"I have all the evidence I need," I say, munching around the edges of my granola bar, squinting into the sunlight as Jimmy leans away from me, devouring my sandwich. I'm careful to stare at the floor, though. The disgusting baggie of rotting revoltingness I found squashed into the bottom of my locker after first period makes me nervous. I can't let Tom think I'm on to him. "I'm just not sure what to do with it."

Jimmy's thumb keys his iPod to a new song and the shrieking words ...