Stick Read online

  They had different costumes. All different colors, some emblazoned with symbols. One of them had a patch with a red hammer on his chest. Underneath, it said “Red Hammer.” Another was dressed eerily like a tiger. Another looked like a mortician with a mask on. “Death Itself” was scrolled across the forehead of the mask. I didn’t know if I should run for my life or laugh at the most ridiculous scene I’d ever witnessed.

  Preston crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve brought the visitor.”

  Red Hammer guy spoke. “Okay. Can we stop with the whole dramatic entrance thing? I know it’s good for effect, but aren’t we above that?”

  All at once, the rest of the group came forward, loosening up, saying hello, patting one another on the back.

  I spoke low, directly into Preston’s ear. “When you said you weren’t as lonely as I thought…”

  “And you thought I was the only freak.”

  “Hey, I’m wearing a mask, aren’t I?”

  “Yes. And you look dumb in it.”

  “So, what is this?” I asked, watching as the various heroes visited. I heard snatches of conversations. Stories about fighting crime, advice about where the action was, and crime rate statistics. If anything, these guys knew crime rates, patterns, and numbers better than the best cop in the universe.

  Preston answered me. “It’s just a gathering. When I moved here, I began trolling the Internet, interested if there was anything like this in Spokane. I’d heard about it in other cities, and I wanted to know. This is the culmination of my research.”

  “So, what do you do?”

  He frowned. “What do you do when you and your teammates dress in your costumes and meet in the locker room?”

  “Talk, I guess. Get ready for the game.”

  “Same here. Just don’t use my name. It’s agreed that we all stay anonymous.”

  “What do they call you if you don’t have a name?”

  His luminescent eyes met mine. “Nameless.”

  His no-name name struck me, and it made sense in a way. “So why did you bring me here?”

  “I just thought that maybe you…,” he said, then paused. “I just wanted you to…I’m not that weird, you know?”

  I smiled. “Dude, you are that weird, but not because of this. And thanks. Come on, let’s meet your friends.”

  “They’re not necessarily friends but associates. I would consider it more like—”

  I cut him off, holding my hand up to his face. “Stop. Now. Okay? We’re not in normal zone, but just give it a break,” I said, then turned to a pudgy guy dressed like a homeless Superman and shook his gloved hand.

  Coach Larson took his baseball cap off, scratching his head as he glowered at me. “What does that have to do with this team, Patterson?”

  I sighed, glancing at the clock in his office. I was supposed to be picking up Preston for a tutoring session at my house in five minutes, and I’d thought this meeting would go smoothly. I’d figured Coach would be excited. He obviously wasn’t. “Uh, sir, I was just letting you know.”

  He nodded dramatically. “So, what you’re saying is that you want to take Jordan’s place on the left side for this Friday’s game because you have a scout flying up from UCLA.” Not a question, a statement.

  “No, that’s not really what I was saying. I was just letting you know, and I thought…” I stopped, looking at his face. I checked myself. “Actually, sir, yes. This is very important to me, and I really think I have a shot. But I don’t want to take Jordan’s position if I don’t deserve it.”

  His face loosened up. “Good, because God himself could come down and offer you an eternal position on his football team and I wouldn’t change anything I do because of it. You’ll be playing whatever position best suits you, and I’ll be playing you the way I need to play you to win the game.”

  “Yessir.”

  He waved me off, looking down at the playbook on his desk. “Out.”

  I walked to the door.

  “Patterson.”

  I turned, and he fixed me with a stare. “I’m sure that your full talents will be utilized during the game on Friday. And I’m also sure that if you play like you are able to play, you’ll make the kind of impression that you’d like with the gentleman coming from California. Now get out of here.”

  —

  Preston was looking at his watch when I pulled up at the school. No, not looking at it. Staring at it. I leaned over and rolled the passenger window down. “Sorry if I’m late. Had a meeting with Coach.”

  He looked up at me. “Do you know how long a mayfly lives?”

