The Fourth Stall - Chris Rylander [14]
And they would catch us. Fred’s legs were just too short to outrun high school kids. Not only that, but our backpacks were weighing us down, too. I veered right and headed for the corner of the next house. I pulled Fred along, hoping he wouldn’t fall. We turned the corner sharply and then I dropped to the ground, pulling Fred down with me.
I sat with my backpack to the house and listened to our pursuers’ approaching footsteps. As soon as I heard them near the corner, I stuck out my leg and held my breath. The one in the lead never saw it coming. I felt a sharp stab of pain in my shin as his feet tangled under my leg and he went sprawling. PJ was running too close behind to stop. He didn’t have time to react, and his legs tangled up with the first kid’s. They grunted as their bodies collided with the ground in front of us.
I lifted Fred to his feet.
“Run!” I said.
“But, Mac—”
“Fred, just go!” I yelled, and gave him a shove. He took off through the bushes and disappeared behind a fence.
I turned to face my pursuers, who were just getting to their feet. I made sure that I stayed between them and where Fred had run.
“Go get the little rat. I’ll deal with this one,” PJ said.
The other kid made a move to get by me and I stepped in front of him. He grabbed my shoulders and threw me to the ground and then ran after Fred. I started to get to my feet, but PJ lifted me up first. He slammed me against the house and held me there by the shoulders. The edge of one of my textbooks pressed painfully into my lower back.
“So you think you can get away with tripping me?” PJ said. His breath was hot on my face. It smelled like rotting pizza. I squirmed. “What’s the matter? You want to get away?”
“Yeah, your breath smells. Don’t you ever brush your teeth?” I said.
“Whoa, look at that. You’re just a little punk, aren’t you? Staples is going to have a lot of fun with you,” he said. “But not before I do first.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
“I was going to go easy on you but not anymore,” he said, still pinning me to the side of the house.
I was just starting to formulate a plan when I saw Fred come out of nowhere. He ran right up behind PJ with his backpack reared back to strike. I instinctively flinched as Fred started swinging it toward PJ.
The next thing I knew I was on my feet and PJ was on the ground holding his side.
“Come on,” I said, and grabbed Fred’s arm.
We ran back toward the alley. My shin and back ached and I wanted to stop, but I forced myself to keep going. I led us around the next house and across the street. We crouched behind a bush.
I peeked back through the leaves.
PJ stood up and grabbed his ribs. He bent over and it looked like he was trying to catch his breath. Then after a few moments, he calmly walked toward the street, away from where we hid.
PJ met up with the kid who’d chased Fred after I’d tripped them. The kid shook his head and raised his palms to the sky. PJ shoved him and said something harshly. The other kid shook his head again. Then they walked down the street and out of view.
“How did you get away?” I asked as we remained hidden in the bushes.
“I just hid and he ran right by me. He’s kind of dumb,” Fred said.
“Thanks, Fred. You really saved me.”
Fred just shrugged, but I thought I saw him blush.
We waited in the bushes to make sure the coast was clear. My shin and back still ached. I felt pretty helpless. That was twice in one day that I had been cornered and then rescued. I didn’t know whether to feel lucky I had good friends or ashamed that I couldn’t defend myself.
After I was convinced that Staples’s posse was really gone, we headed toward Fred’s house. I dropped him off, making sure he was safely inside, and then I jogged to Joe’s backyard.
We had agreed long ago to meet there if we were ever split up unexpectedly. Vince’s trailer park was the farthest away, near this neighborhood called the