I CAME DOWNSTAIRS IN the morning with a bounce in my step because overall, it felt like things were looking up. Even my dad could tell the difference because I hummed a tune over breakfast, and that tune was “My Favorite Things,” a song from Mom’s second-favorite musical, The Sound of Music (her first was West Side Story).

“Someone’s in a good mood.” My dad smiled as he handed me a bowl of porridge (real, not instant). I’d told him over dinner the night before that I’d joined Mathletes, and he was very pleased for me, and so was Caroline, and even Ashley said it seemed like a club that would be happy to have me as a member.

So Dad and I started to sing “My Favorite Things” really loud, and we both thought it was funny that just as we started singing “When the dog bites,” Ashley walked in.

“Want some porridge?” Dad asked her.

“No, thanks,” she mumbled. She grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and left without making eye contact with either of us.

“Oh well,” said my dad. “At least she said thanks. That’s progress.”

I thought about telling him what had happened the night before, when Ashley had opened my bedroom door unannounced. I know what she thought I was doing. I wasn’t. But even Dad doesn’t know about my nightly ritual, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him. Then Caroline came into the kitchen and pretty soon we were all singing “My Favorite Things,” and I forgot all about it.

—

WHEN PHOEBE ASKED ME to join her and Violet for lunch, the day got better still. The cafeteria felt a lot less threatening when I had other people to sit with. I laid out my lunch (two egg salad sandwiches, one apple, one banana, one juice box, two Babybels, and six Oreos) on the table.

“Wow. Someone has a big appetite,” said Violet. Both she and Phoebe were eating fries and gravy.

“My entire lunch probably doesn’t have many more calories than those plates of deep-fried grease you guys are eating,” I replied.

“True.” Phoebe smiled. “But ours tastes better.” She was wearing the best T-shirt ever. It was purple and said, ALWAYS BE YOURSELF. UNLESS YOU CAN BE A UNICORN. THEN ALWAYS BE A UNICORN.

I bit into my first egg salad. “Hey, do you guys know a guy named Jared?”

“Jared Mitchell. The new guy. Yeah. Why?” asked Phoebe.

“I think we’re becoming friends. He wants me to meet him after school, by the gym.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He was rather cryptic.”

“Isn’t it basketball tryouts?” asked Violet.

“No offense,” said Phoebe, “but you don’t seem to have the height for basketball.”

“I’m a mathlete, not an athlete,” I joked.

But Phoebe didn’t laugh. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t trust that guy.”

“Ditto,” said Violet.

“Why not?”

“Just rumors we’ve heard.”

My stomach burbled and churned all afternoon as I thought about what they’d said. If they didn’t trust Jared, why should I? Especially after what he’d almost done to me?

I thought about heading home right after school, but I knew there was no point; it wasn’t like I could hide from Jared forever. So I made my way to the gym, letting loose a few toots as I went. My mind was whirring. What if this was another initiation ritual? I’d read about enough of them in books or seen them in movies. What if he wants to beat me on my bare butt with a paddle? What if he wants to dunk my head in a toilet and flush?

Suddenly a hand clamped down on my shoulder, scaring me so badly I tooted again. “Stewie! There you are!” Jared said. He was in a basketball uniform.

“Actually, I prefer Stewart—”

He gripped my arm. “C’mon.” He was really strong. There was nothing I could do but let myself be propelled along as he pulled me into the gym. “Hey, Mr. Stellar! Coach! I found someone. He’s perfect, don’t you think?”