Free Snowboard Champ by Matt Christopher, Paul Mantell Page A

them, and causing them to tumble head over heels down the mountain. And when they stopped tumbling, he was there waiting for them, nylon handcuffs at the ready.
    When they were safely hog-tied, he radioed back to base. “Quarry captured,” he said. “Send the police choppers in.”
    “Good work, Snowboard Champ,” the voice on the other end crackled. “How in the world did you do it?”
    He smiled under his red and black mask and goggles. “Just . . . lucky, I guess.”
    Monday morning dawned, a bright, cold, sunny day, and Matt got on the bus to school in a good mood. Spengler was back at the rear of the bus, and Matt joined him readily. There was a bounce in his step as he walked down the aisle of the bus.
    Matt didn’t care anymore if people thought he was a troublemaker. Soon he’d be the king of the hill at Dragon Valley Middle. And just as soon as the contest was over and he was judged the runaway winner, he’d show them just how wrong they were about him.
    He sat down next to Spengler, who looked surprised. “Hi!” he said.
    “Hi.”
    “I thought you might not be speaking to me after what happened last week.”
    Matt elbowed Spengler in his good arm. “I was mad at first,” he admitted. “But I realized it wasn’t your fault.”
    “I’m quitting, by the way. Smoking, I mean.” “That’s cool. Good move.”
    “Hey, my cast’s coming off next week.”
    “Oh, yeah?” Good.”
    “So I can punch out whoever turned us in.”
    “Whoa,” Matt said. “Go easy, okay? We’re in enough trouble already.”
    “It’ll be on me,” Spengler said. “What do you care?”
    Matt looked at him long and hard. “What
is
it with you?” he asked. Then, softly, so no one else could hear, “Hey, Spengler — how’d you break your arm?”
    Spengler stared out the window.
    “I won’t tell anyone,” Matt said. “You can trust me.”
    “It’s not true, what they’re saying,” Spengler told him. “About my dad breaking my arm. It’s not true.”
    “Okay. I believe you. So what
did
happen?” Spengler sniffed, and Matt leaned in toward him so the other kids on the bus wouldn’t hear them.
    “I hit it against a brick wall.”
    Matt flinched. “On purpose?”
    “Yeah. On account of my dad kept screaming at my mom. I had to hit something. I figured, better a wall than a person.”
    “Whoa . . . man . . .”
    Remembering the jokes those other kids had told about Spengler and how he’d broken his arm, Matt felt sick to his stomach. Here was a kid with
real
problems — while their only problem was who to trash next.
    Matt was so angry that, like Spengler, he could have punched a wall right then and there. But no — he had a better way to shut those kids up. When he won this competition and became the coolest kid at Dragon Valley Middle, he would set a different tone.
    The bus arrived at school. From the moment he stepped onto the sidewalk, Matt knew that today would be no ordinary day.
    In front of the school, a crowd of kids was gathered. They were staring at something on the wall, but they were blocking the view and Matt couldn’t see past them. When he did work his way through them and saw what they were looking at, he froze.
    Written on the wall, in bright, spray-painted colors, was a graffiti tag. It read:
    Chicago Dukes.
    As he stared at the writing, he heard someone mutter, “That’s him over there. He’s the one who did it.” He didn’t have to look up to know the kid was talking about him.

10
    T he crowd parted like the Red Sea on either side of Matt.
“What?”
he asked them. “Hey, it wasn’t me! I swear!”
    It wasn’t working. No one looked convinced. Feeling a surge of panic rising inside him, Matt ran up the steps and into the school building. He kept running until he found the boys’ bathroom. Inside, he went into a stall, locked it, and stood there, leaning against the door, trying to catch his breath.
    This couldn’t be happening! He couldn’t believe Riley Hammett