The Big One-Oh Read Online Free

American history quiz in seven minutes, and this is neither the time nor the . . . urp . . . !”
    The “urp!” was because he was about to throw up, but he didn’t do that in the sink; he rushed into one of the stalls and slammed the door and heaved.
    So I couldn’t really count that as a “yes.”
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    The next day, on my way to geography, I saw Leo Jacobi down the hall. Leo’s a good guy. Everybody thinks so.
    Earlier this year, when Leo was running for Class President, I got into line behind him one day after recess, and I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’ve got my vote.”
    And you know what he did? He turned around and shook my hand and patted me on the shoulder. But he didn’t say anything because we’re not supposed to talk after the recess bell.
    Of course, he won; he always does. Nobody’s ever dumb enough to run against him.
    So that afternoon in the hallway, when Leo looked up and saw me, he raised a hand and waved, “Hey.”
    I froze, not sure whether to return the gesture. Is Leo really waving to me? I wondered. But then I answered myself, Well, why wouldn’t he? Leo’s a friendly guy. Which of course led to the big question, Does that make him a friend?
    Just in case it did, I lifted my hand to wave back at the same moment that a bunch of guys came from behind me and raced over to surround Leo and clap him on the back.
    That’s who Leo was waving to.
    I stood there stupidly, with my hand in midair. Rather than waste the wave, I made a swoop and brought my hand down on the button of the drinking fountain.
    Yeah , I thought. Perfect timing. I need a drink.
    Except that just as I took my first sip—WHAM!—I got smacked on the side of the head, and as I stumbled back, I heard, “Leave some for me!”
    It could only be one person.
    â€œOW! Leland!” I sputtered, and the water spurted out of my mouth and onto the hallway tiles.
    Leland Plunk has been on my case ever since I tranferred to this school. Leland has wild hair, messy clothes, and crooked teeth; he looks like somebody put him into a clothes dryer once, tumbled him around for a while, and then shoved him out the door. He’s about my height, which makes him too short to pick on the bigger guys, so he decided a long time ago that I was just the right size to torture.
    Leland stuck his face into mine and hollered, “Hey! What’d I tell you?! It’s no longer ‘Leland.’ Don’t call me ‘Leland’ anymore.”
    â€œOh, right. What’s the new name? I keep forgetting,” I said.
    Leland snarled over his shoulder, “What’s my name, Scottie?”
    Scottie Heep is so thick and squat that when he puts his fists on his hips you could mistake him for a fire hydrant. I think Scottie would really like to get into more trouble than he does, but he can’t figure out how, so he hangs around with Leland, who is really full of rotten, mean ideas.
    â€œ ‘Cougar’!” Scottie announced. “It’s ‘Cougar’ now.”
    Leland backed me up against the wall. “Can you say that? ‘Cougar.’ Say it. ‘Cooooo-ger.’ ”
    In that moment, I actually stopped to think: What if I did? What if I called Leland “Cougar”? Would he stop smacking me around? Would he like me, even a little bit?
    And would that mean we were friends? Me and Cougar?
    And, of course, Scottie would be included as part of the deal.
    Wow. TWO friends. Just by saying one word. It was worth a shot.
    But before I could speak, someone behind Leland . . . I mean, Cougar . . . asked: “Do you even know how to spell ‘cougar’?”
    I recognized that voice. Unfortunately.
    Leland turned very slowly.
    Jennifer Mobley’s braces glinted under the fluorescent bulbs overhead.
    Now, if anybody ever gave Jennifer a nickname, it would have to be “Red,” because she’s so . . .