Bound for Danger Page 3

  “Very well. Brothers?”

  Faster than I would have thought possible, the masked figures advanced on us. I was dragged down from the pedestal, the bag thrown back over my head, my hands bound with what felt like tape. We were led back up the stairs, out onto the driveway, and back into the trunk, and then our ankles were bound. The trunk lid slammed down on us, and the engine started up again.

  We were bouncing along for a minute or two when Joe muttered, “Well, that wasn’t fun.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Not what I expected at all.”

  “Did I almost get branded ?” Joe asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Do you think they really would have done it?”

  “It sure felt like it,” Joe said.

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  Joe groaned. “Get home,” he said. “Have some of Aunt Trudy’s leftovers. Then decide.”

  After a few minutes the engine stopped. Seconds later the car doors opened and the trunk was popped. Cool air flooded in as hands reached down to lift us out and carry us . . . somewhere.

  Suddenly I was placed in a semi-upright position on something cold and metal, sitting down. I could hear Joe being positioned nearby.

  Then there was a scurrying sound, doors opening and slamming, and a car driving away.

  “Did they seriously just leave us here tied up?” Joe asked.

  “I think so,” I said.

  Joe groaned and I could hear him begin to struggle. “It’s, like, thirty degrees out here. Do you think you can wiggle out of your restraints?”

  I tried, but they were too tight. “Negative. We’re going to have to wait here for someone to find us.”

  “Where do you think we are?”

  I sighed. “Hopefully in front of a Walmart or something. Somewhere really busy.”

  But that seemed doubtful. Once the car drove away, we didn’t hear another one for a few minutes. It sounded like we were on an out-of-the-way street.

  It felt like six hours, but was probably only thirty minutes or so, before we heard the rumble of a car approaching, then a door opening and shutting, followed by a startled, “What the . . . ?” from a young-sounding male voice.

  I heard footsteps approaching, and the bag was ripped off my head. I was looking at a startled, pimply-faced teenager in a Paco’s polo shirt and baseball cap. We were back in Paco’s parking lot, propped in the small outdoor seating area, and on the ground by my feet were four large pizza boxes. The kid turned and ripped off Joe’s bag.

  “Seriously?” he said, as he pulled out a pocketknife and sliced the duct tape around our wrists and ankles. “This is, like, the third time this month! Don’t you guys have anything better to do than play stupid practical jokes on one another?”

  I looked at Joe. “We most certainly do. Thanks for the rescue.”

  We walked over to our car, which was thankfully still parked where we’d left it at 6:28. That felt like days ago, but when Joe turned on the car, the digital clock read 8:24.

  We looked at each other. “Let’s get home,” I said. “It’s been a very long day.”

  4

  GAME ON

  JOE

  OH, HEY THERE, JASON, FANCY meeting you here!” I said, sliding a book titled Trial by Fire: Hazing and You across the circulation desk to our friendly school library volunteer. I’d chosen the book as a not-so-subtle signal, because it was clear to us after what happened last night that the basketball team had a problem with hazing: harassing or ridiculing certain members to make them do what team members wanted. College fraternities and sororities are notorious for hazing, but it happens sometimes on sports teams too. Since the basketball team was school-sponsored, hazing was definitely against the rules and could get whoever was doing it in serious trouble. The question was, who was doing it?

  Jason Bound looked up with a nonplussed expression. He glanced from me to Frank, who stood just behind me. We’d used our sleuthing capabilities (and Marianne’s role as first-period office aide) to deduce that Jason helped out in the library during our lunch break.

  We figured it was the safest place to ask him what the heck?? Surely he wouldn’t want to make a scene in such a quiet place, with a bunch of students and the real librarian around.

  He scanned the book’s bar code and sneered at us. “Fancy meeting you two here,” he said. “Student ID?”

  I handed mine over, and he scanned it. I’d just been trying to make a point with the book, but it looked like I was checking it out now.

  Jason pushed the book at me, looking up at us with an unimpressed expression. “Did you two have fun last night?”

