Enemy Match Chapter 3

Enemy Match 

Chapter 3

A gasp went up from the assembled students. Jake Prestwick was at me in a minute—in my face.

What did you do to Daryl? He yelled, eyes blazing.

Courtney Clubine and Mr. Detmar bent over Daryl trying to revive him. I heard someone say call 911. Was it really that bad?

Jake pushed my shoulder. What did you do? He screeched again.

Hold off, Prestwick, Van said coming up to us.

It’s OK, Van, I said. I turned to Prestwick. A few more of Daryl’s teammates were with him. They all glared at me. I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what’s happened.

What’s happened is you beat Daryl Peters at a game of basketball, Reed exclaimed, running a hand through his blond hair.

Yeah, do you know what this means? Van said under his breath.

I just shook my head. No, Van, what does it mean? I said a little more belligerently than I meant to. Van just looked at me.

Detmar stood up and came over to me. What happened? He asked gravely.

He just collapsed, I said. He was gasping for air and just looked up at me like he was going to say something then he just collapsed.

Well he’s unconscious now. We’ve called an ambulance and they should be here shortly. Now, Justin, you and Peters don’t get along very well, you didn’t do anything to him—hit him or anything, did you son?

I just stared at Detmar, incredulous. What are you asking? Did I hit him? Why would I do that? No, I didn’t hit him. But something is up with him. He’s not well.

We can see that, Justin, Van muttered. Come on let’s get you out of here, these guys don’t look happy about their star player losing to a—well.

Say it, Van, I muttered. Loser. You were going to say loser, weren’t you?

Well, no, Van said. I mean—I don’t know what I mean. But you’re not a loser, Justin.

Listen up, everyone, I called out, moving back so everyone could hear. I’m leaving now. You can come after me and pound the snot out of me if you want, I’ll be out in the corridor, I continued as I pointed towards the gym door. I glanced at Jake Prestwick and his gang.

But I beat your invincible friend—at basketball. Me—Justin Macdonald—pathetic wimp, I shouted. I know you’re all thinking it. Even my friends are thinking it. But yeah, it was me, I went on, continuing to back up towards the gym doors. Your hero isn’t so great now is he, if I could beat him at basketball. Just like I said I would do, on Facebook.

I reached the doors and went out into the corridor, seething with anger. Hit him? Why would I hit that jerk, I thought to myself as I headed to my locker. Why would Detmar even ask me a stupid question like that?

I reached my locker and heard footsteps coming along the corridor. I expected it to be Van but it wasn’t. It was Jake Prestwick.

Macdonald! He called out.

What do you want? Come to congratulate me?

I opened the door to my locker to look for a towel but Prestwick slammed it shut. He pushed me with both hands so hard that I went sprawling onto the floor.

What did you do to Peters?

Nothing, I said, getting to my feet and standing to face Prestwick. Van and Reed came along at that moment. Stand back, I blurted glancing at them. This is between Jake and me.

I turned back to see a fist coming at my face. Normally I would have ducked or turned but I let him hit me—full force on the nose.

Ahh! I screeched, blood spurting out of my nose onto my t-shirt. Another hit, this time on my chin. I went sprawling again, clenching my nose with my hand.

That’s enough! A voice roared.

Coach Detmar came along and stood between Jake and me. I slowly got to my feet.

You two, to principal Anderson’s office—now!

I glared at Van and Reed, then followed Jake and Mr. Detmar down the now empty corridor to the Principals’ office.

Mr. Anderson was still in his office when we followed Detmar inside the office. He was tall and dark skinned with a shaved head that glinted in the overhead lighting. He took one look at my face and handed me a tissue.

Are you OK, Justin, he asked, glaring at Detmar. Do you need to see the nurse? Ms. Sharpton is still here I think.

No I’m good, I  mumbled putting the tissue to my nose.

What happened? He asked Detmar.

These two were fighting in the corridor, he explained. Mr. Prestwick allegedly punched Mr. Macdonald.

Allegedly, I snorted. How else could it have gone down—oh yeah I did this to myself. Mr. Peterson, I said, still holding the tissue to my nose. These bozos think that Daryl Peters is invincible and now I come along and beat him at a game of basketball and now I’m Public Enemy #1. Prestwick’s just annoyed I won. That’s all.

