Now, where was I? Oh, right.Cary Retlin. My archenemy.

    I was thinking aboutCary on this gray December day because I happened to be sitting behind him in English class.

    I was staring at the back ofCary 's head, which is covered in straight, longish dirty-blond hair, and I was wondering what makes him tick. I've never figuredCary out. I'm not sure I want to either. But if I did, it wouldn't be easy. He's an enigma. Good word, huh? It means, according to my dictionary, "one that is puzzling, ambiguous, or inexplicable." That's Cary, all right.

    Cary is relatively new in Stoneybrook, but he's certainly made his mark. Especially at SMS, or Stoneybrook Middle School, where I'm in the eighth grade. Any time there's mischief happening at our school, you can bet Cary's involved. At one time he was even part of a prank-pulling group called the Mischief Knights. At least I think he was. You can never be sure of anything in Cary's case.

    He's sure of himself, though. No question about it,Cary has a pretty good opinion ofCary . You can see it hi the way he swaggers through the halls, in the way he lifts one eyebrow when he's talking to you, in the way he smirks his little smirk.Cary is an arrogant, smart-alecky kind of guy. He's obnoxious, but not in an Alan-Grayish sort of way. (Alan Gray, another boy in our grade, is obnoxious in an immature, spitball-throwing way.) And yet I don't hateCary . Not exactly. I just, well, I wish I could get to him the way he can get to me.

    For some reason, whenCary first moved here he targeted me and my friends in the BSC. He has given us a hard time in more ways than I can count. Why? Because, he says, "complications make life more interesting." Excuse me, when did I ever say I was bored?