He was right and I knew it. I leaned back against my locker in despair. “I’m sick of being scared all the time,” I told Francis.
“Don’t you remember what we learned in science?” Francis asked. “Fear is good for you. Like when a rabbit sees a hawk and hides without even thinking about it. That’s what we need to do—hide.”
“I’d rather be the hawk.”
“Well, I’d rather have the power of invisibility, but since that’s not going to happen, I think you should start planning a new route home.”
On our way to class, I ran into McKlusky, who was coming from the direction of Mr. Groton’s office. “I have something to tell you,” he said in a rush. “It’s about what happened outside. I’ll call you tonight.”
I couldn’t wait.
My first class after lunch was earth science, and Mr. Leland put on a movie about the Arctic tundra. As I watched it I thought, I’d like to be on the Arctic tundra right now. I tried to forget about Spencer Randle, but my heart was racing. He could be anywhere waiting for me. I felt helpless. For once I was glad Evan didn’t go to my school. I could never let her see me like this.
Halfway through class, Roy Morelli leaned over the aisle between our desks. Roy and I were on the same baseball team. His sister was also my brother’s girlfriend, which I guess made us kind of related. Roy was probably the best player and I was probably the worst, but he was nice to me, unlike some of the other guys on the Pirates. Baseball was the only team sport I had ever really played. I wished Mom and Dad would let me sign up for football, but I think they saw that as Aaron’s sport.
“If you have to take a leak, just ask for a bathroom pass,” said Roy.
“What?”
Roy pointed to the ground. “You’re tapping your foot like you drank a gallon of water during lunch. I figured you had a full tank.”
“Mr. Morelli,” Mr. Leland called. “No talking during the film.”
“Sorry, Mr. Leland,” said Roy. “I was just asking Wyatt if he had any questions.”
Mr. Leland held a finger up to his lips.
“This is so boring,” Roy whispered. “You wanna play a game or something?”
Sure, I thought. How about a few rounds of hide from Spencer Randle? If you win, you get to keep all your limbs. I crossed my legs to stop my foot from tapping and focused on the screen. I just hoped McKlusky had good news.
“Wyatt, honey,” said Mom at dinner that night. “You haven’t eaten anything. Is everything okay?”
I looked up from my plate of lasagna. “I’m not really hungry,” I said.
Before Mom could pry, Dad started grilling Aaron. “Have you found something to do this summer?” he asked. He’d been pestering him with the same question since the snow melted in February.
“I’m working on it,” Aaron answered without making eye contact.
“Tell me the truth,” said Dad. “There is no lying in this house.”
Forcing himself to look at Dad, Aaron said, “I swear, I’m working on it. I have some good leads.”
“You could work at the golf club,” said Kate.
“Good one,” said Aaron.
“You might think it’s lame,” Kate replied, “but I can’t wait. Golf is my favorite sport.”
“If you call hitting a little ball that isn’t even moving a sport,” said Aaron. “If you want a real sport, you should try football.” Aaron looked at me. “Didn’t you say you wanted to play?”
“Wyatt said that?” Mom asked.
Aaron nodded. “Yeah, he asked me to teach him.”
“Never,” Mom said. “No way. Not my baby.”
“Don’t call me a baby,” I said to Mom.
“Sorry, sweetie,” Mom replied, brushing the hair out of my eyes. “I guess I still look at you and see my little boy.”
That was the problem. I was tired of everyone looking at me and seeing a baby, a twerp, or a child who couldn’t get into a PG-13 movie.
“You’re probably right,” Aaron said. “He’d get slaughtered in a football game.”
“Well, he won’t have to worry about that on the golf course,” Dad said.
“What’s the point of playing a sport if there’s no chance of anything bad happening?” I asked.
“Just because there’s no physical risk doesn’t mean it isn’t challenging,” Dad said. “I’ve been playing since I was your age and I’m still tested every time I play.”
