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things are different now. I have some real reasons for caution.
    I got tripped again as soon as I stepped through the door of Hawk Haven. Being little is an advantage in one way, though. When someone trips you, you don’t have far to fall. I went right into a roll that brought me back up to my feet again. Mom had taught me that, as well as making sure when you roll that you come up facing whoever has just tripped you. Asa, of course. He didn’t press what he might have thought was his advantage. Maybe my rolling up to my feet surprised him. Maybe the way I was holding my hands up like a boxer deterred him. Or maybe he remembered that Mr. Wilbur and the camp director, Mr. Mack, were just outside.
    He and his crew did have one other little surprise for me. The twelve bunk beds ranged around three walls of the cabin came suppliedwith thin foam mattresses. Twenty-four mattresses. More than enough for seventeen boys. Except Asa and his boys grabbed all of the seven extras. That left no mattresses on the remaining bunks. I would have had to spread out my sleeping bag on bedsprings—if they even let me claim a bunk for my own.
    I figured none of the boys would risk their necks by speaking up for me. When a wildebeest is being chewed on by a pride of lions, the rest of the herd just looks the other way in relief. My only recourse would be to complain to the adults, which would make me even more contemptible in everyone’s eyes as a squealer. I’d rather sleep on the floor.
    I was surprised, though, at what happened next.
    â€œHey, Baron.”
    It was Cody. He hooked a thumb toward the bed directly over. As I stared in disbelief, he pulled off the extra mattress he’d placed on his bed and flipped it back over his shoulder onto that top bunk, his eyes on Asa and the others the whole time. Asa’s jaw dropped so far I thought he’d bruise it on the floor.
    Somehow I’d found, if not a friend, at least someone who was not going to treat me likepond scum. Under most other circumstances I would have been feeling optimistic about my chances of continued survival were it not for my new major reason for worry. A reason I could only hope was just my imagination.
    I should talk to someone about this, but there’s really no one here I trust enough. The adults, even Mr. Wilbur, would say I was being silly. All I trust is this journal—my secret one. I’ve already finished writing something safe and nonrevealing—about how exciting it was to see those three moose—in my school journal. That’s the one that Mr. Wilbur will see. No mention in it of bullies or fearsome, possibly illusory figures.
    I’ve spent too much time covering up my real feelings, any obvious signs of weakness or loss, to start sharing my fears with anyone outside my family.
    Dad and Mom both told me that the surest way to get mugged when you are walking down a dark street late at night in a big city is to give off fear vibes. Act like you think you’re going to be a victim, you end up as one.
    â€œOf course,” Dad had added, “the smartest thing to do is to avoid being alone on a darkstreet late at night in the first place.”
    I’m taking Dad’s advice now, trying to avoid trouble. Here in this upper bunk in the corner with my back to the wall I can at least see anything that might be coming at me. I’m not off alone in the woods where something huge and deadly might be lurking behind any big tree or bush or rock.
    But I can’t stay here forever. I look at my watch just as I hear the clanging sound of a big cowbell being hit by a stick. It’s the signal for everyone to gather in the main hall. We’re going to rejoin our flights—back to the flock. Time to work together, build teams. Happy little birds, be solitary sparrows no longer.
    We’ll meet the rest of the camp staff and then be told what group task we have to accomplish for the two remaining hours before