Chapter Two
Wade Gillespie plucked the Chinese throwing stars from the rotting wood of the old falling down shed in his backyard. He retraced his steps to the line he’d scratched in the dirt fifteen feet from his target, the same distance from the free throw line to the bucket in a basketball game. It seemed like a good distance to practice from. He held one of the shiny steel stars up at eye level and locked in on his target, a red bull’s eye he’d painted with some of his mom’s fingernail polish. He fired and missed . . . the entire shed.
Gotta lock your wrist. Gotta! Gotta! Gotta!
He took aim again but before he let fly, he caught movement from the corner of his eye just like a good ninja would. There was a kid pedaling his bike across the field over by the water tower. Wade jumped to
