The ground was rutted from past rains, but had hardened in the late summer drought,
so they had to give up on sneaker toes and draw the line with a stick.
The fifth-grade boys, bursting with new importance, ordered the fourth graders this way and that,
while the smaller boys tried to include themselves without being conspicuous.
“How many you guys gonna run?” Gary Fulcher demanded. “Me—me—me.” Everyone yelled.
“That's too many. No first, second, or third graders— except maybe the Butcher cousins and Timmy Vaughn.
The rest of you will just be in the way.” Shoulders sagged, but the little boys backed away obediently.
“OK. That leaves twenty-six, twenty-seven—stand still—twenty-eight. You get twenty-eight, Greg?” Fulcher asked Greg Williams, his shadow.
“Right. Twenty-eight.” “OK. Now. We'll have eliminations like always.
Count off by fours. Then we'll run all the ones together, then the twos—”
“We know. We know.” Everyone was impatient with Gary, who was trying for all the world to sound like this year's Wayne Pettis.
Jess was a four, which suited him well enough. He was impatient to run,
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색