“How was the honeymoon?” says Del Posmer from the opposite corner of the lunch table. Rudy and I are sitting here because it’s the only place left. A honeymoon is any time two dudes who know each other are conspicuously absent on the same day.

“Beautiful,” I say. “Maui, you know?”

“Yeah,” says Del. He doesn’t speak much.

The first time you see Del, you want to ask: “What are you?” Not to be mean or rude or anything, but just because it’s not really clear. He looks a little bit more like a girl than like a guy, maybe 60–40, but then you notice how hairy his arms are. He’s pudgy and baby faced, so his age is hard to figure, too.

Of course, he could grow up to be beautiful, manly, and youthful at the same time, and make a fortune playing a sparkly vampire or a tempted angel or whatever. But right now he’s hairy, effeminate, and overweight, and I only know he’s a guy because he uses the urinal. Now you might be thinking: But that’s all superficial. It’s not his fault, it’s not who he is. And that’s true, and there are probably high schools where people would look past it and find the Unique Individual Within. This is not one of those places. At Dahlimer, sitting at this table is like being exiled to a tiny island with a monster on it.

Part of it is self-exile. I actually think Perfumegate is beginning to burn itself out, and we haven’t heard anything about what happened at Mars’s place. I guess random shotgun blasts are just business as usual out there. Mars himself is down to a few layers of gauze on his hand and no sling in sight. I told him he looked like he was doing “a lot better” when I saw him in the hall this morning. “Still tingles pretty bad,” he said.

Rudy and I are talking at a fairly normal volume, which amounts to a whisper in the roaring chatter of the cafeteria. We hear a tray slap down across from us and look up, expecting anything other than what we see: a well-dressed, attractive, and reasonably popular girl.

“So, what laws are you two considering breaking?” says Janie. “And how can I help?”

Rudy stares at her. Then he looks around to see if any other hot chicks will be joining us.

“Hi,” I say.

“Don’t get bigheaded,” she says. “I’m here for the dog.”

“OK,” I say.

“I can tell you two are up to something over here,” she says. “I can always tell when you two are up to something. So what is it?”

Our current plan doesn’t call for any actual lawbreaking, but plans change. And you don’t want to telegraph your punches, either. My eyes flick over toward Del. “I’ll tell you … later,” I say.

“Do I look like I care?” says Del, his eyes fixed firmly on his food.

“No, but it definitely seems like you’re listening,” says Rudy.

“Touché,” says Del.

He takes one more bite, gathers his stuff, and leaves.

“He didn’t have to do that,” says Janie.

“Yes, he did,” says Rudy.

It’s true. Still, it was cool of him, and I kind of make a mental note of it. Then I lean forward and begin telling Janie our plan.