Нил Шустерман - The Shadow Club

We ruled out some kids right away, others took longer, but finally we came up with a list of five kids who would be perfect. We didn’t want a big group; seven, including us, was just fine. One by one, either Cheryl or I spoke to them when no one else was around. And you know what? Every single one of them wanted to be in the club—The Shadow Club— as Cheryl and I named it. So we called the first meeting, then marked the trees so that everyone could find our secret meeting place in the woods. At any second they would converge on the old foundation, and the Shadow Club would be born.

“What time is it?” I asked.

Cheryl looked at me with those give-me-a-break sort of eyes, and said, “Stop being ridiculous,” so I didn’t ask anymore.

I climbed back down into Stonehenge to start up the campfire.

The sun was near the horizon and shadows were getting long and dark when everyone finally arrived. By now the little campfire I had started in the center of the big square foundation pit was burning strong. It wasn’t dark, and it wasn’t cold, and we didn’t have marshmallows to roast, so the campfire didn’t seem to make much sense, but it was there for a very good reason that only Cheryl and I knew.

“I guess we should start by formally introducing ourselves,” I said.

“But why?” asked Randall. “We all know each other already.”

“Shut up,” said Cheryl. “You’ll see.”

“I’ll start,” I said, clearing my throat. I had practiced my speech a few times at home, so I didn’t feel funny being the first one to go. “My name is Jared Mercer. I am the second-best runner in the school, second to Austin Pace, the most conceited, obnoxious . . . Is anyone here friends with Austin?”

Nobody raised their hand, so I continued.

«.. . conceited, obnoxious, pain-in-the-neck kid ever to be on any track team. He takes every chance he gets to make me feel lousy, just because I’m not as fast as he is.” I paused for effect. “I hate Austin Pace.” I turned to Cheryl, and she began.

“My name is Cheryl Gannett. I am, and have always been, the second-best singer, dancer, and all-around performer in my family. Even my own mother forgets I can sing. Now it’s the same way in school. My cousin Rebecca, who thinks she’s God’s gift to the universe, gets all the attention. I hate Rebecca.”

“I get it!” said Randall. “OK, it’s my turn. My name is Randall Gannett, and I’m the best swimmer in the eighth grade.”

“Randall...,” Cheryl said impatiently.

“Shh!” said Randall. “Like I said, I’m the best swimmer, but Drew Landers thinks he’s better than me . . . but he’s not.”

“Randall, you can’t do that,” said Cheryl.

“Why not? It’s true!”

“You have to admit it,” I said. “You have to admit to being second-best, otherwise you can’t be in the club.”

“But he’s not better than me!”

“No?” said Cheryl. “Did you ever beat him in a race?”

Randall looked like a cornered animal. “Almost...,” he said.

“So he is faster.”

“He cheats!” said Randall.

“How can you cheat in swimming?”

“Well, he’s taller! If he wasn’t taller, I would win.” Randall shut up after that one, and looked around the circle, feeling embarrassed.

“Maybe we should go on, and come back to you later,” suggested Cheryl.

“No, I’ll go,” said Randall, defeated. Now he looked down and fidgeted with a stick. “I’m the second-best swimmer, OK? Drew Landers is better than me; he always beats me by a tenth of a second, and then he laughs at me. He even laughs at me during swim meets, when everyone on the team is supposed to be cheering one another on.” Randall looked up for a moment, then back down at his twig. A sad, but mean expression came over his face. “Even though I take second place all the time, he still laughs at me. And he calls me Duckfeet, because my feet are a little big. And next year when all the ninth graders graduate, he’ll be the best on the team, probably the captain, and he’ll still laugh at me every day. I hate Drew Landers.” Randall looked up at Cheryl. “Are you happy?”

“That’ll do,” said Cheryl.

Jason cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. He was rarin’ to go. “My name is Jason Perez.” He took off his glasses, probably feeling self-conscious about them. He was also self-conscious about being fat, even though he wasn’t fat anymore; he had grown into his weight. “I play trumpet,” said Jason. “I’ve been playing for four years, and I’m finally getting good enough to play first trumpet for band, and I’ve been taking extra lessons, but then last year, David Berger just up and decides he wants to learn trumpet, and in like three months, he’s better than everyone, so he gets every single solo, and every single award, and I get absolutely nothing, ever, no matter how hard I practice, and I really hate David Berger!” He stopped for a second, and we all thought he was done, but then he started up again. “Last June, when they picked kids for the Young Musicians Society, did I get picked? No! David Berger, David Berger, all anybody ever hears about is David Berger! I can’t stand him, and now he’s been picked to play for the high school band— can you believe it? And then ...”

“Jason,” I said, interrupting, “how do you say all that without breathing?” There were a few giggles from around the circle.

“Well, sorry,” said Jason. “I thought you wanted to know.”

“You can tell us after everybody’s had a chance,” said Cheryl.

Everyone turned to Abbie, who had her strawberry blonde hair in some new style that was hard not to stare at.

“Well, as you know, I’m Abbie Singer, and I have absolutely no idea why I’m here.” And that’s all she said at first.

“C’mon, Abbie, you know why,” said Cheryl.

“No, I really don’t. I’m not second-best at anything—I don’t even think I’m third-best. I do hate Vera Donaldson, like you said when you first told me about this club thing, Cheryl, but she is definitely not better than me in anything.”

I turned to Cheryl, but Cheryl didn’t say anything. It was Jason who spoke, very softly. “I know why you’re here,” he said, looking down at the pair of glasses he held in his hands. “You’re here because you’re the second-prettiest girl in school.”

Abbie thought about this. “Is that why, Cheryl?”

“Well, you are the second most popular girl in school.”

Abbie smiled. “Yeah, I guess I am, aren’t I?”

“Vera Donaldson is a snot,” said Jason. I thought that was too nice a word for her.

“Well, not everyone thinks so. She’s the most popular girl in school,” said Abbie, “and she hates my guts. I don’t know why, but every time there’s a guy who likes me, she always steals him away first, just for fun, or tells him nasty things about me. Do you know how it feels for people to say nasty stuff about you like that? And none of it’s true! Absolutely none of it!” She clenched her teeth and her hands rolled into fists. “Just thinking about her makes my head hurt.”

“Say it!” said Cheryl.

“I hate Vera Donaldson!”

O.P., who was next, looked around a bit nervously. She had been quiet all this time and knew perfectly well why she was here. O.P. was Korean, I think, but she didn’t have any accent at all.

“I’m Karin Han . . . and . . . I guess I’m smart. I have the second-highest math and reading scores in the ninth grade. I get the second-best grades in just about everything, and Tommy Nickols always gets the best.”

“Ughh! He’s such a bozo,” said Abbie.

“If I get a ninety-eight on a test,” she continued, “then Tommy will get a ninety-nine. All the time. So last year he started to call me O.P., and now everyone does. It stands for ’One Point.’”