CHAPTER 40

MAGGIE LEFT HOME EARLY and rode her bike to school Friday morning. Taking the bus would get her there too late.

Hudson’s list of six names. It was a hit list. What else could it be? He’d tangled with the bullies, and now he was on a mission of vengeance. Didn’t that prepare for war statement prove that?

Part of her thought he was a really decent guy. But plenty of nice guys had been pushed to do really bad things, right?

Pancake told her Hudson was religious. And she’d seen little things herself. Like praying at lunch. The way he looked at right and wrong. And how he seemed to care about others —like Pancake —and her —in a deeper way. Hudson himself admitted to being a Christian, right? There was nothing wrong with being religious. Hey, she’d call herself religious too, right? But she was nothing like Hudson. He seemed to live out what he believed. So why was she so suspicious? Maybe she’d seen too many movies. Hollywood made a fortune on stories about nice religious guys who turned out to be wackos.

What if he got to school before her, and he’d already smuggled a gun into his locker? She’d never know until it was too late. He’d walk into the cafeteria . . . and open fire. She pedaled harder. Her thighs burned by the time Southfield was in sight.

Only when the empty bike rack came into view did she ease up. She coasted to the rack, locked up her bike, and scanned the block in both directions. No sign of him —or Pancake.

Were they together on this? They had to be. Deep down she knew it, which is why she couldn’t share her suspicions with Pancake. It seemed Hudson could do no wrong in Pancake’s eyes. He’d lost all objectivity. Pancake was so desperate for a friend, he’d do just about anything to please Hudson. All of that boiled down to one undeniable truth. If anybody was going to stop Hudson, it was up to her.

Which raised the obvious question. What did she think she could do against them without help? Why not march right into the office and tell them her suspicions?

She imagined that scenario. The office would call the police. Immediately. The station couldn’t be more than two minutes away. They’d have a SWAT team here pronto. What if Hudson saw a police car racing to the school while he was biking here? He’d turn tail and hide whatever weapons he had and try again when everyone’s guard was down.

The first bus pulled in and the driver waddled off before the kids. The name Hoskins was stitched on her shirt. Maggie never had her as a driver, but she’d heard plenty about her. The woman had this look —as if she was always ready for a brawl. Hoskins swaggered around the front of the bus and lit up a cigarette.

The teacher’s lot started filling. They filed out of their cars, most of them balancing a coffee. Where are you, Mr. Cutter? Mr. Mann? Maggie jammed her hands deep in her pockets and bounced on the balls of her feet. She should have thrown on another layer before leaving, but the chill going through her likely had little to do with weather.

Parents dropped off kids. Others students locked up their bikes, gave Maggie weird looks, and moved on. She looked ridiculous, hanging out at the bike rack. Maggie walked halfway to the school entrance and made that her post.

And then she spotted him. Pedaling alongside Pancake and riding her way. She whipped out her phone. Dialed 9-1-1 but didn’t push the send button. She hurried back to the bike rack and held the phone like some kind of radio-controlled bomb detonator. If she found a weapon on Hudson, she intended to blow up his plans.

Still no Mr. Cutter or Mr. Mann. Suddenly she felt small. Weak. She looked for Ms. Hoskins. The bus driver was nowhere in sight.

The boys were nearly to the rack when Mr. Cutter stepped out of his car.

“Mr. Cutter!” Did her voice sound as desperate as she felt?

He looked her way. Waved. There was no way he’d get here quick enough.

She motioned him over. Hurry, please. Hurry!

Hudson and Pancake were off their bikes. Locking them at the far end of the bike rack. Hudson carefully set his backpack on the ground. It definitely looked bulky. Not flat —the way it should look if it was only packed with books.

Do something, Maggie! Before Hudson picks up his backpack.

Hudson stood. Stepped toward his pack.

Maggie rushed forward. “Wait.”

Hudson stopped and gave her a curious look. “Morning, Maggie.”

She moved toward the backpack, still holding the phone, her finger hovering over the send button. “I know what you’re planning. Don’t do it.”

“What?” Hudson reached for the pack.

“Stop!” Maggie showed him the phone. “All I have to do is push this button and the place will be crawling with cops.”

