Chapter 1

Ben had felt safe when the bus first pulled away from Hilltop School and there were still three miles to go. Boyd couldn’t beat him up in front of the bus driver, he figured. Maybe if he sat real quiet, Boyd would forget about him by the time they got to Twenty-sixth.

Ben rubbed his hands across the knees of his jeans and picked at the stitching on his baseball. If he looked in the window just right, he could see a reflection of Boyd sitting across the aisle and back two seats.

Your hair’s as long as a girl’s, Boyd. Why don’t you wear it in pony tails? Hey, Boyd, where’d you get that grubby jacket? The dumpster? If he had the nerve, he would say a lot of things to that creep.

Boyd and another kid talked in low voices so the bus driver couldn’t hear. Ben’s ears practically pulled away from his head. Were they talking about him?

The bus stopped, and the apartment kids got off. Two more stops to go.

Next to Ben sat Charles, a third-grader who was always following him around. Ben was in fifth grade and didn’t really like sitting with him, but it would hurt Charles’s feelings if he said so.

“Is he really going to do it, Benjamin?”

Shut up, Charles, Ben wanted to say. “I don’t know.” He focused on the reflection to see if Boyd was listening.

“He says he’s going to pound you.”

“That’s what he says.” Ben looked out the window and tried to make his heart stop flopping around in his chest by thinking happy thoughts—smacking the baseball clear across the field, Daisy licking his face, the sky all blue and not raining.

“It’s true,” Boyd’s voice boomed from behind. “Wanna watch?”

A roar of laughter filled the bus.

The muscles in Ben’s neck tightened so that he couldn’t turn around even if he wanted to.

The bus stopped, and three girls got off. The next stop was Charles’s, then Ben’s was the one after.

“Hey, Boyd,” someone yelled. “You oughta sell tickets.”

A ruler thumped Ben on the back of the head.

“Why don’t you knock ‘im flat, Benjamin?” Charles asked as if it were a simple matter.

Ben’s shirt stuck to his back as he squirmed around in his seat. A pasture dotted with green beehive boxes and a pony tethered to a mailbox moved past the window. “Maybe I don’t want to.” He’d kick my teeth out or break my jaw if I tried to fight him, Ben thought. There’d be blood all over the place and I’d throw up, that’s why. Leave me alone, shrimp, he wanted to say. You’re making things worse.

The bus driver bounced with the movements of the bus and mouthed the words to the music that droned from the radio. It seemed as if the kids could climb out the windows for all she cared.

Charles’s stop. He stood up. “Well, see ya,” he said and went to the front of the bus to wait for the doors to open.

Tell the driver, you little pest, Ben wanted to say. Be useful for once.

Charles bounced down the steps and hopped out onto the gravel road.

The driver cranked the door shut and continued to sing. Ben looked in the mirror above her head, hoping to catch her eye. Maybe he could tell her he was about to be killed by looking at her in some special way. The mirror, dumbbell. Oh, never mind. You’d never catch on anyway.

Suddenly Boyd slid into the seat where Charles had been sitting and leaned toward Ben’s ear. “I’m gonna get you, Tyler.”

Ben turned around and looked into Boyd’s yellow smile. His breath smelled awful, as if he’d been munching on dead bugs. Strawlike hair hung every which way around a long, skinny face. Scarecrow, Ben thought, and took a deep breath.

Can he hear my heart pounding? he wondered. My shirt is probably bouncing up and down. Keep cool. Don’t get sick, he told himself. Think about home and sliced bananas with milk.

“Just tell me one thing,” Ben heard himself squeak. “What have I ever done to you?” He held his lips tight so he wouldn’t throw up. Maybe he could ride the bus back to school and call his mother or make a run for the bus driver; tell her Boyd Bradshaw was going to beat him up. This wasn’t even his stop.

Ben felt every face in the bus looking at him, grinning, loving it.

“You’re a jerk.” Boyd sneered at Ben.

The bus stopped at Twenty-sixth, belching as the doors opened.

“Come on,” Craig Olsen said. “Let’s get off here.”

“I want to see this,” someone else said.

Half the kids on the bus stood up and crowded toward the door. Ben was the only one who was supposed to get off. Two girls from his class looked right at him as they bounced happily down the steps.

Ben stood up and stared at the back of the bus driver’s head. Moron, he thought. Doesn’t anything seem strange, all these kids getting off at the same stop? If I end up in the hospital, my dad will sue. There must be some way out. Ben tried to think of something.

Boyd followed him off the bus.

“Look,” Ben said turning around. “I don’t want to fight. How about if we just say you win?”

Boyd shoved him sideways into the ditch, and Ben heard the bus doors hiss shut before it pulled away.

Kids closed around them in a circle. Ten or twelve had gotten off.

Ben stood up and brushed at his knees with one hand. The other still held his baseball. “If you wreck my shirt,” he warned, “you’re in big trouble.” He cringed, wondering why he had said such a dumb thing.

“Woo-un his widdle shirt. Wouldn’t that be tewibble?” Boyd grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled. Rip!

“Knock it off, Boyd,” Ben hollered. “Don’t make me mad.” His face burned.

A wave of laughter went through the circle, and Ben looked at each of the faces. He couldn’t understand why they hated him. He had never done anything to any of them.

Ben’s shirt hung open where it had torn. Could they see his heart pumping? he wondered.

Boyd shoved him backward until he stumbled over a rock with his arms flying out to his sides. Ben’s baseball sailed out of his hand and landed in the tall grass. With every one of his yellow teeth showing, Boyd jumped on top of him.

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