Readers
I noticed a few cockroaches crawling near Jason's skates. He stepped on one of them, popping it like a cherry tomato. Bug juice sprayed.
A single cockroach dropped from the shoulder pads and landed between his skates.
The crowd kept roaring, and Jason now had his shoulder pads off. A single cockroach dropped from the shoulder pads and landed between his skates.
Jason threw the shoulder pads and, without waiting for them to land, peeled off his torn black T-shirt.
I nearly lost the hamburgers I had eaten a couple hours earlier. At least three cockroaches were crawling on Jason's belly, their antennas quivering in all directions.
Oh, man. Someone must have seen Indi and me doing our thing. They recognized me and reported it to the cops. This envelope is from the cops. They write letters? Wouldn't they just come and hassle me?
I keep cool, reach inside, draw out a sheet of paper. It doesn't have any official emblems. It just looks like a letter, starting with "Dear Samuel." Weird. No one writes me letters. I shoot another glance at Mom but she hasn't budged. She's just standing there looking like she's going to burst.
I staggered to my feet, tore off my helmet and looked down at the crumpled figure on the road. He wasn't moving.
I was sure I had killed him. The blood drained out of my head. I was afraid to approach him. I needed to get help. I took several deep breaths and found myself shaking. Hold it together, I told myself. Just hold it together.
