Gotcha by Shelley Hrdlitschka Page B

share?”
    “And why would I share them with you?”
    “Because when we were in grade two I always let you butt in front of me in line.”
    “You did not!”
    “I did too! You don’t remember?”
    “No!” I laugh at the thought of it and then study his face to see if he’s serious. I can’t tell. His lips are turned up at the corners, but that’s their normal state. “What line?”
    “The one at lunchtime. I was usually waiting for a soccer ball. I think you always took a skipping rope.”
    “Probably,” I agree. I was useless at sports.
    “I’m devastated,” he says. “I was being my most gentlemanly self, and you didn’t even notice.”
    “So why did you let me butt in?” I ask. I’m sure he’s teasing me again, but I decide to play along.
    “Because you were the cutest girl in second grade.”
    “Oh shut up!”
    “You were! Your pigtails really were pigs’ tails. They were these two perfect coils on either side of your head. I always had to resist the urge to pull on them, just to see them spring back up.”
    It’s true, my mom did always tie my hair up that way. How did he remember that?
    “And you had the sweetest smile. I remember how hard I had to work to make you laugh, though. You were so shy.”
    “Seven-year-old boys don’t notice the girls.”
    “I did.”
    “Hmm.”
    He looks me over. “You’ve grown, Katie.”
    I laugh. “You too, Joel. Just a bit.”
    “So you owe me. What’s your strategy?”
    I still don’t know if he was making that all up, but I decide to humor him. “My strategy is not to get in the game until it pays big.”
    “Huh?”
    “I’ll wait until my victim has amassed enough beads that it’s worth the trouble.”
    “Interesting strategy,” Joel says. “And how is your victim doing?”
    “I’m not sure,” I tell him honestly. “If I don’t find out tonight, I guess I’ll have to check Facebook later.”
    “And assume everyone is telling the truth.”
    “Right.”
    “Not a bad strategy. But not much fun, either.”
    “What’s your strategy?”
    “I don’t really have one. I’m just trying to stay in the game as long as possible, but I don’t expect to win.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I’m not hungry enough for the money. All we each lose is ten dollars, but with some people you’d think their life savings was tied up in the game.”
    “Maybe that is the life savings of some people.”
    “Could be.” He smiles. “But I find it interesting to watch how crazy people get when they’re playing a game. It’s all or nothing. I can’t really relate.”
    Neither can I. I decide to ask Joel his opinion on something that has been bothering me. “Do you think Warren and Paige and I could get suspended for running the game? Fetterly made it clear it wasn’t to be a grad activity this year.”
    Joel shakes his head. “No, they’d have to suspend everyone who was playing it, all two hundred and twelve of us.”
    I hope he’s right. At some point it dawned on me that a suspension noted on my permanent school record wouldn’t impress too many colleges.
    When we pull up outside Tyson’s house, Joel leaps out of the car and grabs my crutches from the backseat. He hands them to me, and when I’m balanced, he wraps an arm securely around one crutch. “I guess this is how we’re going to have to link,” he says.
    “Yeah,” I say, for lack of any better ideas.
    “But I think I’m going to have to place my hand over yours on the crutch grip,” he says. “I don’t know what else to do with it. Is that okay?”
    Before I can answer, his hand is warm on mine, and that swooning feeling is back. You’d think I was thirteen years old.
    We make our way awkwardly up the path to the front door. I think of mentioning that we don’t need to be linked yet because there is no one else outside, but I’m enjoying the warmth of his hand on mine, and it’s fun trying to get into the rhythm of walking linked, with a set of crutches to