That was awfully nice of him. “Thanks, Principal Gerther.” I wanted to add something like, You’re nice too, but it seemed inappropriate.
“I realize you’re doing me a big favor by helping me get to the bottom of this,” Principal Gerther added. “Is there anything I can do for you in return?”
I glanced at Joe, who shrugged. Good, I thought. I’ll take this one.
I turned back to Gerther with an eager smile.
“Actually,” I said, “is there any way you can get me back into the B-Sharps?”
12
BODY GUARDED
JOE
GOOD MORNING, BOYS.”
About twelve hours after we’d parted from Principal Gerther in the Athens Diner parking lot, he welcomed us back into his office. Coach Perotta, Coach Noonan, Ty, Pete, Jayden, and some huge guy I’d never seen before were seated in folding chairs all around his desk.
“Um, hi,” I said, feeling nervous for some reason I couldn’t quite place. Last night, I’d totally understood why Frank wanted to get back on the team. He hates to leave a case unsolved, and truth be told, so do I. But now I wondered if we’d glossed over the risks in the midst of our excitement.
Coach Perotta glanced up at us, clearly using all the energy he had to stifle a scowl. He looked about as happy to see us as you would be to see a family of rats move into your kitchen cabinets. Jayden, Pete, and Ty wore more guarded, curious expressions. And the huge guy weighed at least two-fifty and had a five o’clock shadow at nine thirty in the morning. Was he someone’s big brother?
“I’ve been talking to Coaches Perotta and Noonan about what happened yesterday during basketball practice,” Principal Gerther explained. “We think we’ve reached a decision.” He nodded at Coach Perotta.
“Yes,” said Coach Perotta, not quite making eye contact with us. “I think in my frustration, I may have acted hastily. I realize now that you all were clearly the victims of the hazing, not perpetrating it. Moving forward, I promise to work with you to solve the hazing problem.”
“And?” prompted Principal Gerther.
“And,” Coach Perotta went on, looking like he smelled something rotten, “you can all return to the team.”
Ty let out a whoop of excitement. Jayden and Pete looked pretty thrilled too—if a bit confused.
Principal Gerther indicated the big guy. “And this,” he said, “is Owen. Say hello, Owen.”
“Hello,” said Owen. His voice was as deep as the guys’ on these old soul records Mom likes to listen to.
“Owen is a new student here, beginning today,” said Principal Gerther. “He’s going to join the basketball team too.”
Subtle, I thought. But if Ty, Pete, or Jayden thought this was weird, they didn’t show it. They were probably too excited to get back on the team.
Frank nudged me. “Owen looks about thirty,” he whispered. “He has a five o’clock shadow!”
“Don’t look a gift thirty-year-old in the mouth,” I hissed back.
Principal Gerther told the coaches, Pete, Jayden, and Ty that they could leave. He asked me and Frank to stay behind, with Owen.
“Owen is your new bodyguard,” Gerther whispered as soon as the others were out the door. “I want you to take him everywhere. His only job is to keep you safe.”
“What if Frank and I have different classes?” Joe asked.
Principal Gerther seemed to deflate for a moment, but only a moment. “He’ll alternate,” he said. “He’ll start out with Frank, then meet you, Joe, at your locker between classes. Then he’ll go to class with you, and vice versa.”
It seemed a little complicated to me, but I’d take it. I much preferred Principal Gerther Who Cares About the Hardy Boys’ Well-Being to the previous version.
• • •
Frank and I met up again at lunch. Owen was trailing me from history class, where he’d asked some surprisingly astute and probing questions about the Boer War.
“So, who are you, exactly?” I asked, wondering if Principal Gerther’s ‘Nam buddies somehow had access to the CIA.
“I work for Safe ’n’ Sound Security Solutions,” Owen replied cheerfully.
“You’re a rent-a-cop,” I filled in.
“Exactly,” Owen said with a nod. “Do they have a salad bar here?”
