Who was M.C. Moneybags?

With everything that had been going on in my life, midterms snuck up on me, meaning that I had to spend most of my afternoons that October week holed up in the library, searching for a purpose as I looked through my pages of notes. I still went to the Aubergine each night, but I could never stay for long, as much as I wanted to. I always had more studying that I needed to do so that I could keep my GPA up.

As it was, my grades were fine, and what was the point of grades anyways? They didn't accurately assess my intelligence because nobody thinks what I think, especially not my professors. However, my mom desperately wanted me to succeed in college, and her definition of success put a lot of emphasis on a high grade point average. I just didn't want to let her down.

Despite all of my efforts to focus on my studies, if only for that week, Brendon wouldn't leave my head. Every time the door in Beauregard Library opened, I imagined that it was Brendon entering the library, clad in one of his sparkly suits. I envisioned him sliding into the chair next to mine and asking me about my classes, as well as telling me a little bit about his coursework. Maybe he was even taking one of my classes, and we could study together. In my daydreams, we would take turns quizzing each other on important terms from philosophy. He would always do a little bit better than me, but he was surprisingly modest about it. "Come on, Ryan," he would tell me. "You're doing amazing, but you just have to remember what Cartesian Interactionism is."

For the record, it's the theory that the non-physical mind and the physical body can affect each other. That's one of the handful of vocabulary terms that I do know.

Unfortunately, Brendon never did show up in the library, but I did see some of my other friends there quite a lot. Frank was there all the time, and Gerard usually tagged along. The two of them frequently distracted me while I tried to study, usually by talking rather loudly about Halloween, comic books, dogs, punk rock, or some combination of those things.

One day, while the two of them were sitting next to me arguing over whether Batman or the Doom Patrol would win in a fight, apparently as part of some sort of card game that I didn't quite understand, I asked, "So Gerard, how's that painting coming along?"

Gerard simply ignored me and kept arguing with Frank. "You have got to be kidding me, Frank," he said. "Robotman is immune to bullets, Elasti-Girl would kill Batman easily, and The Chief would mastermind it all. I don't know how you could even argue that Batman could win."

"Batman would run them all over with his Batmobile," Frank replied.

"Your cards don't say that Batman has a Batmobile," Gerard said. "It does say that he has no depth perception though, and that would definitely make it way easier for the Doom Patrol to beat him."

"Well, I think that Batman has a Batmobile, because that's kind of part of being Batman," Frank said. "Also, if we're going to argue cards, I don't think it's fair that your card said 'pick your favorite superhero' and you picked a whole team."

"I couldn't pick a favorite member of the Doom Patrol!" Gerard whined. "Ryan, what do you think? The Doom Patrol would totally beat Batman, right?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," I said.

"I'll take that as a yes, the Doom Patrol would absolutely beat Batman," Gerard said. "Frank, I think I won."

"Fine," Frank said. "You had better cards anyways."

"Ryan, I think you asked me a question while we were playing," Gerard said as he put the game away. "What was it?"

"How's your painting coming along?" I asked.

"What painting?" Gerard asked.

"I think he's referring to your paintings of the Guyliner Club," Frank said.

"I haven't worked on those recently," Gerard said. "I've been...uh...a little bit sick."

"Yes, Gerard has come down with a nasty illness," Frank said sarcastically. "It's called senioritis."

"Frank!" Gerard said. "I do not have senioritis!"

"You totally do, but I love you anyways," Frank said as he pecked Gerard on the lips.

"I love you too," Gerard said as I pretended to be very interested in my Great People of Mathematics book. I did think that Frank and Gerard made a cute couple, but watching them only reminded me of my own loneliness. After another hour or so of trying to focus, I decided to head to Willoughby Library to see if it might be quieter over there. I picked up my backpack and left the library, hoping that I might have better luck finding a quiet place on the other side of campus.

"Where are you going?" Frank asked.

"I think I just need a change in scenery," I said.

"Alright," Frank said. "I'll see you later, Ryan."

I walked down the road that led to the west side of campus, but on my way to Willoughby library, I saw something pretty odd.

Patrick was standing next to the M.C. Moneybags statue without his trademark hat and square glasses. A distraught expression was on his face as Pete Wentz and one of his friends walked away, laughing. I had no idea what all of the commotion was all about until I looked up at the statue.

Patrick's glasses were perched on M.C. Moneybags' nose, and his precious fedora was sitting precariously on top of the statue's head, complete with a leaf of kale tucked inside. Patrick tried to jump to reach the hat, but he was too short. It seemed like the hat and glasses were there to stay.

