bellowing animals.
I heard them turn the corner. They kept running.
“Where is he?” I heard Lou shout.
“Keep going,” one of his pals replied. “I saw him run this way.”
I had my eyes shut, fingers crossed. I gritted my teeth. And listened to them run right past the locker.
I let out a long whoosh of air. My heart wouldn’t stop pumping and thumping. So loud I could barely hear their fading footsteps.
My face was drenched in sweat. I suddenly realized it was hot inside this locker. My legs ached. I tried to shift my weight. I was standing on someone’s books and papers.
A metal hook dug into my back. I leaned forward, but there wasn’t room to get away from the hook.
I pressed my ear against the locker door. I listened for the three men to return. To come running back down the hall.
Would they search the lockers to find me? Were they
that
desperate?
Silence now.
I waited. Waited.
So cramped and hot and uncomfortable in the narrow space. My back started to itch. Sweat trickled into my eyes.
Time to get out of here
, I decided.
They’re not coming back.
I fumbled for the door latch.
I grabbed it and pulled up. It didn’t budge.
I tried to jiggle it. No. It wouldn’t move.
Maybe I had the wrong piece of the latch. I squinted down at the door. Too dark to see anything.
I brushed my hand over the metal gears down there. Tried to pull the latch up. Tried to push it down.
My hand found some kind of round gear. I gripped it tightly and tried to spin it. One way. Then the other.
No. It didn’t spin.
I edged my shoulder against the door. Tried to move the latch and push the door out with my shoulder.
No.
I brushed sweat from my eyes. My legs were trembling.
I listened. No one in the hall.
I couldn’t call out for help. Lou and his two partners might hear me.
I couldn’t shout. And I couldn’t budge the latch.
I was trapped inside this thing. Trapped with the hook poking into my back. And my legs trembling. And sweat rolling down my face.
Trapped in this locker the size of a coffin.
28
My back ached. The sides of the locker squeezed my shoulders.
I tried to squirm into a more comfortable position. But there was no room to move.
My hand wrapped around the latch once again. I tried pulling it. Pushing it. Twirling it.
I heard footsteps. I sucked in a lungful of air and held it. And listened.
Light footsteps scraping the floor.
I peeked out through the narrow air slots in the door. I saw a flash of blond hair across the hall. I squinted till I saw the kid’s face.
Greg Baum. A fourth-grader I knew from Sunday school.
“Hey, Greg —” I whispered through the air vent.
He kept walking.
“Greg—stop!” I called a little louder.
I could see him spin around. His eyes bulged in surprise. “Who’s there?”
“Greg—it’s me. Mickey Coe. I’m inside a locker.”
“Huh? Why?” he asked.
“Because I got stuck,” I said. “I’m locked in. Can you let me out?”
I kept talking until Greg found the locker. Then he opened the door without any trouble.
I came tumbling out. I stumbled all the way to the wall across from us. I hit the wall and bounced off.
Greg studied me. “Why did you shut yourself in that locker?”
“It was kind of a dare thing,” I lied.
He started to ask more questions. But I took off. No sign of the three cat store dudes. So I ran straight to the front of the school, shoved open the doors, and burst outside.
I glanced up and down the street. No. I didn’t see them.
The rain had stopped, and the afternoon sun was sinking behind the trees. I tried to stay in the long shadows as I ran.
All the way home, I kept turning and checking behind me. I kept expecting them to jump out from behind a tree or the side of a house.
It was only three blocks. But it was a terrifying run. I darted through backyards and along a narrow alley filled with trash cans.
Were they still searching the school?
I could see they wouldn’t give up. They were going to
I heard them turn the corner. They kept running.
“Where is he?” I heard Lou shout.
“Keep going,” one of his pals replied. “I saw him run this way.”
I had my eyes shut, fingers crossed. I gritted my teeth. And listened to them run right past the locker.
I let out a long whoosh of air. My heart wouldn’t stop pumping and thumping. So loud I could barely hear their fading footsteps.
My face was drenched in sweat. I suddenly realized it was hot inside this locker. My legs ached. I tried to shift my weight. I was standing on someone’s books and papers.
A metal hook dug into my back. I leaned forward, but there wasn’t room to get away from the hook.
I pressed my ear against the locker door. I listened for the three men to return. To come running back down the hall.
Would they search the lockers to find me? Were they
that
desperate?
Silence now.
I waited. Waited.
So cramped and hot and uncomfortable in the narrow space. My back started to itch. Sweat trickled into my eyes.
Time to get out of here
, I decided.
They’re not coming back.
I fumbled for the door latch.
I grabbed it and pulled up. It didn’t budge.
I tried to jiggle it. No. It wouldn’t move.
Maybe I had the wrong piece of the latch. I squinted down at the door. Too dark to see anything.
I brushed my hand over the metal gears down there. Tried to pull the latch up. Tried to push it down.
My hand found some kind of round gear. I gripped it tightly and tried to spin it. One way. Then the other.
No. It didn’t spin.
I edged my shoulder against the door. Tried to move the latch and push the door out with my shoulder.
No.
I brushed sweat from my eyes. My legs were trembling.
I listened. No one in the hall.
I couldn’t call out for help. Lou and his two partners might hear me.
I couldn’t shout. And I couldn’t budge the latch.
I was trapped inside this thing. Trapped with the hook poking into my back. And my legs trembling. And sweat rolling down my face.
Trapped in this locker the size of a coffin.
28
My back ached. The sides of the locker squeezed my shoulders.
I tried to squirm into a more comfortable position. But there was no room to move.
My hand wrapped around the latch once again. I tried pulling it. Pushing it. Twirling it.
I heard footsteps. I sucked in a lungful of air and held it. And listened.
Light footsteps scraping the floor.
I peeked out through the narrow air slots in the door. I saw a flash of blond hair across the hall. I squinted till I saw the kid’s face.
Greg Baum. A fourth-grader I knew from Sunday school.
“Hey, Greg —” I whispered through the air vent.
He kept walking.
“Greg—stop!” I called a little louder.
I could see him spin around. His eyes bulged in surprise. “Who’s there?”
“Greg—it’s me. Mickey Coe. I’m inside a locker.”
“Huh? Why?” he asked.
“Because I got stuck,” I said. “I’m locked in. Can you let me out?”
I kept talking until Greg found the locker. Then he opened the door without any trouble.
I came tumbling out. I stumbled all the way to the wall across from us. I hit the wall and bounced off.
Greg studied me. “Why did you shut yourself in that locker?”
“It was kind of a dare thing,” I lied.
He started to ask more questions. But I took off. No sign of the three cat store dudes. So I ran straight to the front of the school, shoved open the doors, and burst outside.
I glanced up and down the street. No. I didn’t see them.
The rain had stopped, and the afternoon sun was sinking behind the trees. I tried to stay in the long shadows as I ran.
All the way home, I kept turning and checking behind me. I kept expecting them to jump out from behind a tree or the side of a house.
It was only three blocks. But it was a terrifying run. I darted through backyards and along a narrow alley filled with trash cans.
Were they still searching the school?
I could see they wouldn’t give up. They were going to
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