Dylan stormed through the woods, crunching leaves and snapping branches, with no idea where he was going. He was bleeding from his nose down to the crooked jag in his upper lip but he was too angry to feel it.

“THREE COBRAS!” shouted Brian, trailing behind. He pumped his fists into the air. “THREE COBRAS!” He stopped and shook a spray paint can with a clackety-clackety-clack and sprayed a big green “3” on a nearby tree trunk.

“Would you SHUT UP,” Dylan shouted back. “I thought you said he went this way!”

“He did!” said Brian, scurrying to catch up to him like a nervous Chihuahua. Everything Brian said sounded like he was cackling. “He definitely did, I’m pretty sure. Right, Lance?”

Lance was bringing up the rear like a lumbering Frankenstein’s monster. Lance said nothing, just snorted up a booger.

Together, Dylan, Brian, and Lance were the sole members of a gang they had named “3 Cobras.” Milo thought it was the stupidest gang name he’d ever heard. As far as Milo could tell, no one at Otisville Middle School liked the 3 Cobras. Teachers didn’t like them. Other students didn’t like them. Milo particularly despised them because, for reasons known only to the Cobras, they had recently made him the target of their torture.

They had been in study hall, two weeks ago, when it started.

“Hey, big ears.”

Milo didn’t even realize he was being spoken to at first. He was sitting alone, drawing a monster in his notebook.

“Hey, big ears.”

Irritated, Milo looked up from his drawing. From the other side of the classroom Dylan was staring at him with a cracked, malevolent grin across his face. Dylan had a scar from a badly-corrected harelip that made his mouth a little crooked, which gave the appearance that he was sneering at you even on the rare occasion when he wasn’t. He had greasy, sandy hair and smelled like unwashed clothes.

Dylan Hyde was a head taller than the other kids his age and stockier by half. Rumor was, Dylan had been held back in first grade, although to suggest this to his face surely meant a solid beating to anyone who was tired of having their eyes unblackened and their lips unbusted. Physically stronger than the other boys in his class, Dylan had discovered at a young age that using violence – or even the mere threat of violence – was the easiest way to get what he wanted. Dylan himself was an expert in violence, being the youngest of four brothers who each relished beating the next brother younger than he. So the oldest, DJ, enjoyed punching David, who in turn lavished punishment on Dirk, who found that nothing agreed with him more than beating Dylan. Dylan, having no one younger to beat for himself, dished it out to any sixth-grader he could get his hands on.

Like most bullies, Dylan did not have the confidence to bully other kids on his own. He needed numbers. So even now, in this study hall, Brian and Lance were sitting on either side of Dylan. Brian was giggling and cackling and Lance had a dull smile with a blob of spittle dangling from his fat tongue.

“You got big ears, Big Ears,” said Dylan. And the 3 Cobras just about laughed themselves sick. Milo’s big ears burned in fury.

Dylan had a special skill that made him a superb bully: he could read your weak spot from a mile away. Kids who were too fat, kids who were too skinny, kids who were too short, kids who were too smart – that stuff’s easy. Dylan could zero in on your fear that your haircut was goofy, or your shoes were too lame, or that your friends didn’t like you. Or that your ears were way too large for your head.

The strange part was, even though it made him furious, Milo couldn’t form a response. He didn’t know how to react or what to say. He was now almost 12 years old and hadn’t been bullied much in his life. Milo thought bullies was the sort of trouble you’d have in elementary school, not in middle school, for crying out loud. Plus, Milo has the oldest – he had no big brother or sister to deal with – so he didn’t know how it was done. He just wasn’t used to it.

Finally, Milo opened his mouth to respond. He didn’t know what was going to come out when –

“Quiet,” said Mr. Charles, the Phys-Ed teacher who had the unlucky duty to be in charge of this study hall. He hadn’t even looked up from the magazine he was reading. “This is study hall, not talking hall.”

Whatever he was going to say, Milo choked it back down. Dylan and Brian covered their mouths and laughed at him while Lance looked on with his same blank grin. They kept talking and laughing, only more quietly so Milo couldn’t hear much except the occasional “ears.” Then the Cobras would glance back his way and snicker. Milo looked at Mr. Charles for help, but Mr. Charles was engrossed in his magazine. Milo didn’t understand this at all. Mr. Charles had to be able to hear them, but he was just ignoring them. He wasn’t enforcing his own “no talking” rule! Mr. Charles didn’t say you could talk quietly, he said no talking. Normally Milo wouldn’t care, but now it incensed Milo because they were talking about him.

