Indy walked Mutt to his class, lecturing him the entire way about how to behave in college. Mutt pretended to listen, nodding along and looking very serious whenever his father shot him a hard look.

"Here you go," Indy stopped by an open door, "your composition class. Go in and don't cause trouble. Come back to my office afterwards. You know the way?"

"Yes," Mutt rolled his eyes. "I tracked you down across the United States – I can find your office."

"Fine, but come straight back," Indy ordered. He hesitated for a moment, almost reluctant to leave.

"You're worse than Mom was on my first day of first grade," Mutt muttered.

"Smart mouth," Indy smiled wryly and turned away.

Finally on his own, Mutt walked into the class. He planned to take a seat in the back where he could sleep through the class unnoticed, but he froze in the doorway. Most of the seats were taken, and to his horror, he recognized most of the students from his previous class. They must be freshmen, like himself, with the same schedule of classes.

They stared at him, rows of eyes just looking.

Mutt panicked for a moment and considered turning and running. He could run all the way home and tell Mom what happened, and once she heard it, surely she wouldn't make him go back to the scene of his humiliation. Mutt almost turned, but then he stopped and held his head up.

He hadn't run from anything in his life. Oh, sure, he got bored a lot of times and ditched school, but that was because he had lost interest, not because he had ever felt scared.

He stalked into the room and headed for the back row. Heads turned as he walked, but he refused to back down or look ashamed. As far as he knew, no one else knew Professor Jones was his father, and Mutt would rather they think that Jones was a hard-fisted tyrant terrorizing a student than a strict father reprimanding a son.

Mutt took the end seat in the last row and tried to look bored and aloof. After a second, the other students looked away and started talking among themselves again, occasionally glancing back at him.

Mutt wondered how long he would have to put up with the uncomfortable atmosphere of the class, but a second later a brown-haired boy took a seat beside him.

"Hey," the guy offered his hand, "I'm Philip Mores."

Mutt shook it warily. "Mutt Williams – er Jones."

"Mutt?" Philip grinned for a moment. "Your folks hated you that much?"

"It's Henry Jones, the III," Mutt explained. "But everyone calls me Mutt."

"Henry Jones . . ." Philip's brow lined as he said the words. "Wait, isn't that the other professor's name? Only it's junior with him."

Mutt swore silently at giving himself away so easily.

"He's your father?" Philip's eyes opened. "You – you put a snake in a box on your father's desk the first day of school when he is your teacher, too? Are you suicidal?"

"Sometimes," Mutt mumbled, feeling rather foolish. It did sound bad when Philip said it that way.

"My old man would have nailed me to the door if I tried such a thing," Philip shook his head. "I got a lecture last night about how much we're spending for me to attend here. Don't you hate that family crap? 'You're representing the family now so don't screw up'."

"Yeah, it's a crock," Mutt agreed.

"You wouldn't believe how hard I studied last spring," Philip went on. "I was a wreck before the entrance exam. I couldn't sleep and I kept having nightmares where I was taking the exam in my underwear, sitting on a flagpole, and trying to write on the back of a leaf with a fork. I was so glad to get that dang thing over with. You struggle with the test?"

"I didn't take it," Mutt admitted. "My dad kinda . . ." he trailed off, almost guiltily.

"Luckily for you," Philip scowled for a second and then asked, "What else are you taking?"

"I don't know," Mutt confessed. "I was fighting him so hard about having to go here that I didn't ask what my classes were. College isn't for me. I want to work on motorcycles."

"Knew you were a greaser," Philip playfully elbowed Mutt's arm. "You belong on the road with Elvis and Brando, not sitting here in this class. You're a rebel."

"Who's a rebel?" a girl with long blond hair in a ponytail sat down beside Philip.

"Amy, meet Mutt Jones," Philip motioned grandiosely toward Mutt, "our newest rebel."

"Aren't you the joker who put a snake in Professor Jones's class?" the girl frowned.

"Weren't you there?" Mutt retorted, feeling out of sorts with her prissy tone.

"Maybe," Amy looked Mutt up and down with distain. "Let me guess, greaser-wanna-be but not quite dangerous enough to pose a threat to anyone."

"I can hold my own in a fight," Mutt insisted.

"So a troublemaker?" she challenged. "That's the last thing we need here with the commie scare and -"

"Amy," a girl called from the front row.

She went up front, giving Mutt one last disdainful look as she flounced to the front.

"Hey," Philip smacked Mutt lightly on the arm, "she wants you."

Mutt furrowed his brow in confusion, and Philip went on. "Oh, yeah, girls always act all prissy and huffy in front of guys they want to – well, you know. I bet you anything she likes you."

Mutt glanced down where she sat beside her friend, both of the girls talking.

"Wait for it," Philip said. "Any minute she'll glance towards you. If she makes an exasperated face, she's into you. If she rolls her eyes, it's a done deal."

