Eloy’s expression annoyed the heck out of Will. The presentation had ended exactly as they’d hoped, with everyone eating bugs. The slide thanking Mr. Herrera was still up on the whiteboard. And whether he’d intended it or not, Will had picked a side today—and it hadn’t been his oldest friend’s but the new guy’s. The least Eloy could do was chill.

Rustles from the hall signaled the end of class, and a bunch of guys rushed Will to grab more chapulines before darting outside to tell people what had happened. By the time Will had his balance again, the container was empty, and several grasshoppers littered the floor, flat and wet from squished guts. He suspected he’d see more like that in the hallway and felt bad. The little guys had already been sacrificed for food; they shouldn’t be wasted, too.

Mr. Taylor quickly followed the others out, shouting not to throw food in the hall, even though he surely meant the bugs. Eloy stomped to the front of the class, picked up the Tupperware lid, and held out a hand to Will.

“What’s wrong with you?” Will asked as he handed over the bottom half of the plastic container.

Eloy jerked it from his hand, put the top on the container, put the container into the brown paper bag, put the bag on his books, and headed for the door.

“Are you mad?” Will half shouted. “They loved them!”

Everyone in their entire class—minus Darryl, of course—had eaten a bug. No one could have predicted that a few weeks ago. In fact, a few weeks ago, Will and the entire seventh grade would have bet all their money that they would never eat a bug. But Will had made it happen. It had cost him, too. Eloy had gotten Will to help him with wrestling, and Will had seriously ticked off Darryl. Plus, El Corazón had gotten a lot of free advertising. Eloy should be thanking Will.

Already, the hall was filled with people loudly boasting about their bravery and heckling the timid. Will should be out there, too, reveling in his moment, or else what was the point of the whole thing?

“So?” he said, crossing his arms.

“Listen to them out there,” Eloy said. “It’s one big joke. My dad’s cooking.”

Will flinched, arms falling at the accusation. How could Eloy have witnessed the total success of Will’s plan and drawn the conclusion that his father had been embarrassed instead? “Your dad’s awesome. I would never—”

“Use our culture to make people laugh and dare each other like chapulines are disgusting and abnormal?”

“That is not what happened.” Will couldn’t even . . . After everything, he couldn’t even . . . “I made it fun.”

“Funny, you mean.”

“They wouldn’t have gone near them if I—” He cut his eyes at Eloy, a thought occurring to him. “So tell me, when you went to Mexico and ate a grasshopper the first time, you didn’t freak out about it?”

Eloy looked down, toeing a smushed chapulín and proving Will’s theory correct. “I was little.” Then he looked up again, eyes bright. “But my grandma gave it to me, so I tried it, and it was fine.”

“This was basically the same thing. You trusted her. They trusted me. And no one would have tried them if I hadn’t done it exactly the way I did.”

“You don’t know that. My father worked for hours.”

“And I bet everyone begs to go to his restaurant now, and they’ll all beg for bugs. I totally helped you,” Will said. “Again.”

“Don’t pretend this was about me.” Eloy stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him even though Mr. Taylor was standing right outside it.

Will couldn’t believe it. Intentionally or not, he had put his reputation and friendships on the line for someone he hardly knew. Now that guy was giving him grief, as if Will were somehow at fault.

The grasshoppers on the floor were dead, but he stomped on them anyway.