Free Stumptown Kid by Carol Gorman and Ron J. Findley

out a sudden laugh like he hadn’t meant to. He glanced up at me for a second. “He shouldn’ta picked on you guys yesterday.”
    Eileen did the talking for me. “How come you didn’t tell him to cut it out?” she asked.
    Will hesitated, and Johnny chimed in. “Heck, Lobo woulda
killed
Will if he had.”
    “That right?” I asked him. “Would he’ve killed you?”
    Will shrugged. “Maybe.” He frowned then, and said almost in a whisper, “Sorry I didn’t say anything.”
    Those were about the best words he could say. Will must have been a little scared of Lobo, too, and I couldn’t blame him. Besides, they were playing on the same team now.
    “It’s okay,” I said. “I sure hope he don’t make good on his threat, though, and kill me.” It came out sounding too much like a little kid, so I said like I was joking, “But I got my PF Flyers on just in case.”
    Eileen laughed. “Yeah, you might need to ’run faster and jump higher,’ like they say on the radio.” Then she added with a wave of her hand, “He’s not gonna kill you, Charlie. That’s just talk. He’s got a mouth as big as Linn County.”
    “As big as the whole state of Iowa,” Johnny said.
    Eileen laughed. “The world.”
    “The universe!” I added.
    I laughed along with them, but I was still scared at the thought of seeing Lobo again.
    “Hey, Charlie, you were doin’ some good pitching in the workup yesterday,” Eileen said.
    “Thanks,” I replied. “I learned some stuff from a new friend of mine. His name’s Luther. You guys should meet him.”
    “Did he just move here?” Eileen asked.
    “He’s a grown-up,” I said. “He was a pitcher for the Memphis Mockingbirds. They’re a team in the Negro League.”
    “Really?” Johnny said. “Where’d you meet him?”
    “At Wildcats tryouts,” I said. “He was watching us.”
    Will nodded. “Oh, yeah, I remember seeing him sitting on the bleacher.”
    “So when did you start practicing with the Wildcats?” I asked him.
    “Last night,” he said. “Coach Hennessey’s real tough, and he has favorites, like Brad Lobo. He’s good at coaching, though.”
    “Well, look who’s here!”
    I jerked around to see Brad Lobo himself, with two of his buddies. They were coming down the hillside toward the river. I never see Lobo around the river because he don’t live in Stumptown or even close.
    I was so surprised and scared at seeing him that my mouth went dry and didn’t work at first. Finally, I said—and it came out more like a whisper—”What’re you doin’ here?”
    “What do you think?” Lobo said, sneering. “Looking for
you,
Snothead. We got a score to settle.”
    He stood there with his fists on his hips like he was Superman or something. I stood up, my mind racing around in circles, trying to think of a way out of this. I stood up and glanced at Will, hoping he’d say something this time.
    But it was Johnny who stuck up for me. “Come on, Lobo,” he said. “It’s not a fair match. You got about fifteen pounds on Charlie here.”
    Then Will said, “Yeah,” but it came out weak and soft.
    “That didn’t stop him yesterday,” Lobo said.
    Eileen laughed. “Sure didn’t.”
    I wished she hadn’t said that, because Lobo’s face turned a deep red. He started screaming and ran at me.
    Without even thinking, I ran into the storm sewer, away from Lobo.
    I ran as if my life depended on it, which it probably did. It’s real dark underground, and after sitting in the bright sunlight, I couldn’t see anything. My ears were filled with the sound of my own puffing breath and the slap of the cement under my sneakers. It smelled musty and damp, too, and every breath I pulled in felt heavy and cold.
    Every now and then the sound changed a tiny bit, and I knew I was running past openings that fed into the main tunnel. I wished they were bigger so I could run into one of them, and maybe Lobo would run right past me and on up the tunnel.
    I didn’t turn back to