How to Beat the Bully Without Really Trying Read online

  I turned around. Josh was there, with Toby a little behind. The long-nosed lunch lady was far away talking to other aides and not paying attention to the students. I gulped. Josh reached down and picked up my ham sandwich. “Toby here says you’re a new kid. You lied to me on the bus.”

  “No, no I didn’t. I thought you meant new to the United States. Like if I just moved here from Japan or Russia or something . . .”

  “He’s definitely a liar,” Toby interrupted. “That’s not a very nice thing to do, Rodneeeey.”

  “I agree completely,” I blubbered. “I was just saying to Rishi here how much I hate liars. . . .”

  “Yeah, it isn’t very nice to lie to me. I guess you and me goin’ to have a little talk about manners at recess.” With that, Josh squeezed my sandwich in his fist. “Hey Toby,” he asked, “how about a game of ham-ball?” They both laughed as he threw my sandwich halfway across the cafeteria into the side of some kid’s face. The kid, who was drinking from a milk carton, had his head knocked back and milk went flying all over him and three of his friends. He whirled around and jumped up to see who had thrown it, ready for a fight. When he saw Josh and Toby laughing, he slowly turned back and started cleaning up the mess.

  “I should be a pitcher. That was a perfect strike,” Josh said. He looked back down at me and sneered, “I’ll see you outside,” and walked off.

  Rishi, who had said nothing the whole time, said, “Too bad, Rodney. We probably would have liked you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re dead; that’s what I mean.” That was the second time this morning I had heard those words, and the worst part was that now I believed it. A minute later when we lined up for recess, my three new friends wished me good luck but moved away, not wanting to be near the recess sacrifice.

  We filed out through the doors in the back of the cafeteria. Some kids bolted for the soccer field, others for the swings. Being a professional coward, I tore off in search of a place to hide for thirty minutes. I ran and ducked behind a big bush twice my size. My heart was pounding. I tried to peer through the bush, but it was too thick. I didn’t want to stick my head out and get spotted, so I sat blindly, hiding, waiting.

  I might have noticed them coming if I could see, but it was too late. The next thing I knew Toby walked around the corner and shouted, “Aha!” Panic gripped me and I took off in the other direction, running smack into Josh.

  “Gotcha! Trying to hide? Well, you can’t escape our talk. I think you need a lesson in manners. Isn’t that right, Toby?”

  Toby, who was behind me, answered with evil glee, “That’s right. He should know lying isn’t good manners.” Other students noticed the three of us and gathered around. I wondered if this was the kind of excitement my dad was talking about. I’d be sure to tell him all about it later on in the emergency room—if I could, that is.

  The crowd encircled us. “That’s right!” Josh yelled, rolling his head back and forth. “Come see me learn the new kid some manners.” I looked for the aides. They were in the distance talking and laughing, completely unaware that I was about to get beaten to a pulp. Frantically, I looked for any other adults that might help me, but all I saw was the high school baseball team practicing on a field on the other side of the fence. I heard the crack of a bat hitting a ball in the distance. A hard shove from Josh knocked me back to reality. This was it.

  “So what’ll it be, a black eye or a bloody nose?”

  “What’s the third choice?” I asked.

  He looked confused. “Enough talking,” he frowned. “Ready to die, new kid?” He pulled back his fist and took aim.

  What a dumb question, I began to think, and then it happened . . . an event that was to change my life.

  Some kid yelled, “Hey, look up there,” but he didn’t have to, because everyone was looking up anyway as five navy jets zoomed in low over our heads. Everyone looked up but me, that is. I was like a deer in the headlights, just staring straight ahead waiting for Josh’s punch. And that’s probably why I saw the ball—a mammoth home run from the high school team—coming straight our way, over the fence, flying like a bullet, sailing right toward us, and right at Josh!

  It smashed him square in the nose with a loud crack and knocked him out before ricocheting away under the bush. With everyone looking up at the planes, no one but me—not even Josh—had seen the ball hit. As the jets sped away, the crowd’s attention returned to the big fight. What they saw was Josh knocked out cold, sprawled at my feet with a bloody nose. Suddenly all eyes were on me. Then someone yelled, “Wow, the new kid knocked out Josh! He did it. Someone finally decked Josh!”

