“Can you at least go to the fireworks tonight?”
“It doesn’t look good,” I said. “Sentencing is tonight after dinner. I don’t see it ending with me leaving the house.”
“I’ll spring you,” Evan said. “I’ll bring you a cupcake with a key baked inside it.”
That made me laugh. I was going to miss watching the fireworks with Evan. But I knew we’d always be friends—maybe nothing more, but that was a lot better than ending up like Brian Braun and Ashley, who couldn’t even hang out. I couldn’t handle that. I’d already wrecked one friendship this summer.
“Thanks anyway,” I said. “But I did the crime.”
Evan nodded. “Gotta do the time.”
“Plus, how are you going to bake cupcakes if you’re up on the hill?”
“You’re right,” she said. “I have to get my priorities straight. Tonight is about two things. Fireworks—and fireworks.” Evan kicked my ankle with her bare foot. “I wish you could go, Wyatt.”
Hearing that set fireworks off in my head. It was better than actually being on the hill with her.
“If I climb on my roof, I can see them from here.”
Evan stood up. “Wave to me,” she said.
I waved to her.
“I mean later, dork.”
“I know.”
Evan stopped at the gate. “Ka-boom, Wyatt.”
ONE MONTH LATER
Mom and Dad didn’t just ground me and Aaron. They sentenced us to community service. Of course, by then all the good summer volunteer jobs were taken, so we did the only job we could find: picking up trash in the park.
“I can’t believe we have to do this for another month,” Aaron said one day in August after we’d been volunteering for almost three weeks. “This is worse than school.”
“At least we’re outside,” I said.
We were sitting under the shade of a big-leaf maple tree, taking a break after work on a scorching afternoon.
Aaron wiped his brow with his wrist. “Aren’t there child labor laws against this?”
“I kind of like it,” I said as sweat dripped down my cheek.
“You’re crazy,” Aaron replied.
Maybe I was crazy. But I was also really happy. I’d done things this summer I never thought I could do, and now for the first time in my life, I had blisters, muscles, and a tan.
Too bad it wasn’t from sitting by the pool.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Aaron went on. “The next time I think about lying to Mom and Dad, I’m going to work a lot harder on my cover story.”
“The next time?” I asked. “You’d do it again after this?” Aaron had been complaining since our first day.
“If I had to,” he said. “Wouldn’t you?”
“No way,” I said, bouncing to my feet despite the heat and hard work. “I’m not cut out for it.” Taking a swig from my water bottle, I pointed to the bathroom and told Aaron I’d see him at home.
The fields all around me were filled with kids at soccer camp and people playing Frisbee or lying in the sun. I smiled as I thought about how I’d be coming back to these fields in a few weeks—for football tryouts. Mom and Dad had signed all the permission forms just last week. Mom still didn’t like it, but taking me to the sporting goods store to buy protective gear for every part of my body seemed to make her feel a little better.
I was rounding the back of the rec center on my way to the bathrooms when I heard a familiar voice.
“What’s your problem, Spencer?”
“My problem is that I want some chips but I left my wallet at home.”
Turning the corner, I found Francis looking up at Spencer Randle and holding a golf club. He liked to come to the field to practice with his wedge since it was closer than the driving range at the golf course.
“So go home and get it,” Francis told Spencer, his voice trembling as he clutched the iron golf club in his right hand.
“Why should I go all the way home when I can just borrow the money from you?” Spencer asked, taking a step toward Francis.
Francis and Spencer were so focused on each other they hadn’t noticed I was watching them. I looked around to see who else was nearby, but we were alone, blocked from view by the rec center. If anyone was going to stop what was about to happen, it was me.
I knew if I marched up to Spencer and told him to leave Francis alone, he would. But I had a feeling Francis wanted to fight his own fight.
“You want my money?” Francis asked, lifting the club. “Come and get it. But I should warn you. I can drive a golf ball two hundred yards in the air. If I can do that, imagine what I could do to your face.”
Holding up his hands, Spencer backed away. Suddenly I wasn’t sure who to fight for. The League of Pain had given me the toughness to stand up for myself. After being hit like I had been, there wasn’t much left to be afraid of. But the League of Pain also taught me that there could be more to other people too—and that there was more to proving myself than toughness. I decided I was going to end this business with Spencer once and for all, my way.
“What’s going on?” I said innocently, coming quickly toward Spencer and Francis.
Spencer gave me a strange look. “Parker,” he said. “What’s up, man?”
“What’s up is that you’re messing with my friend,” I said, standing next to Francis. “And you need to stop.”
“Wyatt, I don’t need your help,” Francis said.
“I know,” I said. “But Spencer does.”
“I do?”
“Yes,” I said. “If I hadn’t walked by, you’d be picking your teeth out of a golf ball right now. And you’re ugly enough with teeth.”
“At least I don’t have to stand on a dictionary to drink from the fountain,” Spencer replied.
That cracked us both up.
“Wait a second,” Francis said, looking at Spencer and pausing like he was trying to wrap his head around what was happening. “You know what a dictionary is?”
I wasn’t sure how this would all turn out. I didn’t think Spencer, Francis, and I were about to become best friends. I just had a feeling that asking for money was Spencer’s messed-up way of trying to make friends. That didn’t make anything he had already done right, but if I could survive the League of Pain, maybe Spencer could make it as something besides a bully. After all, like it or not, even if we weren’t best friends, we all had to survive high school together. Figuring now was a pretty good time to make peace, I suggested the only thing I could think of.
“So, you guys want to go for a corn dog?”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My gratitude to the old neighborhood boys for the memories and to my editor, Krista, for her hand in turning them into Wyatt’s story.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thatcher Heldring was born near New York City and has lived in New Jersey, South Dakota, Montana, and Washington State. When he was growing up, sports were a big part of his life, and he was pretty good at some of them. He played in plenty of tackle football games but never lied to his parents about them. He lives in Seattle with his wife, Staci, and their sons, Jack and Peter. He has read a biography of every president from George Washington to Franklin Pierce.
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