  I glared at him. I couldn’t believe he was being so open about this. “Of course we didn’t.”

  Jason shrugged. “Well, maybe next time you’ll take my invitation seriously.”

  “We took everything you said seriously,” Frank said, eyebrows raised with meaning. “Though it’s a lot easier to see your face now.”

  Jason looked at Frank like he’d lost his mind. “You couldn’t see my face in the parking lot?” he asked.

  “Uh, no,” I said, surprised that he’d admitted it so quickly. “There was the small matter of the bag on my head.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jason asked. “You had a bag on your head in the school parking lot yesterday?”

  I glanced at Frank, confused, then turned back to Jason. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  Jason frowned now. “I’m talking about when I made a point to track you down yesterday and invite you to meet us for pizza,” he said very slowly, like he was talking to a small child. “Then you never showed up.”

  I stared at him. “Wait, you mean . . . you guys really went to Paco’s?”

  Jason glared at me. “Of course we did,” he said. “Did you think it was tentative or something? Did you get a better offer?”

  “No, we showed up!” Frank said defensively.

  Jason scowled at him. “When?” he demanded. “I was there the whole time, and we were right by the door. It’s not that big of a place.”

  “How long were you there?” I asked.

  Jason shrugged. “A couple hours. We had a good time.” He sighed and began typing something into the computer. “You know, I wanted to be nice to you guys, because you seemed like cool people. But standing people up is just rude.”

  “Um . . . ,” Frank started, holding up a hand. “Jason, do you really not know what happened to us last night?”

  Jason stopped typing and looked at us, his eyes widening with concern. “What, were you in an accident or something?” he asked. “Because you could have just said so. Is there something I should know?”

  I looked at Frank. If Jason was putting on an act, he was a really good actor.

  “No,” I said quickly, picking up the book. “Look, I’m really sorry we didn’t make it. See you at practice later?”

  Jason met my eyes, clearly more confused than ever. If he was mad that we were still planning to go to practice, there was no hint of it in his expression. “Okay,” he said. “See you then, I guess.”

  I nodded at Frank and led him out of the library, dropping the hazing book in the “return” box along the way.

  “What the heck?” I asked once we were back in the hall. “I didn’t necessarily expect him to come out and admit it, but that was really good acting, if he was part of what happened last night.”

  “I know,” Frank said. “I thought that would go differently.”

  I sighed. “What now?” I asked. “Should we go to Gerther?”

  We’d stayed up late the night before figuring out a plan of action. We finally decided to start with Jason—since he was most likely to be involved in the scheme. It was clear that whoever was behind this expected us to quit, but we weren’t sure we were ready. We knew we’d be putting ourselves at risk until we left the team. But we wanted to find out as much as we could in the meantime.

  Frank frowned. “I don’t want to
now,” he said, shaking his head.

  “But we said we would!” I pointed out. “They’re going to come after us again if we don’t, Frank. And who knows what they’ll try next? They tried to brand me.”

  Frank sighed. “We don’t know that they would have gone through with it.”

  “Well, awesome,” I retorted, getting frustrated myself. “Do you want to take that bet? It’s only my arm.”

  Frank shook his head. “No, I don’t. But listen, Joe: these guys are bullies, plain and simple. If we quit, then they get what they want, and they get to keep doing this to other people. Remember what the pizza guy said.”

  “Third time this month,” I said.

  “That means they make a habit of this,” Frank replied. “It isn’t right. We’ve never given in to bullies before, and I don’t think we should now.”

  It was my turn to sigh. “We don’t know what they’re capable of, Frank,” I said. “Or even who they are. If they get us again, they can do whatever they want, and we can’t finger them for it.”

  “I know,” Frank said with a serious expression. “But we’re in the business of solving problems, and there’s clearly a big hazing problem on the basketball team. Deep down, you must realize this is why Gerther had us join in the first place.”

  I groaned. Truthfully, the thought had crossed my mind.

