I sat in my chair, waiting for class to start, with the pit in my stomach growing by the second. Today was the big exam, and I felt like I was going to puke. I looked around the room: everyone was laughing and having a great time. And why not? We were waiting to take the last exam of the day, and even better, the last one of the seventh grade at Ben Franklin Junior High in Ridgewood. Nobody really cared that it was for math.

Except for me, CJ “Lumpy” King. I couldn’t have been more worried. I sucked at math.

If I didn’t get a good grade on the final, I’d end up in summer school. Can you think of anything worse than summer school? I was so stressed I didn’t even eat my lunch. And I was a short, stocky, red-headed kid who never, ever missed lunch.

But you know who was feeling no pressure that day? My best friend, Hank Martin. The goon of a kid was nearly six feet tall and his size fourteen, black Chucky T’s made his feet look like giant canoes. The ripped jeans he wore almost every day rode up above his ankles and when kids made fun of him, he’d pull his pants up even higher and say, “Flood’s coming, thank God I’ve got these life boats!” Of course, he didn’t even try in school, and he still got good grades. Tell me that doesn’t make you mad …