Strider Read Online Free PDF Page B

“That’s my shirt you’re wearing,” he informed me.
    â€œIt can’t be,” I said. “I bought it at the thrift shop.” Then I wished I hadn’t mentioned the thrift shop to this rich kid.
    â€œIt was my favorite shirt,” said Kevin, “but my mother hated it so much she gave it to the thrift shop before I even had a chance to wear it.”
    Some mom. “Why did she have to do that?” I asked, understanding how a new shirt happened to be in the thrift shop.
    â€œShe said it was in appalling taste.” Kevin looked angry, and I didn’t blame him.
    â€œToo bad, Kevin,” I said. “It’s my shirt now. I paid for it.”
    â€œGimme my shirt,” said Kevin and made a grab for it.
    I dodged. Kevin grabbed again. I wasn’t going to lose that shirt, so I ducked and began to run with Kevin chasing me. Our book bags thumped our backs. I reached the school grounds one step ahead of him, ducked, dodged, twisted out of his grasp, and ran some more.
    Kids began to yell, “You in the fancy shirt—go!” “Come on, Leigh!” “Get him, Kevin!” “Leigh, go!” I was surprised that so many people knew my name.
    I had to stay ahead or lose my shirt in front of the whole school. Pounding down the breezeway past the classroom doors, I looked back to see how close Kevin was and bumped into a teacher who held me by the arm. Maybe he was the principal. “You know the saying, my lad,” he said. “Never look back. Someone might be gaining on you.”
    Kevin, panting, caught up. “You better (pant) watch out,” he gasped. “I’ll (pant) get my shirt (pant) back yet.”
    I couldn’t resist taunting, “What for? (Pant.) Your mother won’t let you wear it.” That was mean, and I knew it.
    â€œSome shirt,” said the teacher.
    The chase was over for today. But tomorrow?
    My teachers seem okay, but I’m not sure about my English teacher, Ms. Habis-Jones, who looks unhappy and wears her hair twisted into a knob on top of her head. She ties a white scarf around the knob, which makes her hair look as if it had been wounded and bandaged. When she said that in her classroom we would write, write, write, the guy behind me whispered, “Rah, rah, rah!” She says she will not tolerate non-words such as gonna, kinda, and sorta.
    In gym I discovered I am no longer the mediumest boy in my class. I thought if my pants were too short, every other guy’s pants would be too short, too, but it hasn’t worked out that way. When we lined up according to height ingym, I was toward the tall end of the line. Why do we have to line up according to height anyway? Do teachers think we look neater that way? If we lined up according to width, I would be near the front of the line because I am skinny.

September 16
    After that first day, I washed my shirt every night, hung it in the shower, smoothed it while it was damp, and put it on again the next morning. Kevin waits every morning, but I keep ahead of him, and we both outrun Barry. Kevin’s legs are longer, but I have more stamina, thanks to Strider. Sometimes he gets close enough to grab my shirt. Then I turn and chase him for a change. It wasn’t long before half the school was watching and cheering. The redheaded girl cheered, too, but she yelled, “Come on, Joseph!” She has forgotten my name, or maybe she means Kevin. Her name is Geneva Weston. I found that out by what are called “discreet inquiries.”

    One morning a man who must be the fittest teacher in the school grabbed us both by thearms and said, “I’d like to see you boys harness that energy and turn out for cross-country now and track next spring.” I found out later he was Mr. Kurtz, the track coach. Not being the football type like Barry, I hadn’t thought much about sports before. Running makes me feel good, but I don’t like to