  “I think we have a moral obligation to get to the bottom of it,” Frank said. “Or at least to find out more.”

  I looked at him skeptically, but he just gazed back, totally sincere. I groaned again; I wanted to punch something. Not my brother, because I was pretty sure he was right.

  “All right,” I said, grudgingly. “But I just hope we hold on to all our critical body parts in the process.”

  • • •

  There was an away basketball game that afternoon, and to say that Frank and I were ready for it after only one day of practice would be . . . a lie, actually. Our only hope was that the coaches would decide to have us watch the entire game from the safety of the sidelines. We also wondered what our teammates’ reactions would be to our presence—if some among them had been involved in the hazing, they’d realize that we weren’t quitting the team.

  When we boarded the bus after school, I studied each teammate’s face carefully to see who looked surprised or dismayed. Whoever the masked hazers were, they weren’t expecting to see us show up on the bus, and they surely wouldn’t be happy about it. But as I scanned their faces, I felt halfway disappointed and halfway impressed. Nobody’s face betrayed anything. The girls’ team was on the bus as well—their game was right before ours—so a lot of the guys were chatting up the girls. Whoever the hazers were, they were pros.

  I grabbed Frank’s arm. “Let’s split up,” I whispered. “If we strike up conversations with our seatmates, maybe we’ll learn if anything similar has happened to other people.”

  He slipped into a seat next to a junior named Ty. I kept walking and finally slid into a bench next to a sophomore, Gabe. I’d noticed at practice yesterday that he was small, but really fast.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to look friendly. “I’m Joe.”

  He nodded, pulling out headphones. “Gabe,” he said. “Whassup?”

  Friendly, I noted. Either doesn’t hate me or is good at faking it.

  “Not much,” I said. “Kind of nervous about this game, honestly.”

  The bus rumbled to a start and we began driving toward Mill Valley, where the game would be played.

  “The first game is tough,” Gabe said knowingly. “You just have to play your best.”

  “When was your first game?” I asked.

  “This past fall,” he replied with a shrug. “It was tough. But at least I had a bunch of other guys starting with me.”

  “How many guys on the team were new last fall?” I asked.

  Gabe thought a minute. “Maybe ten, twelve?”

  “Was it . . . hard?” I asked. “I mean, the team seems pretty tight. And I’ve heard . . .” I paused, looked around, and lowered my voice. No one near us seemed to be listening. “Rumors.”

  Gabe looked startled. “Um . . . what do you mean?”

  I cleared my throat. “I’ve heard if you don’t play well, things might happen to you.”

  Gabe suddenly seemed uncomfortable. Jackpot, I thought. “Oh, that’s probably exaggerated,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry.”

  Time to go in for the kill. “Did that happen to you?” I whispered.

  “What?” he asked nervously.

  I looked around again to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in. “Did something . . . happen, if you didn’t play well?”

  Gabe’s eyes darted around anxiously.

  I lowered my voice even further. “I just want to be prepared, if anything goes down. I know I didn’t play so great yesterday. I want to try my best, but . . .” I paused. “I also want to know what’s in store for me.”

  Gabe seemed really nervous now. He looked from me, to his hands clenched in his lap.

  “Can I tell you something?” I whispered. “Something happened last night. . . .” In the lowest voice I could manage, I gave him a play-by-play of the night before—including the pedestal and the near branding. At certain points Gabe’s eyes widened in what looked like recognition.

  “I’m just not sure how much more I can take,” I said finally. I was being sincere, too. “Can you tell me what happens if you don’t do what they want?”

  By this point Gabe had flushed bright red. He looked all around him, like he wanted to see whether anyone was listening. Seemingly satisfied, he leaned in and said in a very quiet voice, “Well—”

  “HEY, GABE, ARE YOU WEARING A BIEBER T-SHIRT IRONICALLY, OR WHAT?”

  Gabe and I both jumped about a foot in the air at the sound of a loud female voice sliding into the bench behind us.

