It kills!

I scream.

Just like Ronnie!

“Stop! Please! Stop! Stop!” I whimper.

“Shut up.”

The claw forces me toward Tom, Scott, and Bruce. A final shove whiplashes me forward. I trip over a three-inch mat and skid to my hands and knees beside Bruce. For a moment, all I feel is instant relief from that grip.

Bruce lies flat on his stomach, his face red from the pressure of Tom’s weight. His eyes are scrunched half shut. Caught in his own world of hurt, he offers no recognition or explanation.

“About time you showed up, twerp,” Scott says. “Glad you got our invite in your locker. Didn’t want to start the party without you.” The hyper-happy tone in his voice scares me as much as, if not more than, Studblatz’s animal excitement.

“You’re just in time, dipshit,” Tom growls. “Your butt buddy is going to give us a little demonstration on how he uses the harness here.”

Tom has Bruce wedged under him like a roped calf, sitting all his weight on Bruce’s lower back so Bruce can do nothing but lie there gasping for air. Tom’s not bothered, it seems, that Bruce might pass out.

“Yeah, we don’t use things like that spotting harness in football. But maybe we should,” Scott says. “Looks like fun.”

Tom finally rises up off Bruce. I see they’ve already forced the harness around him before I arrived. It’s a heavy canvas belt that normally cinches around the waist and attaches to two ropes hanging from the ceiling by pulleys. If you’re strapped into one, you can throw any dangerous trick you want off any apparatus because another person can slow your fall—or even suspend you—by tightly anchoring the ropes. It works on the same principle that rock climbers use to catch each other if they slip off a cliff.

Whether they’ve done it on purpose or by accident, the harness is wrapped around Bruce’s thighs, and not his waist, where it belongs. Tom drags Bruce, still gasping for breath, by the ankles underneath the ring stand. Scott snaps the two guide ropes to the metal harness clasps and then Studblatz starts yanking down on the other end of the ropes running through the pulleys. The three of them move efficiently, like they know exactly what they want to do, like they’ve planned it. Or at least one of them has. Studblatz heaves down on the ropes, winching Bruce up into the air. With the harness cinched around his thighs, Bruce’s center of gravity is awkward. He lifts off the ground legs-first, hung upside down, same way an animal carcass swings above the butcher floor.

“Sons of bitches,” Bruce pants, meeting intimidation with anger, unwilling to give even an ounce of fear. His face deepens from pink to red as the blood rushes down into his head. His neck veins bulge and his eyes turn bloodshot. Studblatz keeps hoisting the rope, hand over hand, lifting Bruce higher and higher into the air, up toward the pulleys bolted into the gymnasium rafters thirty feet above us.

“You got something to say, tough guy?” Scott asks. “You want to brag about your little locker stunts? You really dig that stuff, huh? First piss, then graffiti. Nice touch calling us murderers. Make you feel tough hiding behind masks and words?”

Studblatz keeps heaving on the ropes, treating it like some sort of strength drill, until Bruce hangs twenty feet in the air, way higher than anyone is meant to go in the spotting harness.

“He looks like a pig we caught in a trap,” Jankowski says.

“Here, little piggy,” Scott taunts.

“Oink, oink,” Mike snorts.

“Stop!” Bruce yells down, but it comes out more like a heavy breath. He reaches for the harness ropes and pulls himself upright but there’s no way to hold that position, even for someone as strong as Bruce. After thirty seconds his thick arms shake and then slacken and then he’s dangling upside down again, his face flushing back to deep purple.

“You!” Scott walks over to me. “Now would be a good time to find out how much you like to snitch. You are the type that likes snitching, right?” Scott asks, stabbing a finger into my chest. “See, we’ve got our own snitch and he told us you were in the storage room that day with Gunderson. Our snitch told us you saw everything, that you and hanging piggy here are going to keep squealing about us. That true?”

Had Kurt not already told me he was their snitch, Scott’s question might have stunned me. At least I’m prepared. “He’s lying,” I lie myself. “I wasn’t anywhere in the gym that day.”

