though Shelly and Miranda didn't seem to smell a thing； Garrett did。
“Dude！” he says to me on Thursday。 “I can see your game； man。”
“What are you talking about？”
“Don't deny it； dude。 You're working them both。” He es up and whispers in my ear；
“Basket boy or not； I'm in awe。”
“Shut up； man。”
“Seriously！ The Ear says they were； like； clawing each other in P。E。 today。”
I had to know。 “What about … Jumbo Jenny？”
He shrugs。 “Haven't heard。 But we'll find out tomorrow； won't we； dude？”
My mother dropped me off at school on Friday with my stupid oversized picnic basket； and
since all basket boys have to dress up； I was choking
in a tie and feeling pletely dweeblike in slacks and dress shoes。
Kids whistled and shouted； “Oooh； baby！” as I headed up the walkway； and then Jumbo
Jenny passed me； taking the front steps three at a time。
“Wow； Bryce；” she said over her shoulder。 “You look… delicious。”
Oh； man！ I practically ran to the classroom where all the basket boys were supposed to meet；
and the minute I walked in； I felt better。 I was
surrounded by other dweebs； who seemed genuinely happy to see me。 “Hey； Loski”； “Yo；
dude”； “Doesn't this suck eggs？”； “Why didn't you take the
bus； man？”
Misery loves pany。
Then Mrs。 McClure； the president of the Boosters； the lady who lassoed us all； hoofs it
through the door。 “Oh； my！” she says。 “You all look so
handsome！”
Not one word about our baskets。 Not one little sneak peek inside。 No； for all she cared； those
puppies were empty。
Meat market？
You better believe it！
“Don't be so nervous； boys；” Mrs。 McClure was saying。 “You're going to have a