The Prisoner of Cell 25 Read Free

almost as much as Rice Krispies squares. I swung my pack over my shoulder, then walked out the south door, glad to finally be going home.
    I had just come around the corner of the school when Jack and his posse, Mitchell and Wade, emerged from between two Dumpsters.
    Jack grabbed me by the front of my shirt. I dropped my licorice.
    “You ratted us out to Dallstrom, didn’t you?” Jack said.
    I looked up at him, my eyes twitching like crazy. “I didn’t tell him.”
    “Yeah, right, you little chicken.” Jack shoved me backward into a pyracantha bush. As I fell all the way into it, sharp thorns pricked my neck, arms, and legs. The only place that wasn’t stinging was where my backpack protected me.
    “You’re going to pay,” Jack said, pointing at me, “big-time.” He turned to Mitchell, who was almost as tall as Jack but not as broad-shouldered or muscular. “Show him what we do to snitchers.”
    “I didn’t tell on you,” I said again. “I promise.”
    Before I could climb out of the bush, Mitchell pulled me up and thumped me hard on the eye. I saw a bright flash and felt my eye immediately begin to swell. I put my hand over it, trying not to lose my balance.
    “Hit him again,” Jack said.
    The next fist landed on my nose. It hurt like crazy. I could feel blood running down my lips and chin. My eyes watered. Then Jack walked up and punched me right in the gut. I fell to my knees, unable to breath. When I could finally fill my lungs with air I began to groan. I couldn’t stop blinking.
    “He’s crying like a baby,” Mitchell said joyfully. “Cry, baby, cry.”
    Then came Wade. Wade West had yellow hair and a crooked nose.  He was the smallest and ugliest of the three, which is probably why he was the meanest since he had the most to prove. “I say we pants him.” This was a specialty of Wade’s. By “pants” he meant to pull off my pants—the ultimate act of humiliation. Last year in eighth grade, Wade had pantsed Ostin behind the school, pulling off his pants and underwear in front of a couple dozen classmates. Ostin had to run home naked from the waist down, something he had never lived down.
    “Yeah,” Mitchell agreed, “that’ll teach him for ratting us out.”
    “No!” I shouted, struggling to my feet. “I didn’t tell on you.”
    Just then someone shouted, “Leave him alone.”
    Taylor Ridley was standing alone near the school door, dressed in her purple and gold cheerleading outfit.
    “Hey, check out the cheerleader,” Wade said.
    “You’re just in time to watch us pants this guy,” Mitchell said.
    “Yeah, shake those pom-poms for us,” Jack said, laughing like a maniac. Then he made up his own cheer, which was surprisingly clever for Jack, “Two, four, six, eight, who we gonna cremate?” He laughed again. “Grab him.”
    Before I could even try and get away, all three of them grabbed me. Despite that fact that my nose was still bleeding and I could barely see out of one eye, I went wild, squirming against their clamp-like grips. I got one hand loose and hit Jack in the neck, scoring only a dull thud. He responded by thumping me on the ear.
    “Come on, you wimps!” he shouted at Mitchell and Wade. “You can’t hold this runt? Get his shirt off.” They pinned me facedown on the ground, the weight of all three of them crushing me into the grass.
    “Stupid little nerd,” Mitchell said. “You think you can rat on us and not pay?”
    I tried to curl up so they couldn’t take my clothes, but they were too strong. Jack pulled on my shirt until it began to tear. 
    “You leave him alone or I’ll get Mrs. Shaw!” Taylor shouted. “She’s right inside.” Mrs. Shaw was the cheerleaders’ adviser and taught home economics. She was a soft-spoken, matronly woman and about as scary as a throw pillow. I think we all knew that she wasn’t actually inside or Taylor would have just gotten her in the first place.
    “Shut your mouth,” Jack