Read Online Cody's Varsity Rush by Todd Hafer - Free Book Online Page A

decided he would go for a run when he got home. Might as well get some exercise today , he reasoned.

    Man, it feels good to be running without all my football gear on , Cody thought. And it feels good to not be worrying about hitting somebody—or being hit.
    He was running east, about two miles out of town, he guessed. Two more miles, he told himself, and I’ll head back. He ran facing traffic along Highway 7, although there really wasn ’ t any traffic. He had seen only one car zoom by him since he left the Grant city limits behind.
    Just as Cody took a swig from his water bottle, he stumbled on the chewed-up asphalt along the road’s narrow shoulder. He managed to keep his feet, but he also managed to snort water up his nose. He felt his nostrils burn and tried to suppress a sneeze.
    Well , he sighed inwardly, this was a perfect run. Man, this shoulder is really ragged over here. Think I ’ ll cross to the other side.
    Drew Phelps had warned Cody about running with traffic, but Cody wasn’t worried. Traffic had been less than sparse, and he figured he would have plenty of time to move off the right shoulder, or even cross back across the road, if he heard a vehicle coming.
    He angled across the asphalt. It felt surprisingly soft under his feet in the late-September heat. Once on the other side of the road, he settled into a smooth pace again. The running felt almost effortless. He let his mind drift. He wondered if he would be able to run a sub-five-minute mile when track season rolled around. He thought about basketball season too. Mr. Clayton, his eighth-grade coach, had moved up to the high school, where he was coaching basketball and track as well as teaching PE. Clayton had been the first coach to truly show confidence in him. He was eager to have another shot at rewarding that confidence.
    He reminded himself that he should tell Coach Clayton about Gabe Weitz’s unwelcome visit. When Cody finally cornered his dad and told him about it, Luke Martin assured his son that he would “look into it.” But Cody wasn’t sure there had been any follow-through until this morning. His dad delivered the news—an officer would come to the Martin house to take a statement later that evening.
    Cody wondered what the experience would be like—and if his dad would show up on time as promised—or whether the commitment would get lost among the wedding plans. He wondered if he would be able to tell his story clearly to a stern-faced officer in blue, who would then find Weitz and lock him up. “Can’t wait to see that loser in handcuffs,” Cody muttered.
    Most of all Cody thought about football. I wonder if I ’ ll see some varsity action next week . I have to admit I ’ m a little disappointed that I didn ’ t get in the game today. I thought I ’ d be relieved, but —
    Cody sensed trouble when he heard the vehicle behind him gun its engine. He whipped his head around just as the battle-scarred old Nissan pickup veered onto the shoulder, spitting gravel and devouring the distance between them.
    He recognized the truck immediately. It had been parked across the street the day Weitz invaded the Martin home. Cody half whispered his favorite prayer—“Help!”—and looked for an escape route. Beyond the shoulder of the road lurked a sharp drop-off into high wild grass. The grass partially camouflaged a makeshift barbed wire fence that guarded a field of some sort that had roundish green plants about knee high—and fat as medicine balls.
    The truck was only about fifty yards from him now, closing fast. Cody leaped from the road, wondering where—and how—he would land. On my feet, someplace soft would be nice , he thought as he flew through the air. The roar of the truck engine filled his ears, his chest.
    He felt the outside of his right foot touch down—and slide on the slick grass. He tucked and rolled, half expecting to