Bound for Danger (9 page)

“Coach Perotta,” he said, “I don't know who the hazers are, but I have something you should see.”

He walked up to Coach Perotta and pulled a smartphone out of his pocket. Pressing the screen with his finger, he started what sounded like a video. Coach Perotta watched, his expression going from curious to angry, and I recognized some of the sounds from the night before.

“
Jayden . . . take your place in the middle, please.
”

I felt my stomach shrivel up. In that video, all the bad guys would be masked. The only visible people would be Jayden . . . and Ty, Pete, Frank, and me.

The video seemed to end, and Coach Perotta took a wobbly step back. His face was flushed red and his nostrils were flaring like an angry bull's. He turned to Dorian. “Where—where did you get that?” he demanded.

Dorian looked a little scared. “It was e-mailed to me from this address I'd never heard of before,” he said. “I thought it was a joke.”

Coach Perotta grabbed the phone back and began poking at it. “[email protected],” he read.

“That's right,” said Dorian.

Coach Perotta looked up at the team sitting before him, and his gaze hardened as he settled on me and Frank. “Frank, Joe, and Ty . . .
why
am I just seeing this now?!” he thundered.

“What do you mean?” Frank asked. “We came to you yesterday and told you about the masked guys!”

Coach Perotta shook his head, clearly furious. “No. Why am I just seeing
this
now? This video is time-stamped last night,” he yelled, gesturing back at Dorian and his phone. “Why did none of you come forward to tell me this had happened? You know how I feel about hazing on my team!”

Because . . . we weren't sure whether you were in on it?
I thought. Even now, I couldn't tell whether Coach Perotta was really horrified by the hazing, or horrified that the hazing had been discovered. I had a feeling that answer wouldn't fly, though.

Frank looked around and slowly—with effort—got to his feet. “Coach Perotta,” he said, “you need to know that video is misleading. What
actually
happened is that a whole crew of masked team members hazed me, Joe, Jayden, Pete, and Ty last night, and offered Jayden a way out if he allowed
himself to be filmed hazing the others. We might be the only ones visible on the video . . . but we're the victims.”

Coach glared at him. “That's all fine and good, but the fact is, the video shows five team members recognizable on camera: Frank, Joe, Ty, Pete, and Jayden. Bayport High has a zero tolerance policy on hazing, and only Pete came forward to report it. That means Jayden, Frank, Joe, and Ty are off the team.”

There was an audible gasp from the whole team. “No!” cried Steve. And Ty shook his head, saying, “This can't be. This can't be.”

But Coach Perotta didn't falter. “And,” he said, “because Jayden is on camera hazing, he will be brought before Principal Gerther and put up for suspension.”

“But he was one of the victims!” I cried. “They set him up! They said he could avoid the abuse if he helped abuse the others—but they had to film him, so they had a scapegoat! You're playing right into their hands!”

Coach Perotta turned his hard stare on me, and for a minute my blood ran cold. Dude could be really scary when he wanted to be.

“I have to uphold the rules,” he snarled. “If anyone wants to come forward with the masked guys' identities, they can. But for now, I'm doing what I can to stop this.”

Frank shook his head. “But that won't stop anything! You're only punishing the victims!”

Coach turned to him, his eyes burning with anger, and exploded. “
You listen to me!
You and your brother can't come in here and tell me how to run my team after three days! Everything was fine before you Hardy boys showed up!” He threw his arm toward Frank, and for a minute I thought he was actually going to hit him. Instead he pointed, from Frank to me. “You're out! Both of you!
Get out of my gym! 
”

Frank looked nervously back at me, and I stood and began walking to the door. Coach didn't have to tell me twice. Heck, it was kind of a relief to have official orders to get out of here.

Frank, Ty, and Jayden followed, each carrying bags with their things. When we got outside the gym, I turned back to face them all. Ty and Jayden looked miserable. They were both staring at the ground.

“We can't let this happen,” I said. “We all know what really went down last night. There has to be some way to get the real culprits punished!”