Anderson looked between Prestwick and Detmar. Is this true, he said with a smile. Besides me and my friends, Anderson was the only one who knew what kind of a person Daryl Peters really was.

This—jerk did something to Peters, Jake said hooking his thumb in my direction. He’s on his way to the hospital now. He collapsed in the gym after the match was over—

Match? Anderson asked.

Justin challenged Peters to a match of one on one basketball and, well—Justin won.

Anderson turned to me and grinned. You beat Peters? At basketball?

Yeah, I said with a smirk. Unbelievable isn’t it?

Not really, Anderson said.

Jake and Coach Detmar jerked to look at Anderson. You’re not surprised Justin won? Detmar said.

I won’t lie, I am a little surprised but Justin’s right. Daryl Peters is not as invincible as some people around here like to think.

But—but, Jake spluttered. He must have cheated.

I didn’t cheat, I said then turned to Anderson. But I do think I won unfairly. Something’s happened to Peters. He may have been poisoned or something similar—I swear it wasn’t me.

He was fine when we started playing. But I think this was all a set up—I don’t know why yet.

What makes you say that, Anderson asked.

Because someone hacked into my Facebook account and issued the challenge to Peters. I wouldn’t be that dumb to think I could win against him. I never issued the challenge. But the fact that I did win makes me even more suspicious that something else is going on around here. And I’m going to find out just what that is.

An half hour later after Jake Prestwick (sort of) apologized for punching me—he got off with a two day suspension from school—I headed back to the gym. Van was there waiting with Reed and Melissa. They didn’t look happy. After my performance earlier—I acted like a real jerk—I wasn’t surprised they were annoyed at me.

Are you OK, Melissa said coming up to me. Van and Reed hung back.

I am now, I said, wiping my nose again and finding that the blood had crusted on now. I had a red streak down the front of my t-shirt that wouldn’t come out now.

I turned to Van and Reed. I’m sorry, guys, I said. I was a royal pain in the you-know-what earlier and was kind of rude to you guys. I apologize.

Kind of? Van said with a grim look on his face. Then he broke out into a smile. Yeah you were, but you’re forgiven. You beat Daryl Peters at a basketball challenge.  This will go down in the annals of PSC history.

Don’t celebrate too much yet—it was all a set up.

What do you mean?, Reed asked.

Come on, I’ll explain everything at Billy Burger. I’m buying.

Billy Burger was a burger joint in the downtown core of Port Salser. The owner, a former NHL hockey player Billy Braverman was in his 30’s and had come to Port Salser to open up a restaurant where all the teens could hang out and feel welcome.

Dotted around the restaurant were memorabilia from Billy’s days in the NHL, his jerseys from the two teams he played for, the Toronto Maple Leafs and the L.A. Kings. Pictures with famous hockey players and other celebrities were on the walls as well.

I ordered for everyone and then we all took our culinary masterpieces to the table in the back of the restaurant that was our unofficial table. A few minutes later two more of my friends, Raj Mistry and Jenn Vincent came in and joined us.

Raj was a newcomer to Port Salser having moved from Mumbai, India a short time ago. He was medium height with thick dark brown hair and he also sported a real cool looking moustache. He was dressed in his usual attire, board shorts, tank top with a famous rock band logo—and flip flops.

Jenn was the resident brain of our group of friends. She was tall—almost as tall as me and had long dark blond hair cascading down her back and had blue eyes. We had been friends since Kindergarten when I stood up to a kid who was bullying her. I pushed him into a mud puddle and got a two day suspension from school for the mishap. Jenn and me had been friends ever since.

Heard the news, Jenn said as she sat down across from me at the table and took one of my fries and popped it in her mouth. Oh, that looks nasty, she added noticing my swollen nose.

Yeah, compliments of Jake Prestwick. His way of congratulating me on winning.

Reed snorted while taking a sip of his pop and spilled some on his t-shirt.

I also heard Daryl is in the hospital, she added.

Boy news travels fast, I muttered. How did you find out?