He couldn’t take it anymore. “No talking!” hissed Milo.

“Quiet, I said!” barked Mr. Charles, giving Milo the stink-eye. This sent the 3 Cobras into further hysterics. Milo boiled inside. He tried to go back to drawing his monster but he pressed the pencil so hard he tore through the paper. As he smoothed out the tear, Milo imagined all the different ways he could get revenge on Dylan. He wondered if anyone he knew had access to a Mac truck. Milo changed the drawing so that the monster was now eating Dylan. That lasted about five more minutes until the bell rang, then Milo scooped up his books and tore off to his next class.

And that should have been that.

“Hey, Big Ears! Where you going, Big Ears?”

It hit Milo like a bucket of ice water. He was coming out of the front exit of the Otisville Middle School among a huge throng of kids. He had a fat heavy book bag over one shoulder and was lugging an alto saxophone in the other. Milo had been playing saxophone since the fourth grade and had to drag it to school three days a week for band practice. Through the crowd Milo could see Dylan, Brian, and Lance leaning against the wall by the exit. “Can’t you hear us?” Dylan called. “Can’t you can’t hear with those big ears, Big Ears?”

Waves of fury emanated off Milo like blasts of heat. He marched the other direction, head down, trying to pretend he couldn’t hear Dylan. “Come back, Big Ears! You’re walking too fast, Big Ears!” The other kids were stopping to stare at Milo now. He pushed past them.

“Big Ears! Don’t leave us, Big Ears! Don’t leaaaave usssssss!”

The other kid were starting to giggle, even outright laugh at Milo now. That did it; Milo popped his cork. He whirled around and screamed with rage: “SHUT UP, YOU STUPID IDIOTS!”

The whole schoolyard went quiet for about two seconds. Then everyone laughed, every kid in earshot. The 3 Cobras laughed hardest of all. Dylan could barely breathe: he couldn’t stand up straight, his knees started to buckle he was laughing so hard. Brian cackled like a banshee and even Lance was laughing with a deep “Guh-huh, guh-huh, guh-huh.”

After that, Milo started sneaking out through different exits in the school each day. One day he’d go out the back door by the soccer field; the next day he’d go out through the side exit near the dumpsters. A few times he even got away with it. But more times than not, when Milo came through the exit, he found the 3 Cobras waiting for him.

Milo was finding his social standing sinking to near-untouchable levels. Milo didn’t have a great grasp on how social standings worked in middle school. He was pretty sure he wasn’t a popular kid, but he didn’t think he was unpopular. Now, thanks to Dylan, Milo found himself plummeting to the lowest depths of sixth grade society. Kids he was once friends with in fourth and fifth grade now pretended not to know him. If sixth grade was the solar system, Milo would be rocketing past Pluto about now. And it was getting worse every day.

Strangely, it never occurred to Milo to tell his parents or his teachers. He was so full of hatred for the 3 Cobras – especially Dylan – that all he could think about was revenge. Milo imagined all sorts of ways he could get revenge on them. He thought about learning karate and beating them all single-handedly, without breaking a sweat. He imagined stealing a bulldozer and driving it through each of their houses. He wished for an asteroid to come blazing through the atmosphere and smash the 3 Cobras, and them alone. But Milo knew this was just fantasy – he needed an actual plan.

That’s when Milo discovered the escape route through the woods.

Milo knew about the patch of woods behind the school but he’d never had a reason to go near it. To get to the woods you had to cut through the teachers’ parking lot, which was not technically off limits but was definitely an unusual place for a student to go. The first time Milo cut through the parking lot, he felt like an alien in Teacher-land. He got a few odd glances from teachers, but no one said anything or made a move to stop him, so he made a break for the treeline.

Milo found it a little spooky inside the woods at first. It was quiet and still and there was no one else around. After a few minutes, that’s exactly what he started to like about it. He felt cut off from the world. He walked up little hills and back down into little gullies. He jumped over a trickle of a stream and got his socks wet, but he didn’t mind. He couldn’t believe this land had been here the whole time and he’d never once stepped foot in it.