“How?” Jayden looked up at me and shrugged. “The hazing's been going on all season, but no one knows who's really behind it. I've heard rumors that maybe it's Jason, but there's no proof—there's a reason they all wear masks.”

Ty hoisted his bag higher on his back. “Frankly, I should've known something was up when the nosy Hardy boys joined the team out of nowhere. You two always say you want to help, but you didn't help anyone here, did you?”

He stomped off, and after a few seconds, Jayden followed.

I looked at Frank. He looked completely, totally miserable.

“What's going on?” a female voice asked from behind me. “You guys look like someone ran over your puppy with a garbage truck.”

That's an oddly specific comparison.
I turned to see Kelly Pritzky. She was carrying a big gym bag—the girls' team had practice after ours—and wearing a concerned expression.

“Oh, uh, it's nothing,” I said. And then I realized, if hazing was such a problem on the boys' team, could it be happening on the girls' team too? “There's this . . . hazing thing happening on the boys' team. We actually just got kicked off because of it.”

Kelly looked at me like I was nuts. “
You guys
were hazing people?”

“No.” Frank shook his head adamantly. “We were the victims. But it sort of doesn't matter.”

“Why doesn't it matter?” Kelly scrunched up her eyebrows.

“Because we're off the team,” I said, “and it's someone else's problem to solve now. See you around.”

We started walking, and Kelly watched us go. “See you around,” she said quietly. Then, when we were a few yards away, she called, “Hey! Was Jason involved? In the hazing, I mean?”

I turned around. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “His scholarship, you know. He's like a superstar. I'd hate . . .” She trailed off.

“We don't know whether he was involved,” Frank said. “He's not in trouble, though. We are.”

Kelly nodded slowly. “I'm sorry,” she said. She looked sincere.

“It's cool,” I said. “Basketball was never our sport.”

With that, Frank and I walked out of the building and turned toward the parking lot.

“Let's go home,” he said. “Maybe Aunt Trudy made lasagna.”

“Not likely,” I pointed out. “She made lasagna last night.”

“Don't kill the last hope I have, okay?”

We walked down the long row toward our car. I was pretty sure we were at our lowest low. We'd persevered so long, we'd made the coaches aware of the problem, and somehow it had all blown up in our faces. The good guys got punished, and evil won.

I was pretty sure we couldn't feel any worse until we got to our car.

Someone had slashed all four tires.

J
OE WAS RIGHT. AUNT TRUDY
had not made lasagna again.

She
had
made her famous turkey meat loaf, which was almost as exciting. I had three pieces.

“And then,” Joe was saying as I cut my third piece, “he says that Jayden has to go before Principal Gerther to talk about suspension.” He shook his head. “It's like, unreal. It was like this totally dystopian society.”

Mom had looked notably unpleased while listening to this whole story. “Well, listen,” she said, forking a brussels sprout, “I'm sorry this has been such a horrible case for you, but honestly, I'm glad you're off it. Whatever Principal Gerther was trying to accomplish, I can't imagine he knew it would get this bad.”

“If you still need extracurriculars,” Aunt Trudy added, “maybe
you can join the Culinary Society. I can always use some hands in the kitchen.”

“Speaking of Principal Gerther,” my dad said, “do you think I can invoice him for eight new tires?” He'd very nicely picked us up from school that afternoon and arranged to have the car towed and new tires installed.

I wanted to match his light, jokey tone, but the truth was I was too depressed to even answer.

Yes
, it was a relief to be off the basketball team, especially since I really stunk at basketball even before I was being beaten up on the regular. And
yes
, it was good to think that we'd escape further harassment now, because we'd finally done what the masked hazers wanted and left the basketball team—though technically, I guess, we were kicked off.

But I
haaaaaaaaaaate
to leave a case unsolved. And we still didn't know what was really happening on the team. Was Coach Perotta in on the hazing or not? Was Jason Bound really pulling the strings, trying to protect his scholarship by any means necessary?

