Though on Break, hence not required to be in costume, they are. Plus Bill is wearing his hair slicked back and Gabrielle D. has retained her normal flouncy ponytail.

“What’s the haps, Frankie?” Bill says. “Frankenstein? Frank-a-roo?”

“Hi, Bill,” I say.

“Tom Frame asked us to slap this bit of scribble on you, babycakes,” Gabrielle D. says.

And hands me a note, which I read on the spot:

Dear Brian,

Please know that I have taken my recent error to heart and am thinking deeply upon it in order to decrease the likelihood of making a similar mistake in the future. When I said that thing about no Visitors ever coming down here, please know that I did not mean it and was, in my awkward way, making an attempt at facetiousness. Or, I said it in fun, being ironical, to indicate how fiercely I believe in its very opposite.

Because I consider myself a person of conscience, I feel compelled to underscore that once your Reporting Period is over, you too will have committed a crime, one of omission. Please know that should you opt to Report me, I will understand. However, if you opt not to Report me, I will consider us bonded forever into the future by the great kindness you will have shown me.

With thanks, in eternal friendship, no matter what you decide,

Please destroy this message,

Tom Frame

“Any response, monster-man?” Bill says.

“Not at this time, Bill,” I say.

“We’re hip to that, daddy-o,” Gabrielle D. says, and off they go, holding hands, and then, as is often the case, they pause so he can dip her.

Now I must just cross the bridge and rat Tom out.

But what a nice letter, how direct and trusting.

I turn on my heel, hit Vending up for a potpie, take it home, eat it in my Sleep Slot, go nowhere all night.

And, in this way, allow my Reporting Period to expire.

Yet how ironic.

Next morning, post-Breakfast, I am squatting near my niche, having a Gingerade, when up trots, all peppy, Amy, Special Assistant to Shirley of Monitoring.

“Hey, Bri,” she says. “Got a sec? Some of us were going through your niche just now? And look what I found.”

In her hand: that letter Mr. Frame wrote me that was so nice!

In her other hand: her whistle, which, I feel, at any second, she may blow on me.

“Just so you know?” she says. “Moments ago, I showed Mr. Frame this letter. After which, he very openly ratted you out, claiming that, yesterday, he blurted out a Regrettable Falsehood in your presence, and that you, at that time, gave him a look indicating that you wouldn’t turn him in. Which, per my records, you haven’t. Turned him in. Brian, I need some honesty here: did Mr. Frame, yesterday, blurt out a Regrettable Falsehood?”

“Yes,” I say.

“But you didn’t turn him in,” she says.