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The weekend was spent in a fog. My parents never did find out what I'd tried to do - I put the pills back in the kitchen once the wolf left and fell asleep soon after. Saturday came with the usual yardwork, and it seemed there was a bit more of it this time than normal; just a little extra punishment from my dad, I guess. And while I didn't have to do anything on Sunday, it wasn't as if I had much reason to enjoy the day. I was still at a low point - the only thing keeping me alive was my curiosity about that creature that I saw on Friday.

Classes resumed on Monday, and it did seem as if the level of bitterness towards me had gone down at least a little. I guess everyone had gotten in their best shots on Friday and needed some time to think of some more.

As I walked through the halls between classes, though, I couldn't help but feel as if I was being watched. I kept turning around, looking to see if anyone was following me, but I never saw signs of anything suspicious. I was really starting to think that I was going crazy - maybe all these years of being the target of everyone's vitriol was finally starting to wear my mind down.

I went into the locker room at the start of my last class, and discovered - much to my surprise - that they'd reassigned me with another locker, one that was further away from my usual cast of troublemakers. Of course, if they'd only done that two weeks ago, I'd still have that shirt they threw in the toilet, but at least it was a sign that my little stunt hadn't been a total waste. I started to undress for PE when another student walked in right next to me.

"Hello," he said politely.

I turned my head to look at him, and our eyes locked. I'd never seen him before. Must be a new student or something. He looked friendly enough - he had a dull smile on his face that indicated that his greeting was sincere. He hadn't changed for class yet, so he was still wearing his street clothes: a button-up short sleeve shirt and khaki slacks that seemed just a bit formal for the typical student. But the most striking thing about him was his hair - totally white, like a tuft of cotton naturally growing from his head. Its style was chaotic, but not messy - it just looked as if it came out that way and he never needed to do anything to style it.

"Hi," I said back.

I don't know what it was, but in that moment I felt something inside me change, as if someone had flipped a switch somewhere. I broke the stare and shook my head in confusion.

"Are you all right?" the boy asked.

"I... I'm fine," I replied, trying to figure out what had just happened. "Just got a little dizzy there."

We went outside to line up for class, and found the new kid talking to the teacher. "We line up alphabetically," I heard him explain. "So you'll be between Mr. Donahue and Mr. Edmonds."

With that, he took his place in line, standing right next to me. As we performed our usual routine of calisthenics, I found myself looking back at the new kid. Who has white hair when they're a teenager? I kept wondering. He looked fit for his age: thin but not wiry, tall but not imposingly so. I caught him glancing at me a couple of times, and I could swear he was smiling oddly each time he turned back.

After a run around the football field, everyone convened by the basketball courts for another drafting of players. The new kid was assigned as one of the captains, and I watched as they started to pick teams, waiting for everyone else to disperse so I'd know which team would be stuck with me this time. You could imagine my shock, then, when on his second pick the new kid looked around at the remaining boys for a moment then said, "I'll take Donahue."

The reaction from the class was mixed. Some couldn't believe they heard what he'd said. Others chuckled at the fact that this guy had just wasted his pick on the worst player in the class. I was floored myself, and as I walked over to him I asked, "You sure you want me on your team?"

The kid smirked. "Why not?"

"Because I suck, that's why," I replied.

"You'll be fine, trust me."

When all the teams were set, we paired up and went onto the courts. Despite being picked so soon, I figured that once this kid saw me throw my first airball, that his benevolence toward me would come to an abrupt halt. We started with the ball, which the new kid took down the court. He made a quick fake to his right, the drove to the basket, attracting most of the defense. With everyone collapsing on him, he tossed the ball over to me on the left side of the court.

"Shoot it!" he called out.

One of the opposing players started to turn around and come over to defend me, so I quickly squared up my shoulders and tossed the ball at the hoop. It took a perfect arc, then banged against the back of the rim and in.

"Holy shit, Nicky made one!" I heard one of my opponents shout.

"Nice shot," the new kid said as he turned around to get back on defense.

I was in disbelief. I'd tried three, maybe four shots since we started playing basketball, and none of them even came close to going in. That one looked good from the moment it left my hands.

