Locker 13 (9 page)

All around, kids were cheering. Congratulating me. Talking about me, how brave I had been.

Leaning against a tree, I saw Hannah. She stood by herself, crutch under one arm. She was the only one not smiling, not cheering.

I saw the red blotches on Hannah's face. Watched as she transfered the crutch to her other arm. And saw her scowling at me, her eyes narrowed. She shook her head and scowled.

And in that moment, I realized that she was
jealous
. Jealous of my good luck.

Jealous that she was no longer the hero.
She
was no longer the lucky one.

Too bad, Hannah, I thought, watching her angry expression. I had felt sorry for her. I had felt really
guilty
, too.

But no more.

I've got the luck now, Hannah, I thought.
And I'm going to keep it
!

“Let's go, guys. We've got another game to win!” I cried. I gave Sam Mulroney a playful towel slap.

Locker doors slammed. Guys finished lacing up their basketball shoes.

“Did you
see
those Deaver Mills guys?” Mulroney asked, peeking into the gym through a crack in the locker room door. “They're
monsters
! They must feed those guys whole steaks five times a day!”

“Big doesn't mean good!” I said. “They look like cows! They're so slow.”

“We'll dribble circles around them!” Jay Boxer said.

“Just feed me the ball!” I instructed them. “No matter where I am. Feed me the ball. I'll put it in. I'm feeling lucky today, guys. Real lucky!”

“Hey, Champ—” Stretch called, pulling on his jersey. “You're not a ball hog or anything—are you?”

Guys used to laugh when Stretch shouted insults at me. But not anymore. Everyone was on my side now. Everyone wanted to be on the
winner's
side.

“Hey, Stretch—what do they call
you
?” I shouted back. “A
bench
hog?”

Everybody laughed.

Stretch laughed too. Now that I was a winner, he was starting to be a little nicer to me. He even gave me some dribbling tips after one practice.

The guys all headed out to the gym. I could hear the shouts of the crowd in the bleachers. And the steady
thud
of basketballs on the floor as the Deaver Mills Lions warmed up.

“Time to kill me some Lions,” I muttered. I finished lacing my sneakers.

Then I stood up. Started to swing my gym locker closed.

And slammed my left hand in the door.

“Hey!” I cried out in surprise as pain shot up my arm.

I shook the hand hard, trying to shake the pain away. My wrist throbbed. I moved my fingers, tilted my hand back and forth. It moved okay. Not broken.

But the hand was red and already starting to swell.

“No time for this,” I muttered.

I slammed the locker shut with my right hand. And, still shaking my left hand, hurried out into the gym.

The crowd cheered as I ran onto the floor. I saw some of the Deaver Mills players whisper to each other and point at me. They knew who the star player was. They knew who was going to
wipe the floor
with them today!

We huddled close around Coach Bendix. “Take it slow with these guys,” he instructed. “Feel them out. Get their rhythm. Let's rattle them, show them we can play defense.”

“Just get me the ball!” I chimed in. “I'm going to be loose under the basket all day!”

We gave our team cheer and trotted out to the center of the floor. I searched the bleachers for Hannah. She said she would try to come to the game today.

I spotted her at the side of the bleachers, hunched in a wheelchair. Her bad foot was propped up, and it had an even bigger bandage over it.

I guess it isn't getting better, I thought. I felt a pang of guilt.

Poor Hannah.

I looked for my parents. Then I remembered they weren't coming today. They had to stay home for a furniture delivery.

I turned away from the crowd. I had a game to play. Time to get my game face on. No time to think about Hannah and her problems.

I went up for the opening jump. I tapped the ball to Mulroney, and the game was underway.

He dribbled to half-court, then sent a high pass to me.

“Whoa—!” The ball flew right through my hands and bounced out of bounds.

“Mulroney—too hard!” I called. “Who were you throwing at?”

He shrugged and started trotting to the Lions' basket.

“Get in there, Luke! Get going! Look alive!” I heard Coach Bendix shouting.

The Deaver guard came dribbling slowly toward me. I darted up to him, stuck out my hand to steal the ball—and missed.

He moved past me easily and sent up an easy layup for two points.

“Weird,” I muttered. I shook my left hand. The pain had dulled to an ache, but the hand was pretty swollen.

I moved down the court. Caught a pass. Spun away from the Lion defender. Went in for an easy shot.

And missed!

“Huh?”

I heard the crowd groan. Startled voices all around.

Mulroney slapped me on the shoulder. “Take it easy, man,” he said. “Play your game. Just play your game.”

A few seconds later I drove in for a shot—and was fouled. I moved to the foul line—and missed both foul shots!

More groans and muttering from the bleachers. I saw Coach Bendix shake his head.

A bounce pass from Jay Boxer sailed right through my legs. Some of the Lions' players had a good laugh over that one.

Then I missed three more shots in a row!

Mulroney flashed me a thumbs-up. “No prob,” he called. “Play your game, Luke! We'll get 'em!”

The Lions were winning twelve to four.

I took another pass and moved under the basket. I leaped high for a slam dunk.

My arm hit the rim hard. I cried out in pain. And watched the ball sail over the backboard.

“Whoa. This isn't happening,” I muttered, picking myself up off the floor. “No way.”

