Mr. Dunford stands over me with a dinner tray in his hand.

“Hey there, buddy. Seems like you’re having a tough one. You getting the hang of the place all right?”

“Mr. Dunford, what’re you doing here?”

He looks around the room and then back at me. “I’m on vacation,” he says.

“Really?” I ask.

He stands there.

“Oh, I get it,” I tell him.

“Never had any doubts! But can I give you a piece of advice? Around here, think a little bit about whatever people tell you—all right?”

“Okay, Mr. Dunford,” I say.

“Think for yourself, don’t just say okay.” He pops a piece of food into his mouth as he speaks. “Mm-mmm! Sweet-potato tots get better every year …”

“You come here every year?”

“Sure,” he says. “I vacation here every summer.”

“Oh.”

“And by ‘vacation’ I mean ‘teach,’ Ian.”

“Right.”

He claps me on the shoulder and starts away. “M-mm! Hey, don’t snooze too long on these tantalizing tubers, guppies!” he advises Miranda’s table. “You’ll miss out if you wait.”

The girls all look at him like he’s speaking a language that went extinct because everyone who spoke it kept going insane.

“See you later for second rotation,” he tells them.

“What’s second rotation?” one of the clones asks.

But Dunford doesn’t hear her, because he’s singing a made-up theme song called “An Ode to Sweet-Potato Tots.”

“Second rotation!” says Mr. Dunford the next afternoon in the classroom where Dr. Ginschlaugh usually tortures us. “It’s time to turn the page now. So, whatever you’ve done to land yourself in this place, it’s in the past—and now we will focus on what’s ahead of you, okay? Swimming, and surrounding yourself with other people who … you know—”

He waves away his words like a cloud of smoke, in a way that’s very familiar to me and my friends.

“New things!” he booms on. “Adventures and unexpected experiences and all that. Blah blah blah.”

It’s nice to have Dunford back.

“So what’s next, you ask?” he says. “Well! Let’s talk about getting a job …”

Okay I take it back, Dunford. I didn’t miss you at all.

He’s up at the whiteboard writing a list or something. Amid the squeak of dry-erase marker, he continues:

“This class is all about understanding your role in the community. Learning to have a positive impact on what’s going on in your world. So. Up on the board you’ll see several community-service assignments.”

He arcs a thumb toward the six available assignments listed on the board, each with a limited number of spaces beneath them. “You will all choose one of these, and it will be your job for the rest of your time here. I know it’s a big decision, so go ahead and look at these packets, and take a moment to discuss among yourselves.”

Immediately the class erupts into panicked whispers.

“One more thing to keep in mind!” Dunford offers. “All choices are final.”

“Okay, okay,” says Mark, pulling us into a huddle. “What’s our plan here?”

“We should go in for the state park cleanup crew,” says Ash. “Reasons? Being outside. Also, the possibility of jumping in a creek. Also, being outside.”

“Sounds fun,” I say. “But it’s gonna be popular—we might not all get to stay together.”

“What about volunteering at the county courthouse?” says Mark. I can see the gleam in his eye.

“That’s our Mark,” says Devon. “Always keeping an eye on the future.”

“What do you think we should do, Dev?”

“They all suck,” he says. “Do whatever you want. Go make a difference in the world or whatever.”

Mark’s eyes fall to the floor in embarrassment. “We should stick together, I think.”

“Yeah,” says Ash.

“We just have to pick a crappy one nobody wants,” I suggest.

“Well,” says Mark. “I guess a crappy job wouldn’t suck so bad, as long as we’re all doing it.”

“It’ll still suck too bad to even consider,” Devon says.

“All right, everyone. Time’s up! Make your way to the front,” instructs Dunford.

We all exchange a look and walk to the front of the room.

“You guys sure about this?” says Mark. “We can’t take it back.”

Nobody says anything: We just shrug and nod.

“Then it’s decided,” says Mark. “We’re volunteering at the children’s hospital.”

