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around her feet. Then he set fire to the wood. The little flames were just beginning to lick at her boots when he was startled out of his pleasant dreaming. Brigit, who had been carrying her lunch tray toward an empty seat, had stopped suddenly right where she was.
    Brigit had first shown up at the school a few weeks ago in November. It was now the middle of December. No one had yet heard her speak a single word. There were many rumors about this. Some people decided she didn’t speak English. Other people said she was deaf, but could read lips. Someone else claimed to have seen the inside of her mouth once when she yawned and that she didn’t have a tongue.
    Edward was sure that if anyone had given him a choice between starting at a new school three months into the year or disguising himself in a clown suit and joining a traveling circus, he would have chosen the clown-suit thing.
    But apparently no one had offered Brigit this choice.
    His theory was that she was extremely shy. Besides the fact that she never spoke, she was an insane blusher.
    Right now she was staring at a spot on the ground right in front of her feet. Edward tried to figure out what she was staring at. He couldn’t see anything remarkable, just the usual junk on the floor—an empty squashed milk carton, a couple of cupcake wrappers, and a grape.
    Brigit took a hesitant step forward and, as she did, another grape appeared. It rolled out from underneath the table and hit her foot. She looked around nervously and another grape came shooting out from under the table. Unable to help herself, she stepped squarely onto it. The thing squished juicily. Now there was another and another—more and more, five, six, ten grapes rolling crazily across her path. Muffled laughter came from across the table.
    Brigit stopped moving and kept her eyes fixed on the floor.
    Here it comes. Oh no, Edward thought. He heard the laughter growing from behind them and watched Brigit with hopeless fascination.
    She began to blush. Brigit had red hair, which she wore in a long braid down her back. She was one of those red-headed people with that very milky, show-through kind of skin. The blush began slowly, like a match dropped into a dry forest. As the heat surged up into her neck and spread over her face, she turned a bright burning rose color. The blush was so intense it was hard to take your eyes off it. Although it was embarrassing to look at, too. Painful almost.
    Brigit just stood there, paralyzed. You could tell she knew exactly what was happening and that everybody was watching.
    A low, rough voice began to sing:
    Mine eyes have seen the glory of Brigit’s burning blush.
    Just because a grape or two has turned the girl to mush.
    We have seen the red go creeping from her neck into her face.
    The grapes go rolling on.
    Glory, glory hallelujah,
    Glory, glory hallelujah
    Glory, glory what’s it to ya?
    The grapes go rolling on.
    Feenix’s squad of evil henchwomen had gathered around her and joined in. Beatrice the Poisonous Toadstool and Alison the Hangnail stood at her side popping grapes in their mouths.
    The thing that happened next happened very quickly. A hand appeared from out of nowhere, and snatched Feenix’s little pink purse from off her shoulder.
    Feenix stopped singing. For a moment she was too surprised to move. Then she gave a yell of fury.
    “Eddie!” a voice called. “Heads up! Comin’ to ya.”
    The little purse flew through the air and, without thinking, Edward put his hands up and caught it. It was a little pink-beaded affair, lumpy with personal junk.
    “Hey!” Feenix called. She began to leap over chairs and around people in his direction.
    Edward, his heart pounding, rose from his seat and began to run.
    Around them, everyone else stopped singing and gave a cheer.
    “Over here, Eddie!”
    Danton was grinning happily, his hands up in the air, ready for the catch. Edward threw the bag toward him and Danton caught it easily.
    Alison and Beatrice