The Losers Club

by Andrew Clements

  Alec clenched his jaw and kept his eyes on the floor.

  She said, “And I know it’s totally stupid to let stuff he says bother me…but it does. Especially what he said about the sports. So…I guess that proves I’m stupid, right?”

  She said that last bit with a little smile, then added, “And please don’t say yes.”

  “All any of it proves is how stupid he is!” The fierceness in Alec’s voice surprised them both.

  Nina said, “Well, anyway, that’s all. And talking was good. So, thanks.”

  “Sure…no problem,” Alec said. They were only halfway down the long wall toward the water fountain. He pointed and said, “Are you actually thirsty?”

  “Not really.”

  Back at the table, they sat down again. Alec wanted to pick a book and read, wanted to dive into a world with a beginning, a middle, and out there a few hundred pages in the future, a tidy, satisfying ending.

  Except now he was the one who felt unsettled and angry, and he felt like he wanted to get back at Kent…and not just for himself—for Nina, too…for all the kids who got bullied and bossed around, day after day.

  It was a strong feeling, the kind that demanded action.

  Later that same Tuesday afternoon, life at the Losers Club looked very peaceful. Nina was reading Brown Girl Dreaming, Jason was deep in the Canadian forest with the boy in Hatchet, Lily was swinging her legs back and forth as she read Holes, and Alec had his Cheetos-stained copy of Johnny Tremain open on the table in front of him.

  Except Alec wasn’t reading, because there was a furious wrestling match going on inside his head.

  Part of him wanted to rush across the gym and tackle Kent and grind him into the wooden floor, make him pay for being so mean to everyone, especially to Nina. But he knew that would be wrong. And he also knew that Kent wasn’t totally evil, hadn’t always been such a jerk. Still, somehow he’d turned into this creep who felt like winning was the most important thing in the world. And Alec wanted some payback.

  If only there was a way to get even….

  Alec took a mental tour through different books he’d read, remembering how his favorite heroes had solved their biggest problems, won their greatest battles. Courage was always important. And effort. But the characters who were only out for revenge? They usually failed. Intelligence always mattered—like being able to work out a plan, or find a way to use the element of surprise….

  Alec suddenly sat up straight—a move that startled both Lily and Jason. He kept staring at his book, and they resumed their reading.

  A minute later, Alec quietly closed his book, stood up, and went and talked with Mr. Willner. Then he walked across the gym to Mr. Jenson and said, “I’d like to play some kickball.”

  Mr. Jenson said, “Great—head over there with the group that’s shooting baskets. They play the winner of the game that’s in progress.”

  “Okay, thanks”—and just like that, Alec was officially enrolled in the Active Games Program for the afternoon.

  The kids on the third kickball team were all fourth and fifth graders—and none of them looked very athletic. Alec picked up a basketball from a bin by the wall, but he didn’t dribble around, didn’t take a shot. He just watched the game at the kickball diamond.

  Kent’s team was in the field, which meant that Kent was the pitcher. Alec had watched him pitch before. He always bowled the ball at the kicker hard and fast, straight over the plate every time. And this time, as he rolled his pitch, he barked orders at his team. “Watch for the fly ball—on your toes, on your toes!”

  The kicker at the plate was a fifth-grade boy, and he connected—a hard grounder straight at the pitcher. Kent scooped up the ball, whipped it in a smooth arc, and nailed the kid on the left arm before he even got halfway to first base.

  Kent yelled, “And he is OUT! All right, all right! One more out and we win!”

  Alec had to admit it again: Kent was amazing at sports.

  A stray basketball came rolling along the floor toward him. Alec stopped it with his foot, and a girl came running after to get it.

  “Thanks,” she said, and then she paused a second. “Hi, Alec!”

  It took him a moment to recognize her—it was Dave Hampton’s little sister.

  “Julia…hi! I didn’t know you were into kickball—that’s great.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “except I’m no good at it.”

  “Well,” he said slowly, “you probably already know this, but you could always join one of the clubs.”

