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fancy as you can get.
     
    “Look, the princess is back.” A hand, almost as big as a page in my English book, plants itself on the table next to me. He’s so close I can feel his breath on the side of my face. Wintergreen. I just keep working on my vocabulary, remembering another word from my calendar. Ablutophobia. A pathological fear of washing or bathing. “Hey, princess.” I don’t look up. Meat Hand pulls my book away from me, snaps it closed, and slides it across the table to another set of hands. Smaller, but equally grungy. I finally look up.
     
    “Hey, Barry,” I say. Like most everyone else at Montrose Academy, I’ve known Barry since we were in elementary school.
     
    “The name’s Booger,” he says.
     
    “And you prefer that to Barry?” I ask. He sneers at me, or at least he tries to. He needs to work on it, though, because it just looks like he’s about to sneeze. “Can I have my book back?” I ask, reaching my hand across the table to where his sidekick is still holding it.
     
    “What are you going to give me for it?” He attempts another sneer, but this one makes him look like he’s in pain. I sigh.
     
    “Gum?” I ask. It’s the only thing I have in my bag besides books.
     
    “How about a kiss, beautiful?” It’s my turn to give a painedlook. I’m not about to have my first kiss in The Pit with a guy named Booger. I try to think of something clever to say, something that will get my book back. Something that won’t hurt Booger’s pride and send my book into the nearest trash can. My chem book still smells minty-nasty from the chew glopped on it the last time I was in here.
     
    “Leave her alone.” The voice comes from the other side of one of the gutted cars they have scattered around the enormous room. Nearly everyone has been watching The Booger and Piper Show, mostly because there’s nothing else to do. Now everyone, including me, turns to look at the guy coming around the back of the car.
     
    “Why should I?” Booger asks, but his voice is definitely different. Less Booger. More Barry.
     
    “Because you’re not a total jerk.” The guy coming around the car is definitely not like these other guys. In fact, I’m not sure he’s even real. Because unless I’m starting to hallucinate from the fumes, the guy coming around the back of the car is Ben. Period. Donovan. Period.
     
    “Jerk?” Booger begins. He looks like he’s trying to figure out if this is worth the trouble. Apparently he decides it’s not. “We’re just messing around.” He looks at me for confirmation, but I don’t oblige. He reaches for my book. “Here,” he says, pushing it hard enough to send it off the table and onto the floor.
     
    “Thanks,” I say. I start to say Barry, but decide to just go along. “Booger.” He shrugs and heads back to the other sideof the room, where they are starting up another game, this one involving a couple of long rubber tubes and a tire. I bend and retrieve my book, noting that there is now a big splotch of grease on the front. I gather my courage to say thank you to Ben Donovan, but he’s gone already back around to the other side of the car. I get up and walk across the shop, careful of the grease smears along the way. I’m not really sure why it suddenly matters—my boots are designed to keep out just about anything.
     
    When I circle the car, only the lower half of Ben Donovan is visible. His upper half is hidden under the car. “Thanks,” I say to his feet. There’s a clanging noise in response.
     
    “Dang it.” He rolls out from under the car. He stops when he sees me standing there.
     
    “What?” he asks.
     
    “I just wanted to—” For a moment I can’t remember what it is I wanted to do. I just stand there looking at him. He frowns at me, then rolls to one side to grab another wrench out of the toolbox.
     
    “Yes?” he says.
     
    “I just wanted to say thank you.” He stares at me. “So, um, thanks.” He nods and looks