by R. L. Stine
“Yeah. Okay,” I said, trying to rub the pain from my chest. “I said I was sorry.”
“You’re gonna be more sorry,” he said. He bounced the ball hard against my bare leg. “Get up.”
I didn’t move. “It was an accident,” I insisted. “I really didn’t see you bend down. Really.”
He picked at the caked blood under his nose. “Get up. Let’s go. I’m supposed to teach you something.” He laughed really loud. I’m not sure why. Then he swept a huge hand back through his short white-blond hair and waited for me to stand up. So he could teach me more lessons.
I climbed shakily to my feet. I felt so dizzy, I had to grab the wooden post. My head ached. My ribs ached.
“Can we … uh … play a different game?” I asked weakly.
“Yeah. Sure,” he said. “Hey—think fast!”
He was standing so close, and he heaved the ball so hard, it felt like a cannonball as it shot into my stomach.
I stumbled back. And let out a sharp gasp.
And then realized I couldn’t breathe.
I struggled hard to suck in some air.
No … no air … I … can’t … get … air….
I saw bright yellow stars. The yellow darkened to red.
Pain shot through my chest. The pain spread, growing sharper, sharper.
I was down on my back now, staring up at the sky, staring up at the dancing red stars. I wanted to scream. But I had no air.
Can’t breathe … can’t breathe at all….
The stars faded away. The color faded from the sky.
All black. All black now.
And as I sank into the blackness, I heard a voice.
A beautiful, soft voice from far, far away. Calling my name.
An angel, I realized.
Yes. Through the blackness, I heard an angel calling my name.
And I knew that I had died.
“Luke? Luke?”
The blackness lifted. I blinked up at the afternoon sky. The voice was closer now. And I recognized it.
“Luke?”
My chest ached as I took a deep breath.
Hey—when had I started to breathe again?
I lifted my head and saw Hannah running across the basketball court. She wore a blue windbreaker, unzipped, and it flapped up over her shoulders like wings. Her red hair glowed in the late afternoon sun like a halo.
Not an angel. Just Hannah.
She turned angrily to Stretch as she ran past him. “What did you do to Luke—kill him?”
Stretch giggled. “Probably.”
Hannah dropped onto her knees beside me. Her windbreaker fell over my face. She tugged it away. “Are you alive? Can you speak?”
“Yeah. I’m okay,” I muttered. I felt like a jerk. A helpless jerk.
Stretch walked up behind Hannah. “Who’s she?” he sneered at me. “Your girlfriend?”
Hannah spun around to face him. “Hey—I’ve seen your girlfriend!”
Stretch’s mouth dropped open. “Huh? Who’s that?”
“Godzilla!” Hannah declared.
I tried to laugh, but it made my ribs hurt.
The next thing I knew, Hannah was on her feet, shoving Stretch’s shoulders with both hands, forcing him to back up. “Ever hear of picking on someone your own size?” she demanded.
Stretch laughed. “No. Tell me about it.” He backed away from her and raised his big, meaty fists. He grinned and started dancing like a fighter. “Come on. You want a piece of me? You want a piece of me?” Imitating someone in a movie, I guess.
“One on one,” Hannah challenged.
Stretch tossed back his head and laughed. His blue eyes rolled around in his tiny head.
“Freestyle shooting,” Hannah said, tearing off the windbreaker. She tossed it to the side of the court. “Come on, Stretch. Twenty shots each. Any kind of shot.” She stared up at him. “You’ll lose. Really. You’ll see. You’ll lose to a girl!”
His smile faded. “You’re on the girls’ basketball team—right?”
Hannah nodded. “I’m the center.”
Stretch started to dribble the ball slowly in front of him. “Twenty shots? Layups or three-point?”
Hannah shrugged. “Any kind. You’ll lose.”
I climbed to my feet and went over to the side of the court to watch. I still felt a little shaky, but I knew I was okay.
