Chapter Eight

As Héctor limped down the hallway, his black Chucks squeaking repeatedly on the tile floor, he realized he’d gotten pretty good at this.

Monday had been the same as the end of the previous week. Tuesday was . . . well, it was like his counselor had assigned him a new class that started before homeroom. It was called “Hide from Mike and the Minions.”

Which is exactly what he did both days. Monday’s painful run earned him a long lecture about order and discipline from Ms. Heath. Tuesday, Héctor chose something simple to wear to school that morning: a black polo shirt and blue jeans. When Mike initiated their daily chase, he didn’t say anything about what Héctor wore. It was a victory! Well, a victory that immediately didn’t matter that much as Mike got closer to catching Héctor.

The door came into view. Dark wood with frosted glass, black block letters spelling out JANITOR across the window.

Carlos called out: “Get him!”

But Héctor was faster.

(He had to be.)

Another voice rang out: “No running in the halls!”

Ah, Ms. Heath. Again.

Héctor reached the metal handle and yanked the door open. He managed to peep Mike and his red face and blond hair lunging for him. Just in time, Héctor shut the door.

The slam echoed in the tiny closet, and Héctor waited. It was all he could do. He had found this part funny before, because no matter what Mike and the Minions did, they couldn’t get inside. Now, though?

The joke wasn’t all that funny anymore.

The pounding eventually died out. Héctor watched the shadows of the three boys through the frosted glass. They lingered a moment more, and then they faded away.

He let out a deep breath. I guess this is my life now, he thought. As the Misfits said, Mike had turned on him. What came next, though? Would Mike eventually tire of chasing him every morning? Héctor leaned his head against the wall next to the door. How much longer would he have to endure this?

For the moment, he was safe here. By now, he knew every inch of the place: the dark corners, the crooked shelves, the smell of Fabuloso, and His Majesty King Ferdinand, unmoving up in the corner. Héctor was now one of his loyal subjects.

“How’s your morning, your majesty?” Héctor asked, bowing in the tight space.

Ferdinand did not move. Or speak. He was a spider, after all.

“It’s a busy day in your kingdom, no?”

Silence.

Am I really talking to a spider? he thought.

The bell rang, clear and loud, and Héctor’s heart dropped.

Okay.

He could do this.

(. . . could he?)

He sighed. Wiped the sweat from his forehead. Took a deep breath. Started humming loudly: some Prince, because that man’s music could always put Héctor in a good mood.

He opened the door.

Looked left.

Looked right.

No Mike. No Minions.

He stepped into the hallway, his leg still sore from his tumble. He joined the other kids heading to homeroom. A tall kid with dark-brown skin and a close-cropped fade was dribbling a basketball, and he cast a glance back at Héctor, looking him up and down. Then he continued on his way without a word.

Well, Héctor’s outfit wasn’t drawing much attention. But a gnawing pain filled his stomach. He didn’t feel like himself. Was Mike changing him? No. No, this was temporary. It had to be. Mike and the Minions couldn’t chase him forever.

He jumped out of his skin when someone called his name. But it was just Mrs. Caroline wishing him a good morning. He waved back to her, then scurried to his homeroom.

Okay, maybe this was worse than he wanted to admit.

Héctor burned to tell someone—anyone, really—what was happening to him. But then he thought about how his parents would freak out. How the Misfits would get that sad look on their faces. How he’d just feel so powerless and cowardly about it all. . . .

No. Héctor would outlast Mike and the Minions. Because he didn’t see any other way out.