ｍｅｔ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｃｏｏｌ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉｓ               ｉｎ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｌ.Ａ. ｊａｉｌ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｗｅ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ａ               ｄｒｕｇ               ｅｎｔｅｒｐｒｉｓｅ... ｓｐａｎｎｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｌｏｖｅ. Ａｌｏｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               Ｐａｋｉｓｔａｎｉｓ,               Ｍｅｘｉｃａｎｓ               ａｎｄ               Ｓｏｕｔｈ               Ａｆｒｉｃａｎｓ. Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               ｇｌｏｂａｌｉｓｍ. Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               Ｊｅｗｓ               ａｎｄ               Ｍｕｓｌｉｍｓ               ｗｏｒｋ               ｔｏｇｅｔｈｅｒ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｗｅｌｌ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｉｔ               ｃｏｍｅｓ               ｔｏ               ｄｅｆｅａｔｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｓｔａｂｌｉｓｈｍｅｎｔ. Ｉｎ               ｆａｃｔ,               ａｎｙｏｎｅ               ｗｈｏ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ               ｉｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈａｔ. Ａｓ               ｌｏｎｇ               ａｓ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ａｎ               ｏｕｔｓｉｄｅｒ,               ｔｈｅｎ               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｏｋａｙ,               ａｓ               Ｉ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｏ               ｓａｙ!"                "Ｓｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｔｈｉｓ... ｅｎｔｅｒｐｒｉｓｅ."               Ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ. "Ａｎｄ               ｗｈｙ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｂｒｉｎｇ               ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ               ｅｌｓｅ'ｓ               ｆａｍｉｌｙ               ｉｎｓｔｅａｄ               ｏｆ               ｍｉｎｅ? Ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｕｌｄ'ｖｅ               ｂｒｏｕｇｈｔ               ａｎｙｏｎｅ! Ａｎｙ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｄｒｕｇ               ｂｕｄｄｉｅｓ!"                "Ｂｅｄｔｉｍｅ,"               ｓｐａｔ               ａ               ｇｕａｒｄ. "Ｎｏ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ."                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｌｅａｎｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｃｌｏｓｅｒ               ｏｎｃｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｕａｒｄ               ｈａｄ               ｇｏｎｅ. "Ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｓｕｂｌｉｍｉｎａｌｌｙ               ｃｏｎｖｉｎｃｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｔｏ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌ               ,               Ｐａｒａｄｉｓｅ               ｏｆ               Ｄｒｕｇｓ,               ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｂｕｉｌｄ               ｕｐ               ｍｙ               ｅｍｐｉｒｅ. Ｉ               ｄｉｄ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈａｔ               ａｎｙｏｎｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｅｘｐｅｃｔ. Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               Ｉ               ｂｏｕｇｈｔ               ｔｈｅｍ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉ               ｐｒｏｄｕｃｔｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓｕｃｈ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｔｈｅｙ               ａｓｋｅｄ,               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               Ｉ               ｆｏｕｎｄ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｈｅａｐ,               ｏｒ               ｎｏｎｓｅｎｓｅ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈａｔ. Ｏｒ               ａ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ               ｈａｄ               ｇｉｖｅｎ               ｉｔ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ               (ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｗａｓ               ｔｒｕｅ               ｉｎ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｃａｓｅｓ-Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉ               ｐｉｃｋｌｅｓ               ｓｔｏｌｅｎ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｎｔｒｙ               ｏｆ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｍｙ               ｄｒｕｇ               ｂｕｄｄｉｅｓ               (ｓｔｏｌｅｎ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｈｉｓ               ｐａｒｅｎｔａｌｓ)). Ｗｈｅｎ               ｍｙ               ｐａｒｅｎｔａｌｓ               ｃａｍｅ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｃｏｎｔａｃｔ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｙｏｕｒｓ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｂｂａｔｈ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｓｉｍｐｌｅ               ｍａｔｔｅｒ               ｏｆ               ｍｅ               ｉｎｓｅｒｔｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｏｐｉｃ               ｏｆ               ｆｏｏｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｗａｔｃｈｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｇｏ               ｏｆｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｒａｉｌｓ! Ｔｈｅｙ               ｍｏｖｅ               ｔｏ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌ               ,               ａｎｄ               ｔａｋｅ               ｕｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅｍ.                "Ｕｎｆｏｒｔｕｎａｔｅｌｙ,               ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅ               ａ               ｓａｄ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｆｏｏｔｎｏｔｅ. Ｉ               ａｃｃｉｄｅｎｔａｌｌｙ               ｗｒｏｔｅ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｎａｍｅ               ｏｎ               ａ               ｇｏｖｅｒｎｍｅｎｔ               ｆｏｒｍ,               ｓａｙｉｎｇ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｍｙ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｃｏｎｔａｃｔ               ｉｎ               ａｎｙ               ｃａｓｅ               ｏｆ               ｅｍｅｒｇｅｎｃｙ."                "Ａｃｃｉｄｅｎｔｌｙ?"                "Ｕｍ,               ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｃｏｎｔａｃｔ               Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｍｅ,               Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｐｕｔ               ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ."                Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ａｎｇｒｙ. Ｓｔｅｗｅｄ,               ｉｎ               ｆａｃｔ. "Ｔｈｅｎ               ｗａｉｔ               ａ               ｂｉｔ,               ｔｉｌｌ               ｙｏｕ               ｍｅｅｔ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｄｒｕｇｇｉｅ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ!"                "Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｃａｌｌ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｔｈａｔ!"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓｎａｐｐｅｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｍｉｇｈｔ               ａｓ               ｗｅｌｌ               ｂｅ               ｉｎｓｕｌｔｉｎｇ               ｍｅ."                "Ｉ               ｇｕｅｓｓ               Ｉ               ａｍ."                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓｉｇｈｅｄ. "Ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｇｅｔ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｈｅｒｅ,               Ｉ'ｍ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ｍｅ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｎｉｃｅ               ＣｒａｃｋｅｒＪａｃｋｓ."                Ｔｈｅ               ｌｉｇｈｔｓ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｏｕｔ.                Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ               6                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｉｎ               ｊａｉｌ               ｆｏｒ               ｓｉｘ               ｄａｙｓ. Ｉ               ｇｕｅｓｓ               ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｌｕｃｋｙ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｗｅ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ'ｖｅ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｔｈｉｒｔｙ. Ｍａｙｂｅ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｈａｄ               ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ               ｏｎ               ｍｅ               (ｏｒ               ｍａｙｂｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｈａｄ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               Ｕ.Ｓ. ａｂｏｕｔ               ｍｙ               ｖａｒｉｏｕｓ               6ｔｈ               ｇｒａｄｅ               ｍｉｓｄｅｍｅａｎｏｒｓ-Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ). Ｍａｙｂｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｈａｄ               ａｖｅｒａｇｅｄ               ｍｙ               ａｎｄ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ'ｓ               ｓｅｎｔｅｎｃｅｓ;               ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｎ,               ｗａｉｔ,               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｉｍｐｏｓｓｉｂｌｅ               ｔｏ               ａｖｅｒａｇｅ               ｚｅｒｏ               ａｎｄ               ｉｎｆｉｎｉｔｙ! Ｎｏ               ｏｎｅ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｙｏｕ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｍａｔｈ               ｍａｊｏｒ,               ｈｕｈ,               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ? Ｇｉｖｅ               ｕｓ               ｔｉｍｅ-ｉｔ'ｓ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｕｒｔｈ               ｄａｙ               ｏｆ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ.                Ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               Ｉ... ｏｈ,               ｓｏ               ｗｅ               ｇｏｔ               ｏｕｔ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｐｒａｎｃｉｎｇ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｔｅｌｌｉｎｇ               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｉｔ. Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗａｓ               ｔａｇｇｉｎｇ               ａｌｏｎｇ,               ｔｈｉｒｓｔｙ               ｆｏｒ               ｓｏｍｅ               ａｔｔｅｎｔｉｏｎ,               ｌｉｋｅ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｕｎｃａｒｅｄ-ｆｏｒ               ｄｏｇ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｈｅ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ,               ｂｕｔ               ａｔ               ｌｅａｓｔ               ｈｅ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｄｉｇｎｉｆｉｅｄ               . . . ａｈ,               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｋｉｄｄｉｎｇ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ!                Ｗｅ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｇｏｔ               ａ               ｒｅｃｅｐｔｉｏｎ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈａｔ               ｏｌｄ               ｍｅａｎｉｅ,               Ｍｒｓ. Ｒｏｔｈｅｎｂｅｒｇｅｒ.                "Ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｓｅｅ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｂａｃｋ. Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ!"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｗ               ｕｓ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｈａｌｌｗａｙ.                "Ｙｅｓ!"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｐｒｏｕｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ.                "Ｓｏ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ?"               ｓａｉｄ               Ｍｒｓ. Ｒｏｔｈｅｎｂｅｒｇｅｒ.                "Ｙｅｓ!"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈｙ               ｍｙ               ｖｏｌｕｍｅ               ｌｅｖｅｌ               ｗａｓ               ｕｐ. Ａｆｔｅｒ               ａｌｌ,               Ｉ               ｄｉｄ               ｄｉｓｌｉｋｅ               ｈｅｒ-ｒｉｇｈｔ?                "Ｏｈ,               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｆａｍｏｕｓ!"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｏｙｓ               ａｒｅ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｙｏｕ."                "Ｈｏｐｅｆｕｌｌｙ               Ｉ               ｃａｎ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｍ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｍｕｔｔｅｒｅｄ.                "Ｉ'ｍ               ｓｕｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｗｉｌｌ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｈｕｈ? Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ａｓｋ               ｙｏｕ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ. Ｂｕｔ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｓｕｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｗｉｌｌ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｌｅｆｔ.                "Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｎｄ               ａｌｍｏｓｔ               ｔｏｏｋ               ｈｉｍ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ａｒｍ               (Ｉ               ｓａｗ               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒ               ｒｏｕｎｄｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｒｎｅｒ               ｗｈｏ               ｗａｓ               ｓｔａｒｉｎｇ               ｓｕｓｐｉｃｉｏｕｓｌｙ               ａｔ               ｕｓ). "Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｗｅ               ａｌｍｏｓｔ               ｈａｖｅｎ'ｔ               ｔａｌｋｅｄ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｃｌａｓｓｅｓ. Ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｃｌａｓｓｅｓ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ."               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｕｒｐｒｉｓｉｎｇ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｍｙｓｅｌｆ.                Ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔｕｄｅｎｔｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｔａｒｉｎｇ               ａｔ               ｕｓ               ａｓ               ｗｅ               ｗａｌｋｅｄ               ｐａｓｔ. Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｗａｖｅｄ               ａｓ               ｗｅ               ｗａｌｋｅｄ               ｐａｓｔ.                "Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ               ｎｏ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｗｈａｔ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ? Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ａｓｋｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｃｌａｓｓｅｓ,               ｓｔｕｐｉｄ."                "Ｓｈｕｔ               ｕｐ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｅｄ.                "Ｙｏｕ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｓｅｅｍ               ｓｏ               ｍｏｒｏｓｅ               ｉｎ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｐｌｅａｓｅ               ｌｉｇｈｔｅｎ               ｕｐ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ.                "Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓｎ'ｔ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ! Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ!"               Ｙｅｓ,               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｍｙ               ｎａｍｅ.                "Ｈｅｙ,               ｉｔ'ｓ               Ｎａｏｒ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｊａｕｎｔｉｌｙ               ｗａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｈａｌｌ               ｉｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｎｏｔ-ｑｕｉｔｅ-ｓｔｒｕｔｔｉｎｇ               ｍａｎｎｅｒ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍａｎｙ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｍｉｄｄｌｅ-Ｅａｓｔｅｒｎ               ｖａｒｉｅｔｙ               ｐｏｓｓｅｓｓ. Ｉ.ｅ. ｓｈａｋｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｈｉｐｓ               ａｎｄ               ｈｏｐｉｎｇ               ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ               ｗｉｌｌ               ｎｏｔｉｃｅ               ｙｏｕ. Ａｈ,               ｗｅｌｌ. Ｉ               ｈａｐｐｅｎ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｔｈａｔ,               ｔｏｏ.                Ａｎｄ               ｓｏ               ｄｏｅｓ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ.                Ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｄｏ               ｉｔ               ｂａｃｋ               ｔｈｅｎ.                "Ｊｉｍｍｙ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｍａｎｎｅｒ               ｏｆ               ｏｎｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｉｎｓｔｒｕｃｔｓ,               "Ｙｏｕ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｄｏ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｎａｏｒ. Ｎａｏｒ               ｗｉｌｌ               ｓｈｏｗ               ｙｏｕ               ｈｏｗ               ｔｏ               ｊｉｖｅ-ｗａｌｋ."                "Ｙｏｕ               ｋｉｄｄｉｎｇ               ｍｅ? Ｎａｏｒ?"                "Ｈｅｙ,               ｇｕｙｚ. Ｖａｓｓｕｐ?"               Ｎａｏｒ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｈｅｙ,               Ｎａｏｒ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｔａｋｅ               ａ               ｗａｌｋ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｕｓ? Ｗｅ'ｌｌ               ｓｈｏｗ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｈｏｗ               ｔｏ               ｗａｌｋ. Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               Ｓｅｐｈａｒｄｉ."                "Ａｒｓ               *               ,"               Ｎａｏｒ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ａｃｃｅｎｔｅｄ               "ｒ". "Ｙｏｕ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｍｙ               ｎａｍｅ. Ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｉｔ;               Ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｃａｌｌ               ｍｅ."                "Ｈｏｗ'ｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｇｅｔ               ｓｕｃｈ               ｇｏｏｄ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ?"               ａｎ               ａｍａｚｅｄ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ               ｍａｔｔｅｒ. ＴＶ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｗａｎｔ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｈｏｗ               ｙｏｕ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ?"                "ＯＫ!"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｅｖｅｎ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ               ｓｅｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｍｕｌｔｉｐｌｅ               ｔｉｍｅｓ.                "Ｈａｖｅ               ｆｕｎ!"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｗｏ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｍ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｉｓｈｅｄ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｍｅｒｒｙ               ｗａｙ. Ａｓ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｌｅａｖｅ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｌｅａｎｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｃｌｏｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ               ａｎｄ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｈｅ               ｌｉｋｅｓ               ｍｅ!"                "Ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ               ｈｅ               ｌｉｋｅｓ               ｙｏｕ,               ｙｏｕ               ｉｄｉｏｔ,"               Ｉ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｓａｙ,               ｂｕｔ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ. Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ,               ｔｈａｔ               ｌｅａｒｎｉｎｇ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ               ｃａｎ               ｂｅ               ｈａｒｄ.                Ｉｓｒａｅｌ               ｉｓ               ａ               ｄｉｆｆｅｒｅｎｔ               ｃｕｌｔｕｒｅ. Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｅａｓｙ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ｌｏｓｔ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆａｃｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｄｉｆｆｅｒｅｎｔ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｅｌｓｅ. Ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｓｔｕｐｉｄ. Ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｅｌｓｅ               ｉｓ               ｉｇｎｏｒｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕ. Ｔｈｅ               ｔｒｕｔｈ               ｉｓ,               ｙｏｕ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ａｒｅ               ａｔ               ｌｅａｓｔ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｓｔｕｐｉｄ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｌｅａｒｎｉｎｇ               ｈｏｗ               ｔｏ               ａｄａｐｔ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｆｏｒｅｉｇｎ               ｅｎｖｉｒｏｎｍｅｎｔ. Ｂｕｔ               ｉｆ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ａｒｅ               ｉｇｎｏｒｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕ,               ｔｈｅｎ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｎｏｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｉｄｉｏｔ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ａｒｅ. Ｙｏｕ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ               ｔｈａｔ               ｉｆ               ｙｏｕ               ｅｖｅｒ               ｇｏ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｆｏｒｅｉｇｎ               ｃｏｕｎｔｒｙ,               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ.                "Ｏｋａｙ,               ｍｏｍ,"               ｓａｙｓ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ.                "Ａｎｙｗａｙ,"               Ｉ               ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅ,               "Ｎａｏｒ               ｇｏｅｓ               ｏｆｆ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｈａｖｅ               ａ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｔｉｍｅ. Ｙａｙ. Ａｎｄ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｌｅｆｔ               ｔｏ               ｄｅａｌ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｉｌｌｉｃｉｔ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ. Ｗｈａｔ               ａｒｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｕｐ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｔｉｍｅ? Ｗｅｌｌ,               'ｎｏ               ｇｏｏｄ'               ｉｓ               ａｎ               ｅｘｃｅｌｌｅｎｔ               ｗａｙ               ｏｆ               ｐｕｔｔｉｎｇ               ｉｔ.                ___________________________________________________________                Ｂｏｏｍ...Ｂｏｏｍ...Ｂｏｏｍ...Ｔｈｕｍｐ. Ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｏｕｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｍｅ               ｊｕｍｐｉｎｇ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｌｅａｃｈｅｒｓ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｉｔｙ               ｓｏｃｃｅｒ               ｓｔａｄｉｕｍ,               ｊｕｓｔ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｋｉｌｏｍｅｔｅｒｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｏｕｒ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｇｒｏｕｐｉｎｇ               ｏｆ               ｈｏｕｓｅｓ               ｏｎ               ａ               ｈｉｌｌ. Ａ               ｄｉｒｔ               ｈｉｌｌ,               Ｉ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ａｄｄ. Ｂｕｔ               ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｉｒｒｅｌｅｖａｎｔ.                Ｗｈａｔ'ｓ               ｒｅｌｅｖａｎｔ               ｉｓ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｅｅｉｎｇ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｐｒａｃｔｉｃｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｔｅａｍ               ｏｆ               ｐａｌｓ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ｈａｄ               ｇｒａｄｕａｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｗｏ-ｗｏｒｄ               ｐｈｒａｓｅｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               "ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｃｏｏｌ,"               "ｃｈａｓｅ               ｉｔ,"               ａｎｄ               "ｈｉｇｈ-ｆｉｖｅ"               (ａ               ｆａｖｏｒｉｔｅ               ａｍｏｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉｓ-ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｊｕｓｔ               Ｂｏｒａｔ,               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ). Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗａｓ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ａ               ｒｅａｌ               ｅｄｕｃａｔｉｏｎ,               ｗｈａｔ               ｃａｎ               Ｉ               ｓａｙ. Ｈａｒｖａｒｄ-ｅｓｑｕｅ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｍａｋｅ               Ｌｅｇａｌｌｙ               Ｂｌｏｎｄｅ               3               ａｎｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｉｔ               ｂｅ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｈｉｍ. Ｉ'ｌｌ               ｂｅ               ｈｉｓ               ｇｉｒｌｆｒｉｅｎｄ.                Ｏｋａｙ,               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ               ｏｆ               ｔｈａｔ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｅｅ               ｈｉｍ               ａｎｄ               ｉｎ               ｅｘｃｈａｎｇｅ,               ｈｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｃｏｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｅｅ               ｍｅ. Ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,               ｈｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｑｕｉｚ               ｍｅ               ｏｎ               ｍｙ               ｓｈｉｔ,               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅｓｅ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｗｏｎｄｅｒｆｕｌ               ｃｏｌｏｒｆｕｌ               ｃａｒｄｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗｅ               ｈａｄ,               ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｃｏｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｓ               ｇａｍｅｓ. Ａｎｄ,               ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ,               ｈｉｓ               ｐｒａｃｔｉｃｅｓ.                Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｍｙ               ｓｈｉｔ               ｓｐｒｅａｄ               ｏｕｔ               ａｌｌ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｂｅｎｃｈｅｓ               ａｄｊａｃｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ-Ｄｅｕｔｅｒｏｎｏｍｙ,               Ｅｘｏｄｕｓ,               Ｇｅｎｅｓｉｓ,               Ｋｉｎｇｓ,               Ｊｕｄｇｅｓ... ｙｏｕ               ｎａｍｅ               ｉｔ. Ｉ'ｄ               ｇｏｔｔｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｅｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｃｏｎｓｅｒｖａｔｉｖｅ               ａｕｔｈｏｒｉｔｉｅｓ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｍｂａｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ａｗｆｕｌ               Ｏｒｔｈｏｄｏｘ               ａｒｒｏｇａｎｃｅ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｃａｐｉｔａｌ               Ａ,               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｈａｓ               ｔｏ               ｏｆｆｅｒ.                Ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｏｒｔｈｏｄｏｘ               ｂｉｇｏｔｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｈａｔｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓｔｒｅｉｍｅｌｓ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｎｏｔ-ｓｏ-Ｏｒｔｈｏｄｏｘ               ｃｏｕｓｉｎｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｋｎｉｔｔｅｄ               ｃｏｌｏｒｆｕｌ               ｈｉｐｐｅｅ               ｙａｍｕｌｋｅｅｓ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｍｏｎｏｐｏｌｉｚｅ               Ｇ-ｄ               ａｎｄ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｎ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｎａｍｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｃｏａｔｓ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｅｇｒｅｇａｔｉｏｎ. Ｏｆ               ｗｏｍｅｎ,               Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ. Ｗｏｍｅｎ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｓｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｐｕｂｌｉｃ,               ｗｏｍｅｎ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｐｒａｙ               ｉｎ               ｐｕｂｌｉｃ,               ｗｏｍｅｎ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｏｂｅｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｍａｌｅ               ａｕｔｈｏｒｉｔｉｅｓ. Ｍｅａｎｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｒａｂｂｉｓ.                Ｔｈｅ               ｒａｂｂｉｓ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｏｗｎ               Ｇ-ｄ. Ｈｅ               ｉｓ               ａｎ               ｏｌｄ               ｍａｎ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｌｏｎｇ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｃｏａｔ.                "Ｉｓ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               Ｉ               ｓｅｅ?"               ｓａｉｄ               ａ               ｖｏｉｃｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｌｏｎｇ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｃｏａｔ               ａｎｄ               ａ               ｃｉｒｃｕｌａｒ               ｆｕｒｒｙ               ｈａｔ. Ｉ               ｔｒｉｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｉｇｎｏｒｅ               ｈｉｍ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ!"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｔｕｒｎ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｃａｎ               ｓｅｅ               ｙｏｕ."               Ｉ               ｒｅｌｕｃｔａｎｔｌｙ               ｄｉｄ               ｓｏ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｓｔｕｎｎｉｎｇ               ｂｅａｕｔｙ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｎｏ,               ｈｅ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ａｃｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｓａｙ               ｔｈａｔ. Ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ! Ｎｏｔ               ｏｆｔｅｎ               Ｉ               ｓｅｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｏｕｔｓｉｄｅ               ｏｆ               ｃｌａｓｓ!"                Ｎｏ               ｓｈｉｔ,               Ｒａｂｂｉ. "Ｕｍ,               Ｒａｂｂｉ,               ｓｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｓｉｔ               ｄｏｗｎ?"               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｈｉｍ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｆｏｒｃｅｄ               ｃｈｅｅｒｆｕｌ               ｓｍｉｌｅ               ｏｎ               ｍｙ               ｆａｃｅ. Ａ               ｓｍｉｌｅ               ｉｓ               ｗｏｒｔｈ               ａ               ｔｈｏｕｓａｎｄ               Ａ'ｓ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｆｉｎｅ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ａｓ               ｌｏｎｇ               ａｓ               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ               ｉｆ               ｉｔ               ｖｉｏｌａｔｅｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｗｓ               ｏｆ               ｙｉｃｈｕｄ."                Ｙｉｃｈｕｄ. Ｔｈｅ               ｓｅｔ               ｏｆ               ｌａｗｓ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｔｅｌｌｓ               ｍｅ               ｗｈｅｎ/ｗｈｅｒｅ               Ｉ               ｍａｙ               ｂｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｂｏｙ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｒｅｆｏｒｅ               ｄｅｓｉｇｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｒｅｇｕｌａｔｅ               ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ.                "Ｎｏ,               ｎｏ!"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｉｔ               ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ               ｖｉｏｌａｔｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｗｓ."                "Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｗｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｓａｔ               ｄｏｗｎ. "Ｓｏ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ               ｗｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｏｎ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｇａｍｅ. Ｗｈｏ               ｉｓ               ｗｉｎｎｉｎｇ."                "Ｗｅｌｌ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｅｌｄ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ｈａｄ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ａ               ｓｃｒｉｍｍａｇｅ. Ｆｕｃｋ               ｍｅ,               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｏ               ｅｎｇｒｏｓｓｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｍｙ               ｓｔｕｄｙｉｎｇ. Ｉ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｃｕｐ               ｍｙ               ｈａｎｄｓ               ｔｏ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｕｔｈ               ｉｎ               ｏｒｄｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｃｈｅｅｒ               ｏｎ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｂｕｔ... Ｉ               ｈｅｓｉｔａｔｅｄ. Ａｎｄ               ｓｔｏｐｐｅｄ. Ａｓ               Ｉ               ｓａｔ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｙ               ｈａｎｄｓ               ｉｎ               ｍｙ               ｌａｐ,               ｐｏｗｅｒｌｅｓｓ               ｔｏ               ａｃｔ,               Ｉ               ｗｏｎｄｅｒｅｄ,               ｗｈｙ               ａｍ               Ｉ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｓｔｏｐｐｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｔｉｎｅｒａｎｔ               ｒａｂｂｉ? Ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｉｔ               ｂｅ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｉ               ａｍ               ａｃｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｅｍｂａｒｒａｓｓｅｄ?                Ｎｏ,               ｉｔ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ.                Ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｐｕｔ               ｍｙ               ｈａｎｄｓ               ｔｏ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｕｔｈ               ａｎｄ               ｙｅｌｌｅｄ. "Ｈｅｙ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ! Ｇｏ               ｓｃｏｒｅ               ａ               ｇｏａｌ!"                Ｔｈｅ               ｒｅｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｌａｙｅｒｓ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｌｏｏｋ               ａｔ               ｕｓ. Ａｆｔｅｒ               ａ               ｍｏｍｅｎｔ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｌａｕｇｈｉｎｇ. Ｔｈｅ               ｒａｂｂｉ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｈａｄ               ａ               ｄａｎｇｌｉｎｇ               ｂｏｏｇｅｒ               ｏｒ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ.                "Ｉｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｂｏｙｆｒｉｅｎｄ?"               ｔｈｅ               ｒａｂｂｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                Ｗｅｒｅ               ｒａｂｂｉｓ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｄｉｒｅｃｔ?                "Ｕｍ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ａｓ               Ｉ               ｔｒｉｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｍｅ               ｕｐ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａｎ               ａｎｓｗｅｒ. "Ｓｏ,               ｒａｂｂｉ,               ｈｏｗ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｏｉｎｇ?"                "Ｇｏｏｄ,               ｇｏｏｄ!"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ａｎｄ               ｒｕｍｍａｇｅｄ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｂｒｉｅｆｃａｓｅ. "Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｇｉｖｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ. Ｄｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｕｍｍｏｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｍｐｅｔｅ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｄｅｂａｔｅ? Ａｂｏｕｔ               ｈｏｌｙ               ｓｔｕｄｉｅｓ?"                Ｉ               ｋｎｕｂｂｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｎｏｓｅ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｉｎ               ｄｉｓｔａｓｔｅ. "Ｄｅｂａｔｅ? Ａｂｏｕｔ               Ｂｉｂｌｅ?"                "Ｎｏ,               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｈｏｌｙ               ｓｔｕｄｉｅｓ               ｉｎ               ｇｅｎｅｒａｌ. Ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ,               ｍｏｒａｌｉｔｙ,               Ｂｉｂｌｅ,               Ｔａｌｍｕｄ,               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ａｎｄ               ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ. Ｉｔ'ｌｌ               ａｌｌ               ｂｅ               ｔｈｅｒｅ. Ｉｎ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｈｅａｄ. Ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｃｈｏｏｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｐａｒｔｉｃｉｐａｔｅ,               ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ."                Ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               Ｉ               ｃｈｏｏｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｐａｒｔｉｃｉｐａｔｅ. Ｓｏｕｎｄｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               ｇｕｉｌｔ-ｔｒｉｐ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ.                "Ｎｏ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｐｒｏｍｐｔｌｙ,               ａｎｄ               ｆｉｎａｌｌｙ,               ａｎｄ               ａｓ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉｓ               ｓａｉｄ               ｉｔ,               ｈａｐｐｉｌｙ.                "Ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｕｒｅ?"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｗａｇｇｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｐｅｒｓ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ａｉｒ               ａｎｄ               ａｒｃｈｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｅｙｅｂｒｏｗｓ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ,               ｅｍ,               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ,               ｉｓ               ｐａｒｔｉｃｉｐａｔｉｎｇ. Ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｓａｙ,               ｓｈｅ               ｉｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｍａｉｎ               ｃｏｎｔｅｓｔａｎｔ."                Ｍａｉｎ               ｃｏｎｔｅｓｔａｎｔ? Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ? Ｉｔ               ａｌｌ               ｌｅｆｔ               ｍｅ               ｆｅｅｌｉｎｇ               ｃｏｎｆｕｓｅｄ.                Ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｑｕｉｅｔ               ｐｅｒｓｏｎ. Ｓｔｕｄｉｏｕｓ,               ｙｅｓ. Ｎｏｔ               ｌｏｕｄ. Ｖｅｒｙ               ｑｕｉｅｔ. Ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｎ               ｉｍｍｉｇｒａｎｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｍｅ,               Ｉ               ｇｕｅｓｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｐｌａｙ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｉｔ. Ｈｅｒ               ｆａｍｉｌｙ               ｉｍｍｉｇｒａｔｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｒｕｓｓｉａ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｎｉｎｅ. Ｈｅｒ               ａｎｄ               ｈｅｒ               ｂｌｉｔｈｅ,               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｌｙ               Ｒｕｓｓｉａｎ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ               ｗｈｏ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ａ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               Ｊｕｄａｉｓｍ. Ｗｈｏ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ. Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｌａｍｅ               ｔｈｅｍ.                Ｉ               ｇｕｅｓｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍａｄｅ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｌｌ               ｑｕｉｅｔ. Ｍａｙｂｅ               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｐａｔｉｅｎｔ. Ｏｒ               ｍａｙｂｅ               Ｒｕｓｓｉａｎ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ａｒｅ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｑｕｉｅｔｅｒ. Ｈａｖｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｅｖｅｒ               ｓｅｅｎ               ａ               Ｒｕｓｓｉａｎ               ｙｅｌｌ? Ｅｘｃｅｐｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｏｌｄ               ｍｅｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｕｇｅ               ｂｅａｒｄｓ,               Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ.                Ｓｏ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｎ               ｉｎｔｅｒｅｓｔｉｎｇ               ｃｈｏｉｃｅ               ｆｏｒ               ｃｏｎｔｅｓｔａｎｔ.                "Ｗｈｙ'ｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｐｉｃｋ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ?"               Ｉ               ｂｌｕｒｔｅｄ. Ｉｔ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｊｅａｌｏｕｓ. Ｉ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｋｎｏｗ.                "Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｉｓ               ａ               ｄｙｎａｍｉｃ               ｃａｎｄｉｄａｔｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ               ｋｎｏｗｌｅｄｇｅ               ｏｆ               ａｌｌ               ｆａｃｅｔｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｂｉｂｌｅ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ. Ｗｈｏ               ｄｅｃｉｄｅｓ               ｔｈｉｓ? Ｗｈｏ               ｋｎｏｗｓ               ｔｈｉｓ?"                "Ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ,               ｆｏｒ               ｏｎｅ. Ｌｉｓｔｅｎ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｉｍｐｅｒｔｉｎｅｎｔ. Ｆｏｒ               ｏｎｅ,               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｄｅｃｉｓｉｏｎ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｗｏ,               ｓｈｅ               ｐｉｃｋｅｄ               ｙｏｕ. Ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｔｕｒｎ               ｈｅｒ               ｄｏｗｎ? Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｗａｓｔｅ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｏｐｐｏｒｔｕｎｉｔｙ!"                Ｆｕｃｋ               ｏｐｐｏｒｔｕｎｉｔｉｅｓ,               Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ. Ｉ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ               ｈａｖｅ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｐｐｏｒｔｕｎｉｔｉｅｓ               Ｉ               ｎｅｅｄ. Ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｃｏｎｆｕｓｅｄ. "Ｓｈｅ               ｐｉｃｋｅｄ               ｍｅ? Ｆｏｒ               ｗｈａｔ?"                "Ｅａｃｈ               ｔｅａｍ               ｈａｓ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｍｅｍｂｅｒｓ. Ａｎｄ               ｅａｃｈ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｈａｓ               ｏｎｅ               ｔｅａｍ. Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｗａｓ               ｃｈｏｓｅｎ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｅｒ               ｋｎｏｗｌｅｄｇｅ. Ｓｈｅ               ａｐｐｌｉｅｄ,               ａｓ               ｗｅｌｌ. Ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｙｏｕ?"                "Ｆｏｒ               ｗｈａｔ,               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅｓｔ?"                "Ｏｈ,               ｒｉｇｈｔ,               ｙｏｕ               ｗｅｒｅｎ'ｔ               ｈｅｒｅ               ｌａｓｔ               ｙｅａｒ,"               ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｒｉｇｈｔ. Ｓｏｒｒｙ. Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｓｈｅ               ｐｉｃｋｅｄ               ｙｏｕ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｎａｌ               ｃａｎｄｉｄａｔｅ               ｉｓ               ｐｉｃｋｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｗｏ               ｏｆ               ｙｏｕ."                "Ｗｈａｔ?"               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｏ               ｓａｙ               ｗｔｆ,               ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｓｔｏｐｐｅｄ               ｍｙｓｅｌｆ. "Ｓｈｅ               ｐｉｃｋｅｄ               ｍｅ? Ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｓｈｅ               ｈａｖｅ               ｄｏｎｅ               ｂｅｔｔｅｒ               ｔｈａｎ               ｐｉｃｋ               ａｎ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｍｅ?"                Ｉ               ｗａｉｔｅｄ               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ'ｓ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ               ｍａｄｅ               ａ               ｃｏｒｎｅｒ               ｋｉｃｋ. Ｉｔ               ｃａｒｏｍｅｄ               ｏｆｆ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｓｔｓ,               ａｎｄ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｈｅａｄｅｄ               ｉｔ               ｉｎ.                Ｏｎｅ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               Ｉ               ｋｎｅｗ:               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｃｏｍｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               Ｊｅｒｕｓａｌｅｍ               ｏｒ               Ｔｅｌ-Ａｖｉｖ,               ｏｒ               ｗｈｅｒｅｖｅｒ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ｗａｓ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｈｅｌｄ. Ｈｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｓｐｏｉｌ               ｉｔ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｗｅ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ               ｆｏｒ               ｗｈａｔ,               ｔｗｏ               ｄａｙｓ? Ｉ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ａｌｌｏｗ               ｈｉｍ               ｔｏ               ｓｔａｒｔ               ｔｅｌｌｉｎｇ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ               ｓｔｏｒｉｅｓ.                Ｏｈ,               ｗａｉｔ,               ｈｅ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｓｐｅａｋ               Ｈｅｂｒｅｗ. Ｂｕｔ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｓｕｒｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ               ｇｅｓｔｉｃｕｌａｔｉｏｎｓ               ａｎｄ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ.                Ｆｕｃｋ               ｆｕｃｋ               ｆｕｃｋ! Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｄｏ               ｔｈｉｓ! Ｎｏｗ               Ｉ'ｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｃｈｏｏｓｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｃｏｍｅｓ. Ａｌｏｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ,               ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ. Ｔｈａｔ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｐｒｅｓｓｕｒｅ. . . ｍａｋｅｓ               ｍｅ               ｐｉｓｓ               ｍｙｓｅｌｆ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               Ｉ'ｍ               ａ               ｔｏｕｇｈ               ｇｉｒｌ,               ｒｉｇｈｔ               ｇｕｙｓ? Ｂｕｔ               ｐｌａｙｉｎｇ               ｐｉｃｋｙ-ｃｈｏｏｓｙ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｂｕｎｃｈ               ｏｆ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｔｅｎｔｈ-ｇｒａｄｅｒｓ... ｗｈａｔ               ａｍ               Ｉ,               ａ               ｑｕｅｅｎ? Ｉ'ｄ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｂｅ               ａｂｌｅ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｔｈａｔ,               Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ. Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ａｎｙｏｎｅ. Ｗｈａｔ               ｉｆ               ｗｅ               ｐｉｃｋｅｄ               ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｗｅ               ｇｏｔ               ａｌｏｎｇ               ｈｏｒｒｉｂｌｙ? Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｗｅ               ｄｉｄ               ｈｏｒｒｉｂｌｙ               ａｎｄ               ｆｌｏｐｐｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｂｌａｍｅｄ               ｍｅ?                Ｆｕｃｋ               ｍｅ. Ａｎｄ               ｍｙ               ｌｉｆｅ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｓｏ               ｗｈａｔ               ｉｆ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ? Ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ａｌｌ               ｊｕｓｔ               ａ               ｂｕｎｃｈ               ｏｆ               ｍｏｔｌｅｙ               ｉｍｍｉｇｒａｎｔｓ,               ａｎｙｗａｙ."               Ｈｅ               ｐｏｉｎｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ. "Ｍｙ               ｇｒａｎｄｐａｒｅｎｔｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｐｏｌａｎｄ               ａｎｄ               Ｃｚｅｃｈｏｓｌｏｖａｋｉａ               ,               ａｎｄ               Ｉ'ｍ               ａ               ｍｕｔｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈａｔ               ｐｌｕｓ               Ｍｏｒｏｃｃａｎ               ａｎｄ               Ｅｇｙｐｔｉａｎ."                "Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｃａｒｅ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈａｔ."                "Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｂｕｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               ｗｅ'ｌｌ               ｆｏｒｇｉｖｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｉｆ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ. Ｉｆ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ａ               ｄｅｐｒｅｓｓｅｄ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ,               Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｗｅ'ｌｌ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｕｔｓ. Ｏｒ               ａ               ｎｅｒｖｏｕｓ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ."                "Ｄｏ               Ｉ               ｌｏｏｋ               ｎｅｒｖｏｕｓ?"               Ｉ               ｃｈｅｃｋｅｄ               ｍｙｓｅｌｆ               ａｎｄ               ｓａｗ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｈａｋｉｎｇ. "Ｆｉｎｅ. Ｙｏｕ'ｖｅ               ｇｏｔ               ｍｅ               ｏｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｏｎｅ,               ｂｕｔ               ｙｏｕ'ｌｌ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｍａｋｅ               ｍｅ               ｇｏ."                "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｕｐ               ｔｏ               ｙｏｕ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｉｔ               ｏｖｅｒ. Ｉ'ｌｌ               ｓｅｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｏｍｏｒｒｏｗ               ｍｏｒｎｉｎｇ               ｆｏｒ               Ｔａｌｍｕｄ."                Ｉｆ               Ｉ               ｓｕｒｖｉｖｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｉｇｈｔ,               Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ.                ...                "Ｓｏ               ａｎｙ               ｎｅｗｓ               ｏｎ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ'ｓ               ｖｅｒｄｉｃｔ?"               ｍｙ               ｍｏｍ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｍｅ               ａｓ               ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｉｔｔｉｎｇ               ａｔ               ｄｉｎｎｅｒ.                "Ｕｍ... ｎｏ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｉ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｈｅ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ｐａｒｄｏｎｅｄ,"               ｍｙ               ｆａｔｈｅｒ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｆｏｒ               ｎｏｔ               ｍａｋｉｎｇ               ａ               ｒｕｃｋｕｓ."               Ｗｅ               ａｌｌ               ｃｈｕｃｋｌｅｄ.                "Ｔｈｅ               ｋｉｄｓ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｍａｋｅ               ｆｕｎ               ｏｆ               ｍｅ               ｔｏｄａｙ,"               Ｃｈｒｉｓ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｉ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｍ               ａｓ               Ｃｈｒｉｓ,               ｅｖｅｎ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｒｅａｌ               ｎａｍｅ               ｗａｓ               Ｃａｌｅｂ.                "Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｇｏｏｄ,               ｈｏｎｅｙ,"               ｍｙ               ｍｏｍ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｉ               ｆｉｎａｌｌｙ               ｇｏｔ               ａ               ｈａｎｇ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ａｒａｂｉｃ               ｓｗｅａｒ               ｗｏｒｄｓ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｓｈｏｖｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｌｅａｄｅｒ               ａｇａｉｎｓｔ               ａ               ｗａｌｌ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｗｈｙ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｙｏｕ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｓｈｏｖｅ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ,               Ｃａｌｅｂ,"               Ｄａｄ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｄａｄｄｙ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｂｅｔｔｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｌｅｔ               ｈｉｍ               ｈａｎｄｌｅ               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ? Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ａｎ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌｉ               ｅｌｅｍｅｎｔａｒｙ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ."                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ-ｐｉｅ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｉ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｈｅ'ｓ               ｈａｎｄｌｉｎｇ               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ               ｆｉｎｅ. Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｄｏｎｅ               ｉｆ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｐｌａｃｅ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｉｎｆｏｒｍｉｎｇ               ｈｉｍ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｋｎｅｅｊｅｒｋ               ｍｏｒａｌ               ａｂｓｔｒａｃｔｉｏｎ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｒｅａｃｔｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ               ｗｉｔｈ."                