“Is this what you’re looking for?” a familiar voice called.
Evan turned to see Conan Barber, a pleased smile on his handsome face, his blue eyes gleaming.
Gripping it by its furry back, Conan held the hamster up in one hand. Cuddles’s four legs scurried in midair.
“You—you caught him!” Evan cried gratefully. He let out a long sigh of relief. “He jumped out the window.”
Evan reached out both hands for the hamster, but Conan jerked Cuddles out of his reach. “Prove it’s yours,” Conan said, grinning.
“Huh?”
“Can you identify it?” Conan demanded, his eyes burning into Evan’s, challenging Evan. “Prove this hamster is yours.”
Evan swallowed hard and glanced around.
Kids from the kickball game were huddling near. They were all grinning, delighted with Conan’s mean joke.
Evan sighed wearily and reached again for the hamster.
But Conan was at least a foot taller than Evan. He lifted the hamster high above Evan’s head, out of Evan’s reach.
“Prove it’s yours,” he repeated, flashing the others a grin.
“Give me a break, Conan,” Evan pleaded. “I’ve been chasing this stupid hamster for hours. I just want to get him back in his cage before Mr. Murphy—”
“Do you have a license for him?” Conan demanded, still holding the squirming hamster above Evan’s head. “Show me the license.”
Evan jumped and stretched both hands up, trying to grab Cuddles away.
But Conan was too fast for him. He dodged away. Evan grabbed air.
Some kids laughed.
“Give him the hamster, Conan,” Bree called. She hadn’t moved from second base.
Conan’s cold blue eyes sparkled excitedly. “I’ll tell you how you can get the hamster back,” he told Evan.
“Huh?” Evan glared at him. He was getting really tired of Conan’s game.
“Here’s how to get old Cuddles back,” Conan continued, holding the hamster tightly against his chest in one hand and petting its back with the other. “Sing a song for it.”
“Hey—no way!” Evan snapped. “Give it to me, Conan!”
Evan could feel his face growing even hotter. His knees started to tremble. He hoped no one could see it.
“Sing ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat,’ and I’ll give you Cuddles. Promise,” Conan said, smirking.
Some kids laughed. They moved closer, eager to see what Evan would do.
Evan shook his head. “No way.”
“Come on,” Conan urged softly, stroking the hamster’s brown fur. “ ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.’ Just a few choruses. You know how it goes, don’t you?”
More cruel laughter from the others.
Conan’s grin grew wider. “Come on, Evan. You like to sing, don’t you?”
“No, I hate singing,” Evan muttered, his eyes on Cuddles.
“Hey, don’t be modest,” Conan insisted. “I’ll bet you’re a great singer. Are you a soprano or an alto?”
Loud laughter.
Evan’s hands tightened into hard fists at his sides. He wanted to punch Conan, and punch him and punch him. He wanted to wipe the grin off Conan’s handsome face with his fists.
But he remembered what it had felt like to punch Conan. It had felt like hitting the side of a truck.
He took a deep breath. “If I sing the stupid song, will you really give me back the hamster?”
Conan didn’t reply.
Evan suddenly realized that Conan wasn’t looking at him anymore. No one was. They had all raised their eyes over Evan’s shoulder.
Confused, Evan spun around—to face Mr. Murphy.
“What is going on here?” the teacher demanded, his tiny black eyes moving from Evan to Conan, then back to Evan.
Before Evan could reply, Conan held up the hamster. “Here’s Cuddles, Mr. Murphy,” Conan said. “Evan let him get away. But I rescued Cuddles just as he was going to get run over.”
