Ryan was already waiting when Kyle arrived at the football field the next day. He held two big white masks with screens over the faces. There were two strange white shirts lying on the ground.
“Are those straitjackets?” Kyle asked, pointing at the shirts.
“No,” Ryan said. “They’re fencing jackets. Did Mrs. Fitch say you could use the track-and-field equipment?”
“Yeah,” Kyle said. “I’m just supposed to get the gear out of the equipment shed and lock it up when we’re done.”
“Cool,” Ryan said.
“I’m going to regret this,” Kyle said as he slipped his arms into the white fencing jacket. “Please try not to poke holes in me.”
Kyle barely had time to pull his helmet over his head before Ryan tossed him a foil.
“En garde!” Ryan shouted.
* * *
An hour and a half later, fencing practice was over. Kyle was relieved he’d made it through in one piece.
He and Ryan walked over to the equipment shed to get the track-and-field gear.
“Here we go,” Kyle said. He removed the lock on the door and pulled the crate of supplies outside. He pointed to the javelin along the wall, and Ryan grabbed it.
“Fencing is pretty cool,” Ryan said, “but throwing one of these has to be the best.”
Kyle nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I like the javelin. I think that’s the one event I’m going to score big on.”
They dragged the gear to the middle of the football field. The circle Mrs. Fitch had sprayed into the grass was still there.
“The nice thing about practicing here is that I’ll be able to tell how many yards I toss these things,” Kyle said.
Ryan jammed the javelin into the ground. “Okay,” he said. “So what am I supposed to do?”
Kyle picked up the twelve-pound shot and hefted it in his hand. “I just need you to watch my feet in the circle,” he told Ryan. “Make sure I don’t step out of bounds, no matter what. If I step out I’m disqualified for that event.”
“Sheesh,” Ryan muttered. “No do-overs?”
“No do-overs,” Kyle said.
Ryan pulled the javelin from the ground and stood off to the side. He crouched down and waited, watching Kyle get ready to throw the shot.
“Is that thing heavy?” Ryan asked.
“Yes,” Kyle replied. “Now don’t talk. I have to concentrate.”
“Sorry,” Ryan whispered.
Kyle laughed and got into position. He tried to remember how many times he could spin without hopping out of the circle. He took a deep breath and spun once, twice, three times.
With a grunt, he heaved the shot into the air. It arced nicely, then landed with a thump nine yards away.
“You went over the line,” Ryan said. “Or out of the circle thing, I mean.”
Kyle looked down. Ryan was right. His left foot was clearly outside the circle. He was going to need more practice if he hoped to beat Trevor. Lots of practice.