  Chapter 3

  MR. FEEBLETOP

  Kids yelled in amazement. They patted me on the back and some cheered. For a moment I thought they might start singing, “Ding dong, the bully’s dead. . . .”

  After a few minutes my brain kicked into gear and I smiled to myself. When one kid asked how I did it, I responded with a relaxed, “It was nothing.” This impressed them. I was now the kid to respect and maybe fear. One boy even acted out the fight. “It went like this,” he announced. “Josh swung his fist down at the new kid. He . . .” (pointing at me) “. . . ducked and Josh missed, then he . . .” (again pointing at me) “. . . Hey, what’s your name, anyway?”

  “His name is Rodney, he’s from New York, and he’s with us.” It was Rishi, who had popped up out of nowhere.

  “Where’d you come from?” I whispered to him.

  “What? We had your back all along,” he replied, leaning over to take a picture of Josh.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Well, I was prepared to collect your teeth,” he said with a sly smile, “or write your mom a sad letter saying you died a brave death.”

  I smiled too. “Gee thanks, pal.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Meanwhile the storyteller was still going on. “. . . Rodney then came up with this vicious right hook. It smashed into Josh’s nose and he went down like a sack of potatoes. It was like Bam and Boom! What a punch!” Other kids chimed in saying that they’d seen it too. In every story I delivered some version of the greatest punch in playground history. Listening to them, I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t say much, if anything. Say, “Oh, it was nothing,” or, “I didn’t do much.” Stories sound a lot better and are more believable coming from someone else’s mouth.

  Everyone was all smiles until we were interrupted by a shriek. “Oh my goodness! Oh oh ahh . . .” Long Nose, the aide, had finally arrived on the scene. Kids scattered, leaving a couple of us standing over Josh, who was moaning and holding his nose. “Who did this?” she screamed. She was on the verge of hysterics and, glancing down at Josh, I noticed he did look gruesome. Another aide joined us and was bending over him. Long Nose asked again, this time more angrily than before, “Who did this?”

  The other kids backed away. I knew I was going to get it, but any punishment was better than saying the truth about the baseball. I raised my hand.

  “You! New kid!” she snapped. “We don’t hit at Baber Intermediate. Look what you did to that poor boy. You’re going to the principal. We’ll see what Mr. Feebletop has to say about this!” She grabbed my arm and off we went. Her ranting about my behavior and rudeness continued across the field, down the hall, and even as we walked into the main office. By the time she had me placed on a bench I wasn’t just frightened, I was deaf.

  She lowered her voice as she spoke to two secretaries but she still sounded upset. One of them went into the principal’s office followed by Long Nose. I could hear them talking, interrupted by an occasional deep grunt. After a couple of minutes she flew by, sneering, “You little wretch. You’re going to get it.”

  Now, waiting to speak to the principal is a scary thing. Thanks to my big mouth, I’d faced principals before and knew I was going to get some horrible speech and even worse punishment. The scariest part is that I knew nothing about this Mr. Feebletop. I craned my neck to se
e into his office. At that moment, an aide led a bleeding Josh into the nurse’s office. The second he saw me, Josh jumped back and grabbed the nurse for protection. I almost laughed, but I heard the principal cough and remembered my immediate problems. Principals, after all, are the enforcers of the building, and fighting is always the worst thing you can do. “You may go in now,” the secretary announced. I was about to meet my fate.

  Mr. Feebletop had a frown on his large round face. He was big and bald with a very shiny head. His tie was loosened around his thick neck. He leaned in closer to his desk and looked at me with a serious expression. “Sit down,” he said.

  I walked over to a chair opposite him and as I sat I noticed a baseball on his desk, and that his walls were covered with photos of baseball players in orange and blue uniforms. The colors of the New York Mets, I thought. They were my hometown team. Behind his desk was a big framed picture of Tom Seaver, the great Mets pitcher. My mouth blurted out: “Tom Seaver.” Again, it had acted on its own and was probably about to get me into even hotter water.