Stretch didn’t hesitate. He raised the ball and pushed up a one-handed shot from half-court. The ball hit the backboard, then the rim—and dropped in. “One for one,” he said. He ran to retrieve the ball. “I’ll keep shooting until I miss.”
He missed his next shot, an easy layup from under the basket.
Hannah’s turn. I crossed my fingers and counted to seven three times.
“Go, Hannah!” I cheered, holding up my crossed fingers.
Hannah sank a basket from the foul line. Then she drove under the basket and shot another one in from underneath.
My mouth dropped open as she sank eight more baskets without a miss. “Wow. Go, Hannah!”
Stretch just stood there looking dumb. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His face was a total blank.
“Ten for ten!” Hannah declared. She bounced the ball to Stretch. “You go. Just to keep it interesting.”
Hannah glanced at me, grinned, and flashed me a thumbs-up.
Stretch wasn’t smiling anymore. He had a grim, determined look on his face as he drove in close to shoot. He dropped four straight baskets, then missed one from in front of the foul line.
He muttered something under his breath and bounced the ball to Hannah.
Hannah sank eight more in a row. She turned to Stretch. “Eighteen for eighteen!”
But he was already jogging back to the gym, a scowl on his face.
“I’m not finished!” Hannah called after him.
Stretch turned back to me. “Hey, Champ—maybe you should take a lesson from your girlfriend. Or maybe you should play on her team!” Shaking his head, he disappeared into the school.
A strong wind began to blow across the playground. It was dark as evening now. I picked up Hannah’s windbreaker and reached out to hand it to her. But she took another shot. “Nineteen.” And then another. “Twenty. Yay! I win!”
I gaped at her. “Hannah—you never miss! How do you do that?”
She shrugged. “Just lucky.”
I shivered. We started jogging back to the school. “Ask me how lucky I am,” I muttered. “I made a new enemy today. A huge enemy!”
Hannah stopped and grabbed my arm. “Hey—I totally forgot why I was looking for you. I wanted to tell you the coolest news!”
I held the school door open. “Yeah? What?”
Hannah’s green eyes flashed. “You know those photos I took of my dog? I sent them to a magazine in New York. And guess what? They paid me five hundred dollars for them. They’re going to publish them—and do a big story about me! Isn’t that so totally cool?”
“Wow. Totally,” I said.
And that’s when I decided my luck had to change.
Why should Hannah have all the luck? I can be lucky, too, I told myself.
It’s all attitude. That’s what it takes. The right attitude.
I changed into my street clothes. I made my way upstairs to stop at my locker. Locker 13.
Basketball practice had run so late, the halls were empty. My shoes clonked noisily on the hard floor. Most of the lights had already been turned off.
This school is creepy when it’s empty, I decided. I stopped in front of my locker, feeling a chill at the back of my neck.
I always felt a little weirded-out in front of the locker. For one thing, it wasn’t with all the other seventh-grade lockers. It was down at the end of the back hall, by itself, just past a janitor’s supply closet.
Up and down the hall, all the other lockers had been painted over the summer. They were all a smooth, silvery gray. But no one had touched locker 13. The old, green paint was peeling and ha
d large patches scraped off. Deep scratches crisscrossed up and down the door.
The locker smelled damp. And sour. As if it had once been filled with rotting leaves or dead fish or something.
That’s okay, I can deal with this, I told myself.
I took a deep breath. New attitude, Luke. New attitude. Your luck is going to change.
I opened my backpack and pulled out a fat, black marker. Then I closed the locker door. And right above the number 13, I wrote the word LUCKY in big, bold capital letters.
I stepped back to admire my work: LUCKY 13.
“Yessss!” I felt better already.
I shoved the black marker into my backpack and started to zip it up. And that’s when I heard the breathing.
Soft, soft breaths. So soft, I thought I imagined them. From inside the locker?
I crept closer and pressed my ear against the door.
I heard a soft hiss. Then more breathing.