I bumped into Courtney Clubine and Jori Prestwick—Jake’s sister—at the mall just a while ago. Courtney really laid into me—being as I’m your friend—and let me know what a dirty cheater you were.  And that Daryl is really sick.

I suddenly sat up in my seat. Courtney Clubine. You just saw her?

Well yeah, about 10 minutes ago. I just drove from there when Melissa texted me you guys were meeting here. Why?

Did she have a pink water bottle with her?

I—don’t remember exactly, Jenn remarked. Why, are you thirsty?

No, but the water bottle. I need to call the police. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the local police station (I had them on speed dial—don’t ask).

I asked to speak to Officer Canning. Paul Canning was a family friend and was a respected member of the Port Salser Police Force. He had helped me on a bunch of cases over the last while.

Yes, Justin, he said. what’s up?

I related what had happened at the gym at school and how I had beaten Daryl Peters at basketball.

You—beat Daryl Peters? Really? Paul said.

Don’t sound so surprised, I muttered.

I’m only joking with you, Justin, he remarked. I know you and Peters don’t get along. So what’s going on?

Courtney Clubine had a bright pink water bottle she kept giving Peters water at the gym. I think it might be contaminated with something. Can you find her and check out the bottle. I think she’s at the mall. Or she was a few minutes ago.

OK, Justin. I know where the Clubine’s live. I’ll see if I can get someone to retrieve the bottle, but she may have washed it already.

I know, I said dejectedly.

But we’ll see, he replied. I’ll let you know. So you beat Daryl Peters at a sport. Wow! Never thought I’d live to see the day.

Shut up! I muttered.

Is that any way to talk to an officer of the law?

I hung up on him.

So what’s so important about Courtney Clubine’s water bottle, Melissa asked as she finished her last fry.

I think this was all a set up and somebody wanted Peters to lose that match. They hacked into my Facebook account and issued the challenge then made sure I would win. The only way Peters would win is if he was not on his game. I think someone poisoned him!

Enemy Match Chapter 2

Enemy Match

Chapter 2

Melissa and Van followed me into the gym.

There were about 40 students spread out in the bleachers along the far side of the gym. None of them were people I would call friends. I gulped as I followed Peters to the end of the gym where one of the basketball nets were.

Game of one on one, you and me, Peters said with a smirk. First one to twenty wins. Not that there’s any mystery to who that will be.  

OK, I said. Thankfully I was still wearing my high top sneakers and had a t-shirt and shorts on, so I was good—I didn’t have to change.

Peters was decked out in basketball shorts, tank top in the school colours, blue and gold. The latest basketball high tops completed the outfit. He came dressed to win.

He bounced the ball and faked a pass to my head. I flinched, clearly not ready for this. At least Peters had all day to mentally get ready for this—what was I saying? Peters had to mentally prepare to wake up in the morning.

His on again off again girlfriend Courtney Clubine came over and held the ball, she would be unofficial referee and would help with the tip off. These guys were serious.

The gym door slammed shut at that moment and I glanced over to see Coach Detmar enter the gym. He made his way over to the bleachers and sat down. I noticed that Reed Wyatt had come into the gym as well and was seated at the back. He gave me the thumbs up sign.

I turned back to face Peters who had a nasty grin on his face. You’re dead! He mumbled to me as we went to stand in the middle of the gym for the face off.

Courtney handed Daryl a bright neon pink water bottle and he took a few sips then handed it back.

Where’s mine? I asked.

Courtney just glared at me.

Get your own Macdonald, Daryl grunted.

I shrugged, trying not to look like I was about to wet myself. Running though my mind was who had hacked my Facebook account and put up this ridiculous challenge. Because it was ridiculous. There was no way I would win this. The whole school must have thought I was nuts.

So what was the reason? Peter would win and I would look like a fool for even suggesting a match. I wasn’t the most well liked guy at PSC but most people knew I wasn’t an idiot.

Or was I?

We tipped off and of course Daryl got the ball. He raced across the gym like a flash and scored a basket before I could even blink.

At least my misery would be short lived.

We played for the next 5 minutes and I actually managed to get one basket—don’t know how that happened. Van, Melissa and Reed cheered but they were the only ones.

