Cody loved Coach Mike’s class. Physical education instructor Michael Theodore Lombardi was by far the oldest faculty member at York Middle. His students delighted in speculating about his age, with the guesses ranging from sixty to eighty to already dead.

His waxy gray skin stretched like parchment over his gaunt six-foot-one frame, and when he wore his ancient Chuck Taylor sneakers and a tight T-shirt and gym shorts that reached only to his skinny thighs, it was like seeing a character from a documentary about phys ed in the old days come to life.

Long ago Coach Mike had arrived at the conclusion that he could no longer remember the names of his fellow teachers, never mind the students. When this realization hit, he made the decision to simplify his professional life and not worry about names at all. Instead, he began calling everyone Chief, even the women and girls.

Another distinguishing characteristic of Coach Mike was that he invariably ended each instruction to his students with the word ’kay?, for “Okay?”

“Today we’re going to play some badminton, ’kay?” he’d announce. “We’ll divide up into ten teams, ’kay? Each game to eleven points, ’kay? Winning team stays on the court, ’kay?”

This distinctive style of speaking was endlessly parodied by Cody’s class, who would automatically lapse into “Lombardi speak” the moment they passed through the gym doors. Soon, all twenty-five of them would be jabbering like their teacher and calling each other Chief and cracking up. As for Coach Mike, he remained clueless the whole time.

Cody always looked forward to Coach Mike’s class because he wasn’t like the tough-guy, no-nonsense gym teachers Cody had had in the past. He wasn’t always telling you to tuck in your shirt and pull up your shorts, for one thing. And he didn’t care if you didn’t do things exactly right in his class, like demonstrate perfect form when serving in volleyball, the unit they were on now.

On the Monday following the Orioles’ big win over the Blue Jays, Cody’s volleyball team was about to take the court when Cody ran to his locker to get a different pair of sneakers. When he returned, he was frowning.

“Coach Mike,” he said, “my cell phone is missing.”

“You’re talking about your portable phone, Chief?” Coach Mike asked.

Cody nodded. He forgot Coach Mike wasn’t exactly up on the latest technology. If any of the kids ever tried talking to him about laptops or iPads or smartphones, he would wave his hands and bark impatiently, “I don’t know anything about that stuff! And guess what? I don’t wanna know!”

“It was in my locker five minutes ago,” Cody said. “Now it’s gone.”

Coach Mike sighed and ran a thin, bony hand through the few remaining strands of hair on his head. “Obvious question,” he said. “Was your locker locked?”

“Yeah,” Cody said. “I’m pretty sure it was.”

“And you looked everywhere?”

Cody resisted the temptation to say: “Well, if I looked everywhere, I would have already found it.” Instead, he simply nodded. He had searched the pockets of his clothes, his backpack, his locker, and even the other unlocked lockers nearby.

Coach rubbed his chin and stared down at the floor, as if giving the matter a great deal of thought. Finally, he shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll turn up somewhere,” he said. “We’ll look for it after class. Might as well get back to your game.”

Cody was worried about his phone, but playing volleyball helped take his mind off of it. He was pretty good at volleyball, even for a big kid. He had a sneaky game at the net, where he would often fake a kill shot and then dink the ball over the net for a point. And he’d noticed that he felt lighter these days. He was able to jump higher than ever before, which allowed him to slam the ball even more effectively.

The only weird thing about today’s volleyball game was that Dante was on his team. The big dude still hadn’t said a word to him since Cody had gone psycho on him. Most of the time Dante wouldn’t look at him even when they were sitting near each other in the Orioles’ dugout.

It made for some strange moments. In the fifth inning against the Blue Jays, when Cody had returned to the dugout after driving in a run with a long sacrifice fly, all the Orioles had stood to greet him with their hands up for high fives.

Dante had joined his teammates—Coach would have jumped on him if he hadn’t. But when Cody slapped hands with Dante, Dante stared down at his spikes. After that, he quickly moved to the far end of the dugout.

“I see you’re still not on Dante’s Christmas-card list,” Willie had whispered after watching his behavior.

“No, he loves me,” Cody had whispered back. “The big lug just doesn’t know how to show it.”

Still, being ignored by Dante was fine with Cody—far better than having to worry about Dante swooping out from behind a car and giving him another gravel bath, or stalking him after he got off the school bus.

But Cody’s mind was on volleyball now, and the class seemed to fly by. The two teams were evenly matched, and late in the final decisive game, the score was tied at 9–9, with players on both teams whooping and cheering after every point.

Which was exactly when Nicky Evans, a short, chubby kid on Cody’s team, decided he had to go to the bathroom.

“Now?” Coach Mike said. “The game’s almost over! And class is over in a few minutes!”

Nicky looked at him with pleading eyes, clutching his stomach.

Coach Mike threw up his hands in frustration and said, “Okay, okay, when you gotta go, you gotta go.”

A girl named Vanessa offered to take Nicky’s place, and the game continued, just as spirited as before. It ended with a tall boy named Javier slamming the winning point for Cody’s team, touching off a wild round of celebrating and trash talk from the victors.

As the boys trooped into the locker room, Coach Mike bellowed, “After you change, everyone take a moment to look around for Cody’s portable phone, please!”

“It’s the twenty-first century! They call them cell phones now, Coach Mike!” a few kids yelled. As always, Coach Mike pretended not to hear.

Suddenly, Nicky emerged from behind a row of lockers with a pained expression on his face.

“Stomach still acting up, Chief?” Coach Mike said.

“Worse than that!” Nicky said breathlessly. “My cell’s missing too! My mom’s going to kill me!”

Coach Mike put his hands on his hips and stared at Nicky for several seconds. Then he slowly swiveled his head from side to side, his watery eyes taking in the entire room.

“What in God’s name is going on here?” he said. “Two portable phones missing in one class? Well, they didn’t just grow legs, people! They have to be here someplace!”

But they weren’t. The boys went up and down each aisle, opening and closing lockers and even searching under the benches, on top of shelves, and in the hallway. Nothing turned up.

By this point, Nicky seemed on the verge of tears.

Suddenly, Dante raised his hand.

“Coach Mike, there was a kid snooping around here earlier,” he said. “He was opening and closing lockers. I saw him when I came in to change.”

He dropped his voice to a dramatic hush. “And he’s right here with us.”

The room was absolutely still now. The boys exchanged uneasy glances, then turned back to Dante, who seemed to be enjoying his moment in the spotlight.

“Okay, Chief, this isn’t Law and Order,” Coach Mike barked. “Get on with it! Who was it?”

Dante smiled mysteriously. For a second or two, he said nothing. Then he whirled around and pointed at Cody.

“It was him!” he said.

Now all eyes turned to Cody, who stood gaping with astonishment.

“WHAT?!” he cried. “Are you crazy?”

Dante shrugged and looked away. Coach Mike looked around the locker room, seemingly lost in thought. Just then the bell rang.

“No,” Coach said at last, looking at Cody. “Why would the boy tell me his own phone was stolen if he was the one doing the stealing? Doesn’t make any sense. Fellas, I suggest you report this to the office. You watch. Those phones’ll turn up somewhere.”

He clapped Nicky on the back and said, “Cheer up, Chief. It’s not the end of the world.”

“No,” Nicky said mournfully, slipping on his backpack. “But it might be the end of me.”