When Jupe reached the admissions office door, he turned to Pete and gave him a what-are-you-doing-here stare.

“We’d better split up,” Jupe hissed.

“Split up?”

Jupe frowned. “Pete,” he said, trying not to look at his friend, trying to act as if he just happened to be standing there, “I’m going undercover. I’m supposed to be a college student now. But you’re a high school student. We can’t let anyone see that we know each other. So will you beat it?”

“Yeah, sure, Mr. Megabrain. But you’re not thinking ahead, Jupe. If I leave, how are you getting home? You don’t have a car.”

“I know that,” Jupe said. “But I’m a college student. We’re used to being independent and solving problems on our own. I’ll meet you at headquarters tonight and fill you in — unless I have too much homework.”

“You’re the only guy I know who’d talk about homework and smile,” Pete said, shaking his head. “See you later.”

Jupe waited until Pete was out of sight before going into the admissions office. A few minutes later the admissions clerk had handed him everything he needed to become a Shoremont student. There was a student handbook; a totally confusing out-of-scale map of the campus; and a student I.D. card. But there was also something else — something that no other student at Shoremont had: a computer printout listing all the classes the basketball players were in.

Jupe went outside and quickly scanned the printout, circling the courses he would have to attend. Most of them were pretty easy — Introduction to Archery, Psychology of the Family Unit, History of Television. These guys take a light schedule, Jupe thought to himself. Where should I start?

The clock in the tower at the center of campus struck one o’clock. Jupe checked the schedule again. Walt Klinglesmith, a guard on the basketball team, had Chemistry 101 at one in the science building, Mars Hall. Now that was a course Jupe could sink his teeth into.

The campus began to fill with students hurrying on foot, on skateboards, and on bicycles from one building to another. Class change. Jupe had to hurry.

He stopped the first student who passed him to ask directions. “Where’s Mars Hall?” Jupe asked. “I’ve got to get there fast.”

“Mars Hall?” the guy said. “The science building?

“All those nuts who want to build more bombs? Not my scene, man.” And he walked quickly away.

College might be more of an adjustment than I thought, Jupe told himself. He took out his campus map and hoped he’d find the right place.

Mars Hall turned out to be an old stone building, nothing like the modern administration building. Jupe walked down dark hallways lit with an ancient lighting system until he came to room 377. It was a chemistry lab with rows of lab tables, each one equipped with sinks, Bunsen burners, chemicals, and glass test tubes. About forty students were sitting at the tables, talking and waiting for the professor to arrive.

Jupe walked in, half expecting someone to stand up and point him out: “Look! There’s a high school student in here!” But no one stood up. No one shouted. No one even noticed him.

He slipped around the edge of the room, appearing to be looking for an empty lab stool. But really he was circulating, trying to figure out which student was Walt Klinglesmith.

He’s a basketball player, Jupe thought. So he’s got to be the tallest person in the class.

But that theory bit the dust. The tallest person in the class was a girl. She must have been 6’6”. Her black leather boots were almost as tall as Jupe.

Okay, how about this? The basketball season is half over, Jupe thought. If it’s been a rough one, Walt’s probably got an injury or two.

So Jupe surveyed the room and bingo! There he was. Jupe sat down next to a guy with a bandage on his wrist.

The guy had a leather-covered notebook on the table in front of him with W. K. embossed in gold in the corner. Walt Klinglesmith. Lying on top of the notebook was a super-expensive Mont Blanc pen.

Conclusion: Walt had money to spend. Where was it coming from? Coach Duggan’s budget?

Just then the talking in the lab came to an abrupt end. The professor had arrived. A short white-haired man ambled to the chalkboard and began to write some words: dog food, lettuce, vinegar, soap...

Jupiter stared at the list. The items must all have a chemical compound in common, but he couldn’t begin to guess what. College was going to be harder than he’d thought.

“Professor Wevans,” a puzzled student began.

The professor laughed and turned to face the class. “No, this is not a quiz on elements. These are the groceries my wife wants me to buy on my way home tonight. I had to write them down before I forgot.”

The class laughed, and the professor now wrote some chemical equations on the board. Then he began calling on students.

Stay cool, Jupe told himself. Keep quiet and keep a low profile. He knew the answer to the question, but he also knew better than to call attention to himself. If he didn’t raise his hand, the chances were good that no one would notice him...

“Wrong, Mr. Frankel. Absolutely wrong,” Professor Wevans was saying. “Isn’t there anyone who can tell me the answer to this equation?”

Jupe couldn’t stand it anymore. He flung up his hand and called out the right answer.

“Thank you,” said the professor. “That was the most exuberant answer I’ve heard in a long time.” He stared silently at Jupe for a moment and then said, “Excuse me, young man, but are you in the right class? I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

Oh, no, Jupe thought, I’ve blown my cover.

“Uh, well,” Jupe stammered, “I oversleep a lot and I’ve missed a few classes.”

“Oversleep?” said the professor. “It’s one in the afternoon. What is your name?”

“Jones. Jupiter Jones.”

“Well, I certainly would remember that name, Mr. Jupiter Jones,” said Professor Wevans. “May I suggest that in the very near future you buy a louder alarm clock?”

“I will,” Jupe said.

“Mr. Klinglesmith, can you solve the next problem, please?” said the professor.

“Uh, sure,” said Walt. He stared at the problem on the chalkboard. And Jupe watched Walt’s face.

He’s getting that look, Jupe thought. I’ve seen it a million times before. Slow panic, utter confusion, instant stupidity. He doesn’t know the answer and this is my chance to make contact with him.

Without changing expression Jupe picked up Walt’s expensive pen and casually wrote -2 on a scrap of paper.

Walt cleared his throat. “Uh, minus two,” he said.

 “Very good,” said Professor Wevans before moving on to a new topic.

After class Jupe timed his exit so that he was walking out the door just a step ahead of Walt. In the hall Jupe pulled out the scrap of paper with the -2 answer on it and handed it to the basketball player.

“Want this?” Jupe asked. “As a souvenir.”

Walt laughed. “Yeah, thanks,” he said with a smile. “And thanks for helping me out. I could have figured out the answer, but my mind freezes when a professor calls my name.”

Jupe’s eyes twitched. Walt was handing him the Mont Blanc pen as they walked.

“Here, keep it,” Walt said.

“Yes, but — ” Jupe started to protest.

“I’ve got lots of them,” Walt said with an almost embarrassed grin.

Interesting, Jupe thought, trying not to let his interest show.

“Listen, Walt,” Jupe said casually. “Chemistry is all very logical. Maybe I could help you smooth out the basics.”

“You mean, as a tutor?” Walt said. “Hey — that’s a great idea. The only problem is, I haven’t got much time. But maybe we could fit it in after basketball practice.”

“I’ll have to charge you, of course,” Jupe said. “And a tutor of my qualifications isn’t cheap.”