“That a fact?” Scott asks, then turns away as if considering my story. A spark of hope lights up inside me. Maybe I can talk us out of this, I think, tell him we’ll never say a word. Tell him whatever he wants to hear. I can do this—

Scott spins around, his arm trailing like a whip, back of his open hand slicing across my face.

“Lying son of a bitch!” Scott shouts. The slap spins my face toward the wall. “Think I’m going to believe you now?”

I reach a hand up to cover my scalded cheek, expecting a second slap, when Scott’s attention diverts up to Bruce, who’s loudly hawking up a world-class lung oyster. It sounds like he’s scraping out the inside of his nose and throat. With the aim of a ninja, Bruce lets fly. A gob nails Studblatz on his head, thick and white as bird shit.

“Son!” Studblatz roars. “You are going to pay for that.” Studblatz opens his hands. Bruce drops like a rock for about ten feet and yelps before Studblatz regrasps the accelerating ropes. Bruce’s momentum on the speeding ropes snags Studblatz’s big arms skyward as he regrabs them, lifting him a foot off the ground before his heavier weight settles him back down to the ground. Bruce comes to a stop but bungees as the ropes stretch and contract. He wraps his head protectively in his arms.

“Let’s tie that little piggy up nice and high,” Scott says, then jerks a thumb at me, “while we give this one our special treatment, since he liked to watch so much last time.” Scott locks his eyes on mine while suggesting this to the others. My reaction must please him because a smile eases across his mouth as he lays a firm grip on my shoulder like I’m a bad pet in need of training. That’s when I feel it in me—something really awful is going to happen.

I feint to the left and cut to the right, slipping from Scott’s grip, darting at an angle, never taking my eyes off the locker-room entrance across the gym. Halfway there, a solid wave rolls over me, throwing me down on the tumbling mats, pinning my arms beneath me and pushing all air from my chest.

Tom Jankowski’s squatting on me same way he’d squatted on Bruce. He starts bouncing on me, forcing every last bit of air out of my lungs, threatening to crack my chest.

“Good catch, Tommy,” Scott says. “Work him over.”

“Can’t . . . brea . . .”

“What’s that, snitch?” Tom asks. “You can’t breathe?”

Tom’s weight finally rises off me, his hands grabbing me up like a rag doll and plopping me on my feet. I’m leaking tears and choking back snot, knowing what’s coming, knowing what happened to Ronnie.

“Lookit him, crying like a little girl.”

“He is a little girl. Bet he don’t have a single pubic hair on that scrawny little body.”

The three of them laugh as I try wiping away the slick wet veiling me in defeat. Bruce’s face is dark purple by now, a thick vein on his forehead ready to burst. We watch each other for a moment and I’m not sure which of us thinks he’s in a worse position.

“I’ve got a game we can play,” Scott says, his voice all fake friendly. “Your arms must be tired, Stud, from holding up the dipshit.”

“Naw, he’s light,” Studblatz says in a creepy-cheerful voice. “And this pulley system is a beaut!”

“Give the ropes to the little guy, here,” Scott says. “Make him hold his captain up. Let’s see how loyal he really is.”

Jankowski yanks me over to Studblatz, who shoves the ropes into my hands. “Now grab on real tight, fairy,” Studblatz growls. “You don’t want your friend to fall.”

Soon as they’re in my possession, I slowly let the ropes slip through my fingers, guiding Bruce gently back down to the floor.

“What the hell you think you’re doing?” Scott barks. “We didn’t say you could let him down. Pull him back up now or I’m going to smack you.” Studblatz comes over and cuffs me on the head, then takes back the ropes and heaves on them until Bruce dangles even higher than he did the first time.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth up at Bruce. He doesn’t respond. Studblatz forces the ropes back into my hand.

“You think he’ll pass out in that position?” Tom asks Scott. “Being upside down that long?”

“Won’t hurt him if he does.”