  I turned the stereo down as he peered in the window. “No clue.”

  “One day,” he said, getting in the car.

  I drove. “So?”

  “If I were a mayfly, you would have comparatively wasted seven or eight years of my life by being late.”

  “You’re not a mayfly, and I was only twenty minutes late.”

  “I know, but if I were, in those twenty minutes you would have missed my birth and most of my elementary school years.”

  I pulled into traffic. “I called the scout from UCLA. He’s coming to the game.”

  “So he can see your coach not play you?”

  “I’m playing all right,” I said, smiling.

  “Most likely you’ll be in the hospital because your friends are going to beat you to a pulp first.”

  “You’re always so optimistic,” I replied as he looked for something to tidy up in my car. “Something the matter?”

  “You cleaned your car,” he said.

  I had. I’d taken every scrap of anything out, even vacuumed it. “You okay about that? I don’t want to put you in a panic or something.”

  “I don’t panic about those types of things. Just birds. Their beaks scare me.”

  The truth was I’d cleaned it because he was rubbing off on me. “So, how’d it go today?” I took a right on 35th Avenue.

  “Fine. I think I got a question wrong on my science exam.”

  “I mean the shirts and stuff. You get any hassle?”

  “The entire football team was wearing them, plus a few non-sports people. I was pretty happy with that, but I’d like to have seen more. By fourth period, the vice principal had made everybody either change or go home. I told him he was inhibiting my livelihood, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  I smiled. “You actually told him that you had the shirts made?”

  “Yes. He didn’t seem impressed, but then again he’s not several hundred thousand dollars wealthier, either. I also found out who posted the first video.”

  “Who?”

  “Your friend Mike.”

  I had nothing to say to that.

  When we got in the house, I grabbed a bag of chips and a couple of cans of Pepsi from the fridge and took them to my room. Preston was taking stuff from his backpack when I heard my dad come from his office. He stopped at my door, peeking in. He held several printouts. “Hey, guys.”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hello, Mr. Patterson.”

  He looked at Preston. “Brett let me know you’re interested in the justice system.”

  Preston looked at me, then back at my dad. “No, I’m not.”

  My dad smiled. “Actually, you are, Preston.”

  Without a blink, Preston spoke. “I’m assuming Brett told you about my career as a professional superhero.”

  “He told me about a young man who has a strong desire to make things right in this world.” He studied Preston. “Have you heard of the Spokane County Sheriff Explorer’s Program?”

  Preston shook his head.

  My dad held the papers out. “Here. Take a look. It’s a program for youth who are interested in a career in law enforcement.”

  Preston took the printouts, staring at them for a second. Then he looked up. “Why did you do this, Mr. Patterson?”

  My dad smiled. “Not for the reasons you might think. Take them or leave them, but I thought you might be
interested.”

  Lewis and Clark was the oldest high school in the city, and its gothic walls were set in the downtown hub of Spokane. Right across the street from the school were dozens of massive pillars that held the freeway up over the student parking lots. I got out of my car next to one of them. The lot was half-full at six in the evening, and people were heading across to the gymnasium for the Tigers pep rally. I wore my new jersey, and as I walked across the street, I saw Ben Lynch standing at the curb, waiting for me.

  “Hey,” he drawled, giving me a crooked smile. “You ready to be adored by the masses?”

  I laughed. “If it’s anything like Hamilton, I’ll take a pass.”

  He shook his head. “It ain’t. Most people come just to hang out, dance, and eat.”

  “Fine by me.”

  We walked in, and the band was already playing. Ben was popular, and I could see why. He had an easygoing way about him, and when he talked, he made you feel like he knew you, even if he didn’t. “So,” he said, “tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow,” I replied as we walked up to the stage and sat with the other athletes.

  “You think we can take them?”

  I watched the crowd. It was different. More like a party than a church where players were worshipped. “I know we can take them. They’ve got a better defensive line than us, but you’re better than Killinger.”

