Free All-American by John R. Tunis Page A

exit stood Stacey in the sunshine. He looked at them scornfully as they left the building together.
    “Hey! I’m gonna ride along with you as far as West Avenue. Do you mind?” asked Gordon.
    “Who? Me? No.”
    He did mind, though. Why did he mind, he wondered, as he got his bike from the rack; why did he care? For one thing he was tired of the kid who for more than a week had been sticking to him in the cafeteria, after school, between classes. Ronald was not at all certain he enjoyed having Gordon as his only friend at Abraham Lincoln High. No, that wasn’t true. Not his only friend now. Sandra. Sandra Fuller. What a wonderful name. It fitted her, too. So she had seen him at the game in the fall. Then she must have seen the runback of that kick, and the touchdown.
    They rode down Harrison Street together. “I’ll only go as far as West Avenue. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ronald, can I?”
    “Tomorrow?” He was puzzled and also somewhat annoyed. Was this going to be a steady thing? “Why sure. Only what’s the matter? Something wrong at school, Gordon?”
    For a few yards they pedaled along in silence. Then the black-haired boy replied. “It’s Stacey, see. He says he’s gonna beat me up.”
    “Stacey! What’s he got against you? What did you ever do to him?”
    “Nothing. He’s that way, that’s all. Says he doesn’t like me. Says if he catches me he’ll sure beat me up. He will, too. He tried it on Goldman last year but Goldman was too big for him. But he did it to one kid. Here’s West. I’m all set here. G’bye, Ronald. See you tomorrow.”
    He rode off alone down the sloping street, fast, faster, and disappeared around a corner.

4
I
    H IS DAD LOOKED OVER at him, took off his glasses and put down the evening newspaper. A bad sign.
    “You mean to say they cheat?”
    The words sounded cruel and wrong. Ronald found an answer difficult.
    “Why, no, not exactly that, Dad. See, at the Academy classes were smaller and the teachers could see everything. Here they can’t.”
    “But wasn’t there an honor system, or some such thing in effect there? How’d that work out?”
    “It worked out ok, I guess. In exams they just trusted you. If a guy cheated, we gave him the silent treatment, that’s all. At Abraham Lincoln the teachers patrol the class during tests, and it’s sort of fun to fool ’em.”
    “Fun!”
    “Aw, Dad, you know, you remember. You used to fool your teachers. It’s a kind of game. Everybody does it. Besides, they snoop around. So the kids all do.”
    “Yes, but you aren’t fooling the teacher. You’re fooling yourselves.”
    Ronald was far from impressed. He had heard this before. “That’s what they keep on saying. They always say that. But just the same...”
    “Look here, Ronald.” His father lit a cigarette. Ronald wished he had gone to his room and turned on the Fred Allen program. This was going to be unpleasant. “Tell me about your work. How about your schoolwork? How’s it coming along?”
    “He’s brought his books home tonight for the first time in a week!” His mother, always at the wrong moment. “He never brings his books home anymore.”
    “Is that right? How’s it happen you don’t study at home, Ronald? You had to work every night at the Academy; it’s a fine thing to get habits like that. I’m afraid you’re neglecting your studies.”
    “Oh, no, Dad. I’m not, not at all. You’re wrong.”
    “But you’ve been out three or four nights a week lately. I’ve noticed it, your mother has noticed it.”
    “Oh, no, Dad. I think you’re mistaken. I’m not neglecting my work at all. Why I got an A on that last English paper, a B plus in the history test, and an A...”
    “Well, Ronald.” His mother became determined. “You don’t mean to say you work the way you worked at the Academy.”
    “Mother! You don’t understand. I don’t hafta.”
    “Have to, Ronald, not hafta. I do hope you won’t use the slovenly English those boys at High