Courtney came over and gave Daryl the water bottle again. Melissa pulled a bottle from her bag and came over and gave it to me.

Thanks! I said and she smiled. I took a long swig then handed it back. I looked over to see Van just sitting there, staring and grinning. He knew there was no way I would win this and was wondering what I was thinking.

I looked over at Daryl who was sweating profusely. I was sweating myself, but he was an athlete—this was nothing to him. Why was he sweating so much?

Come—on Macdonald. Stop gawking. Let’s—get this game going, he gasped.

I nodded. The score was 9-1 and would soon be over. The next shot was Peter’s but he fumbled the ball and I jumped over to catch it. I took off towards the net and scored again. 9-2.

Peters nodded and off we went again. I had the ball and tried a free throw—what did I have to lose? Besides this game of course.

Peters caught it midflight then he fell to the ground, the ball rolling away.

 A gasp went up in the bleachers. I went over to see if Daryl was OK.  Get off me, he grunted getting to his feet. I’m—OK, jerk face.

You don’t look OK, I remarked.

Just lay off, Macdonald. I’m—good.

I nodded but was unconvinced. The game continued and Peters looked weaker and was still sweating. Courtney had to come over with the water bottle every few minutes. But Peters was still sweating. His tank top was drenched in sweat.

Are you sure you’re OK? I said, standing with the ball. He reached for it to knock it out of my hand, but missed. I dodged around him and headed to the net.

Another shot—another point. We were now even at 12-12.

He was starting to look worried. If he thought it would be easy to beat me—he was wrong.

I felt good. I was barely breaking a sweat but Daryl continued to sweat. He was tiring quickly as was I but he was tiring more quickly than me.

I called a time out at 15 all.

No, he rasped. Let’s get this over with. You’re better than I thought but not as good as me.

Very well, but you don’t look good, dude, I muttered.

Neither do you, you’re butt ugly, he snapped. Who cares?

That’s not what I meant—OK, we’ll keep going.

Peters nodded then coughed. Let’s go!

I dodged around him and got another point.

16-15. I was winning.

I was—winning? How could that be?

Another point, I easily grabbed the ball from Peters and made another shot. Another point.

17-15.

Only three more and I would win!

Don’t get cocky, Macdonald, he rasped, his voice sounding cracked. He was exhausted.

Are you sure you’re OK? I said, a little worried now. I hated the guy, sure but I was about to trounce him and he looked like he was ready to collapse.

I’m—fine, jerk! He screeched. Let’s play this! Move!

Ok, I said. But something’s not right.

What’s not right is you talking. Shut your face and let’s get this done, he muttered.

Next point was another easy one for me. I’m not the greatest basketball player—heck I’m not that good at any sports really, but I can hold my own—against most other guys. But against Daryl Peters? The guy was a jock and if I won against him his rep would be damaged. Did I want to do that to him.

Damn right I did! This would be so freaking awesome if I could beat him.

18-15. Peters couldn’t seem to get the ball.  More water from the water bottle. Melissa came over and gave me her bottle. Is Peters OK? She whispered. You’re winning.

I realize that, I said ruefully. But he’s stubborn. He says he’s OK.

She returned to the bleachers. I glanced over and saw Peter’s cronies all talking amongst themselves and they didn’t look happy. Their star was losing to the wimp Justin Macdonald.

Van on the other hand was on his feet and grinning widely. As were Melissa and Reed who had come to join them in the front row.

At that moment Mr. Detmar came over to us. He looked concerned as did most of the people in the gym.

Are you OK, Daryl, he asked, his brow furrowed. You don’t look well, son.

I’m fine, he said between gritted teeth. He came over to me, his hair plastered with sweat. He looked pale as well. Something was definitely wrong.

He poked his finger into my chest. You! He muttered. Are going down. I don’t know what tricks you’re pulling but it stops here. You hear me? It stops here.

I brushed his finger away which seemed to infuriate him even further. We’ll see, I said calmly, turning away.

Macdonald, don’t turn away from me when I’m talking to you. I’m not done.

What is it? I turned back to him, cupping a hand around my ear so as to hear him better. Hmm, what do you have to say now? Wanna give me some pointers. Looks like I don’t need any.

