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wooden pass to the hall monitor sitting at the desk near the water fountain. It turned out to be Public Enemy
     Number One - Travis Buttrick. He grabbed my pass and examined it like he was White House security. I think he wanted me to
     get a load of his flashy new scuba-diving watch - like I cared. Like he
really
needed it to go skinny-dipping in Buttermilk Creek. Travis handed the pass back and I flew toward the bathroom.
    “Hey, no running in the halls, Grubbs!”
    “Sorry.”
    “And by the way, can I pleeeeze have your autograph, O great
actor?”
    I should’ve turned around and punched him, but I just kept walking. I didn’t want to wind up in the nurse’s office again with
     a lumpy head. Not today, of all days.
    The boys’ bathroom was dimly lit and had bars on the windows, like something out of a prison movie. The smell of radioactive
     pine cleanser was so strong it stung your eyes. And there was the added stink of cigarette smoke. Wally said there was a gang
     of eighth-grade criminals who cut class and hung out there, but I’d never seen them.
    I splashed some cold water on my face from the only faucet that worked, wiped my hands on my pants, and went into the only
     stall that had a door. I guess the school didn’t trust boys with hot water, paper towels, and closed stalls.
    “Your
wish
is my command, Princess.” I sat there, trying out different line readings. “Your wish
is
my command, Princess. Your wish is my
command,
Princess.”
    “Dustin?”
    “Is that the Walrus? I’m behind door number one.”
    “You’re not barking turkeys in there, are you?”
    “What?”
    “Barfing up road pizza?”
    “No. I’m feeling a little better.”
    “Good,” Wally said. “Miss Honeywell sent me to check on the teacher’s pet. And stop calling me Walrus - I’m a serious musician,
     remember?”
    “Yeah, whatever. Hey, somebody drew a picture of Futterman in here, with bolts through his neck.”
    “Really? Let me see. I’m sick of talking to the door.”
    “Your wish is my command.”
    I tried to slide the metal lock on the stall door, but it didn’t budge.
    “Hey, I think this thing’s stuck.”
    “Oh, come on,” Wally said. “This is a joke, right?”
    I tried the lock again, but it wasn’t going anywhere.
    “No, I’m serious.”
    I rattled it; I pounded it; I banged on it with my wooden pass. Nothing. I searched my pockets for something that could help
     me, but all I came up with was a small piece of paper that said “Inspected by #2784,” a bubblegum cigar, and a red pen. I
     jammed the pen point next to the metal bar in the lock and pushed it as hard as I could. That turned out to be a stupid idea,
     ‘cause the pen broke and my hands got stained with ink.
    This was turning into a 911 moment. The stall door was ancient - way too tall to climb, and there were only about five inches
     of space at the bottom. Not enough room for even a skinny sixth-grader to squash through. I was stuck -and stuck bad.
    “Stand back!” Wally said.
    “What are you going to do? Don’t be an idiot!”
    I pressed my face up to the slit at the edge of the door, closed one eye, and peeked through. Wally was backing up and building
     up steam, like a bull ready to charge.
    “Just staaaand back!” he yelled.
    “Where? The toilet’s in the way!”
    I hopped up on the toilet and braced myself against the wall.
    Fwump!
    “Ow!”
    Fwump!
    “Oww!”
    He kept ramming the door with all his might, but the door was mightier.
    “Wally, stop! That only works in the movies.”
    Fwump!
    Owww!
It’s Wallace!”
    I’m trapped like a rat, and he’s worried about being called Wallace!
We kicked the door from both sides like maniacs, but I figured we’d better stop before one of us broke a toe.
    “This isn’t working.”
There’s no way the play is going to be canceled again because of something this stupid!
I didn’t want to have to say it, but: “You’d better go tell Miss Honeywell. Try to be