At the other end of the floor I grabbed a rebound off the backboard. I dodged past a huge Lion player. Dribbled away from him easily. Picked up speed. Brought the ball onto our side of the court.

Eyed the basket. Prepared to stop short and put up a three-pointer.

And tripped. Felt one sneaker bump the other. Tripped over my own shoe.

And watched the ball sail into a Lion's hands as I stumbled. I fell forward onto my stomach. My arms and legs were out flat on the floor. “OOOF!”

I heard startled gasps from the bleachers. And laughter.

Yes. Some people were laughing at me.

“What is going on?” I cried.

I forced myself to my feet. Shook off the pain.

“This isn't happening. It can't be!”

I reached into the pocket of my uniform shorts. Reached for my good-luck skull.

Fumbled in the pocket. Searched both pockets.

“Hey—”

No. No. No way.

The skull was gone!

 

Fumbling frantically in both pockets, I began running for the team bench. “Time out! Time out!” I screamed.

Had the skull fallen out of my pocket?

I squinted hard, searching the gleaming, polished floor.

No sign of it.

“Time out!” I pleaded.

I heard a whistle blow on the sidelines.

I had to find it—now! I couldn't play without it.

My eyes swept over the floor. I began to run full speed to the bench.

I didn't see the huge Lions player—until we collided.

I plowed right into him. Caught him flat-footed. He let out a startled, “Oof.” And we cracked heads.

“Yaaaiiii!” I let out a scream of agony as blinding red pain shot around my head. The red shimmered to gold. Brighter, brighter … bright as the sun.

I felt my legs giving out. Felt myself collapsing, crumbling into a deep, deep, bottomless darkness.

I woke up to pinpoints of yellow light. They flickered high above me. Each time they flashed, a wave of pain rolled over my forehead, down the back of my neck.

I blinked hard. Blinked until I realized I was staring up at the lights on the gym rafters.

I lay on my back on the gym floor, one knee raised, my hands flat at my sides. I squinted up at the high rafters—until faces blocked my view.

Players' faces. And then a few worried-looking adults. And then Coach Bendix's face, looming over me, bobbing over me like a parade balloon.

“What—?” One word escaped my throat. My dry throat. So dry, I couldn't swallow.

“Stay still, Luke,” Coach ordered, speaking softly. His dark eyes peered down into mine, studying me. “You've had a bad concussion. Don't try to move. We're sending you to the emergency room.”

“Huh? No!” I gasped.

I rolled onto my side. I lurched to my feet. The floor tilted from side to side, as if I were on a rocking boat.

“Don't move, Luke.” Coach reached for me.

But I staggered out of his grasp. Stumbled through the circle of people that had formed around me.

“No. No hospital!” I croaked.

I had to find that skull. That was all I needed, and then I would be okay again.

The skull …

I stumbled over someone's shoe. Staggered toward the locker room. The gleaming wood floor swaying beneath me.

“Luke—come back!”

No. No way. I shoved open the locker room door with one shoulder. And sliding a hand against the lockers, moved to the back row. Lurched to my gym locker. Pulled open the door so hard it slammed against the frame.

“Where is it? Where?”

I frantically pawed through my street clothes. Searched and then tossed everything onto the floor.

“Where? Where?”

Not in my khakis pockets. Not in my shirt pocket. Not in my sweatshirt.

The locker floor? No. Nothing down there.

Stumbling over the pile of clothes on the floor, I lurched back down the row of gym lockers. Ran through the gym, out the doors, and up the stairs. Into the long, empty hall.

My sneakers squeaked on the hard floor as I ran. The walls and ceiling appeared to close in on me, then slide back into place.

To my locker. To locker 13.

It took me three tries to get the combination right. But finally I unlocked it and flung open the door.

And jammed my hand into one coat pocket, and then the other.

“Where is it? I have to have it! Where? Where?”

And then a long, happy sigh escaped my parched throat as my hand closed around it.

Yessss!

I was so happy!

I had the skull in my hand. I squeezed it tightly. So happy. So happy.

I pulled it out of the coat pocket. Raised it in front of me. Raised it close to examine it.

And let out a cry of horror.

 

The eyes. They were dark. Not red, not glowing.

And the face had
changed
! The bump-toothed grin was gone. The open mouth was curled down in a fierce, angry scowl.

“No—it's impossible!” I gasped.

I held the skull up to the light. The red jewel eyes were gone! The deep, round sockets were empty. The skull scowled down at me, dark and menacing.

What does this mean? I wondered. How did this happen?

Before I could think about it clearly, I glimpsed something in the open locker. A soft glow. A slow moving light, growing larger as if moving closer.

The light split into two. Two circles of red light. Down low. Very low, near the locker floor.

I gripped the skull tightly in my fist and stared as the red lights glimmered closer. The whole locker shimmered. The dark walls reflected the two lights. Brighter … bright as fire now.

Two red eyes, I realized. Two glowing eyes floating from the blackness of locker 13.

I jumped back as a black cat stepped silently out, as if floating. A black cat with fiery, red eyes. The same black cat as before?

It pulled back its lips, bared pointed, white teeth, and hissed at me.

My back hit the wall. I blinked against the brightness of those two circles of red light.

And as I trembled in horror, squeezing the skull, squeezing it so tightly my hand ached—the cat rose up off the floor.