Mom grabbed my hand. “Honey, trust me, you don’t want to go looking for sports injuries. I’ve seen too many blown-out knees and broken bones. Golf is a sport you can play your whole life.”
I thought about arguing, but there was no point. She was talking about the rest of my life when the only thing on my mind was this summer. Somehow, I had to get out of golf camp and the father-son tournament.
After dinner that night I studied for my history test in the basement. This was supposed to be our homework area, but Aaron was on the phone.
“Hold on,” I heard him say. “Other line.” He clicked the phone once, then said, “Yeah?” There was a pause.
I put down my pen. I thought it might be McKlusky. “Is it for me?” I asked hopefully.
Aaron shook his head at me. “Sorry, there’s no Wyatt here,” he told the person on the other end of the line. Then he clicked the phone again and said, “Sorry about that. Wrong number. What were you saying?”
“Hey,” I said. “I’m right here.”
“I never said that to her,” Aaron was saying. “I wasn’t even looking at her. Who did you hear that from? Hello? Hello?” He slammed the phone, picked it up, and began dialing again.
I stood a foot away. “I’m right here,” I said again.
Aaron ignored me. “What did you say to Sara?” he asked. “She just hung up on me because she thinks I was looking at Lily. If I get dumped because of this, that would not be cool. Call me back.”
Aaron clicked the phone off and threw it on the couch. He turned and looked at me. “Yeah?” he said.
“I need the phone.”
“Am I on the phone?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then stop whining and leave me alone. I have real problems.” He pushed me out of the way and sat down at his desk. Flipping open his laptop, he slipped on his headphones. I could hear the music blasting anyway.
My fingers were shaking as I dialed McKlusky’s number. He answered on the first ring.
“This is Stilts.”
“What does Spencer know?” I asked.
“He knows someone told Mr. Groton that he went to Pilchuck Market. I heard Mr. Groton tell him that he had a confidential source.”
“What else? Does he know who told?”
“He might.”
“What do you mean he might? Does he or doesn’t he?”
“I can’t be sure. Mr. Groton closed his door. But I did hear Spencer talking to himself when he was walking out of the office.”
“What was he saying?”
“It sounded like Why did I go to Pilchuck Market? But he might have said I’m going to kill Wyatt Parker.”
“So either Spencer Randle definitely wants to smash my face in or he might want to smash my face in. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Basically,” McKlusky admitted. “Man, I’m not looking forward to high school very much.”
I had to agree.
The next morning I asked Mom to drop me off at school. I told her I wanted to get there early so I could study for my science test, which was partly true. The test was in a few days and I wanted to be ready. More importantly, I wanted to get safely inside the building before Spencer showed up.
“Can you pick me up too?” I asked as I unbuckled myself.
“Wyatt, is everything all right?” asked Mom. “Does something hurt? Is that why you don’t want to walk?”
“Nothing hurts,” I said. Not yet, anyway, I thought.
Mom tousled my hair. “Then I’ll see you here a little before three.”
<
br /> “Okay,” I said, focusing on spotting Spencer.
I got out of the car slowly, scanning the drop-off area for any sign of trouble. All I saw was a line of cars and minivans and kids hanging out peacefully in front of the school. The sun was shining through a layer of morning clouds. It was safe.
“No sign of him yet,” I told Francis when we were at our desks for first-period math.
The bell rang and Mr. Morales asked everyone to be quiet for the morning announcements, which came over the PA system. Sometimes Mr. Groton made them and other times it was a student. I had never done it, but everyone knew the microphone was in a small room next to the office.
That morning, the announcements began like always. There was a chime that meant someone was about to speak. Then we heard a screech. All the people around me looked up and some of them covered their ears. Next came a few seconds of static, and then a familiar voice.
“Attention, Pilchuck Middle School. This is a message for the spineless weasel who ratted on Spencer Randle. You know who you are. So you better run and hide, because I am going to spend the rest of the school year tracking you down, and when I find you I am going to turn your face into mashed potatoes and then feed it to you, and your snot will be the gravy. Thank you and have a good day. Oh, and corn dogs are awesome.”