  Mr. Feebletop spun around, stood up, and walked over to the picture. “You know about Tom Seaver?” he asked.

  “He is the greatest Met of all time,” I answered.

  “You are completely right about that,” he almost yelled. “They should never have traded him. Ahhhh, that was the team. The ’69 Mets.”

  “They were great in 1986, too,” I said. “Keith Hernandez was an awesome first baseman.” My dad was a big Mets fan and had made me watch a number of the old classic games.

  “He was one of the best,” Mr. Feebletop agreed. Then a big grin spread across his face. “So you know about Keith Hernandez, huh? They just don’t make them like that anymore, do they? He was the finest defensive first baseman of the twentieth century.”

  From this point on, Mr. Feebletop launched into a history of the team. At times, I mentioned little things I knew. How long we sat there I’m not sure, but one thing was certain. Not since Christmas morning had I seen anyone so happy. Eventually, a secretary stuck her head in.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Feebletop. Mrs. Panic wants to talk to you about her chorus schedule.”

  “Oh, uh, okay,” he answered. He looked back at me. “Well, it was great meeting you . . .”

  “Rodney.”

  “Ah yes, Rodney. We should do this again. Oh . . .” He paused. “. . . Let me think. Oh yes, you were fighting, right? Well, hmmm. Try not to do it again. Oh hey, did you see my Tom Seaver baseball?”

  “I did. It’s great,” I answered.

  He smiled at me as I walked out of his office. I could hear him mumbling to himself, “A nice boy, a nice boy.”

  Chapter 4

  MY NEW REPUTATION

  I couldn’t believe my luck. The bully hadn’t pounded me, I had gotten credit for knocking him out, and I had escaped without a major punishment! Back in class the kids all looked excited and smiled at me. Rishi yelled, “Rodney Balboa!” and I raised my arms like the champ.

  “Silence, Rishi,” hollered Mrs. Lutzkraut, smacking her hand down on top of her desk. “And you, sit down!” She jumped up from her chair and was in front of my desk with her finger pointing at my nose. “I have taught many years,” she began. For a second my mouth started to say, “That’s obvious,” but I managed to clamp it shut. She continued, “And in all my years I have never had anyone behave so badly, act so rudely, and care so little as you. You managed to do this all in one day. You can join me for recess this week and the next, and I promise you, your parents will know all about your behavior when I phone them later. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  She was breathing hard and staring at me. Eventually she returned to her desk and I exhaled. She sure knew how to take the thrill out of my victory. In fact, I started to feel sorry for myself and was worrying about what would happen when my parents found out. Then I started worrying about Toby and the bus ride home. I looked around the class and suddenly noticed something a lot more interesting than Toby. A real pretty blond girl was looking right at me. She mouthed the words, “Are you all right?”

  I nodded and thought, Now I am.

  For the rest of the afternoon I spent my time focused on her until Mrs. Lutzkraut announced it was time to line up for the buses. We trudged down the hallway, my nervousness growing with each step. I saw my bus and reluctantly climbed aboard.

  A rowdy cheer greeted me. Kids clapped and waved, and all over the bus they hollered, “Sit here!” or “Great job, Rodney!”

  The one boy not yelling was the one I had been worrying about. He sat in the seat right behind the driver, cowering. Any closer and he’d be sitting in the driver’s lap. I smiled to myself. Without Josh, Toby wasn’t a danger. I would later find out I was wrong about that, but for now he was on his best behavior.

  I made my way to the back of the bus, where Rishi motioned for me to join him. “I have taken the liberty of reserving the preferred back seat for you, sir,” he said, acting like a snooty waiter. He snapped his fingers. “Slim, wipe it down.”

  Like a busboy, Slim jumped up and wiped the seat with his backpack. “The previous customer who occupied this seat,” he explained, “was met by an unfortunate accident at recess and may never sniff again. I hope you have better luck. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Yeah, root beers all around,” I joked. Rishi laughed and sat down. We happily discussed the fight and made fun of Toby sniveling in the front. I looked around the bus and realized what a difference a day makes. Unfortunately, I knew I wouldn’t be enjoying such a great welcome once back at home, thanks to Mrs. Lutzkraut.