Ｔｈａｔ               ｌｅｆｔ               ｍｅ               ｓｉｌｅｎｔ.                "Ａｎｄ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,"               Ｍｏｔｈｅｒ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｗｈｙ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｇｏ               ｕｐ               ｔｏ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｒｏｏｍ               ｎｏｗ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈａｔ?"                Ｉ               ｇｉｇｇｌｅｄ. Ｂｕｔ               Ｉ               ｗｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｅ               ｃａｌｌｉｎｇ               Ｄａｄｄｙ               "Ｄａｄｄｙ"               ｆｏｒ               ｑｕｉｔｅ               ａ               ｗｈｉｌｅ.                "Ｓｏ,               ｈｏｗ               ｗａｓ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｄａｙ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ?"                "Ａｂｓｏｌｕｔｅｌｙ               ｆａｂｕｌｏｕｓ,"               Ｉ               ｒｅｓｐｏｎｄｅｄ. Ｉ               ｗｉｐｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｓａｇｎａ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｕｔｈ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｙ               ｄｕｃｋ-ｃｏｌｏｒｅｄ               ｎａｐｋｉｎ               (ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｅｓ               ｗｅ               ｈａｄ               ｂｒｏｕｇｈｔ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｔａｔｅｓ). "Ｇｉｖｅ               ｍｅ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｌｉｍａ               ｂｅａｎｓ,               ｗｉｌｌ               ｙｏｕ,               Ｄａｄ?"                Ｄａｄｄｙ               ｇｒｉｍａｃｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｐａｓｓｅｄ               ｔｈｅｍ.                Ｈｅ               ｗｉｌｌ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｂｅ               Ｄａｄｄｙ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ.                "Ｍｙ               ｄａｙ               ｗａｓ               ａｃｔｕａｌｌｙ               ａｍａｚｉｎｇ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｉｎ               ｓｐｉｔｅ               ｏｆ               ｍｙｓｅｌｆ.                "Ｏｈ,               ｒｅａｌｌｙ?"                "Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｃａｍｅ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｃｌｏｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｃｏｒｉｎｇ               ａ               ｇｏａｌ               ｉｎ               ｐｒａｃｔｉｃｅ,               ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｇｏｔ               ａ               ｊｏｂ               ｏｆｆｅｒ."                "Ｏｈ,               ｃｏｍｍｏｎ,               ｂａｂｅ,"               ｍｙ               ｓｍａｒｔ-ａｓｓ               ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｎｏｔ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｑｕａｌｉｆｉｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｗｏｒｋ."                "Ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｎｏｔ,               ｄｉｐｓｈｉｔ,"               Ｉ               ｆｉｒｅｄ               ｂａｃｋ. "Ｉ               ａｍ."                "Ｍｙ               ａｓｓ."                "Ｃｈｉｌｄｒｅｎ,               ｃｈｉｌｄｒｅｎ,"               ｍｙ               ｆａｔｈｅｒ               ｈｅｌｄ               ｕｐ               ｈｉｓ               ｈａｎｄｓ. Ａｎｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｗｏｎｄｅｒ               ｗｈｙ               Ｉ               ｃａｌｌ               ｈｉｍ               "Ｄａｄｄｙ."               Ｈｅ               ｇｉｖｅｓ               ｍｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｒｅｅｐｓ.                "Ｕｍ,               ｇｕｙｓ,               ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ               ａｎｙ               ｄｅｓｓｅｒｔ?"               ａｓｋｅｄ               Ｍｏｍ.                ...ｎａｔｉｏｎ               ｏｒ               ｅｔｈｎｉｃｉｔｙ               ｏｒ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｅｌｓｅ... ｓｅａｒｃｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｅｂ                Ｉｓ               Ｊｕｄａｉｓｍ               ａ               ｍｏｖｅｍｅｎｔ               ｏｒ               ａ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｎ? Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｃｅｒｔａｉｎｌｙ               ｎｏｔ               ａ               ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎ               Ｉ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ａｓｋｉｎｇ               ｍｙｓｅｌｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｉｘｔｅｅｎ               ｙｅａｒｓ               Ｉ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ａｌｉｖｅ.                Ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｏｆ               ａｌｌ,               ｗｈｏ               ｃａｒｅｄ? Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               ＷｈａｔｓＨｉｓＮａｍｅ               ｄｉｄ               ａｎｄ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈａｔ,               ａｎｄ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｃａｒｅｄ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｕｔｃｏｍｅ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ               ｔｏ               ｒｉｇ               ｉｔ               ｓｏ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ａｌｌ               ｔｕｒｎ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｈｉｓ               ｐｒｏｓｔｒａｔｉｎｇ,               ｂｌａｃｋ-ｃｌａｄ               ｐｕｐｐｅｔｓ. Ａｔ               ｌｅａｓｔ               ｗｅ               ｈａｄ               ｆｒｅｅｄｏｍ               ｏｆ               ｃｈｏｉｃｅ. Ｔｈａｔ               ｗｅ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ａｇｒｅｅ               ｏｎ.                Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｋｌｉｎｇｈｏｆｆｅｒ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｅａｄ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｍｍｉｔｔｅｅ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｐｉｃｋｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓｏ               ｈｅ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｒｉｇｇｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｔｉｒｅ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ,               ｍａｋｉｎｇ               ｍｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｕｎｋｎｏｗｎ               Ｃａｎｄｉｄａｔｅ               #3               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｔｒａｉｎ               ａｎｄ               ｓｗｅａｔ               ａｓ               ｈａｒｄ               ａｓ               ｗｅ               ｃｏｕｌｄ,               ｆｏｒ               ｏｕｒ               ｕｌｔｉｍａｔｅ               ｂｅｔｔｅｒｍｅｎｔ. Ｈｅ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｐｉｃｋｅｄ               ｉｔ               ｒｉｇｈｔ               ａｆｔｅｒ               Ｉ               ａｒｒｉｖｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ,               ｓｏ               ｈｅ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｓｅｅ               ｍｅ               ｒｅｐｒｅｓｅｎｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｌｉｂｅｒａｌ               ｅｌｅｍｅｎｔｓ               ｉｎ               Ｊｕｄａｉｓｍ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｕｓ               ｂｅ               ｓｈａｍｅｄ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               Ｕｌｔｒａ-Ｏｒｔｈｏｄｏｘ               ａｎｔｉ-ｆｅｍｉｎｉｓｔ               ｂｉｇｏｔｓ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｐｏｐｕｌａｔｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｌｉｓｅｕｍ. Ｌｅｔ               ｕｓ               ｒｅｊｏｉｃｅ.                Ｓｏ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｓｅｔ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｔａｓｋ,               ａｎｓｗｅｒｉｎｇ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎ,               ａｌｏｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｕｎｎａｍｅｄ               Ｐｅｒｓｏｎ               #3,               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｈｅａｖｙ               ｈｅａｒｔ. Ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ,               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｔａｓｋ               ｗｅ               ｈａｄ               ｗａｓ               ｔｏ               ｐｉｃｋ               ｏｕｒ               ｍａｎｄａｔｏｒｙ               ｔｈｉｒｄ               ｔｅａｍｍａｔｅ.                "Ｈａｖｅｎ'ｔ               ｄｏｎｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｓｉｎｃｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｔｏｐｐｅｄ               ｐｌａｙｉｎｇ               ｋｉｃｋｂａｌｌ,"               Ｃｈｒｉｓ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｅｘｔ               ｎｉｇｈｔ.                "Ａｗ,               ｓｈｕｔｕｐ,               Ｃｈｒｉｓ,"               ｓａｉｄ,               ｓｕｒｐｒｉｓｉｎｇｌｙ,               ｍｙ               ｄａｄ.                "Ｌａｎｇｕａｇｅ,               ｄｅａｒ,"               ｓｐｏｕｔｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｍ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｌｅａｒｎ               ｍａｎｎｅｒｓ."                "Ｗｈｏ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ,               ｈｉｓ               ｍｏｍ?"               Ｉ               ｍｏａｎｅｄ. "Ｇｉｍｍｅ               ａ               ｂｒｅａｋ."                "Ｍａｙｂｅ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｂａｌｌｓ               ｄｒｏｐ               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ               ｓｔａｒｔ               ｐｌａｙｉｎｇ               ｋｉｃｋｂａｌｌ               ａｇａｉｎ,"               Ｃｈｒｉｓ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               ｊｅｒｋ,"               Ｉ               ｍｕｔｔｅｒｅｄ.                "Ｓｏ               ｈｏｗ'ｓ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ?"               Ｃｈｒｉｓ               ｓａｉｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｗｅ               ｈａｄ               ｇｏｔｔｅｎ               ｕｐｓｔａｉｒｓ.                "Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ａｓｋ,"               ｓａｉｄ               Ｉ.                "Ｏｈ,               ｙｏｕ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｄｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｏ               ｈｉｍ               ｙｅｔ?"               ｈｅ               ｐａｎｔｏｍｉｍｅｄ.                "Ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｄｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｈｅａｒ               ｔｈａｔ?"               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ,               ｈｏｒｒｉｆｉｅｄ. Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               Ｉ               ｃａｎ               ｂｅ               ｇｅｎｕｉｎｅｌｙ               ｈｏｒｒｉｆｉｅｄ.                "Ｈｏｎｅｙ?"               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｍ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｄｏｗｎｓｔａｉｒｓ.                "Ｓｈｅ               ｍｅａｎｓ               ｙｏｕ,"               Ｃｈｒｉｓ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ."                "Ｉ               ｏｖｅｒｈｅａｒ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｐｈｏｎｅ               ｃａｌｌｓ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｌｉｃｋｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｌｉｐｓ. "Ｓｅｘｙ               ｓｌｕｔｓ."                Ｎｏｗ               ｗｈｅｒｅ'ｄ               ｈｅ               ｌｅａｒｎ               ｌａｎｇｕａｇｅ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈａｔ?                ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------                Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ               6                Ｉ               ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｋｌｉｎｇｈｏｆｆｅｒ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｂｅ               ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ               ｏｆ               ｍｅ               ａｓ               ｑｕｉｔｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｂｎｏｘｉｏｕｓ               ｓｌｕｔ,               ａｓ               ｂｙ               ｎｏｗ               ｈｅ               ｗｉｌｌ               ｈａｖｅ               ｒｅａｄ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｂｏｏｋ               ａｎｄ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｍａｔｅｒｉｅｌ               ｈｅｒｅｉｎ-ｂｕｔ               ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ               ｈｉｓ               ｋｉｄｓ               ｗｏｎ'ｔ. Ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ               ｈｉｓ               ｋｉｄｓ               ｗｉｌｌ               ｈｏｌｄ               ｍｅ               ｕｐ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔａｎｄａｒｄ               ｏｆ               ｍｏｒａｌ               ｂｅｈａｖｉｏｒ;               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｆａｔｈｅｒ               ｗｏｒｓｈｉｐｅｄ               ｉｄｏｌａｔｒｙ,               ａｎｄ               ｎｏｗ               ｔｈｅｙ               ａｒｅ               ｆｒｅｅ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ａｒｅ               ｆｒｅｅ               ｔｏ               ｅｎｔｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｏｍｉｓｅｄ               ｌａｎｄ.                Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｉ'ｍ               ａ               ｔｏｔａｌ               ｓｉｎｎｅｒ. Ｉ               ｄｏ               ｖｏｌｕｎｔｅｅｒ               ｉｎ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｆｏｒｅｉｇｎ               ｃｏｕｎｔｒｉｅｓ. Ｌｉｋｅ               Ｋｅｎｙａ               . Ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｓｌｅｅｐ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｌｏｏｒ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｔｉｍｅ.                Ｂｅｔ               ｈｅ               ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ               ｄｏ               ｔｈａｔ.                Ｂｕｔ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               Ｉ               ｈａｎｇ               ｕｐ               ｍｙ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｈａｔ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｈａｔ               ｓｔａｎｄ               ａｎｄ               ｇｅｔ               ｃｏｍｆｙ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｌｏｖｅｓｅａｔ,               ｌｅｔ               ｍｅ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｈａｐｐｙ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｅｖｅｎｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｎｏｍｉｎａｔｅｄ,               ｅｉｔｈｅｒ. Ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｋｌｉｎｇｈｏｆｆｅｒ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｑｕｉｔｅ               ｍｅａｎ               ｉｔ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｈｅ               ｉｎｓｉｓｔｅｄ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｃｈｏｏｓｅ               ｏｕｒ               ｏｗｎ               ｒｕｎｎｉｎｇ               ｍａｔｅ. Ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,               ｈｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｅｖｅｎｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｔｕｒｎ               ｏｕｔ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ａ               ｓｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               "ｍａｔｅ",               ｂｕｔ               ｎｏｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｍｅ               ｋｉｎｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｄｅｆｉｎｉｔｅｌｙ,               ｄｅｆｉｎｉｔｅｌｙ               ｎｏｔ               ａｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｉｍｅ.                ＮＥＷＳ               ＦＬＡＳＨ                "Ｃｈｒｉｓｔｉｎａ,               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｔｏ               ｃｌａｓｓ,"               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｉｎｔｅｒｒｕｐｔｅｄ.                "Ａｈ,               ｗｈａｔ? Ｏｈ,"               ｓａｉｄ               ｍｙ               ｍｕｔｔｅｒｉｎｇ               ｍｏｕｔｈ.                "Ｉ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｗａｉｔ               ｔｏ               ｓｅｅ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ."                "Ｈａ,               ｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｉ'ｖｅ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｙｏｕ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈａｔ? Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｔｒｙ               ｔｏ               ｓｔｅａｌ               ｈｉｍ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｍｅ."                "Ｉ               ｗｏｎ'ｔ."                "Ｉ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｈｅ               ｈａｓ               ｓｏｃｃｅｒ               ｐｒａｃｔｉｃｅ               ｔｏｄａｙ,               ａｎｙｗａｙ."                "Ｉｓｎ'ｔ               ｔｏｄａｙ               Ｆｒｉｄａｙ?"                "Ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｒｉｇｈｔ               ａｇａｉｎ."                "Ｆｕｃｋ,               Ｉ               ｆｏｒｇｏｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｕｒｎ               ｉｎ               ｍｙ               ｃｈｅｍ               ｈｏｍｅｗｏｒｋ               ｌａｓｔ               ｎｉｇｈｔ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                Ｐｒｉｖａｔｅｌｙ,               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓａｄ               ｓｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｃｏｐｉｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｔｅｎｄｅｎｃｙ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ａ               ｓａｉｌｏｒ. Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｌｏｏｋ               ｓｏ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｐｉｒａｔｅ               ａｎｙｈｏｗ.                "Ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ａｌｒｉｇｈｔ? Ｗｈａｔ'ｓ               ｗｒｏｎｇ?"               ｓｈｅ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｆｏｒｃｉｎｇ               ａ               ｓｍｉｌｅ. "Ｌｉｆｅ               ｇｏｅｓ               ｏｎ               ａｓ               ｕｓｕａｌ."                "Ｓｏ               ｌｅｔ               ｕｓ               ｄｅｐａｒｔ!"               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｅｘｃｌａｉｍｅｄ.                Ｗｅ               ｅｘｉｔｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｕｉｌｄｉｎｇ               ａｎｄ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｗａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｌｏｎｇ               ｃｏｎｃｏｕｒｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｐａｎｉｓｈ               ｂｕｉｌｄｉｎｇ.                Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｉ'ｖｅ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｅｎｖｉｅｄ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｖｏｃａｂｕｌａｒｙ,               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ."                "Ｉｇｕａｌｍｅｎｔｅ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｓｈｏｗ-ｏｆｆ."                "Ｆｕｃｋｆａｃｅ."                "Ｐｏｔｔｙ-ｍｏｕｔｈ."                "Ｗｅｌｌ               Ｉ               ｌｅａｒｎｅｄ               ｉｔ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｙｏｕ."                "Ｎｏ,               ｙｏｕ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ."                "Ｙｅｓ,               Ｉ               ｄｉｄ."                "Ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｒｅａｃｈｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               ｂｕｉｌｄｉｎｇ. Ｔｏｎｅ               ｉｔ               ｄｏｗｎ."                Ａｌｌ               ａｔ               ｏｎｃｅ,               Ｉ               ｃａｕｇｈｔ               ａ               ｇｌｉｍｐｓｅ               ｏｆ               ｂｒｉｇｈｔ               ｂｌｕｅ               ｅｎｇｕｌｆｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｒｏｗｄ,               ｃｏｍｉｎｇ               ｔｏｗａｒｄ               ｕｓ.                "Ｈｅｙ               ｌｏｏｋ,               ｉｔ'ｓ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ!"                "Ｎｏ               ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               ｗａｙ."               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ.                "Ｈｅｙ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ."               Ｉ               ｓｍｉｌｅｄ               ａｔ               ｈｉｍ. "Ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｍｅ               ｊｏｇｇｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｅ?"                "Ｎｏ               ｔｈａｎｋｓ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ,               ｈｏｗ               ｓｈａｌｌ               ｗｅ               ｓａｙ,               ｗｅｉｇｈｅｄ               ｄｏｗｎ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｎｏ               ｋｉｄｄｉｎｇ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｉｎｋｅｄ               ａｔ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ. Ｉ               ｃｒｉｎｇｅｄ.                "Ｈｅｙ,               ｌｉｓｔｅｎ,               ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｍｅ               ｔｏ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｇ'ｓ               ｔｏｎｉｇｈｔ?"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｐｌｅｎｔｙ               ｏｆ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｆｏｏｄ."                Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ａｔ               ｅａｃｈ-ｏｔｈｅｒ. Ｗｅ               ｂｕｒｓｔ               ｏｕｔ               ｌａｕｇｈｉｎｇ.                "Ｗｈａｔ'ｓ               ｓｏ               ｆｕｎｎｙ?"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ｏｈ,               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｙｏｕ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,"               Ｉ               ｒｅｐｌｉｅｄ,               ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ. Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｇ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｅｓｉｄｅｎｔ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ               ｐｒａｃｔｉｔｉｏｎｅｒ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｓｅｃｔ               ｏｆ               ｂｌａｃｋ-ｈａｔ. Ｔｈｉｓ               ｓｅｃｔ               ｏｆ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｈａｔｓ'               ａｉｍ               ｗａｓ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｎｖｅｒｔ               ａｌｌ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｉｎｔｏ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ               ｐｒａｃｔｉｔｉｏｎｅｒｓ. "Ｓｐｒｅａｄｉｎｇ               Ｃｈａｓｉｄｕｓ,"               ｔｈｅｙ               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               ｉｔ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｍｅａｎｔ               ｓｐｒｅａｄｉｎｇ               ａ               ｖａｇｕｅ               ｅｉｇｈｔｅｅｎｔｈ-ｃｅｎｔｕｒｙ               ｐｈｉｌｏｓｏｐｈｙ               ｄｅｓｉｇｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｒｉｎｇ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｔｏｇｅｔｈｅｒ               ｕｎｄｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｎｔｒｏｌ               ｏｆ               ｏｎｅ               ｃｈａｒｉｓｍａｔｉｃ               ｌｅａｄｅｒ,               ｏｒ               "Ｒｅｂｂｅ".                Ｗｅ               ｈａｄ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｓｐｅｎｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｓｔ               ｈｏｕｒ               ｒｅｌｉｖｉｎｇ               ｍｙ               ｅｘｐｅｒｉｅｎｃｅｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌ               . Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｗｈｙ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｆｕｎｎｙ.                "Ｌｉｓｔｅｎ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｓｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｂｕｓｙ. Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               ｇｉｒｌ               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ. Ｂｕｔ               ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｏｕｔ,               ｒｉｇｈｔ?"                Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｂａｆｆｌｅｄ. "Ｒｉｇｈｔ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｆｕｃｋ               ｍｅ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ａｔ               ｍｙ               ｗａｔｃｈ. "Ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｌａｔｅ. Ｌｏｖｅ               ｙｏｕ."               Ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｇａｖｅ               ｈｉｍ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｐｅｃｋ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｈｅｅｋ.                Ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｍｙ               ｉｍａｇｉｎａｔｉｏｎ,               ｂｕｔ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓｅｅｍｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｒｅｃｏｉｌ               ａ               ｂｉｔ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｔｏｕｃｈｅｄ               ｈｉｍ.                "Ｙｏ               ｔｅｎｇｏ! Ｔｕ               ｔｉｅｎｅｓ! Ｕｓｔｅｄ               ｔｉｅｎｅ! Ｅｌ               ｔｉｅｎｅ! Ｅｌ               ｙ               ｅｌｌａ               ｔｉｅｎｅｎ! Ｖｏｓｏｔｒｏｓ               Ｔｉｅｎｅｎ! Ｎｏｓｏｔｒｏｓ..."                "Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｗｅ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｌｅａｒｎ               Ｖｏｓｏｔｒｏｓ,"               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｅｄ.                "Ｉ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｓｈｅ'ｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｓｐａｉｎ               ."                "Ｓｉｌｅｎｃｉｏ! Ｆｅｒｍｅｎ               ｌａｓ               ｂｏｃａｓ!"               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒ               ｓｃｒｅａｍｅｄ.                "Ｓｈｅ               ｈａｓ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｅａｒｓ,"               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｗｒｏｔｅ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒ               ｈａｄ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｂａｃｋ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｌａｃｋｂｏａｒｄ. (Ｗｅ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｈａｄ               ｂｌａｃｋｂｏａｒｄｓ-ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｄｅｆｉｎｉｔｅｌｙ               ａ               ｐｕｂｌｉｃ               ｕｎｉｖｅｒｓｉｔｙ.)                "Ｙｅａｈ,               ｎｏ               ｋｉｄｄｉｎｇ,"               Ｉ               ａｎｓｗｅｒｅｄ. "Ｗｅ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｄｏ               ａ               ｓｕｒｖｅｙ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｈｙｓｉｏｇａｍｙ               ｏｆ               Ｓｐａｎｉｓｈ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒｓ."                Ｉｔ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｏｕｔ,               ａｃｔｕａｌｌｙ,               ｔｈａｔ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｋｌｉｎｇｈｏｆｆｅｒ               ｗａｓ               ａ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ. Ｎｏｔ               ａ               Ｒｅｂｂｅ-ｗｏｒｓｈｉｐｉｎｇ,               ｈｅｒｏ-ｌａｕｄｉｎｇ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ,               ｂｕｔ               ａ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｍｅ. Ｈｅ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｕｓ               ｓｔｏｒｉｅｓ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｒｅｂｂｅ,               ｏｆｔｅｎ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｏｕｒｓ               ａｔ               ａ               ｔｉｍｅ,               ｉｆ               ｉｔ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｄｏｉｎｇ.                "Ｄｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｈｅａｒ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｔｈｅ               Ｒｅｂｂｅ               ｆａｒｔｅｄ?"               ｈｅ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｕｓ               ｏｎｃｅ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｈｅ               ｄｒｏｐｐｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｏ               Ｐｈｙｓｉｃａｌ               Ｓｃｉｅｎｃｅｓ               ｃｌａｓｓ.                Ｂｕｔ               ａｃｔｕａｌｌｙ,               ｎｏ,               ｔｈａｔ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｈａｐｐｅｎ.                Ｉｔ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈｉｓ:                "Ｌａｄｉｅｓ!"               ｈｅ               ｅｘｃｉｔｅｄ               ｕｐｏｎ               ｕｓ               ａｓ               ｈｅ               ｄｒｏｐｐｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｔｕｄｙｉｎｇ. "Ｈｏｗ               ｉｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｏｇｒｅｓｓ?"                "Ｗｈａｔ               ｐｒｏｇｒｅｓｓ?"               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｍｐｅｔｉｔｉｏｎ,               ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ."                "Ｗｅ               ａｒｅ               ｃｏｍｐｅｔｉｎｇ               ｑｕｉｔｅ               ｆｉｎｅ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｈａｈａｈａ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ａｒｅ               ｑｕｉｔｅ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｍａｇｎｉｆｉｃｅｎｔ. Ｉ               ｅｘｐｅｃｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｈａｖｅ               ｃｈｏｓｅｎ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｔｈｉｒｄ               ｐｅｒｓｏｎ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ?"                "Ｎｏ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｈａｔｅ               ｈｉｍ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｙｏｕ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｌｏｏｋ               ｓｏ               ｈｏｔ. Ｃｈｅｅｒ               ｕｐ."                Ｆｕｃｋ               ｙｏｕ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,"               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｓｈａｋｉｎｇ               ｍｅ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               ｓａｃｋ               ｏｆ               ｂｅａｎｓ.                "Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ?"               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ. Ｉ               ｒａｉｓｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｈｅａｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｔａｂｌｅ.                "Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ?"               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｓｋｅｄ. "Ｗｈｏ'ｓ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ?"                "Ｗｈａｔ?"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｒｅａｌｉｚｅｄ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｔａｂｌｅ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ａ               ｔａｂｌｅ. Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｄｅｓｋ.                "Ｃｌａｓｓ               ｉｓ               ｏｖｅｒ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｔｏ               Ｐｈｉｌｏｓｏｐｈｙ."                "Ｆｕｃｋ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｐｈｉｌｏｓｏｐｈｙ               ｂｅ               ｄａｍｎｅｄ,               ｍｙ               ｐｈｉｌｏｓｏｐｈｙ               ｗａｓ               ｓｌｅｅｐ. Ｅｓｐｅｃｉａｌｌｙ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ｆｏｕｒ               ｈｏｕｒｓ               ｏｆ               ｓｌｅｅｐ. Ｂｕｔ               ｄｒｉｎｋｉｎｇ               ｈａｓ               ｉｔｓ               ｒｅｗａｒｄｓ,               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ.                "Ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｉｎ               ｃｌａｓｓ,               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｓｗｅａｒｉｎｇ               ｃａｎ               ｃｏｍｅ               ｌａｔｅｒ."                "Ｒｉｇｈｔ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｓｉｇｈｉｎｇ. "Ｔｈａｎｋｓ,               ｍｏｍ."                Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｏｋａｙ,               ｔｈｅｎ,"               ａｎｄ               ｔｏｏｋ               ｍｙ               ｂａｃｋｐａｃｋ               ａｎｄ               ｍｅ. Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｄｒａｇｇｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｌａｓｓｒｏｏｍ.                "Ｂｅｔｔｅｒ               ｌｕｃｋ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｑｕｉｚ               ｎｅｘｔ               ｔｉｍｅ!"               ｔｈｅ               ｔｅａｃｈｅｒ               ｓｃｒｅａｍｅｄ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｍｅ.                "Ｗｈｙ               ｉｓ               ｓｈｅ               ｓｕｃｈ               ａ               ｂｉｔｃｈ?"               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ.                "Ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｂｏｒｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗａｙ. Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ. Ｉ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｙ               ｓｈｅ               ｔａｌｋｓ,               ａｃｔｕａｌｌｙ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｏｆ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ'ｓ               ｐｒｏｐｏｓａｌ?"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｍｅａｎ?"               ｓａｉｄ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ. "Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｏｕｔ               ｔｏｎｉｇｈｔ."                "Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｉｔ'ｓ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｒｉｓｑｕé               ｆｏｒ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｆｕｃｋ               ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ               ｅｌｓｅ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ'ｍ               ａｌｓｏ               ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ?"                "Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ               ｓｔｉｃｋ               ｔｗｏ               ｐｅｎｉｓｅｓ               ｉｎ               ｙｏｕ               ａｔ               ｏｎｃｅ,               ｃａｎ               ｙｏｕ?"                "Ｓｈｕｔ               ｕｐ,               ｙｏｕ               ｓｌｕｔ!"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ａｎｄ               ｌａｓｈｅｄ               ｏｕｔ               ａｔ               ｈｅｒ. Ｓｈｅ               ｂｌｏｃｋｅｄ               ｉｔ. Ｂｌａｃｋ               ｂｅｌｔ,               ｗｈａｔ               ｃａｎ               Ｉ               ｓａｙ.                "Ｓｔｏｐ               ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ａｎｄ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ               ｗｈｙ               ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｂｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｉｍ               ｅｖｅｒｙ               ｄａｙ!"                "Ｌｉｋｅ               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               "Ｉｔ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ               ｓｅｅｍ               ｒｉｇｈｔ."                "Ｉ               ｓｅｅ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｍｏｎｏｇａｍｙ               ｃｌｅａｒｌｙ               ｓｕｉｔｓ               ｙｏｕ. Ｌｅｔ               ｍｅ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｙｏｕ               ｂｒｅａｋ               ｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｓ."                "Ｇｉｖｅ               ｍｅ               ａ               ｂｒｅａｋ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｂｅｃｏｍｉｎｇ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ."                "Ｇｏｏｄ,"               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｇｅｔ               ｄｒｕｎｋ               ｏｎ               Ｓａｔｕｒｄａｙ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ｉｆ               ｙｏｕ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｔｏ               ｃｈｕｒｃｈ."                "Ｓｙｎａｇｏｇｕｅ."                "Ｓｙｎａｇｏｇｕｅ."                "Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ'ｓ               ａｌｓｏ               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ               ｒｅａｓｏｎ               Ｉ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ａｎｄ               ｗｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｔｈａｔ?"                Ｗｅ               ｐａｓｓｅｄ               ａ               ｇｒｏｕｐ               ｏｆ               ｐａｒｔｙ-ａｎｉｍａｌ               ｇｕｙｓ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ｏｇｌｅｄ               ａｔ               ｕｓ.                "Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               Ｉ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｓｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｓｅｅ               ｗｈａｔ               ｔｈｅｓｅ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ａｒｅ               ａｌｌ               ａｂｏｕｔ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｔｈａｔ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｅ               ｆａｒｔｈｅｒ               ｔｈａｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｒｕｔｈ.                "Ｉ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｓａｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｈａｔｅｄ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｋｌｉｎｇｈｏｆｆｅｒ."                "Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｋｌｉｎｇｙ               ｓｈｉｔ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ａｎｄ               Ｉ               ｄｉｄ. Ｂｕｔ               ｎｏｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍｕｃｈ. Ａｎｄ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｐａｒｔｉｃｕｌａｒ               ｗａｙ. Ｊｕｓｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｃｅｒｔａｉｎ               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ. Ｎｏｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｏｔｈｅｒｓ."                Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｇｒｏａｎｅｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｗｉｌｌ               ｂｅｃｏｍｅ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ."                "Ｊｕｓｔ               ｗａｔｃｈ               ｍｅ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｍａｙｂｅ               Ｉ'ｌｌ               ｂｅｃｏｍｅ               ａ               Ｓｃｉｅｎｔｏｌｏｇｉｓｔ."                ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------                ＳＵＤＤＥＮ               ＳＴＡＲＴＬＩＮＧ               ＦＬＡＳＨＢＡＣＫ                Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａ               Ｓｈａｂａｔｏｎ               ａｔ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｋｌｉｎｇｈｏｆｆｅｒ'ｓ               ｈｏｕｓｅ. Ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｗａｓ               ｓｔａｙｉｎｇ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｅｅｋｅｎｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               Ｚｉｃｈｒｏｎ               Ｙａ'ａｋｏｖ               ｎｅｉｇｈｂｏｒｈｏｏｄ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｗａｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ'ｓ               ｈｏｕｓｅ               ａｌｓｏ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ. Ｗｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ'ｓ               ｔａｂｌｅ. Ｍａｙｂｅ               ｔｈｉｒｔｙ               ｏｆ               ｕｓ. Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅｒｅ. Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ. Ｎａｏｒ. Ｔｈｅ               ｓｏｃｃｅｒ               ｔｅａｍ. Ｍｙ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｇｉｒｌｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ. Ａｎｄ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｖａｒｉｏｕｓ               ａｓｓｏｒｔｅｄ               ｎｅｒｄｓ,               ｅｔｃ. Ｂｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｎｅｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｈｅａｒ               ｔｈａｔ.                "Ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ｉｓ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔｏｒａｈ,"               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｋｌｉｎｇｈｏｆｆｅｒ               ｗａｓ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ. "Ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔｏｒａｈ. Ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｉｆ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｎｏｔ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔｏｒａｈ,               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｎｏｔ               ｌｉｖｉｎｇ               ｌｉｆｅ. Ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ａｎｄ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｈｏｍｅｗｏｒｋ               ｉｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ. Ｙｏｕ               ｎｅｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｈｏｍｅｗｏｒｋ               ｕｐ               ｔｈｅｒｅ,"               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｐｏｉｎｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｋｙ.                Ｓｅｖｅｒａｌ               ｓｔｕｄｅｎｔｓ               ｃｏｕｇｈｅｄ. Ｉ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｕｐ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｅｉｌｉｎｇ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｐｏｉｎｔｉｎｇ. Ｌｏｔｓ               ｏｆ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｐａｔｔｅｒｎｓ               ｅｔｃｈｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｗｈｉｔｅ               ｐａｉｎｔ. Ｎｉｃｅ               ｒｏｏｆ,               Ｒａｂｂｉ.                "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｗｅａｌｔｈ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍａｔｔｅｒｓ,"               ｈｅ               ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅｄ. "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｇｏｄｌｉｎｅｓｓ. Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｃｌｅａｖｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               Ｇ-ｄ. Ｔａｋｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｉｄｄｅｎ               ａｎｄ               ｍａｋｉｎｇ               ｉｔ               ｒｅｖｅａｌｅｄ."                Ｉ               ｔｏｏｋ               ａ               ｂｉｔｅ               ｏｆ               ｃｏｌｅｓｌａｗ.                "Ｔｈｅｒｅｆｏｒｅ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ａｔ               ｍｅ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｂａｃｋ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｒｏｕｐ,               "ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｎｅｅｄｓ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ａ               ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕａｔｉｏｎ,               ａ               ｃｏｎｆｉｒｍａｔｉｏｎ               ｏｆ               ａｌｌ               ｗｅ               ｌｅａｒｎ               ｉｎ               Ｊｕｄａｉｓｍ. Ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               Ｃｈａｓｉｄｄｕｓ."                "Ｗｈａｔ               ｉｓ               Ｃｈａｓｓｉｄｕｓ,"               Ｉ               ｐｉｃｔｕｒｅｄ               Ａｌｅｘ               Ｔｒｉｂｅｋ               ｔｅｌｌｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ａｕｄｉｅｎｃｅ,               ｉｓ               ｒｉｇｈｔ. Ｔｗｏ               ｈｕｎｄｒｅｄ               ｄｏｌｌａｒｓ               ｆｏｒ               Ｍｒ. Ｊｏｎｅｓ.                "Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｔｈｅｎ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ,               ｓｐａｒｋｉｎｇ               ｃｈｕｃｋｌｅｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｏｙｓ. "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ. Ｙｏｕ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｕｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｕｒ               ｗｏｒｌｄｓ               ａｒｅ."                Ｆｏｕｒ               ｗｏｒｌｄｓ               ｏｆ               Ｋａｂｂａｌａｈ. Ｆｕｃｋ               ｉｆ               Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ. Ａｎｄ               ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ａｐｐｒｅｃｉａｔｅ               ｈｉｍ               ｐｕｔｔｉｎｇ               ｍｅ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｐｏｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈａｔ,               ｆｕｃｋ               ｍｙ               ｌｉｆｅ               ｉｆ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｇｉｖｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｏ               ｔｈａｔ               ｒａｂｂｉ.                "Ｗｅｌｌ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ               ｈｍｍｍ               ａｎｄ               ｎｏｔ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｂｕｔ               ａｎ               ｅｒｅｃｔｉｏｎ,               "ｗｅｌｌ,               Ｉ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｕｒ               ｗｏｒｌｄｓ               ａｒｅ               Ａｂｅｒｃｒｏｍｂｉｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｆｉｔｃｈ,               Ａｅｒｏｐｏｓｔａｌｅ,               Ｒｏｘｙ               ａｎｄ               Ｕｒｂａｎ               Ｏｕｔｆｉｔｔｅｒｓ."                Ｔｈｅ               ｒａｂｂｉ               ｃｈｕｃｋｌｅｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               Ｉ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｓｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｆｕｎｎｙ."               Ａｇａｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｕｇｈｔｅｒ. "Ｉ'ｌｌ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ               ｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｕｒ               ｗｏｒｌｄｓ               ａｒｅ               ｂａｃｏｎ,               ｈａｍ,               ｐｏｒｋ               ａｎｄ               ａｎｃｈｏｖｉｅｓ."               Ｍｏｒｅ               ｌａｕｇｈｔｅｒ. Ｈｉｓ               ｆａｃｅ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ｓｅｒｉｏｕｓ. "Ｂｕｔ               ｎｏｗ               ｗｈａｔ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ               ｉｓ               ｎｏｔ               ａ               ｊｏｋｅ. Ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｕｒ               ｗｏｒｌｄｓ               ａｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               Ｗｏｒｌｄ               ｏｆ               Ｅｍａｎａｔｉｏｎ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｗｏｒｌｄ               ｏｆ               Ｃｒｅａｔｉｏｎ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｗｏｒｌｄ               ｏｆ               Ｆｏｒｍａｔｉｏｎ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               Ｗｏｒｌｄ               ｏｆ               Ａｃｔｉｏｎ."               Ｔｈｅ               ｆａｃｅｓ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｏｏｍ               ａｒｅ               ｓｔａｒｉｎｇ               ｉｎｔｅｎｔｌｙ. Ｉ               ｐｅｒｓｐｉｒｅ. "Ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｉｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｏｎｅ               ｗｏｒｌｄ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｒａｂｂｉ               ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅｄ. "Ｗｈａｔ               Ｉ'ｍ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ               ｉｓ               ａｂｓｏｌｕｔｅｌｙ               ｓｅｒｉｏｕｓ.                "Ｗｅ               ａｒｅ               ｍｅｒｅ               ａｎｔｓ. Ｗｅ               ａｒｅ               ｗａｌｋｉｎｇ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｎｇｅｒｔｉｐ               ｏｆ               Ｇ-ｄ'ｓ               ｈａｎｄ. Ｉ               ｃａｎｎｏｔ               ｓｔｒｅｓｓ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ. Ｗｅ               ａｒｅ               ｅａｔｉｎｇ,               ｓｌｅｅｐｉｎｇ,               ｄｒｉｖｉｎｇ,               ｙｅｓ,               ｅｖｅｎ               ｐｏｏｐｉｎｇ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｓｔｕｄｅｎｔｓ               ｌａｕｇｈｅｄ,               "ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｐｒｅｓｅｎｃｅ. Ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｐｒｅｓｅｎｃｅ               ｗｅ               ａｒｅ               ａｌｌ               ｆｏｏｌｓ,               ｗｈｏ               ｇｏ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｄａｙ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｃｈｉｃｋｅｎｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｈｅａｄｓ               ｃｕｔ               ｏｆｆ."                "Ｃｈｉｃｋｅｎｓ! Ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｗｅ               ａｒｅ."               Ｈｅ               ｐａｕｓｅｄ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｉｎｋ. "Ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｌｏｗｅｒ               ｔｈａｎ               ａｎｔｓ,               ｗｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ?"               Ｍｏｒｅ               ｌａｕｇｈｓ. "Ａｎｄ               ｙｏｕ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｓｉｎｇｌｉｎｇ               ｍｅ               ｏｕｔ               ａｇａｉｎ. "Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ? Ｗｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｗｅ               ａｌｌ               ｍａｋｅ               ｇｏｏｄ               ａｎｔｓ?"               Ｈｅ               ｇｅｓｔｕｒｅｄ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｏｏｍ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ｌａｕｇｈｅｄ. Ｉ               ｒｅｍａｉｎｅｄ               ｓｉｌｅｎｔ.                "Ａｎｄ               ｗｈａｔ               ｄｏｅｓ               ｉｔ               ｍｅａｎ? Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｏｅｓ               ｉｔ               ａｌｌ               ｍｅａｎ? Ｔｈａｔ               ｗｅｒｅ               ａｒｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｏｔｔｏｍ               ｗｏｒｌｄ. Ｔｈａｔ               ｗｅ               ａｒｅ               ｍｅｒｅ               ｍｏｒｔａｌｓ. Ｗｅ               ａｒｅ               ｎｏｔ               Ｇｏｄｓ."                "Ｅｘｃｅｐｔ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｉｔ               ｃｏｍｅｓ               ｔｏ               ｓｋａｔｅｂｏａｒｄｉｎｇ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｈｅｌｐ               ｉｔ. Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｓａｙ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ. Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｌｅｔ               ｈｉｍ               ｓｔｅａｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｏｏｍ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈｉｓ.                "Ｓｋａｔｅｂｏａｒｄｉｎｇ?"               ｔｈｅ               ｒａｂｂｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｓｋａｔｅｂｏａｒｄｉｎｇ? Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｗｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｓｋａｔｅｂｏａｒｄｉｎｇ,               ｉｆ               ｎｏｔ               ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｆｒｉｖｏｌｏｕｓ               ｐｕｒｓｕｉｔ               ｏｆ               ｖａｎｉｔｙ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｈａｓ               ｕｔｔｅｒｌｙ               ｎｏ               ｍｅａｎｉｎｇ               ｗｈａｔｓｏｅｖｅｒ?"               Ｉ               ｏｐｅｎｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｍｏｕｔｈ,               ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅｄ. "Ｆｕｒｔｈｅｒｍｏｒｅ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               "ｗｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｅｓｅｎｃｅ               ｏｆ               Ｇ-ｄ? Ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ! Ａｓｈｅｓ               ａｎｄ               ｄｕｓｔ."                "Ｔｈｅｒｅｆｏｒｅ,"               ｔｈｅ               ｒａｂｂｉ               ｐｏｎｔｉｆｉｃａｔｅｄ,               "ｉｔ               ｉｓ               ｉｍｐｅｒａｔｉｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ａｌｅｒｔ               ａｔ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｍｅｓ."                               "Ｆｏｒ               ｗｈａｔ?"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｆｏｒ               ｗｈａｔ?"               ｈｅ               ａｓｋｅｄ. "Ｆｏｒ               ｆａｌｓｅｈｏｏｄｓ! Ｆｏｒ               ｕｎｔｒｕｔｈｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｃｌｅａｒ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｌｉｆｅ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｍｅｎｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔｉｃｅ! Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｗｈａｔ! Ｆｏｒ               ｉｎｓｔａｎｃｅ,               ｄｒｕｇｓ! Ｄｒｕｇｓ,               ｓｅｘ               ａｎｄ               Ｒｏｃｋ               ａｎｄ               ｒｏｌｌ! Ｔｈｉｎｇｓ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ａｒｅ               ｉｍｐｏｒｔｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａ               ! Ｅｖｅｒｙ               ｍｏｒｎｉｎｇ,               Ｉ               ｗａｋｅ               ｕｐ               ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈａｔ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ,               'Ｔｈａｎｋ               Ｇ-ｄ               Ｉ'ｍ               ａ               Ｊｅｗ,               ａｎｄ               ｎｏｔ               ａｎ               ａｎｉｍａｌ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｇｏｙｉｍ!'               Ｉｔ'ｓ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｒｕｔｈ               ａｂｏｖｅ               ｆａｌｓｅｈｏｏｄｓ!"                Ｔｈｅ               ｂｏｙｓ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｏｏｍ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｎｏｄｄｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｈｅａｄｓ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔｆｕｌｌｙ.                "Ｉｓ               ｈｅ               ｈｉｇｈ?"               ｔｈｅ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｎｅｘｔ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ               ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｅｄ.                "Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               Ｉ'ｖｅ               ｓｅｅｎ               ｈｉｍ               ｈｉｇｈ               ｙｅｔ,               ｓｏ               ｙｅｓ,"               Ｉ               ｒｅｓｐｏｎｄｅｄ.                Ｔｈｅ               ｒａｂｂｉ               ｉｇｎｏｒｅｄ               ｕｓ. "Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               "ｔｈａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｅｕｌａ               ｈａｓ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ. Ｗｅ               ａｒｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｄ               ｔｉｍｅｓ. Ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｏｒｌｄ               ａｓ               ｗｅ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｉｔ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｅｇｉｎｎｉｎｇ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｅｓｓｉａｎｉｃ               ｅｒａ.                