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The remainder of the crowd began breaking up, a lot of the kids looking at Toliver strangely, and giving him a wide berth, like they would a dangerous animal.

With a roar Toliver turned and began kicking his locker again and again. Something popped out and hit the floor where it spun like a top for a few seconds, then stopped.

A little silver ring.

Toliver picked it up, studied it a second, then started turning in circles with that haunted look in his eyes again.

“Who?” he shouted. “Who, damn it! Who?”

Something else in his eyes now too: The same hunted look he’d seen in Weezy’s eyes the other night.

Now you know how it feels, Big Shot. Like it?

Jack eased away with the rest of the stragglers.

He wondered at his feelings. Everything had worked out according to his best-case scenario. The marbles had poured out and Toliver had slipped on them.

So why didn’t he feel better about it? Where was that ecstatic elation he’d felt after the first two pranks? Today had been the most successful of all, goading Toliver into showing his true ugly colors and tarnishing his phony armor. He’d tried to smear Weezy, make people look at her differently, and now it was happening to him.

But instead of up, Jack felt sour. Maybe because this morning’s gag had turned ugly.

“Gotta be someone from North,” he heard a guy say.

“Yeah,” said another. “And it seems to be working. You see how he got? Man, he was like crazy.”

“Well, it was kinda funny—doing that crazy-legs thing and falling. Just hope it doesn’t lose us the game.”

“That happens, whoever’s behind this, man, his ass is grass.”

“You got that right.”

Jack stopped and let the others pass. He felt as if he’d just had a sign from above:

Quit now.

It was Friday. He could make the end of the week the end of Operation Toliver. That had a nice symmetry to it. Plus, it had stopped being fun.

And if the Badgers lost the game because Toliver was too on edge to focus, it would be his fault. Well, not all his fault, but some of it could be laid at his doorstep.

That was why no one could ever even suspect he was behind this.

And then he spotted Levi coming his way, nodding knowingly.

“Oh, yeah,” he said as he passed. “You got a talent. I know you do.”

What?

He prayed Levi would keep his mouth shut.

4

In civics class, Mr. Kressy had returned to the subject of a first principle, asking, “Has anyone come up with a solid touchstone belief to which all your actions must answer?”

Various principles had been put forth—including “Do unto others…” by someone who had been absent last time—but all were shot down for one reason or another.

Jack gave it a try, going with Dad’s idea. “How about everyone has a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?”

“Absolutely!” Mr. Kressy said, snapping his suspenders. “One of the finest passages ever written! But why do we have those rights? Whence do they spring? Think: What does every human on this planet have in common?” He paused. When no one answered, he threw up his arms. “We’re all alive! We all have life!”

“I don’t,” Matt Follette said. “Trust me, I’ve got no life.”

As usual he got a laugh, but Mr. Kressy wasn’t amused this time.

“This is serious. We’re getting to the crux of everything. Your life—whose is it? Yours or someone else’s?”

A chorus of “Mine” rose but a girl somewhere behind Jack said, “Don’t our parents own us?”

“If they own your life, that means they can do whatever they want with you. Anyone here believe that your parents have a right to kill you, or sell you into slavery?”

The class was silent. The answer was too obvious.

“Of course not,” he said. “You own your own life, and that fact should form the cornerstone of how you live your life.”

“I don’t get it,” someone said. “How does that work?”

But Jack was getting it, taking the next step, and the step after that.

Mr. Kressy said, “If everyone owns their own life, it guarantees them liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Note that ‘pursuit’ is a very important word there—it means you can