“We’re doing gymnastics,” Paul told me. “Just watch the other kids and when it’s your turn, do the same stuff.”
“Sure,” I said, but my spirits were plummeting. There was strange equipment all over the floor. I had never seen any of it before and it didn’t help when Paul rattled off the names. “We’ve got parallel bars and a chinning bar and rings and a climbing rope …”
Right about then I forgot to listen. More boys were coming in and one of them sent my mood plunging the rest of the way down a bottomless pit. It was Rick, the kid who had tried to beat me up.
As soon as he saw me he nudged a pal and the two of them made a beeline right for me. “I thought I smelled something rank,” sneered Big Rick. “I should have known it was the swamp-boy.”
I turned away, pretending not to hear. I couldn’t afford to get in any more trouble.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” said Rick, pushing me and knocking me into Paul.
Anger flared. I could feel my eyes blazing as I started to turn toward Rick. But just then a man shouted, loud enough to drown out all the kids’ noise.
“Okay, boys, line up. Two lines, hurry it up,” said the man, walking briskly alongside the bustling crowd of boys.
“That’s Mr. Grunter, our teacher,” Paul whispered. “He’s okay.”
I forgot about Big Rick as I watched the first kids demonstrate their gymnastics. They scrambled up the climbing rope, hung from the rings, rolled over backward and forward, chinned themselves, and did awkward-looking tricks. It looked like fun. Now that I knew what the strange equipment was for, I couldn’t wait to try it.
Then Big Rick started in again. “Hey, animal-boy,” he hissed. “I hear you lap water out of the toilet bowl. How’s it taste? Pretty good, huh?”
I pressed my lips together in a straight line and pretended not to hear. The boys in front of us turned around to see what was going on.
“Don’t pay any attention to Rick,” Paul whispered. “He’s a fart-nose.”
“What are you saying, Paul?” Rick taunted, coming closer. “I hear your mother puts newspapers on the floor so wolf-boy here won’t mess up his water bowl.”
I tried to shut my ears and concentrate on watching the class. But most of the class was watching me. And my fingers were balling into fists at my side. My breath was coming harder.
“Don’t do it, Gruff,” urged Paul. “Stay calm. Remember Mr. Clawson’s detention. Nothing’s worth doing that again, right?”
Big Rick swaggered closer, grinning around at his audience. “Human food makes animal-boy sick. But he’ll eat anything, so he gobbles it up. And then he throws up on the floor. And then guess what he does?” Rick’s grin got wider. “He licks up his own vomit!”
The other kids laughed. I kept my eyes facing forward. Anger buzzed in my head. My stomach felt hot and acidy.
“Actually, the worse thing is he’s not even a wolf-boy. That wolf-boy stuff is just garbage. A pack of lies. Ain’t that right, wolf-boy?” He sneered the last words into my face and I could smell his oniony breath. “You weren’t raised by wolves, were you? I can see it in your face—you were raised by rats. Yeah, that’s it, you’re the rat-boy!”
I’d had it. Anger was a red curtain all around me. I didn’t care about detention or what Mr. Clawson might do or anything.
I turned slowly toward Big Rick, my fingers flexing in spasms.
I’d teach him.
Rick looked surprised when I stared him in the eye. But he had a bigger surprise coming.
I raised my fists and charged straight at him.
Chapter 22
I saw Rick’s mean blue eyes grow bigger with fright. He let out a startled squeak as I whizzed past, moving so fast my air-wake spun him around.
I leaped onto the climbing rope and raced up it, hand over hand, my feet not even touching the rope. Feet would only slow me down. At the top I pushed off, launching myself through the air and over to the rings.
The rings looked like the most fun. I slid down the ropes until I could pass my feet through the leather rings. I swung back and forth a few times, building momentum. Then I let go, throwing myself backward. My feet slipped out of the rings.
Below me I heard a frightened gasp. But the class seemed far away now. I was flying. It was like being in the trees with no extra branches to get in my way.
I flipped in midair and caught the rings with my hands.
Below me kids started to clap and stamp their feet.
My face flushed with pleasure. I swung a couple more times and when I was good and high, I let go.
Paul cried out in dismay as I shot through the air, right over the floor apparatus. Another boy screamed. I felt like I was flying. Only the floor was coming up fast to meet me.
My stomach flip-flopped. Did I do this right? But there wasn’t time to think.
I landed, just as I’d planned, right in front of the chinning bar. I let my motion carry me into a standing back flip and at the top of it, caught the bar with my hands. I swung around the bar a couple of times, keeping my legs straight and stiff.
Then I stopped at the top. My handstand was so steady my body hardly quivered. I balanced there, relishing the “oohs” and “wows” from the watching class.
How’s that for an audience, Rick? I said to myself.
When I’d done the handstand long enough, I walked on my hands to the end of the bar, flipped around a couple of times and did the handstand thing again.
I let my weight carry me under the bar, let go at the top and rolled in the air, coming down perfectly astride the horse. I rolled off that and onto the parallel bars where I did some
