by Kate Beasley
“Dash! Dash! Dash!” they shouted.
Frederick’s heart pounded. They were cheering for him. The boys on the sidelines were chanting his name, clapping, jumping up and down.
While Frederick was listening, at the other end, two more boys got out. Besides Frederick, that left only two others, and they were scrambling for the balls, which were bouncing across the ground.
Frederick stood very still at his end of the field, hoping the other two wouldn’t notice him down there.
Of course, it didn’t help that the boys on the sidelines were shouting his name. But still, Frederick thought, the two boys would try to get each other out first.
They didn’t. One of the boys grabbed a ball and turned and ran, ignoring the other boy entirely and heading right for Frederick.
It was Specs. And the other boy—who was tearing after him now—was Ant Bite. Both of them were clutching balls and coming toward Frederick.
Frederick was at the far edge of the field. He couldn’t run away from them. But he couldn’t just stand there either. He was going to have to run at them. There was nothing for it. He started running toward Specs. They were speeding at each other like two trains about to collide head-on. But as soon as Frederick was within throwing distance, he moved at a diagonal. Specs changed direction to intercept him.
Frederick dodged. Left, right. But Specs matched him, every move, getting closer and closer. Ant Bite was closing in on the pair of them. Then Specs was yelling and pulling back his arm. The ball left his fingertips.
Frederick yelled and ducked just as Ant Bite threw the ball in his own hands. Ant Bite’s ball collided, midair, with Specs’s. The balls ricocheted off each other. One arced in Frederick’s direction. The other ball rebounded and hit Ant Bite in the shoulder.
Frederick lunged forward and scooped up the ball that was rolling past him.
He was panting. His pulse throbbed in his ears. The ball that had hit Ant Bite was rolling away. Specs twisted toward it, moving to retrieve it, looking back over his shoulder as he did and squinting at Frederick.
Frederick had his ball in his hands. Specs was right in front of him. Close. Close enough that Frederick should be able to hit him.
But he remembered earlier, throwing the ball and it bouncing on the ground. He knew that if he threw and missed, Specs would have two balls. So Frederick did the only thing he could. He held the dodgeball out in front of him in both hands and ran after Specs.
It was like someone had muted the boys on the side. All he could hear was his breath and Specs’s shoes hitting the ground. At the edge of his vision, he saw the boys on the side jumping up and down, their mouths moving but no noise coming out. In front of him, Specs’s elbows pumped as he ran.
Frederick’s legs picked up speed. Specs was right in front of him. Then Frederick’s toe caught on the ground and he tripped. He fell forward, the ball in his hands, no way to break his fall, and as he went down, in slow motion, he saw the rubber ball just barely … boop the back of Specs’s calf. Specs let out a surprised gasp. Then Frederick’s chest hit the ground.
The volume turned back up.
“You’re out!” Ant Bite yelled at Specs.
Eric’s whistle sounded, and the campers roared, “DASH!”
14
Frederick, Victorious
“Okay, okay!” Eric shouted over the boys. “Game over. Dash wins.”
Frederick lay on the ground, the words sinking in. He had won. He had won!
“YEAHHH!” He jumped to his feet and punched the air. Then he spun around and pointed at Specs, who was slouching toward the edge of the field. “YES!” Frederick yelled. “Yes!”
The boys on the sideline were applauding and cheering. “Go, Dash!”
As he looked at the boys clapping for him, Frederick’s whole body seemed to become lighter, like his tennis shoes might come off the ground. The pine trees around the field were tall and straight and greener than green. The sky stretched above. The boys’ voices were as sharp and crisp as … as Doritos. Was this how it felt to not be a flea? Nothing was wrong, and everything was right, and Frederick wished he could freeze this moment in time and stay in it forever.
Then he spotted Nosebleed and the Professor. They were standing together at the edge of the field, a little removed from the other campers. They had their arms around each other and were cheering. Frederick could make out their voices through the roar.
“That’s our boy!” they yelled. “Go, Dash!”
