Author's Notes:

OK. I've been in love with the Hardy Boys since I was nine. This is my first attempt at writing Hardy Boy fanfiction, and, as it was done in the span of less than three hours, please be lenient! ;) Since then, I've spent copious amounts of time daydreaming about a certain blonde haired, blue eyed Joe Hardy ...............................

Alright, I'm back. :) I guess one of my biggest annoyances with the series is that of Joe's girlfriends.

I mean, as much as I love and think she's awesome, Vanessa DOES get on my nerves sometimes. What with her gorgeous blonde hair, and gray eyes, and excellent figure, and fantastic grades, and bubbly personality, and hilarious sense of humor, and ........ get the picture? :)

It always kind of bothered me, how they "disposed" of Iola so quickly. I mean, we didn't get to read much about her, but for some reason, I immediately to a liking to her. You know how? (I can't be the only one)

I guess this oneshot will be my way of giving Iola "peace". :)


You find yourself staring at Principal Schlep's ominous grandfather clock, the audible tick tock forever mocking you and your idiotic ideas.

Try as you might, you just can't bring yourself to regret your actions. Truth be told, you thought it was actually quite ingenious and utterly hilarious.

But when your father will be called away from his case, forced to come to the rescue of his perpetually misbehaving son (mother and Aunt Gertrude being away, visiting friends) then, and only then, will your regret show. You will feel guilty when your father presses his lips together thinly and tries his hardest to be civil. With a small smile, you realize your only regret is getting caught.

You accidentally make eye contact with the stern faced, gray haired secretary – who unbeknownst to you – is doing her best not to burst into a fit of giggles. With a brief sigh, you realize your little "prank" is probably the talk of the whole school.

You look up quickly – the soft groan of the door alerting you to a new presence in the room.

Iola Morton

You've seen her before, briefly. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Scribbling notes in Biology. Nothing special. More of a nerdy sort of "Frank girl", you remember thinking. She'd probably be appalled if she new what you'd done.

Unlike that chick in third period Spanish. You grin.

With a disgusted frown, you realize she's bringing cookies (cookies!) to Principal Schlep for his birthday. Goody two shoes. You smirk as the secretary grins delightfully in "darling" Iola's presence, imploring her to wait for a few moments and deliver them personally.

Iola nods and takes the seat next to you. The scent of gooey, warm chocolate greets your nose, making you slightly grumpy. You swallow.

"Hi, I'm Iola," She says.

You decide to have a bit of fun. Picking your brain for the last thing you heard on the news, you pipe. "Hello! My name is Harry Reid. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She wrinkles her nose, "And I'm Nancy Pelosi. Don't be stupid."

You frown. Her obvious fault is not seeing the bigger picture that makes up your hilariously awesome personality. You glare. In other words, she doesn't think you're funny. "I'll bet your cookies taste like rock!" You bite back, pathetically.

Her eyes sparkle merrily. "I sure hope so," she whispers conspiratorially, "they're laced with laxatives."

Your eyes widen. You blink twice, thinking you misheard.

"By the way," she continues, like she just told you the sky was blue or her Great Aunt Martha's arthritis was worsening, "I would have put a rabbit in Coach Philip's office, not a chicken. Chicken are so much noisier than rabbits, but rabbits can be just as messy. You wouldn't have gotten caught if you used a rabbit."

Iola quickly pulls away just as Principal Schlep steps into the room. She pats your shoulder comfortingly, changing the subject. She pretends not to notice the hulking man's presence. "If you just study harder, you will get better grades in Algebra. But don't worry, if you need help, I'll be happy to tutor you sometime."

She turns around and smiles angelically. "Happy Birthday, Principal Schlep! I just wanted to bake these cookies for you as a sort of thank you for temporarily suspending my brother, Chet, after Greg Henderson accused him of cheating on the English final. We've been discussing his situation at home – and I think – catching his mistakes now, is going to help us prepare him for college life. So thank you for all your wonderful work! You must be such a busy man. Sir, do you know what I respect most about you?"

Principal Schlep looked a tad flustered, "Oh, well – "

"I respect your relentless pursuit of justice! I respect your insistence on finding the truth, no matter how trivial the matter may seem! I respect that you left no stone unturned, and adamantly interviewed ALL of the witnesses! Because, while ORDINARY principals would immediately believe Greg (him being captain of the football team and all), you, sir, chose to do the extraordinary! And for that, I thank you!" Iola takes a deep breath, panting.

You stare, unable to help yourself.

Principal Schlep feebly attempts to get a word in, "Well, you see … I didn't exactly – "

Iola smiles knowingly. "Oh, don't be modest, sir." She plays his ego, "You deserve it. I hope you have an … explosive birthday!"

And with that, Iola Morton makes a final, unparalleled dramatic exit.

The tick tock of the grandfather clock suddenly becomes deafening again. The silence threatens to envelope you in one of Aunt Gertrude's bone crushing hugs. Principal Schlep is still staring after Iola, turning a strange rainbow of colors – red for embarrassment, green for nausea, and white for guilt.

You glance at him, "Sir?"

He looks startled, "What? Oh, yes. Mr. Hardy …. See that whatever mischief you've gotten yourself into this time, doesn't happen again. I haven't the time to deal with such childish nuisances. I am an important man with important matters to attend to." He fingers a certain Chet Morton's file.

You pause, not quite believing your luck, "That's it? I'm free to go, just like that?"

Principal Schlep pushes his glasses further up his nose, "Mr. Hardy, do you WANT me to call your parents?"

"No, sir!" You call back to him, tearing out of there like the abominable one-eyed ninja pirate snowman assassin was at your heels.

You sprint down the hallway, thinking about laxatives, rabbits over chickens, failing Algebra, Greg Henderson, rainbows, and a certain mischievous brunette with twinkling eyes.

You need an Algebra tutor.


You know you want to ...... :)