The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [7]
Beecher didn’t see that at all. To Beecher, she was the one just like him.
Maybe that’s why Beecher did what he was about to do.
Maybe he saw something he recognized.
Or maybe he saw something that was completely different.
“Do you want the ball back or not?” Paglinni added as a thin smirk spread across his cheeks.
In the impromptu circle that had now formed around the fight, every seventh grader tensed—some excited, some scared—but none of them moving as they waited for blood.
Clementine was the opposite—fidgety and unable to stand still while picking at the strands of the jump rope she was still clutching. As she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, Beecher felt the energy radiating off her. This girl was different from the rest. She wasn’t scared like everyone else.
She was pissed. And she was right. This wasn’t fair…
“Give him his ball back!” a new voice shouted.
The crowd turned at once—and even Beecher seemed surprised to find that he was the one who said it.
“What’d you say, Beech Ball!?” Paglinni challenged.
“I-I said… give him the ball back,” Beecher said, amazed at how quickly adrenaline could create confidence. His heart pumped fast. His chest felt huge. He stole a quick glance at Clementine.
She shook her head, unimpressed. She knew how stupid this was.
“Or what…?” Paglinni asked, the basketball cocked on his hip. “What’re you gonna possibly do?”
Beecher was in seventh grade. He didn’t have an answer. But that didn’t stop him from talking. “If you don’t give Josh the ball back—”
Beecher didn’t even see Paglinni’s fist as he buried it in Beecher’s eye. But he felt it, knocking him off his feet and onto his ass.
Like a panther, Paglinni was all over him, pouncing on Beecher’s chest, pinning his arms back with his knees, and pounding down on his face.
Beecher looked to his right and saw the red plastic handle of the jump rope, sagging on the ground. A burst of white stars exploded in his eye. Then another. He’d never been punched before. It hurt more than he thought.
Within seconds, the tribe was screaming, roaring—Pag! Pag! Pag! Pag!—chanting along with the impact of each punch. There was a pop from Beecher’s nose. The white stars in Beecher’s eyes suddenly went black. He was about to pass out—
“Huuuhhh!”
Paglinni fell backward. All the weight came off Beecher’s chest. Beecher could hear the basketball bouncing across the pavement. Fresh air reentered his lungs. But as Beecher struggled to sit up and catch his breath… as he fought to blink the world back into place… the first thing he spotted was…
Her.
Clementine pulled tight on the jump rope, which was wrapped around Paglinni’s neck. She wasn’t choking him, but she was tugging—hard—using the rope to yank Paglinni backward, off Beecher’s chest.
“—kill you! I’ll kill you!” Paglinni roared, fighting wildly to reach back and grab her.
“You tool—you think I still jump rope in seventh grade?” she challenged, tugging Paglinni back with an eerie calm and reminding Beecher that this wasn’t just some impromptu act. It wasn’t coincidence that Clementine had the jump rope. When she came here, she was prepared. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Still lying on his back, Beecher watched as Clementine let go of the rope. Paglinni was coughing now, down on his rear, but fighting to get up, his fist cocked back and ready to unleash.
Yet as Paglinni jumped to his feet, he could feel the crowd turn. Punching Beecher was one thing. Punching a girl was another. Even someone as dumb as Paglinni wasn’t that dumb.
“You’re a damn psycho, y’know that?” Paglinni growled at Clementine.
“Better than being a penis-less bully,” she shot back, getting a few cheap laughs from the crowd—especially from Josh Wert, who was now holding tight to the basketball.
Enraged, Paglinni stormed off, bursting through the spectators, who parted fast to let him leave. And that was the very first moment that Clementine looked back to check on Beecher.
His nose was bloody. His eyes were already starting to swell. And from the taste of the blood,