“Guys, why don’t you let him come down for a bit,” I suggest. My throat’s salty and raw. I start to let the ropes slide through my hands again. Studblatz gets in my face and I flinch. He grins, just standing there, enjoying the moment. Then he hauls back and slugs my shoulder, knuckles hitting deep to the bone. Feels like the socket’s exploding. Beyond the pain, my fingers in that arm go numb. Bruce starts falling. I clutch at the sliding rope with my good hand, feel it burn through my callused fingers until I stop him with about eight feet to spare.

“He’ll come down when we say so,” Studblatz says, needing no excuse to nail me again. He hauls on the ropes, hoisting the limp body back up. Bruce’s arms dangle uselessly; he’s not even trying to wrap them around his head this last drop. He’s fading, and if he hits the floor headfirst, his neck will snap like a dry branch.

“So let’s see how tough you are,” Scott says to me. “Let’s see how good you are at sticking up for your friends. Piggy up there better hope you’re more loyal to him than you were to Gunderson when you were hiding in that corner, watching us, probably beating off. What kind of friend are you? What kind of teammate?”

Studblatz and Jankowski snicker. The questions hurt worse than even the punch.

“It’s not funny,” I cry. Tom stomps over and spits in my face, then punches me in the chest hard enough that my heart hiccups.

“No one told you to talk.” Tom cuffs me on the head. “Did I tell you to talk?” he asks. “DID I TELL YOU TO TALK?!”

There’s nothing to say. Nothing to do but cower when Tom swings again and his fist targets the same shoulder Studblatz already pulped. A bomb goes off where he hits and the arm drops to my side. The only thing keeping me from letting go of the rope is screaming agony cramping my good hand into a tight fist.

The mangled arm hurts bad. Real bad.

“Please . . . please . . . let us go . . .” I whisper.

“Hey assholes,” Bruce calls down in a strangled rasp. I silently plead for him to shut up, don’t anger them any more than they already are. “I figured out why you all like to fuck little boys.”

“Keep talking,” Studblatz hisses. “Every word’s more beatdown for you.”

“It’s ’cause all those steroids you guys take. You can’t get it up anymore. You think scaring some kid makes up for the fact that you jerkoffs have limp dicks and no nuts? How pathetic is that? Homecoming king can’t even get it up for his queen.” Bruce tries to laugh but it comes out as a cough. His face is the color of a deep bruise and I think maybe his eyes might start crying blood, they’re so red.

“You think that’s funny?! You think that’s funny?!” Tom shouts. He pushes me away and starts lowering the ropes. “I’m going to stomp the shit out of—”

“No.” Scott stops Tom. “Hoist him up. Hoist him way up. Come on. See how tough he talks in a minute. See if either of ’em ever wants to snitch again.”

“Knew you were too chickenshit to let me down,” Bruce rasps.

“Shut up, faggot.”

“I know you . . . are, but what ... what ... am I?” Bruce grunts.

“Let’s just lower him,” Tom says. “Kick the shit out of him.”

I think it might be a good time to try easing Bruce back down again. I get him to about fifteen feet when Scott steps over to me and swings for my face. I duck.

Scott’s fist bites into the top of my head, knocking me sideways as my skull absorbs it. Hurts a lot less than the shoulder punch or chest punch.

“God damn it! Little shit’s got a stone skull,” Scott says, shaking out his hand. “My fuckin’ pinky.”

“What a pussy!” Bruce huffs. Scott tucks his punching hand under his armpit and stares up at Bruce, pacing underneath him.

“Scott, let’s get—” Tom starts.

“Shut up!” Scott snaps at his lineman, never taking his eyes off Bruce above. “You think you can talk to me like that?” Scott demands, still walking a circle around his prey. “You think someone like ... you gets away with that, huh?”

“Scott—” Tom tries again.

