Kickoff to Danger (4 page)

“He was just trying to help me, sir,” Dan said.

The assistant principal shook his head. “Why don't you come down to my office, Mr. Freeman? And, Mr. Hardy, maybe you can look for what your friend—er—lost.”

The halls of the south wing were empty, and they echoed as Frank searched for Dan's pants. Most of the classroom doors were closed and locked. Frank found Dan's shoe halfway down the stairs at the end of the corridor. His pants were hooked on the handle of the swinging doors that opened into the stairwell.

Some sense of humor, Frank thought as he pulled them loose. He stopped, the image of Biff's laughing face rising up before him.

First he goes after Chet, now Dan…that wasn't like Biff at all.

Why can't Golden do his own dirty work? Frank thought, giving the chinos a gentle shake. The tinkle of keys and change came from the pockets. A quick pat showed the wallet was in place, too. Nothing had been taken—except for the hit to Dan Freeman's pride.

Frank frowned as he headed for Mr. Sheldrake's office. He could see two shadows through
the pebbled glass window in the office door.

“I just want to make sure I'm getting this straight,” Mr. Sheldrake said. “You had your pants stolen right off you. But you didn't catch even one glimpse of who did it?”

Dan's voice came through the glass. “It was just a couple of big guys. They came at me from behind. Next thing I knew, I was facedown on the floor and feeling a draft.”

Frank knocked on the door.

“Yes?” Old Beady Eyes's voice sounded sharper than usual.

“Frank Hardy,” Frank replied.

“Just a moment.” The assistant principal unlocked the door. Frank had to fight the smile that came to his lips. Dan Freeman was sitting behind Sheldrake's desk.

Well, Frank thought. That's one way to hide your knobby knees.

He held out the shoe in his left hand, the pants in his right hand. “I found these in a stairwell in the north wing.”

Mr. Sheldrake reached to take them. “I'm glad you found them,” he said. “Otherwise, I'd have to ask Coach Devlin for some sweatpants.”

The assistant principal's back was to Dan Freeman. He didn't see Dan flinch at the mention of the football coach's name.

Sheldrake put the pants and shoes on his desk.
“Why don't we step out for a moment to give Mr. Freeman some privacy.”

Frank stood in the hallway with Old Beady Eyes. “Mr. Freeman is an excellent student,” the assistant principal said. “He has one of the best minds in this school. So why would he think I'd believe his story about a sudden attack of blindness?”

Frank took a deep breath. “Maybe what he saw isn't as important as what happened to him earlier today.”

Sheldrake looked at Frank, his eyes narrowing and getting beadier. “And what exactly was that, Mr. Hardy?”

“Dan had an argument with Terry Golden,” Frank said. “It got pretty intense. For a second I thought Golden might end up swinging at him.”

The assistant principal coughed as if something had stuck in his throat. “Terence Golden?” Sheldrake finally said. “From the football team?”

Frank nodded.

Behind them, the office door opened. Dan stood fully dressed again. He handed over Frank's jacket. Frank noticed that the other boy's chinos showed way too much sock.

“Do you think I could head home now?” Dan asked.

“Just a moment, Mr. Freeman.” Old Beady Eyes aimed his best glare at Dan. “I understand you and
another student had a…difference of opinion.”

Dan glanced in surprise at Frank. Then he gave an uncomfortable shrug. “It happens sometimes during classes. I guess being on the debate team gives me bad habits.”

“This was an argument with a boy from the football team.” Sheldrake's lips twisted, as though he didn't like the taste of the words he was about to say. “Terry Golden.”

Dan shrugged again. “We disagreed about some poetry that Mr. Weeks was discussing.”

“Just a disagreement?” Sheldrake pressed. “It couldn't have had anything to do with the incident involving your trousers?”

“I didn't see Golden when I lost my pants,” Dan said.

That's probably true, Frank realized. Golden would be smart enough to stay out of sight. The only people he can get into trouble are Logan and Biff.

“You're sure?” the assistant principal asked, but he didn't seem to be trying very hard to question Dan.

“I know what I saw—uh, didn't see,” Dan Freeman replied.

