The chittering, laughing, protesting class fell silent.

Will raised a brown bag and slowly pulled out a transparent Tupperware container, holding it up for all to see. Reddish-brown lumps shifted inside, almost as if they were alive. As he let the bag fall to the floor, the air was scented with the tang of lime, a bite of garlic, and the warmth of chili. Will’s stomach rumbled loudly enough for all to hear.

“He’s really going to do it,” Mackala said. “Again.”

“Don’t you ever learn, Will Nolan?” Megan said, not so much mean as exasperated, making Will pause.

He’d had second thoughts about his plan a couple of times, but once he’d started researching, he got really excited. It wasn’t only that bug eating got him laughs, but that everything he’d learned was true. Entomophagy was good for people and the planet. The Triton students all lived in farm country: corn, soybeans, turkeys and pigs, more corn. Sure, he was talking about bugs, not plants or animals, but raising food was what they did out here, so it wasn’t completely crazy to think that farmers might get into the idea, was it?

Besides, eating that stinkbug should have been worse than eating a booger, with a mandatory minimum of social humiliation. Instead, he’d become popular. Whether they meant it or not, his classmates were already halfway on board with his idea.

“Wait a minute, Will,” Mr. Taylor said, asking Will if he had actually gotten permission from any school official to bring food to class.

“I swear, these insects are fine to eat, and they’re educational, too,” Will said quickly. “The principal definitely approves of nutritious, educational food.”

Mr. Taylor didn’t seem convinced, but he hesitated, looking at a class that was actually interested in a presentation for once, so Will jumped in.

He gave the container a gentle shake. “These tasty treats are called chap-pew-leen-ays.”

“Chap-oo-LEEN-ess,” Eloy muttered.

“What he said,” Will agreed. “And we are going to eat them.”

The silence was complete. No chairs squeaked. No clothes rustled. No lungs breathed.

Then a tat-tat-tat arose as Darryl rapped on his desk the tight paper ball he’d wadded.

Will swallowed at the air suddenly clogging his throat.

Darryl squeezed the paper ball even tighter, leaning back, legs spread out, and eyes lasered on Will.

Eloy’s jaw was a hard square. The purposeful way he kept his eyes directly forward made it clear he was aware of Darryl’s mood and was not looking that way again.

Will looked back and forth between the two of them.

How had he convinced himself it was “safer” for Eloy to do his own presentation than to team up with Will? The stinkbug thing had been because of Eloy. Of course Darryl would think Will had chosen a side. Will didn’t want to be on any sides, but his last slide might as well be a declaration: It thanked Mr. Herrera and recommended that everyone go to his restaurant.

Now Will had the grasshoppers, and he had to eat one. There was no going back.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back.

Darryl and he had been friends for a long time, but would a real friend make him feel crappy for trying to be a decent person? Shouldn’t the friend want to be decent, too?

Titters sounded, alerting Will he’d been quiet too long.

“Scared?” Darryl asked.

Will’s smile was hard as he whipped off the container’s lid. A poof of chili made him sneeze and the class laugh. It gave him the encouragement he needed.

The thing about eating the stinkbug was, he hadn’t been looking into its eyes and thinking, “I’m going to eat you.” The grasshoppers, though—they seemed to be looking at him.

Though they were clearly dead and wonderfully cooked, they still had legs and wings and EYES, and now that he was used to the smell of garlic, lime, and chili, he caught another smell, like . . . earthworms on a rainy day? The bugs looked like mutant shrimp, and it hit him again: He had to eat one.

A glance around the classroom was not reassuring. Why was everything so gray? The walls were covered with posters, but the floor, the desks, the cinder blocks were all gray. Gray winter light stayed behind the windows, not bothering to come in, and outside, the grass was old and gray, too. It was pointless to hope his face wasn’t gray. It had to be. Everything here was gray, even the grasshoppers beneath their dusting of spices.

The grasshoppers were about half the size of his thumb, with short wings pressed tight against plump, segmented bellies. Long hind legs were thick, ready to jump. Broken antennae hung over round, shiny, black compound eyes.

Desks squeaked, prodding him.

He picked up a chapulín, displayed it to the class . . .

. . . and popped it into his mouth.

Being in his mouth did not magically transform it into food. It still felt like a grasshopper—poking legs and antennae and shell-like exoskeleton. But as the flavors of chili, garlic, and lime curled around his tongue, he was encouraged. No matter what, this would be a hundred times better than eating the stinkbug—probably a thousand times better.

And it was. He crunched down to a spongy inside, and something squirted from one end—he could guess which one—but it was salty and citrusy and kind of . . . earthy, like grass and worms in a weirdly OK way. The texture was harder to get used to, almost like those yellow bits of popcorn kernels but with legs. In the end, he decided it was like eating unpeeled shrimp. The best part was, he knew it wasn’t going to make him puke. He threw his arms up in a V.

The class roared and stamped and clapped, inspiring him to grab another grasshopper and bite it in half, letting bug juice drip down his chin. Filled with power, he walked to Darryl’s desk and shook the container under his nose, making the insects look alive. “Your turn.”

It wasn’t until the words left his mouth that he remembered the last time he’d said them to Darryl—after Will had taken the stinkbug dare Darryl had dodged. The memory made the words feel aggressive, which he was fine with when Darryl glared at him.

“Just because you’re too stupid to know better doesn’t mean I am.”

“Suuure,” Will said, tossing the remaining half of the grasshopper into his mouth. It was the second time his tough friend had backed away from a dare. The fact that Will hadn’t, either time, made it that much worse, and both of them knew it.

“My turn,” Simon shouted. He jumped up and had his hand in the container before Will finished turning around. Three grasshoppers went into his mouth.

Cristian and Joshua sensibly took one apiece, studying it from all angles before biting in.

Megan and Mackala laid theirs on neatly folded squares of brown paper towel.

Devontae pretended to be attacked by his, then ate it in “self-defense.”

Adam ate with his mouth open so everyone could see the guts and legs and wings.

A bunch of people came back for more, already telling one another the epic tales of their bug-eating adventures, practicing what they would say to friends and the sad kids who had missed out again. They were all part of the story this time, shining in Bug Boy’s reflection, and word would spread far and fast.

Will walked around the desks, offering grasshoppers and asking how they were, enjoying playing host and laughing when Simon played snobby but approving food critic. Will was back at his desk before he noticed that Eloy hadn’t taken any chapulines. Instead, he sat there looking straight ahead, jaw clenched so tight, his teeth could break.