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glad to have some friends again. Plus, she loves a good fight and so do most of the GWAB members. It was a perfect fit, really.
    “Hey! Flapjack!”
    Jeremy and I both turned around to see Andre Bertoni jogging up to us. We occasionally meet him as we’re walking to or from school since he lives right across the street from us, in this fancy apartment building called Fuji Towers.
    More about Fuji Towers later.
    Andre was wearing his big-screen smile. I heard Jeremy swallow hard. Really, I heard it. She has a huge crush on Andre. She’s a sensible kid in every other way.
    “How you doing, man?” Andre said when he caught up to us. “Hey, Caitlin.”
    “She’s not Caitlin anymore,” I told him. “She’s changed her name to Jeremy.”
    “But that’s a boy’s name,” he said, his smile now looking confused.
    “That’s right,” I said.
    He looked over at Jeremy, and her face became roughly the same color as her hair.
    “You know what I would do if I were you, Flapjack?” he said, looking away from Jeremy.
    Kill yourself? I thought. But I said. “I have no idea, Andre.”
    “I’d sue,” he said confidently.
    “Sue who?” I asked.
    “The school,” Andre said. “Because of what Mr. Wooly did to you.”
    “What did he do?” Jeremy’s ears pricked up at this. She was always looking out for unfair things that people had done to other people, especially if it involved me.
    “Nothing, nothing,” I said.
    “What did he do to Owen?” she addressed this to Andre, completely forgetting herself and yanking Andre’s jacket sleeve. Andre looked a bit surprised himself. He smoothed down the material of his jacket (it was probably some fancy European jacket that his father had brought back from some super-suave country).
    “He put him in a dog harness and forced him to roll around on the floor,” Andre said.
    “It was nothing,” I insisted.
    Jeremy’s mouth gawped open. For a moment I thought she was about to bellow. She’s a little bit like a superhero with no superhero talents. She despises bullies and loves underdogs, much like the classic superhero. But she’s thin as a coat hanger and on the shortish side, and all she can do is punch reasonably hard with her bony knuckles. No jet-propelled flying, no invisibility skills.
    “I’ll pulverize him,” she said in this quiet voice. It was impressive. Even Andre gave her his full attention for about seven seconds before he turned back to me.
    “Tell your mother to call my dad. He might even be willing to take the case himself.” Then he jogged on, leaving me with the dismal, fleeting image of Mom sitting in Mr. Bertoni’s cushy leather office chair (it had to be leather) discussing how I had been trussed up in a dog harness.
    “How could Wooly treat you like that!” Jeremy blurted. “You!”
    She has this idea about me. She thinks I am a better person than I actually am. Nicer, funnier, smarter. I mean, I am smart, but she thinks I’m a genius, which I am not. Not quite. I missed genius rank by one point.
    What she didn’t know was that people were always treating me like Mr. Wooly had, or thereabouts. I mean, I do think she understood I wasn’t exactly popular, but sixth graders and seventh graders live in totally different universes. She didn’t know that I had become an official bully magnet, the punch line of every joke. That people made fart noises when I walked by and murmured things like “Fatty Fatty Ding Dong.” She didn’t know and I wanted to keep it that way.
    “Just forget it,” I said. “It was no big deal.”
    But the anger was leaving her face and being replaced by a look of despair. “Oh, Owen. What a world.”
    They were gut-squeezing words. It made me think of other stuff besides Mr. Wooly and stolen Oreo cookies. I glanced at Jeremy. She was frowning down at the pavement. I worried that she might be thinking of the very same stuff.
    “Hey,” I said, trying to make my voice sound jolly. “How about we go to the demo