The Stupendous Dodgeball Fiasco Read Online Free PDF Page A

group split in half, and the kids went to opposite sides of the gym. Coach placed three balls along a line in the middle of the gym. The stiff, inflatable balls were made of the kind of hard, grooved rubber that looked like it could remove skin at high speeds.
    Coach blew his whistle.
    Kids from both sides ran to grab the balls. One kid tumbled head over heels as another beat him to a ball. The kid who got the ball cocked his tongue and threw the ball over the line at the other team. To Phillip, the players looked like clowns chasing one another around the circus ring, throwing custard pies.
    A kid jumped with both feet as a ball whizzed past ankle-high. His teammate grabbed the ball and sent it zooming back. A petite girl with a ponytail took it in the side and splattered onto the floor.
    “You’re out,” Coach yelled. The girl crawled to the bleachers. The boy who threw the ball chuckled.
    It reminded Phillip of the time his dad had given him the unicycle. As soon as he managed to balance himself, the clowns began chasing him, throwing pies. He hid from them on the trapeze platform for hours, until Bartholomew the Giant finally came and helped him down. Phillip still had nightmares about clowns throwing pies, trying to land one on his kisser. Nothing frightened him more than the thought of lemon meringue stuck in his nostrils. Until now.
    Each time a kid got hit, Coach yelled, “Out!” and pointed. The kid who got hit would have to sit on the bleachers. Phillip could practically see the whipped cream streaming down their humiliated faces. He could hardly believe that kids with balls were purposely aiming at ones without them.
    Whap!
A boy standing near the line got it in the gut.
    Whack!
A girl who had turned to run got it in the back.
    A ball zipped so close to Phillip, he could hear the air scream. The girl next to him twisted to avoid a low ball. She slipped, and the ball hit her as she lay on the ground. A circularred spot formed on her exposed back thigh before she staggered away.
    Phillip had lost three-quarters of his team. Fewer kids meant more balls thrown his way. He caught a glimpse of the clock. Maybe he could survive until the bell. He backed himself into the far corner.
    “Get the new kid,” a familiar voice yelled. It was B.B. Tyson, the hall monitor. She lobbed a screamer right at him. It barely missed. There was no place to go. Phillip’s head brushed against the rope hanging from the ceiling. He jumped for the rope, grabbed the end, and began yanking himself up as fast as he could. B.B. unleashed another screamer at him.
    “Get him!” she hollered. A ball zoomed by as he climbed. The rope swung, making him harder to hit. Closer to the ceiling, the balls dropped short of him. He was safe.
    “Hey, Tarzan,” yelled B.B. She tossed her ball and beat her chest.
    “
AhhhAhhAhhhaaaa!
” she roared.
    “It’s George of the Jungle,” another kid shouted.
    Phillip surveyed the herd of sixth-graders. Most of the kids who weren’t making fun of him were bent over with laughter.

    Coach blew his whistle.
    “That’s enough,” he said. As if on cue, the bell rang, and the pack of howling children raced out of the gym.
    They were all gone.
    Phillip breathed a sigh of relief. Until he realized he was still twenty feet in the air and, like a cat stuck in a tree, afraid to climb down.

B artholomew the Giant was three feet, eight inches tall. If he had called himself Bartholomew the Midget, people would have expected less of him. A short midget was nothing special, he used to explain, but a miniature giant was unique.
    Phillip felt anything but special in the line at the Hardingtown County Courthouse. He was in the security area of the lobby. Aunt Veola had said to meet at the courthouse after school, but he had forgotten to ask her where. Would he be able to find her?
    In front of him was a row of dark suits shuffling toward a metal detector. The guard stopped a man with a buzzing belt buckle.
    “You can