By Jenny Randles
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Extra resources for Abduction
And now, I thought, he’s learned his lesson. When Tony shook his head, that’s when I knew I had him. Until he fired away with both fists to my face, shouting, “Lucky! I’m lucky ‘cause I can kick your ass! Get it . . ” It was over before I hit the cement. Tony stormed off but 29 D AV E P E L Z E R = half his gang stayed behind. ” one kid howled. Getting up, I wiped the blood from my lip, hoping my nose didn’t burst with blood and I could find some tape for my glasses. Nodding in a way that conveyed the message “All right, show’s over, geek boy got his butt kicked again,” all I wanted to do was crawl under a rock.
The next Sunday afternoon, the three of us lay on our backs on an old shed in the Welshes’ backyard. This became our hangout. At times we would just lie still, not uttering a word, staring straight up at the birds fluttering above us in the trees. The weekend before, Paul had convinced me that if I walked from one edge of the shed to the other and maintained the same pace, my momentum would allow my feet to catch onto the large overlapping branch of a nearby tree. With absolute calmness Paul assured me that he had figured it all out.
With the garage door wide open and the evening breeze seeping in as I tinkered with my minibike, I willingly brushed aside my guilt. I began to focus my attention on my new obsession: beating Paul. Even after I rinsed out my lime-green spongelike air filter, tightened my loose chain that rattled from the rear wheel’s sprocket, adjusted the carburetor idle to full open, then gave the bike a bath in gasoline to remove the crud and baked-on oil splotches, as if to somehow make my motorized relic more aerodynamic, I knew my chances were still nil.
Abduction by Jenny Randles