Losers Take All (23 page)

“Hey, Jack, what do you think's going on here?”

“It's not a pep rally,” I told him.

He nodded. “Becca was right. She kept saying it was guys from the football team.”

“I'm glad they caught them. How's your wrist?”

“It just itches a lot. Can't wait to get this cast off. Listen, after practice today we're all getting together in my basement.”

“Thanks, but I have to head home,” I told him.

“Come on,” he urged. “If Frank and I pissed you off at the soccer game, I'm sorry. I apologize. You can't hold a grudge against your two best friends.”

“Why not?” I asked, remembering how they'd looked into my eyes and chanted “Ego, ego, ego” with the rest of the team.

“Because I bought two giant bags of your favorite barbecued potato chips for the team meeting and if you don't come Frank will eat them all.”

Before I could respond to that, the auditorium quieted as Muhldinger walked to the mic. At the rally when they'd retired my dad's number he'd seemed completely at ease and in control, but this afternoon he looked uncomfortable. Police Chief Duggan, the assistant principal, and several school board members sat behind him—I saw Mr. Bryce watching carefully.

“Hey, everyone,” Muhldinger began with a friendly smile. “As a lot of you know, there was some police activity at our school this morning. First, I'd like to assure all of you that our school is completely safe.”

“The hell it is,” somebody called out from a few rows behind me.

I thought I recognized the voice. Could it have been Shimsky? I twisted around to look, but everyone was shifting and craning their necks so it was impossible to tell who had shouted.

Muhldinger broke off and stared hard at the crowd as if he, too, was trying to figure out who had just challenged him. He took a breath and tried to act as if nothing had happened. “For the next few days, just to reassure everyone, we're going to have a couple of policemen at our school. They'll be in front when you come in, and walking the halls, and just making sure that everything stays calm. We're a family and we're going to pull together and be just fine, but it's good to be extra careful. I'd like to thank Police Chief Duggan for helping us out.”

Duggan raised a hand as if to let us know that his men were at our service.

Muhldinger took a sip of water and continued. “Now, it's not appropriate for me to comment on legal matters that haven't been decided yet,” he said. “This is of course a serious matter. Some of the students involved are on my team, and they're fine young men, but…”

Scattered boos and hisses sounded. They weren't loud and it wasn't as if the whole crowd was turning against him, but they caused Muhldinger to break off again and blink. He planted his hands on the podium in front of him, with his big arms angled to either side. It looked like he was anchoring himself, and I realized, with a shock—no, he's not just nervous and angry, he's also scared. He couldn't seem to figure out what to say next, and seconds dragged by.

I noticed Mr. Bryce watching closely, as if he was taking the pulse of the whole situation. The boos and hisses ended, and the gym fell eerily silent.

“The point is,” Muhldinger finally went on, “what's important is that we are a family. And in a family there can be no room for cruelty or violence to any family member. I want to make it very clear that we simply will not put up with bullying or intimidation at Fremont High. I have no tolerance for it. Zero.” He thumped the podium with a big fist for emphasis, and lots of people clapped.

He should have quit right there. He could have cut his speech short and used the applause to turn the mic over to the assistant principal or Mr. Bryce, or just let us go back to our classes. If he'd sat down with that loud “Zero” as his last word on the subject he would have been fine.

But Muhldinger glanced up at the American flag and the dozens of championship pennants hanging down from the rafters, and they seemed to inspire him to keep talking. He lowered his gaze back to us. “Some have suggested that there is a culture of bullying at our school, and that it's linked to our long sports traditions.” He gave a little smirk. “Sure, we've won our share of championships and we're rightly proud of them.” It was as if he kind of knew better but he still couldn't stop himself from slipping into his pep rally speech. “They're part of who we are. That doesn't mean we're not also a respectful and tolerant school. And that's exactly why we're going to pull together as a family and defeat Lynton tomorrow, and I hope all of you will make the trip to the game and come support our Lions…”

This time the boos and hisses that interrupted him were noticeably louder, and I even heard mocking laughter. One voice called out loudly: “Give it a rest, Muhldinger!”

