Read an Excerpt

1.
The white dog showed up on a chilly autumn morning just as Evan Dunn was leaving for school. Its right ear was black. Its left eye was blue. The dog had several burdock clumps stuck to its face and neck. It was favoring its left front paw.
   “Go home, dog.” Evan faked a kick at the dog.
   The dog backed away and sat. Evan continued up the long gravel driveway. When he reached the road, the dog trotted after him. It sat down a few yards away and watched him wait for the bus. Evan ignored the dog. The bus arrived. Evan got on, walked all the way to the back, and sat next to Calder Robertson. Evan and Calder were the first two stops, so they always grabbed the back seat on the way to school.
   “Whose dog is that?” Calder asked. He was wearing a dark blue beanie with a Starfleet logo embroidered on the front.
   “I don’t know,” Evan said. “He just showed up.”
   The bus pulled away. Evan settled in for the ride. Three more stops.
   Calder pressed his forehead to the rear window. “He’s following us!”
   Evan looked back. The dog was trotting after them. It kept up easily at first, but as the bus picked up speed, the trot became a run and then a full-out gallop.
   “Look at him go!” Calder said.
   The distance between the dog and the bus increased. The dog didn’t slow down, but soon he was a small white spot on the road.
   Evan and Calder watched until they couldn’t see the dog anymore, then turned to face the front of the bus. Calder pushed his fingers under his cap and rubbed his head.
   “How come you’re doing that?” Evan asked.
   “This beanie itches.”
   “Why don’t you wear a different hat?”
   “I just got it. I didn’t know it was itchy when I put it on.”
   “You want to wear mine?”
   Calder looked at Evan’s unadorned baseball cap and frowned. “No, thanks.” Calder was a hard-core Trekkie. He scratched the other side of his head.
   Calder always wore some sort of cap because of his alopecia. All his hair was gone, even his eyebrows. Back in grade school, some kids called him Balder instead of Calder, but now they were in eighth grade at Fairview Junior High, and kids weren’t so into name-calling. They were a different kind of mean.
   The bus slowed and rumbled to a stop. Two ninth-grade girls—the Martinez twins—took the seat in front, right behind the driver. They were followed by Adam Thoen. The bus rocked as Adam slammed his oversize body into the seat behind the girls. Adam was still in eighth grade because he’d been held back, but he’d kept on growing and was now the biggest kid in their class. Naturally, he was on the football team, the Fairview Fantoms. He said something to the girls. The twins, looking at their phones, ignored him.
   The only kid at the next stop was Kellan Steichen. Kellan headed for the back of the bus and sat down across from Evan and Calder.
   “Dodgeball day,” he said forlornly.
   Evan and Calder nodded. None of them liked dodgeball day. Getting smacked in the head with a rubber ball was a lousy way to start the week.
   Kellan was the smartest kid in their class. He was also the smallest, except for his ears, which were exceptionally large. You’d think being a little guy would make him harder to hit, but Kellan was kind of mouthy and sarcastic, so he was always one of the first to get targeted.
   Calder hated gym. He called the Fairview locker room Funkview Central. He hated that he had to take his cap off in the shower. He thought everybody was staring at him. Dodgeball day was his least favorite day because some of the guys—like Adam Thoen and his friend Scott Johannes—thought it was hilarious to aim at his head. Their goal was to knock off his cap. Head shots were against the rules, but to them it was worth getting sidelined for a good hit.
   Evan did not hate dodgeball. He was pretty quick and a good thrower. But he didn’t like how everybody ganged up on Kellan and Calder, so he tried to block the ball if they were on the same team, and that meant he took chances and usually got knocked out early. It just wasn’t much fun.
   “Dodgeball isn’t compulsory,” Evan said. “You could sit it out.”
   “Yeah, right,” Kellan said. “And I could tattoo loser on my forehead.”
 He has a point, Evan thought. Bad enough that Kellan was short and sarcastic. Sitting out a dodgeball game would make everybody think he was a wuss.
“That’d be a cool tattoo,” Calder said. “You should do it.”
“You should write moron on your head,” Kellan said. “And make sure you spell it wrong.”
   Evan was glad he wasn’t short. Or bald. He was glad he wasn’t big and stupid and mean like Adam Thoen. He was glad he didn’t limp like that dog, or have burrs stuck to his face. He was glad there was nothing wrong with him.