The Ritual (Quickreads Series 1)

THE RITUAL

Janice Greene

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SERIES

1 Black Widow Beauty Danger on Ice Empty Eyes The Experiment The Kula‘i Street Knights The Mystery Quilt No Way to Run The Ritual The 75-Cent Son The Very Bad Dream

Development and Production: Laurel Associates, Inc. Cover Illustrator: Black Eagle Productions Copyright © 2002 by Saddleback Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Reproduction of any part of this book, through photocopy, recording, or any electronic or mechanical retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, is an infringement of copyright law.

Three Watson Irvine, CA 92618-2767 Website: www.sdlback.com ISBN 1-56254-412-8 Printed in the United States of America 07 06 05 04 03 02 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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story about the football team?” Terrell snorted with disgust. “They haven’t even started playing yet! That’s a crummy idea—zero interest. Print that in the paper and I guarantee you that people are gonna be yawning after the first sentence. Nobody’s gonna read The Eagle with stories like that. They’re gonna use our school newspaper to wipe up after their dog!” “Would you shut up for two seconds?” said the boy named Booth. “There’s this freshman coming in who’s supposed to be really good. You get to interview him.” “Oh, goody!” Terrell said in a sarcastic, high voice. “I’m really honored. And what do you get to cover, Boo?” “I don’t know yet,” Booth answered. 3

“If this freshman was such a hot story—like you say—you’d cover it yourself. You’re passing me the scutwork, Boo-Boo,” Terrell complained. “Don’t call me that!” Boo said. “The reason I’m not covering it is because I’m on the team. It’s a conflict thing.” “A conflict of interest, genius,” said Terrell. “How come you get to be editor this year when you’ve got zip for brains?” Just then the bell rang, and students began streaming out of the room. Boo leaned close to Terrell. “You gotta watch your mouth around me, man. I mean it. I’m not someone you want to mess with,” he said. “I’m scared to death,” said Terrell. Suddenly, each boy felt a hand on his shoulder. Ms. Baird, the journalism teacher, had a way of getting right next to you before you even saw her coming. “Terrell, stop provoking Booth—now,” she said. “Booth, you keep your hands off Terrell. Is that clear, you two?” 4

“Yes, ma’am,” they answered. “Good,” said Ms. Baird. “Now go on to lunch, boys.” Terrell was still simmering when he and his girlfriend, Shanelle, had lunch on the stadium bleachers. “Why is Boo the head honcho of everything?” said Terrell. “Okay, he’s captain of the football team. This actually makes sense ’cause he’s big— and nothing’s going to injure his brain. Know why? Because it’s missing in the first place! But how come he gets to be editor of the school paper?” Shanelle smiled. “You just can’t stand taking orders from him,” she said, peeling an orange. “That’s not it. Booth Bellamy cannot write!” said Terrell. “Did you see that dumb article he wrote about the student council last year? It stunk! Oh, man, I can do so much better!” “Look,” said Shanelle. “As long as Mr. Bellamy’s the principal, Junior’s gonna 5

be telling you what to do. So why don’t you just go along with it? Do your interview and make it ten times better than whatever Boo writes!” “Right,” said Terrell. “You’re right.” “Of course I’m right,” said Shanelle. “You just keep telling yourself you’re gonna be a professional journalist. And Boo’s gonna end up doing something boring, like selling used auto parts.” “Auto parts!” said Terrell. “That’s a good one. I like that! Come here, baby.” He scooted closer. “Terrell!” Shanelle cried. “You’re gonna squish my sandwich!”

