The League Read Free

sport, kiddo. It’s not for everyone.”
    “Aaron plays.”
    “And he takes a beating.”
    I stared back at Dad, hoping he would offer to play catch. “How about we play nine after school tomorrow?” he asked. “We’ll grab Jim and Francis and make it a foursome.”
    Francis was my best friend and Jim was his dad. The four of us had been golfing together for a few years. I was getting pretty good, but I wasn’t sure it was the sport for me. Mom and Dad had signed me up for two weeks of golf camp this summer. Kate was going too, but she was actually excited about it.
    “Okay,” I said. “I guess.”
    I must have sounded disappointed, because Dad patted me on the back. “Trust me,” he said. “I’m doing you a favor. Football is no picnic. Ask your brother about wind sprints in full gear under the August sun.”
    “Can I keep throwing?”
    “Sure,” said Dad, smiling. “In fact, I’ll play catch with you.”
    Dad and I tossed the football back and forth until it got dark. My right arm was aching by the time I went inside. Later, as the burn faded, I flexed my biceps and wondered if I could ever look like Brian Braun, or if I could get strong enough to throw a football so hard it would bounce off someone’s hands. That night, I took the football to my room. The golf outing tomorrow was the furthest thing from my mind.

CHAPTER THREE
    The clock was ticking down fast and I had to cover thirty yards of hallway before reaching safety. I didn’t look back, but I knew he was behind me somewhere. Spencer Randle was lumpy, but he could move. I raced through the crowded hallway, zigging and zagging around anyone who got in my way. Up ahead I could see Francis waiting in front of Mr. Leland’s classroom. He was holding his lunch bag in one hand and waving me in with the other.
    I made it to the door just as the bell rang.
    “Any sign of him?” Francis asked as he looked around nervously.
    I knew he meant Spencer, the biggest bully inschool. When Francis and I were in second grade, Spencer was in fourth. Now we were in the same grade. Spencer had shaggy hair, flabby arms, and meaty hands. As far as I could tell, he didn’t own a single shirt with sleeves. The last time I’d seen him, about thirty seconds earlier by the drinking fountain, he was wearing a football jersey with the arms cut off.
    “All clear,” I said. “For now. Let’s go inside. During gym class this morning I heard him tell Troy Bunyon he had something to take care of during lunch.”
    “Oh man,” said Francis as he knocked on the door. “I’m glad we’ll be in here.”
    A while back, Francis and I started eating lunch in Mr. Leland’s classroom. We’d help him out by wiping down his whiteboard or organizing his bookshelves, and he’d let us hang out until it was time to go back to class.
    We were just about to go inside when Mr. Leland opened his door. “Sorry, boys,” he said. “I have a parent meeting today. You’ll have to find somewhere else to eat lunch.”
    “We’ll be quiet,” I promised. “And anything we overhear would never leave your room. I swear.”
    “I’m sure I can trust you, Wyatt. You weren’t voted school citizen of the year for nothing.” Mr. Leland smiled. “But it wouldn’t be right. You understand?”
    “We’ll label every bone on your skeletons,” Francis pleaded. “We’ll clean your microscopes for a week.”
    “Sorry,” Mr. Leland said, starting to push the door closed.
    “A month!” I added.
    “School will be over in a month,” Mr. Leland replied. “Try something new. It’s a big world out there. Go enjoy it.”
    “But I like it in here,” I said.
    “Shoo.”
    Then the door closed in our faces.
    “Where do you want to go?” asked Francis. “We could try the cafeteria.”
    “No thanks. The last time we ate in there, Spencer poured a carton of milk on my head. Remember?”
    Francis pushed his light brown hair away from his eyes. “How could I forget? It was my