"Didn't you even read the letter?" Roy asked. "Everything will be cool as long as you leave me alone."

"Did you jutht hit me? Did you hit my arm?"

"So sue me," Roy said.

Dana's eyes widened. "What did you thay?"

"I thay you need to get your hearing checked, partner, along with your I.Q."

Roy wasn't sure what possessed him to wise off to such a violent kid. He didn't particularly enjoy getting roughed up, but the alternative was to cower and beg, which he couldn't lower himself to do.

Every time the Eberhardts moved from one town to another, Roy encountered a whole new set of bullies and goons. He considered himself an expert on the breed. If he stood his ground, they usually backed down or looked for someone else to hassle. Insulting them, however, could be risky.

Roy noticed a couple of Dana's meathead pals, watching the scene from the back of the bus. That meant Dana would feel obligated to demonstrate what a tough hombre he was.

"Hit me," said Roy.

"What?"

"Go ahead. Get it out of your system."

"You're a nut cathe, Eberhardt."

"And you're as dumb as a bucket of mud, Matherson."

That one did the trick. Dana lunged across the seat and whacked Roy on the side of the head.

After straightening himself, Roy said, "There. Feel better now?"

"Damn right I do!" Dana exclaimed.

"Good." Roy turned around and opened his comic book.

Dana smacked him again. Roy toppled sideways on the seat. Dana laughed cruelly and shouted something to his buddies.

Roy sat up right away. His head really hurt but he didn't want anyone to know. Nonchalantly he picked his comic book off the floor and placed it on his lap.

This time Dana hit him with the other hand, equally fat and damp. As Roy went down, he let out an involuntary cry, which was drowned by the loud, gaseous hissing of bus brakes.

For one hopeful moment, Roy thought the driver had seen what was happening and was pulling off the road to intervene. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case-the driver was as oblivious to Dana's bad behavior as ever. The school bus had merely arrived at the next stop.

While another line of kids boarded, Dana composed himself as if he were a model citizen. Roy looked down, fixing his eyes on the comic book. He knew the assault would resume as soon as the bus got rolling, and he braced grimly for Dana's next blow.

But it never came.

For blocks and blocks Roy sat as rigid as a fence post, waiting to be knocked down once more. Finally his curiosity got the best of him and he peeked over his left shoulder.

Roy could hardly believe it. Dana was slumped sourly against the window. The dumb goon's fun had been spoiled by one of the kids from the last bus stop, who had been brave enough to sit right next to him.

"What are you staring at?" the newcomer snapped at Roy.

Despite his pounding headache, Roy had to smile.

"Hi, Beatrice," he said.

NINE

School was nerve-wracking. Every time Roy entered one of his classrooms, the other kids stopped what they were doing and stared. It was as if they were surprised to see he was still alive, with all limbs intact.

After leaving algebra class, Roy heard a stupendous phony farting noise behind him in the hallway-Garrett. He took Roy by the shirtsleeve and led him into a bathroom.

"You look sick. You should go home early," Garrett advised.

"I feel fine," Roy said, which wasn't true. He still had a headache from the thumping Dana had given him on the bus ride.

"Dude, listen to me," Garrett said. "I don't care how you think you feel. You're sick. Really sick, okay? You need to call your mom and go home."

"What have you heard?"

"He'll be waiting after seventh period."

"So let him wait," Roy said.

Garrett tugged Roy into one of the toilet stalls and locked it from the inside.

"This is so lame," said Roy.

Garrett touched a finger to his lips. "I know a guy in Dana's RE. class," he whispered excitedly. "He says Dana's gonna snatch you before you get on the bus home."

"And do what?"

"Duh!"

"Right here at school? How?" Roy asked.

"Bro, I wouldn't hang around to find out. Hey, you never told me you busted him in the chops, too."

"That wasn't me. Sorry." Roy unlocked the toilet stall and gently nudged his friend out.

"So what are you going to do?" Garrett called over the top of the door.

"Take a pee."

"No. I'm talking about you-know-who."

"I'll think of something."

But what? Even if Roy managed to elude Dana Matherson this afternoon, the drama would start all over again Monday. Dana would resume the stalking, and Roy would have to dream up another escape plan. And that's how it would be every single day until school let out in June.

Roy had other options, none particularly appealing. If he reported Dana to Miss Hennepin, she'd do nothing more than summon him to her office for a stern lecture, which Dana would laugh off. Who could take seriously a vice-principal with one gnarly hair sprouting out of her lip?

If Roy told his parents about the Dana situation, they might be alarmed enough to withdraw him from Trace Middle. Then he would end up getting bused to some private school, where he'd be forced to wear the same dorky uniform every day and (according to Garrett) learn Latin.

A third alternative was for Roy to try apologizing to Dana again, this time oozing remorse and sincerity. Not only would that be groveling, it probably wouldn't achieve the desired effect; Dana would still hassle him without mercy.

His final option was to stand and fight. Roy was a practical boy; he knew the odds were overwhelmingly against him. He had quickness and brains on his side, but Dana was big enough to crush him like a grape.

Roy remembered the time he and his father had a talk about fighting. "It's important to stand up for what's right," Mr. Eberhardt had said, "but sometimes there's a fine line between courage and stupidity."

Roy suspected that fighting Dana Matherson fell into the second category.

While he disliked the prospect of getting beaten to a pulp, what worried him even more was the effect it would have on his mother. He was very conscious of being an only child, and he knew his mom would be devastated if something bad happened to him.

Roy had almost had a little sister, though he wasn't supposed to know about it. His mother carried the baby for five months, and then one night she got terribly sick and an ambulance rushed her to the hospital. When she came home a few days later, the baby wasn't there anymore and nobody really explained why. Roy was only four years old at the time, and his parents were so upset that he was afraid to ask questions. A few years later, an older cousin told him what a miscarriage was, and confided that Roy's mother had lost a baby girl.

Ever since then, he'd tried not to give his parents extra reasons to worry about him. Whether on horseback, bike, or snowboard, he refrained from doing some of the wild, daredevil stunts that boys his age usually tried-not because he feared for his safety, but because he felt it was his solemn duty as an only child.

Yet there he was this morning, on the school bus, insulting the same pea-brained thug who already held a mortal grudge against him. Sometimes Roy didn't understand what came over him. Sometimes he was too proud for his own good.

The last class of the day was American history. After the bell, Roy waited for the other students to file out ahead of him. Then, cautiously, he peeked into the hall: No sign of Dana Matherson.

"Roy, is something wrong?"

It was Mr. Ryan, the history teacher, standing behind him.

"No, everything's fine," Roy said breezily, stepping out of the classroom. Mr. Ryan closed the door behind them.