AMBUSH

You know how I said that day was the worst part of my whole summer? Well, hold on, because the day wasn’t over yet.

While Mom was talking to Mr. Fanucci some more, I asked if I could wait out in the parking lot. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to see me hanging around the office and start asking questions.

So there I was, sitting on the bumper of our car and wondering what kind of job a middle school dropout could get (answer: NONE), when my day got a little worse. And by “a little worse,” I mean a lot worse.

“Yo! KhatchaDORKian!” said a familiar voice.

I looked up and saw… wait for it… or maybe you can guess?

That’s right. Miller the Killer.

Yup. Just my rotten luck.

He was coming my way, along with a bunch of guys from the HVMS flag football team. I guess they’d already started practice for the season, because they were all wearing their cleats and headed for the fields behind the school.

Which put me right in their path—like a rickety little straw hut in a hurricane.

When I first went to HVMS, Miller made my life about as enjoyable as a box of rabbit poo that you thought was juicy raisins. The last time we’d tangled, both of us ended up bloody. Mostly because he got my blood all over him.

So you could say we didn’t exactly part ways as friends.

“What are you doing here?” Miller said. “Don’t tell me you’re coming back to HVMS.”

“Okay,” I said. “I won’t tell you that.”

“Wait,” he said, and got that familiar, confused look on his face. “So you are coming back?” Miller isn’t “special” like me, but he’s not exactly the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree either.

“This is going to be good,” Jeremy Savin said, and gave Bobby Davidson a fist bump. The way they were all looking at me, it was starting to feel like feeding time in the gorilla house at the zoo.