How to Beat the Bully Without Really Trying Read online

  Before I logged on to the game, I checked my e-mail. There was a message waiting for me from Timmy. It read,

  Rodney, I have the best news! While he was choking me, Rocco mentioned that he might be moving! Isn’t that great?

  I smiled as I wrote back congratulating him. Maybe things really do work out for the best. Grinning, I clicked off the computer and clicked on the game console. I had just blasted my fifth Nazi when my dad appeared next to me on the couch.

  “This two-player?”

  “It can be,” I told him. My dad picked up the other controller and joined in. Together we blew up a machine-gun nest and a tank.

  Penny, who always seemed to sense when I was having fun, came in and announced, “Mom says you need to wash up for dinner.” She then added, “Dad, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be with the Windbaggers. Mom wouldn’t like it if she knew . . .”

  “I was just fixing a draft.” Dropping the controller, he sprinted back to the living room as I headed for the bathroom. After rinsing my hands, I sat down at my seat at the dining room table before the adults entered.

  The heavy steps of Mr. Windbagger banged down the wood floor in the hall. He walked in and planted himself in my dad’s seat at the head of the table. As my dad entered behind him, I could see his eyes narrow. He looked like he was about to resume shaking hands. Before he could start anything with Windbagger, though, my mom suggested, “Donald, why don’t you sit between Penny and me down here?”

  Mr. Windbagger’s mouth immediately started blabbing. “What’s for dinner? I’m starved.”

  “Spaghetti,” my mom answered.

  “You New Yorkers and your fancy foreign foods.” He shook his head and laughed, shoved some pasta into his mouth, and went right on talking. “I got one heck of a deal on a new Cadillac. Rodney, after dinner I’ll take you for a ride. It’s got heated seats.”

  “Wonderful,” I said. My mom caught my sarcasm and flashed me a look.

  Suddenly Mr. Windbagger swung his leg up on the table, almost toppling my glass of milk. He pulled his pant leg up to his knee, and I looked at his fleshy, hairy calf. The spaghetti lost some appeal. “You see these socks, Rodney? They’re silk. Cost more than this table.” He rapped his knuckles on the oak. “Do you know what that says to people?”

  That you’re nuts, I thought.

  “It says this guy’s a success. People say, ‘That’s the guy I want handling my money.’”

  I noticed my dad refill his wineglass.

  My mom cut in. “Donald and I are so glad you could join us for dinner. . . . Right, Donald . . . Donald?”

  “Absolutely.” He choked.

  My mom went on. “With most of our friends and family living back east, it’s nice to have an evening like this, with new friends. And speaking of our friends back in New York, I have a little announcement I wanted to share with my kids.”

  Mrs. Windbagger smiled kindly at Penny and me.

  My mom continued, “I was talking to my friend Michelle, back in Bayside, about how nice it is here. Her husband, Vinny, works from home. He can basically live and work anywhere, and they don’t need to be paying New York’s high prices.” I didn’t know what this had to do with me, but at least it shut up Mr. Windbagger for a moment. “Anyway, they’ve decided to visit Ohio, to see if they like it, and if they do, they’re going to move here. If everything goes according to schedule, they’ll be here before the spring. Isn’t that great news?”

  “Who’s Michelle and Vinny again?” I asked.

  “Rodney, you know. The Ronbonis. Rocco’s parents.”

  I choked on a meatball. Penny turned to me. “As in Rocco Ronboni!”

  I thought about the e-mail I had just read from Timmy. Rocco was moving, all right. He was moving here! It was now only a matter of time. I could almost hear my last minutes ticking down like a clock inside my head. My nice little run was over.

  Chapter 13

  A TIGHTS SQUEEZE

  For the remainder of the holiday break I was a nervous wreck. Rocco Ronboni was heading west. I didn’t know when, and it might be over a month away, but he was coming. It was like an approaching storm I couldn’t stop. He knew who I really was. When he got here, he’d go right back to beating me up. Of course, as soon as he did, Josh and Toby would join in. Then, seeing what a true wimp I am, other kids would want to get in on the fun. My life would be full of bruises and pain. I imagined that my friends wouldn’t want to hang out with the big phony named Rodney Rathbone. And any chance of landing a cute blond girlfriend would be lost for good.

