“Clyde.” Gary Fulcher made his declaration. “It was Clyde.”
“It was a tie, Fulcher,” a fourth grader protested. “I was standing right here.”
“Clyde Deal.” Jimmy Mitchell's jaw was set. “I won, Fulcher. You couldn't even see from way back there.”
“It was Deal.” Gary ignored the protests. “We're wasting time. All threes line up. Right now.”
Jimmy's fists went up. “Ain't fair, Fulcher.” Gary turned his back and headed for the starting line.
“Oh, let 'em both run in the finals. What's it gonna hurt?” Jess said loudly.
Gary stopped walking and wheeled to face him. Fulcher glared first at Jess and then at Leslie Burke.
“Next thing,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “next thing you're gonna want to let some girl run.”
Jess's face went hot. “Sure,” he said recklessly. “Why not?”
He turned deliberately toward Leslie. “Wanna run?” he asked.
“Sure.” She was grinning. “Why not?” “You ain't scared to let a girl race are you, Fulcher?”
For a minute he thought Gary was going to sock him, and he stiffened.
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