Flying Read Online Free PDF Page A

support. Everything reeks of popcorn.
    We run to the net end of the court as the ballplayers head off to the locker room for a halftime talk. Lyle and Seppie roll out the long, blue tumbling mat. I wipe my hands together and try to pump myself up. I scan the crowd, trying to locate my mom. She’s not here yet, I don’t think, which is weird. Punctuality is her middle name. (Not really. It’s Denise.) Dakota gives me a thumbs-up, which is nice, and a drumroll, which is even nicer. My stomach becomes a cliché of butterflies fluttering and all that stuff. Dakota will have to be my winner in the next-guy-to-like contest, because Lyle is unfortunately off-limits, thanks to his best-friend status. Speaking of … I sneak a peek at Lyle, who is outgrowing his shirt in a good chest-too-big way.
    Do not stare.
    The voice commanding my head is a guy’s voice. My subconscious is a polite, commanding male? It makes me laugh because it is just so bizarre.
    Bunkie Brady, the school’s athletic director, yells some encouragement, and I bounce on my toes. I’m up. Lyle smiles at me and I power run ten steps. I double back handspring into a back layout and then a back twist. I land on my feet and raise my hands up, turning to face the home crowd. They go wild. They always do, which is really nice, and more than makes up for the D.
    I hustle out of the way for Lyle to blast down the mat. He front tucks three times. It’s his only tumbling talent but he has perfected it. Girls swoon. That’s just how he is. People start screaming, all pumped up. He takes my hand and we start making them frenzied. That’s our job. That is the point of cheerleaders, and Lyle may love cross-country while hating cheering, but he completely adores the attention.
    â€œWe ARE West High!” we chant. “We ARE West High!”
    They chant it back to us, clapping two beats at the appropriate time. The rest of the squad comes up behind us, screaming it, too. It is insane, all noise and feet-stomping, hands-clapping craziness.
    â€œWe ARE!”
    Stomp.
    Stomp.
    â€œWest High!”
    Stomp.
    Stomp.
    Kind of another stupid cheer, honestly.
    â€œWe ARE!”
    I’m midstomp when there’s this flurry of action over by Dakota’s drum set. The sunglasses guy has captured Dakota by the shoulder and is yanking him down the bleachers, past all the clappers and stompers, right toward the side door. Dakota is screaming too, but not our cheer.
    â€œWEST HIGH!”
    I snatch Lyle’s elbow and point. I don’t know if he sees. Poor Dakota is trying to jerk away from the sunglasses guy but he’s not getting anywhere. The guy in the glasses smacks him across the face and hustles him out the door to the locker rooms. How can no one notice this? Crud.
    There’s nothing else to do. I book after them, race in front of the screaming basketball fans, and dart toward the locker-room doors. I am right at the doorway that leads out of the gym to the locker-room hallway when Lyle yanks me by the elbow.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” His eyes are round, worried. “Why’d you take off?”
    â€œDakota.” I point down the hall. My hand trembles. “This guy with sunglasses took him and started beating on him. He yanked him back here.”
    Lyle sturdies his shoulders, calm as he always is, despite the craziness of the situation. “To the locker rooms?”
    â€œYes.” I try to pull my elbow away. “I have to stop him.”
    â€œYou think he’s kidnapping him or something? Really?” Lyle’s eyebrows shoot up like they’re trying to escape his face.
    â€œYes. No. I don’t know. He was hitting him, and Dakota was screaming.” I start pulling away from him. I am all wild strength. He lets go. “Lyle! We have to do something.”
    He nods quickly, all in charge and sensible. “Let’s go get the sheriff deputy