  I pleaded with my mom to tell them not to come, but she merely said, “Don’t be silly, Rodney. You always played so nicely together when you were younger. Remember when you used to play Marco Polo at the public pool?”

  “Yeah, I remember. Every time he caught me, he held my head underwater.”

  “What an imagination you have. . . .”

  “Mom, I still have water in my left ear!”

  “Rodney, you’re going to be late for school. Just think, you’ll be able to introduce Rocco to everyone.”

  She was so excited to have one of her friends from the old neighborhood coming to visit that she couldn’t listen to sense.

  I decided to try my dad. “Can’t you speak to mom for me?” I pleaded.

  He took a deep breath and answered, “Rodney, one day when you’re married you’ll realize wives rarely listen to their husbands. I’m afraid we’re stuck with your mother’s choice in friends. You get this creepy Rocco and I get Fred Windbagger.”

  “But Fred Windbagger doesn’t give you wedgies. . . .”

  “You might prefer a wedgie to a two-hour life insurance conversation.”

  “Dad . . .”

  “Rodney, you’ve handled some tough characters this year. I’ve been proud of you, and I’m sure this Rocco’s going to meet his match too.”

  Now it’s nice to have a dad who’s proud of you, but I wondered how proud he’d be after I got pounded to a pulp by half the town. The only good news was that Rocco and his family wouldn’t be here for a while.

  • • •

  As I walked into school the first day back, I realized the other kids didn’t know about my private problems. All they could talk about was my flight off the Ravine of Doom. And it wasn’t just because they had seen it in person. A father who had been there filming his five-year-old twins had heard some shouts, had turned his camera in my direction, and had captured most of my amazing trip on video. A week later it had made its way to YouTube and was now one of the most popular videos.

  Yes, that January my celebrity status was at an all-time high, and while it did wonders to help me forget about Rocco, it didn’t do much to impress the one person I hoped it would: Jessica. As I tried to talk to her I could see that she was okay with me, but it felt like her mind was on something, or someone, else.

  Maybe it was just the time of year. The dreariness of winter had settled in on us. The weather was bad and we were stuck inside during recess. To make matters worse, each time my big mouth got me in trouble I would have to spend recess alone with Mrs. Lutzkraut, watching her eat disgusting squishy sandwiches and slurpy soups, all followed by her one treat—chocolates. The woman loved chocolate. The first time I saw her eat any I thought she was fainting. She swooned, kind of shook for a second, smiled, and closed her eyes. As soon as the chocolates were gone, her face would regain the nasty look I’d come to know and despise.

  There was nothing pleasant about Mrs. Lutzkraut or her drab classroom. It became darker and sadder with each cold January day. It was during one particularly long, depressing afternoon that she surprised us.

  “I’ve decided to put on a play this year.” We all sat up. “You know, I was quite the actress in my younger years.”

  “Yeah, bet she was a great Medusa,” I whispered to Rishi.

  She turned in our direction. Rishi and I stared straight ahead. It was Samantha who broke the silence.

  “Are we do
ing High School Musical?”

  Mrs. Lutzkraut took a deep breath. “No, Samantha. We are doing a real play. We will be putting on Robin Hood.” The class broke into a discussion and Mrs. Lutzkraut glared us back into silence. “Now, if I may continue, I’ve already decided on the parts.”

  Jessica, not surprisingly, would be our Maid Marion. Kayla would be an evil witch, which also made sense to me. Rishi was cast as the sheriff of Nottingham, one of the villains. Dave got the part of Will Scarlet, one of the Merry Men. Toby was told he would be Friar Tuck. He sat there scowling, but he was always scowling and I couldn’t tell from his reaction whether he liked his role or not.

