The League Read Free Page A

milk.”
    “How about the playground?” I asked. The playground was really for the elementary school kids next door, but we were allowed to go there as long as we didn’t leave school grounds.
    Francis nodded. “Wide open, good sightlines, plenty of places to run if we have to. I guess it’ll have to do.”
    So we went outside.
    Francis and I sat on opposite sides of the merry-go-round so we could see in all directions. We were both using our feet to spin slowly in a circle while we ate our lunches.
    Not far away, on the grassy area, McKlusky and Raj were tossing a football back and forth. McKlusky was on the same rec-league baseball team as me. He was one of the tallest kids in our school. If Francis stood on my shoulders we still wouldn’t be as tall as McKlusky.
    “Football is stupid,” Francis said. “It’s just physics. If you’re bigger, you win.”
    “I don’t think it’s that simple,” I said, unwrapping my sandwich.
    “Trust me,” said Francis. “It is.”
    I didn’t argue with Francis. He’d never admit he was wrong anyway.
    I watched from the merry-go-round as McKlusky lobbed a high pass that sailed just over Raj’s hands. “Nice catch,” I heard McKlusky say.
    “How am I supposed to reach that?” Raj asked, annoyed. “Do I look like I have a ladder? I don’t have stilts like you.”
    “Stilts,” McKlusky said. “I like that. Call me Stilts.”
    “Don’t even try it,” Raj replied, picking up the football. “Nobody is going to call you Stilts.”
    I ate my sandwich and wondered what it would be like to play football. Would I be any good or would I get totaled the minute I stepped onto the field? Could I take a beating?
    “I’d rather play a sport that requires some skill,” Francis said a minute later. “Like golf.”
    I was finishing my sandwich when Francis got up from the merry-go-round and walked over to the garbage can. On his way back, he was facing the school. He suddenly froze. “Oh, great,” he said. “It’s Spencer, and he’s closing in fast.”
    The merry-go-round slowed to a stop, and now I could see Spencer too, crossing the open space between the school and us like an elephant.
    I kept chewing the last bite of my sandwich. I knew what I had to do: avoid eye contact, make no sudden moves, and most important of all,
say nothing
. That was how to survive an encounter with Spencer Randle.
    I kept glancing casually in Spencer’s direction, ready to run for my life if I had to.
    Spencer was making his way down the path that led from the school building past the playground and out to Boardman Street. He stopped a few feet away from us. “What’s up, dorks?” he asked.
    “We’re just eating our lunches,” Francis said.
    “Good for you,” said Spencer, coming over to themerry-go-round. “Don’t you losers want to know where I’m going?” He said it like it was a big secret.
    “Not really,” Francis answered.
    Spencer fixed his evil eyes on me. “You got something to say, Wyatt
Twerp
?” he asked.
    “Not me,” I said.
    “Good. Keep it that way.”
    I watched nervously as Spencer leaned forward and grabbed one of the merry-go-round bars. I made a fist in case I needed to defend myself, but I knew if it came to that, it would be useless. I was no match for Spencer Randle in a fight. I was a puny little runt with chicken legs and no muscles, and my only hope was to run as fast as my chicken legs could carry me.
    “I’m going to Pilchuck Market,” Spencer said, looking over his shoulder. “For a corn dog.”
    “Sounds good,” said Francis.
    “Corn dogs aren’t good,” said Spencer as he let go of the bar. “They’re awesome. They taste awesome, they come on an awesome stick, and they’re awesome healthy because of the corn.”
    “I don’t think that’s actually corn,” I said before I could stop myself.
    Spencer turned around. “What did you say?” he asked.
    “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
    “That’s funny,” said Spencer.