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crawled upstairs to talk to Jerri. (Blown-out hamstring hurt.) At the top of the stairs, I pulled myself up on the railing and limped over to her in the living room, where she sat reading by the light of a single lamp. She looked up. “What’s going on, Felton?” she asked.
    â€œJerri, let me read you this email.”
    â€œOkay. Something interesting?”
    â€œNo. Well, yeah, I guess.” I nodded. “Check this out…this is a personal email, Jerri. To me, okay?” I switched on the overhead light and read her the email.
    â€œHmm. Wow. Pretty goofy,” she said.
    â€œGoofy? I don’t know who Randy Stone is.”
    â€œReally? You don’t?”
    â€œI don’t. Seriously, Jerri.”
    She paused. She smiled. “Sure you do. One of your friends, don’t you think? They know the layout of the house.”
    â€œA friend?”
    â€œGus, probably.”
    I imagined the dwarf mouth of Gus, anger and ridicule pasted there underneath the chronic hair wad that always hides his face. “Maybe,” I said.
    â€œOf course.”
    Gus. Gus who would not look at me. Gus who I suspected made porn pictures of me and hung them around the school. Gus.
    I stood balanced on my poor left leg for a moment longer. Jerri looked at me and shrugged. She smiled bigger, trying to be comforting.
    â€œBut what if it isn’t Gus?” I asked. “What if it’s a crazy person who saw my picture in the paper? Do you think I should call the cops? Just in case?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBetter safe than sorry, Jerri.”
    â€œI don’t know, Felton.”
    I stared at her, images of her craziness from last summer dancing through my memory. Then I said, “Jerri. Is it reasonable? After what we’ve been through? To not take strange behavior seriously?”
    She squinted back at me. The smile left her face. She said, “Okay. Seems like paranoia, but sure. Why don’t you call Cody’s dad, if it will make you feel better?”
    Yeah. Cody’s dad. That made my desire to call a cop a little less attractive.
    â€œI’m being harassed by a child detective, Officer Frederick! Help! He thinks I smell like manure! Help!”
    If I called the cops, Aleah, I’d be notifying Cody’s dad.
    I stayed down in my room the rest of the night, my hamstring throbbing and awful. At a certain point, I figured, “Why not?” and called Gus to accuse him of being Randy Stone. He didn’t pick up.
    I left a message:
    â€œScrew you, Randy Stone.”
    He texted back: ?
    I texted: Screw you, Randy Stone .
    I waited for a reply but received none.
    Late that night, because I couldn’t sleep at all, like around 2 a.m., I got fearful for Andrew and how if Randy Stone wasn’t Gus, maybe somebody was coming to get all of us. I rolled out of bed and crawled my way up to Andrew’s room. Even though it was so ridiculously late, he was awake. A little light flowed out from under his door. I pushed it open, which caused Andrew to turn away from his desk where he was working on his computer.
    He stared down at me on the floor.
    â€œCan I help you, Felton?” he whispered (so as not to wake Jerri).
    I whispered back, “Hey, Andrew, will you keep your eyes peeled for weirdos? I’m a little worried that someone is stalking me. Like maybe a psycho fan or someone.”
    Without a pause he whispered, “Shake it off.”
    â€œCome on, Andrew. Don’t be a jerk.”
    â€œMe?” he asked.
    I nodded.
    â€œFelton, I don’t have time for you.”
    â€œI’m trying to protect you.”
    â€œNo need.”
    I glared. Clenched my jaw. “What, are you some kind of super ninja now? You can take care of everything?” I asked, my voice rising.
    â€œShh.”
    â€œNinja?” I whispered.
    â€œNecessity is the mother of all invention,” he said.
    â€œFine. Whatever,” I said.
    I crawled back