Read Online Sammy Keyes and the Psycho Kitty Queen by Wendelin Van Draanen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Wendelin Van Draanen
Ads: Link
sky.”
So while Dave's talking, I'm checking out all the students.
No Bulldog.
I check to the left. And to the right.
No Bulldog.
“First thing you do,” I can hear Dave saying, “is squat like this.”
All the wrestlers squat, still looking at Dave.
“Then cross your arms like this.”
They all cross their arms.
“Bring in your chin and rock your hips.” All the wrestlers try it, and then Slammin' Dave calls out to one of them, “What'cha got down in your shorts, Benny, cement? You gotta
move.
Roll
up
on the balls of your feet.”
Benny rocks up on the balls of his feet, but he still looks really stiff.
“All right!” Dave says. “Now don't try this down there, just watch. What you do next is imagine someone'spulling a rug from under you. Then throw your shoulders back and—” BAM! The mat slams above me.
A second later Dave's voice is back. “And when you get up, remember, no open hands! You want to get your fingers pulverized, do like this. You want to keep ‘em intact, make a fist, lean on your forearm, and spin up like we drilled on last time.” After a few seconds of silence Dave says, “All right. One more time. Squat down, cross your arms, tuck your chin, rock your hips, and—” BAM! The mat slams again. Then Dave calls, “Rick, get in here!”
A guy with frizzy blond hair steps forward and climbs into the ring. Ten seconds later the mat goes BAM!
“Again!” Dave shouts. “Keep your head tucked!”
BAM!
“Again!”
BAM!
“All right, Hector! Your turn!”
So a guy who looks like a marine climbs into the ring as the other guy comes out. And I
was
trying to keep an eye out for the Bulldog, but it was hard to concentrate because every time the mat slammed, I jumped. It was
loud
, and the mat wasn't like a mat on the ground. Whenever I watched through the window or back door, it always looked like the wrestlers were hitting hard, but now I could see that the floor of the ring was springy. Not like a trampoline or anything, but springy enough to absorb a lot of the impact.
Anyway, I didn't see the Bulldog anywhere. Maybe he'd gone out the front door again. Maybe he was in the locker room changing. Maybe he was in the office making phonecalls. Who knew? All I knew is I was stuck and feeling very stupid. What was I
doing
there? What did I think? That the Bulldog had a stash of cats at Slammin' Dave's? That he was going to
wrestle
them to death?
Please.
And why did I even care? The Psycho Kitty Queen was mean. Why should I be trying to help her?
But it wasn't for
her
, exactly. It was the cats that bothered me. And besides, it wasn't just her cats. Mr. T and Prince were somebody else's cats. They could even have belonged to some kid.
Like Dorito belonged to me.
So there I am, trapped under the ring with the floor going BAM… BAM… BAM every few seconds, and wacky thoughts about cats and kitty killers running through my head, when all of a sudden I hear a deep, loud, rumbly
growl
in my ear.
Before I can think, my body shoots out from under the ring. And as I'm scrambling to my feet, the place goes quiet. Big sweaty bodies everywhere are staring at me. And I start backpedaling for the door, but two of the wrestlers grab me by the arms and yank me back.
Then the flaps of the ring's skirt push apart, and out comes the guy with the crazy cat mask. His creepy yellow cat eyes are fixed on me as he rasps, “I saw her dive under. She wasn't doin' nothin'. Just watchin'.”
Now Dave's looking down at me from the ring like, Well, well, well, while the rest of the wrestlers are checking me over, not really knowing what to think. “Good work, El Gato,” Dave says to the cat dude.
“Thanks,” he says, then jerks his head toward me.
Well, I jump, ‘cause the guy's a freak, you know? Stupid cat mask, yellow eyes, striped potbelly…
He laughs and rasps, “Skittery ain't'cha?” then whispers, “I told you to stay away!”
Slammin' Dave laughs and says to me, “I've heard about
So while Dave's talking, I'm checking out all the students.
No Bulldog.
I check to the left. And to the right.
No Bulldog.
“First thing you do,” I can hear Dave saying, “is squat like this.”
All the wrestlers squat, still looking at Dave.
“Then cross your arms like this.”
They all cross their arms.
“Bring in your chin and rock your hips.” All the wrestlers try it, and then Slammin' Dave calls out to one of them, “What'cha got down in your shorts, Benny, cement? You gotta
move.
Roll
up
on the balls of your feet.”
Benny rocks up on the balls of his feet, but he still looks really stiff.
“All right!” Dave says. “Now don't try this down there, just watch. What you do next is imagine someone'spulling a rug from under you. Then throw your shoulders back and—” BAM! The mat slams above me.
A second later Dave's voice is back. “And when you get up, remember, no open hands! You want to get your fingers pulverized, do like this. You want to keep ‘em intact, make a fist, lean on your forearm, and spin up like we drilled on last time.” After a few seconds of silence Dave says, “All right. One more time. Squat down, cross your arms, tuck your chin, rock your hips, and—” BAM! The mat slams again. Then Dave calls, “Rick, get in here!”
A guy with frizzy blond hair steps forward and climbs into the ring. Ten seconds later the mat goes BAM!
“Again!” Dave shouts. “Keep your head tucked!”
BAM!
“Again!”
BAM!
“All right, Hector! Your turn!”
So a guy who looks like a marine climbs into the ring as the other guy comes out. And I
was
trying to keep an eye out for the Bulldog, but it was hard to concentrate because every time the mat slammed, I jumped. It was
loud
, and the mat wasn't like a mat on the ground. Whenever I watched through the window or back door, it always looked like the wrestlers were hitting hard, but now I could see that the floor of the ring was springy. Not like a trampoline or anything, but springy enough to absorb a lot of the impact.
Anyway, I didn't see the Bulldog anywhere. Maybe he'd gone out the front door again. Maybe he was in the locker room changing. Maybe he was in the office making phonecalls. Who knew? All I knew is I was stuck and feeling very stupid. What was I
doing
there? What did I think? That the Bulldog had a stash of cats at Slammin' Dave's? That he was going to
wrestle
them to death?
Please.
And why did I even care? The Psycho Kitty Queen was mean. Why should I be trying to help her?
But it wasn't for
her
, exactly. It was the cats that bothered me. And besides, it wasn't just her cats. Mr. T and Prince were somebody else's cats. They could even have belonged to some kid.
Like Dorito belonged to me.
So there I am, trapped under the ring with the floor going BAM… BAM… BAM every few seconds, and wacky thoughts about cats and kitty killers running through my head, when all of a sudden I hear a deep, loud, rumbly
growl
in my ear.
Before I can think, my body shoots out from under the ring. And as I'm scrambling to my feet, the place goes quiet. Big sweaty bodies everywhere are staring at me. And I start backpedaling for the door, but two of the wrestlers grab me by the arms and yank me back.
Then the flaps of the ring's skirt push apart, and out comes the guy with the crazy cat mask. His creepy yellow cat eyes are fixed on me as he rasps, “I saw her dive under. She wasn't doin' nothin'. Just watchin'.”
Now Dave's looking down at me from the ring like, Well, well, well, while the rest of the wrestlers are checking me over, not really knowing what to think. “Good work, El Gato,” Dave says to the cat dude.
“Thanks,” he says, then jerks his head toward me.
Well, I jump, ‘cause the guy's a freak, you know? Stupid cat mask, yellow eyes, striped potbelly…
He laughs and rasps, “Skittery ain't'cha?” then whispers, “I told you to stay away!”
Slammin' Dave laughs and says to me, “I've heard about
Similar Books
