It’s after school. Ramen is still ignoring me. At lunch, the three of us still eat together, only he pretends I’m not there, like I’m invisible. How long can this last?

I don’t feel like going straight home. As I wander past RadioShack and Sweeteria, I try to shake off my humiliation, but I can’t. Sure, Emily was nice enough to my face, but I’ll bet the minute I turned around, she and Stanford and his buddies started making fun of me.

How could I be so stupid to think a person like Emily Ebers could ever like a person like me, Marley Sandelski? I can feel myself fading back into the nobody category. It’ll probably be all over the school tomorrow. I can see it scrolling across the cafeteria LED board: SANDELSKI = LOSER.

I’m not sure what hurts worse, knowing that Emily pities me, or knowing that I am less than nothing. My jaw is tense. I hate those stupid kids who make fun of people. Why? What’s the point? Why are they like that?

What have I ever done to them?

Why do they do those things to me?

Principal Haycorn hates me too. I can tell that he still thinks I’m a liar and a thief. It’s bad enough when the kids think you are a loser, but when the adults give up on you … well, it’s over, isn’t it? I don’t even matter, except for the amusement factor I provide.

Slam Marley into the locker.

Make fun of Marley.

Accuse Marley.

Hit Marley.

Chase Marley.

Humiliate Marley.

Beat up Marley.

“Hello, Marley.”

Startled, I look up. How long have I been sitting on this park bench? Is it dusk already?

“What do you want, Digger?” I ask through gritted teeth. I hate him most of all.

“You double-crossed me,” Digger says. His eyes narrow as traffic rushes past us. “You better say ‘sorry.’ ”

Digger expects me to apologize to him?

I can feel the anger rising from my belly. I clench my fists and when I finally speak, I roar. “WHAT? What did you say? You’re the slime who’s been cheating off of me all this time. You’re the one who owes me an apology!”

For a split second Digger looks shocked. He quickly composes himself. “Apologize to me, or else.”

“Or else what?” I spit back at him.

“Or else this,” he says, making a fist.

“Go ahead,” I tell him. “Hit me. Hit me and you’ll be the one who’s sorry. Sorry that you’re so stupid you can’t even pass a class without cheating. That’s what you are, Digger, a cheater. I wonder how your almighty dad would feel about that? Or is he too busy putting people out of business to notice?”

BAM!

I raise my hand to my jaw. It’s throbbing. Digger’s holding both fists up, ready to strike again.

I am about to run away, when suddenly something inside me snaps.

No. No more. I won’t take this anymore.

I turn around and swing hard. I miss the first time, but land the second blow. This time it’s his turn to be stunned.

“You hit me!” he cries. He touches his cheek, as if to check if it’s still there.

“Yeah, and I’ll do it again,” I shout.

Suddenly, we’re pushing and shoving and hitting. We don’t land every punch, but the ones that do hurt.

I hate Digger.

I hate Digger.

I hate Digger.

I want to hurt him. I want to hurt him so bad that I don’t care what happens to me. I just want to hurt him.

Suddenly, a big car screeches to a halt. Digger and I both freeze. A man storms out of the car. He looks angry. The color drains from Digger’s face. He doesn’t look mad anymore. Digger looks scared.

I know the man from somewhere, but I can’t place him. He’s got ice blue eyes and a reddish mustache. “Get over here!” he yells.

Stunned, I head toward him, until I realize he’s not talking to me.

Like a robot, Digger walks toward him. The man grabs Digger’s collar. “What did I tell you about fighting?” he screams. His face is less than an inch from Digger’s. The man is scary … insane scary. That’s when I recognize him. He’s Ron Ronster of Ronster’s Monster RVs, the guy who’ll “do anything to make a deal with you!” in the television commercials.

“But Dad,” Digger starts to plead. “He … he …”

“I don’t care what he did. You follow my rules, do you understand?”

“But Dad —”

“What? Are you having problems remembering what I say? Well, maybe this will help.”

In one move, Digger’s dad pulls his arm back and makes a fist. He hits Digger so hard I can feel it. Instinctively, I put my hands over my nose, only it’s not bleeding like Digger’s is.

As Digger lays on the ground, his father shouts, “You can’t do anything right, can you? You didn’t make the basketball A-Team, your grades stink, you can’t even follow directions. Don’t bother coming home for dinner. I don’t want to look at you!”

Digger’s dad gets back into his car and takes off. He doesn’t stop for the red light.

There is pain stabbing me. It feels so bad I start to stagger. I want to scream. It’s not the pain from where Digger hit me. No, it’s the pain I felt when Digger got hit by his father. Digger is still on the ground. He’s crying. Digger Ronster is crying.

What am I supposed to do?

Slowly, I walk over to him. My fists are clenched, ready if his dad comes back. “Are you okay?” I ask as I stand over Digger.

He shakes his head yes. Digger is still crying, only no sound is coming out.

Suddenly, someone yells, “Oh my God, I don’t believe it!”

I look up and see Stanford. He’s with Tico and Stretch. “Marley!” Stanford shouts. “You beat up Digger?”

I start to say something, when Digger sits up. There’s blood all over his face. “Yeah, so what,” Digger growls. “So Marley beat me up. Who cares?”

“But — but — it wasn’t —” I turn to Stanford. “I didn’t —”

Digger won’t let me finish. He winces in pain, then tells Stanford, “Don’t ever cross Marley Sandelski or you’ll be sorry.”