AFTER WE SERVED our detention, Benny busted out his amazing skills of persuasion. Somehow, he sweet-talked his mom into dropping us at the comics store while she took the chickens and the rest of our gear home. (For the record, my mom would never do something like that unless my little sister, Veronica, was involved. She believes in teaching self-reliance—to boys, anyway.)

Mrs. Tamasese was dealing with a rush of high school kids when we got there. Benny and I hung out by the front counter until she spotted us.

“Howzit, boys?” she called, ringing up some X-Men comics for a couple of teen girls. “I got what you were after.”

My breath caught. “You did?”

“Yeah, but”—she surveyed the line and the kids pawing through her bins—“give me about fifteen minutes, okay?”

We promised, and I began to head for the shelf where she kept the Bone graphic novels, one of my favorite series. But before I’d taken two steps, Benny grabbed my arm.

“Hold up,” he said.

“What?”

“This could be really bad news,” Benny said.

“True,” I said. “So?”

He raised his pointer finger. “So, as my grandpa always says, never face bad news on an empty stomach.”

I cocked my head at him. “Would that be your three-hundred-pound grandpa?”

“Grandpa Ira? Yeah, why?”

“I don’t think he faces anything on an empty stomach.” Then I thought of what Mrs. Tamasese might tell us and added, “But he’s got a point.”

“Exactly. To the ice cream shop!”

We stepped back outside and tramped down the block. Just as we reached the corner, a person the size of a four-by-four pickup rounded the building and slammed right into me. I staggered into Benny, and we both went down.

“Watch it!” a deep voice barked.

A huge, muscular man towered over us. Dark stubble dotted his strong jaw and shaven head, and he scowled like he was posing for the cover of Fierce Frowns Monthly. He was the kind of hombre who’d play Evil Special Ops Guy in an action movie.

“S-sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see you.”

“Rotten kids,” he growled, eyes sizzling. “Tearing around town, causing trouble.”

Benny and I picked ourselves up off the sidewalk. “Easy, mister,” said Benny. “It was an accident.”

I looked up. And up, and up—hijo, this guy was big. “We’re really, really sorry,” I squeaked. “Did I mention that?”

Up close, an animal odor rolled off him like the stink from a dog kennel. I’m no expert, but at a guess, the guy had last taken a bath when Kennedy was president. I tried to breathe through my mouth so my nostrils wouldn’t die.

“Someone should teach you kids a lesson,” he rumbled. That comment hung in the musky air like a threat. Then, without another word, the giant pushed past us and continued on his way.

“Charming dude,” I said with a tight voice.

Benny gave a shaky laugh. “I can already guess your nickname for him,” he said. “Mr. Stenchy Pits?”

“Bingo,” I said. “What do you think he does for a living? Spy? Truant officer?”

“Preschool teacher,” said Benny.

We dismissed this random Monterrosa weirdness and headed on to the scoop shop. After fortifying ourselves with some frozen, ice-creamy goodness, Benny and I retraced our steps to the comics store. A half block away, we heard our names called.

“Rivera, Brackman! Wait up!”

Tina Green hustled down the sidewalk to catch us.

“Hey, Karate Girl,” said Benny. “Break any bricks lately?”

“Only faces,” she said, all deadpan. When Benny took a step back, she added, “Nah, I’m just yanking your chain.”

“Going for some comics?” I asked.

Tina shook her head. “Listen, we need to talk. Something is seriously wrong with Mr. Chu.”

“Uh, yeah.” I glanced at Benny. “What is up with him and chickens?”

Crossing her arms, Tina said, “Come on. It’s not just his normal strangeness anymore, and I know you guys know something about it.”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Benny. He wore that Innocent Blond Angel expression that his mom fell for nearly every time. But not Tina.

“Come off it, Brackman,” she said. “Do I look like a mountaintop?”

“Uh, no,” he said.

“Then stop trying to snow me. Nobody picks exorcism for their social studies project. I saw how you guys were acting.”

I lifted a shoulder. “What? Same as ever.”

Tina’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a terrible liar, Rivera. You guys were hoping all that mumbo jumbo would do something to him, weren’t you?”

She was right; I am a terrible liar. I looked to Benny for help.

“Um, we never…” he began, until her stare made him squirm. “Oh, all right. Yes, there is something wrong with Mr. Chu.”

“What is it?” she asked. “Is he possessed?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Benny said, glancing up and down the street. “But don’t worry. We’ve got this under control.”

Tina barked out a laugh.

“Okay, we’re working on it,” I said. “Look, you can’t tell anybody.”

“Why not?” said Tina. “It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain. Even Big Pete could tell.”

Benny held up his palms in a calming gesture. “We don’t want the whole class freaking out,” he said.

She snorted. “Oh, like nobody noticed that he tried to munch a live chicken? Get real.”

“All right,” I said. “We don’t want them getting more freaked-out.”

What I didn’t mention was: Benny and I kind of wanted to solve this on our own. After all, we were nobody special—just regular, comics-nerd-type kids. Neither of us had ever done anything big.

Neither of us had ever been the hero before.

Planting her hands on her hips, Tina said, “Stop messing around. This situation calls for serious measures.”

“What?” said Benny. “We’re serious.”

“Sure you are, Chicken Boy. I’m gonna get help from someone who really knows their stuff.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Our pastor,” she said. “I bet he can exorcise evil spirits and get it right.”

“Fine,” snapped Benny. “Go ahead.”

“Fine,” said Tina, “I will. This isn’t just your problem, you know. It’s everyone’s problem.”

We didn’t have an answer for that, so Karate Girl spun and marched off down the street.

“She’s right,” I said.

“Maybe,” said Benny. “But we started trying to cure him first. And we’re the ones who are gonna finish it. Come on!”

He hustled into the comics store with me hot on his heels.

Inside, the after-school rush had died down. A few older kids browsed through the bins, but Mrs. Tamasese sat alone at the counter. When she saw us enter, she snagged a slim book from the shelf behind her, jerked her head for us to follow, and wheeled her way over to an unoccupied corner.

Benny and I joined her.

“Well?” he said. “What did you find out?”

Mrs. Tamasese’s normally twinkly brown eyes were grave and thoughtful. “It’s not good.”

Benny’s expression told me he was glad we’d had the ice cream.

“Go on,” I said.

“First, let me ask if your teacher was still acting weird today. I’m hoping there’s another explanation.”

We told her about our botched exorcism and Mr. Chu’s increasingly strange behavior. “And he practically mauled Tina to get at that chicken,” I finished up.

Mrs. Tamasese’s beefy shoulders bunched and she wagged her head ruefully. “Shoots. It’s as bad as I thought.”

I leaned forward. “What is?”

“What you said about the laughing tipped me off. According to this”—she tapped the book on her lap—“your teacher is becoming…a were-hyena.”

Benny and I had the exact same reaction. Our eyes goggled, our mouths fell open, and together we said, “A were-what?”