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kid—Timmy or Tommy or some other jockstrap name—clenched a fist on top of his desk. I smiled and made a fist of my own, with my longest finger popping out of it.
    If there was a ruder gesture than that, he didn’t have time to make it, because Mr. Johnson caught him turning around and put him on the spot with a question.
    I figured that would be the end of it, but Tim-Tom didn’t like me having the last word—or the last finger—so he pulled a move that too many guys before him had pulled. As soon as class was over, he slung an arm around Nina and turned to mouth at me over her shoulder:
You wish.
    That was a mistake.
    â€œHey, Nina,” I said.
    She turned, spinning right out of the boyfriend’s arm. “Hi, Dane, what’s up?”
    â€œJust sayin’ hey.” I smiled and saw Nina blush a little as she returned the grin.
    I was always surprised to get that reaction from girls, but it had been happening a lot lately. Maybe it was the stubble.
    â€œWell, see you in algebra,” she said.
    She moved to take Tim-Tom’s hand, but it was balled into a fist.
    â€œI’ll catch up,” he told her.
    He waited for both Nina and Mr. Johnson to leave the room, then turned to me, face beet red.
    â€œWhat’s the deal?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I scooped my textbook and spiral off my desk and moved to brush past him, but his hand caught my chest, ever so slightly pushing me backward. The itch started circling my palms. It wasn’t so much the touch that bothered me—more the fact that he wasn’t afraid to do it. Most guys knew better.
    â€œI’d move that,” I said, nodding down to his hand.
    He gritted his teeth and added more pressure to my chest. “Nina’s my girlfriend.”
    This was going to end badly for me no matter what. A fight would land me in the disciplinary office, but if I backed down, word would be all over school by the end of the day. I had a millisecond to weigh my options, but all I could focus on was the itch.
    â€œReally, you want to move your hand
now
.”
    â€œShe’s not into you, got it?”
    â€œLast chance.”
    â€œShe doesn’t do trailer-trash losers who—”
    And that was all he said before my fist hit his left eye.
    â€œI don’t live in a trailer,” I said calmly, shaking out my hand.
    But I don’t think he heard me through his own girlie squeal. He pressed both hands over his eye and stumbled back, knocking a few desks out of place.
    â€œWhat is this?” Mr. Johnson’s voice boomed from the doorway.
    Guess I wouldn’t be seeing Nina in algebra after all.
    Within seconds, we were on our way to the warden’s office. Tim-Tom had cried something about me hitting him, which I didn’t bother to deny. But I told Mr. Johnson he’d touched me first to make sure I wasn’t the only one bound for detention.
    My palms were still tingling when we took our seats outside the office.
    â€œHi, Mrs. Pruitt.” I winked at the secretary.
    â€œDane.” She gave me a thin-lipped smile. “Shame to see you under these circumstances again.”
    I shrugged.
    Mr. Johnson and Mrs. Pruitt ducked their heads in a whispered conversation, as if it was a secret from us why we were there. Then Johnson left and Pruitt rapped on the warden’s door. Just above her fist, a little plaque gleamed gold with black carved words: THEODORE BELL, DISCIPLINARY OFFICER. Pruitt pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.
    â€œTed? Dane Washington and another boy here to see you.”
    As always—Dane Washington and “another boy.” With an introduction like that, who could disagree that the odds were against me? I spent the most time there, so naturally I was the one who most likely deserved to be there. “Another boy” would be sent back to class without punishment.
    Mrs. Pruitt waved us into the office and closed the door. I