'I have to go back to Baker Woodlot!' I said to Adam.
He threw back the orange hair on the top of his pear-shaped head. 'I don't wanna,' replied Adam, 'but if you hafta go see for yourself...I guess I had betta lead the way.'
My 12 year old little sister heard us. 'I know the spot!', Shelby shouted as she ran ahead. I hollered for her to stay home, but 12 year olds don't listen...especially girls. 'Are you sure you saw my mom's purse in the woods?' I asked Adam.
'Your mom's big old red purse was laying with a bunch of other purses and backpacks and beer cans. I woulda got it but I heard voices.'
Someone stoled my mom's purse from her car. She's been upset for two days. Mom missed yesterday's hockey game because of it. The old red purse had credit cards and money and pictures. I don't understand why, but she seems mostly upset about the pictures.
'What voices?' I asked Adam. Just then I looked across the street and saw two guys with hockey sticks passing a tennis ball back and forth across the sidewalk. My heart started racing. It was my personal bully, Matt Boles and his stupid cousin, Luke Hall.
Adam looked over and waved to them. 'Stop waving!' I whispered. 'I'm not in a hurry to get my butt kicked today!'
'Aww, they're straight,' answered Adam. 'Look, Matt's waving back.'
'Nobody waves with one finger,' I explained. 'Let's try to catch up with Shelby. Those two give me the creeps.'
'Didn't you get your first penalty yesterday, against Matt's team?' asked Adam.
'Fat Boles, my personal bully, got a five minute major for cup-checking me,' I explained.
'That's got to be a painful memory.'
'Yeah, my nards are still complaining. But Boles got the penalty, not me. For the record, I still have never been in the penalty box...ever!' I said, almost proudly.
'Coach says a weapon is not a stick,' Adam mentioned as we stepped up the pace.
'Wrong, Carrot top! It's the other way around. Coach says a stick is not a weapon!'
'Well, it sure is a weapon in the hands of...what do ya call him? Your personal bully?' giggled Adam.
We walked faster and faster, but there's no way we were going to catch up to Shelby. She may be a year younger than me but the truth is she can run faster, jump higher, and punch harder. I blame her stupid gymnastics conditioning.
'Man...your cute sister's in better shape than both of us put together,' said Adam. 'And when I say 'Cute', I mean she smells better than you. We ain't gonna catch her.'
'Wrong! And when I say 'Wrong', I mean you're an idiot. She's my sister!' I reminded Adam. 'I don't want to be seen with her. She's 12 years old, she stinks...and did I mention, she's my sister?!!! But I still want to get away from Fat Boles and Puke Hall, so let's catch up to her.'
'Ya know...if I had any...personal bullies, big enough to pound the h.e. double hockey sticks outta my sorry 8th grade butt, I sure wouldn't call 'em names.'
Adam was more right than wrong. I never was much good at thinking things out and staying out of trouble. Coach has tried to tell me...over and over again, You got to see the whole ice, kid...you got to see the whole ice!
I'm not good at seeing the whole ice. I read and react. That's me. On or off the ice...I read and react.