The Second Horror by R. L. Stine Read Free Book Online

“Ninety-nine … Fear Street? Are you serious?” Brandt nodded. “Yeah. I’m serious.” “Weird,” she murmured. “It’s just a house,” Brandt replied with a shrug. “Well—it can’t be all bad if you live there,” she said softly, her eyes locked on his. “Excellent!” Brandt exclaimed. “Come over around two.” He watched her as she walked down the hall to her next class. Yes! he thought. Excellent. Now—how to get Mom and Dad out of the house?
    “Okay! Lay-ups!” Coach Hurley’s deep voice echoed through the gym. Brandt lined up with the other guys to run down the court, leap into the air, and shoot the ball into the basket with one hand. When his turn came, Brandt dribbled the ball quickly and smoothly, and went for a graceful lay-up. The ball rolled inside the rim and dropped out. I’ll make the next one, he thought. He knew he’d looked good making the shot, at least.
    Jon took his turn after Brandt. His lay-up swished perfectly through the hoop. He glanced at Brandt after the shot went through. Yeah, I saw it, Jon, Brandt thought, rolling his eyes. “Great shot, Jon. Let’s see you do it again,” Brandt shouted. “Let’s see you do it once!” Jon taunted. Brandt’s next lay-up was as graceful as the first. His lanky arms and legs moved in perfect symmetry. And this time the ball dropped through the basket with a swish. He didn’t glance at Jon to check his reaction. Instead, he coolly trotted back to the line as if nothing special had happened. Jon’s next shot barely missed. Jon stood behind Brandt in line and whispered. “It’s a tie. One to one. Best out of three?” Brandt nodded. He shook his arms and legs. They began to feel heavy and tired. Come on, he urged himself. Don’t give out on me. Just one more shot. The guy ahead of Brandt passed him the ball. Brandt caught it and dribbled toward the basket. He leapt for the shot, the ball in his right hand. He stretched his right arm high into the air. “Owwww!” He cried out as he heard a loud snap.

Chapter 12
    A sharp jolt shot through his shoulder. Screeching in pain, Brandt clutched his shoulder. His arm felt dead. It hung lifelessly at his side, pain shooting out from the joint, arching over his entire body. Coach Hurley was at Brandt’s side immediately. “I think you dislocated it,” he said. To Brandt’s amazement, the coach firmly gripped Brandt’s arm with both hands and shoved it back into place. “Whoooooa!” Brandt cried in agony. But the arm instantly felt better. The intense pain dulled to an ache. “I’ve never seen anybody dislocate a shoulder that easily,” Mr. Hurley said, scratching his bald head. “You ever pull the arm out before?” “No,” Brandt answered. “Well, you’d better go to the nurse’s office and get a sling,” the coach told him. “You’ve got to get it X-rayed as soon as possible. I think your season may be over, son.” Out of the corner of his eye, Brandt saw Jon smirk. Brandt turned away, forcing down his angry feelings, and trudged slowly out of the gym to find the nurse.
    Half an hour later Brandt started walking home, moving awkwardly with his arm in a sling. “How am I going to explain this to Mom and Dad?” he asked himself. “A fistfight in the student senate?” He crossed Park Drive and was halfway down the next block, when someone stepped out of the shadows and darted toward him. Instinctively, Brandt backed away. “Stay away!” he shouted. “Hey, Brandt, it’s only me.” A girl stepped into a pool of sunlight. Meg.
    “I know you didn’t want to be my lab partner,” she joked, “but I didn’t think you were terrified of me!” She laughed her high-pitched, whistling laugh. Brandt relaxed. “I’m sorry, Meg,” he said. “It’s been a long day.” Meg studied him curiously. “Hey—what happened to your arm?” “Basketball practice,” Brandt muttered. “I dislocated my shoulder.” Meg tossed back her auburn hair. “Jon didn’t have