If I could have, I would have gotten out of there. But what was I going to do, snap my fingers and disappear? Tell him I had to go to the bathroom? (Actually, I did have to go to the bathroom, but that wasn’t much help.)

And I couldn’t tell Miller to shove it either. That would have been like sticking a piece of dynamite in my mouth and handing him a lit match.

Except then I got a lucky break. Coach Shumsky showed up at the top of the football bleachers and started yelling our way.

“Miller! Savin! Davidson!” he said. “You joining us for practice today? Or are you planning on sitting out the opening game this season?”

“Coming, Coach!” Jeremy called.

“Right away, Coach!” Miller said, like they were in the army or something. Trust me when I tell you, these guys take their flag football verrrrrry seriously. Once they get into high school, they’ll play full tackle ball. In the meantime, they like to practice their tackling skills on guys like me.

“This isn’t over,” Miller told me, and pointed a finger right in my face. I could even smell what he’d had for lunch: bologna sandwich, spicy mustard, and grape soda.

“What’s not over?” I said. “There’s nothing… started.”

That’s when he gave me one of his Miller-sized chest thumps. If I hadn’t been shoved up against Mom’s bumper, I probably would have fallen flat on my butt. And it wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Now it’s started,” he said. Then he and his gorilla goons headed off toward the field.

To be honest, I’ve never understood why Miller hates me so much. The only reason I hate him is because… well, because he hates me. I know I should have kept my mouth shut at that point. Obviously. But I’m not always so good at should.

“Hey, Miller!” I said. “What’s your problem, anyway? What have you got against me?”

Miller just looked back at me once, shrugged, and kept on walking.

“Soon as I remember, you’ll be the first to know,” he said. “See you in school, buttwipe.”

Yeah. That’s exactly what I was afraid of.