A fter school, Terrell hurried to the locker room. He wanted a quick interview with the freshman before practice got started. The room was crowded with piles of shoulder pads and jerseys, boxes of shoes, and boys. Coach Nesbitt was tearing open a brand new 6

carton of shiny, white kneepads. “Where’s Dylan Frye?” Terrell asked a player who was trying on a helmet. The player glanced over at Boo. “Uh—I think he’s out sick today.” Terrell marched over to Boo. “What happened to Frye?” he asked. “Frye’s off the team,” Boo said. “You need to pick someone else.” “Why?” said Terrell. “ ’Cause he’s a wuss, that’s why,” Boo snapped. His face looked hard and mean. “Interview one of the other guys.” “You can’t just order me around like that, Boo-Boo. Not without giving me a good reason,” Terrell said. Boo grabbed Terrell’s shoulder and squeezed. “What did you just say to me?” “Bellamy!” Coach Nesbitt yelled. “Knock it off. And you—” he jerked his head at Terrell “—out!” Terrell took off. As soon as he was out of the locker room, he rubbed his shoulder. It really hurt. 7

In a few minutes Terrell got Frye’s number from the registrar’s office. Dylan’s mother answered the phone. “Hello, ma’am. This is Terrell Mathis, from school. Is Dylan there?” he said. “I’m sorry, he’s asleep now,” she said. “Oh, is he doing okay?” he said. “Well, he’s in a lot of pain,” she said. “Wow, that’s terrible,” said Terrell. “How’d it happen?” “Well, he says he fell off his bike coming home from school last night,” she said. “A freak accident, I guess. But I can’t imagine how he managed to crack a rib falling off a bike,” she added. Terrell heard doubt in her voice. After telling her he’d call back, he went back to the registrar’s office and got a list of all the new players. That night, he sat down by the phone and started calling them, one by one. The first was Henry Lewis. “Hi, Henry?” said Terrell, when Henry picked up the phone. 8

“Yeah,” Henry answered. “This is Terrell Mathis. I’m a reporter from The Eagle. First of all I want to welcome you to McClemonds High and congratulate you on making the team!” “Uh—well, thanks,” said Henry. “Right now I’m doing a story on the new players. Did you guys have your initiation thing last night?” “Yeah—” Henry’s voice turned wary. “I guess the initiation really makes you feel like part of the team, right?” “Oh, sure. Every team does it, you know,” said Henry. “Right, right. You’re tough and you’re together. I guess the seniors want to make sure you can take it on the field. They get pretty rough with you guys?” “Look,” said Henry. “The ritual is a secret. That’s all I’m saying.” “Wait! Just tell me one little thing, Henry. Did Dylan Frye get hurt last night?” Terrell asked. “Man, you never talked to me!” 9

Henry said nervously. “If you say I told you anything, I’m gonna deny it!” Terrell tried another team member, and another. No one would tell him anything about the ritual. As he reached the bottom of the list, guys started hanging up as soon as Terrell said his name. It was obvious that somebody was calling around, warning the team members not to talk to him.

The next day, Terrell called Dylan. “I know what happened,” he said. “They had the ritual night before last, and someone got too rough with you.” “That’s a lie. I never even made it there that night,” said Dylan. “What do they do at this ritual thing?” said Terrell. “It’s secret, and you know it. Mom told me you called yesterday. Why are you butting in like this?” said Dylan. “’Cause I want to know the truth. 10

Maybe this ritual isn’t such a great tradition. Maybe it oughtta be changed— or stopped,” Terrell said. “That’s hilarious,” said Dylan. “It’s been going on for years. Who’s gonna stop it—you?” “You don’t understand the power of the printed word, man!” Terrell insisted. “The press can even bring down the president! Ever hear of Watergate?” “Sure,” said Dylan. “That’s when some of President Nixon’s guys broke into Democratic headquarters. Nixon lied about it, so he had to resign.” “Did you ever hear of Woodward and Bernstein?” Terrell asked. “No. Who are they?” Dylan asked. “Man, you shouldn’t even admit you don’t know about Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein,” Terrell said. “They were the reporters who found out about it! If it hadn’t been for them, nobody would have heard a single thing about Watergate. Those guys brought down the 11