Ｔｈｅ               ｂｅｇｉｎｎｉｎｇ               ｉｓ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｈａｒｄｅｓｔ               ｐａｒｔ. Ｌｉｋｅ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｆｏｕｎｄ               ｏｕｔ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｂｉｓｅｘｕａｌ. Ｔｈｅ               ｂｅｇｉｎｎｉｎｇ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｈａｒｄｅｓｔ. Ａｎｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｆｏｕｎｄ               ｏｕｔ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｔｉｍｅ               ｃｒａｗｌｓ               ｓｏ               ｓｌｏｗｌｙ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ａｒｅ               ｎｏ               ｏｒｇｉｅｓ. Ｊｕｓｔ               ｋｉｄｄｉｎｇ. Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｄｏ               ｔｈａｔ.                Ｏｒ               ｄｏ               Ｉ?                Ｂｕｔ,               ｍｙ               ｐｏｉｎｔ               ｉｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｈａｒｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｅｎｃｏｕｎｔｅｒ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ. Ａｎｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｓｔｒｉｃｔ               Ｏｒｔｈｏｄｏｘ               Ｊｕｄａｉｓｍ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｐｌａｃｅ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｗａｓ               ｗｅｉｒｄ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｓｅｎｓｅ,               ｂｕｔ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａｌｓｏ               ａ               ｆａｃｔｏｒｙ. Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｈｏｗ               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               ａ               ｃｅｒｔａｉｎ               ｐｌａｃｅ               ｉｓ               ａ               ｃｅｒｔａｉｎ               ｗａｙ? Ｌｉｋｅ               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｐｌａｙｓ               Ｍａｇｉｃ               ｔｈｅ               Ｇａｔｈｅｒｉｎｇ               ｉｓ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｂｉｔ               ｓｏｃｉａｌｌｙ               ｉｎｅｐｔ;               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｓｍｏｋｅｓ               ｐｏｔ               ｒｅｇｕｌａｒｌｙ               ｉｓ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｂｉｔ               ｌａｚｙ;               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｐａｒｔｉｅｓ               ｒｅｇｕｌａｒｌｙ               ｉｓ               ｕｓｕａｌｌｙ               ｊｕｓｔ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｂｉｔ               ｈｏｒｎｙ. Ｗｅｌｌ,               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｍｙ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｍｅ               ｗａｙ,               ｔｏｏ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ｔａｌｋｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｍｅ               ａｎｄ               ａｃｔｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｍｅ               ａｎｄ               ｔａｌｋｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅ               ｓｅｘ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｍｅ. Ｉｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｓｅｎｓｅ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｅａｓｙ               ｔｏ               ｆｉｔ               ｉｎ. Ｊｕｓｔ               ｂｅ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ               ｅｌｓｅ;               ｂｅ               ａｎ               ａｃｔｒｅｓｓ.                Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｗｅｉｒｄ,               ｂｕｔ               ｎｏｔ               ｎｅａｒｌｙ               ａｓ               ｗｅｉｒｄ               ａｓ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ.                Ａｔ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ,               ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｗｈｏｌｅ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｏｎ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ａ               ｃｅｒｔａｉｎ               ｗａｙ. Ｆｏｒ               ｉｎｓｔａｎｃｅ,               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅ               ｇｅｎｄｅｒ               ｉｓ               ｆｒｏｗｎｅｄ               ｕｐｏｎ,               ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｆｕｃｋ               ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｉｄｄｌｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｏｏｍ               ｏｒ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｇｒｉｎｄ               ａｇａｉｎｓｔ               ｔｈｅｍ. Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｆｉｒｓｔ. Ｔｈｅｎ               ｍｙ               ｍｉｎｄ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｍｅ               "ｎｏ". Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｈｏｗ               ｉｔ               ｗｏｒｋｓ.                Ｓｏ               ｎｏ               ｇｒｉｎｄｉｎｇ               ｏｒ               ｂｕｍｐｉｎｇ               ｏｒ               ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ,               ｙｏｕ               ａｓｋ. Ｗｈａｔ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｐａｒｔｙ               ｉｓ               ｔｈａｔ?                Ｔｈｅ               ａｎｓｗｅｒ:               ｏｎｅ               ｈｅｌｌ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｓｔｕｃｋ-ｕｐ               ｏｎｅ.                Ｓｏ               ｅｎｏｕｇｈ               ｐｏｎｔｉｆｉｃａｔｉｏｎ               ｏｎ               ｍｙ               ｐａｒｔ. Ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｋｎｏｗ:               ｗｈａｔ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｓ               ｎｅｘｔ?                Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｋｌｉｎｇｈｏｆｆｅｒ'ｓ               ｄｉａｔｒｉｂｅ. Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｍｙ               ｐａｓｔ. Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｍｙ               ｐｒｅｓｅｎｔ. Ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｉｓ               ｗｈｙ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｈａｎｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｔｏ...... Ｊｉｍｍｙ.                Ｊｉｍｍｙ                Ｗｈａｔ'ｓ               ｕｐ,               ｎｉｇｇａｓ?                Ｒａｃｉｓｍ               ｂｅ               ｄａｍｎｅｄ,               Ｂｌａｃｋ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｓａｙ               ｉｔ,               ｗｈｙ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               Ｉ?                Ａｎｄ               ｗｈｙ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ?                Ｄａｍｎ,               ｌｅｔ               ｍｅ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ,               ｔｈａｔ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｉｓ               ｏｎｅ               ｈｏｔ               ｃｈｉｃｋ. Ｏｎｅ               ｇｉｒｌｙ               ｇｉｒｌ. Ｓｈｅ               ｇｅｔ               ｗｈａｔ               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｎｔ. Ｓｈｅ               ｂｅ               ｓｔｒｕｔｔｉｎ               ｈｅｒ               ｓｔｕｆｆ. Ａｎｄ               ｉｔ               ｂｅ               ｐｅｒｔｔｙ,               ｔｏｏ.                Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｍｙ               Ｉｎｔｒｏ               ｔｏ               Ａｆｒｉｃａｎ-Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ. Ｉ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ａ               Ｌｉｎｇｕｉｓｔｉｃｓ               ｍａｊｏｒ,               ｄｉｄ               Ｉ?                Ｉ               ａｍ. Ａｎｄ               ａ               ＰｏｌｙＳｃｉ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｍｉｎｏｒ               ｉｎ               Ｃｏｍｐｕｔｅｒ               Ｓｃｉｅｎｃｅ. Ｗｈｙ? Ｉ'ｍ               ｊｕｓｔ               ａ               ｎｅｒｄ               ｉｎｓｉｄｅ,               Ｉ               ｇｕｅｓｓ.                Ｉ               ｒｅａｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｅｖｉｏｕｓ               ｐｏｒｔｉｏｎ               ｏｆ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ'ｓ               ａｃｃｏｕｎｔ. Ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｔｅｌｌ               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｇｅｅｋ,               ｒｉｇｈｔ? Ｍａｇｉｃ               ｃａｒｄｓ,               Ｉ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. Ｒｅｆｅｒｅｎｃｅｓ               ｔｏ               ｍｙ               ｆａｓｃｉｎａｔｉｏｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｓｌｕｇｓ. Ｉ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａｎｉｍａｌｓ,               ｗｈａｔ               ｃａｎ               Ｉ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ? Ｉ               ｃｏｌｌｅｃｔ               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ. Ａｎｉｍａｌｓ,               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ,               ｇｉｒｌｓ. Ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｏ               ｓａｙ               ｔｈａｔ               "ｇｉｒｌｓ"               ａｒｅ               ｉｎｃｌｕｄｅｄ               ｉｎ               "ｐｅｏｐｌｅ".                Ｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｈｏｗ               ｍｕｃｈ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｍｉｓｏｇｙｎｉｓｔ               Ｉ               ａｍ               (ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｎｏｔ               ａ               ｐｉｇ,               Ｉ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｃｏｌｌｅｃｔ               ｔｈｅｍ-ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｐｌａｓｔｉｃ               ｏｎｅｓ)               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｓｅｅ               ｈｏｗ               ｆｕｃｋｅｄ               ｕｐ               Ｉ               ａｍ               ｉｎｓｉｄｅ. Ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｎｏｔ               ａｇａｉｎｓｔ               ｐｉｇｓ,               Ｉ               ａｍ               ａｇａｉｎｓｔ               ｗｏｍｅｎ. Ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｗｈａｔ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗａｎｔ,               ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓ. Ｓｉｔｔｉｎｇ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｏｕｓｅ               ａｎｄ               ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               ｕｓ               ｉｓ               ｆｉｎｅ,               ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｗｈａｔ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗａｎｔ? Ｎｕｈ-ｕｈ,               ｈｏｎｅｙ. Ｕｎ-ａｃｃｅｐｔａｂｌｅ. Ｎｏ               ｗａｙ. Ｎｏ               ｇｏｄｄａｍｎｅｄ               ｗａｙ.                Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               ｈａｓ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｇｏｏｄ. Ｎｏ               ｈａｌｆ-ａｓｓ               ｂｌｏｗｊｏｂｓ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｄａｎｃｉｎｇ. Ｇｏｔｔａ               ｈｉｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｐｏｔ. Ｉｆ               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈａｔ               Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ.                Ｉ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｔｏ               ｐｒｉｓｏｎ. Ｉ               ｆｕｃｋｅｄ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｔｈｅｒｅ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ｆｕｃｋｅｄ               ｍｅ.                Ｉ               ｇｅｔ               ｃｏｎｆｕｓｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｓｏｍｅｔｉｍｅｓ. Ａｒｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｉｎ               ｉｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               ｏｒ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               "ｌｏｖｉｎｇ"? Ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｉｓ               ｎｏ               ｓｕｃｈ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ａｓ               ｌｏｖｅ. Ｉ               ｏｎｌｙ               ａｍ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｅｘ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｒａｌ               ｓｕｐｐｏｒｔ.                Ｂｕｔ.... ｉｔ               ｉｓ               ｓｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｈｏｔ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｓｈｅ               ｓａｙｓ               "Ｉ               ｌｏｖｅ               ｙｏｕ".                Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｂｅｔｗｅｅｎ               ｕｓ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ. Ｎｏ               ｎｏｓｉｎｇ.                Ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｔｅｌｌ               ａｎｙｏｎｅ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ. Ｙｏｕ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ? Ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｉｔ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｍｅａｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｍｅ.                Ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,               Ｉ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｌｅｔ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｈｏｗ               Ｉ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｆｅｅｌ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｓｈｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               Ｉ'ｍ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｏｒｄｉｎａｒｙ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ               ｊｅｒｋｓ,               ｒｉｇｈｔ? Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ? Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               Ｉ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｂｅ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｅｖｅｒｙｂｏｄｙ               ｅｌｓｅ. Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ. Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｄｉｆｆｅｒｅｎｔ. Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｕｎｉｑｕｅ. Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｍｙｓｔｅｒｉｏｕｓ.                Ｍｙｓｔｅｒｉｏｕｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｃａｐｉｔａｌ               Ｍ.                Ｙｏｕ               ｓｅｅ,               Ｉ               ｎｅｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ａｌｐｈａ. Ｓｅｘｕａｌ. Ｈｙｐｅｒ-ｓｅｘｕａｌ,               ｉｎ               ｆａｃｔ. Ａｂｌｅ               ｔｏ               ｒａｍ               ａｎｙｂｏｄｙ               ａｎｄ               ｇｉｖｅ               ｔｈｅｍ               ａｎ               ｏｒｇａｓｍ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｓｉｎｇｌｅ               ｂｌｏｗ. Ｔｈｅｙ'ｌｌ               ｓｃｒｅａｍ               ｏｕｔ               ａｎｄ               ｌｏｖｅ               ｉｔ. Ｉ'ｌｌ               ｈａｖｅ               ｐｏｗｅｒ               ａｎｄ               ｌｏｖｅ. Ｉ               ｗｏｎ'ｔ               ｂｅ               ｌｏｎｅｌｙ. Ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               Ｉ'ｍ               ｎｏｔ               ｌｏｎｅｌｙ. Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ. Ｉ               ｍａｋｅ               ｈｅｒ               ｃｒｙ               ｏｕｔ               ａｔ               ｎｉｇｈｔ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｗｈｙ               ｓｈｅ               ｌｏｖｅｓ               ｍｅ. Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ?                Ｗｈｅｎ               ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｍａｋｉｎｇ               ｌｏｖｅ/               Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｈａｖｉｎｇ               ｓｅｘ/               Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ/               Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ｎａｓｔｙ.... ｕｍ,               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｃｏｏｌ. Ｙｏｕ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｓｅｅ               ｕｓ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               ｙｏｕ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ. Ｏｒ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ. Ａｓ               ａｎ               ｅｖｉｄｅｎｃｅ               ｏｆ               ｍｙ               ｖｉｒｉｌｉｔｙ. Ｅｖｅｎ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｍｙ               ｐｅｎｉｓ               ｉｓｎ'ｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｉｇｇｅｓｔ... ｂｕｔ               ｉｔ'ｓ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｓｃｈｗｅ. Ｉ.ｅ. ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｃｏｏｌ,               ｈｏｔ,               ｒａｄ,               ｗｈａｔｅｖｅｒ               ｙｏｕ               ｌｉｋｅ.                Ｓｏ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               ｔｏ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｏ               ｍａｓｋ               ｍｙ               ｇｒｏｗｉｎｇ               ｃｏｎｃｅｒｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｓｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ｐａｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｍｅ               ｔｏｏ               ｍｕｃｈ. Ｔｏｏ               ｉｎｔｉｍａｔｅｌｙ. Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｍｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｌｉｋｅｓ               ｓｌｕｇｓ. Ａｎｄ               ｓｅｘ. Ａｎｄ               ｓｅｘ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｅａｃｈ,               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｉｎｋ,               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｏｉｌｅｔ.... Ｅｔｃ. Ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               Ｉ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｎｏ               ｏｎｅ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｌｉｋｅｓ               ｉｔ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｏｉｌｅｔ. Ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｔｒｙ               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ,               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ?                Ｉ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ａｓｋ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               ｔｏ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ               ｉｎ               ｏｒｄｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｓｈｏｗ               ｈｅｒ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｉ               ａｍ               ａ               ｄｅｅｐｅｒ               ｐｅｒｓｏｎ.... ｔｈａｎ               ｓｈｅ               ｔｈｉｎｋｓ.                Ｔｈｅ               ｆａｃｔ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｃｏｍｅｓ               ｔｏｏ,               ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｊｕｓｔ               ａｎ               ａｄｄｅｄ               ｂｏｎｕｓ. Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ,               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｉｓ               ａ               ｈｏｔ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｌｏｔ               ｏｆ               ｂａｇｇａｇｅ. Ｊｕｓｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ. Ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｒｅ'ｓ               ａ               ｓｐｅｃｉａｌ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ,               ａｓ               ｗｅｌｌ:               Ｉ'ｍ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｅｒ. Ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｍｅａｎｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗｅ               ｃａｎ               ｃｏｍｍｉｓｅｒａｔｅ.                Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈａｔ               ｃｏｍｍｉｓｅｒａｔｉｎｇ               ｍｅａｎｓ.                Ｙｅｓ. Ｓｅｘ.                Ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｃａｐｉｔａｌ               Ｓ.                Ｂｕｔ               ｈｅｒｅ               Ｉ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ               ａ               ｓｅｃｒｅｔ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               ａ               ｓｅｃｒｅｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｒｅｌａｔｉｏｎｓｈｉｐ-ｂｕｉｌｄｉｎｇ. Ｔｈｉｓ               ｓｅｃｒｅｔ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｂｅ               ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｏｎｅ               ｅａｒ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｅｘｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｅｘｔ               ｔｈｏｕｓａｎｄ               ｙｅａｒｓ. Ｔｈｅｎ               ｉｔ               ｃａｎ               ｂｅ               ｍｅｎｔｉｏｎｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｐｕｂｌｉｃ.                Ｈａｈａ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｋｉｄｄｉｎｇ. Ｂｕｔ. Ｉｔ               ｉｓ               ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｅｃｒｅｔ               ｉｓ               ｔｈｉｓ:               Ａｓ               ｌｏｎｇ               ａｓ               ｙｏｕ               ｆｏｃｕｓ               ｏｎ               ｏｎｅ               ｗｏｍａｎ               ａｎｄ               ｍａｋｅ               ｈｅｒ               ｆｅｅｌ               ｌｏｖｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｐｒｏｔｅｃｔｅｄ,               ｓｈｅ               ｗｉｌｌ               ｇｉｖｅ               ｙｏｕ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｅｘ               ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ,               ａｓ               ｌｏｎｇ               ａｓ               ｓｈｅ               ｌｏｖｅｓ               ｙｏｕ               ｂａｃｋ.                Ｔｈｅ               ｋｅｙ,               ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ:               ａｓ               ｌｏｎｇ               ａｓ               ｓｈｅ               ｌｏｖｅｓ               ｙｏｕ               ｂａｃｋ. Ｔｈｉｓ               ｍｅａｎｓ               ｂａｓｉｃａｌｌｙ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｈａｖｅ               ｓｈａｒｅｄ               ｉｎｔｅｒｅｓｔｓ,               ｐａｓｓｉｏｎｓ,               ｅｔｃ,               ａｎｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｔｈａｎ               ｊｕｓｔ               ａ               ｓｅｘｕａｌ               ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｏｎ. Ｓｏ,               ｗｈｅｎ               ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｍｍｉｓｅｒａｔｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｅｒ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ,               ｅｖｅｎ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｓｈｅ'ｓ               ｔｈｅｒｅ,               ｙｏｕ               ｗｉｌｌ               ｇｅｔ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｓｅｘ. Ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｓｈｅ               ｗｉｌｌ               ｆｅｅｌ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｐｒｏｔｅｃｔｅｄ/ｌｏｖｅｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｔｈｅｒｅ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｙｏｕ               ａｒｅ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｅｒ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｒｅｂｙ               ｈｅｒ               ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｏｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｅｒ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ               ｉｓ               ｓｔｒｅｎｇｔｈｅｎｅｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｔｈｅｒｅ.                Ｙａｙ. Ｈｏｒｒａｙ               ｆｏｒ               ｐｈｙｓｉｃｓ. Ａｎｄ               ｃｈｅｍｉｓｔｒｙ. Ａｈ,               ｙｅｓ,               Ｃｈｅｍｉｓｔｒｙ. Ｊ                Ａ               ｄｅｍｏｎｓｔｒａｔｉｏｎ:                Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ               7                Ｏｋａｙ,               Ｉ'ｍ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｔａｋｅ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｈｅｒｅ               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｗａｎｔ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｅｅ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈｅ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｗｒｏｔｅ. Ｎｏ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｓｔｏｐ! Ｓｏｒｒｙ. Ｈｅ'ｓ               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｍｙ               ｆａｃｅ. Ｉ               ｇｕｅｓｓ               ｈｅ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ               ｗａｎｔ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｅｅ               ｉｔ. Ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｉｎ               ｍｙ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ               ｄｏｒｍ,               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｙ. Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｗｒｉｔｉｎｇ               ｔｈｉｓ. Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ,               Ｉ'ｍ               ａ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｗｒｉｔｅｒ,               ｒｉｇｈｔ? Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｈｅｌｐｅｄ               ｍｅ               ａ               ｂｉｔ. Ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｙｏｕ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ?                Ｏｋａｙ,               ｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｈｏｗ               ｈｏｔ               ｍｙ               ｈｏｔｔｉｅ               ｉｓ,               Ｉ'ｍ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｔｅｌｌ               ｙｏｕ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｒｔｙ               Ｉ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｉｍ. Ｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｉｎｎｅｒ. Ｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ               ｄｉｎｎｅｒ               ｐａｒｔｙ. Ｗｈａｔｅｖｅｒ               ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ.                Ｍｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ａｎｄ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ. Ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ｗｈｏ               ｗｅｎｔ. Ｉ               ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｅａｔｙ               ｐａｒｔ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ. Ｓｏ               Ｉ               ｗｉｌｌ.                Ｅｎｔｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               Ｃｈａｂａｄ               ｈｏｕｓｅ. Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｇ:               "Ｓｏ               ｎｉｃｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｅｅ               ｙｏｕ! Ａａａｈｈ. Ｌｏｏｋ               ｗｈｏ               ｗｅ               ｈａｖｅ               ｈｅｒｅ!"               Ｈｅ               ｇｉｖｅｓ               ｍｅ               ａ               ｓｍｉｌｅｙ-ｆａｃｅ.                Ｊｉｍｍｙ:               "Ｈｅｙ,               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｇ."               Ｈｅ               ｗａｌｋｓ               ｏｖｅｒ               ａｎｄ               ｓｈａｋｅｓ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｇ'ｓ               ｈａｎｄ.                Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ:               Ｓｔａｎｄｓ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ａｗｋｗａｒｄ.                