Peters seethed at that remark. You’re a jerk and you got an attitude, he muttered. You think you’re special ‘cause your old man’s a PI. But that don’t mean nothing. I’m the best this school’s got. And you’re nothing.

Pardon? I said, getting annoyed now.

You heard me, he grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead. I’m sick of hearing your name everywhere I go. When I beat you, you’ll look like the idiot for even challenging me. No one challenges Daryl Peters and wins. You might think you’re winning. But—that’s about to end. He coughed again and turned away. He spoke in hushed tones to Detmar who returned to his seat.

Peters took the ball—it was his point and dashed around me but I grabbed for the ball and got it. I stepped around him and raced off to the goal, with him on my heels.

Another shot—another point. 19-15.

One more point and I would win. I would beat Daryl Peters at a game of one on one basketball. Was I in the twilight zone?

Peters looked flushed now. He was gasping for breath. I don’t know what I was thinking when I handed him the ball. He took it and headed back down the court to the centre then turned around and came back to the net. He threw the ball but it was short—a lot short.

His cronies in the bleachers gasped audibly. They didn’t know what was going on. Neither did I.

Daryl stood there, hands on his knees gasping for breath. I stood there a moment to let him catch his breath.

He stood up again. Let’s finish this.

He grabbed the ball and dribbled down the court. He nearly fumbled it but caught it at the last minute and did a layup, scoring another point.

It was now 19-16. Was I getting cocky? I had to watch myself. Only one more point and I would win. I glanced over to Van, Melissa and Reed whose faces wore a mixture of excitement and confusion.

I was winning, but how was that possible?

Macdonald, Peters bellowed. Let’s go.

I dribbled the ball down the court and headed to the net. I could see Peters out of the corner of my eye—gaining on me. I flew to the net. I could hear Van and Reed screaming, go Justin! Go dude!

The ball flew out of my hand and bounced against the rim, twirled, then went into the basket.

The gym was quiet. All I could hear was Daryl Peters heavy breathing. I turned to him. He was as pale as a ghost and sweat was dripping off him onto the floor. He looked up at me with pure hatred in his eyes.

What have I done? I said to myself. I came here thinking I was going to be the fool, but I just made Peters the fool.

The star athlete of Port Salser Collegiate beaten by a nobody, wimp Justin Macdonald. It would be all over school by the morning. I would either be a hero or a pariah. I had taken down the star. I had baited him on social media (well I actually hadn’t) and then beat him.

He stood there a moment glaring at me. He didn’t offer congratulations—not that I expected he would.

But something wasn’t right. He was pale and his eyes bloodshot. Something really wasn’t right.

He opened his mouth to say something but instead his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed right there on the gym floor.

Enemy Match Chapter 1

Enemy Match

Chapter 1

Today. 4 pm. School gym. You and me, Macdonald. We’re going to settle this.

You’re kidding, right? I said turning to face my arch nemesis—ok that’s a little overdramatic. Daryl Peters was tall and muscular and was good at every sport—especially basketball. All—well at least most—of the girls at Port Salser Collegiate liked him because he was a total jock.

Dumb jock to be precise.

I, on the other hand was not as tall nor as muscular and I wasn’t as good as Daryl was at sports. I was however, at least as good looking or even more than he was and I took consolation in that. Not that I’m vain, I’m just telling it like it is.

Daryl Peters was my enemy. No other way to say it.

Since day one of high school three years ago when our little feud started—he was a bully and I didn’t put up with his crap—and that annoyed him to no end.

No, I’m not kidding, he muttered, bouncing the basketball then twirling it on his finger like a pro.

What’s going to happen at 4? I said staring at him with a sneer. You going to finally learn to tie your shoes?

He ignored the jibe. I’m going to take you down. Once and for all.

I pointed my thumb to my chest. Me? I said.

Is there a problem, gentlemen, a voice piped up behind us. Mr. Detmar, our gym teacher and basketball coach.

No problem, coach, Daryl said smoothly. I was just giving Macdonald here some pointers.

Yeah, well, get back to practicing with the rest of the class, Detmar said glancing between Daryl and me.

