"I didn't put out my shoes."
Flip sighed. "I'm sorry I did that.
I was just feeling homesick. I didn't think anybody would do anything about it."
"Sorry."
"We're both so very very sorry," said Flip. "Except that we're not sorry at all."
"No, we're not," said Dink.
"In fact, it's kind of fun to get in trouble for keeping Sinterklaas Day. Imagine what would happen if we celebrated Christmas."
"Well," said Dink, "we've still got nineteen days."
"Right," said Flip.
By the time they got back to Rat Army barracks, it was obvious that the story was already known. Everybody fell silent when Dink and Flip stood in the doorway.
"Stupid," said Rosen.
"Thanks," said Dink. "That means so much, coming from you."
"Since when did you get religion?" Rosen demanded. "Why make some kind of holy war out of it?"
"It wasn't religious," said Dink. "It was Dutch."
"Well, eemo, you be Rat Army now, not Dutch."
"In three months I won't be in Rat Army," said Dink. "But I'll be Dutch until I die."
"Nations don't matter up here," said one of the other boys.
"Religions neither," said another.
"Well it's obvious religion does matter," said Flip, "or we wouldn't have been called in and reprimanded for cutting a pancake into an 'F' and writing a funny poem and sticking it in a shoe."
Dink looked down the long corridor, which curved upward toward the end. Zeck, who slept at the very back of the barracks, couldn't even be seen from the door.
"He's not here," said Rosen.
"Who?"
"Zeck," said Rosen. "He came in and told us what he'd done, and then he left."
"Anybody know where he goes when he takes off by himself?" asked Dink.
"Why?" said Rosen. "You planning to slap him around a little? I can't allow that."
"I want to talk to him," said Dink.
"Oh, talk," said Rosen.
"When I say talk, I mean talk," said Dink.
"I don't want to talk to him," said Flip. "Stupid prig."
"He just wants to get out of Battle School," said Dink.