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finished it,” he said quietly.
    I held back a laugh. Didn’t Great White know any better than to mess with Kitten? “So why are you both here? Also, if you started the fight, Great White . . .”
    â€œNo, no, I’m not, like, here to tattle on the little psycho. We’re here because of the punishment we got for scrapping on school property, yeah? I mean, we was just knockin’ about, minding our own business, and then some little squealer had to go and tattle on us. Anyway, lately I is only be gettin’ like two days’ detention, tops, for fighting, but now this Dr. George guy be giving us two weeks’ detention for one little scrap!”
    I looked at Kitten for confirmation and he nodded. “Yeah, I’ve never gotten two full weeks for simply defending myself.”
    So George was apparently pretty serious about ending the funny business in our school. Which was fine, in a way, but he was a direct threat to my business and maybe even more than that.
    It was official. I had to get rid of Dr. George.
    â€œI’ll see what I can do,” I said. I suddenly felt kind of like I was suffocating. I just didn’t have the manpower to handle all of these problems. Getting teachers and coaches fired was hard enough, but now I had to worry about getting rid of a Suit? I’d never messed with the Administration before, and I didn’t exactly want to start, but it was looking like I might not have a choice.

Chapter 7
Wednesday—The Detention Room
    â€œO kay, Vince, are you ready?” I asked.
    â€œWhen aren’t I? Seriously, Mac. We always ask each other if we’re ready and we always are.”
    â€œGood point.”
    â€œQuiet down! This is detention not social hour,” Mr. Daniels said from behind his computer.
    Mr. Daniels had been the detention warden for as long as anyone could remember. He always just sat behind his computer playing games or maybe doing stuff we didn’t even want to know about, rarely even looking up at the kids sitting in detention. And he would generally yell at us every fifteen minutes to quiet down but never actually handed out any more punishment. That bit about “social hour” was his signature line. He’d yell that exact same line to a room filled with nothing but silence and a few sleeping eighth graders. Everybody had figured out long ago that Mr. Daniels didn’t really pay any attention to us at all.
    â€œAnyways,” I continued in a voice just above a whisper, “who was the last Cub to hit for the cycle?”
    Vince scoffed. “Are you insulting me?”
    â€œWhatever, it’s not that easy.”
    Vince gave me a look that said, Yes it is.
    â€œEven my grandma could get this one, and she thinks that baseball is some sort of satanic ritual invented in 1812 by Communist kangaroos to help an alien tribe of sea creatures called Trout Mask Replicas build the ancient pyramids.”
    I tried desperately to hold in my laughter.
    â€œIt was Mark Grace, beloved first-baseman-turned-Diamondback traitor,” he said.
    I nodded reluctantly.
    â€œYou’ll never—” Something at the door caught Vince’s eye.
    I spun around in my desk, and there she was: Trixie Von Parkway. Otherwise known as the dark-haired girl who’d come to see me in my office yesterday and who’d made fun of me with her friends in the cafeteria today. Obviously Trixie wasn’t her real name, but I hadn’t gotten around to having Tyrell find out what it really was just yet.
    She slithered into the room, looking as poisonous as ever, and handed Mr. Daniels her detention slip.
    He glanced at it and grunted. “Have a seat and work on homework quietly. This is detention not social hour.”
    The dark-haired girl moved past me without any kind of acknowledgment and sat right behind us. We turned around and stared at her as she dug through her backpack and removed a notebook. Then her eyes