Wiley’s mom walks over, and this time, he lets her give him a hug. “Okay, then. Let’s go do the right thing.” She leads him up the steps of the brownstone, and they knock at the door. A little girl about Wiley’s age peeks her head out the door.

“Hello, Reagan,” Wiley’s mom says. “Can you please tell your parents that we’re here?”

The little girl’s eyes widen when she sees Wiley. “Did you just throw that rock at my window? It really scared me.”

Wiley’s crying a little now. “I’m sorry, Reagan.”

She says nothing to Wiley but, instead, turns and yells into the house, “Mom! Dad! Whiny Overton is here! And guess what? He broke ANOTHER window!”

*  *  *

Next thing we know we’re being pulled out of this screen. It’s like a giant vacuum has attached itself to our feet. We land back inside the arena on the trampoline. But we don’t stay long, because we’re bounced again until we crash through another Picture Post!

*  *  *

Now we’re at a school, crouching behind bushes, witnessing an argument. Wiley Overton’s a little older now, and he’s holding a poster, shaking his fist at a group of boys. “Who put this up? I’m gonna blast ya!”

The boys laugh and try to walk away. Wiley follows and grabs one by the shoulders. He pulls him down on the concrete.

“Back off, Wiley! We didn’t put it up there. We couldn’t care less if it’s third grade and you CAN’T READ YET.” They all laugh again. Wiley drops the poster and starts to punch away on the kid. Whistles blow and a couple of teachers come running over to break up the fight. There’s a bunch of yelling and pointing of fingers, which ends with one of the teachers leading Wiley and two of the boys into the building.

The wind whips up and blows the poster in our direction. Zoe picks it up, and then covers her mouth with her hand. “This is terrible!” She turns it so I can see.

WHINY OVERTON–DUMBEST KID IN THIRD GRADE

There’s a drawing on the poster. The person didn’t have great art skills, but I can tell it’s Wiley’s face.

I take the poster from Zoe, fold it up, and put it in my pocket. Right then, the vacuum sucks us back to the trampoline, where we’re bounced around in a tornado of golden glitter.

“OKAY, I’m ready for boring now!” I yell. The token returns to the chain on my neck, and one of the huge screens turns from Wiley’s mom’s Picture Post account to a pair of golden elevator doors.

Whew!

“Watch this, Zoe!” I grab my token off the chain and flip it with my thumb to see if it will land in the coin slot. “Whoop! Three-point shot!”