On defense, the new kid managed to steal the ball from one of the better players on the other team, and as we ran the other way I found him passing the ball off to me for a lay-up. I flung the ball at the basket, where it banked off the backboard and in again. The only person who didn't look amazed that I'd made not one, but two baskets was the boy who'd passed me the ball both times.

After a miss on the other end, we went back on offense, and found that one of the other players now found it necessary to defend me off the ball. No matter, as I got the ball again - this time from another teammate - and put up a head fake that got my defender off his feet. Once he was out of position, I jumped off the ground and put up a 20-footer.

The chains hanging off the basket tinkled as the ball dropped through. Nothing but net.

The rest of my team was floored. "Damn, Nicky! What's gotten into you?"

"No shit," another teammate chimed in. "You could barely hit the rim last week."

"I have no idea," I answered back. "Guess I'm just on today."

The hot streak continued for the rest of the game. By the time the bell rang, I'd scored eight baskets, managed to grab a few rebounds, and even picked off a pass that I drove in for a breakaway score. It was like I'd taken a basketball clinic over the weekend, and went from being the guy who couldn't throw a pea in the ocean to one of the best players in the class. As we changed back into our school clothes, everyone was talking about me - but not the way they usually do.

"I swear to God, guys," I overheard one of my opponents saying. "Nicky kicked ass out there today."

"It was like playing with fucking Kobe Bryant out there!" A teammate added.

"Dude, no way Nicky could make all those shots," one of the boys who hadn't played on our court said. "We let him take a wide open shot last week, and it missed everything."

"I'm serious, man. He put on a show today."

I was on cloud nine. Not necessarily because of what I did in the game, but the way everyone was talking about it. I was getting compliments by these guys! Some of them were backhanded - how Nicky the fuck-up suddenly became an all-star - but even those were improvements on the unadulterated mocking I usually got.

As we waited for the bell to ring at the end of the day, the new kid walked up to me. "You're name's Nicky, is it?" he asked.

I nodded. "Just call me Nick. I hate it when they call me Nicky."

"Then why do they do it?"

"Boy, you are new around here," I replied. "They do it because everyone here hates me."

"They do? It doesn't seem like it to me."

"You weren't here a week ago when they flushed my shirt down the toilet."

"They did? That's unfortunate."

"Look, who are you anyway?" Despite being elated about my performance in class and the reaction it got, I started to get highly suspicious.

"My name's Gregory. Gregory Dorgan."

"Gregory," I repeated. "Sorry, but what you saw out there today was a fluke. You heard everyone in here. Most of the time I'm lucky if I hit the side of the rim."

"Well, perhaps you just got better."

"Or maybe tomorrow I'll go back to being the same fuck-up I've always been."

"I doubt it." He gave me a smile as if he knew more than he was letting on.

The bell rang signaling the end of class, and we started to walk out of the school building.

"If you're interested," Gregory offered, "perhaps you'd like to come over to my house and get acquainted."

The offer seemed genuine, but I couldn't shake the notion that this kid was hiding something. Maybe he was just setting me up for an especially cruel fall. Plus, I was still under curfew.

"Sorry, but I have to get home right away. My parents grounded me last week and I have to be home by 3: 30 or else I'll really be in trouble."

"Grounded? What does that mean?"

That question just about stopped me in my tracks. "You've never heard of someone being grounded before?"

"No, I haven't."

"It means that I'm not allowed to go over to anyone's house, or bring anyone over to mine."

"That's unfortunate," he said plaintively.

The way Gregory talked was unlike anyone else in school. He didn't say, "That sucks." He said, "That's unfortunate." I didn't hear him cuss once all class while everyone else did it every other sentence. His words never ran together, like "gonna" or "wanna". It was like talking to someone who was still learning the language, but Gregory clearly knew it - even if I could detect the slightest trace of an accent in his voice.

"Look, I really need to get going. I'll see you tomorrow, OK?"

"That sounds fine," Gregory replied. "I'll see you tomorrow, Nick."

I turned towards my house and picked up my pace to a jog. For the first time in months, I was going home with a smile on my face.