One Shot Away Read Online Free PDF Page B

remember who you are. You’re Diggy Masters and—”
    â€œDon’t start quoting Randy,” he says, cutting her off.

Diggy
    D IGGY SPEEDS DOWN THE BLOCK, THEN SLOWS HIS M USTANG IN front of Trevor Crow’s house. A single electric candle glows in the front window. Bones is riding shotgun. Little Gino’s in the back, hanging his head between the front bucket seats.
    â€œWhat’re we doing here, yo?” asks Bones.
    Even with the car’s heat blowing, Diggy feels cold. His lip throbs. “Get this,” he says. “I’m getting stitches, my lip is yanked to my dick, and my mom hands me her phone. You know what my father wants to know? If I’ll be ready for the first match.” Diggy tries to laugh, but it hurts. “Believe that?”
    Gino and Bones laugh. “At least your father is into it,” says Gino. “My father thinks I wrestle like the guys in the WWF.”
    â€œThe WWF?” says Bones. “They have a midget league?”
    â€œOh, yeah, like you could be in the WWF?” says Gino.
    Diggy rubs his tongue over the stitches. They feel like a zipper. “Crow did this on purpose.” Diggy likes the way the words seem to reverberate. Full of menace.
    â€œNo way that was an accident,” says Bones.
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” asks Gino.
    Diggy flips through the radio stations. He shivers and remembers Trevor’s stiff, unmovable sprawl. “What do you think Crow is taking?” he asks.
    â€œTaking?” asks Bones.
    â€œLike steroids, GHB, what?” Diggy wants his suggestion to become a fact.
    They are quiet. A rap song thumps in the car. The heater whirrs. Diggy moves his sneaker next to the warmth blowing near the floor. The porch light remains on. The wind rolls a sheet of newspaper past the car.
    â€œTrevor is screwing everything up.” Diggy thumps the steering wheel. He wants to be as angry as he sounds, but he’s already looking forward to the time off from practice, nursing his lip. “See that deer in the front of Crow’s house?” he asks. “I dare you to snap the head off.” He’s sure one of them will do it.
    â€œWhat deer?” asks Gino.
    â€œNot a real deer,” he says. “The cement deer in the bushes. Neither of you has a hair on your balls.”
    â€œWhy don’t you do it, yo?” asks Bones.
    â€œOh, yeah, right, and rip my stitches open,” says Diggy.
    â€œOpen the door,” says Gino.
    Bones opens his door. Little Gino bolts from the back seat and races across the lawn. He bends over the deer and yanks it forward. It’s strange to see him half in the garden, twisting and pulling. The deer’s head drops, then rolls onto the lawn. Gino races back to the car. Diggy pushes the door open.
    â€œIt must’a had a cracked neck.” Gino holds a twisted piece of cement with a metal rod sticking from the end. “Antlers!”
    Diggy throws the car into drive and leaves rubber up the block. “Bones, you’re a wuss.” Diggy smacks hands with Gino.

Trevor
    T HE “LATE” BUS BOUNCES OVER THE HILL. I N THE SECOND TO last bench, Jimmy has his long legs across the aisle, his size twelves on the empty seat. Trevor, in the rear seat next to the emergency door, leans forward over Jimmy’s seat.
    â€œWhat I’m saying is watch your back.” Jimmy tugs apart a protein bar and gives Trevor half. “I’m not saying he’s really going to do something. Maybe he’s running his mouth.”
    â€œYou make it sound like he put a hit out on me.” A chill passes up his spine and radiates along his shoulders.
    â€œIf he does anything, it’s not going to be obvious,” says Jimmy. “He’s not going to jeopardize his season. It’ll be when you least expect it.”
    â€œI told you about the cement deer in my front yard. Someone cracked the head off.”
    â€œIt