Other students clapped for him, and a girl I recognized as a varsity cheerleader stood and yelled: “Go Lions! Fremont forever.”

Muhldinger couldn't continue over the noise so he just stood there with his big arms on either side of the podium, as if he were trying to wrestle something unexpectedly tough back into a box. No question about it—he definitely looked scared.

Dylan turned to me and asked, “Can you believe this?”

 

30

Dylan opened the door to his basement and flashed me a grin. “Was it the barbecued potato chips or did you miss us?”

“The chips,” I told him, looking around. “This place is becoming party central.”

At our first team party everyone had looked restrained and a little uncomfortable, but now they were letting it all hang out. Heavy metal was thrashing from the speakers— I was pretty sure Shimsky must've chosen it. He was standing at the foosball table with Chloe, beating up on Pierre and Becca. I watched our revolutionary and our ace statistician work the foosball back and forth between offense and defense, and suddenly rip in goals. They gave each other flying high fives when they scored, and while they seemed to me like an unlikely couple, maybe Muhldinger was right and there was something going on between them.

Becca was concentrating on trying to defend against Shimsky and didn't see me come in. Or maybe she was just ignoring me. We hadn't exchanged a word or a text since the Maysville game. I couldn't help noticing that she was wearing tan shorts and a red V-necked top—the same outfit she had worn on our first date. She looked great, even though she was getting annihilated at foosball.

This wasn't easy music to dance to, but Zirco didn't care. He danced too close to the Ping-Pong table and almost collided with Jenks, who was in a heated match with Frank. As I watched, Jenks tried to slam the ball and let go of his paddle, which clipped Zirco on the side of the head, knocking him over the black leather couch. He got up, rubbing his scalp, and went right on dancing.

It was pure Losers mayhem, but everyone was having a good time. Dylan's mother carried a pitcher of lemonade down the steps and I saw her smiling at her son, who had his right arm thrown carelessly around Meg's back. My friend had lost his shyness in record time, and looked very comfortable in his new roles as boyfriend and host.

A hand touched my shoulder. “Good to see you, Jack.” Coach Percy hadn't come to our first soccer team party, but he was at this team meeting—or whatever it was—dressed fairly normally for him in jeans, a white shirt, and a blue jacket.

“Good to see you, too,” I said. “Strange day at school. Muhldinger could have used your quote.”

“Which one?” he asked.

“The one from Caesar about how no one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected. Our fearless principal looked a little off his game.”

“It wasn't his best day,” Coach Percy agreed with a smile. “American schools are turning out to be more dramatic than I thought.” We were alone for a moment and he lowered his voice. “Jack, at halftime in the Maysville game, you mentioned that you aren't much of an actor—unlike some people. Were you referring to anyone specific?”

I looked back at him. “I just think people should be straight with each other.”

“I agree,” he said. “If you ever want to talk about this further, let's have a chat just between the two of us.”

“Fine,” I said. “But I think Dylan is calling this meeting to order.”

Our host was banging a Ping-Pong paddle on the table.

We gathered around. “I got a call a little while ago from Chief Duggan. They connected Lowry to the beating 'cause they searched the Stevens and found his shoe prints in the mud. The goon wears size fifteens.”

“Done in by canoe feet,” Frank called out, and people laughed.

“They brought Lowry to the station and put a scare into him, and it wasn't long before he cracked and gave them Davis and Barlow. Lowry told them exactly how it all went down, and who did what. They're going to charge all three of them as adults with aggravated assault, which is a felony.”

There was applause, but no more laughter. I guess everyone understood that there was nothing funny about the word “felony.” “Was it really serious enough to be ‘aggravated'?” Chloe asked.

“They broke his wrist,” Meg said protectively.

