The door opened behind us, and Jordan called, “We need your help with Race.”
Cross and I moved at the same time, going for the house.
“They’re hurting him?” Cross yelled.
“No.” Jordan pushed the door wide for us. “It’s the other way around. He’s hurting them. It’s all-out war out there.”
We ran through the house and out onto the front lawn. He wasn’t kidding.
The back half of the crowd was the jocks and their friends. The other half, their backs to the streets, was the Ryerson crew. I stopped to count them. Our crew went everywhere together, but Ryerson’s crew was big—over thirty the last I knew—so they didn’t always need everyone at a fight.
Tonight, however, I counted just under thirty, including the four on the ground.
Race stood in the middle of everything, throwing the crew mem