The next day a bus pulls up in front of the school to take a load of bleary-eyed bullies to their new jobs.

Devon and Mark are whispering in the seat way in the back; Alva and Cole are fighting in the middle; and these three girls who are part of Miranda’s clone army but didn’t get to tag along with her on her assignment at the state park are grumbling about it, way in the front. I look at Ash expectantly as he quietly pulls out his dad’s book—

And the whole mess around us disappears.

Ash and I have been making a game out of reading it when nobody’s looking, Tom. We’ve been trading who gets to carry it each day, and it’s probably the best surprise about the whole summer, me and exploring that crazy story with Ash.

We don’t say a word the whole bus ride—just duck low in our seat and turn the pages, laughing at all the same places.

And then, when we get to the children’s hospital, another surprise: They don’t make us wear our salmon uniforms.

“Well now! That’s easier to look at,” says the nurse who is in charge of us. He exhales in relief at how we look in our new papery, green, poncho-looking hospital uniforms.

“It’s less nuclear,” Cole agrees—both approving and suspicious.

“What next, Nurse Norse?” says Alva.

Okay. His name isn’t really Nurse Norse, but Vikings are called Norsemen, and he’s kind of a giant awesome Viking guy, from the way he looks.

As he shows us the ropes, it becomes clear that we’re not supposed to do anything, or touch anything, or even ask questions. Basically, we’re allowed to deliver mail and take meals to the patients. And we’re allowed to breathe—though there have been a few angry looks about us taking liberties with that last thing.

“This hospital is pretty intense, huh?” Mark says to me as we’re walking down a long, echoey hall.

“It’s confusing,” I say. “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do.”

“I don’t know. We’re supposed to think about our ‘role in the community’ or whatever?”

“Would you keep it down?” a booming voice calls out. “Tryin’a watch my movie here.”

I poke my head into the room. This really thin kid with huge eyes made even bigger by these huge, ugly glasses and a long time not being allowed outside is watching a black-and-white movie projected on the cinder-block wall.

“What movie are you watching?” I ask.

“Uh, Psyyyycho,” he says.

“Psycho?” I repeat.

“Film number eighteen in my screening series of Hitchcock’s life’s work.”

I blink at him. “Huh?”

“I’m watching a marathon of all of Alfred Hitchcock’s movies.”

“Oh. Cool,” I say. “Who’s Alfred Hitchcock?”

The kid looks shocked. “You’ve never heard of Alfred Hitchcock? The Master of Suspense?”

I shrug.

“What kind of morons are they sending me?” he asks the vent in the ceiling. Then he swipes some junk off a chair by his bed. “You staying or not?”

I look out into the hall, but Mark is already gone. “Sure …”

As I circle the bed to make my way to the chair, spooky music plays while this woman goes into a motel room alone.

Seriously? Big mistake, lady! She’s breaking the oldest rule in the book, but before I can open my mouth to say so—

“I know,” he stops me. “Just watch. This is important material.”

Like usual when people tell me something’s important, I immediately black out.

But by the time I open my eyes again the movie’s over and I’m still in this kid’s room.

“So.” My new friend’s voice startles me from my rest. “What’d you think of the film?”

“Um …”

“Yeah no, I’m just messing with you,” he says. “You looked like you could use that nap.”

“I was asleep?”

He just smiles. “Viet,” he says.

“What?”

“It’s my name. What’s yours?”

“Ian Hart.”

“Welcome to film club, Ian Hart. Feel free to bring a blanket tomorrow if you wanna sleep.”

“Sounds great. But I think I have work I’m supposed to do.”

“Okay, big shot,” he says. “Suit yourself.”

But when I catch up with Nurse Norse all ready to make an excuse for disappearing, he tells me something shocking: Apparently my work is hanging out with the kids here.

“This is what having a job is really like?” I ask Ash as we’re leaving.

“I know! Grown-ups are totally playing us.”