Barking Up the Wrong Lead - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

“Incoming!” one of my favorite voices hollered as I hopped out of the van.

“I told ya she’d come!” said another.

“Oh, would you like a congratulatory plaque, Your Majesty?”  Will teased from a distance.

“Can’t say I’d mind one, ever humble jester.”  Bill came running towards me, a grin stretching from ear to ear.  “How’s it hangin’ Cap?”

“Gloriously, Bill,” I replied and right then, I really did mean it.  Will and Bill made something light up inside of me. 

“Great, let’s go,” he said.  Before the words even hit my ears, he was yanking on my arm and pulling me into the massive modern building that was the Blackthorne Military Academy.  “You’re gonna miss Red Rover.”

“Red Rover?” I asked as he pulled me through the main doors that Will held open for us.  “What are we, seven?”

He turned to look over his shoulder as we ran, shooting me a knowing smile.  Always that smile.  “You won’t be seein’ many seven-year-olds playing this version of Red Rover.”

Ah yes.  Spy Red Rover.  How could I not see that coming?

The two of them dragged me through the many hallways and into the training room.  The first time I’d been there, the room had seemed big and sleek, smoky grey and navy blue from top to bottom.  Now, it was filled with boys in khaki pants that had too many pockets, all hooting and hollering for whatever was happening at the room’s center.  It was almost too much for my highly trained ears, trying to pinpoint the exact location of a hundred echoing screams. 

The air reeked of teenage boy and a dense fog hung stale in the air.  Bill shoved through the crowd while Will shouted out some not-so-polite versions of “excuse me” that would’ve made Madame Baudin cringe. 

With Will and Bill as my guides, we made it to the front of the crowd.  The first thing I saw was my brother, watching as he got knocked down on his ass.  I almost ran out to help him, but Will put his arm out in front of me.  “Not so fast, Cap,” he warned.

Matt slid around and grabbed at his opponent’s feet.  Only then did I realize his opponent was Collins, who made a rather satisfying slap sound when he hit the mats.  But, as they were both trained to do, they got back up.

Matt was exhausted.  Anyone could see it.  He marched low and slow, his head hung.  I could see his chest moving in and out, begging for just one good breath, as he hobbled around on only one good ankle.  I wondered how long they’d been fighting.

Mr. Hughes stood off to the side, his eyes flickering between the stopwatch in his hands and the fight in his gym.  After a few seconds, he gave some sort of hand signal to a boy on the other side of the training room.  “Smoke ‘em!” the redhead called out through cupped hands.

A magnificent cheer shook the room.  I spotted four boys up in the second floor loft and watched as the florescent light splashed off of the silver canisters they threw down towards the ring.  Within seconds, the cans were spraying smoke at the competitors.  I saw Matt lunge for Collins as they both let out a powerful scream, but then the two of them were swallowed by the cloud.

Silence fell over the crowd as each of us tried to listen in.  Soon the smoke crept in between us and I couldn’t even see Will standing right next to me.  How could anyone possibly fight in this stuff?

When the smoke started to clear I saw my brother sprawled out against the mats. 

Collins jogged over towards my half of the training room and gave a high-five to one of the boys.  Every head in the room turned to look at Hughes.  The TAD teacher smiled as he held his hands up in the same way a referee might after a touchdown.  “Collins has made it over!” he announced.