Joe yawned, trying his best to hide the fact from the sweet old Mrs. Garrett that the History lesson she was teaching was so boring that if Napoleon Bonaparte were here to listen to the way Mrs Garrett was talking about one of the greatest conquerors in the world, he would think of himself as nothing more than a mere Droid in the Republic instead of Yoda. He could swear the clock on the wall had stopped ticking, giving it an evil eye as he counted the seconds.

This class is going to last for eternity, he thought. Sighing, Joe, who had long ago since the beginning of class had mentally blocked whatever the teacher was saying, rummaged in his backpack to get something for his next class, English. Ah, here it is, Joe thought, finding what he was looking for. Mr. Wienhardt had promised they'd start rehearsing and Joe could hardly wait.

At last, after Mrs. Garrett handed out their assignments and left, Mr. Weinhardt came into the class. One thing Joe liked about him, he wasn't like any other English teachers. Gary Weinhardt was tall, much taller than any of them including Biff Hooper, the Hardys' friend, who was 6-foot-7 and he had an intriguing air of authority around him, not exactly in a condescending way but in more like a fatherly way that made each and everyone in Joe's class liked and respected him from the start. Though Mr. Weinhardt said he was 48 years old, he looked and acted like a 30 year-old. Well, except for his hair, which was steel-gray and the tell-tale wrinkles near his warm blue eyes when he smiled, which was something he did quite often despite his serious appearance.

"All right, class, I hope you all are as psyched as I am," Mr. Weinhardt said. Today he was in casual wear, a blue sweater and a pair of beige slacks. First thing he told the class was that he wasn't that big on ties and suits, which suited Joe perfectly fine. Though drawn to Mr. Weinhardt he was, Joe couldn't help feeling a little intrigued because not once did Mr. Weinhardt ever wear a tie to class like other respectable teachers.

Joe decided that wasn't important. "Mr. Weinhardt, I have a question."

"Yes, Mr. Hardy," Mr. Weinhardt said, leaning against his table, which was too small anyway for his large frame. His gaze on Joe was intense, his blue eyes a deep cobalt as they bore deep into Joe's. Joe felt slightly uneasy at the way the teacher was looking at him. It wasn't that he had never been stared at before, but it was usually girls that did the staring. Chill out, Joe, he told himself, trying to ignore Mr. Weinhardt's probing gaze. You're just being self-conscious. He's a teacher for God's sake.

"Mr. Hardy?"

"Right," Joe flustered. "Uh, well, it's about the play. See, some of us have never acted before. I have never acted before. And that play's just 2 weeks away and I don't think there's going to be enough time for us to be fully prepared and-"

"Mr. Hardy, saying you can't do something before you even start doing it is the fastest route to failure. Now I know some of you might think the same thing as our friend over here, but let me tell you something. There is a reason why I'm only giving you 2 weeks and there is also a reason why I chose mostly those who have never had any experience in acting before to act in the play. Take Tom Cruise, for example. Did you know that he had dyslexia as a kid and everybody was always making fun of him because he was slow? Of course, those people back then didn't know that this dumb, slow kid would soon be the biggest star in Hollywood, did they?"

The class nodded enthusiastically.

"But of course, our friend here has a point. I understand Joe's worry and I know all of you are anxious to start because time will not be waiting for us and if we don't start now, we wouldn't be able to make it in time till the play. You do know that everybody in the school is going to watch, right?" The class nodded again.

Mr. Weinhardt nodded in satisfaction. "Fine. Let's start. Biff, would you step in front please..."

"Sing once again with me, our strange duet......" Biff Hooper sang, his voice dangerously tethering on the brink of breaking out and Frank Hardy had to suppress himself from smiling. But glancing at his brother who was sitting on his bed, he had to smile at the rapturous expression on his face.

"My power over you...grows stronger yet...." The last note died out awkwardly, a note higher than how it was supposed to be and Biff could feel his face go red. "Damn, I suck."

"No, you don't," Vanessa said loyally, who was sitting on the floor with his head against Joe's knees. "You haven't heard ME sing yet."

"Oh, yes, we have," Frank blurted out. At once, Joe widened his eyes at him and frantically shook his head. Vanessa looked puzzled.

"When? The only time I sang my part was when I was practicing with - Joe?" Joe only bit his lower lip, looking a little bit too guilty for Vanessa's taste.

"What?" Vanessa nudged her boyfriend's knee. "Tell me, Joe Hardy."

"Your boyfriend here actually had a tape recorder hidden in his jacket pocket all the while, Vanessa," Biff said dryly. "As soon after you went back yesterday after practice-"

"No, don't tell me," Vanessa interrupted, raising a hand, gesturing for Biff to stop. "I don't wanna hear it." She glared at Joe, her ash-blond hair covering a part of her face as she turned her face and looked up to Joe. Joe smiled innocently, looking every bit as adorable as the first time Vanessa had set his eyes on him and had helplessly fallen in love. She opened her mouth to say that the famous puppy-dog look wouldn't work this time when suddenly Joe unexpectedly swooped his head down and kissed her a long, deep kiss.

Their kiss was rudely interrupted when a pillow hit the younger Hardy's head. "Urgh, get a room!"

"Shut up, Frank," Joe said breathlessly, still staring into Vanessa's mesmerizing blue-gray eyes. "This IS my room."

"Yeah, well-" Frank began exasperatedly, but then decided to change the subject. "Just, remember that you guys are kissing in front of someone who wants so very much to lunge and tear you into pieces, Joe." Joe's eyebrows rose, and he realized that Biff was staring at them with a wistful smile.

"Oh right. The Opera Ghost. Well, Christine," Joe said, running his fingers through Vanessa's hair. "What say you we pour more kerosene into the fire?" Vanessa nodded, smiling coyly.

"Aw, come on, guys! Enough with this. We have to practice, remember?" Biff pleaded.

"Right," Frank agreed. "But I think you guys have had enough of this thing for today." Then he suddenly thought of something. He got up and went to his room through the connecting bathroom, and later came back with a newspaper cutting in his hand.

"Hey, that's Sam Radley," Joe exclaimed, recognizing their father's friend and fellow investigator in the picture on the front page. SENATOR DISSAPPEARED IN THE MIDDLE OF SCANDAL, the headlines read. "What's this all about, Frank?" Joe could never quite resist a good mystery once in a while.

"Remember what Dad told us about the case Sam's investigating during dinner yesterday?" Joe nodded slowly. A respectable senator, from somewhere in Georgia was alleged of using hypnosis to-uh-convince, for use of a better word, land developers to put in over 50 million dollars in his personal account when he was supposed to use the money for development of the rural areas in Georgia.

"-and in the middle of the investigation, he just vanished-poof!- and nobody knows where he is right now." Frank had finished explaining and was now waiting patiently as his brother and his friends read the article.

"How do they know it's hypnosis?" Biff asked. "I mean, if they were really hypnotized, they wouldn't even realize it, right?"

"As if the sudden disappearance of 50 million dollars isn't a clue enough," Joe said. "Yeah, but, Frank, they couldn't have known because Dad said he'd met the land developers in private so it shouldn't be in the records."

"Yes, but one thing about hypnosis is, you see, there are these triggers, used by expert hypnotists as shortcuts to put someone in a trance so they don't really have to do that stupid thing with the clock," Frank said. "The triggers can be as complicated as reading a page of a Stephen King book, so that other people can't easily figure it out, and it can be as easy as a tap on the shoulder. The trigger is like a keyword. Once the hypnotist has installed it in someone's subconscious, anyone else who knows what the trigger is can put him in a trance even though he himself is not a hypnotist."

Biff whistled. "So, what you are trying to say is, someone figured out what the trigger is, and voila! This senator's cover's blown."

"Exactly," Frank said. "And if somebody doesn't catch this guy fast, who knows what he'll do."

Pain PG