"Need a little help there, freshman?" Pete said mockingly as Patrick continued to reach for his hat. He grinned and walked away, leaving Patrick rather frustrated.

"Ryan?" Patrick said. "Can you please help me out here?"

"Sure," I said, remembering all of the times that Patrick had done me a favor. I jumped, grabbed the glasses, and handed them back to Patrick.

"Thanks," Patrick said as he put his glasses back on. "That's a lot better already. Can you get the fedora too?"

"I don't know about that," I said as I looked up at the statue, which was around six and a half feet tall. I wasn't sure if Dr. Moneybags was actually that tall, or if the sculptor had decided to exaggerate his height a little bit, but reaching the top of the statue would be quite a challenge. In fact, I wasn't sure how Pete had gotten it up there in the first place. His friend must have done it.

I jumped again, and after a few tries, I snatched the fedora and returned it to Patrick. "Thank you so much, Ryan," Patrick said.

"You're welcome," I said. "It wasn't fair what Pete and his friend did to you."

Patrick shrugged. "It's a school tradition," he said. "They put freshmens' hats up on the statue all the time, usually along with a few kale leaves. I knew that it was going to happen to me at some point."

"That doesn't make it right," I said.

"Where are you headed?" Patrick asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

"I'm going to Willoughby Library," I answered.

"That's kind of funny," Patrick said. "I was going over to Beauregard."

"I just came from there," I said. "Don't sit anywhere near Frank or Gerard."

"I think I can handle that," Patrick said. "See you later, Ryan."

"Bye Patrick," I said as I started walking towards Willoughby Library.

When I entered Willoughby Library, I decided to ignore all of the classes that I needed to study for and start reading M.C. Moneybags: A Biography. It was a fascinating little story, and once I was done, I read two of Dr. Moneybags' most famous philosophical theses until it was time to head over to the Aubergine. I knew that I was procrastinating, but it was a worthwhile procrastination, if that was such a thing.

On my way to the Aubergine, I considered what I had read. M.C. Moneybags seemed to advocate the idea of maximizing happiness for all, which seemed like a great idea, at least in theory. Convenience and education kept popping up as well, since they were both ideas that he clearly valued. According to the biography that I read, Kale University was the ultimate expression of his ideas - a place that provided the sort of education that would lead to true happiness in life.

I wasn't sure what true happiness was, or if it even existed at all, but I could see why I was so drawn to the university that M.C. Moneybags had founded.

A few days later, I finally got around to taking my exams, after plenty of preparation. I spent the whole day going from class to class, taking nastily exhausting tests and wishing for some sort of break. I could hardly focus on my exams when I knew that I would be playing at the Aubergine that night, and I could go back to chatting with Brendon for most of the night like I usually did. Just that thought made my heart beat faster, and my desire for escape only grew.

My final exam was for Advanced Piano Studies, and instead of a proper test, Professor Leopold gave us a playing exam. I had to play that Rachmaninoff concerto, but I barely made it through the piece. The other students in the class gave me polite applause, even though I could see Professor Leopold's displeased expression. I already knew that I had done poorly on the exam. Advanced Piano Studies wasn't my subject, and besides, my grades didn't really reflect who I was on the inside. Nothing could truly do that.

As soon as all of my exams were over, I sprinted across campus so I could get to the Aubergine as soon as possible. After all of the chaos that midterms had brought me, I desperately needed to see Brendon.

On my way to the Aubergine, I spotted Patrick. He was wearing a leaf of kale in his fedora, and he seemed quite pleased with himself. I presumed that nothing else had happened with Pete or any of his friends. I didn't understand why they had done that to him, even if it was a school tradition. How could anyone be mean to Patrick Stump?

I couldn't stop for long. I ran away from the Kale University campus and into the rest of Old Haven until I reached the building with the neon purple sign. I swung the door open and quickly spotted Brendon. He wasn't exactly hard to find in his sparkly attire, but I suspected that was just how he wanted it.

"Hey Brendon," I said as I approached him.

"Oh, hi Ryan," Brendon said. "What's up?"

"I just finished up my midterm exams," I said. "I'm pretty sure I flunked Advanced Piano Studies."

"That can't be right," Brendon said. "You're a brilliant pianist."

"Thanks, but my piano professor disagrees," I said.

"I know just how to make everything better," Brendon said with a mischievous smile. "It's nine in the afternoon. Let's get this show going."

With nothing more than those words, I was back in the Aubergine accompanying Brendon's angelic voice with my piano chords, just where I belonged.