Upstander James Preller (best finance books of all time .txt) 📖

Cody a weasel, something like that. Talking behind his back. Cody found out about it.”

“Is that even true?”

Hakeem shrugged. “Cody thinks so.”

“I heard there’s going to be an ambush,” Mary probed.

“That’s not me—I don’t have anything to do with that stuff.” Hakeem jerked a thumb, indicating the locker room. “Look, I’ve got to get ready for practice.”

“Wait,” Mary said. “Where will it be?”

Hakeem glowered, shaking his head. “What is it with everybody in this school? Haven’t you had enough? Now you want to go watch a fight?”

“It’s not like that,” Mary said. “Please, Hakeem.”

“I don’t know where for sure,” he answered. “Somewhere nearby, off school property. Check the cemetery first. I’ve heard people say they go there.”

“Thanks,” Mary said.

“You want my opinion? Don’t get involved,” he warned. “Whatever happens is going to happen. You’ll only make it worse.”

Mary hadn’t gotten that far with her thinking yet, didn’t have a plan of action. She figured she’d improvise. “One last thing. Can I borrow your bike?”

Hakeem chuckled. “You are unbelievable, you know that? My goodness. You know the one, right? Diamondback, green frame. Combo is twelve, thirty-two, seven. Black lock. It better be waiting for me when I’m done with practice, five sharp.”

“You’re a good guy, Hakeem,” Mary called out as she took off down the hallway. She whirled and cupped her hands around her mouth, still backpedaling furiously, and bellowed, “For what it’s worth, I’m on Team Chantel!”

Hakeem laughed and lifted his right arm, thumb up.

Mary found the bike—after searching the wrong rack for another heart-pounding ninety seconds—and zoomed past Officer Goldsworthy on her way out. He looked at her and his eyes lingered on the new bike. “Gotta fly!” Mary called. “Don’t worry—it’s Hakeem’s!”

For an instant, Mary considered telling him about the fight. But her feet kept pedaling, making the decision for her. No time to lose.

34[boot]

It was one of those facts that everyone in town knew, a random source of local pride: the Final Rest Pet Cemetery was the third largest of its kind in the United States. Adjacent to the middle school, it was sprawling with marble gravestones for cats and dogs. Mary guessed there were probably other types of pets buried there, too—because people absolutely loved their pets. Five minutes on YouTube could tell you that. And when those animals died, a part of their owners’ hearts died with them. A decent burial and a $5,000 tombstone was the least they could do. Even for a pet iguana.

It felt disrespectful for Mary to zip around the gravel paths on a bicycle, but she had no choice. The grounds were empty anyway. She pedaled to a hill in the back, believing it would offer the best vantage point. Mary was right. Down below, she saw a group of seven boys: Cody, Sinjay, Will, Droop, Griff, Hallenback, and Eric. Two stood close together, Cody and Eric, engaged in a heated discussion. Cody’s hand pushed against Eric’s chest. The other five boys formed a ragged three-quarter circle around those two, spectators forming a noose. Cody drove a fist into the side of Eric’s face. Eric rocked back, staggered, but was still standing.

Mary leaned forward, unsure of what to do next. Should she ride down? Try to stop it? Would they listen?

Or would that only make it worse?

Walk away, she silently urged Eric. Don’t fight back.

And as if he’d heard her, Eric tried to do exactly that. He turned to walk away. Cody wasn’t having it. He grabbed Eric by the shoulder to spin him around. Eric swung wildly, an errant roundhouse right, and Cody danced out of range, bouncing and weaving.

“Fight, fight!” the cries roared.

Mary could practically see a current of adrenaline shoot through the group. The boys were instantly energized by the action. They pressed closer, shouting.

“Do it, Cody!” Griff yelled.

And it was too late for Mary to do anything at all.

The fight was a mismatch, quickly finished. Two minutes, three minutes, tops. Eric defended himself to the best of his ability, but Cody was by far the more skilled fighter. In the end, Eric was on his hands and knees, spitting blood. Cody stepped back, looked at Griffin, made a final comment to Eric, and the boys all moved away. Satisfied customers every one. Except for David Hallenback, who moved closer to Eric. The freckle-faced boy pulled back his leg, swung forward, and planted his boot deep into Eric’s stomach.

Eric crumpled to the ground, covering up his head with his hands, elbows tight together, pulling his knees into a protective ball. Hallenback kicked and kicked again, a spastic, uncoordinated rage that mostly failed to connect. It was as if a lifetime’s anger poured into that chaotic assault. Every insult, every hurt he’d ever endured over a lifetime of hurts, fueled Hallenback’s fury. Cody hurried back and pulled Hallenback away. Even from the high hill, Mary heard Cody shout, “Leave him alone, Hallenback. He’s down.”

Helpless, Mary waited for the boys to leave. When they were out of sight, she rode down and braked beside Eric, who lay facedown on the grass. “Are you okay?” she asked, climbing off the bike. She heard worry in her voice, as if she didn’t want to know the answer. For the first time Mary realized that she was scared.

She had feelings for this boy.

Eric slowly rolled over to look up. One of his eyes was already half shut, swollen and discolored. He squinted through the other one, lifting his head a few inches off the ground. He tried to smile, but it was unconvincing. A poor imitation. He mumbled something that Mary couldn’t understand. She leaned close, touched him on the shoulder. “What?”

He let his head fall back on the cool earth, his one good eye staring up at the clouds. He breathed slowly and softly, open-mouthed. Felt tenderly for his ribs, grimaced. It seemed to Mary that while Eric was bloodied and bruised, he didn’t appear to be seriously damaged. “I was hiding,” she explained. “I watched from the hill.”