Miss Hennepin smiled thinly. "You've got quite the snippy attitude, Mr. Eberhardt. What do you think ought to be done with a violent boy like you?"

"Matherson is the menace! He hassles all the smaller kids on the bus."

"Nobody else has complained."

"Because they're scared of him," Roy said. Which was also why none of the other kids had backed up his story. Nobody wanted to nark on Dana and have to face him the next day on the bus.

"If you did nothing wrong, then why'd you run away?" Miss Hennepin asked.

Roy noticed a single jet-black hair sprouting above her upper lip. He wondered why Miss Hennepin hadn't removed the hair-was it possible that she was letting it grow?

"Mr. Eberhardt, I asked you a question."

"I ran because I'm scared of him, too," Roy replied.

"Or perhaps you were scared of what would happen to you when the incident was reported."

"That's totally not true."

"Under the rules," said Miss Hennepin, "you could be suspended from school."

"He was choking me. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Stand up, please."

Roy did what he was told.

"Step closer," Miss Hennepin said. "How does your head feel? Is this where the golf ball hit you?" She touched the tender purple lump above his ear.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're a lucky young man. It could've been worse."

He felt Miss Hennepin's bony fingers turn down the collar of his shirt. Her chilly gray eyes narrowed and her waxy lips pursed in consternation.

"Hmm," she said, peering like a buzzard.

"What is it?" Roy backed out of her reach.

The vice-principal cleared her throat and said, "That knot on your head tells me you've learned your lesson the hard way. Am I right?"

Roy nodded. There was no use trying to reason with a person who was cultivating one long oily hair on her lip. Miss Hennepin gave Roy the creeps.

"Therefore, I've decided not to suspend you from school," she said, tapping a pencil on her chin. "I am, however, going to suspend you from the bus."

"Really?" Roy almost burst out laughing. What a fantastic punishment; no bus ride, no Dana!

"For two weeks," Miss Hennepin said.

Roy tried to look bummed. "Two whole weeks?"

"In addition, I want you to write a letter of apology to Mr. Matherson. A sincere letter."

"Okay," said Roy, "but who's going to help him read it?"

Miss Hennepin clicked her pointy yellow teeth. "Don't press your luck, Mr. Eberhardt."

"No, ma'am."

As soon as he left the office, Roy hurried to the boys' bathroom. He climbed up on one of the sinks that had a mirror and pulled down his shirt collar to see what Miss Hennepin had been staring at.

Roy grinned. Plainly visible on each side of his Adam's apple were four finger-sized bruises. He swiveled around on the rim of the sink and, craning over his shoulder, spotted two matching thumb marks on the nape of his neck.

Thank you, dumb-butt Dana, he thought. Now Miss Hennepin knows I'm telling the truth.

Well, most of the truth.

Roy had left out the part about the strange running boy. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed like the sort of thing you didn't tell a vice-principal unless you absolutely had to.

He had missed his morning classes and most of lunch hour. He hurried through the cafeteria line and found an empty table. Sitting with his back to the doors, he wolfed down a chili burger and a carton of lukewarm milk. Dessert was an overbaked chocolate chip cookie the size of a hockey puck and just about as tasty.

"Gross," he muttered. The inedible cookie made a thud when it landed on the plate. Roy picked up his tray and rose to leave. He jumped when a hand landed forcefully on his shoulder. He was afraid to look-what if it was Dana Matherson?

The perfect ending, Roy thought gloomily, to a perfectly terrible day.

"Sit down," said a voice behind him, definitely not Dana's.

Roy brushed the hand off his shoulder and turned. Standing there, arms folded, was the tall blond girl with the red-framed eyeglasses-the one he'd encountered on the school bus. The girl looked extremely unhappy.

"You nearly knocked me down this morning," she said.

"Sorry."

"Why were you running?"

"No reason." Roy tried to get past her, but this time she sidestepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"You could've really hurt me," she said.

Roy felt uncomfortable being confronted by a girl. It wasn't a scene you wanted the other boys to see, for sure. Worse, Roy was truly intimidated. The curly-haired girl was taller than he was, with wide shoulders and tan muscular legs. She looked like an athlete-soccer, probably, or volleyball.

He said, "See, I punched a kid in the nose-"

"Oh, I heard all about it," the girl said snidely, "but that's not why you ran off, was it?"

"Sure it was." Roy wondered if she was going to accuse him of something else, like stealing the lunch money out of her backpack.

"You're lying." The girl boldly seized the other side of his lunch tray, to prevent him from leaving.

"Let go," Roy said sharply. "I'm late."

"Take it easy. There's six minutes to the bell, cowgirl." She looked as if she wouldn't mind socking him in the stomach. "Now tell the truth. You were chasing somebody, weren't you?"

Roy felt relieved that he wasn't being blamed for a serious crime. "Did you see him, too? That kid with no shoes?"

Still gripping Roy's tray, the girl took a step forward, backing Roy up.

"I got some advice for you," she said, lowering her voice.

Roy glanced around anxiously. They were the only ones left in the cafeteria.

"You listening?" The girl shoved him once more.

"Yeah."

"Good." She didn't stop pushing until she had Roy pinned to the wall with his lunch tray. Glaring balefully over the top of her red-framed eyeglasses, she said, "From now on, mind your own damn business."

Roy was scared, he had to admit. The edge of the tray was digging into his rib cage. This girl was a bruiser.

"You saw that kid, too, didn't you?" he whispered.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about. Mind your own business, if you know what's good for you."

She let go of Roy's tray and spun on her heels.

"Wait!" Roy called after her. "Who is he?"

But the curly-haired girl didn't answer or even look back. Stalking off, she simply raised her right arm and reproachfully wagged a forefinger in the air.

Officer Delinko shielded his eyes against the noon glare.

"Took you long enough," said Curly, the construction foreman.

"There was a four-car pileup north of town," the police officer explained, "with injuries."

Curly huffed. "Whatever. Anyways, you can see what they done."

Again the trespassers had methodically removed every survey marker and filled in the stake holes. Officer Delinko wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was beginning to suspect that this wasn't the random work of juvenile pranksters. Perhaps somebody had a grudge against Mother Paula and her world-famous pancakes.

"This time you got a actual vandalism to report," Curly said pointedly. "This time they messed up some private property."

He led Officer Delinko to the southwest corner of the site, where a flatbed truck was parked. All four tires were flat.

Curly raised the palms of his hands and said, "There you go. Each a them tires is worth a hundred and fifty bucks."

"What happened?" the policeman asked.

"The sidewalls was slashed." Curly's shiny head bobbed in indignation.

Officer Delinko knelt down and studied the truck's tires. He couldn't see any knife marks in the rubber.

"I think somebody just let the air out," he said.

Curly muttered a reply that was difficult to hear.