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Racing the Past - Hardcover

Deans, Sis

 
9780805066357: Racing the Past

Inhaltsangabe

After his cruel father's death, Ricky Gordon, still haunted by the brutal beatings and harsh arguments, realizes that he can no longer fight with the kids that torment him on the bus, and decides to run to school, which leads him on a new path of hope, in a dramatic story of determination and survival.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Sis Deans has had several books published by regional presses. She writes for children of all ages and for adults as well. She has won several regional awards, including the 1995 Maine Chapbook Award. Ms. Deans lives on a small farm in Maine with her husband and three daughters.

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Racing the Past
Chapter One
From where he sat in the principal's office, eleven-year-old Ricky Gordon could see the empty swings in the playground rocking in the breeze. Fifteen minutes ago, beneath that blue sky that felt more like May than the first day of March, he'd gotten in a fight with Bugsie McCarthy, a sixth-grader twice his size. My father said the best thing your father ever did for your family was running his truck off of Dead Man's Curve. Although Ricky secretly agreed, Bugsie had no right to say it, so he'd attacked the bigger boy with wild, flying punches. It was a fight he'd lost, and as if to confirm it, he ran his tongue over his swollen, salty lip.
Mr. Daniels, the principal of Harmony Elementary, tapped his silver pen on the desk mat in front of him. "I'm getting tired of seeing you in that chair, Richard."
Not as tired as I am, thought Ricky.
"This is the sixth time you've been in my office thisyear for fighting." The principal gave the desk mat a harder rap. "The sixth!"
"The seventh," Ricky corrected automatically.
"I hope that wasn't meant to be a joke."
"No, sir, it's just ... it's the seventh, not the sixth."
"It's nothing to be proud of either way."
Ricky didn't respond; he usually didn't. He wouldn't have spoken up a moment ago, but he couldn't let Daniels' mistake pass; he had too great a respect for numbers. There was something clean and real about numbers. They were exact; they didn't lie.
"Now, I think I've been very lenient with you up to this point, Richard. I know you've had a hard time lately with your father's death and everything, but I can't let this behavior continue on my premises. Someone's going to be hurt, and I am ultimately responsible for that ... ."
Ricky watched the second hand revolve around the clock. Cripe, he'd already lost twelve minutes of math. Even though he was only in fifth grade, Mr. Garvey had him working at the seventh-grade level.
" ... One bad apple will spoil the whole barrel, Richard ... ."
If it takes 1 bad apple 2 days to spoil 4 apples, how long will it take to spoil a barrel of 84? Ricky wondered. By day 2, there'd be 5 spoiled apples; in a couple of days they each spoil 4, then those 25 ...
" ... And, frankly, I don't want any bad apples in my barrel ..."
Less than a week to spoil every kid in the whole school!
" ... There are certain rules the students of this school must follow ... ."
If the bad apple got paid 50¢ a head for spoiling all those apples, how much would he be paid?
"Rule number one! There is no, I repeat, no fighting on the premises ... ."
$42 or ...
"Are you listening to me, Richard?"
... 33 comic books and 75¢ left over--not including tax.
"This is exactly what I'm talking about, Richard. You haven't heard a word I've said. Because of your family situation I've been reluctant to call your mother in, but now I see I have to get her involved. If you won't listen to me, maybe you'll listen to her."
A jolt of protectiveness straightened Ricky's shoulders. "You can't do that, Mr. Daniels," he pleaded. "My mother's got enough to worry about."
"I'm afraid I don't have a choice."
Ricky's mind raced wildly. Already he could see the hurt in his mother's eyes, hear the disappointment in her voice as she said, You promised me. "Listen, Mr. Daniels, I'll make you a deal."
The pen hesitated in midair; then the principal asked in disbelief, "A deal?"
"You said you didn't want any fighting on your premises, right?"
"Exactly."
"Well, if you don't call my mother in, I'll give up recess, and when I get to school in the morning, I'll go right to my classroom. That way, the only time I could get in a fight on your premises would be in class, and that wouldn't happen, 'cause Bugsie ain't in my class."
Mr. Daniels leaned back in his chair, shaking his head, a small smile lifting the corners of his mustache. "You'd do that?"
"If you don't call my mother in, I'll do it."
Mr. Daniels resumed drumming the pen as he thought. "If this doesn't work out, Richard, or if you end up in that chair again for any reason, I'll have to call her. Is that clear?
"Yes, sir."
"You may leave now. And please tell Mr. McCarthy to come in on your way out."
Ricky closed the door behind him, then glanced at Bugsie, who was sitting on the black bench outside of Mr. Daniels' office. "He's ready for you," said Ricky, trying to avoid the older boy's glare.
"And I'll be ready for you on the bus, Gordon," said Bugsie, punching his right hand into the palm of his left.
Ricky looked up sharply, the anger he'd felt on the playground washing over him anew. His urge to hurt Bugsie was so powerful that he could envision his hands squeezing that thick neck, could see Bugsie's freckled face turning blue and his bugged-out eyes rolling like marbles in their sockets.
"Out of my way, wimp," said Bugsie, shoving by him.
It was enough to snap Ricky out of his fantasy, but for just a fraction of a second, as he watched the bully's strutting figure disappear into the principal's office, it amazed him that Bugsie was still alive and able to walk. Slowly, Ricky looked down at his clenched hands, and it was only then that he realized how difficult it was going to be to keep his deal with Mr. Daniels.
 
 
Lyle Benson, Ricky's one and only friend, looked uncertainly at the school bus that was preparing to leave. "You can't walk home, Ricky ... .
Ricky stood beside Lyle, searching the windows of the yellow bus for his little brother's face. He'd already informed Matt he was walking--had told him at lunch, "If I get on that bus there'll be trouble, and I can't afford it."
" ... it's more than five miles," Lyle continued, pleading his case.
"Three and a half," said Ricky. "And I'm walking. You do what you want."
"But if you don't take the bus, all the kids will think you're chicken of Bugsie."
"I don't give a rat's turd what they think," Ricky countered. He spotted Matt, who had his face squished against the window so that his lips looked like a brook trout's, his nose like a pig's. Ricky started laughingand gave him the thumbs-up sign for the funny face and for sitting up front, just like Ricky had told him to.
Lyle jabbed at his thick glasses until they rested squarely on his pug nose. "If I ain't home for milking, my old man will kick my butt all over the barn," he said nervously.
"Catch the bus then," Ricky snapped; he slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped off the curb. When he reached the other side of the driveway, he turned around in time to see Lyle running for the bus. Ricky's stomach sank as he watched the bus lurch forward with a burp of exhaust. He thought Lyle had deserted him, but after the bus passed by, there was his friend, standing on the sidewalk, coughing and fanning away a black cloud of fumes.
A smile tore at Ricky's sore lip. "You going to stand there all day or what?"
Lyle started walking toward him with a martyred look on his face. "You owe me," he said.
Ricky didn't like owing anybody anything--not even his best friend. "This will make up for all the times I do your math homework," he told him.
Lyle jabbed at his glasses, then shot a wary look toward the bus that was already at the stop sign. "For someone who's so smart in math, you sure are stupid," he said. "Bugsie's gonna lap this up like a dog. Heck, he'll probably use it against you the rest of the year.
"A hundred-percent chance of...

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