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lingered in the doorway, a smug look on his acne-splattered face. Even though the school day was over, he was still wearing his navy blue and gold cadet uniform. Ever since he’d been accepted into the Military Institute of Meridian, Randy was so full of himself that his head barely fit through the door.
    Micah wanted one of those uniforms. If it could make a jug-eared, zit-faced goon like Randy look good, it’d turn Micah into a genuine badass.
    â€œNo one invited you,” he grumbled.
    â€œI don’t need an invitation, short stack.” Randy grinned.
    â€œHeh, short stack,” repeated Rory.
    â€œShut up,” Randy snapped. He shoved past Rory and Jacko and peered into the opened hatch of the Cable Bike. “You’re dead when the Doc sees this.”
    â€œWell, he won’t, ’cause I’m gonna put it together before he gets back.”
    â€œToo late, buttercup. The Doc’s here.” Randy cracked his long goose neck with a quick jerk. “And he’s askin’ for you.”
    â€œYeah, right,” snorted Micah. “Like I’d fall for that.”
    â€œFine.” Randy shrugged. “I’ll tell him you’re too busy tearing apart his little girl’s birthday present to be bothered.” He spun on his heels as if he had just received marching orders.
    Micah couldn’t take the chance.
    â€œOkay, okay,” he relented. “Just gimme a sec.” He grabbed one of the parts he had removed from the motor and fit it back into place. He looked around again for his wrench.
    â€œDid you borrow my tools, Randy?”
    â€œPffft. I don’t touch your stupid crap.”
    â€œWhy can’t I find anything, then?”
    â€œI dunno—’cause you’re a retarded pygmy?”
    Jacko and Rory chuckled. Micah sifted through the junk pile. Nothing. Must have packed everything away in his tool chest and forgotten about it. He whipped the lid open.
    Twang. SPLAT!
    A blast of white paint exploded into Micah’s face.
    The work shed rang with screams of laughter. Randy collapsed against the door frame while Rory and Jacko rolled on the grimy floor. Micah coughed up heaps of paint and tasted the bitter stuff trickling down his sinuses. His eyes stung as he tried to wipe them clean.
    Beneath the splatters of white, his face burned red hot.
    Â 
    Micah stomped into the foyer of the manor, still fuming. He had tried to clean himself up, but paint still filled the folds of his ears and clung to his reddish hair. He was a total mess, but he couldn’t keep the Doc waiting.
    Worried servants were gathered near the closed study door.
    â€œMake way. Comin’ through,” Micah said, elbowing to the front. He heard voices coming from inside. One was Tennyson, but it took Micah a second to place the other—he had never heard the Doc sound angry before.
    â€œWhere is she?” roared Dr. Plumm.
    â€œI—I went to pick her up at school,” Tennyson answered. “But sometimes she avoids me, like it’s some sort of game. She always finds her way home, sir.”
    Micah nervously dug a thumbnail into his budding calluses. He cracked the door open and poked his head inside. Tennyson and Micah’s burly sow of a mom faced the Doc, who stood silhouetted before the fireplace. Micah wondered why he had a fire going on such a hot day.
    â€œTake an Auto. Find her,” Dr. Plumm commanded.
    â€œBut sir, how am I supposed to—”
    â€œI don’t care how. Just go find her!”
    As Tennyson took his leave, they spotted Micah lingering in the doorway.
    â€œWhat in the burning hells?” his ma shrieked as she rushed up and snatched his forearm with one meaty hand. She yanked him so hard he thought his shoulder might pop out of its socket, and then scoured his paint-smeared face with her apron as if he were a dirty dish.
    â€œJust look at yourself. And how dare you make Dr. Plumm wait around for your