“The school psychologist, yes.” The Lizard King’s forked tongue flicked in and out. “She knows your family history.”

“Oh, good, maybe she can help me with my genealogy report,” I said. (Not really. I said that in my head. Would you get sarcastic with a giant lizard?)

The Lizard King leaned forward. His breath smelled like August garbage during a sanitation-worker strike. “The next time you visit my office, Ms. Khatchadorian, I won’t hesitate to expel you,” he snarled. “I’ve had it up to the gills with the Khatchadorians.”

Well, I’ve had it up to here with this school, I wanted to shout back. But like I said, you don’t mess with a hungry giant lizard.

“You’ll be heading to Ms. Jordan now, Ms. Khatchadorian. And remember, next time I won’t let you off so easily.”

I stood shakily and fled from his lair, glad to be alive. But who knew what awaited me in the next den of despair?