Specs stalked over to stand by them. Frederick picked up the dodgeball at his feet, tucked it under his arm, and started toward his group, too.
Then the Professor lifted his arm—the one that wasn’t slung around Nosebleed—and, looking at Frederick, he beckoned. He waved him over in a universal gesture of true friendship, acceptance, and camaraderie.
The Professor shouted, “Come on, Dash!” and waved him over again.
Frederick’s heart soared like a kite, rising high on a swell of wind.
Then Ant Bite stepped in front of him.
Frederick jerked to a stop.
“Now we have to go,” Ant Bite said, glancing over his shoulder at Eric and the campers milling around on the sidelines. He pulled the small bag that he’d packed for Frederick off his shoulder and held it out.
Frederick’s heart hung in the air a moment and then plummeted.
He hadn’t forgotten about Ant Bite’s and the others’ plan to run away, but his victory at dodgeball had been so magnificent that it had made the others’ plan seem no bigger than a gnat. And he had assumed the rest of Group Thirteen would feel the same way. But the bag was dangling from Ant Bite’s hand.
The light dimmed. The trees looked scrubby and short. And Frederick’s perfect moment was over, just like that.
“Quiet, campers!” Eric shouted. “We’re going to the river for laps!”
The boys’ hands paused mid-applause and dropped to their sides. They groaned and exchanged horrified looks with one another, forgetting all about Frederick and his victory.
“What about breakfast?” someone asked.
The boys were all talking at once, complaining about missing breakfast and asking why they weren’t sticking to their schedules, and where were their own counselors?
“Did you carry that thing while you were playing?” Frederick asked, jutting his chin at the pack. He sidestepped until Ant Bite was no longer between him and the crowd of boys who were now dispersing.
Ant Bite grabbed Frederick’s sleeve to pull him back, but Frederick jerked his arm away.
“Hey, stop walking!” Ant Bite said, stepping on Frederick’s heel.
“Aargh!” Frederick yelled in pain, and stopped so suddenly that Ant Bite ran into him. “Leave me alone!” Frederick snapped, turning around. His neck was hot.
“Whoa!” Ant Bite said. “What’s your problem?”
“What’s my problem?” Frederick exclaimed. “What’s my problem,” he said again, in exasperation. He didn’t know how to explain it. He didn’t know how to say that he was tired of being a flea. And that he had just almost had what he’d always wanted, only he wasn’t even going to get a chance to enjoy it. What he did know was that he was suddenly very angry and upset, and Ant Bite was standing directly in the path of that anger.
“I never said I was actually going to go on a cruise with you. We were just talking last night. I can’t—I can’t believe you didn’t realize that.” He started to turn back to where the other guys from Thirteen were waiting. But before he’d taken two steps, Ant Bite was in front of him again, blocking his way.
“We helped you win,” Ant Bite said in an accusing voice, and flung his arm out, indicating the dodgeball field. It was obvious what he meant. Since they’d helped Frederick win, he owed it to them to go along with their trip to Port Verde Shoals.
“You didn’t help me win,” Frederick said. Maybe Ant Bite and the others had done a little bit to help. Maybe they had helped a few times. But really, he had
done a lot of it himself. He remembered running, dodging, weaving in and out. He had done that. Yeah, maybe he was a flea and all that, but he wasn’t totally useless. And he was sick of everybody acting like he was. He pushed Ant Bite aside.
“What about what you said last night?” Ant Bite said. He scrambled to get in front of Frederick again, and he put his hands against Frederick’s chest and gave him a shove. “About cruises being so great and how it was the one time you could get away from your problems.”
“So what!” Frederick said, shoving Ant Bite in return and pushing past him.
He made it to the edge of the field, where Nosebleed and the Professor were waiting for them. They were the last ones left. Specs was a short distance away. He’d started back toward the cabin to change, but he was dragging his feet so much that he was still in earshot.
“Hey,” Frederick started to say to Nosebleed and the Professor, but then something pushed him hard in the back. Frederick lurched forward, staggering into the Professor. He caught his balance and spun around to see Ant Bite standing with his hands curled into fists.