“You must realize the problem,” Sheldrake said. “Unless you can identify the perpetrators, there's not much I can do.”

Dan nodded, barely seeming to listen.

“Then I suppose you can go, Mr. Freeman,” Old Beady Eyes said. “You, too, Mr. Hardy.”

The next morning Joe Hardy was behind the wheel of the van as the brothers headed for school. He smoothly pulled into a space in Bayport High's parking lot.

As he was turning off the ignition, a horn blared.

“Hey! Nerd!” an all-too-familiar voice yelled. “Park that junker on the street with the rest of the losers.
I
need that spot.”

Joe and Frank stared in amazement. A senior boy backed away from the only other empty spot in the row, and Terry Golden swung his car into the space.

“I don't believe this!” Frank burst out. “What is it about that creep that he always gets everything he wants?”

Joe gave a sour laugh and nodded through the van's windshield. “There's your answer.”

A huge billboard had gone up on the roof of the school just as it did every year at this time. Foot-high letters told the story:

BAYPORT VS. SENECA

The Fall Classic!

Come cheer our team on to victory!

The date at the bottom of the sign was about a week away.

“You think that's why Golden is getting away
with murder?” Frank's voice showed his disbelief. “Because of a football game?”

“For folks around here, it's
the
football game,” Joe replied. “We may not be as fanatical as some of those towns in Texas. High-school football is like a religion out there. But anybody who grew up in Bayport knows who our biggest rival is.”

Frank nodded in agreement. “Seneca Tech.”

“They're already talking about it on television.” Joe went into his impersonation of the local sports-caster. “Coming up: the county's annual gridiron classic!”

Joe continued, “The mayors of both towns have made their little joke bets. That was on the news, too. It's a bushel of Bayport oysters against Seneca's best apple pies.”

“Sure,” Frank admitted. “But I notice that even you're saying it's a joke.”

Joe shook his head. “It's no laughing matter, though. We managed to beat Seneca Tech last year. But what about the three years before that? Seneca really cleaned up with us. A lot of people in town don't want to see that happen again. If Terry boy can give us a win, I guess he
is
golden.”

Frank looked at his brother. “Somehow, I didn't expect to hear that from you.”

“Don't get me wrong,” Joe said. “The guy's a real slimeball.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “But if he helps the team—”

“Are you sure Golden is really doing that?” Frank asked. “It's bad enough that Chet and Biff have joined his crew. Look at the rest of the Golden Boys. Wendell Logan was a borderline bully when I was quarterback. Has hanging with Terry Golden made him a better person?”

Joe remembered the snap of the towel as Logan whipped it at Chet. “No, it hasn't. But the others have always been stand-up guys, on and off the field.”

“But they've been acting like Golden lately, hoping his success will rub off on them.” Frank shook his head. “Too high a price to pay for a win.”

“They'll pay it, though.” Joe gave a harsh laugh. “I think they'd do just about anything to beat Seneca Tech.”

They had no more time to talk. The school doors opened, and kids began pouring in. Silently Joe and Frank joined the crowd.

Joe's morning started with math class. Next came history and gym. Coach Devlin led the calisthenics, then he passed out basketballs and let the kids choose teams. By lunchtime Joe had forgotten Frank's depressing words.

He joined the flood of kids heading for the cafeteria. The stairway was packed, as usual, but all of a sudden Joe spotted an opening in the crowd. As he headed for it, he saw wide shoulders and long
blond hair in the opening. Terry Golden. Space seemed to open up magically around the star jock.

Of course, it didn't hurt that Wendell Logan and Biff Hooper were on either side of him.

As Joe passed, he realized Golden seemed to be waiting for someone. A second later, he saw who. Dan Freeman hesitated for a second when he saw the jock. Then he quickly started to go by.

Golden spun around, his raised elbow clipping Dan on the back of the head.

“Oh, sorry.” Golden smirked as the other boy staggered. “I didn't notice you there, nerd boy.”

The moving crowd swept Freeman away before he could say or do anything.

Laughing, Wendell Logan flung out an arm. His big, beefy elbow caught another kid right in the side of the head. Joe recognized the victim—Phil Cohen, his friend and the class brain.