  “What about me?” Slim asked excitedly. “Do I get a part?”

  “I have decided to give you the part of Little John.”

  “But Mrs. Lutzkraut, I’m not little,” Slim observed.

  “Precisely, Timothy. It’s called irony. It’s much funnier to have the part of Little John played by someone big and plump.” I watched the smile fade from his face as he slunk down in his chair. Then I felt that familiar tingle on my tongue. . . .

  “Mrs. Lutzkraut, maybe you should be the witch,” I mumbled.

  My mouth had done it again. The whole class went silent. I knew she was about to order me to sit recess with her, but what came next was far worse. It felt like a punch in the stomach. She locked eyes with me, gave me a wicked smile, and announced, “Greg will play the role of Robin Hood.” Then, to Greg, she asked, “Are you sure you can handle it? After all, you are the play’s hero. At the end, you slay the evil Guy of Gisborne and then kiss Jessica. I mean Maid Marian.”

  What??? I looked over at Greg, who was smiling and definitely seemed like he could handle it. Greg. He had just moved here from California and started at Baber soon after the winter break. He was a perfect Robin Hood, darn it! He was tall, athletic, and the girls all seemed to think he was good-looking. Lately I had gotten the feeling that Jessica liked him better than me. To my added alarm, I could see Jessica blushing and smiling back at him.

  “Well, Greg?” Mrs. Lutzkraut asked again.

  “No problem, Mrs. L,” he replied, his oily voice smooth and confident. “I can handle kissing Maid Marian.”

  “Excellent, Greg,” she said with a sideways look in my direction.

  I noticed Jessica turn darker red but her smile remained. I wanted to jump out the window.

  “Wonderful. Oh, and Greg?”

  “Yes?”

  “You also will have to kill Rodney.”

  I shivered. The words kill and Rodney in the same sentence didn’t do wonders for my digestive system.

  “Rodney will play Guy of Gisborne.” A smile spread across her face as she glanced my way and added, “He’ll need to die in the end.”

  Suddenly my heart began racing, but not because I thought Mrs. Lutzkraut really wanted me dead. She had actually said something far worse. I was going to be playing a character. I would have to speak lines in front of everyone! One of my biggest fears—besides bullies, basements, scary movies, and a hundred other things—is standing up in front of people and talking. Once, in New York, I pretended I was sick for a whole week just to get out of reading my book report to the class.

  And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. Mrs. Lutzkraut began to show a PowerPoint presentation of another Robin Hood production she had done a few years ago. As she fiddled with the mouse, a photo of some Merry Men walking on the stage appeared. The costumes were ridiculous. They had hoods and something that looked like short robes, but worst of all, these Merry Men were wearing long yellow tights. I was thinking how bad I felt for that group up there dressed in panty hose when I was struck by an alarming thought.

  I was going to be in the same play. Not only did I have to worry about throwing up on the audience when I opened my mouth to speak, but I, too, could wind up wearing tights.

  Just as this began to sink in, a sword scene between Robin Hood and the guy I assumed to be Guy of Gisborne twirled onto the screen. It was even worse than I imagined. His tights were powder-blue!

  I cringed. I looked over and saw Slim smiling to himself. Evidently he hadn’t figured it out yet. Dave, however, sat with a look of horror on his face. He raised his hand.

  “Yes, Dave?” Mrs. Lutzkraut asked, clearly annoyed at having her presentation interrupted.

  “Uh, Mrs. Lutzkraut, we don’t have to wear stockings like them, do we?” he asked.

  “They are not wearing stockings. They are wearing authentic tights from the age. That was the look in the medieval time period. We want our play to be visually stunning and genuine. So, yes, you will be wearing them.” She went back to clicking and smiling to herself as she looked at the pictures, not noticing the looks we exchanged. The only boy smiling was Toby. A picture on the screen showed a kid pretending to be Friar Tuck. He wore a long brown monk’s robe, and if he was wearing tights, they weren’t visible. Our Friar Tuck looked over at me, winked, and then raised his hand.