president of the United States, man— just two young reporters!” Dylan chuckled. “So you want to be like those guys, right?” said Dylan. “I’m just telling you that the press can change things—guaranteed,” said Terrell. “Yeah, but someone has to stick his neck out for you,” Dylan said. “Those guys—Woodward and Epstein or whatever—somebody risked a lot to talk to them. Laid their job or their reputation on the line. The reporters got all the glory, right? And the people who talked—what happened to them? You got an answer for that?” “Well, they’re probably in the history books, too,” said Terrell. “That’s terrific. I’m really happy for them,” said Dylan. “Thanks for the history lesson,” he added just before he hung up. Terrell slowly put down the receiver. Then he called Shanelle. “Okay, so nobody’s talking to you,” 12

she said. “Do you know why?” “They gotta be afraid,” said Terrell. “Afraid they’ll get stomped to mush by the team if they tell me anything.” “Maybe not. Maybe they’re just afraid you’ll blab about their precious ritual,” Shanelle said. “So how am I gonna get the story? Everywhere I go they’re gonna shut me out,” said Terrell. “These guys are like the cops in that movie we saw last month, remember? They had this code of silence. Then when that one guy had enough guts to talk—” There was a long silence. Then Shanelle said, “You gotta find somebody who doesn’t have anything to lose. Or somebody they can’t get at.” “You’re right,” Terrell said slowly. “Somebody who’d know about the ritual, but isn’t involved. The coach, maybe?” “I’m way ahead of you,” said Shanelle. “Call up someone who’s graduated.” “Perfect!” said Terrell. 13

It took a while, but the next day Terrell tracked down Kenny Harker. He’d been the team’s quarterback last year. Now he was a freshman in college, thanks to a football scholarship. Kenny said, “Sure, I’ll tell you about the ritual, if you really want to know.” “Yeah, man, I do want to know,” said Terrell, tapping his pen on his notepad. “They do it at a guy’s house, when no one’s home,” said Kenny. “They make all the new players strip, then they take ’em out one at a time. They put a blindfold on him, and four guys hold his arms and legs. Then the guys come up and do stuff to him—kick, spit, or worse. They can do anything—whatever they want.” Kenny’s voice had grown resentful as he spoke. “You’re joking! How do they get away with that?” Terrell said, scribbling furiously to get it all down. “The players figure if they had to go through it, it’s only fair that they get to 14

do it to the next guys. The ritual has been going on for years.” “And you thought it was an okay thing to do?” Terrell asked. “I did at the time, I guess. Everyone says it makes the guys feel like a real team. I believed it then. Now I think it’s just sick! Go ahead and write about it. If enough people find out what’s going on, maybe somebody will put a stop to it. Good luck!” The next day in journalism class, Terrell said, “Ms. Baird, I’ve got something that needs your immediate attention. Can I speak to you alone?” Ms. Baird raised a thin, black eyebrow. “Terrell, you’re not the only person in this classroom who needs my time,” she said. But she softened when she noticed his serious look. “All right,” she said, “if the rest of you will excuse me for just a minute—” Terrell told her about Dylan and the conversations with Kenny. 15

Ms. Baird frowned. “Terrell, this is a very serious matter—if it’s true. You need to be very, very sure of the truth before this story sees the light of day.” “I know, Ms. Baird,” said Terrell. “Then you must know that you need another source—with a name,” Ms. Baird explained. “Who knows? Kenny could be holding a grudge against McClemonds, or someone on the team.” “But—” Terrell began. “I know Kenny sounds credible, but you must have more,” she said. “Yeah,” Terrell admitted. “And Terrell,” she went on, “you need to keep quiet about this. If it’s not true, it’s a very ugly rumor. I don’t want to hear this story buzzing around McClemonds. Do you understand me?” “Yes, ma’am,” said Terrell. Then he turned and saw Boo looking hard at him. He wasn’t surprised when Boo caught up to him in the crowded hallway. “Whatever you’re doing, man, you 16