The backpack slipped out of my hands and thudded to the floor. I froze.
And heard another soft hiss inside the locker. It ended in a short cry.
The back of my neck prickled. My breath caught in my throat.
Without realizing it, my hand had gripped the locker handle.
Should I open the door? Should I?
My hand tightened on the handle. I forced myself to start breathing again.
I’m imagining this, I told myself.
There can’t be anyone breathing inside my locker.
I lifted the handle. Pulled open the door.
“Hey—!” I cried out in shock. And stared down at a black cat.
The cat gazed up at me, its eyes red in the dim hall light. The black fur stood up on its back. It pulled back its lips and hissed again.
A black cat?
A black cat inside my locker?
I’m imagining this, I thought.
I blinked hard, trying to blink the cat away.
A black cat inside locker 13? Could there be any worse luck?
“How—how did you get in there?” I choked out.
The cat hissed again and arched its back. It gazed up at me coldly.
Then it leaped from the locker floor. It darted over my shoes, down the hall. Running rapidly, silently. Head down, tail straight up, it turned the first corner and disappeared.
I stared after it, my heart pounding. I could still feel its furry body brushing against my leg. I realized I was still gripping the locker handle.
My head spun with questions. How long had the cat been in there? How did it get inside the locked door? Why was there a black cat in my locker? Why?
I turned and checked out the floor of the locker. Just to make sure there weren’t any other creatures hiding in there. Then, still feeling confused, I closed the door carefully, locked it, and stepped back.
LUCKY 13.
The black letters appeared to glow.
“Yeah. Lucky,” I muttered, picking up my backpack. “Real lucky. A black cat in my locker.”
I held my lucky rabbit’s foot and kept squeezing it tightly all the way home.
Things are going to change, I told myself. Things have got to change….
But in the next few weeks my luck didn’t change at all.
One day after school I was on my way to the computer lab when I ran into Hannah. “Where are you going?” she asked. “Want to come watch my basketball game?”
“I can’t,” I replied. “I promised to install some new modems for Mrs. Coffey, the computer teacher.”
“Mr. Computer Geek strikes again!” she said. She started jogging toward the gym.
“Did you get your science test back?” I called after her.
She stopped and turned around with a grin on her face. “You won’t believe it, Luke. I didn’t have time to study. I had to guess on every question. And guess what? I got a hundred! I got them all right!”
“That’s excellent!” I called. I’d studied for that test for a solid week, and I got a seventy-four.
I made my way into the computer lab and waved to Mrs. Coffey. She was hunched over her desk, sorting through a tall stack of disks. “Hey, how’s it going?” she called.
The computer lab is my second home. Ever since Mrs. Coffey learned that I can repair computers, and upgrade them, and install things in them, I’ve been her favorite student.
And I have to admit, I really like her too. Whenever I don’t have basketball practice, I check in at the computer lab to talk with her and see what needs to be fixed.
“Luke, how is your animation project coming along?” she asked, setting down the disks. She brushed back her blond hair. She has the nicest smile. Everyone likes her because she always seems to enjoy her classes so much.
“I’m almost ready to show it to you,” I said. I sat down in front of a computer and started to remove the back. “I think it’s really cool. And it’s going much faster now. I found a new way to move pixels around.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Really?”
“It’s a very cool invention,” I said, carefully sliding the insides from the computer. “The program is pretty simple. I think a lot of animators might like it.”
I set down my screwdriver and gazed across the room at her. “Maybe you could help me. You know. Show it to people. Get it copyrighted or something.”
“Maybe,” she said. She stood up, smoothing the hem of her blue sweater over her jeans. She came up behind me and watched as I removed the old modem. “You’re really skillful, Luke. I think you’re going to make a lot of money with computers some day.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” I replied awkwardly. “Thanks.” I didn’t really know what to say. Mrs. Coffey is so awesome. She is the only teacher who really encourages me and thinks I’m somebody.
