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when I went to the International Chili Cookoff with the Bishops last spring. I was the only one who could eat the whole bowl of Tasmanian Devil–Breath Chili from Down Under without asking for a glass of water. After winning, I couldn’t feel my mouth, and I guess my lips and tongue looked pretty swollen, because the Bishops rushed me to the emergency room. Jason was pretty pissed.
    â€œI didn’t even get a chance to eat my Indian fry bread.”
    â€œThanks for your concern, asshole.”
    â€œMan, Kyle, you did this for a pair of butt-ugly shoes.”
    â€œThey’re not ugly. They’re tight.” I was sucking on ice, so when I spoke, drool dripped down my chin.
    â€œThey’re orange.”
    â€œSo. Orange is tight.”
    â€œYou’ll never wear ’em.”
    â€œYeah, I will.” I pulled off my high-tops and put on the orange chili shoes.
    â€œYou’ll never wear ’em in public.”
    â€œWanna bet?” By that time, a tingling numb feeling had crept into my throat. Blisters popped out on my lips. I have to admit I was a little worried. I chomped on the ice and let it trickle down my throat.
    â€œYeah. I bet you won’t wear ’em.”
    â€œI’ll wear ’em. Every day.”
    â€œFor how long? A weekend?”
    â€œA year. I’ll be the fashion trendsetter this year.”
    â€œYeah, right.”
    â€œBet your 1948 Captain Marvel Adventures number eighty-one.”
    Jason paused. “And if I win?”
    â€œYou get any film collection I have.”
    â€œAny?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œYou’re not gonna stick me with that Bollywood shit.”
    â€œLike I said. Your pick.”
    â€œOkay. I want your David Lynch collection, including Twin Peaks .”
    I paused. This was big.
    â€œWhat? Stakes too high?”
    â€œDeal.”
    â€œYou’re on.” Jason grinned.
    Â 
    I looked down. The orange sneakers contrasted with the gray jumpsuit thing. They were pretty dirty. So far I’d worn them for 170 days straight.
    â€œKyle!”
    I turned around and saw Mark standing in the middle of the corridor, fifty feet away.
    â€œHave you been listening to me?”
    I shook my head. “Sorry.” I looked down at my shoes. “I was just thinking.”
    Mark nodded. “Come on. Dr. Matthews is going to help you work through some things now. She’ll be good to talk to.”
    It was better to think about my shoes.
    â€œYou seem like a pretty good kid, Kyle.” Mark clapped me on the back. He liked back clapping. I guessed it was the manliest way he could hug a guy. “You’re going to be okay,” he said.
    Who cares if I’m okay? What about Jason? What about Chase? What about Mom? It was like the world had taken a freaky turn and I’d ended up with all cameras focused on me.
    We arrived at a dinky office at the end of a long hallway. It didn’t have the doctor’s name on it or anything, so I kind of figured she just came every now and again. I peeked in the window.
    Dr. Matthews’s matted hair was swept up into a knot on the back of her head. It actually looked like a spider-webby doorknob from a 1930s horror flick—like in an old Boris Karloff film. Wisps of gray around a rubber band, smack in the middle of her head. She wore a shapeless dress with bright colors and jungle prints. She jingled when she walked because of the loads of jewelry that covered her body, head to toe. The office smelled like burned cinnamon.
    I looked at Mark. “She’s the one who’s going todecide if I’m sane?”
    Mark pushed me through the door and introduced me to Dr. Matthews. “I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.”
    â€œYou’ll have to excuse the makeshift office. I’m getting mine redecorated. It should be done sometime next week.” Dr. Matthews smiled, and lines webbed from the corners of her eyes to her