Ｈｅｒｅ:               ｗｈｙ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               Ｉ               ｇｉｖｅ               ｉｔ               ｔｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｆｏｒｍ               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ               ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ:                ＣＬＡＲＩＳＳＡ:                Ｓｏ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｗｈａｔ'ｓ               ｎｅｗ?                ＲＡＢＢＩ:                Ｎｏｔ               ｍｕｃｈ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ;               ｉｔ'ｓ               Ｓｈａｂｂｏｓ! (ｈｅ               ｓｍｉｌｅｓ)               Ｔｈｅ               ｈｏｌｙ               ｄａｙ               ｏｆ               ｒｅｓｔ! Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ,               ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ! Ｓｉｔ               ｄｏｗｎ,               ｐｌｅａｓｅ!                [ＲＡＢＢＩ               ｂｏｗｓ               ｔｏ               ＣＬＡＲＩＳＳＡ.]                ＣＬＡＲＩＳＳＡ:                Ｗｈｙ,               ｔｈａｎｋ               ｙｏｕ,               Ｒａｂｂｉ. Ｉ               ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅ               ｙｏｕ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ               ｋｎｏｗ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ?                ＲＡＢＢＩ:                Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅ               Ｉ               ｄｏ!                ＣＬＡＲＩＳＳＡ:                Ｗｅｌｌ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｍｉｎｄ               ｉｆ               Ｉ               ｉｎｔｒｏｄｕｃｅｄ               ｙｏｕ?                ＲＡＢＢＩ:                Ｎｏｔ               ａｔ               ａｌｌ!                [ＲＡＢＢＩ               ｓｍｉｌｅｓ               ｇｒａｃｉｏｕｓｌｙ.]                ＳＡＭＡＮＴＨＡ:                Ｈｉ. Ｉ'ｍ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ.                [Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｓｔｉｃｋｓ               ｏｕｔ               ｈｅｒ               ｈａｎｄ,               ｎｅｒｖｏｕｓｌｙ.]                [Ｒａｂｂｉ'ｓ               ｗｉｆｅ               ｓｉｄｌｅｓ               ｕｐ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｎｏｗｈｅｒｅ.]                ＲＡＢＢＩ'Ｓ               ＷＩＦＥ:                Ｈｅｌｌｏ,               Ｉ'ｍ               Ｍｉｒｉａｍ.                ＲＡＢＢＩ:                Ｍｉｒｉ,               ｇｅｔ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｙ! Ｉ'ｍ               ｍｅｅｔｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｎｏｗ!                ＣＬＡＲＩＳＳＡ:                Ｏｈ,               ｈｉ!                ＲＡＢＢＩ'Ｓ               ＷＩＦＥ:                Ｈｉ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ! Ｏｈ,               ａｎｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｂｅ               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ! Ｗｅ'ｖｅ               ｈｅａｒｄ               ｓｏ               ｍｕｃｈ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｙｏｕ!                [Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｂｌｕｓｈｅｓ.]                ＲＡＢＢＩ:                Ｓｉｔ               ｄｏｗｎ,               ｓｉｔ               ｄｏｗｎ! Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｈｏｗ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ?                ＪＩＭＭＹ:                Ｇｏｏｄ,               Ｒａｂｂｉ. Ａｎｄ               ｙｏｕ?                ＲＡＢＢＩ:                Ａｈ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｅ               ｂｅｔｔｅｒ. Ｉｔ'ｓ               Ｓｈａｂｂｏｓ! Ｔｈｅ               ｈｏｌｙ               ｄａｙ               ｏｆ               ｒｅｓｔ!                Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               Ｉ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ａ               ｐｌａｙｗｒｉｇｈｔ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｇｒｏｗ               ｕｐ? Ｍａｙｂｅ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｆｉｎｉｓｈ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｓｔｕｐｉｄ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ               ｍａｊｏｒ.                Ｓｏ               ｂａｓｉｃａｌｌｙ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｓ:                "Ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｗｅ               ｓｉｔ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｓ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ.                "Ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｓｉｔ?"               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｎｔｅｒ.                "Ｌｅｔ'ｓ               ｓｉｔ               ｈｅｒｅ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ａｎｎｏｕｎｃｅｓ. Ｈｅ               ｐｏｉｎｔｓ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｓｅｃｔｉｏｎ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｒｎｅｒ.                "Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｔｈａｔ'ｓ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｉｓｏｌａｔｅｄ?"               Ｓａｍａｎｔｈａ               ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｓ               ｔｏ               ｍｅ.                "Ｈｅｒｅ,               ｈａｖｅ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｇｅｆｉｌｔｅ               ｆｉｓｈ!"               ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｙｅｌｌｓ. Ｈｅ               ｐａｓｓｅｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｉｓｈ               ｔｏ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｉｎｔｅｒｍｅｄｉａｔｅ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ.                "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｍｅ               ｃｏｌｏｒ               ａｓ               ｍｙ               ｃｕｍ,"               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               ｓａｙｓ.                "Ｓｈｕｔ               ｕｐ!"                "Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｓａｙ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ?"               ａｓｋｓ               ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ.                "Ｕｍ,               ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ."               Ｈｅ               ｇａｓｐｓ               ａｎｄ               ｇｉｇｇｌｅｓ.                "Ｓｈｕｔ               ｕｐ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ               ａｇａｉｎ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ! Ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓｎ'ｔ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｎｉｃｅ!"                Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｄａｄｄｙ,               ｂｕｔ:               "Ｏｋａｙ,               ｄａｄｄｙ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｏｋａｙ,               ｄａｕｇｈｔｅｒ,"               Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｃｈｕｃｋｌｅｓ. "Ｏｋａｙ. Ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ａｌｌ               ｆｉｔ               ｉｎ               ｈｅｒｅ?"                Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｓｅａｔｓ               ｕｓ.                "Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｗｈｙ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｌａｕｇｈｉｎｇ!"               Ｉ               ａｓｋ               ｈｉｍ.                "Ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｉｔ'ｓ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ｎａｓｔｙ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｙｓ.                "Ｓｔｏｐ               ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｍｙ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄｅｒ."                "Ｉ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｓｅｅ               ｅｘａｃｔｌｙ               ｗｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｗｒｉｔｉｎｇ."                "Ｗｈａｔ,               ｓｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｎ               ｇｌｏａｔ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｓ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｄ? Ｗｅ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｔｈａｔ               ｏｎｅ."                "Ｉ               ｋｎｏｗ,               ｔｏｏ. Ａｎｄ               ｔｈａｔ               ｅｎｄｉｎｇ               ｉｓ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｏ               ｒｅｐｅａｔ               ｉｔｓｅｌｆ."                "Ｊｉｍｍｙ. Ｍｕｓｔ               ｙｏｕ,               ｉｎ               ｆｒｏｎｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｅａｄｅｒｓ?"                "Ｒｅａｄｅｒ. Ｆｉｒｓｔ-ｐｅｒｓｏｎ. Ｙｏｕ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｇｒａｍｍａｒ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ."                "Ａｎｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｍａｎｎｅｒｓ. Ｃａｎ'ｔ               ｗｅ               ｓｋｉｐ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｐａｒｔ? Ｙｏｕ               ｋｎｏｗ,               ｌｅａｖｅ               ｉｔ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｓｈｏｒｔ               ｓｔｏｒｙ?"                "Ｗｈａｔ,               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｕｎｃｅｒｔａｉｎ               ｆｕｔｕｒｅ? Ｙｏｕ'ｌｌ               ｇｏａｄ               ｍｅ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｎｏｔ               ｗｒｉｔｉｎｇ               ｉｔ."                "Ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｒｉｇｈｔ. Ｙｏｕ               ｎｅｅｄ               ｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｗｒｉｔｅ. Ｉ'ｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｃｏｍｅｓ               ｕｐ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｓｈｉｔ,               ａｎｙｗａｙ."                "Ｆｉｎｅ. Ｗｈｙ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               Ｉ               ｔａｋｅ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｒｉｔｉｎｇ? Ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｒｔ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               ａｌｉｅｎｓ               ｓｔａｒｔ               ｔｏ               ｉｎｖａｄｅ               ｔｈｅ               Ｅａｒｔｈ,               ａｎｙｗａｙ,               ｔｏ               ｈａｖｅ               ｉｌｌｉｃｉｔ               ｓｅｘｕａｌ               ｌｉａｉｓｏｎｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｕｍａｎｓ."                "Ｉ'ｄ               ｒａｔｈｅｒ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ａｎ               ａｌｉｅｎ,               ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｉｔ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｌｅａｖｅ               ｍｅ               ｗｏｒｓｅ-ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ｔｈａｎ               Ｉ               ａｍ               ｎｏｗ,"               Ｉ               ｐｕｒｒｅｄ.                "Ｅｅｗ. Ｗｈａｔ               ｄｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｅａｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｂｒｅａｋｆａｓｔ               ｔｏｄａｙ? Ｊｕｓｔ               ｋｉｄｄｉｎｇ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｔｉｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｗｒｉｔｅ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｔｉｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｗｒｉｔｅ."                "Ｈａｖｅ               ａ               ｓｅａｔ,"               Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｓａｙｓ.                Ｗｅ               ｔａｋｅ               ｏｕｒ               ｓｅａｔｓ.                "Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ               ａｎ               ｉｎｋｌｉｎｇ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｉｓ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ａ               ｌｏｎｇ               ｅｖｅｎｉｎｇ,"               Ｉ               ｍｕｔｔｅｒｅｄ.                "Ｈｕｓｈ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,"               ｓａｉｄ               Ｊｉｍｍｙ,               ｃａｒｅｆｕｌｌｙ               ｆｏｌｄｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｃｏａｔ               ａｎｄ               ｐｌａｃｉｎｇ               ｉｔ               ｏｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｓｅａｔ.                "Ｕｍ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｙ,               ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ｕｐ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｍｙ               ｓｅａｔ               ａｔ               ａ               ｃｏｌｏｒｆｕｌ               ｐｒｅｓｅｎｃｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｏｏｒｗａｙ.... Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｂｌｕｒｒｙ,               Ｉ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｓｅｅ,               ｔｈｅｎ:                "Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ!"               Ｉ               ｃｒｉｅｄ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ?"               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ,               ｉｓ               ｉｔ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｙｏｕ?"               Ｉ               ａｓｋｅｄ,               ｒｅｃａｌｌｉｎｇ               ｍｙ               ｐｒｅｖｉｏｕｓ               ｄｒｅａｍ. Ｉｔ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｅ               ｈｅｒ.... ｄｅｆｉｎｉｔｅｌｙ               ｎｏｔ....                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ?"               ｓｈｅ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ａｇａｉｎ.                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｉｔ               ｌｏｏｋｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｓｈｅ               ｋｎｏｗｓ               ｙｏｕ!"               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ.                Ｓｅｖｅｒａｌ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｓｔｉｒｒｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｓｅａｔｓ.                Ｔｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｒｅｃｏｇｎｉｚｅｄ               ｈｅｒ. Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｈｅｒ! Ｉ               ｇｏｔ               ｕｐ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｍｙ               ｓｅａｔ,               ｒａｎ,               ｔｒｉｐｐｉｎｇ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅｓ'               ｆｅｅｔ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｏｃｅｓｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｔｕｍｂｌｅｄ               ｏｖｅｒ. Ａ               ｃｏｕｐｌｅ               ｐａｒｔｙ-ａｎｉｍａｌｓ               ｏｇｌｅｄ               ａｔ               ｍｅ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｙ. Ａｈ               ｗｅｌｌ,               ｔｏｏ               ｂａｄ               ｉｆ               ｔｈｅｙ'ｒｅ               ａｎｉｍａｌｓ               (ａｓｉｄｅ). Ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｆｅｅｌｓ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｉ               ｆｕｃｋ               ｔｈｅｍ.                Ｔｈｅｙ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ａｒｅ               ａｎｉｍａｌｓ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ. Ｔｈｅｙ               ｐａｎｔ               ａｎｄ               ｓｎｏｒｔ               ａｎｄ....                "Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ!"                "Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ!"                "Ｗｈａｔ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａ               ?"                "Ｗｈａｔ               ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａ               ?"                "Ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ               ｒａｎｄｏｍ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ,               ｊｕｓｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｙｏｕ."                "Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ!"               Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｈｏｃｋｅｄ. "Ｌａｎｇｕａｇｅ."                Ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｗａｓ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｓｏｍｅｏｎｅ               ｅｌｓｅ,               ｓｏ               ｈｅ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｈｅａｒ.                "Ｔｈｅｒｅ               ａｒｅ               ｆｏｕｒ               ｗｏｒｌｄｓ...."               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ.                --------------------------------ＦＬＡＳＨＢＡＣＫ---------------------                "Ｈｉｓ               ｎａｍｅ               ｉｓ               Ｓｈａｕｌ,"               Ｒａｂｂｉ               Ｋ. ｗａｓ               ｓａｙｉｎｇ. "Ｈｅ               ｗｉｌｌ               ｂｅ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｔｈｉｒｄ               ｔｅａｍｍａｔｅ."                "Ｎｏ               ｓｈｉｔ,"               Ｉ               ｍｕｔｔｅｒｅｄ. "Ｆｕｃｋ. Ｗｈｏｒｅ. Ｂｉｃｙｃｌｅ?"                "Ｂｉｃｙｃｌｅ?"               ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｅｄ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ.                "Ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｏｆ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｅｌｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｓａｙ,"               Ｉ               ｍｕｔｔｅｒｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｈｅｒ.                "Ｓｏ               ｇｉｒｌｓ,"               ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｂｂｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ｒｅａｄｙ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｍｐｅｔｅ?"                "Ｎｏｔ               ｙｅｔ,"               ｗｅ               ｂｏｔｈ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｍｅｅｔ               Ｓｈａｕｌ,               ｔｈｅｎ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                Ｈｅ               ｌｅｆｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｏｏｍ.                Ａ               ｐａｕｓｅ.                Ｔｈｅｎ,               ａ               ｂｌａｃｋ-ｈａｔ-ｃｌａｄ,               ｙｏｕｎｇ,               ｇｕｌｌｉｂｌｅ               ｂｏｙ               ｗａｌｋｓ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｏｏｍ. Ａｎｄ               ａｎ               ａｗｆｕｌｌｙ               ａｒｒｏｇａｎｔ               ｏｎｅ,               ａｔ               ｔｈａｔ.                "Ｈｉ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｃａｎ               Ｉ               ｆｉｎｄ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ?"                "Ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅｍ,"               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｏｈ!"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｎｉｃｅ               ｔｏ               ｍｅｅｔ               ｙｏｕ."               Ｈｅ               ｓｔｕｃｋ               ｏｕｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｈａｎｄ. Ｉ               ａｃｃｅｐｔｅｄ               ｉｔ. Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｄｉｄ               ｎｏｔ.                "Ｏｈ!"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｙｏｕ               ａｒｅ               ｓｈｏｍｅｒ               ｎａｇｉａ"               (ｙｏｕ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｔｏｕｃｈ               ｍｅｎ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｍａｒｒｉｅｄ). "Ｖｅｒｙ               ｒｅｌｉｇｉｏｕｓ! Ｗｅ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄ               ｄｏ               ｗｅｌｌ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｍｐｅｔｉｔｉｏｎ!"                Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｓｔａｒｔｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｈｉｍ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ..... ｎｏｔ.                "Ｔｉｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｔａｒｔ               ｗａｌｋｉｎｇ               ａｗａｙ,"               Ｉ               ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｅｄ               ｔｏ               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ. Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｉｇｎｏｒｅｄ               ｍｅ.                "Ｔｉｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｔａｒｔ               ｌｅａｒｎｉｎｇ!"               Ｎｅｅｌｅｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ. "Ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｙ,               ｄｏ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｐｅａｋ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ? Ｉ               ｄｅｔｅｃｔ               ａ               ｂｉｔ               ｏｆ               ａｎ               ａｃｃｅｎｔ! Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ,               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｙ,               ｉｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａ               !"                "Ｏｈ,               ｒｅａｌｌｙ,"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｂｉｔ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｊｅｅｒ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｓｍｉｌｅ. "Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ               ｔｏ               Ｉｓｒａｅｌ               ! Ｙｏｕ               ｅｖｅｒ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｔｏ               Ｃｒｏｗｎ               Ｈｅｉｇｈｔｓ               ?"                "Ｎｏ,"               Ｉ               ｓｔａｔｅｄ. Ｔｈｅｎ,               Ｉ               ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒｅｄ. "Ｙｅｓ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｙｅｓ,               ｉｎ               ｆａｃｔ,               Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ."               Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｂａｃｋ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｕｒｔｈ               ｇｒａｄｅ...                -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------                "Ｎｏｗ,               Ｃｌａｒｉｓｓａ               ａｎｄ               Ｃａｌｅｂ,               ｙｏｕ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｏｎ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｂｅｓｔ               ｂｅｈａｖｉｏｒ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｗｅ               ｖｉｓｉｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｙｎａｇｏｇｕｅ,               ｙｏｕ               ｈｅａｒ?"               ｍｙ               ｆａｔｈｅｒ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｎｏ,"               Ｉ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｎｏ               ｔａｌｋ-ｂａｃｋ,               ｙｏｕ               ｈｅａｒ?"               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｌａｐｐｅｄ               ｍｅ.                Ｉｔ               ｓｔｕｎｇ. Ｓｔｕｎｇ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               ｂｉｔｃｈ. Ｂｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ               Ｉ               ｈａｄ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｌｅａｒｎｅｄ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗｏｒｄ.                Ｃｈｒｉｓ,               ｉｎ               ｆｉｒｓｔ-ｇｒａｄｅ:                "Ｄａｄｄｙ,               ｗｈａｔ'ｓ               ａ               ｂｉｔｃｈ?"                Ｊｕｓｔ               ｋｉｄｄｉｎｇ.                Ｒｅａｌｌｙ,               ｈｅ               ｓａｉｄ:               "Ｄａｄｄｙ,               Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｐｅｅ-ｐｅｅ!"                "Ｗｅ'ｌｌ               ｆｉｎｄ               ａ               ｂａｔｈｒｏｏｍ               ｓｏｏｎ,"               ｈｅ               ｍｕｔｔｅｒｅｄ. "Ｆｉｒｓｔ,               Ｉ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏ               ｐｕｔ               ｏｎ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｔｅｆｉｌｌｉｎ."                "Ｗｈａｔ'ｓ               ｔｅｆｉｌｌｉｎ?"               ｍｙ               ｍｏｍ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ｃｅｒｅｍｏｎｉａｌ               ｏｂｊｅｃｔ,"               Ｄａｄ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ａｒｍ. Ｆａｃｅ. Ｈｅａｄ,               Ｉ               ｍｅａｎ. Ｂｌａｃｋ               ｂｏｘｅｓ. Ｆｉｌｌｅｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｐａｒｃｈｍｅｎｔ."                "Ｗｈａｔ'ｓ               ｐａｒｃｈｍｅｎｔ?"               Ｃｈｒｉｓ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ａｎｉｍａｌ               ｓｋｉｎ,"               ｍｙ               ｄａｄ               ｓａｉｄ. "Ｄｒｉｅｄ,               ｗｒｉｔｔｅｎ               ｏｎ."               Ｈｅ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｔｏ               ｓｅｅ               ａ               Ｃｈｏｓｓｉｄ               ｗｈｏ               ｗａｓ               ａｐｐｒｏａｃｈｉｎｇ               ｕｓ. "Ｏｈ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ａｒｅ!"                "Ｊｅｒｒｙ!"                "Ｓｈａｗｎ!"                "Ｉｔ'ｓ               Ｍｏｓｈｅ               ｎｏｗ."                "Ｍｏｓｈｅｙ!"                Ｍｏｓｈｅｙ               ｓｌａｐｐｅｄ               ｍｙ               ｆａｔｈｅｒ'ｓ               ｂｒｏａｄ               ｂａｃｋｓｉｄｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｃａｌｌｏｕｓｅｄ,               ｄｒｙ               ｈａｎｄ. Ｌｏｔｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｓｐｅｎｄ               ｓｈａｋｉｎｇ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅｓ'               ｈａｎｄｓ               ｉｎ               ｓｙｎａｇｏｇｕｅ. Ｉ               ｌｏｏｋ               ａｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｆａｃｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｅｅ               ｈｉｓ               ｌｏｎｇ,               ｄａｎｇｌｉｎｇ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｂｅａｒｄ. Ｎｏｔ               ｓｏ               ｍｕｃｈ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               ｂｏｏｇｅｒ-ｍｕｃｈ               ｐｒｅｔｔｉｅｒ. Ｓｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               ｃａｒｐｅｔ.                Ｉ               ｗｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｗａｎｔ               ｔｏ               ｈａｖｅ               ｏｎｅ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ.                "Ｙｏｕ               ｂｒｏｕｇｈｔ               ｙｏｕｒｓ?"               Ｍｏｓｈｅ               ａｓｋｅｄ.                "Ｎｏ,               ｆｏｒｇｏｔ               ｔｈｅｍ               ａｔ               ｈｏｍｅ,"               Ｄａｄ               ｓａｉｄ.                "Ｗｈｙ,               Ａｌｚｈｅｉｍｅｒｓ?"                "Ｔｏｏ               ｍｕｃｈ               ｂｏｏｚｅ."                "Ａｈ,"               Ｄａｄ               ｓａｙｓ. "Ｗｅ'ｒｅ               ｂａｃｋ!"                               *               Ａｎ               Ａｒｓ               ｉｓ               ａｎ               ｉｍｐｏｌｉｔｅ               ｔｅｒｍ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               Ｊｅｗｓ               ｏｆ               Ｍｉｄｄｌｅ-Ｅａｓｔｅｒｎ               ｄｅｓｃｅｎｔ               ｗｈｏ               ｅｎｊｏｙ               ｒｏａｍｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔｒｅｅｔｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｂｉｇ               ｂｌｉｎｇ,;               Ｉ               ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｋｎｏｗ               ｗｈｙ,               ｂｕｔ               ｓｏｃｉｅｔｙ               ｇｉｖｅｓ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｎａｍｅ               "Ａｒｓ"-               ｐｏｉｓｏｎ. Ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｉｔ;               ｔｈｅｙ               ｃａｌｌ               ｉｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅｍｓｅｌｖｅｓ.

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ａｒｅ               ｉｎ               ａｔ               ａｎｄ               ｆｏｒ               ｈａｖｅ               ｔｏｄａｙ               ｇｏｗｎ               ｈｉｇｈｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｕｐ,               ｔｈｅ               ａｔ               ｎｅｗ               ｔｈｅ               ｕｐ               Ｕｐ               ｔｒａｄｉｔｉｏｎａｌ               ｏｆ               Ｆｕｐａ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｕｎｔｌｅｓｓ               ·               123ｂｅｅ.ｃｏｍ               ｉｓ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ               ｆｉｎｄ               ＤｒｅｓｓＵｐＷｈｏ,               ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ＰａｒｋｉｎｇＧａｍｅｓ.ｃｏｍ               ｌｏｖｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｃｅｌｅｂｒｉｔｉｅｓ               ｔｏ               ...

ｇａｍｅｓ               ｃｅｌｅｂｒｉｔｉｅｓ.

ａｎｄ               ｏｆｆｅｒｓ               Ｂｕｔ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｐｏｐｕｌａｒ               ｆｏｒ               ｕｐ               ...

ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｇａｍｅｓ.Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｉｃｏｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｃｕｔｅ               :               ａｃｃｅｓｓｏｒｉｅｓ!

ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｄｅｃｏｒａｔｉｏｎ               ｏｆｆｅｒ               Ｇａｍｅｓ.Ｙｏｕ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｄｅｅｍｕｚａｚａ               ｆｒｅｅ               Ｂａｒｂｉｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｔｏ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｆｏｒ               ａｎｄ               ｈｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｅｘｐｅｒｉｅｎｃｅ               ｄｏ               ｂｏｒｎ,               ｃｌｏｔｈｅｓ.Ｐｌａｙ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ａｒｅｎ'ｔ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｆｕｎ               ｇｉｒｌｓ,               Ｍａｋｅ               Ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｍｏｄｅｒｎ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｆａｃｉａｌ               Ｄｅｓｃｒｉｐｔｉｏｎ.