Mutt watched her carefully. Amy was not looking at anything except her friend, keeping her attention on the other girl. They were talking, giggling, and sharing some great secrets that Mutt didn't care about at all because she was just a dumb girl and their secrets were all dumb.

Then Amy glanced his way, just for a second. Their eyes met and she looked away. But Mutt caught the slight roll of her eyes.

"Yes," Philip clapped him on the back, "that's swell. Your first step into the forbidden paradise. You think her friend might be into me? Amy says I'm a joke for a guy, not her type at all, but maybe I have a shot with her friend."

"Do girls talk about their guy friends to their female friends?" Mutt wondered out loud. "You think Amy has said anything bad about you?"

Philip's face fell for a moment, but then he rallied. "That's fine. They're too stuffy for me anyway. What do you think about that girl over by the wall? Do I have a shot with her?"

Mutt had no idea how he got pulled into Project Get Philip Laid when he had known the guy about five minutes, but it felt nice to have someone his own age to talk to. He was used to being around adults – his mother, Indy, Oxley, and other grown-ups his mother had known. Even in the garage where Mutt hung out frequently before they moved, there had been only men in their twenties and thirties, not really his age. He hadn't really minded before – there had always been things to learn and knife tricks to practice and stories to hear – but it felt weird to talk to someone his own age who was concerned with sex.

Granted, Mutt had been thinking about sex, but that had mostly been in trying to ignore the fact that his mother and Indy slept in the same room. Mutt wasn't a child, and he didn't pretend that he had arrived on earth through Immaculate Conception. His mom had slept with Indy years ago, and Mutt was the result of that – uh, union. He had never talked about sex with his mother; Mutt had learned the facts of life through other boys at school and a ratty copy of a dirty magazine that they had dared each other to look at and imagine what it would be like to touch the scantily-draped model.

And he would die before he ever discussed anything with Indy. Every since Indy had answered his question about his mother - "There've been a lot of Marions, kid" – Mutt had steered clear of any other awkward questions. He felt certain Indy would be faithful to Marion (and Mutt would kill him if he wasn't), but that didn't mean he wanted advice on sex or any descriptions of his father's conquests.

And he really didn't want to think about what his father saw in his mother, what Indy thought when Marion had marched into the living room and snapped, "Indiana Jones, in our room right now."

"What did I do?" his father had complained as he put down his book and started for her.

"Oh, you know what you did. I saw the mud all over the rug. You snuck out in the middle of the night and tried to hide it from me. You want to have the rest of this discussion in front of the boy?"

Mutt had hunched down in his chair, wanting to be invisible, but Indy had followed Marion down the hallway, protesting, "I'm sorry, honey, but there was a lead on an Egyptian relic, and I was only going there for a moment and I promise I left the moment my contact was done and came straight home. I'm not running off, I swear. I'm sorry."

"You're about to be sorry," Marion had shut the door to their bedroom, but Mutt could hear their muffled voices arguing. He had escaped to go ride his bike, but when he came back four hours later, his mother was putting supper on the table and attempting to smooth her ruffled hair. Indy had sat at the table, reading his book, but bite-marks were all over his neck and Marion seemed to be limping slightly and they kept exchanging secret smiles over the dinner table and Mutt wanted to die.

He continued to wonder if he could live in the same house with two people who were so . . . enthusiastic about each.

But how Mutt felt about a girl he liked was completely normal and appropriate. He was young and ready to be in love – his parents were old and should know better. Old people should not feel anything for each other beyond mutual respect, and anything more than a chaste kiss before leaving for work was something no one wanted to see, Mutt felt certain.

He liked Amy – he was sure of that. Yes, he had known her only a morning, but this was the beginning of love. Mutt was sick and tired of feeling like the child in the house, and everyone telling him what to do and bossing him around. He was old enough to decide who he wanted to date, and once they started going steady, he knew the score would even out. It would be wonderful to say, "Amy is coming over and we'll be in my room and we don't want to be disturbed."

The look on Indy's face would be priceless and it would shock his mother, but that would be okay because she would finally realize he was an adult and then this ridiculous college business would be over and he could do whatever he wanted.

Mutt was in the middle of planning his future when Dr. Matthews came in and class started. It was an English composition class and it was enough to put anyone to sleep. The professor droned on and on about something called rhetoric, sprinkling his lectures with words like "Classical foundation" and "persuasive writing" and "rigorous pedagogy." And worst of all, Dr. Matthews made them write a short essay and stand by their desks to read it aloud.

The essay dealt with their reasons for coming to college, and Mutt had written several sentences about how his parents were making him come and he didn't need college and he was old enough to plan his own destiny. He was in the middle of trying to decide if you could actually plan a destiny as opposed to having it make plans for you when the reading aloud started.