Logan's unexpected attack had caught Phil right at the top of the stairway.

Phil looked half-dazed as he stumbled forward. His feet went out from under him, and he plunged facedown toward the steep metal steps.

Logan was still laughing as Phil sent the guy in front of him forward. That kid was lucky enough to grab the banister and skip down a couple of stairs without falling.

Phil couldn't stop himself, though. He was either going to slide down the stairs facefirst or get trampled by the thundering herd led by the Golden Boys.

Joe took advantage of the open space around Terry and launched himself right between Golden and Logan.

“Hey!” Terry yelled as Joe brushed him aside.

Joe paid no attention. He'd have only one chance—

His left arm stretched out to grab the back of
Phil's pants. As his fingers wrapped around Phil's leather belt, Joe swung his right hand out to catch the banister.

If I don't get it, we're both taking this flight of stairs the hard way, he thought.

Phil gave out a “whooof!” as Joe's hold yanked his belt tight against his stomach. Joe's right hand slipped on the banister, and he only managed to slow Phil, not stop him. Now they were both going down.

Joe tried to grab the railing again but missed. It was too late.

Just then a muscular arm clamped under Joe's armpit. “Hang on to Phil!” a voice grunted in his ear.

Joe found himself being hauled upright and fought to keep his grip on Phil.

Just when Joe felt as though his arm was going to pop off, Phil managed to grab hold of the banister and slow his descent. As Phil pulled himself upright, Joe turned to the guy who'd saved them both.

Biff Hooper.

“Man, am I glad you held on to Phil,” Biff said.

“Wouldn't have worked without your backup,” Joe said. “We both could have broken our necks—”

“Or at least wound up with footprints all over our backs.” Now that he was safe, Phil could attempt a joke. “Thanks, Joe. And thanks, Biff.”

No thanks to Golden and Logan, Joe thought. He peered over Phil's shoulder to Golden and Logan, farther down the stairs.

Whatever Terry Golden was thinking, he'd hidden it behind a poker face. Wendell Logan, however, had turned and was glaring up at them all. You'd think he'd just run a play for the opposing team, Joe thought.

Frank Hardy looked up as Joe and Phil brought their trays to his table in the cafeteria. Both guys appeared to be a little shaken. “What's up?” he asked.

“We were,” Phil replied. “And then we were almost down.”

As Frank listened to the story, he went from surprised to angry. “That was a really stupid thing for them to do. What's Old Beady Eyes going to do about it?”

Phil shook his head. “I'm not going to Sheldrake. Coach Devlin would just get them off.”

“Not if I backed you up,” Joe said.

“Yeah—great idea.” Phil sighed and shook his head. “Then we can both be the guys who blew Bayport's chances in the Seneca game.”

Frank watched as Joe's mouth snapped shut. His younger brother hadn't thought that far ahead.

“It's still not right,” Joe finally said. “There must be something we can do.”

“Not with me,” Phil said.

“How about me?” Frank suggested. “Coach Devlin is probably in his office. We can eat quickly and pay him a visit.”

“Unless it's another piece of paper, come in,” Coach Devlin called when they knocked on his door. When he and Joe went inside, Frank understood the greeting. Every inch of the coach's desk was covered with piles of forms or reports.

Coach Devlin shifted some papers around. “This is the part of coaching that never makes it into sports movies,” he said. “I wonder why.”

He looked from Joe to Frank. “Can I hope that you've decided to leave the college courses until you're in college?”

Frank grinned, shaking his head. “You seem to be doing fine with Eddie Taplinger, Coach.”

“I'd be happier if I had…more than one string to my bow.”

Frank's grin got wider. Coach Devlin had almost said the words that no player wanted to hear “second string.” But he'd gotten around it gracefully.

Joe got it, too. “It's the first string we're worried about,” he said. “Wendell Logan almost sent a kid down a flight of stairs before lunch. He was following the lead of his pal Terry Golden, who'd used this move on another kid a few seconds before.”

The coach rested his hands on two different
piles of paper. “Something that serious should be taken up with Assistant Principal Sheldrake. Why are you talking to me?”