gotta lay off,” Boo said. “You know what I’m talking about?” “Yes, Boo-Boo,” Terrell said sweetly. “You wise-mouth, skinny—” Boo sputtered, moving closer. Terrell interrupted, saying, “This is real, real sad! You’re so stupid you can’t even insult anybody, Booby!” Boo’s angry face, just inches from Terrell’s, looked like it might split with anger. Before Terrell could move away, Boo raised his arm and slammed the smaller boy against the lockers. The kids nearby scooted back and formed a half circle around the two boys. “You gonna whip this guy, Boo?” someone called out. Then, from down the hall, an adult voice yelled, “Hey!” The kids scattered. Giving Terrell a final glare, Boo walked off before the teacher reached them. Terrell shook himself gently, his head ringing, and hurried on to his next class. 17

That night, Terrell called Dylan again. This time he told him about his conversation with Kenny. “You have to let me use your name, man,” said Terrell. “This story has got to come out!” “No, thanks. If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay alive,” Dylan said. “Look, you and me—we can stop this thing!” said Terrell. “No more guys are gonna have to go through with this.” Dylan said, “Look, I’d like to help you, but okay—I’m scared! I admit it. And you should be, too. Some of the guys on the team are still talking to me. They know that you’ve been poking around. And Boo says—” “Boo!” Terrell broke in disgustedly. “Is he the one who cracked your rib?” “Listen to me, man, and listen good. Don’t make Boo mad!” Shanelle had the same advice when Terrell called her after dinner. “Terrell! 18

Don’t you remember what Boo did to that Raymond kid last year?” she said. “Shanelle, I gotta make him mad,” said Terrell. “Don’t you see? It’s the only way he’s gonna talk.” “But why does it have to be Boo?” Shanelle asked. “Why not lean on some other member of the team?” “Because Boo’s so stupid he’s proud of what he’s doing. He wants to brag, I guarantee you!” said Terrell. “You’ve got a big thing against him, sweetie. You’re letting your emotions get in the way here.” “No way!” Terrell said. “Well—maybe a little. But the other guys aren’t mad at me. They’re gonna be cautious. They’re not gonna let it out.” “Maybe you’re right,” Shanelle said thoughtfully. “I’m gonna think up a plan. Something good.” “I know you will. No one’s better at that than you are, baby,” said Terrell. “That’s right,” said Shanelle, “and 19

don’t you forget it, my man!” The next day after school, Terrell got a call from Dylan. “Somebody told me you challenged Boo,” Dylan said. “This is just a weird rumor, right?” “It’s the truth,” said Terrell. “You’re insane!” said Dylan. “Boo’s got at least forty pounds on you. He’s gonna rearrange your face!” “It’s okay!” said Terrell. “Boo thinks I’m gonna fight him. But what I’m really gonna do is get him to confess.” “Ha! Before or after he flattens you?” Dylan snorted. “Look, this is suicide, Terrell. Boo hates you.” “No—it’s cool! We’ve got it all worked out,” said Terrell. “I’m gonna meet him in back of the gym and get him to talk. My girlfriend’s gonna get the entire thing on tape. Then she’s going for the coach. Nesbitt’s always in his office right after a game—” “Suppose he isn’t?” Dylan broke in. 20

“Nesbitt’s wife tapes every home game. Afterward, they have pizza and watch the film in his office. Their routine is like the sun coming up—you can count on it,” Terrell said confidently. “So you’re doing this tomorrow night, after the game?” Dylan asked. “That’s the plan,” said Terrell. “Just don’t get killed, okay? Or I’m gonna feel guilty for life,” said Dylan. Terrell just laughed.