  He laughed. “And we’ve got you and Jordan.”

  “They’re going to play dirty.”

  He laughed again. “Can’t see the forest through the trees, Stick?”

  “What?”

  “Hamilton has always played dirty. Guess you never noticed it, being one of them.”

  I remembered Coach Williams talking one day after practice, jokingly telling a few linemen how to sneak a facemask grab in without the ref seeing. The further away I got from it, the more I knew that Coach Williams was a coach I couldn’t respect. “I guess you’re right.”

  Just then, Principal Everson walked up to the microphone and officially started the rally. After fifteen minutes of announcing the players, along with applause for several accomplishments by the drama club and the debate team, he stepped down, the lights dimmed a bit, a disco ball began revolving, and the music kicked in.

  With a cup of punch and several cookies in my hands, I stood on the sidelines, watching people talking and dancing. Jordan, along with his girlfriend, broke away and came over. “Hey, Stick, this is Monica. Monica, Stick. You can call him babyface if you want, though. I think it’s better on him.”

  She laughed, holding out her hand. “Jordan has talked about you.”

  “My rep is already bad enough. Thanks.”

  Jordan flashed perfect white teeth. “It’s all good,” he said, then pointed to a girl standing with some friends. “Megan Forsythe. Hottie. Heard her talking about you. Somebody got an eye on somebody.” He laughed, and Monica slapped his arm, telling him to shut up.

  I looked at Megan, and she glanced back. She was pretty, but I wasn’t in the mood to do anything much other than go home and think about the game tomorrow. “She looks nice. Hey, I’m heading out, huh?”

  Jordan looked at his watch. “Seven-thirty and babyface needs to get to his crib. You got a wet diaper, too?”

  “Just got the game on my mind. I want to go over the playbook again.”

  “You got the game on your mind; I got something else on mine,” he said, leaning over and pecking Monica on the cheek. She blushed. “We’ll catch you later.”

  After saying goodbye to some of the guys, I headed out, walking through the doors and under the streetlights. At the curb, I looked into the shadows under the bridge. I wasn’t stupid. If there was a time and place that I’d be ripe for the taking, it would be here. Killinger knew I’d be at the rally.

  I almost turned to go back in, then made my decision. Stepping from the curb, I took my keys from my pocket and trotted across the street. I hopped the low brick wall lining the lot and beelined it for my car, looking left and right.

  As I walked closer, my chest tightened, and I was tempted to run. Unless they tracked me down tomorrow before the game, in broad daylight, this had to be the time they’d come after me. I clenched my teeth, speeding up.

  Reaching my car, I unlocked it, then noticed. My front left tire was flat. Looking back, I saw the rear left tire was flat, too. Slashed. “Shit.”

  “You are an idiot.”

  It wasn’t the voice I was expecting. I opened my eyes, and there, next to the pillar, stood Preston. In full costume, complete with lightning-strike tights, boots, chest plate, cape, utility belt, and mask. I gaped at him, then glanced around. “What are you doing here?”

  “This is the most opportune time to find you alone. They might be stupid, but not that stupid.”

  I stepped toward him. “Yeah, no shit. You’ve got to leave, Preston. Now.”

  He looked over my shoulder. “Too late.”

  I turned toward the rear of the parking lot as figures materialized out of the darkness. As they neared, I saw Killinger, Tilly, Nathan Thompson, Perry Hogsett, Jeff Lions, and last but not least, Mike. I faced them, waiting, and Preston stepped up beside me. I whispered, “Get out of here, Preston. Now.”

  Preston actually laughed as he squared his shoulders and stuck his thumbs in his utility belt. “My superpowers will protect us. Just stay within my protective shield and you won’t be harmed.”

  I tried to steady my breathing, but it felt like somebody was beating my lungs with a pipe—which in the next few minutes probably wouldn’t be far from the truth. “Fuck, Preston, I’m serious. They’re serious.”

  “So am I.”

