The Underdogs Read Online Free Page A

to find Harmony to warn him about those two throwing him under the bus. After an exhaustive search of the club, we couldn’t find the guy anywhere. As we huffed and puffed back at the front desk, Mom—who was back on reception duty—put her iced Dunkin’ Donuts coffee (extra cream, extra sugar) down and waggled her index finger at us.
    â€œCalm down, girls, and drink some water before you get heatstroke. Sheesh.”
    We dutifully scampered behind the desk and my mom gave us some water. After I drank enough to satisfy her, she hugged me and sent us on our way. We were close, my mom and I. She’d adopted me about two years ago, and she always made a point of telling me that she never, ever had any doubts about taking me on despite what everyone said.
    What did they say? Basically, that the stuff that had happened to me when I was younger might have made me “damaged goods” and cursed me with what grownups called “severe behavioral problems.” I’d never be “normal,” they explained to my mom. Sure, I have scars, and I have limitations, but Mom says those things make her love me even more. There’s one scar on my ear—it’s more of a dent, really, a triangular piece of cartilage missing forever—but it’s covered by my hair. The ones on my tummy are rarely seen, so the average person would never know they were there; ditto the ones on my ankles. And the scars on the inside of me, the unseen ones, Mom says, make me even more me . I like that way of looking at it. I try not to feel sorry for myself, and most of the time I’m just grateful to have her. I try not to spend my time being angry at the people who hurt me. Plus, my best friend was in much more of a crisis these days than I currently was, so I spent more time tending to her and less time worrying that I wasn’t exactly perfect.
    At this point, I was rehydrated and ready to deal with the crisis at hand. Evie said, “Maybe we should look behind Court 9?”
    I agreed. I sure didn’t have any better ideas, so we dashed off to find Harmony before the detective did.
    *   *   *
    It turned out he wasn’t behind Court 9, but he was close. Harmony was out by the Dumpster in the far corner of the parking lot, where a dirt path wound around toward the outdoor tennis courts. He was smoking and pacing. I winced. The icky landfill smell was far worse here than at the pool. It didn’t really matter in the long run, though; people would keep coming to the club, odor or no odor, because it had cachet. The fancy Long Hills Country Club was twelve miles away and had no dump anywhere near it, but we had a summer waiting list full of the richest families in the Boston suburbs because there was just something about this place . Everyone said it. I tried not to breathe through my nose as we got closer to our target, who was wearing mirrored sunglasses, a black T-shirt, and baggy olive-green cargo shorts. He had a scraggly mass of hair that was so black it had glints of blue in it, and even when it was scorching hot outside he’d still be dressed in dark colors.
    Evie and I stayed out of sight behind some hedges. What now? She put on a thinker’s face, then focused on Harmony twenty feet away. Pssst, she hissed. Pssssst! Harmony!
    He furrowed his brow and whipped around to look our way. I felt Evie flinch. We wanted to help him, but then again, we weren’t sure whether to approach him. What if he had had something to do with Annabel’s death? He was strong, with a swimmer’s shoulders and muscular legs.
    Harmony mouthed, What?
    Evie beckoned him over. Seeing his face, remembering he was a friend who’d never hurt a soul, convinced us we were safe. Hurry! she mouthed.
    But suddenly Harmony stopped pacing and looked in the direction of the club’s main entrance. We were too late. He ran his free hand through his hair, brushing his feathered black bangs