Free Chain Letter by Christopher Pike Page A

the radio.”
    “For heaven’s sake,” Tony said, “you both could have been killed. And look at the
     mess your car is in.”
    “I can see,” Kipp replied calmly. “But neither of us was killed, and I have insurance. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not taking this lightly.
     I have another calculus exam tomorrow, and I think I’ll flunk it.” He stood, brushed
     off his pants. “Now if you will excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom. Hitting walls
     at forty miles an hour always does that to me.”
    Tony watched him leave with a mixture of admiration and exasperation. He helped Neil
     to his feet. Neil’s headhad stopped bleeding but he must have banged his leg. His limp was much worse. “You
     should just rest here,” Tony said. “Somebody has probably called the paramedics.”
    Neil shook his head, his arms trembling. “I hate doctors, I don’t want to see them.
     I only want to get to a bathroom.”
    “Neil . . . ”
    “Tony, please?” he pleaded, adding quietly, “I think I peed in my pants.”
    Tony tore off his shirt and wrapped it around his friend’s waist. “I’ll help you,
     don’t worry. I have extra sweats in my locker that are too small. You’ll be OK.”
    “Thank you,” Neil whispered, his eyes moist.
    They huddled across the street. An ambulance could be heard wailing in the distance.
     Half the track team was pouring down from the stadium and Joan was leading a contingent
     of teachers and students out of the parking lot. “You both got off lucky,” Tony said.
     “Your face could have gone through the windshield. Kipp could have cracked his skull
     on the steering wheel. It’s a good thing he started wearing his seat belt.”
    Neil nodded weakly. “It’s a good thing Brenda refused to get in the car.”
    At the foot of the hill, they stopped and stared at each other.

Chapter Six
    B renda handed Alison the early edition of the Times the following Monday morning and sat down without comment beside her in the fifth
     row of the theater. Alison opened to the classified section and searched for a minute
     before finding the ad.
    B.P. Tell Mr. H. Worst Director World Front Everyone
    “You cannot tell Mr. Hoglan that,” Alison said, not really surprised. This was only
     number three, but in a queer sort of way, she was already getting used to the Caretaker’s
     messages. “It would hurt his feelings.”
    “I’m not worried about his feelings. I’m worried about getting kicked off the play.”
    “But you hate playing Essie.”
    “How can you say that? Or are you just so anxious to run the whole thing?”
    “Right. I’d look real cute on stage answering my own questions.” Alison was getting
     a mite sick of Brenda’s jealousy. “So, are you going to do it?”
    “Do I have a choice? I don’t want a brick wall to fall on me.” Brenda glanced at the
     door, their sleepyhead cast stumbling in followed by their bright-eyed teacher. She
     added, “I just hope the jerk gives me half an excuse to chew him out.”
    With the opening night of You Can’t Take It with You rapidly approaching, Mr. Hoglan wanted them to run through all of act one today,
     finishing the other two acts Tuesday and Wednesday morning. Everyone seemed comfortable
     with their lines. Unfortunately, Fran had yet to return the props—God knew what she
     was doing with them. So far, Fran had been able to stall Mr. Hall. She didn’t want
     to repaint Teddy until she was sure the Caretaker was through enjoying the goat. Kipp
     thought she should go ahead with the job, collect the money, get another command to
     restyle it as a pig, receive another request to fix it, and keep collecting the money.
     Fran did not think that was funny.
    Alice did not appear on stage until approximately ten minutes into the play so Alison
     sat in the seats not far from Mr. Hoglan and waited to see if Brenda had the guts
     to carry through. Since there were few nondrama students present, she briefly wondered
     how the