THE TARGET

by Shirley Ann Parker

Sitting In front of the flagpole outside Valley Junior High, Leo Peterson glanced impatiently at the watch on his bony left arm. His mother had given it to him for his birthday. He was proud of his timepiece. So proud, in fact, that he kept his unbuttoned shirt cuff turned back just enough to display it.

“Where is that kid?” he muttered.

Leo shifted his weight and adjusted his shades over his dark eyes.

Suddenly, Leo sucked in his breath as the red-haired 11-year-old bounced around the far corner. She paused briefly to check the street, then stepped into the crosswalk as she headed for the junior high.

“It’s about time,” Leo muttered, getting to his feet.

Leo failed to notice stocky, blond Jim Meadow swinging through the front doors with an armload of books and a pair of gym shoes hanging over his arm.

Following his predetermined plans, Leo crossed the grass, stepped in the flower bed, and jumped easily over the low brick wall to put himself on the outer edge of the sidewalk.

“She won’t run out into traffic to get around me,” he reasoned. “I’ve got it made.”

Jim saw Leo’s move and immediately dropped his belongings.

Palming a hypo at his right side, Leo sauntered past the steps, ready to swiftly tighten his grip on the needle. The grade-schooler looked at him curiously, but didn’t change her approach.

“Get away from her, Leo! Get away!”

Jim ran at Leo, partly winding him. “Run, Chrissy! Run!”

Leo reacted with fury. “Meadow! You! I…you should’ve left already! I’ll… I’ll get you…I’ll kill you for this!” he shouted, staggering around.

Jim and Leo spotted the dropped hypo at the same time. Leo reached it first.

“Run, Chrissy!” ordered Jim again.

Chrissy still stood, paralyzed. Jim caught Leo off-balance and tipped him over the low brick wall. There was a short cry of pain and another, fainter noise that didn’t fully register with him.

He grabbed Chrissy by the arm, half-pushing, half-dragging her up and inside a side door of the junior high.

Mind still whirling, Chrissy finally blurted, “Jimmy, what’s the matter?”

“Don’t ask questions! I can’t answer ‘em now!”

He yanked open a storage closet and shoved Chrissy inside. Sweat stood on his face and neck.

“Stay in there! And don’t make a sound—not a peep!—till I get back.”

“Jimmy!…OK,” she said weakly, her knees starting to shake.

She sat down on an upturned pail, knees hunched up, trying to cry without making a noise.

Jim sped down the empty hallway and into the principal’s outer office. No one was there, and the inner office door was closed. Jim picked up a phone and punched for an open line, then dialed rapidly.

“Slow down, slow down,” he told himself. “There isn’t time for a wrong number.”

When the familiar male voice answered, Jim spoke briefly.

“Outside! Now! He may be hurt.”

He slammed down the receiver and walked slowly back down the hallway, his heart beating loudly. Pausing at the closet, he looked around. No one in sight.

“Chrissy,” he said quietly.

Inside the closet Chrissy stiffened and held her breath.

“Chrissy, it’s all right. It’s Jim. You can come out now.”

He opened the closet and helped her up. Her face was streaked with tears.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because you’re my sister, for one.”

“Oh.”

“Chrissy, he was after you! He had a needle in his hand.”

Chrissy wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “And he was gonna stick me with it, huh?”

“Yep. Guys like him are trying to get you little kids hooked.”

“I’m not little, Jimmy!”

Jim grinned. “Yeah, I know! You’re only three inches shorter than me.”

His smile vanished when they reached the front steps again. Chrissy held on to him, shaking.

“Stay here while I get my books.”

Jim gathered the homework assignments and slung the gym shoes over his shoulder, casting a furtive look around as he did so. “No telling if they got him or if he got away,” he thought.

“See, he’s gone now. It’s safe,” he called.

“I’m glad you were late leaving today,” said Chrissy, holding on to the handrail as she came down.

“Yeah. And I’m going to be late every day from now on.”

“Good!”

“But don’t tell Mom. She’s got enough worries already.”

Chrissy shook her head. “She’d get all upset and start shouting and crying.”

Jim nodded in agreement. “You’re a target, Chrissy,” he thought. “You’re one they’ve picked out.”

“Listen Sis, when you get out at 2:30, stay inside near the school office till I come for you,” he commanded.

“OK, but it’s only three blocks. I’ll wait outside for you.”

“No!” he said sharply.

Chrissy shrugged her shoulders. “OK, big brother!”

Jim frowned most of the way home, musing to himself on the situation even while keeping a lookout for trouble. “At least Valley’s trying to fight pushers and junkies and those other creeps. I’m an informer, a snoop. And if the drug ring ever finds out, I’m a dead duck. They won’t think anything of my looking out for my sister, but if they find out I’m a stoolie…”

He shrugged. “Very few people know who the snoops are. We don’t even know each other. All we’ve got is a memorized phone number and free access to the principal’s office.”

As they dawdled up the driveway, Jim looked at Chrissy.

“Better wash your face, or Mom’ll ask questions.”

Chrissy put a hand to her face. “Oh, yeah! Is Mom in the living-room?”

“’Spect so. I hear the TV.”

Chrissy headed for the back of the house, while Jim greeted mother. “Hi, Mom! We’re home.”

“We?” she asked.

“Chrissy had to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh.”

Later that evening the phone rang and Jim’s mother talked on it for a long time.

“Must be Mrs. Busybody,” he thought. “She finds out everything…or thinks she does.”

Jim’s mother eventually came to the den where Jim was inching through a boring assignment.

“Jim, did you hear anything about the Peterson boy today?”

He blanched momentarily. “Er, Leo? Why, what happened to him?”

“Well, I don’t know! But their next-door neighbor says he’s got his arm in a cast. And that prize watch of his got smashed, somehow. She’s dying to find out what happened!”

“Well, Mom, it’s hard telling. But school can be pretty tough. Maybe someone knocked him down.”

© 1978, 2001 Shirley Ann Parker.  Reprinted from The Winner, September 1978. 
    All rights reserved.