Benjamin didn't see the painted steel pole until the second before his forehead made contact with it. What he did see, just moments before the collision, was the bright red 'D' marked at the top of the History test in his right hand. It was foreign; it was painful. It was scary looking, shameful and miserable. Just as bad were the red X's scattered throughout his answers, exposing to the world that Benjamin Mitchell didn't have a clue about the division of the church's powers during fifteenth century Rome.

"Augh!" He didn't actually see stars spinning around his head, but the pain did cause him to close his brown eyes briefly and curse himself. Quickly glancing around to make sure no one had witnessed his blunder, he transferred his backpack to his other shoulder and ran a hand through his thick, sandy brown hair. The Science building steps were deserted. Ben stumbled on to his locker, which was, happily, only around the corner.

Luck was not to be his today, however. The overly sweet smile on Frasier Hamilton's face as he leaned casually against the wall of gray steel lockers told Ben he had seen it all.

"Coordination plus, man. You never noticed that post there before, right?" Frasier's hazel eyes grinned in mischief, his freckled nose wrinkling up and down like a pig's snout.

"Lay off, man. I screwed up. Big deal." Ben scowled, stuffing the History exam into a pocket of his backpack before spinning his combination lock right, then left, then back right again.

"Hey, you wanna hang out with me and Val after school? We thought we'd ride over to the Mall. I heard they got a new game in the arcade." Frasier danced around Ben impatiently, his shaggy, dark brown hair bouncing as he pretended to spar.

Ben lifted the locker handle and pulled the door toward him, only to have it slammed shut again by Frasier in a split second jump shot.

"HEY! Why'd ya do that? Dude, I'm already late for math. You almost killed my hand!" Ben threw a mock punch at Frasier, who in return faked a blow to Ben's chin. The feigned fight was over quickly, and Ben glanced nervously at his watch while rummaging through his backpack for a textbook.

"Isn't there someplace you gotta be, Fraze? Like class?" Ben's frown smoothed into relief as his fingers slid over the brown paper book cover of his algebra book in the backpack. "Great. I guess I didn't need to get in there after all." He rapped the locker door lightly with his knuckles for good measure, turned to begin his daily jog out to the mathematics building across campus. "See ya."

"Hey, Senõr, what about the Mall?" Frasier called after him.

"Can't do it today. I'm going to hockey practice with Zach. Catcha later!" Ben called back over his shoulder as he darted between and around sauntering students, making his way across the grassy quad area and past the gym. Here he slowed down, remembering that Mr. Beeman might be patrolling the halls and didn't tolerate running students too well.

He was almost to the structure housing the school's mathematicians when he spotted a tall, lean boy with curly black hair hurrying toward him. Dimitri was panting when he reached for Ben's forearm to slow him.

"Hey, Jamin'-Ben, wha'sup?"

"Whatsup is-I'm late, that's whatsup. Whatsup with you?" Ben kept walking as his friend fell into step beside him.

"I'm hurtin', man. My mom lost my lit book, and I've gotta have it next period or I'm dead."

Ben stopped walking. Through the open classroom door ahead he saw Mrs. Freed walking to her dictatorial podium. He had about 45 seconds.

"Lit? 'Mitri, c'mon. Your mom lost it?"

"Yeah. Well, it's a long story, man. She's studying too, and she just wanted to read some English stuff, you know, she's goin' for her citizenship. She probably left it at work. Anyway, I need a book. You got yours?"

Dimitri jabbed at Ben's backpack with an outstretched finger, questioning hope in his dark eyes.

"Nope. Just math. Jeez, I was just at my locker, too. It's in there, I'm sure. Can't you borrow one from someone else?"

"Maybe, but I just don't want to gamble on it. It's an open book test, and without a book ... ha! That's a good one." Dimitri paused, weighing his question carefully before continuing. "Could I maybe get it out of your locker?"

"Well..." Ben hesitated. It had been drilled into him that sharing your combination was the first cardinal sin of junior high school. He'd lasted a year and a half without anyone knowing his. Well, maybe someone else could know it; it was always possible.

With the end of eighth grade approaching, it seemed safe enough to give Dimitri access to his locker. Gazing up at his friend, Ben searched Dimitri's eyes for the sincerity he knew he'd see.

"Okay, man, but don't give the combination to anybody, okay?"

Relief washed across Dimitri's face. "I owe you, man. I seriously owe you."

"39, 29, 7. You know my locker, right?"

"Sure. The one with the hockey sticker."

Dimitri was still grinning as he jogged away, long legs carrying him swiftly toward the Science building. Ben stared after him, sighed, then turned to fight the battles of exponents and equations.