“Greg Banks!”

A shiver ran down the back of my neck as Mr. Saur called my name. I had been slumping low in my seat in the last row of the classroom. I tried to hide behind Brian Webb, the big gorilla of a kid who sits in front of me.

And I folded my hands and prayed that Mr. Saur wouldn’t call on me to give my report next.

“Greg Banks!” he called.

I felt another cold shiver. Then my legs started to shake as I climbed to my feet. Then my throat tightened until I could barely breathe.

I hate giving reports in front of the whole class.

Especially when I haven’t had much time to practice. Especially when we’re not allowed to have notes. Especially when half of our grade in English depends on how we do on this report.

I cleared my throat and made my way up to the front of the classroom. I was halfway there when Donny Greene stuck his big white sneaker into the aisle and tripped me.

I stumbled—but didn’t fall. The whole class exploded in laughter, anyway.

Mr. Saur frowned at Donny. “Donny, do you have to trip every person who walks by you?” he demanded.

“Yes,” Donny replied with a straight face.

And once again, the whole class burst out laughing.

Everyone thinks Donny is a riot. Everyone but Mr. Saur.

Mr. Saur doesn’t think anyone is funny. That’s why we call him Sourball Saur. He probably wouldn’t think that was funny, either!

Mr. Saur is tall and thin and nearly bald. He never kids around. He never smiles. His mouth is always puckered, as if he’s just bitten into a lemon.

Sourball Saur.

He’s sort of a legend at Pitts Landing Middle School. Everyone tries not to get him. My best friends—Michael, Bird, and Shari—were lucky. They’re in Miss Folsom’s class. I was the only one who got stuck with the Sourball.

I stepped up beside his desk and cleared my throat again. I wondered if everyone could see my knees shaking. My face felt burning hot. My hands were cold as ice.

Does everyone get this nervous when they stand in front of the class?

Mr. Saur folded his pale, skinny hands on his desk and cracked his knuckles. “Okay, Greg, let’s hear your true story,” he said.

I cleared my throat for the thousandth time. I took a deep breath. Then I started to tell the story of what happened to my friends and me last summer….

“I was hanging out with my friends. Bird, Michael, and Shari. We had nothing to do, and we were kind of bored. So we dared each other to do something exciting. We dared each other to sneak into the Coffman house.”

Mr. Saur raised a hand to interrupt me. He frowned his sour frown. “What’s the Coffman house?”

“It’s a haunted house!” Donny Greene called out.

“It’s where Donny lives!” Brian Webb mumbled, loud enough for everyone to hear. It got a big laugh.

Mr. Saur raised both hands for quiet and gave everyone his lemon expression.

“It’s a deserted, old house in my neighborhood,” I told him. “We went inside. Down to the basement. And we found an old camera. And that’s what my true story is about. Because the camera had evil powers.”

Mr. Saur groaned and rolled his eyes. Some kids laughed. But I took another deep breath and continued my story.

“It was an instant camera. The picture popped right out. But it was never the picture we snapped. It always showed something terrible happening.

“I took the old camera home. I snapped a photo of my dad’s new station wagon. The photo slid out. In the photo, the station wagon was totaled. Completely wrecked. And then, a few days later, my dad was in a terrible accident. The photo came true.”

I glanced around the room to see how my story was going over. A few kids were laughing. Others were staring at me hard. Trying to decide if I was for real.

Brian Webb tried to make me lose it. He stuck his two pointer fingers into his nostrils and twirled them around. He thinks he’s funny, but he’s just gross.

“I took a snapshot of my friend Bird Arthur,” I continued. “At his Little League game. Bird smiled and posed for the camera. But the photo showed him lying unconscious on the ground.

“Then, a few minutes later, a kid hit a line drive. It smacked Bird in the head. And Bird fell unconscious on the ground. Just like in the photo.”

I heard some nervous giggles from the back of the room. I glanced up to see puzzled expressions on a lot of faces. Brian still had his fingers in his nose. I turned away. No way was I going to laugh at that.

Mr. Saur had his elbows on the desk and his round, bald head buried in his hands. His face was hidden. So I couldn’t tell if he liked my report or not.

“Then something even more scary happened,” I continued. “I brought the camera to Shari Walker’s birthday party. I snapped Shari’s picture, standing next to a tree.

“When the photo popped out, it showed the tree—but no Shari. It was like she was invisible or something. And then, a few minutes later, Shari disappeared.”

A few kids gasped. Some others laughed. Mr. Saur still had his face buried in his hands.

“A couple of days later, Shari came back,” I told them. “But now we were too frightened to keep the camera. So we took it back to the Coffman house. And we met this strange guy, dressed all in black. He was the inventor of the camera. He told us that the camera had a curse on it, and—”

To my surprise, Mr. Saur jumped to his feet. “That will be enough,” he snapped.

“Excuse me?” I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly.

The room went silent.

Mr. Saur shook his head. Then he narrowed his watery brown eyes at me. “Greg,” he said, “I have some very bad news for you.”