Free First Evil by R.L. Stine Page A

Johnson was already halfway across the rapidly emptying parking lot.
    Bobbi started to shout after him, but the door opened again and Chip appeared. He moved forward unsteadily, smiling at her, his face pale, almost bloodless under the parking lot lights. He was wearing fadedjeans and a Shadyside letter jacket that he had snapped up to the collar.
    â€œHi,” he called. “How’s it going?” His smile was forced, she saw. His eyes weren’t quite focusing on her.
    â€œAre you okay?” she blurted out.
    The question seemed to catch him off guard. “I’m not sure,” he replied, wrinkling his forehead.
    He stepped closer to her.
    â€œWhat happened?” Bobbi asked. “I was . . . well . . . worried.”
    â€œMe too.”
    She waited for him to say more, but his face fell into a thoughtful, faraway stare.
    â€œSo what happened? I mean—you’re okay?”
    â€œI guess,” he said slowly. “Maybe a slight concussion. That’s what they said. I’m supposed to go right home. I feel kind of funny.”
    â€œOh.” She couldn’t hide the disappointment from her voice. “I have a car,” she said. “Can I give you a lift?”
    â€œYeah. That would be great. My parents are out of town. Actually, I’m glad my mom wasn’t at the game. She worries.”
    â€œDo you feel kind of weird?”
    â€œYeah.” He nodded. “Kind of. You know, spacey.”
    â€œIt looked so scary when you didn’t get up,” Bobbi said, leading the way to her parents’ Accord, which was parked around the front on the street. “Were you knocked out?”
    â€œI guess.” He put a hand on her shoulder as if he needed to steady himself as he walked.
    She slowed down. He waved to a couple of players from the team.
    â€œDid it hurt?” she asked.
    â€œNo. Not really.”
    â€œAm I asking too many questions?” she asked.
    He didn’t reply.
    Wow, this is sure going great, Bobbi thought unhappily. I’m asking question after question, and he’s staring off into space. He can barely walk or even answer me.
    They made their way in silence to the car. She unlocked the passenger door and held the door open as he slid into the front seat.
    A few seconds later she started up the car and turned on the headlights. “I don’t know where you live,” she said, turning to him, adjusting her shoulder seat belt.
    â€œIt was like I was dead,” he replied.
    She stared into his eyes. “Huh?”
    â€œIt was like I was paralyzed or something. I couldn’t get my body to move, to do anything.” He turned his eyes to the windshield. A group of kids crossed in front of the car. One of them tapped on the hood as he passed.
    â€œChip—are you feeling okay? Should I call your parents or something?” she asked, feeling a stab of worry in the pit of her stomach.
    â€œWell, aren’t you wondering why I didn’t pass the ball? Or hand it off?” he asked heatedly. “Isn’t that what everyone wants to know?”
    â€œThe doctor said you had a concussion, right?” Bobbi said, a little frightened. She started to pull awayfrom the curb, but he stopped her, placing his hand over hers. His hand was ice-cold.
    â€œBefore I got the concussion,” he said, more quietly. “Before. When I was playing. I wanted to throw the ball, but it was like I had no control. Like I was paralyzed or something. Just for that moment.”
    â€œI don’t understand,” Bobbi said, shaking her head.
    Oncoming headlights filled the car with light. Bobbi and Chip both shielded their eyes. A car roared by filled with Shadyside kids, all the windows down, everyone singing along to a blaring radio.
    â€œI couldn’t hand it off either,” Chip said. She realized he was explaining it to himself. She wondered if he even cared whether she was in the car. “I