Soar by Tracy Edward Wymer Page B

pedaling—but it’s almost impossible because the tires have no air in them—while the injured leg just hangs there.
    Gabriela holds on to the handlebars tightly. We ride away into the night, away from Mouton’s house, away from trouble.

Mouton Strikes Back
    W e’re halfway down the street, rolling along on two flat tires, when something tinks off my bike spokes. I slow my pedaling and look behind us.
    Mouton is standing under a streetlight, still dressed in his apron. He’s aiming a slingshot at us!
    â€œGo, go, go!” Gabriela shouts from atop the handlebars.
    I pedal faster, harder, but my good leg can only do so much. Then a sting takes my breath away, like a syringe pricking my back.
    â€œI’ve been hit!” I yell.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe hit me in the back!”
    It suddenly hurts to talk. It feels like Mouton shot me with a dry ice arrow and froze my skin. The world suddenly turns cloudy. Everything slows down, like it’s in superslow motion. Even my hearing is muffled, like I’m swimming underwater. Streaks of fuzzy orange light shoot down from the streetlights. My legs become heavy, and it takes all my effort to keep pedaling.
    I blink twice to clear my head, hoping my vision and hearing will go back to normal before I lose control of my bike and dump Gabriela into the street.
    â€œKeep pedaling,” Gabriela says. “We are getting closer to my house.”
    Two more objects ricochet off the pavement next to my bike.
    Mouton calls after us. “I’m going to get you, Bird Nerd!”
    And then we hear “Eddie-shovel-truck! Eddie-shovel-truck! Eddie . . .” until we leave his words behind and make it safely out of slingshot distance.
    At Gabriela’s house, under the bathroom light, she examines my back.
    â€œAhhh.”I clench my teeth and wince but try to stay strong. After all, who wants to be friends with a wimp? “What did he hit me with?” I make a seriously tough face.
    â€œI am not sure,” Gabriela says. “There is nothing there. Only a large red spot.”
    Something falls out of my Ninja Bird costume and rolls across the bathroom floor. Gabriela bends down and holds the object up to the light.
    â€œWhat is it?” I ask her, before the round object comes into focus.
    â€œI think it is a blue piece of chewing gum.”
    â€œMouton shot me with a gumball.”
    Gabriela places an ice pack over the red welt on my back. “You are luck. This could have been much worse.”
    â€œYou mean ‘lucky.’ ”
    Gabriela presses harder on the ice pack.
    â€œOuch! Take it easy.”
    â€œI knew you would be injured during this mission. Night air is bad air.”
    â€œWhere did you hear that? Let me guess, The Phantom Tollbooth ?”
    â€œThat is right, Eddie. I am learning more English phrases from Milo and his dog than I am learning at school.”
    â€œHave you made it to the part in the book when they go to the—”
    â€œEddie! Do not ruin the story for me!”
    She adjusts the ice pack on my red welt.
    â€œYou should see Mouton’s room,” I say, remembering what I saw at Mouton’s house. “It’s covered in all these paintings that look real. I can’t believe he can paint like that.”
    â€œI am not surprised.”
    â€œReally? How can you not be surprised?”
    â€œEveryone has a talent. Mouton cannot control what comes out of his mouth, but he can control what he puts on a white canvas.”
    I look at my back in the mirror. “You know, when you say it like that, it sort of makes sense.”
    â€œMaybe he can help you with your project,” she says, holding the ice pack steady.
    â€œMaybe.” I shrug. And that’s when I realize that if I want to win the blue ribbon, I’ll first have to win Mouton. That’s going to be difficult. I have a better chance of finding a dodo than convincing