I am bigger but he is suddenly meaner. My words, in my notebook have given him power over me which isn’t fair. Paul would say it is kind of fair, in a karma kind of way. But never forget Paul is annoying. I see the library window from the recess field. Maybe I could go there like Godzilla in the ocean. Regenerate my powers. But no. Robin and I shout at each other, shooting fire from our mouths. Angry enemies. He still wants to be the Poetry Bandit. He still wants all the credit. When I get close to his face the fire from my mouth to his ear burns the truth in his head. Mrs. Little knows about me and the books. Hartwick knows about me and the books. The Poetry Bandit has been discovered. The Poetry Bandit is done. Like a moth to flame I lure Robin in with my tractor beam of words. I call him all the worst things: A baby. A jealous nerd. Ugly. But he is word-proof now, a fireproof moth. He does not combust. He expands. Kevin, Kevin, poetry boy, he yells. Kevin has 900 brothers who all hate him.