“No fighting!” Nosebleed pleaded.
Ant Bite’s face was stony. “You were talking about how you got to go on vacation and get away from your problems. Well, I’ve got problems, too!”
“Then deal with them yourself!” Frederick said. “Everybody else does.”
Nosebleed gasped. The Professor winced as if Frederick’s words stung. Frederick clicked his teeth together. Specs had stopped walking and turned back to them.
Ant Bite stuck out his chin. “If we stay, we’ll get in trouble,” he said. “They’re gonna find out that it was us who did the tires and the phone.”
“And the window,” Nosebleed added.
“And the—” the Professor began.
“So we have to go now!” Ant Bite said, urgency tingeing his voice.
“I didn’t do any of that stuff!” Frederick said. “And I didn’t tell you to!” He pushed his hands through his hair.
“Yes, you did,” Ant Bite said. “We did this because of you. This was your idea. If we get in trouble, you do, too.”
“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Frederick said nastily. “Somebody like you should be used to being in trouble.”
The words somebody like you echoed in Frederick’s head. He wasn’t sure why, but he immediately knew that it was something he should not have said.
“I mean,” Frederick said, trying to explain what he’d meant, “what’s the big deal? You’re always kicking rocks at people, waving knives around. Aren’t you in trouble all the time?”
The silence prickled Frederick’s skin. But he was right, wasn’t he? Ant Bite really had done all those things. Maybe Nosebleed and the Professor hadn’t really deserved to be sent to a disciplinary camp, but Ant Bite had.
Ant Bite’s jaw was tight. He looked at Frederick for a moment, and his chest heaved. Frederick was sure that Ant Bite was about to cry or yell or hit him, but then the other boy just shrugged, and his face went completely blank.
“Whatever,” Ant Bite said. “Maybe you’re too scared to go. Maybe you don’t actually have any problems you have to get away from. But I’m going.” He looped the strap of the bag over his shoulder. Then he turned and started walking across the dodgeball field, away from the river and the other campers and the buildings.
After a few steps, he stopped and looked over his shoulder, past Frederick, at Nosebleed and the Professor.
“Are you guys coming?” he asked in a rough voice.
“Well, I mean, if Dash isn’t going…” The Professor trailed off uncertainly. “It was his idea. He’s the one who knows about cruises.”
“I never wanted to go,” Nosebleed said.
Ant Bite’s eyes cut to Specs.
Specs lifted his gaze to Frederick but didn’t quite meet his eye.
Frederick remembered the catch in Specs’s breath when the dodgeball hit him.
Specs shrugged slowly. “I’ll do whatever Dash wants to do,” he said.
Ant Bite looked at them all. Then he turned around again, straightened his shoulders, and kept walking.
Frederick watched him go, and he was sure that Ant Bite was just about to chicken out and turn around … come back. Of course he was.
But Ant Bite was getting farther and farther away. Frederick shifted his weight from foot to foot. He thought he ought to do something now. Maybe call Ant Bite back or run after him and apologize. Except Frederick didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. Nothing he needed to apologize for.
He looked back at the others. The Professor and Nosebleed were exchanging uncomfortable looks. Specs was watching Ant Bite leave with an expressionless face.
“Come on,” Specs said dismissively. “He’s just jealous he didn’t win.” He started back toward the camp, and Nosebleed and the Professor slowly turned and went with him.
“He’ll come back,” the Professor said to Frederick as he went. “He’ll get scared and come back.”
Frederick wasn’t sure, though. Something about the way Ant Bite’s face had gone blank like that bothered him.
The feeling he’d had before … the feeling of being a winner, something more than a flea … it was gone, but he could still remember the shape of it, like the smoke skeleton that hung in the sky after a firework’s sparks had burned away. As that glorious feeling faded, Frederick came to a decision.
The right thing to do was to find an adult and tell them everything. Tell them about Ant Bite running off and about Frederick being lost. Frederick headed toward the buildings. He didn’t want Nosebleed or the Professor to get in trouble. He didn’t want Ant Bite to get in trouble either, even after all the stuff he’d done. But Frederick needed to get this straightened out once and for all. He was going to tell. Maybe he would leave out the part about the phone line, but that was it.
