Read Leverage for Free Online

his mouth drops. Coach Nelson cuts him off before his little brain can think to speak.
    â€œCareful how you talk to a teacher, Mike. I’ve just given you your warning.”
    Mike stands there—stupid—but doesn’t say anything.
    â€œCool,” Vance Fisher whispers, his eyes twinkling. Fisher is the type who likes trouble, even if it may lead to getting his ass kicked. About now most of the other gorillas have stopped grunting and heaving long enough to notice our little group gawking at them. We stick close to Coach Nelson and his protective sphere of adult authority.
    Tom Jankowski stops cursing at himself in the mirror and drops his dumbbells onto the rubberized floor with a loud boom that silences the room. He turns to face us. “This is our house,” he huffs. He doesn’t look like he cares that Coach Nelson is an adult and a teacher and, technically, off-limits.
    â€œActually,” Coach Nelson levels his voice at Jankowski, keeping it steady and strong enough to be heard over a few remaining clinks and clanks as other players rack their weights and gather around us, “this is our house, as well.”
    â€œHey, Ted.” Assistant Coach Stein steps into the free weight area from the connecting room where rows of bench presses lie like empty morgue tables. “What seems to be the problem?”
    â€œNo problem, Frank.” Coach Nelson smiles and holds up his hands. “We need to work on some strength training, same as your boys. I figured now would be a great time to teach both teams a little lesson in economics and accounting while I’m at it.”
    â€œI’m not following,” Coach Stein says.
    â€œLet me explain,” Coach Nelson replies. “I just found out our team’s operating budget all but disappeared. That means no money for buses to our away meets and no money to pay the judges who score those meets. Found out the same thing’s happening to cross-country and swimming.”
    â€œWhat’s that got to do with my team’s weight room?” Coach Stein asks. His players cinch closer around us. Like Coach Stein, I’m wondering what the hell Coach Nelson’s talking about. So’s everyone else. Tom Jankowski and Mike Studblatz are both breathing like draft horses and shifting their weight like they can’t wait to stomp us. There’s only one player not standing around, not paying attention, and it’s the new guy, Kurt Brodsky. He’s strapped into the squat rack machine, ignoring all of us while pushing up a warping bar of steel plates equivalent to the mass of a small planet.
    â€œ Our weight room,” Coach Nelson corrects their coach. “Turns out all the money’s gone to paying for that shiny new TV going up in the football stadium, that nifty new Jumbotron. So here’s where the economics and accounting lesson comes into play. You gotta pay for what you take in the real world. Since football took our money, we expect football to start sharing some of the wealth. So we’ll be using the weight room for the season.”
    We will?! I gulp. No way I’m coming into this place again.
    â€œLike hell!” Studblatz shouts. Coach Nelson turns on him fast and moves close, jamming his finger up into Mike’s Adam’s apple. “Son, I already warned you about talking to your teachers in a disrespectful manner. Now, I’m not going to warn you again.”
    Coach Nelson’s shorter than Studblatz but he’s layered with wiry rock climber muscle. Mike Studblatz, as angry as he’s getting, holds his tongue for the moment.
    â€œThis weight room is for real athletes,” Tom Jankowski tells our coach. Jankowski keeps making his hands into fists and opening them like he’s seriously considering taking a run at Coach Nelson.
    â€œYou’re right,” Coach Nelson counters. “And that’s why I’m not sure my gymnasts should even tolerate you guys