Or where most people think I belong, anyway. It’s Wednesday, and on this Wednesday the poor suckers at Highview are cursed with cube steak and gravy, which tastes vaguely like grilled Play-Doh and looks a lot like canned dog food. For kicks they get green-bean casserole and Jell-O fruit salad surprise. The surprise is usually just some of the lunch ladies’ hair—though I did find a fingernail once. It’s Wednesday, and things haven’t really improved. If anything, they’ve gotten worse. The second robbery has everyone whispering, despite the Fox’s assurances. I catch snippets. I hear questions. “Do you think the Jacks will come here?” “Do you think the Dealer is planning on attacking the city?” “Do you think the Fox can stop them?” “Did you know the Jack of Diamonds can melt metal with that crazy eyeball of his?” “Do you think Jeremy Whitfield will ask me to homecoming?” Thankfully, nobody asks, “Do you think the top-secret group of sidekicks-in-training operating out of the hidden basement in our school have anything to do with this?”