  The girl was Kelly Pritzky. I knew from the school blog that she was captain of the girls’ basketball team, which was having a pretty good season too, although their successes were being overshadowed by Jason Bound and the boys’ possible championship. She was tall, freckled, red-haired, and loud. I think she’d been voted “Class Cutup” in the senior awards.

  Now she looked at Gabe’s T-shirt as he turned around, shell-shocked. “Oh, my bad. That’s just, like, a graphic thing. It looks totally like this Justin Bieber T-shirt my little cousin’s been wearing around. I just want to say to her parents, are you serious with this? I mean, really?”

  Not sure exactly what to do, I went with a formal introduction. “Hi,” I said, holding out my hand to shake. “I’m Joe Hardy.”

  She shook my hand, not seeming fazed by my formality. “Whassup. Kelly Pritzky. You’re one of the new guys, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’d ask you what the heck you’re doing joining the team right now, but I gather that’s confidential information.”

  I swallowed hard. Confidential information? Had she heard about the hazing last night, the failed attempt to get us to spill?

  She shrugged, breaking the tension. “Anyway, I don’t care. Jason says you’re decent guys, and he’s a good judge of character. Are you nervous about today’s game?”

  We started making small talk, me going on about how hard the practice was, Kelly laughing and sharing memories of her first few weeks on the team. I liked her, actually. She was really brash and honest and funny.

  I just wished she hadn’t interrupted Gabe in the middle of his opening up to me.

  Eventually our conversation wrapped up, and Kelly left to go chat with her teammates. By that time the kid in front of us had struck up a conversation with Gabe, though, and it seemed like my opportunity to get any information out of him had passed.

  After about an hour, we pulled up in front of Mill Valley’s very modern high school. The driver opened the doors, and Coach Noonan yelled for us to get off.

  I ended up next to Frank once we’d filed off the bu
s. “Find out anything interesting?” I asked.

  He frowned. “Kind of? I got sucked into this conversation about The Walking Dead, so I know a lot about zombies now. Did I learn anything about the case? No. You?”

  I shook my head. But just at that moment, Gabe scooted past me, quickly reaching out for my hand and pressing a small piece of paper into it. I grabbed it, and he headed past me into the gym without even making eye contact.

  I grabbed Frank’s elbow and pulled him to the outskirts of the crowd, where I unfolded the note and showed it to him.

  I CAN’T TALK NOW. E-MAIL ME:

  GABEZ@FASTMAIL.COM

  5

  HACK ATTACK

  FRANK

  THE GAME WAS A REAL nail-biter. Nonstop action, with lots of interceptions, complicated plays, three-point throws. . . . I mean, you had to be a pretty amazing athlete to hold your own in this game.

  Which is why Joe and I spent the entire game on the bench. Okay, not the entire game. When Jayden Speck fell and twisted his ankle, Joe was put in for, like, forty-five seconds. Then he missed an easy pass, and Jayden told Coach Perotta through gritted teeth, “I feel better.” Soon Joe was riding the pine again and Jayden hobbled back into the action.

  That was Joe, though, not me. For the entire game, my backside might as well have been Krazy-glued to the bench.

  At one point I caught Coach Noonan watching me with sympathy. “You’ll play soon,” he mouthed. But the truth was, not playing was kind of a relief. It gave me no chance to mess up, to make the team members who didn’t want me there even angrier.

  And it gave me the opportunity to watch and listen.

  Jason Bound was really an amazing player. There were other good athletes on the team, but Jason was in another league entirely. Dorian Marte seemed to be his second-in-command, setting him up for layups and stuff like that. He was fast and strong too, but nowhere near as good as Jason. Dorian was only a junior, though, so I figured he would be the star of the team next year.

  You could tell that the whole team had been practicing together for a long time, though. They had a chemistry that only comes with months and months of work. Watching them play, I could understand how a lot of the team members weren’t happy we’d just shown up at practice one day. There wasn’t time to get us up to speed with the rest of the team. We were just going to hold them back.