Chapter 18

  Solomon ran through the halls of Spritewood High as fast as he possibly could. He couldn’t tell if anyone was chasing him, so he ran all the way to his history class. Miss June, the nicest history teacher in the whole school, glanced at him in alarm as he came running into the classroom. “Solomon Peterson! Why on earth are you rushing about like that?” she asked, peering at him from over her glasses.

  “Sorry, Miss June! I got held up by some… difficulties, and because of those same difficulties, I don’t have any of my textbooks.”

  “Well, then I guess you’ll just have to find time to get them after class. Until then, Emily can share her textbook with you. If you’ll take a seat, then we can begin learning about the Gettysburg Address.”

  Solomon slid into his seat shamefacedly. It felt like every student in the class was staring at him and judging him for almost being late for class. He could feel their gazes boring into him. But then Miss June began to teach them, and all eyes shifted forward to the whiteboard. He slumped down in relief, put his head on his arms, and waited for class to be over.

  After History, Solomon wove his way through the crowded halls and finally made it to his locker. Magnus was nowhere in sight, and Solomon was able to safely grab his textbooks. Due to that morning’s incident, Solomon was on guard for the rest of the day. Everywhere he turned, he expected his enemy to jump out at him. Even during lunch, when Grant was telling him about Warren’s falling-out with his father, Solomon kept glancing around the courtyard to make sure Magnus wasn’t nearby.

  Solomon could barely make it through the day with all the apprehension hanging around him like a cloud. He knew that Magnus wouldn’t rest until he had gotten his revenge. Solomon had struck lucky during his last two face-offs with the bully, but this time, there would be no one to save him. Football was a physical sport, even during practice, and Magnus could easily get away with a lot if he was careful about it.

  “All right, boys, line it up! Get out the dummies! Set up for tackle practice!” Coach Brant hollered. A mob of teenaged football players rushed to obey his commands. Solomon moved to join them, only to be blocked by his coach. “Are you sure you’re up for practice today?” Coach Brant asked, a rare look of concern crossing his face. “You just got out of a coma, so you’re probably still weak-”

  “But I’m always weak, aren’t I? A coma won’t change anything.” Solomon’s tone softened and lost its edge. “Please. Let me practice. If the other players see you babying me, they’ll think even less of me than they already do.”

  Coach Brant let out a long sigh. “Fine. You can play for today. But,” he added before Solomon could rush off, “If something happens or it turns out you haven’t fully recovered, then I reserve the right to bench you for the rest of the week.”

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  Solomon nodded curtly. “That sounds fair.” He paused for a moment. “And Coach… Thank you. You’ve done a lot for me.”

  “Hmph. Off with you, before I change my mind. The dummy on the end is still available.” Coach Brant waved the seventh grader away dismissively, but the coach couldn’t quite hide the smile that peeked through.

  Solomon jogged happily to where the line of dummies had been set up. Not only was he allowed to participate in practice, but his dummy was far away from Magnus. At some point, the two would meet on the battlefield of football practice, but until then, Solomon was going to do everything in his power to avoid the bully.

  Hmm, maybe I should have tried to get out of playing, at least for today. I doubt that would’ve stopped Magnus, though. He’d just get me back later. Solomon crouched down and stared his purple dummy in the face. Not like it actually had a face, though. It was just a tall, narrow, cone-shaped padded object that the players used for drills. A bored-looking offensive player stood behind the dummy, looking annoyed to have been paired with the weakest player on the team. I bot this, Solomon told himself, ignoring the offensive player’s annoyance. I’m going to shove this dummy so hard that it’ll fly across the whole field. He tensed his muscles, ready for the starting whistle. I’ll show them what I can do.

  Coach Brant blew the whistle.

  Solomon rushed at the dummy with all his might. His only thought was to hit it as hard as possible. His offensive partner, who had forgotten to brace the dummy, yelped and scrambled out of the way. Solomon collided with the plum-colored dummy at full speed. He felt himself fly through the air, and then he hit the ground hard, still holding onto the dummy.

  Coach Brant came running over almost immediately. “Solomon! Are you okay? What happened?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m fine! Jack forgot to brace for me, and my dummy is way too light.” Solomon easily rolled the dummy off of him and rose to his feet. He was surprised to see that his tackle had carried him six feet past all the other players.

  Coach Brant grabbed the dummy and tried to lift it. As he was not the most muscular coach out there, it took a lot of effort for him to hold it up. Coach Brant dropped the dummy, and it hit the ground with a heavy thump. “Seems fine to me. It must’ve just been a mistake.” He walked over to Jack, the offensive player who had been partnered with Solomon, and began giving him a stern talking-to about the responsibility that came with being a bracer.

  Solomon checked to make sure no one was watching him. Satisfied that he had slipped off of everyone’s radars, he picked up the dummy with both hands. The purple padding lifted as easily as if it was made of cotton. He had been expecting the dummy to weigh fifteen pounds, so he was caught off guard and almost bashed himself in the face with it.

  Pumping the dummy like a dumbbell, Solomon allowed himself a sly smile. He had a hunch that this was another one of his powers. Why it hadn’t shown up earlier, however, was a mystery.

  Coach Brant finished lecturing Jack and turned toward the rest of the players. He blew the whistle and shouted, “We’re doing trench battles next! Maybe a bit of competition will get your blood flowing!” The high schoolers paused their practice and murmured to each other in excitement. The coach added, “Our first match-up will be Magnus Miller versus Solomon Peterson, and they’ll show you how it’s done.”

  Solomon gulped.

  Magnus smiled.