  She looked at the distant tables. “Yeah, maybe…but I don’t know anybody back there. At least here, I get to hang around with my friend Sarah—when we get picked for the same team.”

  Trying to sound casual, Alec said, “Um, if you and Sarah like to read, you could join the reading club I started anytime you want.”

  “You have a reading club?” she said.

  “It’s not really mine,” he said, “but I helped get it going. It’s at the table in that back corner. We’re the one with the funny name—the Losers Club.”

  “Oh, right—I heard about it. So…if we joined, like, could Sarah and I read the same book and then talk about it?”

  Alec said, “Sure.”

  “But are there book reports, or quizzes and stuff?”

  “Nope, nothing like that. It’s just reading for fun.”

  Julia looked puzzled. “So, if you’ve got a reading club, how come you’re here?”

  Alec thought, Good question! It might have been a lot easier to just land one good thump on Kent’s nose. Standing in the bright lights shining down on the basketball court, Alec realized this whole little plan of his was starting to smell a lot like fiction.

  But he said to Julia, “I just wanted to play some kickball today. And when I’m done, I’ll go back to reading.”

  Because that was the plan.

  He said, “Looks like our team is almost ready to play, huh?”

  Julia rolled her eyes. “You mean, ready to get beat. Kent’s team always wins—always.”

  Kent was barking again. “Let’s go, let’s go! Cover your bases—this kid can kick, so watch out!”

  A tall fifth-grade girl stood at the plate, and Kent was right—she connected and popped the ball up way out beyond third base, but Mr. Jenson bellowed, “Foul ball!”

  Kent called, “Okay, okay, everybody! Watch for the fly ball—and here comes the pitch!”

  The girl got her whole leg into it this time, and the ball blasted hard and high, straight out over second base. Dave Hampton was there, and he ran hard, got into position, and made a clean catch.

  “All right, great game, everybody!” Kent shouted. “And my team? Stay right where you are, ’cause the next team kicks first this time.”

  Kent ran the whole show—he was the best kicker, the star pitcher, the top infielder, the team captain, the manager, and the cheerleader all rolled into one. And he was so busy with all his different jobs that he didn’t spot Alec until the first kicker was standing at the plate.

  Since Alec looked bigger and stronger than any other kid on the team, they decided he should be the cleanup kicker, the fourth kid in the lineup—in case any of the first three kickers got on base.

  But when Kent spotted Alec from the pitcher’s line, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He trotted over to the kids by the wall, stopped in front of Alec, and shoved his chin out. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Playing kickball.”

  “Hah—that’s a good one! The bookworm loser wants to play some kickball! So tell me, is your team going to win?”

  “Not sure,” Alec said. “But I am going to score a run—I know that much.”

  Kent laughed in his face. “You? Score a run? Not against my team!”

  Alec shrugged. “So…would you like to make a bet about that?” He almost said, Maybe an ice cream sandwich? But taunting wasn’t part of his plan.

  Kent grinned, oozing confidence. “Sure—I’ll bet whatever you want!”


  All the kids on Alec’s adopted team shushed and gathered in close. It had just become clear that this was not going to be an ordinary game.

  Alec had already thought about this bet, but he pretended to be making it up in the moment. “So…how about this: If I can score one run, then you have to come and join the Losers Club for a week…and you have to sit quietly and read the book I tell you to. And…if I don’t score? Then I have to stay here in Active Games for a week, and you can beat me at kickball every day—or try to. How’s that?”

  Kent nodded. “Sounds great, so…let’s shake on it!”

  Alec put out his hand, and Kent clamped onto it and then squeezed, hard.

  But Alec knew this game, and he instantly squeezed back, just as hard. All those hours that he had spent holding a water-ski towrope? If a kid can hang on while a two-hundred-horsepower motorboat hauls him around a lake at thirty miles an hour, then he’s ready for a handshake battle.

  As Kent felt the strength in Alec’s grip, a look of surprise flashed in his eyes. For a second, Alec squeezed even harder—he had power to spare. But this wasn’t about crushing the bones in each other’s hands, so Alec relaxed a little. Kent pulled his hand free and ran back to the pitcher’s mound.

