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that. Presentations start Monday."
    "Did you read your part yet?" Velveeta asked.
    Travis shook his head. Velveeta tapped her pencil on the tip of his ear.
    "Get on it," she whispered.
    on WEDNESDAY
    I decided why I like Travis. It's not just the pretty eyes. It's everything he doesn't say. I sat withBecca and Megan and Cassidy yesterday, and their mouths gushed like fire hydrants spray- blasting me the whole time. They talked about Travis and said he's cute but dumb and boring, and they waited for me to agree but I did not. I said nothing for once. So then they talked about everybody else in the whole school. You want to talk about boring - THAT was boring.
    Okay, I know, I spray more words out than anybody - I KNOW that. But at least I'm not boring. Not to me, anyway.
    Maybe nobody is boring to themselves, but we all bore the heck out of each other.
    Except Travis. He doesn't bore me at all. I like how his eyes are full of words but mostly he doesn't let them out of his mouth except for a zinger here or there like, "I like your scarf." I know he's not an undercover cop, but I still think he has a secret. Nobody shuts up that much unless they have a secret.
    He gave me his whole dessert today. It was only canned peaches, but still.
    Hey, I know. I bet he's secretly tragically dying of leukemia. That's why he switched schools. He wants to be brave till the end, and not have anybody know.
    But as I was getting up to leave, there was McQueen with his supersonic eyes, staring at us. I bet he knows about Travis's leukemia.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Travis peeled his eyelids open and pulled the towel back to look out the window. Cold gray rain. Plus it was Thursday, social- studies project day. He closed his eyes again.
    "You up yet?" Grandpa yelled.
    Travis gave out something between a grunt and a groan.
    "What's wrong with you?" Grandpa asked, opening the door.
    "I'm sick." The dread in his stomach could easily work its way up to the flu or maybe food poisoning.
    "You going to ralph?"
    "Maybe. Probably."
    "Okay. I'll call in to work so I can stay here and babysit you."
    Grandpa turned back to the kitchen, but he left the door open so Travis could see him at the sink, looking out the window and smoking. The smell and the gray and the closing- in walls of the house made Travis think he really might ralph.
    "I thought you couldn't miss work to babysit me."
    "If you're sick, I'm staying home." Grandpa said it without turning around.
    "Since when?" muttered Travis as he got out of bed.
    "Feeling better?" asked Grandpa when Travis got out of the shower.
    "Yup."
    "Thought so." Grandpa said it with a grin and a cackle.
    The social- studies class spread out around the room in pairs. Velveeta pulled Travis into the back corner, and they sat on the floor. She opened her textbook.
    "So, look," said Velveeta. "I still think this Paleolith-Neolithskit is the way to go.
    We turn this page into a script, and it'll be funny. Me Paleo, you Jane. Ha, ha, ha."
    "I thought homework was against your religion," said Travis.
    "What homework? Who's home? I'm not home - are you home?"
    "I don't really like skits."
    "You'd rather hold up a boring poster and point at it?"
    "I'd rather do neither." If he kept saying no to everything, maybe she'd give up.
    "Look, Travattini. If we gotta get up there, we might as well not be boring. You want to be Neo, then?"
    "No."
    "You've got a better idea? Cough it up."
    "How are you two doing?" Ms. Gordon knelt down next to them.
    "Great," said Velveeta. "We're comparing notes on our reading here."
    "Okay, good. Let me know if you need help."

    "So what do you want to do?" asked Velveeta as Ms.
    Gordon moved on to the next pair.
    "I'm not doing anything," Travis dropped his voice.
    "You should get a different partner."
    "Why? I'm not good enough to be your partner, or what?"
    "I'm not doing the project. Do it without me."
    "Okay, me neither." Velveeta slammed her textbook shut. "No homework means no projects."
    She drew a