This Gum for Hire by Bruce Hale

Author:Bruce Hale
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

15

Polecat in the Hat

Our practice session was fun. If you like oversized freaks with strange nicknames playing bumper cars with your body. And it was as relaxing as a long nap inside a cement mixer.

The cheerleaders practiced their routines in between gawking at the football players. My teammates showed off. Disgusting.

At long last, Coach blew his whistle, ending our torment. “Hit the showers!” he cried. I hit the bench to rest up for the trip while the other players jogged off.

“Not you, mister!” shouted Coach Stroganoff. He flagged down Herman the Gila Monster and pulled him aside.

Feeling snoopy, I scooted down the bench to listen. Neither of them noticed.

“Expected to see those missing players by now,” the brawny groundhog was saying as I came within earshot. “Well?”

The Gila monster glowered. “Not my fault,” he said. “Someone helping me—he slow.”

The coach planted a fist on his hip. “Don’t feed me that malarkey, buster. You’ve got one more day.”

Herman pouted. “Okay, Coach.” Then he rubbed his gut. “Oogh. Sore.”

Coach Stroganoff raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you see Justin get sick, and you think you can act sick for sympathy?” he asked. “No dice. Bring those missing guys tomorrow, or you’re off the team.”

Herman trudged off, still rubbing his belly.

The coach clomped over to the bleachers to consult with Jim Schortz.

I scanned the field. On the sidelines, the cheerleaders were finishing their practice and packing up their pom-poms. I shuddered. They had enough concentrated cooties to power the Space Shuttle of Love.

Near the far fence, Buford the skunk was chatting with an older polecat in a pillbox hat. She patted his shoulder and he jerked away.

I watched our water boy as cheerleaders crossed the field. What was his game, anyway?

Suddenly a pair of paws clamped over my eyes and the world went dark. “Guess who?” a girl’s voice asked.

“Typhoid Mary?” I said.

“No, guess again!”

“Someone who’s about to lose a finger?” I reached for the paws.

“No, silly! It’s me!” She let go. I turned to see Frenchy LaTrine, the mousy cheerleader. “Waiting for me?” she asked.

“Dream on.” I jerked a thumb at Buford. “I was watching him. Hey, who’s he talking to?”

Frenchy’s long nose wrinkled as she squinted at the critter. “Not exactly sure,” she said. “I think she’s a football mom. She’s been here before.”

Hmm. Had the polecat been spying on our practice? Was she working hand-in-stinky-glove with Buford the skunk?

“Thanks, Frenchy,” I said. “You’re all right, for a rodent.”

She ducked her head. “Thanks!”

I swayed to my feet and hobbled to the showers.

Halfway there, Natalie turned up. “Lots of sickos out there today,” she said.

“You gotta be pretty sick to play this sport.”

“Not that kind of sicko, Chet. I meant Justin and Herman.”

I took off my helmet and tucked it under my arm. “Justin was sick; I think our client was just faking.”

“Something’s fishy here,” she said, waving a wing.

“I’ll take a shower,” I said.

Natalie shook her head. “Not that kind of fishy. Think about it, Chet: First, Hugh, Lou, and Dewey get sick .

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