As soon as I stepped inside the lecture hall, I knew my luck hadn't just run out, I had luck in the negative.

As Olive and I had gathered in the second row, the Quagmire strolled in and sat right in front of us. He pretended like he hadn't greeted me in such an awkward way

. "Er…Jacky?" Olive asked me. "Should we move?"

I grimaced. "Other than his big fat head, these seats are perfect. I like being close to the teacher…but not too close…"

"Why?" Olive asked.

Professor Art Decor strode into the classroom. His dark cape swooped in as he walked and his frizzy perm bobbed as he walked. Very few men could pull off the caped crusader look, but he was the head of Noirberg art studies he fit the gothic setting quite well.

Olive narrowed her eyes. "Oh. That's why."

I swerved my head out of Quinton's way to grin at the professor with half lidded eyes. Archie had some competition with this guy. Especially his deep love of books. I rubbed my hands together. It was my favorite class to open the morning. "Nonfictional Art Histories" with Professor Artie Decor

"Ladies and gents!" Mr. Decor announced in his deep harrowing voice. "Today we are discussing the recent crime of the stolen cathedral ceiling of the famous Michelle Angelo! The greatest artist, living or dead, in all of Noirberg."

"Recently," Decor announced. "Miss Jacky Blunderbuss had the honor of recovering it for all of us and future generations to appreciate!"

"Well...." I said, blushing profusely like I had turned into a ripe tomato. "It was nothing. I live to serve the law."

All I earned was a couple of eye rolls from no-doubt jealous, lesser detectives and a muted applause from Olive. Quinton turned his head around and winked at me, and it made me regret talking at all.

"As a humble art lover," Mr. Decor said with his hands pressed together. "In addition to being named after that beloved form of self expression. I thank you Jacky."

At least someone cared.

Art stood at the digiboard--a digitalized, interactive black board and tapped it.

Suddenly, our eyes were enraptured with the most classical era painting I had ever seen.

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A naked female artist basked on the side of a verdant cliff. She reached out towards a floating easel with a rainbow paint brush painting the exact painting and it continued on a loop for infinity.

"Now that's what I call art!," Mr. Decor exclaimed. "This one Is not only classical, it's a classic! Anyone know what it's called? Ah yes, the new boy from District 6?"

Quinton lowered his hand with a smile. "I do believe that is Michelle Angelo's most famous piece, The Creation of Art Itself."

"That's an easy one," I muttered. "It's the first page of art history."

Art tried to redirect the lesson away from my jeers. "Good job, pal! The Creation of Art, and I don't mean myself. It was cruelly snatched away by the great, great grandson of the artist herself! Now historically, what do we know of Michelle Angelo?"

My hand blasted into the sky. "Ah yes," Decor answered. "The one and only Jacqueline Blunderbuss!"

"She was a recluse," I answered proudly. "And preferred the solitary life at home when she made her art! She is also a bit of an immature child prodigy..."

"Takes one to know one," Quinton coughed.

What was wrong with this guy? Greets me awkwardly and then roasts me. Okay, maybe I jeered at him a bit, but still...

Art tried to brush off our blossoming feud. He began to ask questions at a rapid succession. He was so fast that both Quinton and I were out screaming each other to answer them:

"Where was Michelle Angelo born?!"

"Little Roma!"

"What was her death date?"

"The 9th of March!"

"What is the capital of Little Roma?!"

"Banana Peppers!"

Everyone turned to face Olive who giggled nervously. "Sorry," she blushed. "I'm getting hungry."

"That answer was stupid," Quinton shouted. "But nowhere as dumb as Jacky's!"

"Oh yeah?" I shouted back. "Your answers are so stupid they have a drooling problem!"

Mr. Decor's pale skin turned a firey red. He looked like his fro would burst into flames. He scowled and put his hands on his hips. "That's enough from you two! I would like both of you to shut your faces, and then I'd like to see you after class!"

"But… he!" I exclaimed.

"But… she!" he shouted back.

"But nothing!" Mr. Decor shouted. "Clearly some of us have things other than learning on their minds. Care to explain yourself?"

Quinton shook his head. "I just don't like Jacky's attitude. I thought she was really admirable until I met her."

"You've barely met me," I shouted back. "I'm awesome. I'm the top detective in this academy and you're nothing but a miserable circus freak who wears clown shoes and socks."

Everyone turned to gape at Quinton's circus attire.

"You know what..." he said, tears filling his eyes. "Forget this. Jacky. You're gonna rue the day you crossed me."

He stood up and ran out of the room as fast as he could.

"Quinton!" Decor said calling out to him. "Uniqueness is to be celebrated. That's what art is all about!"

"Jacky," Decor said growling. "See me after class."

We sat in silence for the next forty-five minutes. The tension was so thick, that only Mr. Decor's cutting glare could slice through it. I felt like I was swallowing lead. I couldn't bear to have such a wonderful professor being furious at me.

At last, the bell tolled the end of the class and I had to endure a strict lecture about how each of our souls was like a unique painting no one else could replicate. I was beginning to feel sorry for Quinton...until I returned home last night and switched on the telly.