“Hey, Leach, try a peach!” Billy yelled, tossing the fruit at Henry. Fortunately, it hadn’t ripened yet and was hard enough to bounce off Henry’s backpack, landing in the privet hedge that surrounded his front yard. He stared after the bus as it rounded the corner. From two blocks away, Billy’s voice was still audible.

Henry dropped his backpack to the ground with a solid thunk. A tin containing some of his favorite rocks rattled inside as he dragged it up the sidewalk and tossed it carelessly onto the porch. He plopped down on the middle porch step and sank his face into his hands. “My life stinks,” he mumbled.

He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, glancing around quickly to see if Brianna was nearby. She had been getting much better at sneaking up on him lately. She wasn’t due home for another hour, but there were days when his mother picked her up early from the after-school program. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to see Brianna for a minute more than was absolutely necessary.

He certainly didn’t.

Henry stretched to reach his backpack and pulled a calendar from an outer pocket. He took a purple pencil and drew a firm X through the date, checking off the remaining days of school. “Only one more month,” he whispered.

But a month of taunting and teasing was like a lifetime. Why couldn’t Billy get eaten by a shark? Or if that was too much to hope for, at least catch a disease that would keep him out of school for a while?

Henry threw the calendar across the yard and into the hedge, where it dislodged the peach … which promptly conked a large gray bird on its head.

“What the … ?”

Henry raced over to the fallen bird and stared in wonder. He nudged it with his foot. Nothing happened. The bird was out cold.

“I hope it’s not dead,” he mumbled, and quickly turned around, sure that Brianna would be there watching. But he was alone. He bent closer to the bird and saw faint signs of life. Stupid Billy and his stupid peach!

Although it could have been worse. If Henry’s name had been Andrew, Billy might have thrown a honeydew. That would have certainly killed the poor bird.

“Think, Henry!” He couldn’t just leave it here. He ran his hand rapidly through his short hair. Then he noticed the long talons. “Bird of prey,” he whispered. “Gray, orange, and white markings … ” Henry’s head snapped up, his eyes going wide. Could this be the same bird that had been in his father’s office a few long and miserable weeks ago?