“That would explain the taboo,” said Lincoln softly.

Vince swallowed. “Yes. It’s the Stream of Slaughter.”

"Fat ass,” whispered J.D. Reid from the trombone section. “Barry's got a fat ass!”

Noah glanced up from his music and sneaked a peek at his stand partner, Barry Knowlton. The poor shrimp was tightly gripping his saxophone, trying hard to concentrate on staying with the beat, but his face had turned red, and he was sweating again, which was what Barry did whenever he got stressed. Barry Knowlton sweated in gym. He sweated while conjugating verbs in French class. He sweated whenever a girl just spoke to him. First he’d blush, then little droplets would bead up on his forehead and temples, and before you knew it, Barry would be dripping like an ice cream cone in a heat wave.

“Man, that ass is so fat, you could launch it into space and we’d have ourselves another moon.”

A drop of sweat slid down Barry’s face and plopped onto his sax. He was gripping the instrument so hard his fingers looked like bare bone.

Noah turned and said, “Lay off him, J.D.”

“Ooh. Now skinny ass is jealous of all the attention. I got some view back here.

Fat ass and skinny ass, side by side.”

“I said, lay off!”

The rest of the band had suddenly stopped playing, and Noah’s lay off seemed to shout out across the abrupt silence.

“Noah, what is going on back there?”

Noah turned to see Mr. Sanborn frowning at him. Mr. Sanborn was a cool guy, one of Noah’s favorite teachers, in fact, but the man was blind when it came to seeing what was happening in his own classroom.

“Noah’s trying to pick a fight, sir,” said J.D.

“What? He’s the one trying to pick a fight!” protested Noah.

“I don’t think so,” jeered J.D.

“He won’t let up! He keeps making stupid comments!” Wearily Mr. Sanborn crossed his arms. “What comments, if I may ask?”

“He said-he said-” Noah stopped and looked at Barry, who was tensed up like a bomb about to explode. “Insults.”

To everyone’s shock, Barry suddenly kicked the stand over and it clanged to the floor, scattering sheets of music everywhere. “He called me a fat ass! That’s what he called me!”

“Hey, it’s not an insult if it’s true, is it?” said J.D.

Laughter erupted in the band room.

“Stop it!” yelled Barry. “Stop laughing at me!”

“Barry, please settle down.”

Barry turned on Mr. Sanborn. “You never do anything! No one does! You let him screw around with my head, and no one gives a shit!”

“Barry, you have to calm down. Please go into the hail and cool off.” Barry slammed his saxophone down on the chair. “Thanks for nothing, Mr. Sanborn,” he said, and walked out of the room.

“Ooh. Full moon receding,” whispered J.D.

Noah finally snapped. “Shut up!” he yelled. “You just shut up!”

“Noah!” said Mr. Sanborn, whacking his baton against the stand.

“It’s his fault, not Barry’s! J.D. never lets up! None of the kids do!” He looked around at his classmates. “All of you, you’re always screwing around with Barry’s head!”

Mr. Sanborn’s baton was now whipping the stand furiously.

“You’re all jerks!”

J.D. laughed. “Look who’s talkin’

Noah shot to his feet, every muscle tensed to lunge at J.D. I’m gonna kill him!

A hand grabbed Noah by the shoulder. “That’s enough!” shouted Mr. Sanborn, hauling Noah backwards. “Noah, I’ll deal with J.D.! You go cool off in the hallway”

Noah shook him away. The rage that had peaked so dangerously was still pumping through his body, but he managed to wrestle it under control. He shot a last look at J.D., a look that said: Cross me again and you ‘re toast, and he walked out.

He found Barry standing by the lockers, sweating and sniffling as he struggled with his combination. In frustration, Barry punched the locker, then turned and sagged back against it, his weight threatening to buckle the metal. “I’m going to kill him,” he said.

“You and me both,” said Noah.

“I mean it.” Barry looked at him, and Noah suddenly realized, he does mean it.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. A flood of kids spilled out of the classrooms, eddying into the halls. Noah just stood there, staring as Barry walked away, a sweating blimp swallowed up in the crowd. He didn’t notice Amelia until she was standing right beside him. Touching his arm.

He gave a startled jerk and looked at her.

“I heard about you and J.D.,“ she said.

“Then I guess you heard I’m the one who got kicked out of class.”

“J.D.’s a jerk. No one’s ever stood up to him before.”

“Yeah, well I’m sorry I did.” He spun his combination and opened the locker. The door swung open with a bang. “Not worth opening my big mouth.”

“It is worth it. I wish everyone was brave enough.” Her head drooped, the golden hair sliding across her cheek. She turned away.

“Amelia?”

She looked at him. So many times before, he had sneaked furtive glances at her, just for the pleasure of looking at her face. So many times, he had fantasized about what it would be like to touch that face, that hair. To kiss her. He’d had opportunities, but had never mustered the courage to actually do it. Now she was gazing at him with such quiet intensity, he could not stop himself. His locker door hung open, concealing them from the hallway. He reached out, took her hand, and gently tugged her toward him.

She came willingly, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushing as she leaned close.

Their lips brushed so softly, it was almost as if it didn’t happen. They looked at each other, a wordless confirmation that it had not been long enough. That they were both willing to try again.

They came together in another kiss. Firmer, deeper, drawing courage from each other’s lips. He put his arm around her, and she was as soft as he’d imagined, like sweet-smelling, lustrous silk. Now she had her arm around him as well, her hand clinging to the back of his neck, claiming him.

The locker door slammed wide open, and suddenly there was someone else standing there.

“What a touching scene,” sneered J.D.

Amelia jumped back, staring at her stepbrother.

“You cheap little tease,” said J.D., and he gave her a shove.

Amelia shoved right back. “Don’t you touch me!”

“Oh. You’d rather have Noah Effiot feel you up?”

“That’s it!” said Noah. He advanced on J.D., his hand already closed in a fist.

Then he froze. Mr. Sanborn had just walked out of the band room and was standing in the hail, eyeing them both.

“Outside,” said J.D. softly, eyes glittering. “The parking lot. Now.”

Fern Cornwallis dashed out of the building and ran through ankle-deep snow toward the faculty parking lot. By the time she reached the brawling boys, her brand new leather pumps were soaked through and her toes were numb. She was in no mood to be reasonable. She shoved her way into the circle of spectators and grabbed one of the boys by his jacket. It’s Noah Elliot again, she thought furiously as she hauled him away from J.D. Reid. J.D. snorted like a mad bull and rammed his shoulder into Noah’s chest, sending both Noah and Fern sprawling.

Fern landed flat on her back on the pavement, grinding sand and dirt into her wool suit. She scrambled to her feet, snagging her nylons in the process.

Uncontrollable rage pulsing through her, she charged right back into the fight, this time grabbing hold of J.D.’s collar. She yanked him back so hard his face turned purple and he made choking sounds, but he continued to flail his arms, fists waving in Noah’s general direction.

Two teachers dashed to Fern’s aid, each one grabbing an arm, and they dragged J.D. backwards across the pavement.

“You stay away from my sister, Elliot!”

“I never touched your sister!” Noah yelled back.