Mr. Cutter was on his way. Good. Pancake looked totally confused.

But Hudson just smiled, like the whole thing was a joke. “You okay?”

The guy could act, she had to hand him that. “I want to look in your backpack.”

Hudson straightened. Shrugged. “Go ahead. And if you’re dying for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the answer is yes. I’ll share.”

He was bluffing, right? Just hoping she’d back down. Fat chance. She motioned with her phone. “Back away.”

He laughed. Raised his hands. “O-kay.” He took two steps back.

She unzipped the backpack. Slowly. There could be a gun inside. Or a bomb. She glanced inside. Or a lunch —and a can of red spray paint? She lifted the can out of the pack and held it up.

“Morning,” Mr. Cutter said. “What’s up?”

Maggie pocketed her phone. What had she done?

Mr. Cutter reached for the can. “Whose spray paint?”

“Mine,” Hudson said.

Mr. Cutter bounced it in his palm as if to determine how full it was. “Not sure this is a good idea to bring to school, Hudson. Want to tell me what this is all about?”

Other kids were sliding their bikes into the rack and locking them. Mr. Cutter motioned Hudson and Pancake to the side. Maggie followed.

Hudson cleared his throat. “Okay, some kids from school were saying some really nasty things about Maggie online. And they were also giving her a hard time about her shoes.”

Maggie cringed inside.

Mr. Cutter glanced down. “Her Converse All Stars? They’re classics.”

“Pretty much what I told her.”

Right now Maggie wished she were in Mr. Mann’s room. She’d open the grate and let the Thumpasaurus people take her away.

Mr. Cutter held up the can. “What does that have to do with the paint?”

“Someone using the name Robin Hood defended her on the site —and suggested that others at school support her by wearing red shoes to class. I thought it was a good idea. I don’t have red shoes —and I didn’t have the money to buy them, but I could swing a can of spray paint.” He pointed at his shoes.

Maggie looked at his feet —and froze. His Nikes —or whatever —had been sprayed red. Pancake’s too. How had she not seen that when they rode up?

Mr. Cutter looked at Maggie. “Want to tell me who’s been cyberbullying you?”

Maggie shook her head, still staring at Hudson’s shoes. “My mom gave them to me. The shoes.”

Mr. Cutter nodded like he understood. Looked at the boys once. “I like your style, guys.” He shook the can hard, keeping the slider inside clicking at a steady rhythm. Without a word he bent down, rolled up his cuffs . . . and sprayed his own white pair of New Balance cross-trainers.

“Mr. Cutter!” Maggie watched him destroy a perfectly good pair of shoes.

Hudson and Pancake clapped. Laughed. And drew a small crowd. Three others borrowed the can before it went back into Hudson’s backpack.

“I hope this is the fast-drying stuff,” Mr. Cutter said. “And Hudson . . . no spraying in or near the building. Got it?”

Hudson held up one hand like he was taking an oath in a courtroom. “Promise.”

“And I’d like to know how I can find this site where Maggie is getting bullied.”

“I don’t think it will be around long,” Pancake said.

A week ago Maggie would have been thrilled to see it go. But now? As much as she hated it, she also needed it in a weird way. If the site were gone, how would she ever find out who Robin Hood really was?

Mr. Cutter nodded. Looked satisfied. “Thanks for calling me over, Maggie.”

He was gone before she could say anything. Then again, she had no idea what she’d say.

She looked at Hudson. “I feel stupid for going all TSA on your backpack.”

Hudson shrugged. “Exactly what did you expect to find?”

“Forget it.” There was no way she’d tell him. Ever. “And thanks for” —she paused and pointed at his shoes —“that.”

“I’m hoping this will create a little change around here,” Hudson said.

“It already has.” Starting with her suspicious attitude. She took a step backward. Her mind already reeling with what the effect was going to be in school —especially after what Mr. Cutter did.

Hudson dropped the can into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He turned to Pancake. “Let’s do this.”

The two of them took off at a trot for the front doors.

“And Maggie,” Hudson said, running backward. “I really do like your shoes.”

She smiled. Waved him off. And this time she believed him.