At the top of one rise, Milo tried to orient himself. From up here he could still see the roofs and backyards of nearby houses. Milo figured cutting through the woods wasn’t a true shortcut – it probably added five minutes to his walk – but it meant avoiding three or four blocks of neighborhood near the school where he was an easy target for the Cobras. He emerged near a baseball field not too far from his house and walked the rest of the way. No one bothered him. By the time Milo got home he felt happier than he had in weeks.

For the next three days, Milo followed the same pattern: after school, he would wait for about an hour in the school auditorium, which was always empty. He’d exit through the teacher’s lot and take the back route home through his little patch of woods. So far the Cobras hadn’t found his escape route, and Milo hoped by now Dylan was getting bored and looking for some new kid to torture.

The 3 Cobras lay in wait outside Otisville Middle School. Brian and Lance had their backs slumped against the school wall but Dylan paced like a caged animal. School was almost over and they hadn’t seen Milo all day, but Dylan wouldn’t let the other two go home. Lance furrowed his brow in what, for him, approximated thought, and after a long time he formed a word:

“But,” said Lance.

“No,” said Dylan. He had no idea how long it might take for the next word to form, so he needed to jump in right now. “No buts.”

This brought a hysterical snickering fit out of Brian. Dylan punched him in the arm.

“Ow!” said Brian.

“Don’t be stupid,” Dylan hissed at them. “Keep your eyes open.”

The final bell of the day rang. It wasn’t really a bell, it was a long electronic tone. FWOOOOP. Within thirty seconds, seventh and eighth graders began to pour out of the doors. Dylan scanned the faces for Milo. Girl, girl, boy, dork, nerd, ugly kid, fatso, pretty boy, brace face…no Milo.

“See?” moaned Brian. “I told you. He’s not even here. He probably left a long time ago.”

Dylan seized Brian by his shirt collar and shouted in his face, little bits of spittle sprinkling Brian’s face. “He DIDN’T,” said Dylan. “He’s STILL HERE. Where’s your phone?”

Brian jerked himself free and sullenly brought out his cell phone. This was all according to Dylan’s plan. Brian had his own phone and Dylan had ordered Lance to borrow his mom’s. Dylan didn’t have a cell phone of his own – his parents couldn’t afford it – so he’d stolen his older brother David’s phone even though it meant putting himself in extreme personal danger. Dylan knew David would be on the warpath once he realized his phone was missing. Of course, David would know that it was one of his brothers who took it, but he wouldn’t know which one. Dylan knew he’d have to hide the phone again COMPLETELY UNDETECTED when he got home or face David’s terrible wrath – but that was a problem for later.

“Look, it’s real easy,” said Dylan. “Lance stays here and watches the front. Brian, you go on the other side by the soccer field. Anybody sees ANYTHING, let the other two know. All right?”

Brian nodded. Lance just stared. It seriously tried Dylan’s patience sometimes.

“Okay? Lance? Yes? ALL RIGHT?!”

Finally Lance nodded. Dylan’s phone rang. It surprised him and he accidentally hit “answer.”

“YOU PIECE OF SCUM, WHEN I FIND OUT WHICH ONE OF YOU STOLE MY PHONE I’M GONNA RIP YOUR ARMS OUT OF THEIR SOCKETS—“ Dylan hung up instantly. No need to hang on the line, he could guess the end of that conversation.

They split up. Dylan hustled off to the far side of the school, near the exits that hardly anybody used, and waited.

No one came out. Thirty minute passed. It was frustrating. Up until now Dylan had enjoyed the spy-game, cat-and-mouse aspect of pursuing Milo. He’d started to think of each day as a mission and he thought of Milo as their target. Through slow, steady psychological pressure he was breaking down his enemy one day at a time. That is, until Milo had vanished. That had been annoying.

Dylan didn’t know why he was so fixated on pursuing Milo. There was something about Milo that bugged him. He didn’t know why. Something about Milo just made Dylan want to poke at him, like poking a scab on your knee that still hurts a little and yet you still want to poke. Dylan would poke Milo, and poke and poke and poke until Milo blew his top, and that made Dylan laugh literally to tears sometimes.

But how was Milo escaping?

He texted the other 2 Cobras. “Anything?”

