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  Copyright © 2017 by Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Darby Creek

  A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  241 First Avenue North

  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

  For reading levels and more information, look up this title at www.lernerbooks.com.

  Cover and interior images: © Eky Studio/Shutterstock.com (metal bolts); © Kriangsak Osvapoositkul/Shutterstock.com (rust texture); © pattern line/Shutterstock.com (scratched texture); © Eugene Onischenko/Dreamstime.com (stadium); © Vladimir Mucibabic/Shutterstock.com (players).

  Main body text set in Janson Text LT Std 12/17.5. Typeface provided by Adobe Systems.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  The Cataloging-in-Publication Data for Showdown is on file at the Library

  of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-5124-3978-6 (lib. bdg.)

  ISBN 978-1-5124-5354-6 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-1-5124-4867-2 (EB pdf)

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1-42227-25776-2/20/2017

  9780778723288 ePub

  9780778723301 mobi

  9780778723318 ePub

  This book is dedicated to Landon, number 50. A heroic young man loved by so many. A kid who could make others smile.

  Chapter 1

  It’s two in the morning and I’m riding in the back of a pickup truck with my best friend, Walter. He pulls the strings on his hoodie tighter, trying to brace against the cold. I pull my black knit hat down low over my ears and cross my arms. I wish I would’ve dressed warmer, but at football practice the past few days, I’ve been plenty warm.

  The three guys up front—all seniors and top players on our team—are nice and warm. I can hear them talking and laughing through a small window that slides open between us. Neko, our team captain, is driving, and Jason and Cam are cracking jokes. One of them cranked up the music

  so that it’s blasting loudly into the night, but when we cross the highway and enter into the town of Winfield, I hear Neko tell them to turn it off. Everyone is quiet now.

  “Why couldn’t they be this quiet when they pulled up to my house?” I whisper to Walter, but he just shrugs as he pulls out a mini candy bar from the pocket of his sweatshirt.

  When Neko showed up at my house, he revved his truck’s engine just as I climbed out my first-floor bedroom window and dropped to the ground. The other guys started laughing and talking so loudly I thought for sure they would wake up Gram. She doesn’t sleep all that well as it is. As we drove away, I expected a light to go on in her room, but it didn’t.

  “Hey, Gibby,” Neko says to me through the window. “You glad you decided to stop being a baby and sneak out with us?”

  “Not really,” I mumble under my breath, annoyed, as I look at the dark road.

  My real name is Tobias James Gibson, and everyone used to call me Toby until I made the varsity football team this year. Now Neko has everyone calling me Gibby, and I hate the name. I wish he’d just call me by my number like he does with the other players who don’t get a lot of playing time.

  Walter rolls his eyes at Neko’s nickname for me and pulls another little chocolate bar out of his pocket. He’s like a human vending machine lately. He’s been constantly eating, probably because he’s grown at least three inches since the start of football this summer. His mother has had to buy him two new pairs of cleats this season.

  “I don’t even know why they invited us along,” Walter says, shoving the second piece of candy into his mouth.

  Most of the guys on this mission are upperclassman. Walter and I are the only sophomores, and we’ve spent most of the season on the bench. I’m the backup quarterback, and Walter is a backup receiver. We’ve played a combined total of seventeen minutes this season—only getting our chance on the field when our team is way ahead. Last year, on JV, we both played every game.

  Next year, Coach has told us, and I don’t blame him. This year’s seniors are fast and unstoppable. They’re the reason we’re going to the state championship next week. I hope we can be as good without them next year.

  Neko makes a sharp right. Walter smashes into me as we turn into a fancy Winfield neighborhood. As we try to push ourselves back to a normal sitting position, Neko slows the truck and the headlights go dark. The only sound is the tires rolling across the pavement. We make our way past homes that look like they could be on the cover of a magazine. Some have attached garages bigger than the entire first floor of Gram’s house. The lawns are all wide and neat. Everyone seems to have raked up all their leaves (or maybe hired someone to do it for them), something I promised I’d do for my Gram but haven’t gotten around to yet.

  Neko slows down and parks next to a sprawling park.

  “Check that out,” Walter says, pointing to a playground. There are six slides, a climbing wall, bridges, and a zip line. And behind that are tennis courts, two basketball courts, and some soccer fields. It’s way nicer than any of the parks back in Edison.

  Walter jumps out of the back of the truck and heads right to the playground.

  “Where are you going?” Neko hisses.

  “I just want to check it out,” Walter says, looking longingly at the park.

  “We didn’t come here to play. We came here for revenge,” Neko says, nodding toward the cluster of trees at the edge of the park. On the other side of the small woods is Winfield High.

  Chapter 2

  Yesterday we arrived at school to discover thousands of plastic forks stabbed into our football field in the shape of a giant W for Winfield and rotten eggs smashed all over our bleachers.

  The Winfield Wildcats are our biggest rivals. Our schools are just a few miles apart. A highway runs between our two towns—a division that runs just as deep. They’re the only team we lost to this year and will be our opponents at the state tournament.

