He’d managed to stay awake during his eight o’clock – but now, last night’s lack of sleep was catching up to him. It didn’t matter why he was so tired, though, Frank knew; the end result was the same. I need to get out of this class…I need to go back to bed….

You’re turning into a whiner, Frank, he told himself sternly, and resolutely opened his eyes and stared at the blackboard, where Professor Zulega was meticulously writing dates and events. Frank sighed, and shook his head. Time to nip this in the bud, he thought, and began copying the information down.

When the teacher paused in his lecture for a moment, Frank leaned back and sighed, stifling another yawn. He turned his head to the right, and looked at Megan, who was industriously jotting something in her notebook, her head bent over her work. Frank smiled, feeling a little of his fatigue fade. She looks so much better – she’s looked better every day since the wreck. That fact alone gave him a definite sense of relief, and he was happy for her sake. She had been so miserable, those first few days! So positive that if he’d seen her appearance, their relationship would be ruined….Surreptitiously, so that Professor Zulega wouldn’t notice, he moved his hand and touched hers, and although she didn’t look towards him, he saw her smile.

Settling back in his chair, Frank resumed taking notes, and heaved another weary sigh. He was trying to resist looking at the clock, which, he was absolutely certain, had had its hands Super-Glued in place. He was trying not to fidget – trying to pay attention, just in case something from today’s lecture showed up on the next exam. Come on, Professor, at least talk about something exciting…wasn’t there something exciting in the French Revolution?

He couldn’t resist another glance at Megan, though. He couldn’t hold back the involuntary smile that he felt on his lips every time he looked at her. Does she have any idea how beautiful she is? Does she have any idea how happy she’s made me – how happy I am that I found her? A year ago….

One year. The best year of his life, for sure. Despite everything they’d been through, all the things that had happened, having Megan in his life made up for it. All the terror and danger had merely drawn them closer together, and intermeshed their lives until Frank knew he wasn’t really complete anymore, without Megan. What would I do without her?

Briefly, he thought about Callie Shaw. He’d thought he loved Callie – well, he had loved her, really. They’d been very close for those several years, and once upon a time, he’d thought it was going to become a lifetime commitment. But it was just a practice run for the real thing….He’d seen a little of Callie, over the summer – not much. She’d been in Bayport for the high school graduation ceremony, but had returned to Colorado shortly thereafter, and their e-mail correspondence was sporadic at best, although relatively cordial . She’s probably going to marry that Jonathan guy – just waiting for him to ask her…. hard to think of Callie as not being Callie Shaw any more….

Frank was abruptly roused from his ruminations by the sound of the teacher’s voice, evidently asking him a question. He blinked up at Professor Zulega for a moment, totally bewildered. He had absolutely no idea what he’d just been asked. He heard a few snickers of derision behind him. Don’t people ever grow up? he thought, flushing. Beside him, Megan was pointedly not looking at him, keeping her gaze on her notebook. She loved him with her whole heart and soul…but in a case of interaction with a teacher, Frank knew he was on his own!

"I’m sorry, Professor," he said at last. "I didn’t catch the question…."

Professor Zulega smiled. "That’s okay, Mr. Hardy; I didn’t actually ask you one."

Frank didn’t think he could turn any redder. The ringing of the ending buzzer and the immediate bustle and clamor of the students rising and departing was a salvation in itself. He busied himself putting his book, pen and notebook one-handed into his backpack, and zipping it up. Finally he looked over at Megan, who was doing the same thing with her books, and smiled ruefully.

"I couldn’t have made a worse impression, could I? He’ll remember me from now on – ‘oh yes, Mr. Hardy, the one who doesn’t pay attention in class…’"

"You pay attention most of the time," she reminded him, "and you’re not the only one occasionally drifting." She smiled teasingly. "You’ll just have to concentrate on making up for it."

"You have a break now, don’t you?" Frank inquired, slinging his backpack over his good shoulder. "Want to get a cup of coffee? If I don’t get some, there’s no way I’ll make it through the rest of the day."

She nodded. "Sure. But why are you so tired today?"

"Tell you all about it when we’re at the Snack Bar," Frank evaded. Together, they walked from the classroom, and made their way to the Student Center’s popular Snack Bar. Frank secured a table, and Megan went to get them each a cup of coffee.

"Thank you, Baby." Frank took his cup, gratefully inhaling the tempting fragrance, and took a quick swallow, then several more gulps, relishing the scalding heat and flavor. Come on, caffeine, do your stuff! Finally he set down the cup and reached across the table to take Megan’s hand in his. He tugged her hand across the table, and smiled into her turquoise eyes as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "I needed this." He meant the coffee, partially, but also he needed this, this close moment in time with her. He wanted to keep holding her hand, but since he couldn’t do that and drink his coffee too, he reluctantly released her. They sat in warm, companionable silence for a minute or two, sipping.

Finally, Megan spoke. "Okay, tell me why it is that you’re so exhausted this morning!" She chuckled. "I know for a fact it wasn’t because you were out with me!"

"Well—" Frank found he was reluctant to break the spell of this happy interlude. "Last night we met the Ransons, the couple my parents met in Lake Tahoe. They came over late last night, to talk about the attack on my mom and Mrs. Ranson last Sunday. Oh, and what happened to my dad at Markham Glass, on Tuesday. He was checking that place out for Mr. Ranson, so they think it’s connected somehow….Anyway, this was the first time Joe and I had met them. They’re a striking couple – he’s big and dark and she’s little and blonde. Quite a contrast!"

Megan considered that. "They’re like your parents, then," she commented. "Your dad’s big and dark, and your mom’s petite and blonde."

"Erica’s not a whole lot older than we are, although he’s probably at least thirty," Frank commented. "She seems really nice. Anyway, we went outside to say goodbye to them. Joe was in the driveway, drooling over Mr. Ranson’s convertible – and all of a sudden, some nutcase drove by and started firing!"

"FIRING!" Megan gasped in shock.

"Yeah," Frank chuckled dryly. "You know – with guns. I was standing in the front door, and a bullet went into the door right over my head. Two others barely missed the Ransons."

"What?" her voice was a horrified squeak, and she instinctively grasped his hand, as if to reassure herself he was there, intact. "Everyone’s okay, though?" she demanded, "no one was hurt?"

"Everyone’s fine, the creeps missed," Frank assured her. He knew she was worried and upset, and squeezed her hand comfortingly. He was sorry he’d had to alarm her – but he also knew she wouldn’t have let it rest, if he hadn’t told her! "But I’ll tell you, Mr. Ranson was totally pissed. They put bullet holes in his Mercedes!"

She laughed shakily. "No wonder he was mad!"

"Oh, and you know what?" Frank added, "he carries a gun! Mr. Ranson does. I saw him pull it out. Can you believe that?"

"Well…yes, actually." Megan didn’t seem as shocked by that as he’d thought she’d be. "Lots of people carry guns. Maybe he’s an investigator too, like your dad – or was one. Or a former police officer. Or maybe he’s in the FBI, or the CIA, or something. He could be carrying that gun legally – just like your dad does," she said reasonably.

"Well, that’s true," Frank admitted. "Dad never said exactly what profession Mr. Ranson is in, although I gathered he was in business, not law enforcement. But even if he is in business, it’s perfectly possible that he could carry a gun anyway. It just took me by surprise, seeing him pull it out. And Baby, he definitely knew how to hold it and use it! He’s not one of those guys who carries one for sport, or just to make himself look cool, or something!"

Megan changed the subject, abandoning Michael Ranson and his gun with surprising suddenness. "Do you think the guy who ran Joe off the road has anything to do with the arsons?"

Frank shrugged. "It’s possible. I suppose we need to see if we can get inside the Students For Earth and find out if any of them drive a dark blue car like the one Joe saw. Or carries a BB gun!"

"Realistically," Megan said, "I don’t know if you’d ever get anyone to admit to that."

"Oh!" Frank looked up, his eyes going wide as he thought of something. "You said Corin told you the person running from the Art Building fire was wearing a backpack. Was he sure it was leather?"

Megan thought for a moment, then nodded. "That’s what Corin said. Whether or not it’s true….why?" she asked curiously.

"I just thought it kind of odd that a guy who’s so into the environment would have a leather backpack," Frank told her.

"Just because someone’s into the environment doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re vegetarians," she reminded him. "I’m all for the environment, and anti-pollution, and all that…but that’s not stopping me from eating hamburgers, or wearing shoes!"

"True….But Kirk Moncrief – remember, Kirk was all up in arms about lab animal testing, so he’s for animal rights." Frank defended his idea. He frowned, then chuckled a little. "Maybe he makes a distinction between lab animals and cows. Anyway, if we could find that backpack, it might be the single best clue we could get, for this case."

"Kirk….You really do think it’s Kirk, don’t you?" Megan looked very sad. "I hate to believe that of him."

"I don’t know exactly what I think," Frank told her. "But more and more, things keep pointing in his direction. I’m sorry, baby – I know he’s a friend of yours."

"He’s an acquaintance, not a friend," she corrected, but the sad light was still there in her eyes. "But I don’t like having even acquaintances suspected of something like this."

Frank finished off his coffee, feeling slightly more awake and alive than he had in class. "Guess we’d better get going." He reached across the table to give Megan’s hand another squeeze, and pulled her towards him for a quick kiss. He readjusted his sling with a sigh, noting with relief that his shoulder wasn’t nearly as sore today as it had been, even after falling on it last night. Good!

"Are you going to go car-shopping with us again, later?" Megan inquired.

"I’d like to," Frank nodded, "but I’m working from three to six, so I’ll probably have to find you while you’re out."

"That will be fine; we can’t go until Mom gets home anyway, and she works until five, so you won’t miss much. And I have something important to do before then." Megan smiled happily.

"You do? What?"

Instead of answering, she raised a hand and shoved her hair away from her forehead, showing the Band-Aid. Frank grinned in recollection.

"Your stitches come out! I’d almost forgotten that was today. Can you get to the doctor’s okay? How are you going to get there?"

"I’ll be fine; Vanessa’s going to take me. Oh, I’ll be so glad to get another car; this depending on other people is making me nuts! Anyway, Van’s free – Joe’s got stuff to do with the football team, since they’re playing their first game tomorrow afternoon."

"I’d forgotten that, too!" Frank admitted in chagrin. "He hasn’t mentioned the game at all, the last day or so. I wonder if he wants anyone to go, actually; he’s been so down on that darned team! Honey, I could probably get Jack to give me an hour or so off this afternoon, if you’d like me to go with you…it’s not like I can really help with anything there, or fly—"

"Frank Hardy, stop putting down what you do at Wayne’s World!" she scolded him. "Jack needs you there, and you need to go to work. And anyway, I’ll be fine. It’s just a minor thing anyway – in and out. We can get together later, I promise," Megan added with a light laugh. She gazed at him, her laughter softening into a more sober aspect. "I need to do this on my own, Frank – at least as much on my own as I can."

He smiled. "I understand."

About to get to his feet and give Megan a quick kiss goodbye, Frank halted, half-standing. He had spied a somehow-familiar face across the Student Center – someone who he’d never seen close up before, but whose description matched the one he carried in his mind. "Megan, who’s that guy over there, do you know? Is that Kirk Moncrief?" he asked quietly.

Megan turned her head, then nodded. "Yes. That’s him."

"I’m going to follow him!" Frank announced with quiet determination, and stood up all the way, preparing to do so. But Megan grasped his arm, halting the motion.

"Frank, that’s not necessary. I have class with him this afternoon. I’ll keep an eye on him for you. I can do that, and report back to you – if I see anything suspicious, that is. You just go on to your class, like you’re supposed to."

"Baby, you sure? I know he’s started making you nervous…"

"I’m sure." Megan shouldered her purple backpack. "I’m a big girl, remember?" she teased, flashing her dimple at her boyfriend.