Annie and Barto edge toward the board where their grades are posted. The board is swarmed with extras doing their best to look academically anxious. "Oh, I bombed, I know it," Annie says, and Barto says, "I'm sure you did fine," administering a brief, patronizing shoulder fondle. She checks the board and turns around with a predictable look of giddy astonishment. "I told ya," Barto says, shoving her aside and edging to the board. He has an abrupt spastic fit, wherein he pumps his arms in the air and shrieks, "YES!" four or five times before turning to the repulsed crowd and saying, "Hi. Good stuff. Moving on." Annie looks smitten with his egomaniacal outburst. They stagger down the halls in the throes of manic self-congratulation, stopping to embrace and say, "We did it!" Barto decides to call Audrey and scurries to a payphone, leaving Annie to fiddle with her matted hair, looking crestfallen. "Hi, it's me. Pick it up," he says stridently into the phone -- and I don't know about Ferret, but this kind of asinine imperative is precisely the reason why I screen my calls at all times. The expected response fails to come and Barto looks offended and slams down the phone. I guess in his world it's a violation of dating etiquette for someone not to be home at all times, on the off chance he might call to gloat about his academic triumphs. "She's not home?" asks Annie, manifesting false concern. "I guess not," says Doofus, with a Christ-like look of infinite -- but nobly borne -- suffering. Annie suggests they celebrate and Barto hesitates for a split second before heartily agreeing. She looks elated, as would anyone anticipating an evening of face time with a smug, perpetually congested stoner.