SPECIAL SESSION

That day in Learning Skills, Mr. Fanucci had a “special session” for us Specials. He started off talking about the BNICE thing and what it all meant, and asking us what we thought about it.

Which basically meant I was keeping a much bigger secret than I ever thought I’d have to keep. My head felt like one of those vinegar-and-baking- soda volcanoes, just about ready to spew.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Mr. Fanucci said, “and I know you guys aren’t crazy about meeting here in the fishbowl…”

That’s what everyone called it—the fishbowl, since the whole world could see us sitting in there.

“… so I found a different space for Learning Skills.”

That got a round of applause from Flip, Maya, Dee-Dee, and Jonny. I think I clapped a few times, but I was mostly watching the computers in the library. That’s where everyone was still checking out my stuff—including Miller and Tug, sitting in their usual spots.

“But I also want you guys to let me know if anyone’s giving you a hard time,” Mr. F kept going. “And I want you to look out for one another too. Is that fair?”

“You bet, Mr. F,” Flip said. “Don’t worry. We will.”

Remember when Miller gave Factoid a hard time and I didn’t look out for him? Unfortunately, so do I. So I kept my eyes on the window into the library.

Tug had just clicked onto the home page for Art-Gunk.com, and Miller was staring at this one BNICE picture like he was trying to figure out if it was him behind that red silhouette.

It was.

“What about you, Rafe?” Mr. Fanucci said. “Do you want to say anything about this BNICE business? Or bullying here at school?”

I looked over at Mr. F. “Not really,” I said.

“Come on, Rafe,” he said. “Let’s have some participation. This is about you too, you know.”

“Believe me, I know,” I said. He didn’t have any clue how funny that was, but I wasn’t about to tell him.

“I want you to pay attention to what’s going on,” Mr. Fanucci said.

“I am,” I said. And I was. Just not in the way he thought. “I, uh… I think it’s great we’re going to change classrooms.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re glad, anyway,” he said. He was still staring at me, but as soon as he looked away, I looked back out at the library again.

And that’s when everything went straight to Code Red.

Because, with my rotten luck, Tug had found another page on Art-Gunk. A very familiar page. One that I’d created myself.

That’s right. He’d found my Loozer comics. The ones by R. K. (as in Rafe Khatchadorian) Whatchamacallit. The ones with the main character who looked waaaaay too much like me for comfort.

The ones on the very same website as the BNICE pics, starring Miller himself. He might be a red blob, but everyone knew it was him.

So imagine this next part in slow motion, because that’s how it felt.

Tug stared at those comics.

Tug tapped Miller on the shoulder and said something to him.

Miller looked at Tug’s computer.

Miller looked at his own computer.

Then back at Tug’s computer.

Tug said something else.

And then… super… slowly… Miller turned around and looked at me through that fishbowl glass. The corners of his mouth went south, his eyes turned all red and homicidal, and his whole expression looked like one big flashing sign.

And the sign read, WELCOME BACK TO MILLER THE KILLERVILLE.