The first guy said he wanted an education to help him get a good job; the next guy said his family believed in a well-rounded education as fundamental for self-development. Amy stood up and read,

"I came to college to improve my mind and sense of self. I come from a large family, two brothers and three sisters, and I want to prepare myself for the business world where I can support myself and not rely on others quite so much. America has always been about self-reliance and independence, and I'm proud to identify as an American. We face a communist war and we've just finished a world war last decade. In order for America to endure, her people must cultivate themselves and prove that we are worthy to be sufficient, strong, altruistic leaders."

Amy sat down. Mutt took his paper and crumpled it up. His imagined future with her began to crumble around his ears; she was smart and sophisticated, and she had seen him reprimanded by his father like a child. Dreams dashed to pieces upon the harsh stones of reality.

The other students read, and Mutt felt stupider by the moment. He doubted very much that he thought anything very smart and he wasn't sure if he could recognize a smart thought if he did think it and why did he ever think he could come here? He had some street smarts but not enough.

He had found Indy to rescue Ox and his mom, and he had needed both his parents to escape the Russians and the aliens. And Indiana Jones was the hero, not him. He was just Mutt Jones, Henry Jones, III, a sad third. No one cared about the third. First place was awesome, second place good, but third place was for the losers. His mother had deemed him a loser from birth when she named him the third.

"All right," Dr. Matthews glanced at the clock, "we have time for one more before class ends. The two gentlemen in the back, Misters -?

"Mores," Philip answered for himself and Mutt, "and Jones. I'll go. I want to read mine."

Mutt miserably looked up as Philip stood. Philip had a definite smirk as he started to read,

"I came to college for education, a good job, meeting important people, and all that fun stuff, but I really came to meet girls. College has more girls than ever before. You made it here, ladies, and we're glad to have you, and I hope I can be part of your college experience. Call me."

He sat down as the class erupted into laughter. Even the old professor smiled a little as he held up a hand.

"Now, now, settle down. I can't have my colleagues thinking my students have fun in my class or I'll lose my chances at winning the Grumpiest Professor of the Year Award."

"You deserve it, Matthews," Philip called back. "We'll help you win whatever you like."

Dr. Matthews laughed shortly and shook his gray head. "Far too light-hearted. Ah, well, enjoy your youth while you have it. It flees far too fast. Please read the first chapter of your composition textbooks by tomorrow. And ladies, do keep your eyes on the gentleman in the back. Make him behave himself."

"You can make me do whatever you like," Philip said as they all got up out of their seats.

The class left laughing, but Mutt dragged his feet, waiting until everyone else had exited before he went down the stairs.

"Oh, Mr. Jones," Dr. Williams said before he could leave, "a moment. I'm sorry you didn't get to read your essay in class."

"It was no good," Mutt shrugged. "I'm not – it's not – I don't really belong here."

The professor frowned slightly. "Your father is a tenured professor here. His father was an academic as well. Academia is in your blood from your father's side, and I've heard about your mother. She was a professor's daughter, and she's well-read and smart as a whip."

"Guess I'm not like my family," Mutt gave another shrug.

"Don't give up so easily. Sometimes in the hardest challenges we find out the most about ourselves."

"What if we find out that we're not smart and we don't belong anywhere?" Mutt thought, but he couldn't make himself say something so personal to a man he had just met. He nodded respectfully, and Dr. Matthews smiled warmly at him.

"I'm sure you'll do fine here. Good luck for the rest of the day."

Mutt stared down at the hall floor as he trudged to his father's office. The door was open a crack, and he went in and dropped into the chair in front of the paper-laden desk.

"There you are," Indy was stacking books in the corner of the office. "I hope you behaved because every time I turn around – what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mutt let his shoulders slump.

"What's wrong? Did you act up in Dr. Matthews' class? He is one of the nicest professors here and it isn't –"

"No, Dad!" Mutt almost kicked the desk in anger. "I didn't do anything in his class. When are you going to get it through your head that I don't belong here?"

"We're not having this discussion again," Indy said, his tone cold and blunt. "I am telling you that you have to be here."

"And I'm telling you that I don't belong here. I'm not a child, Dad. I know you think you have to act like a father to me, but I'm old enough to decide what I want to do with my life. Hadn't you already left home when you were my age?"

"This isn't about me."

"You were my age when you met mom and –"

"No, I was older. I was twenty-seven when I met your mother."

"Well, how old was she?"

A curious look came over Indy's face. He shifted the smallest bit and seemed unable to look at his son. "She was – a little younger."

"Well, wait, she's ten years younger so that would make her –" Mutt's mouth dropped open. "She was seventeen?"

"Almost eighteen," Indy still didn't look at him. "And it was a different time. Seventeen then was like twenty-five now."

"Wasn't she the daughter of your college mentor?"

"Maybe. Enough questions about me," Indy pretended to straighten the books. "We just have to get through today – that's all that matters. I promised your mother I would get you through college, and I plan to keep that promise."

Mutt thought about muttering "First promise you've ever kept," but instead he decided to go for the shock value,

"You did whatever you wanted. I, too, am going to do whatever I want. I'm having sex with one of your students."

The look on Indy's face really was priceless.