“Yes, but you don’t want to eat from it,” I said. “Come with me. Your best bet is the daily special. Anyway, are you armed?”
Owen snorted. “In a high school?” he asked. “No, I’m not armed, but I do have this.” He lifted his shirt, where a rectangular black box was clipped to his belt. A Taser. “If anyone messes with you or your brother,” he said, “they get fifty thousand volts!”
That was comforting, I guessed. I spotted Frank walking up to us in the food line, and we all went through and chose our food.
“The daily special,” Owen told the lunch ladies enthusiastically when it was his turn.
Frank grimaced at me. “I knew you’d turn him into you eventually.”
“What now?” Owen asked after we paid. “Where do you guys usually sit?”
“We usually sit over there,” Frank said, gesturing sort of vaguely to the back of the room, “but today, I think we should spend lunch trying to talk to Gabe Zimmerman.”
Gabe. Frank had a good point. At our last hazing fiasco, Gabe had lured us there, after seeming like he wanted to help us. He had to know something about who was pulling the strings.
“Good call,” I said.
It took us a little while to find Gabe in the lunchroom. We checked out all the usual moderately-popular-sophomore tables before finally locating Gabe at a table in front.
With the popular seniors.
Including Jason Bound.
I gave Frank a quizzical look. That’s weird. They were on the basketball team together, sure, but Gabe and Jason didn’t seem close, nor did they hang with the same crowd.
“Huh,” said Frank, watching Gabe with a perplexed expression. “Well, let’s see if he’ll talk to us.”
We walked up behind Gabe, and Frank tapped him on the shoulder. Gabe turned, his eyes widening with recognition at the sight of us—and not the good kind of recognition.
“Can we talk to you privately, Gabe?” Frank asked. “We think we have a few things to discuss.”
Jason, who was sitting kitty-corner to Gabe, looked up at us with a cool expression. “Oh, look who it is,” he said. “Coach Perotta’s favorite players.”
Had word spread so quickly? “Hey, Jason,” I said, trying to look friendly. After all, we didn’t have anything against Jason, personally. Nothing that had happened the day before seemed directly related to him.
He just stared back at me, not looking friendly. “I heard Perotta let you back on the team already,” he said. “After Principal Gerther basically forced him.”
Some other guys from the team, including Dorian, were sitting at the table too. Suddenly I could feel all their eyes on us.
Frank nodded. “Yeah. Coach realized we were the victims in the whole hazing thing, so we didn’t need to be punished.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “I just don’t get it,” he said, cutting his eyes from Frank to me. “Why are you so determined to stay on the team? Why are you trying so hard? You’re obviously not basketball players.”
It was a good question. “We’re trying to prove something to ourselves,” I said honestly. “Haven’t you ever felt like that before? We don’t want to quit.”
Jason seemed to take that in, and even gave a little nod. He looked back up at me, his eyes sincere now. “I respect that,” he said.
Beside him, Dorian let out a snort. “The only thing you two are proving,” he muttered, “is that you’re bad basketball players.”
Most of the table laughed at that. But Jason was still watching us, thoughtful. He looked at Gabe. “Why don’t you talk to them, like they want?” he asked.
Gabe looked a little cowed as he slowly got to his feet. He looked nervously from me
and Frank to Owen. “Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s just go to the soda machines,” I said. We walked over to the wall, where it was quiet except for the hum of the machines.
“What do you want?” Gabe asked. His words were rushed and clipped. He clearly wanted to get this over with ASAP.
“We want to know what you know,” Frank replied in a low voice. “You helped lure us to Farragut Alley the night we were hazed with Ty, Pete, and Jayden. So clearly you’re in league with whoever’s doing this.”
Gabe’s eyes bugged out. “That doesn’t mean I’m in league with them,” he insisted.
“Then why don’t you tell us what happened?” I asked.
