Twisted Read Free Page A

Tyler.”
    “All right.” I sat down across from Chip and planted my right elbow next to his.
    A crowd quickly gathered around our table. He wiggled his fingers, then grabbed my hand. I let him squeeze without fighting back. The left corner of his mouth twisted up in a half-grin.
    There were no calluses on his palms.
    “This won’t take long,” Chip told his buddies.
    “On my count,” Mr. Milbury said. “Start on ‘three.’”
    Chip opened his hand and regripped. This time I squeezed before he did. He blinked.
    “One,” Mr. Milbury said. The band played “La Macarena” faster.
    “Two.
    “Th–”
    Chip didn’t wait for his father to finish the word. I didn’t think he would. I was ready. When he pushed, my forearm hardened into a steel girder planted in cement. Chip frowned when my arm didn’t budge. He took a deep breath and tried to curl his hand over mine. I drove it back and tested the strength of his arm. He had nothing on me.
    The lacrosse guys yelled at Chip to put me away. Chip glanced up at his father.
    I kept staring straight at him.
    Our arms were shaking, making the table wobble on the uneven slate. Chip was breathing harder. I could smell the pizza he ate, the beer he drank, and the Tic Tacs he used to cover them up.
    Mr. Milbury stepped closer to the table. “Looks like we have ourselves a draw, folks!”
    “No, we don’t,” Chip said.
    My father moved behind his boss, pretending he wanted a better angle to watch.
    “Want to quit?” I asked.
    “Shut up,” Chip said.
    The song ended.
    “Do it, Tyler!” Bethany said.
    Boiling blood filled my arm, white-hot with strength.
    “Do it!”
    Staring dead into Chip’s eyes, I powered his arm backwards one inch. Another inch. I could see how this was going to end. I would take him down smoothly, pushing his hand to the tabletop and forcing him out of his seat so his shoulder wouldn’t be ripped from the socket.
    And then I made the mistake of looking at Dad.
    He shook his head, just a little bit, from side to side.
     
    I closed my eyes and let my enemy win.

6.
    Chip leaped up, balled his fists, and screamed, “Yeah!”
    The crowd around us fell silent. A couple lacrosse players congratulated Chip and jumped in the pool. The dweebs reached for new beers. Mrs. Milbury drifted towards the band. Dad watched the guys in the water. Bethany was the only person who looked me in the eye.
    “Good job, fair fight,” said Mr. Milbury. “He almost had you there, Chipper. Better watch your back! Ha-ha. Now shake hands like men.”
    Chip ignored his father and shadowboxed one of his henchmen, a kid named Parker with perfect teeth and acne scars.
    “Chipper,” Mr. Milbury repeated, a little louder.
    The last thing Chip wanted to do was shake my hand. Instead, he shoved Parker, who backpedaled and fell into the pool, hitting the water with a loud smack.
    “Son!” Mr. Milbury’s voice snapped through the air like a wet towel in a locker room.
    Chip froze for a second, then walked back to me, his hand extended. “Fair fight,” he said.
    “Something like that,” I said. I smiled and squeezed his hand until the bones rubbed together like dry twigs. He grunted and covered his pain with a cough. I kept squeezing.
    Mr. Milbury had no clue. He patted me on the back. “Maybe we should have Tyler do our landscaping,” he said. “I bet he’d work faster than those illegals Doreen is always hiring.”
    “Sure thing, Mr. Milbury,” I said, releasing Chip’s hand.
    Dad stepped forward. “Brice, I don’t think this can wait until Monday. If we could sit down for a few minutes…”
    “Ah, time for a toast.” Waiters were hurrying through the crowd passing out champagne. At the microphone, Mrs. Milbury tapped her glass with a spoon.
    “Have a drink, Bill,” Mr. Milbury said, waving over a waiter. “Whatever the problem is, I know you’ll fix it. Relax. Enjoy being out with the family.”
    One of the dweebs snickered. That’s why I wasn’t