A roaring noise to his left made him look up. A truck was flying through the woods, bouncing over tree roots, coming right at him.
“Aaah!” Frederick yelled.
The truck’s brakes screeched. The whole machine lurched forward and then jerked to a stop, the engine growling. Heat blew off the metal grille, stirring the hairs on Frederick’s arm.
He stood frozen to the spot, nothing moving except his dancing arm hairs.
The engine cut off, and a woman with a short ponytail and a counselor’s uniform sprang out of the truck cab and slammed the door so hard Frederick felt it in his teeth.
“What were you thinking?” the woman shouted as she marched up to him. Her hiking boots went scrunch, scrunch against the sandy earth. “Don’t you know to look both ways before you step in front of a diesel truck?”
Frederick was still petrified, or he would have been able to explain to the woman that he hadn’t looked both ways because there was no road in between the cabins, so there was nothing to look both ways for except maybe a rogue deer or a bunny rabbit. Also, he had it on good authority that none of the trucks were working because someone had slashed their tires.
All of those would’ve been good things to tell the woman, but Frederick could only stare at her, with every muscle in his body clenched.
“How have you even survived this long?!” the woman yelled. “Hey! Answer me, kid.” She adjusted her name tag with a sharp yank. It said Gloria Harris, Counselor. Piedmont State, Forestry Management.
Up ahead, Specs, Nosebleed, and the Professor had turned around and were watching the scene with wide eyes. Some of the other campers had run out of their cabins when they’d heard the brakes squeal. Benjamin was jogging toward the truck, a walkie-talkie in each hand. Then a pale boy with pointy eyebrows got out of the passenger side of the truck.
“Dash, are you okay?” Benjamin called as he hurried toward Frederick.
“Urgh,” Frederick groaned in answer.
At the exact same time, the pale boy sneered at Benjamin and said, “Why do you care?”
“Glo, you nearly killed Dash.” Benjamin st
opped beside Frederick and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Why were you driving so fast?”
“Dash?” Glo looked from Benjamin to Frederick. Then she pointed at the pale boy who’d gotten out of the truck. “This is Dash.”
15
The Real Dash Blackwood
“Your name’s Dash, too?” Frederick asked, staring at the new boy.
The boy shook his blond hair out of his eyes. “I’m Dashiell Blackwood,” he corrected Frederick. He said his name like it was in italics, and the implication was obvious. Someone who was so special that he had to italicize his name, even when he was talking, someone like Dashiell Blackwood, was not to be spoken to, looked at, or breathed on by someone like Frederick.
“Oh,” Frederick said, realizing that this was the Dash. And he shouldn’t have been surprised that the real Dash Blackwood had shown up, but he was.
The thing was, he had gotten so used to being Dashiell Blackwood that he now felt like Dashiell Blackwood kind of belonged to him. It was like he’d found a stray dog and taken care of him for a while and gotten attached. He didn’t want to give Dash back to this boy with the sharp eyebrows.
“But”—Benjamin pointed at Frederick with one of the walkie-talkies—“this is…”
The Professor, Nosebleed, and Specs were easing closer. Frederick was beginning to think that it would be better if this conversation took place in private, but Benjamin was already going on.
He indicated Frederick again. “He’s Dashiell Blackwood.”
“This is Dash,” the woman called Glo insisted, jabbing a finger at the new boy. “I picked him up at a police station in St. Mary’s.” She paused and then said, with something close to respect, “He robbed a bakery with a curling iron and a tabby cat.”
Dash—the real Dash—sighed and looked around the camp with a sour twist to his mouth, like he wasn’t impressed by what he saw.
“So,” Benjamin said. “So … there are two Dashiells?”
“Noooo.” Glo’s eyes closed, and her fingers curled into fists, like she was trying to stop herself from strangling Benjamin. She opened her eyes and pointed at the pale boy. “This is Dash.” Then she turned to face Frederick.