“I said shut up!” Scott barks at Tom, glancing at him only a moment before turning his attention upward again. “Hoist this pig up!” Scott orders me. I only stand there anchoring my friend, not hoisting and not lowering. Studblatz shoves me out of the way and hauls on the ropes, cranking Bruce higher and higher until his knees, the top point on his dangling body, are almost even with the thirty-foot pulley bolts.

“That’s it,” Scott says mostly to himself before calling up to Bruce. “Still feel like a tough guy now? Huh?”

“Scott, come on, man,” Tom says.

Scott ignores Tom, glances at Studblatz instead. “Mike, give the ropes back to the little snitch,” Scott orders. “He still hasn’t proven his loyalty.”

Studblatz forces the ropes back into my hands.

“It ain’t funny anymore,” Bruce says. I can barely hear him up there. “Let me down. Danny let me down.”

The rope slides slowly through my fingers like I’m reeling out line on a stubborn fish. We can wait them out, I tell myself. Just a little longer. Already, Jankowski’s anxious to go. Hold on, Bruce. Just hold on. Let them get their kicks and leave.

“Luh-luh-luh-let him duh-duh-down,” comes a new voice.

Kurt!

“Yuh-yuh-you’ve had your fuh-fuh-fuh-fun.” Kurt’s standing at the locker-room entrance, stepping cautiously into the gym as the door closes behind him.

“You again!” Scott spits. “Why are you always hanging where you’re not wanted?”

“They got the puh-puh-point,” Kurt says, ignoring Scott’s question. “No one’s gonna suh-suh-suh-say nothing, okay? Juh-juh-juh-just let him duh-duh-duh-down.”

“Kurt.” Bruce sighs weakly, and I hear the relief I feel. Kurt, body moving in a way his mouth won’t match, steps over and around the mats smooth as a stalking lion. He slows up when he reaches Tom, as if not to startle him. Scott eyes Kurt, his mind calculating, I can tell, trying to keep the plan on track despite the interruption. Scott reaches a decision, steps toward me, and punches my bad shoulder.

Fire erupts at the spot in my arm where muscle has turned into gristle. I won’t let go of the ropes, though. I will pass the loyalty test Scott thinks I’ve already failed. I will pass.

“Come on, Suh-suh-suh-Scott,” Kurt calls over Tom’s shoulder. “No one’s suh-suh-saying nuh-nuh-nuh-nothing. Bruce and Duh-duh-Danny wuh-wuh-won’t talk. Thu-thuthat’s the end of it.”

No one moves.

“Bruce,” Kurt calls up to him. “You won’t suh-suh-say nuh-nuh-nothing, wuh-wuh-wuh-will you?”

Bruce, barely conscious now, gives the slightest head shake, agreeing not to say anything.

“See?” Kurt says. “We go about our buh-buh-business. Act luh-luh-like nuh-nuh-nothing happened. Luh-luh-let him down. Guh-guh-go home. We got a guh-guh-game in two days. Coach ain’t guh-guh-gonna be happy with you wuh-wuh-wasting time on these tuh-tuh-two. Luh-luh-let’s go.”

Kurt has them. I can feel it. He’s saying all the right things. My good hand, cramping from holding Bruce up by itself, slowly loosens and the rope starts easing ever so slightly through my fingers. This time it will work. I can lower Bruce while Kurt keeps talking in his calm tone, even with his stutter, lulling his three captains. It will work. But the pulleys need oil. I’ve got Bruce down to about eighteen feet when my stiff fingers let too much rope slip past them. The pulleys let out a sharp squeak, breaking the soft hypnosis Kurt’s casting over the gym.

Scott looks up, sees how much I’ve lowered Bruce. His eyes do a triangle from Bruce to Kurt to me and something in him goes off.

“Did I give you permission to let him down?!” Scott screams in my face. “Did I?!”

A camera flashes same time as a thing—a fist—slams up under my chin and my knees wobble. Then darkness roars up over me like a summer twister, covering my ear-drums and eyes, stripping me of everything but failure, weakness, and defeat. The world howls above me in fury as I topple over, knowing I’ve let go of the rope and Bruce is falling ...