There was another screech and then silence.
I felt my palms begin to sweat.
“Oh man, I’d hate to be whoever he’s talking about,” I heard Ruben say in the back of the room.
“I’d switch schools,” said Khalil.
A few rows up, I saw Valerie and Emily whispering and giggling.
“All right, all right,” said Mr. Morales as he stood at the front of the class with his hands in the air. “I’m sure that was just a practical joke. Let’s settle down and let Mr. Groton deal with it.”
Personally, I thought Mr. Groton had done enough already.
CHAPTER FIVE
After I did my homework that evening, I went out to the back porch to read Frankenstein for school. The porch was cluttered with rakes and shovels and bicycle parts, and the boards were so weak they creaked, but it was my favorite place to get away from my family. I had been there only a few minutes when Evan showed up.
This happened most nights when it was warm. I’d come to the porch to read and Evan would join me. We’d hang out and throw pebbles in a bucket or play twenty questions or “would you rather” or just read books like we were in a library.
She was twirling a lacrosse stick as she came up the porch steps, a few feet from where I was sitting in an old armchair. “Think fast,” she said, thrusting the head of the stick in my direction.
I knew Evan would never bean me with a lacrosse ball at close range, but I flinched anyway.
“Chicken,” she said.
“Rooster,” I said back.
Evan settled into the seat next to me, laying the lacrosse stick in her lap as she perched her feet on an empty milk crate. “Shouldn’t I be a hen?” she asked after a minute.
“Rooster sounds funnier,” I said, trying to concentrate long enough to finish the chapter I was reading.
“Rooster,” said Evan. “Rooster. Hen. Rooster. Yeah, I guess you’re right. It is funnier.” She pointed her stick at my book. “It’s good, right? We had to read it at my school too. You’ll never guess how it ends.”
“Don’t tell me,” I said as I closed the book.
“Frankenstein dies,” said Evan.
“Nice try. He was already dead. He can’t re-die.”
“You’re thinking of the monster,” said Evan. “Frankenstein is the name of the doctor. The monster is just called the ‘monster.’ ”
“So the doctor dies?” I asked.
“No,” she said with a smile. “I was lying about that.”
I looked over at Evan, who was wiggling her tan toes to the beat of the music coming from Aaron’s room. “Can I just read the book, please?”
Evan lay back in the lawn chair while I tried to focus on the book. I had read less than a full page when the back door opened and Aaron appeared on the porch.
He looked at Evan first. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Not much,” Evan said. She sounded bored. I guess Aaron was no Brian Braun.
Then, without warning, Aaron kicked my chair so hard I fell sideways onto the porch. “Are you stupid?” he asked me.
I climbed back into the chair. “What are you talking about?”
“Why did you rat on Spencer Randle? That dude’s gonna tear your arms off and beat you with them.”
“I didn’t rat on him. At least, I didn’t mean to. It was a misunderstanding. How do you know about this, anyway?”
“I know someone who knows him.” Aaron shook his head. “Man, he’s gonna make you pay. I should offer to help.”
“Really?” I said, surprised that Aaron cared. “Thanks a lot.”
“Not you!” Aaron snapped. “Him.”
“Why would you do that? I’m your brother!”
Evan wasn’t saying anything. She was just watching me and Aaron go back and forth.
“You dishonored the family,” Aaron answered. He was in the doorway now. “You rolled over on one of your own because you were scared of getting in trouble.”
“He’s not one of my own. I hate him. If he gets in trouble that’s his problem, not mine.”
Aaron stepped into the kitchen but looked back to say, “Your problem is you were born without guts.”
“Who’s Spencer Randle?” Evan asked.
“Nobody.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Evan poked me with the lacrosse stick. “Tell me. Is he a friend of yours?”