Dylan gave her a smile. “Because of the seriousness of my injuries and because three ganged up on one, they think they can make the felony charges stick. Chief Duggan told me not to talk about the legal stuff with the press”—he broke off for a moment and glanced at his mom—“and I won't. But he didn't say anything about talking to my friends. And I don't think the Losers should let themselves be gagged. Especially not when we have the forces of darkness on the run.”

There were shouts of “They're going down!” and “Muhldinger for janitor!”

“A word of caution,” Percy cut in. “This school has been run by certain … elements in the same way for many years. It would be a mistake to think they won't strike back.”

“Every revolution has its counterrevolution,” Shimsky chimed in ominously.

“That's exactly why we shouldn't back off or be afraid,” Becca said. “We should all go to the football game tomorrow and sit as a team, wearing our soccer shirts. Let's make a statement.”

“Yeah,” Meg agreed. “Losers for Lynton!”

Lynton was the town the Lions were playing tomorrow. They were competitive with us in basketball and baseball, but when it came to football we always beat the crap out of them. I guess they were willing to take their lumps on the gridiron, because I'd seen us dish out some pretty ugly thrashings and they kept coming back for more, year after year.

I spoke up: “We can go and sit together but I don't think we should cheer for Lynton.”

“Why not?” Meg asked.

“Because we go to Fremont.”

“So we should cheer for the people who broke Dylan's wrist?” Meg demanded.

“The three guys who did that have been arrested,” I reminded her. “We can't keep whipping this up.” I looked around at Frank, Dylan, and Becca, and I could tell they didn't agree with me, but they held their tongues.

Coach Percy walked next to me. “I happen to agree with Jack. You should listen to what he's saying.”

“Making this bigger and angrier and more violent won't help anyone,” I said. “Dylan got hurt, three guys were arrested, and that's enough.”

“It won't be enough for Muhldinger,” Pierre called out. “He likes dishing out pain.”

“You really want to get him?” I asked. “I have a way.”

They all waited.

“Most of you know Rob Powers. The backup quarterback.”

“Meathead,” Shimsky called out.

“Misogynist,” Becca added.

“I don't even know what that is,” I admitted. “But I've known him for years and he might've gotten a meaty head from being on the football team, but deep down he's a good guy. Muhldinger's always had it in for him, and Rob hates Muhldinger as much as anyone in this room. He wants to join our team.”

I could tell from their faces they didn't like the idea. Chloe said loudly, “We don't need anybody else. Especially a football player.”

“We've never turned anyone away,” I pointed out. “One of the best things about the Losers is we've had an open door. I don't see how you can slam it on Rob just 'cause he's a good athlete.” I paused and added, “And if you want to push things without violence—this is a great way. I know Muhldinger, and if his backup quarterback quits to join us, that will piss him off more than anything else you could do.”

They put it to a team vote, and to my surprise it narrowly passed. I got the feeling most of them didn't want Rob on their team, but my friends knew they had treated me badly and owed me one.

I ate a last handful of chips and was on my way out when Becca appeared right in front of me. “Leaving without saying goodbye?”

“You didn't say hello when I walked in.”

“I didn't see you walk in,” she said.

“You weren't exactly looking.”

We stood there glaring at each other. I wanted to turn my back on her and walk out of the basement, but I also wanted to grab her and kiss her. “So what's a misogynist?” I asked.

She gave me a little smile. “Don't play dumb.”

“I just don't study vocab words all the time.”

“It's someone who hates women.”

“Are you kidding? Rob has more girlfriends than anyone at this school.”

“And look at the way he treats them,” she pointed out.

“They seem to like it.”

“It's a technique some guys use to take advantage of girls with low self-esteem,” Becca explained. “Sometimes girls don't know what they want. But that doesn't mean he's not a jerk. C'mere.”

There was a back room in Dylan's basement, really just a giant closet, filled with the water heater and the electricals for the house. Becca drew me into it and pulled the door closed. The little room was hot and stuffy, and when the door was shut the only light was from a partially blocked window and the illuminated dials on the machines.