Yes coach, Daryl said as he turned to walk away. He turned back to me and once he realized Detmar had moved off, did the throat slitting motion with his hand then pointed to me. Then walked away.

Dude, what was that all about? A voice said in my ear.

I turned to one of my friends, Reed Wyatt. He was about an inch shorter than my 6 foot and had spiked blond hair.

I don’t really know, but Peters had challenged me to something today at 4.

A fight? You’re kidding? Reed remarked.

What’s this about a fight, Reed’s identical twin brother Rhys said coming up to us at that moment.

Justin and Daryl Peters, Reed said. Justin

Whoa, dude, are you crazy? Rhys remarked.

What do you mean? I asked, affronted. You don’t think I can take that tall—massive—muscular jock? By myself?

Reed and Rhys just looked at me.

Suddenly there was a startled look on both their faces then something whacked me in the back of the head—hard!

The basketball that Peters had just twirled on his finger only a minute before bounced and rolled away across the gym floor. I turned around livid, to face Peters, my face red and my head throbbing.

What was that for? I said, rushing at Peters who just shrugged.

Sorry, I lost control of the ball.

Yeah right! Well I’m going to lose control of my fist, I blurted moving towards him with my fist clenched. I was ready to pop that jerk. Never mind waiting til 4.

Justin! A voice rang out across the gym.

Mr. Detmar.

I froze in place and turned around, Detmar approaching us again. What’s going on with you two? He muttered coming up to me.

Someone threw a ball at Macdonald’s head, someone called out.

Yeah, another voice remarked. That had to hurt.

Is this true, Justin? Detmar said, studying my face.

Yeah, I muttered looking at Daryl. This jerk threw it at my head, I motioned to Peters.

Detmar turned to Daryl. Did you throw the ball at Justin’s head?

No, coach, Daryl said with a smarmy smile. I was passing it to Jake here and he missed it. It was an accident.

Yeah, Jake said. I missed the pass. Sorry Macdonald, he said with a grin. Jake was a buddy of Daryl Peters so the two of them had orchestrated this little episode. But of course, I had no proof.

OK, that’s enough practise today guys, hit the showers.

Everyone headed off to the locker room. I started to walk with Reed and Rhys when Detmar called me back.

Are you OK, Justin? He asked.

Yeah, I said. I’ll have a headache for about a month or so. It’s all good.

You were ready to pop Peters. What’s up with you guys. I know you don’t get along, but there’s something more. Am I right?

It’s all good, coach, I said, with a grin. It’s nothing.

There was no point in telling Coach Detmar about our little feud. Whenever we had an altercation, Peter’s usually came out smelling like a rose. He was well liked at PSC and most people didn’t believe he was a world class jerk that I knew him to be. If there was one thing Daryl was good at it was not getting caught dishing out his pranks.

He had won the school many sport championship pennants over his high school career and this seemed to afford him some measure of slack with the teachers here. I on the other hand had not won the school any pennants so was not given as much slack.

And Peters knew this. And used it to his advantage whenever possible. He may not have good academic marks—he could barely tie his shoes—but if being cunning and manipulative and being a bully was a sport he would win pennants in that as well.

Very well, Detmar said.

He knew there was more but didn’t push me. In his eyes, Peters could do no wrong, so if I said anything he would just defend Peters anyway.

Can I go now, coach, I said wiping sweat from my brow. I have a history test next period.

Sure, Justin, he said resignedly. I moved off and headed to the showers.

Once dressed in regular clothes, I met Reed and Rhys in the corridor outside the gym. We were all dressed similarly in cargo shorts and t-shirts. Reed and Rhys in flip flops—I in my usual red high-top sneakers. We all had history as our last period of the day so we headed that way to get ready for the test.

We were silent as we entered the class room. Unfortunately Peters was in this class. He was seated at the back talking in hushed tones to two of his buddies—one of which was Jake Prestwick—the one who had “missed” catching that basketball.

They went silent when I came in the room. I took my seat on the opposite side of the room trying to ignore Peters. I glanced at him once and he was staring at me. I smiled back at him and he turned back to his books.

OK, class, Mrs. Clemens remarked. Put away your books and take out a pen. The test will start shortly.

