Stuart hugged him. “Thought I’d surprise you. I need to ask someone about something inside the school, and then we can grab a slice of pizza or walk over to Ample Hills for ice cream. Sound good?”

Ted turned his freckled, pen-smudged face up to his father, his green eyes wide. “But Dad. It’s Wednesday. I go to the Brooklyn Stragetizer on Wednesdays and Fridays. Remember?”

“Strategizer,” Stuart corrected. “Sorry man, I forgot.”

He looked up and saw a pimply teenager wearing a faded Dark Side of the Moon T-shirt waving the red-and-black Strategizer flag, the signal that the group would be leaving soon. The boys lined up behind him were pale and scrawny, the kinds of boys who would rather play Dungeons & Dragons than soccer or basketball. Ted was doomed.

“You go have fun. I’ll see you after.”

“Hey, sorry to bother you again.” Stuart closed the door to the nurse’s office and shoved his hands in his pockets. A tall, fat kid lay on the cot with his eyes closed, dried snot around his nostrils, one sneaker off, one sneaker on. There was a hole in the knee of his track pants and the knee was bandaged.

Nurse Peaches swiveled around on her chair. “You find more of the fuckers?” she asked with a dimpled smile. “Sorry, Arnold. Excuse my French.”

The fat kid snickered, eyes still closed. They seemed to have an understanding. Still, Stuart couldn’t exactly ask her about procuring weed with a kid in the room.

“Uh, maybe.” He removed a hand from his pocket and ran it through his hair. “I know I’m being paranoid, but would you mind checking me again?”

Mind? Peaches giggled inwardly. Stuart Little had no concept of the power he had over her. God, he was hot. Hotter than he was Monday. Hotter than he was in his twenties. There was a boyish forlornness to him that she yearned to mother in the most unmotherly way. Because she was a pervert. A pervert with a stockpile of lice combs.

“Sure,” she responded, all business. “I’ll just check you with the comb.” She stood up and patted the back of her desk chair. “We shouldn’t need to use conditioner again unless there’s been some hatching action.”

“God, I hope not.” Stuart walked over and sat down. He was trembling for some reason. Goose bumps appeared on his arms. Jesus. This hadn’t happened to him since ninth grade, when he’d had a crush on his math teacher. He’d bombed every test just so he could stay after school for extra help and be alone with her. Then one day in May she wore sandals to school and he discovered she had really gross feet. And just like that, he was over her.

Someone was knocking on her office door. Peaches swiveled Stuart around protectively so that his back was to the intruder. “Come in.”