Nipper glided along on his disk, staying as low as he could. Horizontal beams whizzed overhead. Each time he passed under one, he felt a new blast of air. When the gusts stopped, he looked up. The space above him was clear again.

He glanced over his shoulder. Behind him were four hoverdisks—with nobody riding on them. All four of the math police were gone!

“The number thirteen turned out to be good luck this time,” he said.

He stood up on the disk and coasted. Wind whipped at his hair.

“Okay,” he told himself. “Maybe I don’t hate math after all.”

Nipper kept his balance, but he started to relax.

“For now, anyway,” he added.

Ahead, the color of the floor changed from white to gray.

Nipper thought about his dad…and math. His dad used math to do some pretty cool tricks.

His hoverdisk skidded to a stop.

Come to think of it, his dad could do a ton of amazing things. Both his parents could. And they never got chased by ninjas, clowns, or monkeys.

He spotted a staircase leading to an open door. Sunlight streamed in from above.

“You know,” said Nipper, “maybe it’s time to grow up a little. This could be the start of a whole new formula. I could make big changes in my life.”

As he stood there, an expression of wonder crept across his face.

“I could take a bath every few days. Maybe I’ll start wearing clean socks,” he said.

Nipper picked a strand of yarn from his shirt.

“I could pay more attention to my surroundings,” he said, getting excited. “Maybe I won’t break everything in the house quite as often. I might not lose as much stuff. I could even try to be less annoying.”

He took a deep breath and thought about it for a minute.

“Naaaaaaaah!” he said.

He pulled a circus peanut from his pocket.

“But I am willing to give these candies another try,” he said.

Nipper popped it into his mouth and chewed. Then he marched up the stairs, looking for another circle with a picture of a boy in the center.