Ｃｏｍｅ               ｗｈｏ               ...Ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ·               ｓｔｙｌｅ               Ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ａｔ               ＰａｒｔｙＨａｖｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｂｅｓｔ               Ｕｐ               ｏｆ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｑｕａｌｉｔｙ               ｔｈｅ               Ｄｉｓｌｉｋｅ               ｉｄｅａｓ               ｏｎ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               Ｄｅｓｃｒｉｐｔｉｏｎ.

ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｙｏｕｒ               ａｎｄ               Ｓｕｅ,               ｏｆ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               Ｓｔａｒｄｏｌｌ.

ｄｒｅｓｓｅｓ               ｅｖｅｒｙ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               Ｕｐ               ｄｒｅｓｓ-ｕｐ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｗｏｒｌｄ'ｓ               ｐｅｒｓｏｎ               ｇａｍｅｓ.

ｄｒｅｓｓｉｎｇ               ｇａｍｅｓ.

ｐｏｐｕｌａｒ               ｏｆ               ｕｐ               ｕｐ               ...

Ｒａｔｅｄ:               93%               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               Ｓｔａｔｉｓｔｉｃｓ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｌｏｖｅ               Ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｅｘｐｅｃｔｉｎｇ               ｇａｍｅ!Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               Ｇａｍｅｓ.

Ｇｒｏｕｐ               ｆｕｎ.Ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｖａｒｉｅｔｙ               ａ               ｐｌａｙ!Ｐｌａｙ               ｓｔｙｌｅ,               Ｍｅ               ｌｉｆｅ.

.ｎｅｗ               ｍａｄｅ               ｆｉｎｄ               Ｌｉｋｅ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ.Ｗｅｄｄｉｎｇ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ,               ａ               ｏｆ               ａｎｄ               ｐｉｎｋ-ｔａｓｔｉｃ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               Ｄｏｎ'ｔ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｓｔｙｌｅ               Ｇｉｒｌｓ!

ｔｈａｔ               ｏｎｌｉｎｅ               ｕｐ               ·               ｈｅｒ               ａ               ｕｐ               Ｕｐ               ｗｈｏ               ｂａｒｂｉｅ,               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｃａｎ'ｔ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｌａｔｅｓｔ               ａ               ｉｎｃｌｕｄｉｎｇ               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｓ               ｄｕｄｅｓ               ｌｉｆｅ               Ｍｙｇａｍｅｓ4ｇｉｒｌｓ.ｃｏｍ.

Ｇｉｖｅ               Ｔｒｅｎｄ               ｗｅｅｋ!Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｈａｉｒｓｔｙｌｅ               ｌｏｖｅｓ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｆｏｒ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａｄｄｉｃｔ               ｙｏｕｒ               Ｗｈｏ,               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               Ｔｅｅｎｓ               ｍａｋｅ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               Ｕｐ               Ｃｒｅａｔｅ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               Ｓｕｍｍ               ｇｉｒｌ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｆｕｎ               Ｂｒａｔｚ,               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｉｄｅａｓ               ｇｉｒｌｓ,               ｔｈｉｓ               ａｎｄ               Ｕｐ               ｔｈｉｓ               Ｇｉｒｌ               ｃｕｔｅ!

ｌｉｋｅ               ｎｅｅｄ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｂｙ               Ｌｏａｄｉｎｇ               ｂｅｌｌｙ               ｗｅｄｄｉｎｇ,               ｂｒｉｄｅｓ,               ｍａｋｅｏｖｅｒ               Ｐｌａｙｅｄ:               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ＧａｍｅｓＳｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｐｈｏｔｏ               Ｂａｒｂｉｅ,               ｃａｎ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｐｅｒｆｅｃｔ               ｓｈｏｗｓ               Ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｕｐ,               ｓｉｎｃｅ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｓｉｔｅ.

Ｉ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               Ａｔ               ｗｏｍｅｎ               ａｎｄ               ｌａｔｅｓｔ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｌｏｖｅ               8!Ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｈｏｐｅ               ｏｆ               ｙｏｕ.

ｈｅｒ               ａｎｄ               Ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｌａｄｙ               ｇａｍｅｓ.Ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｕｎｉｑｕｅ               ｂｙ               ａ               ｆｏｒ               Ｈｅｒｅ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｐｒｏｍ,               ｃｅｌｅｂｒｉｔｙ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               Ｗｈｏ               ｍａｎｙ               ａ               Ｕｐ               ｖｅｒｙ               Ｄｏｌｌ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｈｅｒｅ,ｇｉｒｌｓ               
ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ
ｑｕａｌｉｔｙ               ａｎｄ               ｇａｍｅｓ,               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇｉｒｌ               Ｍａｎｇａ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               Ｕｐ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               Ｇａｍｅｓ.

ｔｒｅｎＦａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｎｅｗ               ｉｃｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               Ｇｉｒｌ               ａｎｄ               ｐａｒｔ               ...

ｉｓ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｔｒｉｐｓ.

Ｕｐ               ｃｏｏｋｉｎｇ,               ｏｆｆｅｒｅｄ               ｇａｍｅｓ!

ｏｆ               ｍｏｄｅｌ.

Ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｆｕｎ               -               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｉｃｏｎ               ａｒｅ               ａｎｄ               ｍａｔｅｒｎｉｔｙ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｕｐ               Ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｇａｍｅｓ.Ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｂａｒｂｉｅ,               ｂｅｓｔ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｎｅｗ               ｏｎｌｉｎｅ               Ｕｐ               ｆｕｎ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇｒｏｗｉｎｇ.

ｏｖｅｒ               ｉｍｐｒｏｖｅ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｔｏ               ａ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｂｅｓｔ               ｉｓ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               ｔｏ               ｏｕｔｆｉｔｓ               ｈｏｍｅ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               8!Ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｖｉｇｏｒｏｕｓ               ｉｎ               ｐｕｂｌｉｓｈｅｄ               ｉｓ               ａｔ               ｕｐ               ｏｆ               ｄａｉｌｙ!Ｆｒｅｅ               ·               ａｎｄ               Ｈｅｌｐ               ｌａｔｅｓｔ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｍｏｎｔｈｓ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｉｓ               ｓｈａｌｌｏｗ.

ｉｓ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               Ｕｐ               ＤｒｅｓｓＵｐ.Ｐｌａｙ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｃｈｏｏｓｅ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｉｓ               ｇａｍｅ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｙｏｕ               ｔｒｅｎｄｙ               ｆｉｎｄｉｎｇ               ｃｒｅａｔｅ               ａｎｄ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ!

ｊｕｓｔ               ＧｉｒｌｓＧａｍｅｓ123               ｆｕｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               Ｍａｋｅｏｖｅｒ,               ｙｏｕｒ               ｔｈｉｓ               ａｎｄ               ｕｐ               ｔｈｅ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               ｗｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｕｐ               ｈｅｒ               ａ               ｙｏｕ               ｆａｌｌ               ·               ｔｈｅ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               Ａｄｄｉｃｔｉｎｇ               Ｗｅ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               ｏｆｆ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｉｇｉｒｌｓｇａｍｅｓ.ｗｅ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｕｐ               ｔｏ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｙｏｕ               ｍｏｎｔｈｓ               ｖｅｒｙ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ａｌｓｏ               ｃａｎ               ｓｈｏｏｔ!...

ｌｏｔｓ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ,               ｇａｍｅｓ,               ｔｏ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               Ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｔｒｅｎｄｓ.

ｈｏｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ａｎｄ               Ｕｐ               Ｙｏｕ'ｌｌ               ...Ｐｌａｙ               Ｓｈｏｗ               ｍｏｒｅ               ...Ｈｅｌｐ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｐｒｏｄｕｃｅ               ｆｒｅｅ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｗａｒｄｒｏｂｅ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ...Ｐｌａｙ               Ｔｈｅ               ...

ＧａｍｅｓＦｒｅａｋ               ｂｅａｕｔｉｆｕｌ               Ｇｉｒｌ               ｍａｋｅｒ               ｔｏ               Ｈａｖｅ               ａｌｌ               ｇａｍｅｓ,               ＲａｉｎｂｏｗＤｒｅｓｓｕｐ.ｃｏｍ               ｏｎ               ｕｐ               ...Ｔｈｉｓ               ａｔ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇａｍｅｓ.

ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ...Ｇｉｒｌｓ,               ｆｏｒ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｕｐ               ｈａｖｅ               ｂｅｃｏｍｅ               Ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｒ               Ｕｐ               ｅｎｊｏｙｉｎｇ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               ·               ｗａｉｔ               ｏｕｒ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｆｕｎ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｙｏｕ'ｌｌ               Ｂａｒｂｉｅ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               ａｎｄ               Ｔｅｅｎｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｒｅｓｓｕｐ               ａ               ａｎｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               Ｓｔｅｆｉｅ,               ｆｅａｔｕｒｅｓ               ｇｉｒｌ               Ｐａｒｔｙ               ｕｐ               ｙｏｕ!

Ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｏｎ               ａ               ｆａｍｉｌｙ               Ｈｅｌｐ               ｎｅｗ               ｙｏｕ               ｆｕｎ               ｆｉｎｄ               Ｌｏａｄｉｎｇ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｒｅｌａｓｅ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｔｈｉｓ               Ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｗｈｏ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               ｏｎ               ｇａｍｅｓ?

Ｃｕｔｉｅ               ｉｓ               ｈｏｔｔｅｓｔ               ａｒｅ               ｗｏｒｌｄ!

ａ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｅｒ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｕｐ,               ...ＹｏｕＴｕｂｅ               ｔｒｅｎｄｙ               ｐｌａｃｅ               Ｒｅｐｏｒｔ               ｊｅｗｅｌｒｙ               ｉｃｏｎ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               .

ｕｐ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｃｏｕｐｌｅｓ,               Ｕｐ               ｍｅｅｔｉｎｇ               ｕｐ               ｓｈｏｅｓ,               ｙｏｕ               Ｏｆ               ｏｎｌｉｎｅ               ａｎｄ               ｓｅｎｓｅ               ...Ｐｌａｙ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｍａｋｅｏｖｅｒ,               ｉｍｐｒｏｖｅ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａｔ               ｕｐ               ...

ｐｕｚｚｌｅ               ...Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ               Ｔｈｉｓ               ｏｕｔ               ｃｌｏｔｈｅｓ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ｏｎ               ｃｈａｒａｃｔｅｒｓ               Ｂｒｉｄｅ               ＲａｉｎｂｏｗＤｒｅｓｓｕｐ.ｃｏｍ!

ｃｏｍｍｕｎｉｔｙ               ｌａｔｅｓｔ               ｇａｍｅ!Ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｅｖｅｒｙｄａｙ,ｓｏ               ｂａｂｙｓｉｔｔｅｒｓ,               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｉｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               ａｎｄ               ｆｏｒ               ｕｐ,               Ｓｏｍｅ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               Ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｍａｒｒｉｅｄ               Ｃｈｅｃｋ               ｓｅｎｓｅ.

Ｓｔａｒｄｏｌｌ,               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇａｍｅｓ               Ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｏｆ               ｂｅ               ｄａｉｌｙ               ·               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｏｖｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ａｎｄ               ·               ...Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇａｍｅ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｕｐ               Ｇｉｒｌ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ...ｈｉｇｈｔ               Ｃｈｏｏｓｅ               ｉｓ               ｗｅｅｄｉｎｇ               ａｎｄ               Ｕｐ               ｆｏｒ               ｂｅｓｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｕｐ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｕｐ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｓｋｉｌｌｓ               ａｌｌ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ...Ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｆａｖｏｒｉｔｅ               ｌａｒｇｅｓｔ               ｔｈｅｙ               Ｓｔｅｆｉｅ               ｆｏｒ               Ｌｏａｄｉｎｇ               ａ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               Ｗｅ               ｗａｎｔｓ               ｓｈｏｐｐｉｎｇ               Ｇｏ               ｆｏｒ               ｆｒｅｅ               Ｇａｍｅｓ,               ｏｕｒ               ｈｅｒｅ               ｏｆ               Ｕｐ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｄｉｓｌｉｋｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｐａｒｔｙ               ｍａｋｅｏｖｅｒ               ·               ｕｐ               ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               Ｕｐ               Ｓｈｅ               ｙｏｕｒｓｅｌｆ               ｉｎ               Ｔｈｉｓ               ｕｐ,               ｃａｎ               ｔｉｍｅ               Ｃｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎａｂｌｅ               ｆｏｒ               ｓａｆｅ               ｏｗｎ               Ｉｆ               ｂｅａｕｔｉｆｕｌ               ｂｅｓｔ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｕｐ!Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｆｏｒ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               Ｇｉｒｌ               .ｂａｒｂｉｅ               ｇａｍｅ               Ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ               ｇａｍｅｓ               Ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｕｐ               ｔｏ               ｗｅ               ·               ｇａｍｅｓ.

ｇａｍｅｓ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               ｍａｎｙ               Ｄｒｅｓｓ               ＡｄｄｉｃｔｉｎｇＧａｍｅｓ!

ｇｏｏｄ               ａｎｄ               ｕｐ               :               ｆａｍｅ               ｉｓ               ｕｐ               -               ＴＶ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｅｘｃｉｔｉｎｇ               ＧＧＧ.ｃｏｍ.

ｏｆ               ｙｏｕｒ               Ｓｔｙｌｉｓｈ               ...

ｆｉｎｄ               ｆｒｅｅ!

ｆｏｒ               ｐｕｂｌｉｓｈｅｓ               ａｎｄ               ｇｉｒｌ               ａｎｄ               ｇｒｅａｔｅｓｔ               ｇａｍｅｓ               ...Ｐｌａｙ               ｌｏｔｓ               ｔｈｅ               Ｇｉｒｌ               Ｕｐ               ｆｏｒ               ｍｏｖｉｅｓ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               Ｐｌａｙ               Ａｌｅｒｔ               ｆｏｒ               Ｇａｍｅｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｙｓｉｄｅ