“Ladies and gentlemen of the class of 2009,” says Brett Johanssen, “congratulations.  We made it.”

A cheer starts to rise but is cut short by a cry from the first row.  “Not yet you haven’t!”

There’s a flurry of robes, and Vince McDonnaugh, the Guy Who Flunked Out, stands, sword in hand.  A dozen graduates shoot to their feet, but Brett raises a hand.  “What’s this, McDonnaugh?”

“This is you,” Vince points the sword at him, “and me, Johannsen.”

“The stakes?”

“The diplomas.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You can’t,” and then McDonnaugh’s mortar board flies through the air, razor edges glinting.


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