Knockout Boys

Chapter 8: Dreams of the Past

I was sprinting through the forest, the dry leaves crackling under my bare feet. My heart pounded in my ears as I attempted to avoid them, stepping on rocks and moss instead. The monsters had sharp ears. But I couldn't stop running because I had to get to Paul, or who else would help me defend our flag? I gripped it tighter in my hands, the colorful, shimmering stripes precious to me.

"Rocky!" Paul yelled, and I muttered bad words under my breath, thing my Dad would say when someone cut him off on our drive to school. I almost tripped on over my new blue crocs as I ran towards Paul's voice. I had to get there before the monsters did. He was being so loud and would alert them all!

I followed his cries to an abandoned mansion, where I hesitated. I could hear the battle cries of the monsters as they approached. Cautiously, I lifted the cobwebs from the doorknob, hoping a brown recluse wouldn't bite off my hand. The door creaked open to a surprisingly clean locker room, spotless except for splatters of blood here and there. Nervously, I followed the traces, the flag in my hand morphing into an icepack. Good flag. Maybe we can help Paul.

The cries outside had turned into screams of triumph, and my stomach lurched. They must have surrounded us. But a peek outside an open door told me it was our team that won, the football players jumping up and down victoriously. But Paul wasn't among them.

"Rocky," he said weakly. "My head hurts." I dashed by his side to put the icepack on his head. But something stopped me.

"Get away from him, Rocky!" A new Paul screamed from the doorway. "He's not real. It's a trick!" My heart sped up, and I glanced at both Pauls, who were identical in every way.

"It's a monster," the injured Paul whimpered. "He's going to attack us." Both Pauls looked the same, talked the same, were the same. Except one of them was badly hurt. Ignoring all my instincts that screamed at me to run away from the haunted mansion as fast as my feet could carry me, I knelt next to wounded Paul and pressed the icepack to his forehead.

Instantly, his eyes glowed red, and he ripped the ice from my hand, which changed into a rainbow flag once more. He grinned and drove the pole into my stomach. A shrill alarm rang through the mansion, and suddenly I was back in my room, gasping and clasping my hands over my belly. I glanced around in panic, but there were no red eyes, no monsters, only a spinning ceiling and a ridiculously loud alarm clock, which I grabbed and threw across the room. It fell to the floor, silent and defeated.

I groaned and shoved my face into my pillow to blot out the morning light. That was one crazy dream, but real life wasn't that much better, to be quite honest. I felt sick to my stomach and dizzy. I whined into my pillow. There may be a slight chance I ended up with a concussion. Maybe I should take today off and hopefully I'd be better tomorrow because I ain't nobody got time for that. A concussion would mean a stop to boxing and that I wouldn't be able to focus or think clearly enough to be useful to Kevin. It meant I'd lose the one ally I ever had.

Wincing, I got to my feet and trudged into the kitchen, where Mom was flipping pancakes. "Morning, honey!" she chirped. "Blueberry pancakes?" There was a plate stacked full of them, and Dad grabbed them and began stuffing his face and drowning himself with coffee.

"Mom, I don't feel well," I mumbled. I watched her high-spirits plummet as her mouth twisted in worry.

"What's the matter, sweetie?" she abandoned the batter and rushed over to me. She put a hand on my forehead. "You don't feel warm."

"My stomach hurts," I said. "I think I'm going to miss school today."

She pouted. "All right, Rocky. But remember, don't miss too much school or you'll fall behind. You want to be on the honor roll, don't you?"