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my clothes.
    Lying on the hard cot, shivering under the thin blanket they had given me, I couldn’t get to sleep. I peered out the tiny back window, up at the pale moon as it slid in and out of the clouds.
    I knew why the Ghost of Christmas Past had brought me back to this awful place. To learn about the Golden Rule and all that junk about why it’s better to be a nice boy.
    But all I could think about was revenge.
    I thought of scheme after scheme. But I decided none of them would work. It would be seriously impossible to get revenge on Prescott, Benjamin, and Emily-Ann. Because they lived here and knew everyone at school and knew the village. And I didn’t know anything about anything. I didn’t even have a place to live.
    â€œBut maybe I can at least get them in a little trouble at school,” I told myself. I decided I’d tell Mr. Dulwich that the three of them kidnapped me and threw me into a pigpen because I’m the new kid. At least, he would give them a strong lecture about that.
    The next morning, I thanked the farmer and his wife. I raced to school, my open coat flapping behind me, my sneakers crunching on the hardened snow.
    The red morning sun reflected off the snow. The wind had stopped swirling. The bare trees stood perfectly still.
    I was breathing hard as I reached the school building. The front hall was empty. I realized I was early. I stopped and caught my breath before going into Mr. Dulwich’s classroom.
    He was at the back of the room, leaning over a small Christmas tree. I saw that he was attaching slender white candles to the branches. His black suit jacket was unbuttoned. His pointy collar stuck up from his shirt. His eyeglasses glistened from the sunlight pouring in through the window.
    He turned as I stepped into the room. “Mr. Dulwich—?” I started.
    He cleared his throat. “Can I help you, young man?”
    â€œI … I need to report three students,” I said. I took a few steps closer. I hadn’t expected to feel this tense. “They grabbed me last night and … and forced me to spend the night in a pigpen.”
    It was almost true. Maybe I made it sound a little worse than it was. Why should I tell him they had tricked me?
    Mr. Dulwich set down a candle and pushed the glasses up on his nose. “Three students? From my class? Why did they do that to you?”
    â€œThey didn’t like me, I guess,” I replied. “They said they didn’t like new kids.”
    He nodded. “Can you tell me their names?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “Prescott, Benjamin, and Emily-Ann.”
    His eyebrows went up. “Please repeat those names, young man.”
    So I repeated them.
    â€œI believe you’ve made a mistake,” he said. “Perhaps you are in the wrong classroom?”
    â€œNo way,” I replied. “I was here yesterday. They were here, too, and—”
    Mr. Dulwich shook his head. “No. Not here. I am afraid I have no students named Prescott, Benjamin, or Emily-Ann.”

 
    18
    â€œOf course you do,” I insisted. “They sat near the front and—”
    Mr. Dulwich took long strides to his desk. His heavy shoes made the floorboards squeak. He shoved aside some papers on his desk and raised a black notebook.
    I stepped up to the desk. “Is that your class list?”
    He nodded and shoved the open book toward me. “This is my attendance book. You can see with your own eyes,” he said. “There are no students in my class named Prescott, Benjamin, or Emily-Ann.”
    I let my eyes run down the list. He was telling the truth.
    I suddenly had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had to force myself to breathe.
    What is going down here?
    Mr. Dulwich said something, but my thoughts were too loud. I couldn’t hear him. He squeezed the sleeve of my overcoat. “Young man, I asked you a question. What is your name?”
    â€œRick. Rick