“I can’t wait to show you my animation,” I said.
“Well … I have some big news,” she said suddenly. I turned and caught the excited smile on her face. “You’re the first person to hear it, Luke. Can you keep a secret?”
“Yeah. Okay,” I said.
“I just got the most wonderful job! At a really big software company in Chicago. I’m leaving school next week!”
The next afternoon I couldn’t check in at the computer lab. I had to hurry to the swimming pool behind the gym.
Swimming is my other big sport. I spent all last summer working with an instructor at our local pool. He was fast enough to make the Olympic tryouts a few years ago. And he really improved my stroke and showed me a lot of secrets for getting my speed up.
So I looked forward to the tryouts for the Squires swim team. I couldn’t wear my lucky swimsuit because it didn’t fit anymore. But I wore my lucky shirt to school that day. And as I changed for the pool, I silently counted to seven three times.
As I left the locker room, I heard shouts and laughter echoing off the tile pool walls. Feeling my heart start to race, I stepped into the steamy air of the indoor pool. The floor was puddled with warm water. I inhaled the sharp chlorine smell. I love that smell!
Then I bent down and kissed the top of the diving board. I know. It sounds weird. But it’s just something I always do.
I turned to the pool. Three or four guys were already in the water. At the shallow end I saw Stretch. He was violently splashing two other guys. He had them cornered at the end of the pool. His big hands slapped the water, sending up tall waves over them. They pleaded with him to give them a break.
Coach Swanson blew his whistle, then shouted for Stretch to cut the horseplay. Stretch gave the two guys one more vicious splash.
Then he turned and saw me. “Hey, Champ—” he shouted, his voice booming off the tiles. “You’re early. Drowning lessons are next week! Ha ha! Nice swim trunks. Are those your girlfriend’s? Ha ha!”
A few other guys laughed too.
I decided to ignore them. I was feeling pretty confident. About twenty guys were trying out. I knew there were only six spots open on the team. But after all my work last summer, I thought I could make the top si
x.
We all warmed up for a bit, taking easy laps, limbering up our muscles, getting used to the warm water. After a few minutes, Coach Swanson made us all climb out and line up at the deep end of the pool.
“Okay, guys, I’ve got to get to my night job by five, so we’re going to keep this simple,” the coach announced. “You have one chance. One chance only. You hear the whistle, you do a speed dive into the pool. You do two complete laps, any stroke you want. I’ll take the first six guys. And two alternates. Any questions?”
There weren’t any.
Everyone leaned forward, preparing to dive. Stretch lined up next to me. He elbowed me hard in the side. “Give me some room, Champ. Don’t crowd me.”
Okay, so he’ll come in first, I figured, rubbing the pain from my side. That leaves five other places on the team.
I’m good enough, I told myself. I know I am. I know I am….
The whistle blew. All down the row, bodies tensed, then plunged forward.
I started my dive—and slipped.
The pool floor—so wet …
My feet slid on the tile.
Oh … no!
I hit the water with a loud smack.
A belly flop! No kind of dive.
Struggling to recover, I raised my head. And saw everyone way ahead of me.
One unlucky slip …
I lowered my head, determined to catch up. I started stroking easily, forcing myself to be calm. I remembered the slow, steady, straight-legged kick my instructor had taught me.
I sped up. I passed some guys. Hit the wall and started back.
I can do this, I told myself. I can still make the team.
Faster …
At the end of the second lap the finish was a furious blur. Blue water. Thrashing arms and legs. Loud breaths. Bobbing heads.
I tried to shut out everything and concentrate on my stroke … ignore everyone else … and swim!
At last my hand hit the pool wall. I ducked under, then surfaced, blowing out water. I wiped my hair away from my eyes. The taste of chlorine was in my mouth. Water running down my face, I glanced around.
I didn’t finish last. Some guys were still swimming. I squinted down the line of swimmers who had finished. How many? How many were ahead of me?
