MILLER-FREE ZONE

It wasn’t all bad.

The next morning when I was at my locker, Miller walked right by me. He didn’t knock my books out of my hand, or shove my face into the locker, or anything. He just kept right on walking.

And in case you don’t know how amazing that is, just imagine a lion in Africa somewhere. He’s moving along the plain, looking for something to eat, and there’s a gazelle hanging out by his locker—I mean, by the watering hole. That lion is hungry—you can see it in his eyes—and usually there’s nothing he likes better than starting his day off with a couple of gazelle kebabs cooked extremely rare.

But not today. Today, that lion just keeps right on going, like maybe he’s more in the mood for zebra. Or springbok. Or whatever else. And the gazelle just about passes out, he’s so surprised.

That’s how weird and unnatural it felt.

Still, I wondered if maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe Miller didn’t notice me or something.

But after Learning Skills, it happened again. I was coming out through the library, and Miller was sitting at his usual computer. I was feeling a tiny bit lucky by now, so I tested it out.

“Hey, Miller,” I said.

“Hey,” he answered. He didn’t even call me Khatchadorkian. He just kept on looking at the pictures on the screen in front of him. (Or maybe he was reading something, but I doubt it. This is Miller we’re talking about.)

At lunch, I ate with Flip and got all the way through my fries without someone stealing them off my tray.

In the boys’ bathroom, I was able to walk out with my underwear still where it was supposed to be.

In gym, Tug Vincent picked me second-to-last for another round of Mr. Lattimore’s famous dodge ball. Second-to-last… but not last! I think even Mr. Lattimore was surprised.

It was like the best, easiest day of middle school I’ve ever had. And I thought—I could get used to this. Now I just needed to make sure things stayed that way. Whatever it took.