Pennybaker School Is Revolting, стр. 37
“You should come back,” Flea said.
“I’ll be five minutes,” I said.
“Don’t do it, Thomas!” Chip cried, but the words were to my back, because I was already loping across the field.
Funny thing about fields—they seem small until you’re running across one. I was out of breath, and when I glanced back, the guys seemed really far away. But so did the church. The only thing that didn’t seem far away was … that … bull … over there.
I froze, one foot up in the air in mid-run. I held my breath; the bull let out a snort. I remained motionless; the bull dipped his head low. I tried not to blink; the bull took two steps toward me.
I let out a throat-ripping scream and bolted. The bull let out a snort and followed.
I ran like I’d never run before in my life. Part of me was wishing Coach Abel was there to see it—maybe he would be so impressed he would let me out of ballroom dancing. Maybe he would tell his college coach friends and I would get a track-and-field scholarship and—
My foot hit a rock. Of all things to be out in the middle of a field. A rock. Everything happened in slow motion. I made yuh yuh yuh sounds, my arms wheeling. The bull’s hooves thundered behind me. The cow pie that was exactly face-length away got closer, and closer, and closer. I had just enough time to glance at the guys, whose faces were all big O’s of surprise.
I managed to turn my head at the last moment, so at least it was only my ear that got plugged with things I don’t even want to think about, and not my mouth. Splat.
But at the moment, all I could think about was the bull. The bull that was still coming at me, or at least I thought that was what I was hearing out of my one good ear. I pushed myself up onto my hands and feet and scrambled to get away, my shoes sliding in the same mess that was covering the side of my head.
Just as I got my footing and started to run toward the fence again, I noticed the bull take a hard turn to the left. I didn’t stop, but I looked over my shoulder.
Sure enough, there was Chip Mason, waving his arms and yelling, “Hah! Hah!” and then running like the dickens as the bull turned its attention from me to him. Chip sprinted, knees high-kicking, all the way to the fence line and catapulted over it like a track star. The bull stopped short of the fence and huffed and snorted in frustration.
I slow-jogged to the fence where the rest of the guys were waiting, then slowly climbed it. When I dropped to the other side, they all took a step back, looks of revulsion on their faces.
Owen pointed at the side of my face. “Dude, you fell in a—”
“I know what I fell in,” I snapped. I whipped off my shirt and began scrubbing my cheek and ear, gagging every couple of seconds. The ride home was going to be freezing, but I would rather go home with frostbite than with cow patty on my face.
Chip joined us, breathing heavily, his cheeks pink and exhilarated. “Wow, when that bull has to go, he has to go,” he said.
And that was all it took for the guys to burst into raucous laughter.
“Let’s just leave,” I said. I had already started shivering, but still I sank my shirt deep into a trash bin when we walked by. “By the way, thanks, Chip,” I said.
He waved me off. “Oh, no problem. I learned a thing or two from your grandma. It was nice to get a chance to try out my skills. She’ll be happy to hear they worked.”
I should have known.
“And we didn’t even get to see Mr. Faboo,” I said.
“I know,” Chip added mournfully. “I had a whole list of smithing questions to pose to him, too.”
“That’s not why … Never mind.”
“We’ll just come back another time,” he said brightly. “I’m sure we can borrow the admission fee from my mom.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll think about it.” Chip wasn’t the kind of guy who would understand this, but it was hard to make yourself want to go back to a place when you were leaving with cow patty in your ear.
We saddled up on our bikes and waited for Chip to put on his elbow pads and kneepads. The ride home was mostly silent except for Colton and Buckley, who told every cow-poop joke they could think of. I just tried to concentrate on not freezing to death while the cold air drove through me.
We got back to Chip’s house, and he invited us all in for hot chocolate. “Except maybe you’d like to shower first?” he suggested to me. “My mom is surprisingly patient with a lot of messes, but perhaps not that particular kind of mess around the kitchen.”
I shrugged and walked my bike back across the street. I wasn’t in the mood to toast with anyone anyway.
Just as I opened my garage door, I heard a surprised yell. I turned back to see Buckley pull something out of his back pocket and hold it up in the air. “Look at that! Twenty dollars!” he yelled. “We could have gone in after all.”
I pursed my lips and pushed my bike inside, trying not to notice the slapping and snapping sounds of Chip and Wesley doing their secret handshake.
TRICK