“Yuck,” I say, peeling back my sheets and feeling like I’ve been turned inside-out.

I look out the window for any hint of sun in the sky but it’s way too early still.

“You okay, Ian?” Devon’s voice floats up from below. “Sounds like a rough night up there.”

“Yeah, weird dreams,” I say.

“Least you can sleep,” says Devon. “I can’t sleep at all.”

“Sorry,” I say, though I’m not very.

I roll over toward the edge of the bed, where it’s not soaked with sweat. And I see Devon down below. For a head-spinning second, it feels like the nightmare was real and I’m still in it.

But then I get ahold of myself and remember that I can breathe. I’m so relieved I feel like I can do anything.

“Hey, Devon, can I ask you something?” I hear myself say.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he tells me after a pause.

“You do?”

“Come on, Ian, it’s kinda obvious you’re mad at me. Is this still about Alva? Because Mark’s pretty sure she’s the one who wrecked Ash’s dad’s book.”

“Pretty sure she didn’t,” I say, the last of my hesitation falling away with his lie.

“You need to trust me that she’s screwed up, okay? She’s damaged. You don’t see it, ’cause you like her, but eventually you’re gonna thank me for keeping you from making a fool of yourself.”

“You think I’m gonna thank you?”

“I know it,” says Devon.

“For keeping me from making a fool of myself?” I’m getting a bit too loud for a room full of sleeping bullies now.

“Someday, Ian, when you see things better,” Devon says, “when you understand the way things work in the real world—”

“In the real world”—I spit the words out like rotten food—“people who treat people the way you treat people don’t get to keep their friends. You have to stop being a bully.” A couple other kids stir under their blankets.

I feel the bunk shift as Devon shoots out of bed and gets right up in my face. “Oh, because you’re such a good friend, Ian? The way I recall it, when Max had that accident, it was your peanut butter sandwich.”

“Devon—”

“And you let us take all the blame. And we didn’t give you a hard time at all, did we?”

“Dev—”

“And then you didn’t talk to any of us for a week. Remember that?”

He pauses, and I keep quiet.

“And then everything this summer—all I’ve done to stand up for you—and still, still I’m not meeting your standards?”

In the back of my mind I’m vaguely aware that about half the dorm is now listening to every word.

“You know, would it really kill you to just be grateful, Ian?”

“Grateful? You think I’m not grateful?”

“Yes.”

An unfamiliar heat sears through my neck, and I can feel it like a warm, red coal burning in the middle of my back. The place where the Freak calls home.

“Devon,” I rumble. “I’ve tried everything to make excuses for all the horrible things you do. Because I convinced myself you were really, deep down, good.”

He sneers back. “Seriously, Ian, how do you even survive being such a little baby? Oh right! Because I bail you out whenever you get in trouble.”

“Yeah, all right. I’ll admit it: You do bail me out, Dev. You’re my friend. And if you’d just treat other people like you treat us, then they’d see you like your friends see you.”

He pauses for a second, and just when I think I’m getting through, I hear two words come out of Devon’s mouth that he’s never said to me before: “You’re right. I am treating you different than everybody else. And it should stop.”

My smile vanishes before it reaches my lips.

“From now on, I’ll treat you just like the rest of them, Hart.” He starts to back away from my bunk.

“Hold on …” I say.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Guys?” says Mark.

“Too late,” says Devon. “We’re finished—aren’t we, Ian?”

“No, it’s gonna be fine,” says Mark. “We’ll take care of this, right, Ian?”

“Time to pick sides, Mark,” says Devon.

Mark looks really confused. “Ian, just apologize. Trust me, okay?”

“Trust you?” The words make me angry all over again. “Trust you? How’s your big investigation going? Figure out who ruined Ash’s book yet?”

I feel a wash of satisfaction as my words crash over him like a wave.

“Really thought you were better than that,” I continue.

Mark stumbles for words that will fix this …

“Don’t waste your breath,” says Devon. “Ian Hart is beyond our help.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” I snap.

“Still the same old Ian,” says Devon. “I should’ve listened to the other kids that day we met: You are a loser and a weirdo.”

There’s a sound very close to but not exactly like a wolverine gargling mouthwash, and I feel something pulling at my heart—but it stays put for the moment.

“Never thought I’d see the day I was bored by your insults, Crawford.”

“Look, guys,” says Mark, trying again. “We just have to make it through the next couple days and then it’ll all get better when we’re home again. Right?”

“What’ll be better, exactly?” says Devon. “I’ll just spend the rest of my life keeping Ian from getting beat up when he says ridiculous, geeky stuff, like I always do. I’m so not interested. Why are we even friends?”

“I don’t know, Dev,” I say. “Why are we friends?”

As the words come out of my mouth, I suddenly feel dizzy. Maybe somewhere in the future, I’m in a bathroom right now, reliving this horrible moment.

FLUSH! I hear across the hall.

And then the door creaks open.

“… guys?” says Ash. “What’s goin’ on?”