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I wiped the lead off on my white shirt.
    â€œWhy did you just wipe lead all over your shirt, Pete?” Lance asked me.
    â€œI’m collecting pencil shavings,” I said casually, pretending I wasn’t horrified that I’d just ruined my new shirt. “Everyone’s doing it. Bet I can collect more than you!”
    â€œBut you collected all of it just now,” he pointed out.
    I looked at the empty sharpener.
    â€œOh—look at that,” I said. “I guess that means I win!”
    â€œCongratulations,” he said, but he didn’t look impressed in the slightest.
    Drew didn’t have any better luck. He tried getting everyone to collect hair from the floor in his social-studies class, and Donnie accused him of trying to make a wig. It was hopeless. By the time we got let out at the end of the day, I was feeling downright depressed. Everything we’d worked toward all summer had blown up in our faces.
    Drew and I started our walk home. At the edge of the soccer field, before the big hill, we turned and watched all the buses pulling out of the parking lot in the front of the school. The buses’ windows were all half-open, and you could hear everyone shouting and laughing as if it had been a really fun day. It suddenly dawned on me that we were no longer the kings of the school. This was Sunny’s school, and we were just visitors.
    â€œAre you okay?” Drew asked.
    â€œWe’re in serious trouble,” I said.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    I put a hand on his shoulder, not so much to calm him down but to steady myself, because I felt a little dizzy.
    â€œI think we might be . . . losers,” I admitted.
    â€œThat’s impossible!” Drew laughed, but then he saw I was being serious. “Wait—you’re kidding, right?”

Chapter Seven
    I WASN’T . D REW TRAILED BEHIND ME as I marched all the way to Corbett Canyon. I opened the safe, took out the bag, and pulled out a handful of mica, shaking my head. How did I ever think this stuff was cool, I wondered? I started carelessly dropping the fragile pieces back into the bag.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “Careful, Peter, you’re going to break the biggest pieces.”
    I glared at him.
    â€œWho cares?” I asked.
    I zipped up the bag and stood up. Drew blocked the entrance.
    â€œI demand to know what you plan on doing with that,” he said.
    â€œWe’re going to sell it in town so at least we make some dough for all our troubles,” I said. “Now get out of my way.”
    â€œBut you’ve always said it’s only a matter of time before mica’s worth millions, once all the miners in Pennsylvania run out of gold and silver, remember? You said we have to be patient, that it was our nest egg or whatever you called it, and—”
    I made sure to talk real slowly so he’d understand.
    â€œWe’ve had a good system going, buddy, you don’t want to mess it up,” I said, but he wouldn’t budge. “Look, you’ve always been really good at assuming I’m always right, that’s how we work so well as friends, so I beg of you, and this is the last time I’m going to ask this, Drew: Step out of the way.”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œThis,” I said, holding up a piece of mica and waving it in front of his face, “is physical proof that we’re pathetic. We’re in middle school and we still collect mica?! What the heck were we thinking? Everyone was getting to know each other at the pool and playing basketball together while we were slaving away in the woods, peeling this junk off the boulders? It may be worth something, but what difference does it make if nobody in school thinks so?”
    Drew held both hands out trying to calm me down.
    â€œPeter, first of all, I’m not questioning how pathetic we are, and second, PUT DOWN THE FRICKING MICA!”
    He