Rob floated through the rest of the morning. He went to math class and civics and science, his heart light, buoyed by the knowledge that he would never have to come back.

At lunch, he sat out on the benches in the breezeway. He did not go into the lunchroom; Norton and Billy Threemonger were there. And nothing had tasted good to him since his mother died, especially not the food at the school. It was worse than the food his father tried to cook.

He sat on the bench and unfolded his drawing of the tiger, and his fingers itched to start making it in wood. He was sitting like that, swinging his legs, studying the drawing, when he heard shouting and the high-pitched buzz of excitement, like crickets, that the kids made when something was happening.

He stayed where he was. In a minute, the faded red double doors of the lunchroom swung open and Sistine Bailey came marching through them, her head held high. Behind her was a whole group of kids, and just when Sistine noticed Rob sitting there on the bench, one of the kids threw something at her; Rob couldn’t tell what. But it hit her, whatever it was.

“Run!” he wanted to yell at her. “Hurry up and run!”

But he didn’t say anything. He knew better than to say anything. He just sat and stared at Sistine with his mouth open, and she stared back at him. Then she turned and walked back into the group of kids, like somebody walking into deep water.

And suddenly, she began swinging with her fists. She was kicking. She was twirling. Then the group of kids closed in around her and she seemed to disappear. Rob stood up so that he could see her better. He caught sight of her pink dress; it looked all crumpled, like a wadded-up tissue. He saw her arms still going like mad.

“Hey!” he shouted, not meaning to.

“Hey!” he shouted again louder. He moved closer, the drawing of the tiger still in his hand.

“Leave her alone!” he shouted, not believing that the words were coming from him.

They heard him then and turned to him. It was quiet for a minute.

“Who you talking to?” a big girl with black hair asked.

“Yeah,” another girl said. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Go away,” Sistine muttered in her gravelly voice. But she didn’t look at him. Her yellow hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat.

The girl with the black hair pushed up close to him. She shoved him.

“Leave her alone,” Rob said again.

“You going to make me?” the black-haired girl said.

They were all looking at him. Waiting. Sistine was waiting, too; waiting for him to do something. He looked down at the ground and saw what they had thrown at her. It was an apple. He stared at it for what seemed like a long time, and when he looked back up, they were all still waiting to see what he would do.

And so he ran. And after a minute, he could tell that they were running after him; he didn’t need to look back to see if they were there. He knew it. He knew the feeling of being chased. He dropped the picture of the tiger and ran full out, pumping his legs and arms hard. They were still behind him. A sudden thrill went through him when he realized that what he was doing was saving Sistine Bailey.

Why he would try to save Sistine Bailey, why he would want to save somebody who hated him, he couldn’t say. He just ran, and the bell rang before they caught him. He was late for his English class because he had to walk from the gym all the way to the front of the school. And he did not know where his drawing of the tiger was, but he still had Mr. Phelmer’s note in his back pocket and that was all that truly mattered to him, the note that proved that he would never have to come back.