Free Hit Squad by James Heneghan Page B

was going on right under their noses. Minding their own business.
    Mickey left his lunch in the locker and backed away a few inches. He closed his locker door but kept his hand on it. Fatso moved after him, pushing his big face into Mickey’s. Mickey let him have it. He slammed the locker door into Fatso’s face. Fatso screamed and staggered backward holding his nose.
    â€œSorry,” said Mickey. “Hand slipped.”
    A punch came at him from nowhere, landing on his ear. It was Fatso Two coming to the aid of Fatso One. Mickey fell to the floor, his ear ringing with pain.
    Fatso One, his nose leaking blood, came in with the boot to Mickey’s ribs. Mickeytook the kick and rolled away to avoid a second.
    Then suddenly all was quiet. Mickey staggered to his feet. The kid from the next locker was sitting slumped on the floor, his face white. The two Fatsos had disappeared, scared off by the appearance of a teacher, Miss Harlan, heading their way.
    Mickey turned towards his locker. His lunch was gone. “They get yours too?” he asked the kid on the floor, an eighth grader by the looks of him.
    The boy nodded.
    Mickey said, “You okay?”
    â€œPunched me in the stomach. I feel a bit sick. But I’ll be okay.”
    â€œIs anything wrong?” asked Miss Harlan. “I thought I saw a scuffle.”
    â€œEverything’s fine,” said Mickey, closing his locker loudly.
    The kid stood. “Everything’s fine.”
    Mickey and the kid moved away. Mickey’s ear was still ringing, and his ribs hurt where Fatso One had kicked him. Hesaid, “You want to come down to the cafeteria? I’ll buy you a Coke.”
    The kid tried to smile. “Thanks.”
    Tuesday morning, homeroom class.
    Mickey found a letter on his desk. It had no stamp. A plain sealed envelope with a letter inside. His name scrawled on the front: Michael Cord, Division 5, Grade 9, Room 106.
    Michael. That was funny. No one ever called him Michael, even though it was his proper name. Michael was fancy, Grandview High fancy. Mickey. That was what everyone called him, just plain Mickey. If he told the other kids at Hobbit House that Michael was his proper name, they would laugh.
    Mickey never got letters, stamped or unstamped. It was something new. He stared at the envelope while the teacher checked attendance. When homeroom was over he shoved it into the hip pocket of his jeans and moved to English class. He settled himself in his usual back seat near the window. Hetook out the envelope and opened it carefully with a fingernail. One sheet of lined notebook paper. The writing was bold, dashed off with a confident speed. It had exclamation points like bursting grenades.
    Michael Cord!
    You are invited to a special meeting of my
    Special Secret Society!
    The time: Noon! (Bring your lunch!)
    The day: Friday, Oct. 11!
    The place: Old band room in the
    basement!
    Purpose of society: It’s a secret, dummy!
    Come and find out!
    Warning: Tell nobody else of this meeting!
    Come alone!
    Destroy this letter!
    Birgit Neilsen
    Birgit Neilsen. Mickey had heard the name before. Heard people mention her around the school. The only thing he knew abouther was that she was from around here, from Grandview. One of the rich kids. Why would a well-off Grandview girl invite him to a special secret society? He was a nobody from Creekside. It didn’t figure.
    Back when he was at Creekside Junior High he had belonged to a gang. They called themselves the Creekside Cougars, but the gang was pretty harmless. They skateboarded in deserted places late at night. Like the steps of the Vancouver Art Gallery. They skipped school. They sneaked into the movies for free. Big stuff. The worst thing they ever did was break into a store occasionally to steal cigarettes.
    But a gang member everyone called Hulk was a real criminal. Hulk spent time in the slammer. He was the oldest and biggest member of the Cougars. Hulk wasn’t too