Before the empire of Motown

On rainy days we're ordered to stay indoors and practice living without our egos to see what it could be like.

Sometimes they show a movie in 70 mm. Marguerite, the smartest girl in the class, says that movies are essentially soulless, which is not to say that movies aren't the art form of our time. Her theory's that anything aspiring to be soulful can't be collaborative.

Michael Z disagrees. Red in the face, he screams, "soulless my ass," citing WC Fields, Fellini, Hitchcock, Claude Chabrol.

Marguerite starts crying of course, as Michael Z stamps his feet in what's become a theatrical performance. Marguerite, as smart as she is, is the kind of girl who always says, "this isn't very good" after she's finished a finger-painting worthy of Picasso, in order to elicit even more praise, and Michael Z's from a family so broken they all sniff CrazyGlue.

Mr. Ball, homeroom teacher, stops the movie. "Need either of you comment," he says.

The normal kids, who'd rather play dodgeball in the gym on rainy days than watch a movie, have once again stolen Mr. Ball's pocket protector. He hasn't realized it's missing yet, but he looks naked without it.