Read Online The Shadow Club Rising by Neal Shusterman - Free Book Online
Authors: Neal Shusterman
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what would make me happy, and right now you helping me tear down her banners would warm the bottom of my heart."
He waited, but I didn't move.
"No, I didn't think so. I'm sure you'll even tell her that it was me who tore them down. Well, good. I want you to tell her."
But I had already decided not to tell Cheryl about it. Resentment had more faces and more sideways glances than a deck of cards, and if this was how Austin wanted to play out his hand, I wasn't going to stop him, and I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of tattling to Cheryl. Part of me even agreed with Austin. After what the Shadow Club had done, Cheryl should have stayed out of the election the way I resigned from the track team—but that was her decision to make, and I wasn't going to judge her for it. My judging days were over.
"Have fun with your anti-campaign," I told him, and left him alone to score whatever trash can baskets he felt he needed.
Austin's banner vandalism was just more evidence that the anger in our school was breeding like bacteria. I might not have been responsible for everyone's anger, but I had certainly been a carrier. I could only hope it wasn't about to become an epidemic.
By now the entire school was anxiously anticipating what would happen to Alec next. I knew that I was, and I was not looking forward to getting the blame, or the credit, as some kids at school would put it.
It happened after gym class—another class that Alec and I had together. We'd been doing tumbles and unimpressive moves on the parallel bars. I never minded gym, but I could tell Alec hated it. As he liked to enter any activity at the very top, he despised being forced to engage in sports in which he wasn't already the best—and though he claimed to be a whiz at any sport that involved a ball, he was an absolute klutz when it came to gymnastics. So when class was over and we hit the locker rooms, he wasn't in the best of moods. My gym locker was just a few feet away from his, Usually we faced in opposite directions when we dressed so we wouldn't have to deal with each other, but today he felt like striking up a conversation.
"You really must like that shirt," he said to me with asmirk on his face. "You wear it an awful lot."
It was the same shirt he had commented about once before. It was just a plain, old blue-buttoned shirt.
"So," I said. "It's comfortable."
"You should wash it once in a while," he suggested. "You might find it smells better."
"At least it doesn't smell like skunk," I said under my breath but loud enough for him to hear.
"You've got Cheryl fooled, but you haven't fooled me," he said. "And you'll get what you deserve sooner than you think."
I closed my locker. "Was that a threat?"
"Nope," he said, "because I won't sink down to your level."
He pulled out a hairbrush and a bottle of styling gel, then pumped some of the clear gel into his hand.
"You believe what you want," I told him, "but when the truth comes out, I'll be expecting a major apology from you."
He laughed at that, rubbing the gel between his hands, then brushing his hands through his perfect hair. Right about then I began to smell a chemical odor, like paint or varnish. Schools were filled with weird smells, so I didn't think about it at first, until I noticed the look on Alec's face. His hands were still moving through his hair, spreading the gel, but his hands weren't moving as freely as they should have been.
By now some other kids had begun to take notice.
"What the . . . what is this?"
His hands were still firmly pressed against the sides of his head. He tried to pull them away, but they weren't coming.
"This isn't my hair gel!"
As the smell around me grew stronger, I recognized it. My father and I had smelled it out in the garage when trying to glue back together some broken lawn furniture. It was the smell of Lunar Glue—a super-epoxy "so strong it could hold the moon in orbit," went the slogan—and right now it was spread across Alec
He waited, but I didn't move.
"No, I didn't think so. I'm sure you'll even tell her that it was me who tore them down. Well, good. I want you to tell her."
But I had already decided not to tell Cheryl about it. Resentment had more faces and more sideways glances than a deck of cards, and if this was how Austin wanted to play out his hand, I wasn't going to stop him, and I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of tattling to Cheryl. Part of me even agreed with Austin. After what the Shadow Club had done, Cheryl should have stayed out of the election the way I resigned from the track team—but that was her decision to make, and I wasn't going to judge her for it. My judging days were over.
"Have fun with your anti-campaign," I told him, and left him alone to score whatever trash can baskets he felt he needed.
Austin's banner vandalism was just more evidence that the anger in our school was breeding like bacteria. I might not have been responsible for everyone's anger, but I had certainly been a carrier. I could only hope it wasn't about to become an epidemic.
By now the entire school was anxiously anticipating what would happen to Alec next. I knew that I was, and I was not looking forward to getting the blame, or the credit, as some kids at school would put it.
It happened after gym class—another class that Alec and I had together. We'd been doing tumbles and unimpressive moves on the parallel bars. I never minded gym, but I could tell Alec hated it. As he liked to enter any activity at the very top, he despised being forced to engage in sports in which he wasn't already the best—and though he claimed to be a whiz at any sport that involved a ball, he was an absolute klutz when it came to gymnastics. So when class was over and we hit the locker rooms, he wasn't in the best of moods. My gym locker was just a few feet away from his, Usually we faced in opposite directions when we dressed so we wouldn't have to deal with each other, but today he felt like striking up a conversation.
"You really must like that shirt," he said to me with asmirk on his face. "You wear it an awful lot."
It was the same shirt he had commented about once before. It was just a plain, old blue-buttoned shirt.
"So," I said. "It's comfortable."
"You should wash it once in a while," he suggested. "You might find it smells better."
"At least it doesn't smell like skunk," I said under my breath but loud enough for him to hear.
"You've got Cheryl fooled, but you haven't fooled me," he said. "And you'll get what you deserve sooner than you think."
I closed my locker. "Was that a threat?"
"Nope," he said, "because I won't sink down to your level."
He pulled out a hairbrush and a bottle of styling gel, then pumped some of the clear gel into his hand.
"You believe what you want," I told him, "but when the truth comes out, I'll be expecting a major apology from you."
He laughed at that, rubbing the gel between his hands, then brushing his hands through his perfect hair. Right about then I began to smell a chemical odor, like paint or varnish. Schools were filled with weird smells, so I didn't think about it at first, until I noticed the look on Alec's face. His hands were still moving through his hair, spreading the gel, but his hands weren't moving as freely as they should have been.
By now some other kids had begun to take notice.
"What the . . . what is this?"
His hands were still firmly pressed against the sides of his head. He tried to pull them away, but they weren't coming.
"This isn't my hair gel!"
As the smell around me grew stronger, I recognized it. My father and I had smelled it out in the garage when trying to glue back together some broken lawn furniture. It was the smell of Lunar Glue—a super-epoxy "so strong it could hold the moon in orbit," went the slogan—and right now it was spread across Alec
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