Free Candy Shop War by Brandon Mull

jogged over to greet him. “Ready to go for a moonwalk?” Nate asked.
     
    Trevor gave him a high-five. “For sure. Let’s get over to Sweet Tooth.”
     
    The four friends were hurrying toward the ramp at the rear of the school when something stung the back of Nate’s ear. Nate looked over his shoulder and found Denny leering at him. As usual, Eric and Kyle were following right behind. “What’s your problem?” Nate said, turning away from the older boy, trying to ignore him.
     
    Denny flicked his ear again. Nate whirled, angry. He wanted to tear out a handful of that curly blond hair. “Come on,” Denny invited. “Start it.”
     
    Despite Nate’s outrage, a look at Denny’s stocky frame warned him that although this kid was only a year ahead of him in school, he was two or three years ahead of him in growth. If Nate tried to fight him, he would be playing right into his hands. For a moment, Nate considered swinging his backpack like a club. Instead, he just said, “Go find a better hobby.”
     
    “Actually,” Denny said innocently, “I came over because I need a favor. See, I’m supposed to do an oral report about retarded kids, so I was wondering if I could follow you guys around for a few hours. Do a little firsthand research.”
     
    Eric and Kyle burst out laughing.
     
    “Maybe you should interview your mom,” Nate said. “None of us ever flunked a grade.”
     
    The laughing stopped. Nate relished the hurt expression that flashed across Denny’s features. For a moment, Denny seemed to be groping for something to say, then he shoved Nate hard, sending him sprawling onto the grass. Nate looked up at him, still feeling victorious.
     
    Denny picked up Nate’s backpack and chucked it over the fence at the back of the school. The bag tumbled down the weedy hill. “Don’t cry, Dirt Face,” Denny pouted theatrically, strutting away with Eric and Kyle.
     
    “You really are insane,” Summer said as Nate got to his feet.
     
    “You burned him good, though,” Trevor said.
     
    “I’m not going to let him push me around,” Nate said.
     
    “Looks like he just did,” Summer said. “I’m telling you, don’t egg him on—it only makes it worse.”
     
    As they descended the ramp at the back of the school, Trevor ran off the path and grabbed Nate’s bag, rejoining the others at the bottom of the slope, where they set off along Greenway. An old woman with a curly gray hairdo and checkered pants roamed her yard watering weed-choked flowers with a hose. She smiled and waved as they walked by, a beauty-queen wave, hand near her cheek.
     
    They were nearing the intersection of Greenway and Main when a bleary-eyed man in a stained corduroy jacket came running toward them down one of the side streets. “Summer, Trevor, Pidge, Nate! Hold up! You have to listen to me.”
     
    The kids turned to face the oncoming stranger. He had lean features, a stubbly beard, and wild hair. “You guys know him?” Nate asked.
     
    “Not by name,” Summer said.
     
    “I’ve noticed him roaming around town lately,” Trevor said. “I think he’s homeless.”
     
    “Stay away from Sweet Tooth,” the stranger warned, stumbling slightly. “You can’t trust Mrs. White. She’s dangerous. You can’t trust anyone!” He was still rushing toward them.
     
    “That’s close enough,” Nate commanded.
     
    The man stopped short. “You have to let me explain. Nate, it’s me. I’m you! I’m from the future!”
     
    “Right,” Nate said. “You don’t look anything like me. How do you know my name?”
     
    “I have no time,” the stranger said. He plunged his fingers into his hair. “What was I thinking? I forgot that you weren’t going to believe me. I guess you guys don’t want to come with me so I can fill you in on some things?”
     
    “Sorry, we’re not going anywhere with you,” Summer said.
     
    “This guy harassing you?” the crossing guard called, approaching from down the