William chose the boy next to me and now there were only three of us left without teams.
I’d have smacked the smug look off Paisley’s face if I didn’t know for a fact that she could do push-ups. She whispered something in Knox’s ear, and the next thing I knew the kid beside me was exhaling a held breath and then breaking rank with us.
“And we’re last,” Owen said.
I tapped my foot. “Seriously? That kid that just got picked has severe peanut allergies and carries an inhaler.”
“Bloch,” William called.
Owen squeezed my arm. “May the Force be with you.”
What made it worse was that I knew the only reason Owen had gotten picked before me was that he was a boy. He even had to wear those dorky straps around his head to hold on his glasses.
A leftover reject, I slinked over to join Knox’s brigade and tried to look useful. After all, Coach Carlson handed out actual grades in gym class.
Paisley toyed with a strand of hair and chewed gum in PE. It was a choking hazard. I hoped it worked. “Great. You’re on our team.” She pointed out the obvious.
“Trust me,” I said. “The feeling’s mutual.”
Knox clapped his hands. “Spread out team. Give ’em hell.”
The crazy thing was that Coach Carlson let us have dodgeball days as a break from running around the track in circles like hamsters, and other activities that furthered our physical education. Getting pegged in the boobs was supposed to be some kind of treat.
I went and stood in the corner next to Adam. “Do you know how to play the game?” I asked. He shook his head. “Just chuck the balls at the other team. Hit them, they’re out. You get hit, you’re out. Catch it, they’re out again. Got it?”
“Hit them?” Adam turned and lightly punched the scrawny kid with the inhaler. “Like that?”
“Ow,” the boy wheezed, rubbing at the spot where Adam hit.
I pulled him away. “No, with the balls.” I pointed at the colored balls lined up at half-court. “You throw them.” I mimicked the motion of throwing, though honestly I wasn’t even sure if my technique was passable for a third grader.
Paisley wiped her hands on her shorts, focused and itching to run.
Coach Carlson balanced the whistle between his lips. “On your mark, get set.” The whistle blew. “Play ball!”
Everyone but Adam and me charged to the centerline to make a grab for the dodgeballs. A second after, a ball whizzed past my face and I skittered to the side, narrowly escaping an immediate need for a nose job.
Adam picked up a ball. He turned back to me. “Don’t worry, Victoria, I’ll get him.”
He cocked his arm back and hurled it at Daniel Ferrera. The ball zoomed through the air, nailing Daniel in the gut. He groaned and doubled over.
I slapped my hand over my smile. “Nice throw.”
Adam shrugged and bent down for another. He pegged Caleb Bell so hard in the leg that Caleb had to limp over to the side of the court. And for that, I gave Adam a high five.
I jumped back when a ball nearly skirted my shirtsleeve. Adam instantly retaliated with a rocket to the shoulder of Spencer Hawkins.
At this point, a few other people on our team started to notice Adam’s skills. “Toss him a ball,” ordered Knox. Knox was shuffling from side to side like we were in the freaking dodgeball Olympics.
Another of Adam’s missiles made contact. A loud thwack. Plastic on wet skin. He ducked, dodged, and shuffled. Teammates fell around him. I stuck close behind, using him like a shield. I glanced over. Knox was dripping sweat. Paisley was out. Adam, though, wasn’t even short of breath. He was like one of those automatic tennis-ball machines.
He fired another shot. Bingo. Then another. A human strike force.
Knox hollered his appreciation. It was as if Adam were charged up on batteries. Or, I paused, watching him in awe from the free-throw line, an electrical charge. I felt my jaw drop. That was it.
In that instant, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a purple dodgeball floating toward me. I turned, but it was too late. The ball pegged me in the shoulder. Owen was just finishing his follow-through, a joyful gloat already parading over his face. He bounced up and down with one fist in the air.
“I got you!” he crowed. “I so got you!”
This was his mistake. Adam zeroed in on him like a fighter jet. Ready, aim, fire. Before Owen could calculate rate of speed plus velocity, the ball was already nailing him on the side of the head. I scrunched my shoulders as Owen’s head snapped sideways. He stumbled and then his palms squeaked onto the gym floor.
Coach Carlson’s whistle trilled. “Time! Time!” He waved his hands in the air. “Bloch! Get off the floor. It’s a dodgeball not a meteor.”
I ran over to Owen, who was scraping himself off the ground. He grabbed my hand and I hoisted him up. He cupped his ear and moved his jaw back and forth. “My ears are ringing, Tor. He destroyed my hearing. Ah! Ah! Ah! You hear that?” He pointed at his ear. “I’m completely tone-deaf now.”