Free The Prisoner of Cell 25 by Richard Paul Evans Page A

“Who wants to see Corky wearing my skirt on Monday?”
    A large cheer went up. I noticed that Corky was sweating. “Hey, I was just kidding around. I don’t want to hurt the little guy. Cool?”
    I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Cool.”
    Just then Drew stepped in. “Arrgh,” Drew said in his best pirate, “them be fightin’ wards, matie. Wards yu’ll be a regrettin’. Lil Norris be so tough he can kick the back side ’a yar face.”
    Everyone laughed, which started a barrage of Chuck Norris jokes. 
    “Little Norris is so tough, when he does push-ups he doesn’t push himself up. He pushes the earth down.”
    “Little Norris is so tough, he can lead a horse to water and make it drink.”
    “What’s the matter, Corky?” someone shouted. “Chicken?” Then someone started a chant, “Vey, Vey, Vey.”
    Now Corky couldn’t back out—he’d never live it down. There was no way around it; we were going to spar. It was a classic David and Goliath scenario, except I couldn’t use my slingshot. I was going to get killed.
    Taylor sidled up to me. “That didn’t go the way I thought it would.”
    “Really?” I said.
    “It’s not so bad.”
    “How is this ‘not so bad’?”
    “Well, no one expects you to beat him. So if you lose, you’ll look brave for fighting a monster. And if you somehow win, you’ll be a legend.”
    “I feel much better now,” I said sarcastically.
    She looked at Corky, then back to me. “Wait. I’ve got another idea.”
    “I can’t wait to hear it.”
    “When I say ‘go,’ run into him as hard as you can and try to knock him down.”
    “Are you kidding me? He’s a freakin’ brick wall.”
    “Trust me.”
    “I did.”
    “Trust me again.”
    “Let’s go!” Corky shouted impatiently. “Let’s get this going.”
    “All right,” Taylor said, stepping away from me. “When I say ‘go,’ come out fighting. Ready . . .”
    Corky’s eyes narrowed into small slits as he leaned forward on the balls of his feet, squaring off the way he did before a wrestling match.
    After the razzing Taylor gave him, I don’t think he was going to hold back.
    “Get set . . .”
    His fists balled up. I swallowed and tried not to look overly terrified—just a little terrified. I was certain he could smell my fear.
    Don’t panic , I told myself.
    “Go!”
    I took off running at him, feeling like a pitched baseball about to be smacked out of the park. Shouting like a madman, I slammed into him with everything I had, my face buried into his very solid abs. 
    To my amazement he stumbled backward and fell, crashing to the ground in an azalea bush.
    “Yeah!” shouted Drew, running to Corky. “I told you, man! Little Norris rules.”
    As I lifted myself up, Corky was still on his back, covered in white flower petals and looking dazed. Drew pointed his finger in Corky’s face. “I warned you, don’t mess with the little Norris. The kid’s got sweet moves.”
    The truth is, I was more surprised than anyone, including Corky.
    I put my hand out to lift him up, which he fortunately ignored, since I’d need a car jack to lift him. He slowly climbed to his feet, wiping off his backside. “Good job, kid.”
    Taylor walked up to him. “I’m not letting you wear my skirt,” she said. “You’ll stretch it. But it looks like you’ll be carrying Michael’s books.”
    I waved it off. “No,” I said, “we were just messing around. He could have crushed me like a bug. Thanks for taking it easy on me.”
    Corky, still confused about what had happened, looked at me and nodded. “Hey, no problem. I don’t know where you learned that junk, but you’re pretty good.”
    Drew put his arm around me. “He’s the man. You gotta start hanging out with us, little Norris.”
    The crowd gathered around me. A pretty girl with long black curly hair walked up to me. I knew her from math class but she had never acknowledged my existence. “Hi, Michael. I’m Chantel.