  When I got there, however, my mom greeted me with a big smile, asking, “So how was your first day of school?”

  “Uh, fine, I guess.” I couldn’t believe it. Maybe Mrs. Lutzkraut wasn’t all that bad. Maybe she just pretended to act mean in front of the class.

  “And how was your teacher?” my mom asked. Brrriiiinnngggg!! The phone interrupted her. She picked up the receiver and I cringed. “Hello,” she said. “Yes, hi, how are you? . . . Oh . . . Really? . . . Well, I—I can’t believe he’d . . . Taken to the hospital? . . . Yes, I understand it’s very serious. . . . I understand . . . I am very sorry about this, we’ll certainly talk to him. . . . Yes, we’ll punish him too . . . . Yes, severely . . . Yes, okay, I’ll talk to you soon. . . . Sorry . . . Okay, bye,” and with that she hung up. My mom held her chest for a second. “Rodney, get to your room. Just wait till your father gets home.”

  About an hour later I heard him walk in. In less than a minute I was being summoned downstairs. Sitting in front of both my parents, I was asked to explain what had happened, which I did, leaving out the baseball.

  “So, you punched him in the nose?” my dad asked.

  “Yes.”

  “He had his friend with him?”

  “Yes,” I replied again.

  “So, you’re saying you took on two bullies, and you knocked one out?”

  “Uh, yeah . . . that’s what happened.”

  My dad then stood up and I got ready for the lecture. I hated his talks. They could be threatening but, worse than that, they had a way of making me feel guilty. He was good at it, and both my mother and I waited.

  Strangely, he didn’t say anything. He started throwing imaginary punches in the air. “Gave him the old Rathbone Hook, did you?” He was now ducking and weaving like Muhammad Ali.

  “Donald! Donald, your son hit a boy today, and you’re, you’re . . . What are you doing?”

  “Honey,” my dad turned to my mother, “a boy has to defend himself.”

  “But . . .”

  “Sweetie, you were never a boy, and there are times you have to fight.”

  “Well, I don’t think encouraging . . .”

  “Honey Bunny, no one’s encouraging anything. He defended himself, and that is what a boy sometimes has to do. Maybe he should take boxing lessons. He may be a real talent.”

  “Absolutely not!” My mom ende
d it, and a good thing, too. I doubted my real right hook could knock out a pigeon.

  My parents left me in the den. My smile faded when my sister, Penny, walked in. “You won a fight?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She gave me a look that made me uneasy. “How did that happen?” she asked. “I thought you were scared of everyone. Last year, didn’t that second grader chase you all the way home?”

  I remembered the nasty second grader with a shiver. How was I to know he was holding a lollipop and not a club? Of course, I wasn’t about to admit that to Penny, who was only eight but too smart for my own good. “No, that was a race. Which I won, I might add.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Isn’t it your bedtime?” I asked, shoving her out of the den.

  Later that night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling with my head resting on my hands. I thought about the day. It was awesome. Overall, things couldn’t be better. I would soon find out, however, that it’s harder to maintain an excellent reputation than it is to get one.

  Chapter 5

  THE MCTHUGG BROTHERS

  When people believe you have a right hook like a heavyweight champ, life is pretty good. It’s even better when you use that famous punch to knock out public enemy number one. As soon as Josh crumpled to the dirt, Baber Intermediate became a new place. I didn’t realize it at first, since I had never gone there before, but over the next couple of weeks it became clear. That nose-seeking baseball had saved my skin—and everyone else’s.

  “This is the first time I like school,” Dave announced one morning as we lined up for class.

  “Yeah, I get to eat my whole lunch now,” Slim added. “Josh used to always eat my Doritos and cupcakes.”

  “That was probably a good thing,” Rishi joked, patting Slim’s belly. “You’re right, though,” he continued. “This year sure is nice, and we owe it all to our main man here.”