The next night was muggy, with a hot, restless wind. The McClemonds team lost the game, 13 to 22. Terrell waited behind the gym, pacing the grass impatiently. Shanelle was waiting, too, camcorder ready. She was hiding between the far wall of the gym and a low hedge. Terrell had it all worked out. He’d tell Boo what he’d learned about the ritual, and Shanelle would catch every word of 21

it on the camcorder. Then she’d get Mr. Nesbitt. Terrell figured he could dodge Boo’s fists until Mr. Nesbitt got there. He had no intention of fighting Boo. Terrell wasn’t a coward—but he wasn’t stupid, either. But Terrell’s clever scheme went wrong from the start. First, he heard Shanelle cry out shrilly, “Let go of me!” Terrell took off running in her direction. But Boo quickly grabbed him from behind, clamping a thick arm across his chest. Then Hollis Weston, Boo’s best friend, stepped out of the shadows, dragging Shanelle behind him. “Hey, Boo!” Hollis said. “Look at what I found!” Then he wrenched the camcorder away from her and threw it 20 feet away. When Shanelle screamed again, Hollis clapped a huge hand over her face. When she bit his fingers, he roared, “Auugh!” Then he slapped her, hard. 22

Terrell kicked at Boo’s feet and struggled to break free. But then he felt the blows to his shoulders, chest, and head. Pain echoed through his body until finally, nothing hurt anymore. Then car doors slammed, someone yelled, and suddenly he was free from Boo’s grasp. He heard running feet and looked up to see Dylan racing by with a bunch of guys he didn’t know. Terrell sank back down to the grass. Dylan leaned over him, panting, “How bad are you hurt, buddy?” “I want my baby,” Terrell said thickly. Shanelle crouched down beside him and held his head in her hands. Her face was wet with tears. “I’ll go get Coach Nesbitt,” Dylan said. “We saw what those two guys were doing to you—don’t worry, you’ve got witnesses, man.” “Nah, it’s no use,” Terrell said, closing his swollen eyes. “Let’s just go home.” Terrell stayed home the next day. 23

He lay on the couch, staring at TV, hardly aware of what he was watching. He didn’t want to move, because it hurt—and he didn’t want to think, because thinking hurt even more. After school, Shanelle came to visit him. She plopped on the floor beside the couch and took his hand. “What’d you tell your mom?” she asked. “I just said that some guy at school beat me up,” he said. His split lip made it hard for him to talk. “Is that all? Didn’t you tell her who did it?” she said. “No,” said Terrell. “Terrell—” Shanelle jumped up and turned off the TV. “I can’t concentrate with that thing on. Now, talk to me. What are we gonna do?” “Nothing. We’re gonna be nice, quiet little students and let Boo be king of the school,” he said bitterly. “Terrell—you can’t just let this go!” Shanelle cried out. 24

He drew his hand away from hers. His expression was bleak and empty. Shanelle got up. “You’re not yourself, so I’m going now. I’ll come over again when you’re back to the Terrell I know.” “I am the same person I always was. I just wised up,” said Terrell coldly. “No, you’re not,” Shanelle said. “Your soul is sick—and I’m out of here!”

The next day Terrell found it easier to move. His face was a mess. His bruises had turned vivid shades of purple and yellow. His split lip made eating a torture. He spent the day halfdozing in front of the TV, blotting out the memory of the last few days. He was watching an old movie when Shanelle marched into the living room, with Dylan right behind her. “Rise and shine!” said Shanelle. “You’ve got a story to write, my man! Dylan’s gonna tell you everything.” 25

“You can use my name,” Dylan said. “Forget it,” said Terrell. “We have to accept that Boo and his dad rule. There’s nothing we can do about it.” “Fine! You just sit and rot on your couch. If you’re not gonna write this story, I’m gonna write it,” said Shanelle. “You can’t do that! You’re not even in journalism class,” said Terrell. “I can’t!?” said Shanelle. “Nobody tells me I can’t do something. You know who used to say that? You! Now you’re not saying it anymore, so I am! Come on, Dylan. We’ve got work to do.” She grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute!” Terrell said as he tried to sit up. Sharp pains in his shoulder made him wince. He looked at them. Shanelle’s eyes were full of fire. Dylan looked nervous but determined. “Get me my laptop— okay, Shanelle?” Terrell said. “Yes, sir!” Shanelle said, flashing a big grin and saluting him. 26

