Free The Hurt Patrol by Mary McKinley

were reestablished in the forest. The alpha boys had regained their hubris, the beta boys sucked up, and the omega boys plotted secretly. The Hurts were fair game. Hunter, as youngest and weirdest, was a particular target. He was like low-hanging fruit for douche bags.
    It wasn’t his fault. Hunter had been born too soon and had a big old head like Charlie Brown. He was also smaller and more spindly than everyone and sometimes stuttered. He also had this extremely weird thing that he smiled, like, beamed, and/or involuntarily laughed when he was nervous.
    He didn’t mean it. He really didn’t.
    Because Hunter was a huge freak, the Hurts teased him too. Beau would listen to Kyle and Rob take turns bagging on him—far more affectionately than ever did the outside world—and wonder if Hunter would ever snap. The strange part was when outsiders dogged him, every Hurt got mad, but they could tease him, for hours, themselves.
    â€œYou’re an idiot, Hunt’s Ketchup, but yer our lil’ idiot!” Rob would tell him, all fake choked up.
    It was true. They sometimes even got the other guys to back off.
    But then again, sometimes not. During one of the parade /drills, marching along for some random reason, the Hurt Patrol was doing well, amazingly well for them—in step and to the beat, like honest-to-god competent marchers. And they were feeling it too: solemnly keeping time, their uniforms not a joke for once, addicted to the rhythm—
    â€œHey, Smiley!”
    It was another patrol; members of another troop previously unknown to the Hurts. Five jokers calling themselves the Bear Clan, who thought they were the answer . And they had zeroed in on the Hurts. On Hunter. Like coyotes with a little big-headed baby deer.
    â€œHey! Smiley! ”
    And, of course, Hunter grinned nervously. He really couldn’t help it.
    â€œ Yeah! Smiley!” “ Atta boy! ” “Lil’ Smiley! ” The Bears were just congested with joy. The weird little spaz was grinning and turning red. This was gonna be so fun!
    The other Hurts considered the Bear Clan. Beau memorized all five guys’ faces as he marched. But this was not the time. The thing was, with the Hurts, revenge was always best freezing cold.
    Inside the tent, Hunter was way past the smiling part. He was livid. And creepily knowledgeable.
    â€œIt’s easy. I’ll get some potatoes. You can blow up almost anything with a potato.”
    Beau did not know this. “You can?” He was horrified.
    â€œOh, yeah—nitrogen. Potatoes are full of nitrogen. Ping pong balls are also deadly.”
    Which did not help Beau, just made him anxious about how many other things could blow up at any given moment. He glanced nervously around the tent.
    â€œNo! Things don’t just explode for no reason.” Hunter explained patronizingly, when Beau worried aloud. “You have to detonate it.” He rolled his eyes. “Duh. You don’t even know that?”
    Well, Beau’s last science teacher was the football coach, so: no.
    Later, at yet another parade, as they were marching along . . . again, with the hissing.
    â€œHey, Smiley . . . yeah!”
    â€œSo, Smiley! What’s up?”
    â€œHey, let’s see your beauty-full smile . . . there’s our Smiley! ”
    And again, later at the mess tent. They were intoxicated with success.
    â€œHey, sweetie, are you a sweet lil’ sweet pea, Smiley?” “Hey, Smiles! ” “Smile pretty! ”
    Hunter was furiously grinning. He was pissed and ashamed. Involuntarily, he cried and beamed.
    Beau was beyond fed up. He pondered the situation, scowling. The Hurts were always getting dogged. The Bear Clan noticed. Jubilantly. With delight they commented on his expression.
    â€œHey, Honey-Bunch! Why so cranky? Aren’t you a smiler too?”
    Beau looked over to Hunter. His face, except for the frozen, treacherous smile, was miserable. His