pocket.
“What's up, Bernie?” Sarah asked, shouldering her way into the circle created by Bernie, Marvin Howerton, and Bryce Jordan, his best friend and partner in crime. I hung back at a respectful distance.
Despite the cold weather, Bernie's face was damp with sweat, his long bangs plastered over his eyes.
“They took my cards, Sarah.”
“We're gonna make a house of cards,” Marvin said. “After school.”
“Then there's gonna be a house fire,” Bryce added, waving the deck in the air before letting it drop to the ground. His other hand was on Bernie's shoulder, pressing him into the brick.
“That's very interesting,” Sarah Kervick said, rubbing her chin. “But I think there's gonna be a problem with that plan.”
I continued to hang back, desperate to concoct a way to alert the proper authorities.
“Yeah? What's that?” Bryce wanted to know.
Sarah Kervick was taking her time.
“ 'Cause Bernie here is Donuthead's friend, and Donuthead doesn't want you messin' with Bernie. Isn't that right?” she said, looking back at me, then tossing her head at them. It was a silent invitation.
One that I declined.
“Well,” I stammered. “In point of fact, Bernie and I are, officially, neighbors. I'm not sure we qualify … yet … as close personal friends.” My head wagged back and forth between Bryce and Sarah and Marvin, trying to decide who was the most dangerous. They ended in a draw, which was why I kept stammering even after all useful syllables had drained from the part of my brain that controls speech.
It was hopeless to keep all three of them from inflicting bodily harm on me. I knew this, and I now admit, almost shamefully, that I wasn't thinking too much about Bernie or his precious cards.
I had the instincts of the gazelle, all right.
That is, until Bernie said, “It's okay, Franklin, Sarah. You guys go on inside. I can handle this.”
The “go on inside” was uttered in a serious, almost parental tone, as if Bernie wanted us to understand the dangerous nature of his work here. From his position, pinned beneath Bryce's beefy paw, it seemed like a clear-cut case of unjustified optimism to me.
It also made me feel like a lousy worm.
“Yeah, we can handle this,” Bryce said, giving Sarah a push with his free hand. Her shoulder swung back at the pressure, but she held her ground.
“Let me rephrase that,” I said, raising my eyebrows in Sarah's direction. “Bernie
is
my friend, and despite the obvious outcome of this little speech, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to return his cards, or …”
“Or what?” Marvin Howerton now grabbed my shoulder and began applying pressure. I felt faint. I think I swooned.
“Trouble is, we can't fight you fair,” Sarah said. “Me and Bernie and Donuthead here got you outnumbered.”
“Guess we'll have to take our chances,” Marvin replied, squeezing ever harder. In another life, he might have been a boa constrictor.
“Okay then, since you're such a big guy, I'll let you go with Bernie and Donuthead. But Bryce's gotta put those cards on the ledge over there so they're safe. After we fight, winner take all.”
Sarah had both hands on her hips. It was clear she meant business.
Events were moving far too quickly for my liking. After all, we hadn't exhausted negotiations yet, had we?
“That's reasonable,” Marvin said, and nodded to Bryce, who picked up the pack and slid it onto the window ledge. “Why not? It's worth it to see the kid fight.”
Reasonable? We're talking about soft tissues here!
“I haven't seen him take a swing in six years,” Bryce added, his voice tinged with nostalgia.
I could feel my pupils dilating.
Sarah smiled sweetly. “It's a funny thing how you don'tfight fair,” she said to Marvin, “pickin' on little kids and cripples and all. I guess that means I don't have to fight fair, either.”
And before any of us could react, she'd turned sideways and shoved her elbow right into the doughy part of Marvin's
“What's up, Bernie?” Sarah asked, shouldering her way into the circle created by Bernie, Marvin Howerton, and Bryce Jordan, his best friend and partner in crime. I hung back at a respectful distance.
Despite the cold weather, Bernie's face was damp with sweat, his long bangs plastered over his eyes.
“They took my cards, Sarah.”
“We're gonna make a house of cards,” Marvin said. “After school.”
“Then there's gonna be a house fire,” Bryce added, waving the deck in the air before letting it drop to the ground. His other hand was on Bernie's shoulder, pressing him into the brick.
“That's very interesting,” Sarah Kervick said, rubbing her chin. “But I think there's gonna be a problem with that plan.”
I continued to hang back, desperate to concoct a way to alert the proper authorities.
“Yeah? What's that?” Bryce wanted to know.
Sarah Kervick was taking her time.
“ 'Cause Bernie here is Donuthead's friend, and Donuthead doesn't want you messin' with Bernie. Isn't that right?” she said, looking back at me, then tossing her head at them. It was a silent invitation.
One that I declined.
“Well,” I stammered. “In point of fact, Bernie and I are, officially, neighbors. I'm not sure we qualify … yet … as close personal friends.” My head wagged back and forth between Bryce and Sarah and Marvin, trying to decide who was the most dangerous. They ended in a draw, which was why I kept stammering even after all useful syllables had drained from the part of my brain that controls speech.
It was hopeless to keep all three of them from inflicting bodily harm on me. I knew this, and I now admit, almost shamefully, that I wasn't thinking too much about Bernie or his precious cards.
I had the instincts of the gazelle, all right.
That is, until Bernie said, “It's okay, Franklin, Sarah. You guys go on inside. I can handle this.”
The “go on inside” was uttered in a serious, almost parental tone, as if Bernie wanted us to understand the dangerous nature of his work here. From his position, pinned beneath Bryce's beefy paw, it seemed like a clear-cut case of unjustified optimism to me.
It also made me feel like a lousy worm.
“Yeah, we can handle this,” Bryce said, giving Sarah a push with his free hand. Her shoulder swung back at the pressure, but she held her ground.
“Let me rephrase that,” I said, raising my eyebrows in Sarah's direction. “Bernie
is
my friend, and despite the obvious outcome of this little speech, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to return his cards, or …”
“Or what?” Marvin Howerton now grabbed my shoulder and began applying pressure. I felt faint. I think I swooned.
“Trouble is, we can't fight you fair,” Sarah said. “Me and Bernie and Donuthead here got you outnumbered.”
“Guess we'll have to take our chances,” Marvin replied, squeezing ever harder. In another life, he might have been a boa constrictor.
“Okay then, since you're such a big guy, I'll let you go with Bernie and Donuthead. But Bryce's gotta put those cards on the ledge over there so they're safe. After we fight, winner take all.”
Sarah had both hands on her hips. It was clear she meant business.
Events were moving far too quickly for my liking. After all, we hadn't exhausted negotiations yet, had we?
“That's reasonable,” Marvin said, and nodded to Bryce, who picked up the pack and slid it onto the window ledge. “Why not? It's worth it to see the kid fight.”
Reasonable? We're talking about soft tissues here!
“I haven't seen him take a swing in six years,” Bryce added, his voice tinged with nostalgia.
I could feel my pupils dilating.
Sarah smiled sweetly. “It's a funny thing how you don'tfight fair,” she said to Marvin, “pickin' on little kids and cripples and all. I guess that means I don't have to fight fair, either.”
And before any of us could react, she'd turned sideways and shoved her elbow right into the doughy part of Marvin's
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