Rick Riley Mighty Ducks Novels & Stories

Their behavior was as if he was an actual celebrity. "My name is Kurt Rodriguez, Miss Summers. And yes, I am a celebrity. Not one who does action in movies or series. I do real life action. I am a bike racer." He replied to me and my eyes almost popped out of their sockets. The girls turned to look at me. They were staring at me as if I was an alien. Well, I was looking at them with the same gaze. How in hell girls knew a bike racer. Not that they would watch sports like bike racing and all. At least I don't waste my time on watching Bike racers. I had so many more things to do.

The total value was fifty million. The only problem? Disappearing without a trace. Darian had completely dumped Chloe, but now all his attention was glued on me. I dodged his confessions a few times, but deep down I knew—time to plan my escape. Right when I was about to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, the Ackleys crashed back in. Chloe looked awful. Her skin was gray, her vibe sucked, nothing like the smug queen she'd been a month ago.

They were good at it. My heart would have beat louder if I was an amateur dragon. But I was blessed with a mature dragon. When they brought the box and opened it, the Mighty Heart shined like a star and it started beating again. It recognized me. And it knew that I was close to it, closer than ever. The whole crowd was amazed when they saw what the mighty heart did. But no one except for me and my four allies, knew that it was me who made the Mighty Heart start beating again. I was happy in my heart that at least, my people, who were suffering. That heartbeat would lessen their suffering.

Too bad they never imagined I had already gotten rid of it. My phone suddenly buzzed with a message. I glanced down and smiled bitterly. Mom and Dad thought it was a concerned message from Byron, and they exchanged guilty glances. Unfortunately, they were only half right. It was indeed from Byron, but the message read, "Something came up at work. I won't be home tonight." Right after that, Claire sent me a video. Byron was in the hospital, head bowed as he peeled an orange for her, his gaze tender. The caption read, "I'm the one Byron loves. An ugly duckling is forever an ugly duckling. You'll never become a swan."

When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Riley. He was slouched in a chair by the bed, half-asleep, his head bobbing. As soon as he noticed me awake, he sat up straight, his face lighting up. "You're awake! Are you thirsty? I'll grab you some water. Don't worry—Sherry and her crew got arrested." "But don't move too much," he added, his tone soft. "The doctor said your injuries aren't serious, but your arm's broken. You'll need to take it easy for a while."

It's obvious the kid was playing around. "Here, water," I said tossing each one of them a bottle. They instantly gulped mouthfuls before putting down the now empty bottle and wiping their sweat. The room was fully air-conditioned but moving around so much must have caused them to sweat a lot that they started stripping off their soaked shirts before I knew it. I really don't mind seeing half-naked guys, not as much as they wanted to show off. I think Clark's got the best build among the four of them, maybe because he often plays the bass without a shirt. He's tall and lean. Not much tattoos either.

Right? Grandma and Grandpa Holland let me keep it as long as I promised not to do boneheaded things like Dad used to. I don’t remember Dad ever doing boneheaded things, so I sort of took it as a suggestion more than a rule. I race out of the cul-de-sac, letting the motor roar when I change gears. When I pull out onto the main road, I see Riley about half a mile ahead of me on his Ducati. At least I won’t be the only one late for the Chemistry final. I quickly catch up to him and pull up into a wheelie. I lower my leg behind the bike to get more height out of it. He does the same for a good ten seconds before we bring the bikes back down and race the rest of the way to school.

The snap sounded like my body's last protest before my hand finally loosened. I had been clutching a transparent ziplock bag, the kind my grandmother used to store her blood pressure medicine. The scientist opened it carefully and removed a folded piece of paper. The bag had protected it from the water. Only the edges were slightly damp. Crayon marks covered the page, words mixed with simple musical notation. The title read, "A Song for Mom." [One little duck went out one day. A home from my dad not far away. Daddy duck said quack quack quack. That little duck came home right away.