Free Nothin But Net by Matt Christopher Page A

snorted. “Fat chance.”
    “I’m gonna go talk to him right now and apologize.”
    “What if he snot alone?”
    “I don’t care. If I have to say I’m sorry in front of everybody, I will.”
    “Suit yourself,” Billy said. “But don’t include me, because I’m not about to apologize. He deserved it if anybody ever did.
     Have you already forgotten what he did to you?”
    “I’m not even sure he was responsible for that,” Tim admitted. “It might have been her idea.”
    “Yeah, right,” Billy sniffed. “And I had nothing to do with the other night.”
    “I won’t say you did,” Tim told him. “I’ll take total responsibility.”
    “You’re a nut,” Billy said, shaking his head. “But thanks. Sorry I was mad at you before.”
    “Huh?”
    “You know — when you laughed at me with the rest of them.”
    “Oh, yeah. Sorry for that. It was just … you know … kinda comical.”
    Billy smiled. “So was Gruber with that wet stain on his pajamas.”
    They both cracked up, but then Tim said, “I’m going now.”
    “Hey,” Billy said. “Good luck.”
    “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll need it.”
    He went downstairs and was about to. knock on Mike’s door, when there was a commotion outside on the front steps. “Get it!
     Get it!” kids were yelling, and the next thing Tim knew, a squirrel raced into the building. Its eyes were wide with panic
     as it zigzagged toward him, looking for a safe place to hide. In hot pursuit, in came seven or eight of the Eagles, some ofthem carrying baseball bats and tennis racquets, yelling for squirrel blood.
    Mike Gruber opened his door. “What the —?” he started to say, and then, everything happened in a blur. The squirrel raced
     up the stairs, and before anyone could react, there was a scream from Billy Futterman. “AAAAAHHH! Help! Help!” he cried. “There’s
     a squirrel under my bed. Somebody help!”
    Tim was up the stairs in a flash. He knew that squirrels could do incredible damage to walls, doors, windows, and furniture
     if they were on the loose and terrified. Unless they could confine it to a small space and then bag it with a net, it could
     totally trash Eagles Nest. He slipped into the room and slammed the door behind him.
    There was a blood-curdling scream from the other side of the door. “Open the door!” kids were shouting. “Open it! Open it!”
    “I can’t!” Tim shouted back, leaning against the door with all his weight to keep the kids from forcing it open. “Go get a
     net. I’ve got it trapped in here!”
    “You idiot,” came Brian Kelly’s voice. “You’ve got Gruber’s finger trapped in the door!”

11
    T he finger was broken in two places. Mike Gruber came back from the infirmary with a cast on the finger and murder in his eyes.
     “You just wait till I’m out of this cast,” he managed to say before he was restrained by Tito and led into his own room for
     a “calm-down” talking-to. “You’d better watch your back, Daniels!” were the last words Tim heard before the door slammed shut.
    Dick Dunbar steered Tim back upstairs and into his room, a safe distance from the wounded but still dangerous Gruber. “He’ll
     chill out after a while,” Dick said, slapping Tim on the back. “I mean, you didn’t do it on purpose, right?” He paused, which
     told Tim that he actually expected an answer.
    “Of course not!” he said. “You actually think I —?”
    “No, no, of course not,” Dick said. “I just needed to hear it from you is all.”
    Tim sighed and slumped into his bedside chair. “I don’t know why Mike hates me so much,” he said.
    “Well, you did break his finger.”
    “No, I mean before that. He’s hated me practically since I got here.”
    “Why you?” Dunbar asked.
    “I don’t know,” Tim said. “I guess because I was friends with Billy, and he didn’t like Billy.”
    “When was the first time you remember him being hostile to you?”
    “I guess since I blew the game against