I take a few half steps toward Andy in the hallway, and he just launches himself and delivers this flying UFC Superman punch to my left arm.

“Ehahohaaaaa,” I say. It’s not a word as much as just air escaping from my lungs, because I’m trying not to say ow, but it really hurts.

“Where were you, dingus?” he blurts.

I had something prepared to say to him, but he hit my arm so hard he knocked it out of my head.

“Well, I had a, like there was this family sort of emergency except that, OK, the emergency was really basically me, and it’s not like I was going to start anyway, and then also because —” He raises his hand to punch me again and I shut up and hold up my right arm. I put my palm out in a stop sign, like: no más.

“OK, whatever, dingus,” he says, and I just know I’m going to be dingus all day now. “We’ll talk about that later, and we will, because you are in serious trouble, seriously.”

And then here it comes.

“But did you hear? Can you believe it? Malfoy! King Turd really outdid himself this time!” And then he launches into his own version of how it all went down.

It’s like that all morning. It’s all over the school. At least with the people I know. My “family emergency” comes up a few times, but when it does, “How ’bout Malfoy?” is my Get Out of Jail Free card.

I mix it up a little, just so its magic powers won’t wear off. “So the first guy hit a triple off him? What about the second guy?” Or “Man, Dustin came up big, huh?” Or just “What was the final score again?” because, of course, that leads to the same place. And I get more info that way, anyway.

And then I get to math and Ms. Part hands me back my test. She hands it back front side up, so I know it’s either really good and she thinks I should be proud or it’s really bad and she thinks I should study harder. I see some flashes of red ink here and there, so I’m thinking, you know, uh-oh.

It was a hard test, too, because there were a lot of fractions and negative numbers and all that tricky stuff. I look at the top, the only red ink that counts, and it’s a 92. I got an A! Or, OK, an A-, but still.

I tip it so Andy can see, and he makes a whistling shape with his lips and nods his head, like: Pretty good, Einstein.

So I’m feeling pretty good about that. And I catch sight of Malfoy a few times, slinking between classes, and I feel pretty good about that, too. And before you know it, it’s time for lunch. I thought this was going to be the worst day ever, but when I get to the table, Andy is saving me a seat.

I look over at Jared and those guys. They’re looking over, but it’s not like they’re surprised when I sit down next to Andy. I think we’re going to talk some more about Malfoy, but I’m wrong.

“Where were you, jerk-weed?” says Jackson.

“Yeah, ‘family emergency,’ my bulbous behind,” says Tim.

I look over at the other table. There’s a spot open by Jared, but I’d never make it. I’d get cut down in the cross fire before I even finished standing up.

“Uh,” I say.

“Uhhhhhh,” Jackson says, his eyes going panicky, imitating mine.

“Shut up,” I say. “This is serious.”

Though I don’t know what it is, or exactly why it’s serious. I haven’t really worked out my cover story. This is the part where I was going to let them know I was quitting. This is the part where I was going to be sitting at the other table. This is the part where everything but this was going to happen.

But there’s nothing I can do about it now. This is the part where the momentum of one good morning runs me straight into a brick wall.

“Yeah, what’s so serious?” Dustin says. “You being a wuss?”

“Shut up,” I say again. It’s the one thing you can always say when you can’t think of what to say, but I can’t say it all lunch. They’re not letting this go.

“Mommy, I don’t want to go to the game,” says Jackson.

“Don’t let the big, bad baseball hit me again, Mommy,” says Dustin.

I stare at him. I glare at him. How could he know? I mean, he was the catcher, he was right there, but still. I look at him looking at me: It was a guess. Now he’s watching my reaction, seeing if it’s true. And I’m giving him everything he needs.

I look over at Andy. He always bails me out, but he’s not giving me a break this time.

“Yeah,” he says. “Where were you?”

I’m thinking that this is the part where I quit after all. Those are the only words I have rehearsed, the only ones I can think of right now. And I don’t want to lie to all of my friends. I’d feel bad about it, and I’d mess it up. I feel cornered. They’ll grill me, and it will fall apart and it will be even worse. I’ll be the kid who lied and then quit anyway. And they’ll be my ex-friends, like Malfoy.

I think about it again: standing in the box with the ball coming at me. I think about the game, the practice, the nightmares. I need that fear now to make me do it, to make me follow through.

“Where were you?” Andy says again, and I want to say: I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME! And then I hear the rest of the sentence: “…they have the funeral already?”

Now everyone is looking at him, me included. What is he talking about?

“It’s a bummer, man,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I really liked your uncle.”

Now they’re looking from him to me. I shrug my shoulders, look down, do all the things Andy just did.

“No,” I say. I pause, and an amazing thing happens: The words just float up and out of me.

“No,” I say again. I look up into their eyes. “It was too sudden. Family’s still got to, you know, get things in order. Make all the arrangements.”

I don’t know much about funerals, but I know those are words people use.

“Oh, man,” says Jackson. “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah,” says Dustin. “My bad.”

I look over at Andy, and I try so, so hard not to smile.