• • •

Later that night, I sat at my desk, supposedly working on some extra credit to save my grade in English, but really staring into space and pondering the unfairness of the universe. That's when the phone rang. It was the house landline, which has this ridiculously loud, old-school ring.

“Frank!” yelled Mom from the living room. “It's for you!”

Who would call me on the landline?
Had I won a cruise to the Bahamas?
Had my ancient granny decided it was time for a semiannual check-in?

“Hello?” I said.

“Frank Hardy?” a male voice replied. “This is Principal Gerther.”

It took me a minute to recognize the voice, because on the phone, apparently, our principal doesn't yell. “Principal Gerther!” I said with the same excitement that a six-year-old might have used speaking to Santa Claus. “We've been trying to reach you!”

“Frank, I feel terrible,” Gerther went on. “I've been in the Poconos for my annual reunion with some of my buddies from 'Nam. I got home today and had about five messages from Coach Perotta. He's explained the whole situation to me, and I . . . well, I feel I may have put you and Joe into a situation that was much worse than I thought.”

“That's okay, Principal Gerther,” I said, though it wasn't. I was still covered in bruises. I was just feeling generous because the possibility of
answers
lurked ahead. “Could we, maybe . . .
talk
to you about it? I think Joe and I would love to know what you know. We're just . . . kind of confused about the whole thing.”

“Of course, of course,” said Gerther. “Are you free now? I could meet you at the Athens Diner. Don't worry about homework. I'll give an explanation to your teachers.”

“That would be great, Principal Gerther. See you there in twenty minutes?”

When he agreed and we'd hung up, I felt about fifty pounds lighter. I leaped out of my chair and walked down the hall to Joe's room, where I pushed open the door. Joe was sprawled on his bed, watching an old Muppets movie on his laptop.

Yep, that's how he unwinds.

He looked at me. “What's up?” he asked. “Please don't tell me you want to talk about it. I'm not ready to talk about it.”

“Better yet,” I said, “We're going to talk about it with someone else. Put on your shoes. We have a date at the Athens Diner.”

“With who?” Joe asked.

“Principal Gerther!” I said cheerfully.

I got a brief glance at Joe's flabbergasted face before I closed the door on my way out.

• • •

The Athens Diner is the kind of place that's always moderately busy, whether it's six a.m. or eleven o'clock at night. When we walked in, Joe tugged my arm and pointed to a booth in the back, where Principal Gerther's familiar gray hair floated over the back of the bench.

We walked over. Our principal smiled at us. He was wearing a brown velour zip-up lounge suit, which made me feel weird on multiple levels. And sitting in front of him were three slices of lemon meringue pie.

“I ordered you boys pie,” he said, sliding two plates across the booth to us. “I think I at least owe you dessert.”

“Thanks,” Joe said, taking a seat opposite the principal. I slid in next to my brother.

“So,”
Principal Gerther began, looking from me to Joe. “Joe, I've told your brother, but I just want to stress to both of you how very sorry I am that the two of you got as caught up in this as you did. Oh, that reminds me.” He turned to me. “Frank, I got a call from Mr. Porter that you got an in-school suspension for turning in some absurdly misogynistic paper. That doesn't sound like you.”

“It wasn't, sir,” I said. “I think whoever's behind all the bad stuff on the basketball team set me up.”

He nodded gravely. “I'll take care of it.”

Joe looked up from his pie. “My girlfriend also broke up with me,” he said. “Same reason.”

Principal Gerther looked a little confused. “Would you like me to talk to her?”

Joe shrugged, turning back to his pie. “I guess not. But I
would
like to know what you know about what's happening on the basketball team.”

The principal put down his fork. “Well,” he said, “a couple months ago I got a call from the parents of a boy who'd dropped off the team. They said he wouldn't give them any details, but they had the sense he'd been
scared
off the team—forced to quit to avoid some kind of abuse.” He paused. “I didn't think much of it, honestly, because Coach Perotta has such a sterling record. I talked to him about it, but he said the claims were absurd.”