When my alarm buzzes, my head feels stuffed with cotton. My eyes ache. I open crusty eyelids, see Hammy’s covered cage, turn off the alarm and fall back to sleep.

When I wake again, it’s brighter, but my eyes are still sore from crying so much. And my calf muscles ache from running yesterday. I yank the blanket over my head. I’m not going to school today. It’s the least I can do for Hammy.

Then I remember we have a test in Ms. Lovely’s class. I can’t miss a test, especially in her class.

I force myself up and avoid looking at Hammy’s cage while I dress.

Before leaving, I check my face in the mirror. My eyelids are pink and puffy. I hope they’re a normal color by the time I get to school.

Dad intercepts me at the front door and gives me a fierce hug. “Love you, David.”

I don’t say anything, but Dad’s hug and his words make me feel sad and strong at the same time. I walk to school, trying unsuccessfully not to think about how Hammy felt on my palm yesterday.

In the courtyard, I see the heavy kid from the TV studio. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says “Fat kids are harder to kidnap.”

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say back.

“I saw that article about you in the Courier Times and I checked out your stuff.”

I nod.

“You’re good.”

“Thanks.”

“You wanted to join the news team, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, realizing that even though it seemed important before, it doesn’t now.

“You should ask Ms. Petroccia again. You’re really good.”

“I thought it’s only for seventh and eighth graders.”

He shrugs. “You should ask.”

When the bell buzzes, I rush to Ms. Lovely’s class because I don’t want to run into Tommy in the hallway. At my desk, I force myself to look over the chapter review. I hear a throat clearing and “Lameberg!”

What little energy I have drains. Holding my pencil feels like a Herculean effort, so I let it drop to my desk.

Sophie bounces in, clutching a brown paper bag.

How can she be so happy when Hammy’s gone?

“This is for you,” she whispers, holding up the bag.

It almost makes me glad I came to school today.

Sophie reaches into the bag and pulls out a cupcake—vanilla with yellow icing.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Ms. Lovely is still at the back of the classroom, near the door.

Sophie nods. “I’m really sorry about Hammy. He was so—”

“Lookie! It’s Lameberg’s birthday!”

I whirl around. Tommy waves. “Happy birthday, Lameberg.”

“It’s not my birthday. My ham—”

“Quiet in front,” Ms. Lovely croaks.

I’m glad she said that, because I almost told Tommy about Hammy. And he doesn’t deserve to know.

Ms. Lovely walks to the front of the room. “No food in my classroom, Mr. Greenberg.”

Sophie snatches the cupcake off my desk and shoves it back into the bag.

Ms. Lovely smiles at her.

“Happy birthday, Lameberg!” Tommy calls again.

“It’s not my birthday,” I mutter through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, happy birthday!” another guy says.

“Happy birthday,” a girl says.

Ms. Lovely levels the class with a stare. “You may celebrate Mr. Greenberg’s birthday another time. Right now, we have a test.”

It’s not my birthday!

“Everything off your desks except your pencils.”

The moment Ms. Lovely turns to grab the tests, I feel something bonk me on the back of the head.

I whirl around and glare at Tommy.

“Read it,” he mouths, pointing to the wad of paper on the floor.

I take a deep breath and don’t move.

“Read it,” he says again, his voice menacing.

I try to resist, but snatch it, turn front and read.

Happy barfday, Lameberg. Will celubrate L8R.

As I shove the note into my backpack, my hand shakes. I can barely scrawl my name on the test that has landed on my desk, because now I realize exactly how Tommy Murphy plans to get me.

IT’S NOT MY BIRTHDAY!