Then it all came out. In a low voice, staring at the floor, Dylan told his story as Terrell typed furiously. Dylan described his humiliation as he and the others were forced to strip. Then he talked about the fear he’d felt as he lay pinned down—helplessly at the mercy of boys he couldn’t see. When he heard Boo’s voice saying it was his turn, he felt a hard kick and terrible pain as his rib cracked. Finally, Dylan’s tormentors had taunted him until he begged them to stop. One paragraph at a time, Terrell captured it all: Dylan’s hurt and shame, and the cruelty of his captors. He felt the familiar thrill of writing well—ideas humming in his head as he arranged the sequence of events, choosing the perfect words to tell the scandalous story.

The next day Terrell brought the disk to journalism class. 27

When the story scrolled up on the screen, Ms. Baird read it over his shoulder. She made a few suggestions for improvement. Then she asked, “Now, what happened to you, Terrell?” “Fell off my bike,” said Terrell. She lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t question him further. As soon as she moved away, Boo drifted over to him. Terrell stood up, his body blocking the computer screen. “I’m editor,” Boo said. “I get to see it.” Ms. Baird, who seemed to have eyes in the back of her head, turned and looked at them. “Booth,” she said, “I’m helping Terrell on that story. You concentrate on your own assignment.” Boo turned away, muttering, “You know I can see it if I want to, wuss.” Terrell didn’t answer. Since Boo’s father was principal, he could certainly arrange for his son to read The Eagle before it was printed. Terrell had a sinking feeling in his stomach. 28

The next morning, Terrell was jolted awake by his mother’s shaky voice. “I just got off the telephone with the principal. He says that you’re expelled —for trying to slander his son in the school newspaper! What did you do?” He’d almost finished with his long explanation when Shanelle called. Ms. Baird had been fired. Terrell’s story had never made it into The Eagle. Terrell scrambled out of bed and called Dylan. About 45 minutes later, they were in the lobby of WKVB, the local TV station. “We have an exclusive story about a secret hazing ritual at McClemonds High,” Terrell told the receptionist. “It’s a practice so vicious that this young man right here had a bone broken!” Dylan nodded and the receptionist got the station manager. That afternoon, two reporters and a cameraman from WKVB showed up at 29

McClemonds High. When they stopped at Principal Bellamy’s office, they were told he was in an important meeting. They went to the gym, where the football team was getting ready for practice. The reporters told the players what they’d learned from Dylan and Terrell. Boo stepped up, shaking his head. “You believed them? The whole thing is a pack of lies!” he said disgustedly. The rest of the team was silent. The reporters looked at each other. Then Mike Reardon, a burly senior, stepped up. He’d been worried about his younger brother, Joey, who wanted to play football next year. “That story’s true,” Mike said loudly. “I swear it!” The reporters waved the cameraman over and got it on tape.

The secret ritual at McClemonds High was the lead story on WKVB that night. The next night, an angry group of 30

parents met with the principal and the board of trustees. At the end of the meeting, Bellamy furiously announced his resignation and stormed out. The board then gave the vice principal Bellamy’s job and rehired Ms. Baird. Boo didn’t come to school the next day. Some kids claimed he was headed for military school. Others said his family was moving to a different town. Terrell was back in school, even though his face was still a mess. As he walked to his locker, kids in the hallway stopped talking and stared at him as he passed. Several kids he didn’t know smiled and said, “Hi!” Everyone looked at him with respect. Terrell straightened up and held his head high. Journalism class was even better than usual. Ms. Baird gave a little speech about what he’d done. When she finished, most of the kids applauded. Terrell was embarrassed but happy. “Thanks,” he said, “but it was Dylan 31

Frye who was brave enough to break the silence. The credit should go to him.” Terrell meant it. Since his confrontation with Boo, he knew what it meant to stick your neck out. It took real courage to tell the truth—because the truth has consequences. If Terrell’s dream came true, maybe he would be a famous reporter someday. But he wouldn’t let fame go to his head. He promised himself to always remember the brave people whose stories he told.

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