“Let’s see,” I said. “In kindergarten he pushed me into the mud. In second grade he stole my cupcake and ate it in front of me. In fourth grade he locked me in the janitor’s closet during the school ice cream party. Last year he dunked my clothes in the toilet during gym class. And earlier this week he stole my lunch money. So no, he’s not really a friend. Oh, and now, he wants to smash my face in because I told the principal he was going to Pilchuck Market for a corn dog.”
Evan chewed on her thumbnail. “So don’t let him,” she said casually.
“You don’t understand,” I said, closing Frankenstein. “Spencer Randle is a monster. If he really does know it was me who told on him, he’s going to use my face as his own personal punching bag.”
“Then you’re a chicken,” Evan said.
“Thanks,” I said. “I prefer to think of it as sensible.”
“So you’re just going to hide from him for the rest of your life?”
“You have a better idea?”
“Yeah,” said Evan. “Turn the tables. You find him. Tell him it was you and that you’ll do it again if you have to.”
“Are you nuts? He’ll squash me.”
“From what you’re saying, it sounds like he was going to do that anyway. If you confront him, at least you get it over with.” Evan peeled herself up from the back of the chair, stretching out her arms and yawning. “Or maybe you’ll pop him one and earn a little respect for once.”
I watched the mosquitoes swarm around the porch light while Evan’s last words swarmed in my head. Did she mean that I needed to earn a little respect from Spencer Randle, or from her? Because I didn’t really care what Spencer thought about me, but I sure cared what Evan thought.
A few minutes later, Mom poked her head outside. “Oh, hi, Evan,” she said. “How are you?”
“I’m good, Mrs. Parker,” Evan replied, craning her neck to look Mom in the eye.
“Wyatt, it’s time to come inside,” Mom said.
“I should go anyway,” Evan said with a wave. “In a while, crocodile.”
“On your pillow, armadillo,” I replied.
Evan laughed as she disappeared around the fence. I went inside smiling. Let’s see Brian Braun make Evan laug
h like that, I thought.
CHAPTER SIX
After the PA incident, Mr. Groton suspended Spencer for the rest of that week and the whole next week, so the hallways of Pilchuck Middle School were safe for seven whole school days. I knew it was only temporary, but I tried to enjoy the peace. I even ate lunch outside again. I tried to convince Francis to come too, but he went back to Mr. Leland’s room.
McKlusky and Raj were on the grass, throwing the football. “You want to play?” McKlusky asked, tossing the ball to me.
“Sure,” I said, catching the pass.
We passed the ball around until the bell rang. Raj showed me how to grip with my hand farther back on the ball. Pretty soon, I was throwing faster and straighter and catching almost everything. I wished Evan could see me.
Catching a football was great, but it was nothing compared to what happened in my baseball game on Saturday. Even though it was only a rec league game, I would never forget the way it ended. And Evan was there to see it all.
It was the final inning of our last game of the season and we were down a run. I was on second base, Julian was on third, Fish was at the plate. If I made it home, we’d win, and we’d go down to Corner Pizza to celebrate. If I didn’t score, we’d end the season without a win, and we’d probably go down in history as the worst rec league baseball team in the world. I was so focused on not blowing the game, I wasn’t even thinking about Spencer Randle.
I was running the instant Fish hit the ball, leaving second base behind in a cloud of dust. Ahead of me, Julian was cruising for home. He was the tying run. That meant it was up to me to win the game. I had to cross the plate before the right fielder got the ball to the catcher. Pumping my arms, I breathed deep, forcing my legs to go faster than they had ever gone. I must have been doing fifty miles an hour by the time I got to third base.
Coach Darby stood in front of the dugout, waving me around the bag. “Go, Wyatt, go!” he yelled. His face was red and pages flew off his clipboard as he swung it wildly.
I charged down the third-base line.
The rest of the guys were jumping up and down. McKlusky clutched his hat. Luther, Shane, and Caleb cheered. Kenny fell to his knees and beat the ground with his hands. Roy, who had bunted me over to second, pointed to the ground with a bat.
The League Page 3