  Coach Wilcox made our team clean everything up. We spent almost the whole practice pulling up forks and hosing down the bleachers. That was time we should have spent practicing for the big game. But Neko must have used the break from running plays to think, because after practice he texted a bunch of us to gather at an empty field on the edge of town. When we met there, he laid out his plan for revenge, and everyone agreed to carry it out tonight.

  An old beat-up minivan, two more cars, and another truck pull up. A dozen other guys all pile out. Big guys. Tall guys. I feel like a little kid. Even Walter towers above me these days.

  I wish his growth spurt would rub off on me, especially at times like these. I’m barely five foot nine, but at least I’m barrel-chested—built like my father, my mom has told me. She has shown me pictures of him when he was eighteen, but I don’t remember him. He took off a year after I was born.

  As we all gather around Neko, I’m jostled by a couple of the guys who are goofing around. They act like they don’t even see me standing there.

  “Shhhh,” Neko says as he glares at the guys who are talking. “You want to get caught?”

  He signals everyone to gather around him like we do before a game.

  “Everyone armed?” he asks.

  We all pull cans of chocolate frosting out of pockets and plastic bags.

  “This is war,” Neko says, opening up his can of frosting and smearing two lines of frosting across each cheek. Then he passes the tub around our circle. We all smear two lines across our faces. “We get in. We get out. W
e don’t get caught.”

  Neko marches across the soccer field and toward the woods. We all follow. Frost covers the ground and the blades of grass crunch beneath our feet.

  When we get to the woods, Neko turns on a flashlight and enters the dark woods first. I didn’t think to grab a flashlight, but a few of the other guys did. I try to follow their lights, but everyone is moving too fast. I trip over a log and crash into a huge guy in front of me. He’s so big that I just bounce off him and hit the ground.

  “Watch it,” he snarls. A few of the guys behind me laugh. I want to be treated like a part of the team, but I’m starting to wonder if all of this is worth it.

  We start to climb a steep hill. Suddenly there’s a loud snap of a tree branch from somewhere deep in the woods.

  We all freeze. My heart is pounding hard. Before she left for deployment, I promised my mom that I would be good for Gram—take care of her and not cause her trouble. If I get caught out here in the middle of the night, I would definitely get in trouble. And Gram doesn’t need to worry about me and Mom.

  Neko shines a light in the direction of the sound, but there are only trees and darkness. I feel like I can hardly breathe.

  “Keep going,” Neko says after a moment. “It’s probably just a raccoon or something.”

  I don’t know if I believe him, but we all scurry up the steep, muddy hill. Soon we step out of the woods and onto a sprawling lawn.

  Winfield High stands in front of us. It’s a newly built school with a three-story glass lobby in the front. It sits on top of the hill like a glass castle and looks like it might actually be as expensive as a castle.

  As we approach the lobby, Neko turns and says, “Uncap now.”

  We open up the canisters of frosting and pull back the tinfoil covering as we head toward the windows.

  “Work fast,” Neko orders.

  Walter and I head to the far end of the lobby and begin to spread frosting. There are a few lights on inside the school. I can see leather couches set up around a gas fireplace.

  At the other end of the lobby is a small coffee stand. A silver espresso machine sits on a counter. “Walter,” I say, pointing a frosted finger, “they have their own coffee shop.”

  Neko comes up behinds us and I jump. He glares at us and says, “Less talking, more frosting.”

  I spread another handful of frosting and watch as Neko, Cam, and Jason saunter to the front doors. Neko takes the lid off another canister, dips a rubber scraper into it, and in large, frosted letters writes: cake eaters.

  “What does that even mean?” Walter nods at the frosted words.

  “I don’t know. That they’re rich? That they can eat cake every day for breakfast if they want?”

  “I’d eat cake every day for breakfast,” Walter says.

  “I know you would,” I laugh. Walter would probably eat an entire cake at any time of day if someone set one in front of him.

  My canister of frosting is nearly empty when Zander, our team’s star wide receiver, comes charging out of his lookout position near the entrance to the school’s parking lot and yells: “Cops!”

  “Retreat,” Neko yells. “Everybody retreat!”

  Still holding a canister of frosting, I run with the rest of my teammates toward the woods. We slip and slide down the hill, tripping over branches. I bump against some of the other guys, bouncing between them, but nobody says anything. No one dares turn on a flashlight. Finally, we find our way out of the woods and run across one of the soccer fields toward the cars where everyone is gathered.

  “Drive slow and cool. Don’t speed. And don’t follow each other,” Neko tells the others as Walter and I hop in the back of his truck and Cam and Jason scramble into the front seat.

  Neko lets all the other cars go first, and then he drives slowly out of the neighborhood. The car in front of us turns right, so we turn left on a road that leads down to Lake Washington.

  “Can I have that?” Walter points to the can of frosting still in my hand. I hand it to him. He pulls out a bag of chips, dips one chip into the frosting, and eats it.

  “I should sell these. Frosted potato chips.” He dips another chip into the frosting, but it breaks apart. He digs it out and hands it to me. “Try it.”