  He looked around and yelled, “Okay, Champs, let’s show some losers how to play kickball!”

  The first kid kicking for Alec’s team was a fourth-grade boy named Eddie. He wasn’t big, but he looked wiry and quick, and he stepped right up to the plate like he knew what he was doing—and he did. Because he was all set up to kick toward right field, but at the last second he swiveled his shoulders and booted a nice chip shot into left field, right over the head of the girl playing shortstop. Just that fast, there was a runner at first base.

  And what did Alec do? Something he could never have dreamed he would do in his whole life. He jumped to his feet and started to chant: “LosERS! LosERS! LosERS!” And the whole rest of his team laughed and joined in—“LosERS, LosERS, LosERS, LosERS!”

  The second kicker didn’t do so well. It was another boy, a fifth grader, and all he wanted was to get his turn over with. He barely connected with Kent’s pitch, just enough to bloop the ball up into a shallow arc, straight into the waiting arms of the girl covering second base—an easy out for the Champs.

  Eddie tagged up at first and stayed put.

  Kent started his cheerleading routine from the pitcher’s mound: “Hey, hey, great play, Champs—way to go! Now let’s…”

  But Alec was on his feet again, clapping his hands like some crazy fan who had escaped from Fenway Park—“Let’s go, Losers, let’s go!” CLAP CLAP. “Let’s go, Losers, let’s go!” CLAP CLAP—and the rest of the team joined in, drowning out Kent’s voice.

  The third batter was a girl, a fifth grader, and Kent yelled, “Heads up for this one, and watch for a fly to shallow right field.”

  Kent had called it correctly—the girl lunged at the first pitch and bumped a weak pop fly directly into the hands of the right fielder.

  And as Alec walked up to the plate, he realized that by now Kent must have memorized the strengths and weaknesses of every single player in the Active Games Program—no wonder his team kept winning and winning!

  Then he thought, Except…this team has one player that Kent doesn’t know at all—me!

  The trouble was, Alec didn’t know himself as a kickball player either.

  Of course, like every other kid in the school, he had played kickball lots of times in gym class and outside at recess. But he probably hadn’t played in a real game since third grade.

  Still, he knew he was coordinated, and he also knew that his legs had gotten strong from his time cutting across the lake on a slalom ski. And, of course, Kent thought he was dealing with a bookworm, a kid who never did anything more athletic than turn a page and reach for another bag of Cheetos. The truth was more like what his dad had said when they had talked that Saturday morning—nobody can be summed up by one label, and Alec truly was kind of a sports guy…except only about a dozen people on Earth knew that. And Kent wasn’t one of them.

  So, really, I’m a secret sports guy!

  With all these thoughts running through his head, Alec stepped into the kicker’s box, and looked at Kent…and then far beyond Kent. Along the back of the gym, all the club kids were sitting up on their tables like they were bleachers, facing the kickball game. The news had spread, and over in the far corner he saw Jason and Lily and Nina waving their arms.

  Alec gulped. He had made himself the center of a small spectacle.

  A smug, snarly smile lit up Kent’s face, and the captain of the Champs looked around the diamond and shouted, “Easy out, easy out! And here we go!”

  He delivered the first pitch, and Alec pretended to be confused—he kicked a fumbling foul ball down the third base line. But that little bit of contact gave him a good feel for the ball, and for the speed and strength of Kent’s pitches—the ball came in fast.

  Kent sneered, “Oooh, that was sooo scary—please, please don’t hurt us with your dangerous kicking!”

  Alec felt his heart pounding—he hadn’t noticed it before. The kids on his bench were cheering him on, and over at first, Eddie was dancing around the base like a puppy who needed a Frisbee to chase. Alec’s vision sharpened, and the focus got narrower and narrower until all he could see was an eight-and-a-half-inch red ball, cradled by a single hand.

  The ball moved backward—back, back, back, and then it eased forward and slid onto the gym floor. But the ball came slowly, rolling over and over like a weightless rocket in space, so slowly that he could read the black lettering and see the little dot where the air went in.