Gabe sighed and looked at the floor. “Okay,” he said. “I was walking my dog the night you sent that e-mail about wanting to talk to other people who’d been hazed. I hadn’t even seen it yet, but I guess someone had. Because all of a sudden someone grabbed me and pulled me into a van with tinted windows. They put a bag over my head, just like when I was hazed, and they said I could cooperate or they’d see to it that I’d get thrown off the team.” He paused. “I’m sorry, you guys, I never meant to hurt anyone. I didn’t know what they’d do. But I’ve worked too hard to get thrown off.”
I looked at Frank. He shrugged.
“You didn’t hear any voices you recognized?” I asked.
“No,” Gabe replied. “Even the van, they were using that . . . distorter thing.”
“The modulator,” I put in.
“Yeah.”
Frank let out an annoyed sigh. “Gabe, really, after a year on the team, you don’t have any idea who these guys are? No one does? These masked guys just show up and beat everyone, and all of you younger players are just like ‘whatever, cost of playing sports’?”
Gabe looked up then, glaring at Frank. “I don’t know any more,” he said, slowly and deliberately, “but I wouldn’t tell you even if I did. Look, I said I was sorry. But why don’t you just do what Jason said and quit the team? It’s not your job to fix this.”
“We’re not going to quit, Gabe,” Frank said.
Gabe sighed. “All right,” he began, lowering his voice again. “Then why don’t you try to talk to Diego Lopez? I told you before, he up and quit the team really suddenly. There were rumors they’d done something horrible to him, but he wouldn’t talk about it. Maybe you could get him to talk.” He paused, looking back at his table. “But I can’t help you anymore.”
With that, he scurried back to the table where Jason, Dorian, and the others were waiting.
13
PANIC AT THE PARK
FRANK
THERE ARE WORSE PLACES TO start,” Joe remarked as we watched Gabe take his seat back at the table with the team’s star players. “He mentioned that Diego kid before, remember?”
“Who is he, even, though?” I asked, automatically pulling up my phone and opening Facebook. Diego Lopez . . . Diego Lopez. There you are. Several Diego Lopezes popped up, but only one was a teenager from Bayport. I pulled up the public part of his profile. He was a medium-size kid with shoulder-length dark hair and dimples. I thought I’d seen him around school before.
“Send him a message,” Joe said, so I typed out:
Hi, Diego. I hope this doesn’t seem weird, but I’ve just joined the basketball team and I’m trying to get to the bottom of this whole hazing situation. I heard you might have had a personal experience that was kind of freaky. I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble, but I’d like to hear your story, if you’re willing to tell it. It will be 100 percent confidential. Thanks, Frank Hardy.
“Nice,” Joe said. “Strong, but not threatening.”
“That’s my specialty,” I replied, hitting the send button.
• • •
One element of being back on the basketball team that I’d almost forgotten was that we’d have to play basketball again. And we had a home game that afternoon, the last one before regional championships. Tensions were running high, but surprisingly, when Joe and I got to the gym and started changing into our uniforms, not one player said a single mean thing to us. Steve O’Brien even came up to me and told me he was glad Coach P had let us back on the team. Ty and Jayden gave me fist bumps as I settled onto the bench.
I was expecting to stay on the bench for the whole game—just like before. Not only was I arguably the worst player on the team, but now Coach Perotta kind of hated me personally, too. It wasn’t exactly a recipe for success. But I was perfectly happy with that. It’s not like I was staying on the team to become a basketball star.
But just after halftime, Xavier Rawlins fell on his elbow and let out a yelp. Coach Perotta called a time-out, turned around, and looked right at me. “Frank, you’re in for Xavier!”
“Me?” I squeaked, looking around at the bench. I was the only Frank, though.
“You, Frank,” Coach Perotta said, pointing to the court. “Remember what I’ve taught you, okay?”
I stood, glanced at Joe, who was also on the bench (he’d played a little in the first half, though, and hadn’t embarrassed himself), and shakily walked toward the sidelines, where the ref was about to start the clock again. I took my position. The whistle shrilled, calling the game back into session.
