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to co-sign.
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    Then it was back to California and back to school. I was excited about starting eighth grade in September.
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    I’m sure Ricky Corvette and Augusta Wind have private tutors, but I’ve always attended public school. We don’t have the money for private school or private tutors. I do my stunts on weekends, vacations, and sometimes after school. Every so often, I get to take a day off from school to do a stunt.
    On the first day of English class, as always, everybody had to write a composition about what they did over summer vacation.
    HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER VACATION by Johnny Thyme
    This summer I went to New York City, where I jumped off the Empire State Building, was blown off the Statue of Liberty by a bomb, was hit by a bus, fell off a subway train, was set on fire, and was chased through Times Square by terrorists armed with assault rifles. I killed ten of them in Central Park with a hand grenade, and saved the city from nuclear annihilation.
    That’s what I would have liked to write. But I couldn’t. Too bad too, because it would have really blown the rest of the class away.
    The problem is, my contract with Ricky Corvette also states very clearly that I’m not allowed to tell anybody I’m a stuntkid.
    Ricky, like a lot of movie stars, wants the public to believe he does all the dangerous stuff in his movies himself . He needs it to protect his image, I suppose.
    If the public ever found out that all Ricky Corvette did was lie on the ground and moan, “Oh, my leg!” people might stop going to see his movies. His career would be over. And if anybody found out that I was the one who spilled the beans, I’d never get to do another stunt for Ricky again.
    So I have to keep my mouth shut. Only me and Mom know the truth, plus some people in the movie industry. There is always a “closed set” on Ricky’s movies, so word doesn’t get around that he doesn’t actually do any stunts. The general public thinks Ricky Corvette is a rough, tough “action hero.”
    What a joke! In reality, Ricky Corvette is such a wimp that he’s afraid to cross the street without his mommy. And he’s such a klutz, he can barely walk without tripping over his own feet.
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    I was at my locker, at the end of that first day of school, when I noticed a kid staring at me from a few lockers away. I didn’t look up.
    â€œHey kid,” the kid asked, “what’s your name?”
    â€œJohnny Thyme.”
    He was a big kid, bigger than me. He must have been new to school. I didn’t recognize him. He had a crew cut and was wearing a heavy-metal T-shirt. He stuck out his hand for me to shake and I stuck out mine.
    â€œBoris Bonner,” he said. “Nice to meet ya.”
    As he said it, Boris tightened his grip on my hand. I tried to pull away, but he held on tight. Then he began squeezing.
    I didn’t want to let him know it hurt. I squeezed back, but it was clear that he was stronger than me. Boris looked into my eyes, searching for fear. I fought to pretend he wasn’t hurting me. He was crushing the bones of my knuckles together. I thought about shouting or kicking him, but that would have been admitting defeat.
    Just as the pain was becoming unbearable, he released my hand.
    â€œSo Johnny Thyme,” Boris said with a grin, “how come you weren’t in gym with the rest of the class?”
    â€œI have asthma,” I lied. I couldn’t tell him my contract with Ricky Corvette prohibited me from taking gym class.
    â€œBummer,” Boris Bonner muttered. He was about to walk away, but then he came back and put his face about a foot from mine. He had bad breath. “Hey, Thyme. You got a dollar on you?”
    I had a couple of dollars in my pocket, but I didn’t particularly want to give one to Boris Bonner. Then again, I didn’t particularly want to turn him down either. He looked like the kind of kid who