Brian: “NO.”

Nothing from Lance for 30 seconds. Then he just texted: “n.”

It didn’t make sense. They were covering all three possible exits. The only other place Milo could be exiting was –

And then it hit Dylan. He texted quickly: “HES IN THE TEACHER LOT.” And Dylan ran. The fastest way to the teacher’s lot was through the school. Dylan ran straight through the entrance he’d been guarding.

Inside Otisville Middle School, the halls were nearly empty now. The classrooms were dark. Dylan ran past Carl, the janitor, who was trudging past with a mop bucket and gave Dylan the stink-eye.

Then Dylan turned the corner by the auditorium and there was Milo at the far end of the hall, right by the exit. And somehow, Milo spotted him at the same time. For an instant they stared at each other from opposite ends of the hallway.

The auditorium, Dylan suddenly realized. That little scum has been hiding in there after school!

Milo moved first. He burst through the exit doors. Dylan ran as fast as he could down the hallway. Dylan grabbed for his phone and did something he almost never did – he used it to make a phone call.

But he got Brian’s mother’s voicemail. Dylan shouted into it as he ran: “WHERE ARE YOU? HE’S IN THE TEACHER’S LOT I SAID!” And he banged the exit bar with his shoulder and spilled into the teacher’s lot.

It was a little strange. Dylan had never stood here before. There were no teachers around, only cars. He didn’t see Milo anywhere. He didn’t see the other Cobras either, for that matter. Dylan jogged down the center aisle, looking left and right. No Milo. Dylan dropped to his hands and knees and looked through the cars’ underbellies, trying to spot a pair of Milo feet. Nothing.

His phone rang again. He scrambled up to his knees and snatched it out of his pocket. “I TOLD YOU, HE’S IN THE TEACHER’S LOT—“

But it was David. “YOU LITTLE RAT, YOU BRING MY PHONE BACK NOW OR I’M GOING TO PULL YOUR HEART OUT—“ Dylan was so surprised he bumbled the phone for a second, trying to hang it up—

--and that’s when Milo shot out from behind a white SUV and punched Dylan as hard as he could. It was, even Milo had to admit, a lucky punch. To Milo it all seemed to happen in slow-motion. Dylan, distracted by the phone, looked up at Milo in complete surprise, his mouth turning to a little “O” as the realization of what was happening dawned on him.

No, it was more than surprise, Milo thought. There was fear.

Milo’s fist smashed Dylan right on the side of his nose and his upper jaw. Dylan’s arms flailed in mid-air as he went crashing down from his kneeling position to the blacktop. David’s cell phone flew out of his hand.

In the following second Milo had two huge revelations: first, punching someone actually really hurt your hand.

And second: it was totally worth it.

But, as much as Milo had surprised him, Dylan had been punched enough in his life not to be completely devastated. He sprung up to a sitting position, holding his nose. Later, Milo would realize that this was precisely the time when he should have hit him again, but at this point he was even more surprised than Dylan that his punch had landed.

Milo knew it was time to go. Before Dylan could get to his feet – before this became a real fight. And as he turned to run Milo slammed face-first into what he thought was a tree trunk. He stumbled back, the wind knocked out of him.

It was Lance. Lance made no move, gave no indication that he’d noticed Milo slamming into him. He just stared down at Milo like he was looking at a bug.

Brian scurried up, the last to arrive, and couldn’t make sense of the scene he’d discovered. He looked at Milo. He looked down at Dylan, sitting on the blacktop with a bloody nose. He looked back at Milo. He looked up at Lance. He looked back at Dylan, confused. This all occurred in about a second and a half.

Then Brian noticed Dylan was holding up David’s phone.

The screen was shattered.

“GET HIM!” Dylan shrieked.

Everyone moved at the same time. Milo managed to dodge Lance’s huge arms – which whooshed past Milo’s ear like giant tree boughs – but this meant running straight at Brian, who was a flurry of angry little fists. Milo vaguely felt Brian’s glancing blows pelting him – he was never sure exactly where he got hit – but he was too full of adrenaline to really feel them. Milo only knew he couldn’t stop running. If he stopped running now – if all three Cobras got their hands on him – he would truly be in trouble. So he kept running.

His best chance of losing them was in the woods.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3: Into the Orb