And then things began to move very quickly, blending together like a dream. Dorian had the ball, and I was playing defense for him, trying to help him get it down the court. Then suddenly he was surrounded and I was clear. He nodded at me and passed the ball. I tried to get as low as I could—like Coach P had shown me—and dribbled it down the court.
I was getting close to the basket. I looked for someone to pass it to, but no one was open. I caught Jason’s eye, and he mimed that I should try for the basket myself.
Me? I wanted to say. Frank Hardy?
Then I faked right, moved left, and threw it.
AND IT WENT IN!
My teammates erupted in cheers. I could hear Joe and the other guys on the bench chanting, “Frank! Frank! Frank!” It was like something out of a movie. I stood there and tried to soak it all in, and then . . .
“Frank!” Gabe yelled. He was passing the ball to me. And I was up again.
All in all, I probably only played for three minutes or so before Coach P pulled me out. But it felt like an eternity. A perfect eternity. I played well! I made two baskets!
When I returned to my spot on the bench, in my mind, I returned as a champion.
Bayport won the game, securing our place in the championships. Even Owen had played for a couple of minutes, and he’d done well. When we went back into the locker room to change, everyone was in a good mood.
Jason came up to me as I was buttoning my shirt and slapped my shoulder. Owen, who’d already changed, was waiting for me on the bench nearby. “You were on fire out there, Frank,” said Jason. “I guess we’re lucky Coach let you back on the team.”
I could feel myself blushing. “Aw, thanks, Jason. You were good too.”
Dorian was just behind Jason, and I half expected him to point out that that was a stupid thing for me to say to the star player. But instead he looked at me with real respect. “I guess you have been paying attention in practice,” he said. “You’re really improving.”
I looked at him. “Maybe players who are struggling just need to be given the time and space to improve,” I said pointedly. And not beaten until they can barely move, I added silently.
Dorian just nodded at me briefly, and then he and Jason walked out together.
• • •
On the drive home, my phone dinged. Since I was behind the wheel, I asked Joe to take a look.
“It’s a Facebook message from Diego Lopez,” he said. “Want me to read it out loud?”
I nodded.
“‘Thanks for the note, Frank, but I don’t really want to talk about it.’”
“Arrgh!” I growled in frustration.
“If he just sent it, is he online now?” asked Owen, who was in the backseat. We were supposed
to drop him off at the bus station, where his car was waiting, on the way home. “Send him another note. Try to convince him.”
Joe looked at Diego’s message again. “Yep he’s online.”
“Tell him we only want to help!” I directed Joe. My brother nodded and typed away.
Ding! “‘You can’t help,’” Joe read aloud.
“Tell him we can’t help if no one will talk to us!” I said. Joe typed the message.
Nothing for a couple of minutes.
“Tell him we want to stop this from happening to others,” I said. My phone was silent until we got to the bus station, and I was beginning to give up hope. We could try to keep bugging Diego, but it would all be useless if he had no interest in telling us the truth. We couldn’t force him.
But just as I pulled into the bus station lot, my phone dinged again.
I parked the car and grabbed my phone from Joe so I could read it myself.
All right—I’ll meet with you.
But it has to be somewhere out of the way, where no one will see.
Like where? I wrote. Pick the place, we’ll meet you there.
There was a pause of a few seconds. Then his reply dinged.
There’s a baseball field in Waltham Park in Chins River, he wrote back. Meet me there at ten p.m. Just you two please!! I showed Joe, then wrote back, Okay, see you then.
“A deserted baseball field in a deserted park on a deserted road one town away?” Joe asked. “That sounds like a great idea if we’re looking to get abducted again.”
“But I’ll be with you guys,” Owen’s deep voice intoned from the backseat.
“You will?” Joe asked, turning to look at him quizzically.
“Yeah,” I said, turning too. “I thought you were just our bodyguard for school and team events.”
Owen shook his head cheerfully. “Nope,” he said, “I’m here for you whenever you need me, day or night, rain or shine. You just say the word. Besides,” he added, “Gerther is paying me by the hour.”
Bound for Danger Page 8
