Free Bound for Danger by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

movement hurt. After running the gauntlet four times last night, every muscle in my body ached. The masked hazers had been careful—all my bruises and cuts were on my torso, so none of the damage was visible to the coaches. But practice was going to be torture today. It was a huge relief to get to sit down first and listen to this lecture about hazing.
    I looked at Gabe, who was sitting behind me and to the right. Just like he had since we got here, he refused to meetmy eye. In fact, no one else on the team looked the least bit uncomfortable at Coach Perotta’s speech—not even Jayden, Ty, or Pete.
    Neither Joe nor I had said anything to Dad about what happened last night. We knew what he would say: it’s time to quit. But we were way too infuriated to quit. What was happening on the basketball team was out of control. Someone had to do something!
    We’d cornered Ty, Pete, and Jayden separately that morning, trying to talk about last night and what we could do about it. But they all made it clear that none of them were willing to come forward.
    â€œI’ve put in a whole season with this team,” Ty said. “I’m getting better and better. We just have to pay our dues.”
    â€œThis isn’t paying your dues , dude,” Joe had said. “This is getting beat up by twelve guys while someone videotapes it. Big difference!”
    â€œNothing that’s worth doing is easy,” Ty had countered. “That’s what my dad says.”
    I don’t think he’d apply it to this situation, I wanted to say. But after talking to Pete and Jayden, it became clear that there wasn’t going to be any reasoning with these guys. They were totally drinking the hazing Kool-Aid.
    Gerther was the natural next stop. But he was out today, just like the receptionist had said. I was pretty sure Gerther hadn’t taken a day off the entire time I’d been at Bayport High. Why had he chosen to start now?
    â€œAll right,” Coach Perotta said. “Now that we’re all on the same page, let’s start practice.”
    Practice. I got to my feet, but even that was a struggle.
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    We were doing layup drills and I was stinking up the joint, as usual. It got to the point where no one said anything when I got to the front of the line and (inevitably) missed the shot—Coach Perotta stopped offering tips or encouragement, and my teammates just shook their heads helplessly. I was, honestly, too sore to care, and I just wanted to make it through practice in one piece.
    Ty and Jayden, though, were really on fire. They were both making shot after shot.
    â€œAmazing job, dude!” Jason said when Ty made his sixth layup in a row.
    â€œSeriously,” Dorian said. “From yesterday’s practice, it’s like night and day. I guess Jason won’t have to carry the team anymore!” He laughed, and Jason chuckled a little too.
    â€œThat’s enough, guys,” Assistant Coach Noonan put in from the sidelines. “Though I’m glad to see Ty and Jayden showing such improvement today. See guys—practice makes perfect!”
    Is it practice, I wondered, or having the poop scared out of you? And if it was having the poop scared out of you, what did that say about the hazing—that it was working? Did that make it okay? No, I thought, stretching my back and feeling little spikes of pain radiate down my spine. Nothing would make what we went through last night okay.
    We went into a practice game. Just like in a real game, no one threw the ball to me or Joe, so we just kind of ran around following the action, which was fine with me. Dorian and Jason pulled off a complicated play where they passed the ball down the court using a series of distractions and fake-outs. At the end, though, Jayden was blocking Jason from making the shot, so Jason tried to pass the ball to Pete, who was just a few yards away, so he could get into a better