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this year? "
    Squealie slowly sat up, never taking his dark brown eyes off Buzz. " Nice? You? " His high-pitched voice chimed with disbelief. " I ' ve never seen you do anything nice. "
    Buzz grinned, and his cheeks grew warm. He didn ' t blush too often, but he was doing it now . " Seriously? "
    Squealie ' s eyes widened, and he nodded. " I ' ve never even heard of you doing something nice. "
    Suddenly, Buzz ' s grin switched to a scowl. " You ' re not just saying that, are you? Because you ' re scared I ' ll rip your guts out and feed ' em to you or something? "
    Squealie shook his head fast. " Why? Is that what you ' re planni ng to do ? "
    Buzz laughed. " Heck no . " He leaned down and socked Squealie in the arm, making him flinch. " Relax, Squeals. "
    " Okay, that ' s good then. " Squealie ' s attempt at a smile was pretty weak.
    " I mean, I can ' t promise I ' ll never do that. " Buzz shrugged and chuckled.
    " Oh, sure. "
    " Unless maybe you ' re lying, " said Buzz. " About how I haven ' t done anything nice . "
    That was when Squealie took a deep breath and sat up straighter . His face darkened, and he locked eyes with Buzz. " I can hone stly say, you are by far the meane st person I know. Some days, I ' m so scared of what you ' ll do to me, I can ' t get out of bed. I don ' t think you could do any thing nice if your life depended on it. "
    Buzz ruffled his black rat ' s nest and nodded. " Thanks, Squealie. That means a lot, coming from you. "
    " No problem. "
    Smiling, Buzz reached out with both hands. " Here. Let me help you up. "
    Squealie stared at the hands, then stared at Buzz ' s face, then back at the hands. For a moment, Buzz thought Squealie might take those hands, expecting Buzz to help him get up off the ground.
    But instead, Squealie scrambled backward . He clambered to his feet, spun around like a beer can winged by a BB gun, and stumbled off crippled-antelope style.
    Which was a real shame. Not that poor defenseless Squealie was so scared of Buzz that he ' d rather run away than trust his helping hand s .
    T he real shame of it was, he ' d robbed Buzz of a perfectly good opportunity to make a fresh start. A fresh start at making Squealie ' s life more miserable than ever, that is.
    Because the whole reaching-for-Squealie bit had had nothing at all to do with helping him to his feet.
    Â 
    *****
    Buzz ' s next stop was a yellow house on Lime Street, three blocks up and two blocks over. He felt funny coasting up to it in broad daylight; most of his previous visits had been in the darkest depths of night.
    Before he ' d even stopped his bike at the curb, the white front door swung open and crashed against the siding . What he saw next almost made him turn around and leave.
    Mrs. Clementine, his math teacher from school , barged out of the house with a cell phone in one hand...and a double- barreled shotgun in the other. Her bright green eyes were wide, her mou n tain of red hair twitching, her features twisted i n a look of pure murderous rage. She slammed the door shut behind her like she was trying to smash the frame into matchsticks.
    Buzz had never seen her so angry, and that was really saying something. After all, h e ' d made it his personal mission in the fifth grade to get a rise out of her as often as possible .
    Buzz stopped h is bike at the end of the walk and swallowed hard. The sight of Mrs. Clementine charging forward with her shotgun at the ready kicked up two conflicting feelings : on the one hand, Buzz thought maybe it wasn ' t such a good idea to try to talk to her; then again , if he was looking for proof of his lack of niceness, he figured he ' d come to the right place.
    " Keep moving! " Mrs. Clementine got to within ten feet of Buzz, then stopped. " You ' re not welcome here! "
    " Hello, Mrs. Clementine. " Buzz had to work a little to keep his voice and smile steady. That big gun of hers was making him nervous.
    " Don ' t you ' hello ' me. " She held up the phone. " I ' ve got the