  Six guys who wanted to beat me to a pulp stopped in front of us. Lance studied Preston. “Holy shit. Are you joking, kid? A superhero?”

  Preston held up his hand to them, and his cape waved slightly in the breeze. “Leave the area immediately.”

  Lance and the guys laughed. “Ooohh, I’m scared now. Are you going to freeze us with your ice beam or trap us in your web?”

  I stepped forward. “This is between you and me, Lance. You gave your word.”

  Lance stared at me. “I can’t help it if fruitloop here wants his ass kicked. Maybe you can have hospital beds next to each other.”

  “The deal is off if you touch him.”

  Lance grinned. “There was never a deal. There was only you thinking there was a deal. You’re not playing in the game, man. In fact, when we’re done with you, you’re not playing for the rest of the season.”

  “And you have to bring five guys to do your job for you. How about you and me? Just us. Then we’ll see who ends up in the hospital.”

  “I don’t need to prove anything. You screwed us over, and now you pay.”

  I looked at Mike. “Really, Mike? This low?” I said.

  He shifted on his feet, hands in his pockets, but he wouldn’t answer me.

  My chest and shoulder muscles tightened. “Okay, then. Do it.”

  Just as Lance took a step forward, two shapes materialized on either side of us. Then two more to the sides. Lance stopped, looking as more shapes appeared, making a ring around them. Eight in total.

  I stared.

  Eight superheroes.

  Preston’s enclave.

  There was Tiger Man. Frogger. Red Hammer. Superguy. All of them. Lance looked around. “What the…,” he began, then laughed. “You’re kidding me.”

  Preston leaned close and whispered, “Protective shield.”

  Lance regained his composure, taking in the scene. “Whatever, man. This doesn’t change anything,” he said.

  But as I looked at Mike and Tilly, they shifted uncomfortably on their feet, glancing left and right. The rest of the guys did, too.

  Preston stepped forward, holding the Taser. He pushed the trigger, and blue light, accompanied by a zapping sound, glowed in the dimness. Lance stared at it, then at Preston. “You’re a joke, kid. And I promise you this: I’m going to get y
ou. I’m going to make you wish you were never born.”

  “You hear that?” a whiplike voice said. “He’s gonna pick on some kid like a big bully boy.”

  Everybody turned, and Jordan stood there. Along with just about every other Tiger on the team; their black-and-orange jerseys flashing from the streetlights. Lance froze. Jordan came forward, through the enclave of superheroes, and walked up to Preston. “Yo, man. You were right. Thanks for the heads-up,” he said, then held his hand out for a slap.

  Preston awkwardly tried to, failed, then shook his hand.

  Jordan laughed. “You’re good, man. You’re good.” Then he faced Lance, his smile wide. “You got something to do, boy, do it.”

  Lance clenched his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. His eyes twitched. “This is between Patterson and me. You don’t have anything to do with it.”

  I stood, amazed. Speechless.

  Jordan shook his head. “Aw, come on, bully boy. If you’re good with six guys against one, you gotta be even better with twenty-seven against six.”

  Mike was the first to speak. “I don’t want any part of this. Brett, I’m sorry. This got way out of hand.”

  I turned to him. “It wasn’t out of hand when you came here.” Then I turned to Lance. “We had a deal. We settle this on the field. You win, I quit the team. We win, it’s over.”

  Lance, looking for any way out that wouldn’t completely ruin his reputation, nodded. “Yeah. That was the deal. Okay.”

  “No, no, no,” Jordan cut in. “You got yourself a deal with this assclown, Brett, but I got my own deal.” He pointed at Killinger.

  Lance swallowed, and a tic twitched under his eye. “What?”

  Jordan went on. “Here’s my deal. You look sideways at Preston here, and you’ll have every Tiger on your ass like nothing else. Not that he couldn’t take you down anyway with that Taser and his buddies, but same difference. He helps a Tiger, that means he’s a Tiger. And that means we got his back.”