  As his foot met the ball, everything snapped back to full speed. The ball took off like a flaming arrow, and Mr. Jenson yelled, “Fair ball!”

  By the time Alec passed first base, Eddie was rounding third and headed for home. Speeding past second, Alec saw Dave and the left fielder digging the ball out from behind the Chinese Club table—his kick had reached the back wall! Dave had a great arm, but there was no way Alec was going to hold up at third base. And there was no need to have even worried—the ball didn’t get back to the infield until he had crossed home plate.

  Eddie started the chanting this time: “LosERS! LosERS! LosERS! LosERS!” and it went on until Mr. Jenson made them stop and send their next kicker to the plate.

  Alec had five other turns kicking during the rest of the game, and he did pretty well—two singles, one double, and one out—a pop fly to left field.

  The game went the usual five innings, and the Champs won—Kent drove in six runners with four huge home runs. But everybody knew that the one run that mattered most had been scored back in the first inning—by Alec Spencer, the bookworm.

  At the end of the game, Alec went to the mound and shook Kent’s hand—and this time it didn’t turn into a bone-crushing contest.

  With no trace of meanness or sarcasm, Alec said, “Great game—really, if there was a pro kickball league for kids, you would be the MVP every season!”

  Kent wasn’t sure how to reply, and Alec suddenly felt sorry for him. Losing at anything seemed to make him sick, almost physically ill.

  But Kent did okay. He took the compliment, and even sent a small one back at Alec. “Yeah, well, with some work, you might turn into a decent player yourself.”

  Then Alec said something he hadn’t planned to. “Listen, that bet? It wasn’t really fair. I had a whole game to score one run, and it could have happened because of errors made by other kids, which wouldn’t have been your fault, y’know? So don’t worry about it. And besides, I had a good time out there—I haven’t played kickball in a long time.”

  Shaking his head, Kent said, “A bet is a bet, and…I lost. So, I’ll see you tomorrow—over there,” and he nodded toward the back corner of the gym.

  Kent and his team went right into their next game, but Alec was all done with sports. Scoring a run and kind of beating Kent at his own
game? He’d thought he was going to feel great—like Luke after he blew up the Death Star, or Robin Hood after he’d crushed the Sheriff of Nottingham. But it wasn’t like that. Because he wasn’t some hero, and Kent wasn’t a villain, not really.

  As he walked toward the back of the gym, there was a burst of clapping from the clubs—which made him blush and feel even worse.

  And at the Losers Club? It didn’t let up.

  Lily beamed at him. “You were awesome!”

  Jason said, “You totally killed over there!” And they both looked at him like he had just won Olympic gold.

  Nina didn’t gush, just smiled and said, “Looked like you were having fun.” If she had been impressed by the way he had nailed that home run, she didn’t show it, and Alec was glad. He didn’t want any more attention.

  Right away he opened his bag and started looking for a book. Everyone got the message and went back to reading.

  But Alec was actually replaying everything that had just happened, moment by moment. And as he did that, the whole episode started to seem more and more like a cheap stunt—and making Kent agree to sit and read with the Losers Club for a week? That felt like a mean trick…except now the joke was on him—because less than an hour after Nina had pushed Kent out of her life, what had he just done? He had pulled Kent right back in—three hours a day at the same table for five days! And even though Alec had thought it might be good for Kent to have to sit still and read, he admitted to himself that, really, he’d been looking for revenge. And now his great plan had totally boomeranged.

  I’m such an idiot!—which was the nicest word Alec could find for himself.

  Then his instincts took over, and he did what he had done so many other times he’d been upset: He reached for a book. And the one he grabbed was Charlotte’s Web.

  He opened up to where he’d left off two weeks ago, sitting in the backseat of the minivan in a dark garage—which seemed like a moment from a different century. Back then, he hadn’t wanted anyone to see him reading a book about a talking spider and a pig named Wilbur…but now? He didn’t care. He needed a story that felt simple and true, and he made himself begin to read, pushing all his other thoughts aside.