The bell rang. Kane pushed the photo into his pocket as his classmates returned to their desks to pack up. Adeline Bishop passed out the homework for Mrs. Clark, and when she got to Kane’s desk she lingered, curious about his journal. He slapped it shut and gave her a scornful look and, because she was Adeline Bishop, her glance back held withering amusement. To spite her, Kane left the homework on his desk.

Next up was gym. Kane wished he didn’t remember this and could skip on account of his broken memory, but he was on a mission. He scanned the faces in the hallway for Ursula or Dean and saw neither. Anyone looking at him looked away quickly. It was impossible to figure out who might be hiding something from him, because in a strange reversal, everyone seemed to be hiding from him in general. Frustration threaded through him, and by the time he reached the gymnasium he was in a terrible mood.

And then, suddenly, whatever spell his homeroom outburst had cast wore off as he approached the students in the bleachers and someone whispered: “Dude, check Montgomery out. Looks like he slept on a grill.”

All eyes turned toward his burns. There was snickering, and a bubbling rash of Ooooooos from the junior boys who were in the process of peaking early in life. They manifested their fleeting superior status by taunting basically everything. Kane was a popular target when he couldn’t get out of their way, like right now. They were the main reason he hated gym this year, and school every year.

Tragically, they referred to themselves as The Boys.

“I heard he drove himself to school,” said one of The Boys. Zachary DuPont. “You can smell the wreck from here.”

“Brooo.”

“I heard he drives a unicorn now.”

“I heard it runs on top of a rainbow.”

“I heard the rainbow comes out of his—”

Bursting laughter cut the rest off. Kane slumped down on the far side of the bleachers. He didn’t dare take out the journal—it would attract even more attention. He wished he had The Witches, but just then Coach O’Brien showed up and took attendance. Kane began the tedious task of turning invisible again. He was so busy doing this that he almost missed O’Brien’s announcement.

“There is good and bad news. The good news is no one has to get changed for gym. The bad news is we’re square dancing this week.”

A sarcastic cheer went up from the students, who were mostly resigned to Connecticut’s strange fixation with folksiness. This happened every year, and there was even a club that sometimes went to regionals in Waterbury.