At 3:30 after the last bell rang I headed to my blue SUV parked in the student parking lot at that back of the school. A slight breeze had sprung up and clouds scudded across the sky, threatening rain.

Someone was waiting for me.

No, not Peters.

It was my girlfriend, Melissa Mulhall. She was pretty and had dark blond hair. She had her hair back in a ponytail because of the heat. Her blue eyes looked concerned as I approached.

Are you OK? She said. I heard what happened in gym.

How did you find out? I asked.

Jori Prestwick is in my math class. She says her brother Jake missed catching a basketball and it hit you in the head. Daryl Peters threw the ball.

Yeah, I said ruefully. He got me again.

You have to do something about that guy, Melissa said as I opened the passenger side door and she climbed in.

I got in the drivers side and started the engine. I cranked the A/C to max and the pulled out of the spot. What can I do? I muttered. Peters is Golden Boy around PSC. Everyone likes him.

Not everyone, Melissa said.

Well a lot of people do. Remember Mr. Unger, our former homeroom teacher. He sided with Peters that one time. He said I got too much publicity solving my cases.

He was just jealous, Melissa replied as we pulled out of the lot and headed down Main Street towards the southwest part of the city, where Melissa lived. And he’s not the majority—well he wasn’t the majority at school. A lot of people think Peters is a jerk.

Maybe, I said. But Peters wants to meet me back at school at 4. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I can’t not show up. I’ll look like the wimp.

Why didn’t you tell me? Melissa exclaimed. I want to be there to support you. In whatever it is you’re doing.

Are you sure, I said, stopping at a traffic light. I never thought—

Yeah, you didn’t think, she muttered. Now turn around and lets go back to school.

I shook my head, but turned at the light and headed around the block. 10 minutes later we pulled back into the lot at PSC. Most of the cars had left but one familiar car remained parked in its usual spot.

Van’s still here. I mumbled. He’s usually the first one out of the lot at home time.

I pulled in next to his car and got out. Melissa followed me back into the school. The corridors were quiet now.

As we neared the gym I could hear the sound of a basketball bouncing.

Justin! A voice called out behind us. I turned to face my best buddy, Van Gilman. He was an inch shorter than my 6 foot with dark hair and a devilish grin. He was a good guy to have around in a fight as he worked out and was more muscular than me. He played goalie for the local hockey team and was what you would call a sports nut.

Heard you and Peters were facing off at 4. Why didn’t you tell me? he said coming up to Melissa and I.

Because I don’t know what we’re facing off for. Peters didn’t tell me. I think it’s just a joke.

Oh, it’s no joke, buddy, he said, clapping me on the shoulder. Jake Prestwick was telling us all in English Lit about the face off in the gym.

What—face off? I grunted. Peters just said “we’re going to settle this”. Settle what?

Dude, you don’t know about the challenge. What did you expect? You basically blabbed on Facebook that you could beat Peters at any sport and that he was a real loser and that you would challenge him anytime. I read it myself. You posted it last night.

I—posted that? I didn’t, I said, turning to Melissa who was just shaking her heard.

I read it myself, Van said. So did half the school. Peters reposted it this morning and is going to challenge you. All his buddies are going to be there. I’m surprised you didn’t ask us—your friends, to be there. Once Peters issued the challenge. For support, you know. You’re gonna need it, dude. I’m sorry, I am your best friend, but you are NOT better at sports than Peters.

I—didn’t say those things on Facebook. There’s been a mistake.

What? You’re kidding, Van said, sobering up. But it was there. Don’t you check your Facebook like every 5 minutes like everyone else?

No, I said. I don’t. I haven’t been on for days.

Van and Melissa both gasped.

Come on guys, you’re not serious. I wouldn’t say such a stupid thing on Facebook. I know I’m not better than Peters.

Well it’s too late now. Peters is in the gym waiting for you, Van said checking his watch. I checked mine. It was 3:58.

Suddenly the door burst open and Peters and a few of his buddies came out into the corridor.

So you did show up, Peters muttered. Let’s get this thing started. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. You can’t say those things and get away with it, Macdonald.

I looked at Van but he just stared at me.

I turned back to Peters. Let’s get this done!