The Losers Club: Chapters 13–25

“My plan?” he said, and as those two little words came out of his mouth, Alec realized that he had just used the wrong tone of voice—way too casual.

If someone had been handing out awards there in the Spencer family kitchen, Alec would have won three trophies instantly: Best Improvisation Under Pressure; Best Acting by a Child in a Bad Grades Drama; and Best Jedi Mind Trick Since “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”

“It’s really old—actually, a lot of your books are old, practically antiques. Like that copy of Treasure Island in your backpack? That book is ancient.”

Her mouth puckered into a deep frown, and her eyebrows were low and bunched together.

But this wasn’t that kind of a book club, so for the next hour and a half, life among the Losers was quiet and solitary.

So there was no “maybe” about whether this kickball bombardment was on purpose.

Kids started talking and bustling around, getting their smocks and sketches from the cubbies at the back of the room, picking up rolls of tape and stacks of newspaper, moving to their assigned tables.

No, Kent didn’t think he was a loser. Kent clearly thought he was more like a rival, a possible contender.

He had his hoodie zipped up, and he was sweating like crazy, his face flushed and splotchy.

Alec stood there straddling his bike on the sidewalk at the end of the driveway, but it had gotten pretty dark and he was beyond the lights on the court—the players inside that brightness didn’t notice him.

Three moments of perfect clarity, complete in every detail.

His trip to Nina’s house had definitely started out like fiction, almost like a dream—but then he had actually done things, and as he did them, he became the owner of a collection of interlocking moments, moments that belonged only to him.

It turned out that Alec was a natural on skis—he had a great sense of balance, he was strong and agile, and most importantly, he wasn’t afraid to fall.

He wanted to go cutting back and forth across the wake on a single ski like Liam did—blasting out big plumes of spray with each sharp turn.

And this past summer before sixth grade, he’d really started feeling like he had full control out there—he was even able to use the wake of the motorboat like a ramp and launch himself a few feet into the air as he zipped back and forth.

He snarled, “No, this is where you just keep yelling and yelling until you start to hear how awful and stupid you sound, and this might be when you realize you don’t even know what you’re talking about—that’s what this is!”

Alec was sifting through the library he had in his mind, flipping through books that he had read, scanning all the plots and characters he could remember.

Alec turned his head sideways and sneered, “Oh, great. So tell me, Yoda—how could that even be possible?”

First, Luke’s owly blue eyes looked so much like Yoda’s that it was freaky.
Second, his performance had been flawless, a perfect impersonation.

Luke stood up abruptly. “You’re better, and I’ve got stuff to do."

Kent glowered, but at that split second when glares could have turned into punches, Ms. Dunbridge clapped her hands and silenced the room.

“Places, everyone, places! Sopranos and altos to the left, tenors and baritones spread out on the right. Quickly now, quickly!”

“Places, everyone, places! Sopranos and altos to the left, tenors and baritones spread out on the right. Quickly now, quickly!”

“Places, everyone, places! Sopranos and altos to the left, tenors and baritones spread out on the right. Quickly now, quickly!”

“It’ll be your initiation into the club. And if you don’t completely love it? Then I’ll owe you an ice cream sandwich!”