  I shake my head. My stomach feels sick. Behind us, I see a cop car heading over a hill on the road. Lights flashing. Siren on.

  Chapter 3

  “Cops,” I say through the open window between the bed of the truck and the cab.

  “Get down,” Neko whispers to us.

  Walter and I lie flat, and I pull a tarp over the both of us. Even though I haven’t taken driver’s ed yet, I know it’s illegal to ride around in the back of a pickup truck like this—not to mention vandalize a school.

  Neko pulls over. The truck comes to a stop. My heart is beating fast. I can smell the sugary frosting still on my face and it makes me feel sick. I think about how angry Gram will be if she gets a call from the police.

  The sirens grow louder. What is Neko going to say? I wonder. How is he going to explain why he, Cam, and Jason are out this late at night? What if the cop finds Walter and me?

  Peering out from under the tarp, I can see the flashing red light growing brighter and brighter, and then the sound of the siren passes us. It fades away down the road.

  Neko waits a few seconds and then pulls back on the road. I let out the breath I’ve been holding in, and the guys up front start laughing and slapping each other on the back.

  I sit up and peer through the sliding window.

  Neko is gripping the wheel.

  “Let’s head home,” I say.

  “Not yet,” Neko says. “We aren’t done.”

  I look at Walter.

  “Where are we going?” he asks.

  “I have no idea,” I reply.

  We drive along the shore of Lake Washington, past a yacht club and little boutiques where I know everything must cost a fortune. When we cross over a small bridge, Neko slows down and pulls off onto a small gravel lot.

  Neko and the guys up front get out of the truck. I take out my phone and look at the time: 4:15 a.m. I need to get back home. My Gram gets up around 5:00 every morning. It’s a habit she can’t break even though she’s retired now. She used to work as the head cook at the cafeteria at my high school. Teachers are always asking about her, which means that even now that she’s retired, my Gram knows basically everything that happens at the school—especially when I get in trouble.

  “What are we doing?” I ask as Walter pours the last of the potato chip crumbs into his mouth.

  “Lars Bristol lives there,” Neko says, leaning against the truck and pointing to a huge white house sitting on a hill overlooking the bay. “That red BMW parked out front is his, and I have a couple of extra cans of frosting I don’t want to go to waste.”

  Lars is the quarterback and team captain for the Wildcats. Rumor has it he’s being recruited by a bunch of Division I schools, something that drives Neko crazy because he’s convinced Lars isn’t all that good. He insists that the only reason recruiters have even paid attention is because Lars’s dad hired a PR firm to represent him.

  I look down at my phone again. I need to get back home.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  Neko shakes his head and looks over at Cam and Jason.

  “You believe this kid?” he says. “We invite him along, and he acts all scared.” He turns back to me with a serious look on his face. “Look, you’re here because you’re supposed to be good. I thought you were going to lead the team next year. We don’t need a coward for a quarterback.”

  I put my phone back in my pocket and stand up in the back of the truck. I’m not going to let Neko think I’m the weak link on the team.

  “Fine,” I say, jumping out of the truck bed and landing on the gravel with a thud. “Let’s get it done.”

  Neko hands me a can of frosting and I wait for him to lead the way, but he just continues to lean against the truck.r />
  “Hurry up,” he says.

  “You’re not going?” I ask.

  “Nah,” he says. “It’s my job to get you ready for next year. Build up your courage. Push you. Coach thinks you have potential to be the starting quarterback next year, but I told him I didn’t think you had the confidence or strength. Prove me wrong.”

  I look at him, angry that he said something like that to Coach. Neko doesn’t know me. He’s never seen me really play. Last year, while playing JV, I not only threw the ball for touchdowns, but also ran it down the field, stiff-arming defenders along the way.

  I head to the house and hear footsteps behind me.

  “I’m coming too,” Walter whispers.

  “That’s what I like to see—team players!” Neko yells as we walk along the shoulder of the road and turn up a long, steep driveway. I wish he would just shut up—he’s going to wake up Lars or his parents, and then we are going to get in real trouble.

  As we get near the car, a dog barks somewhere in the house. A deep bark. We both freeze.

  “That dog sounds mean,” Walter says.

  “Then let’s hurry,” I say. We run to the car and spread some frosting on the windows with our bare hands. As I spread some on the driver’s window, the car alarm goes off.

  The lights flash. The horn honks. Whoot! Whoot! Whoot! One of the house’s flood lights goes on. The front door opens up, and the dog we heard barking comes flying out the front door. It looks as if it’s half wolf and half bear.

  “Run!” I yell at Walter.

  Walter and I bolt. We both drop the frosting—which turns out to be a good thing because it distracts the dog, who stops to lick the container while Walter and I get away. We sprint down the driveway and back to the truck.

  “Big dog!” I yell. “Big, big dog!”

  “Now that’s some good hustle,” Neko says, laughing. “Get in!”

  We jump in the truck bed, and Neko squeals back on the road. I look back to see the dog just behind us at the end of the driveway. Teeth flashing. Eyes glaring. Cam and Jason turn around in their seat barking at us like dogs, then turn back around and start to laugh again.