Candy Shop War Read Free Page B

way to get stabbed by a hobo,” Nate grumbled.
     
    “You know what I mean.”
     
    “I guess. Is my bike in the garage?”
     
    “It’s buried in there somewhere. I’ll dig it out for you.”
     
*****
     
    Summer pedaled furiously up the street on her stupid pink bicycle with the white basket between the handlebars. She could hear Trevor closing in behind her. He always gained a little when they went uphill. At the top of the street, she coasted around the corner, then pumped her legs hard. She would pull farther ahead now that the road was flat, then make the lead embarrassing when they headed back down Monroe.
     
    She rounded the last corner.
     
    “Car!” Trevor screamed from behind her.
     
    She hit her brakes before realizing the warning was a desperate trick. Grunting, she pedaled wildly to recover her lost momentum. Trevor almost pulled alongside her. She glimpsed his front tire out of the corner of her eye. Then it was gone, and she was stretching her lead. A kid standing on a driveway beside a bike watched her race past. The downward slope of the road was working to her advantage. Wind whistled in her ears and made her hair flutter. She passed the mailbox that served as the finish line and coasted to the bottom of the circle.
     
    Glancing back, she saw Trevor reach the mailbox a few seconds behind her. Poor Pigeon had barely passed the kid standing in his driveway. The kid mounted his bike and followed Pigeon down the street. He looked about her age, with reddish-blond hair and a blue T-shirt. His bike looked new.
     
    Summer stood straddling her bike. Trevor and Pigeon pulled up near her, turning to watch the new kid skid to a stop.
     
    “What are you guys doing?” the kid asked Trevor.
     
    “Playing water polo,” Summer said.
     
    “You’re pretty funny,” the kid said. “You should join the circus.”
     
    Trevor and Pigeon laughed. The kid smiled.
     
    “Are you new here?” Trevor asked.
     
    “My family just moved in from Southern California.”
     
    “What area?” Pigeon asked.
     
    “Mission Viejo. Between San Diego and L.A. My name’s Nate.”
     
    “I’m Trevor.”
     
    “Summer.”
     
    “Pigeon.”
     
    “Like the bird?” Nate asked.
     
    “Yep.”
     
    “How come?”
     
    Pigeon shrugged. “Everybody just started calling me that in second grade.” He shot Trevor and Summer a meaningful glance, silently imploring them to keep the rest of the story secret.
     
    “How long have you had that bike?” Summer asked.
     
    “Since Christmas.”
     
    “Have you ridden it before?”
     
    “What do you mean?”
     
    “It looks brand-new.”
     
    “I wash it sometimes. I’ll teach you how if you want.”
     
    Pigeon and Trevor chuckled. Summer glanced down at her dirty bicycle frame, groping for a comeback. She had nothing. “What grade are you in?”
     
    “I’m going into fifth.”
     
    “So are we,” Trevor said.
     
    “What’s the school again?”
     
    “Mt. Diablo,” Pigeon said. “It means Devil’s Mountain.”
     
    “Sounds like a roller coaster. Have you guys always lived here?”
     
    “I moved down here from Redding three years ago,” Trevor said. “Summer and Pidge have always lived in Colson.”
     
    “Where are your houses?”
     
    “I’m right there,” Trevor said, twisting and pointing at the last house on the street. “Pigeon lives on the other side of the circle.”
     
    “And I live across the creek,” Summer said.
     
    The bottom curve of Monroe Circle had no houses. Instead there was a paved jogging path, beyond which a brushy slope descended to a creek lined with trees and shrubs. From where they were standing, Summer could see the roof of her home.
     
    “Do you surf?” Pigeon asked.
     
    Summer rolled her eyes. “Just because he’s from Southern California doesn’t make him a surfer.”
     
    “I tried it once,” Nate said. “I kept wiping out. My uncle surfs a lot. What do you guys do for fun besides ride