  “Yes, what is it now?” Mrs. Lutzkraut asked.

  Toby turned to her. “My dad has a video camera. I could probably get him to film the whole play.”

  Mrs. Lutzkraut looked thoughtful. “I think that would be a very good thing to do. I’ll speak to you about that later.” As she spoke, Toby passed me a note. I read it and gulped. “Is there a problem, Rodney?” Mrs. Lutzkraut snapped.

  Toby had only written one little word, but it was enough to make me panic. The note read: “YouTube.” It was too much for my brain to handle. I’d be walking around in tights on the Internet for the whole world to see. Half a million people had watched me bravely fly off a cliff on my sled. Now, thanks to Toby, they would all be texting, “Check out Sled Boy’s tights.” I blurted, “Mrs. Lutzkraut, you can’t really expect us to wear those outfits!”

  “I believe, Rodney, that I already explained about the need for medieval hosen, and since you seem to have difficulty grasping that concept, not to mention every other one, you can join me for lunch today and I’ll explain it to you, again.”

  Chapter 14

  DODGING MARSHMALLOWS

  Later that day, on the bus home, Toby was all smiles. He stood up in the aisle and said, “So, you ballerinas going to dance for us?” He laughed and went to high-five Josh, who sat looking at him with a blank, annoyed expression. “You know, ballerinas,” Toby continued. “Dancers?” Josh just sneered. Toby went back to his seat.

  His attempted put-down was another reminder of our problem. Kids from all grades were giggling. During lunch, while I dined with Mrs. Lutzkraut, news of Robin Hood and the Merry Wimps spread throughout the school. My friends and I were in trouble. Knocking out Josh, terrorizing the McThuggs, defeating the Ghost of Old Man Johnson, and an epic flight off the Ravine of Doom would all be wiped away the second I walked onstage in my costume.

  I was reflecting on this problem when Kayla turned my attention to a different crisis. “Did you hear, Rodney?” she asked, leaning over me in the aisle. “Greg asked Jessica to go back to his house to practice their lines.”

  “What?” I couldn’t believe it. “They don’t even have many lines! She’s imprisoned for most of the play.”

  Kayla smiled, enjoying it. “Yeah, you’re right, but they do have one very important scene together. You heard Mrs. Lutzkraut. It has to be convincing. Greg thinks it’ll be a good idea to practice.” I thought my head was going to explode. Kayla’s smirk widened, then she spied the boy sitting next to me and her expression changed. “Dave, we should ask Mrs. Lutzkraut if we can be stand-ins for Maid Marian and Robin Hood.”

  Dave shifted uncomfortably in his seat and asked nervously, “Uh, what’s a stand-in?”

  “Like, their backups. You know, just in case Jessica and Greg are sick or something. Anyway, we should practice their parts to be ready.”

  “Uhhh,” Dave mumbled.

  “Great,” Kayla smiled as she headed back over toward Samantha. “I’ll come by your house at four thirty
.”

  Dave whispered to me, “Can I come over your house at four twenty?” I heard his words, but my brain was still spinning from the thoughts of Greg’s practice sessions.

  By the next day things had gotten even worse. At recess—which I was allowed to attend—we came together and discussed the problem. No one wanted to do the performance. My mention of Toby’s note put them into a real panic.

  “We have to do something,” Slim piped up. This was met by unanimous agreement.

  “But what?” Dave asked, which brought on a nervous silence. Gradually their eyes shifted in my direction. Dave continued, “Well, Rodney, what should we do?”

  “How should I know?” I asked.

  “You’ll think of something,” Slim added. “You always do.”

  “Me? I’m not the brains of the group. Rishi’s the one always thinks up what to do next.”

  “True, I am a bit of an idea guy,” Rishi agreed. “That’s why I’m not at all worried about this situation.” Dave smiled for the first time in two days, and Slim let out a sigh. “I’m not worried because I know Rodney will figure something out.” Dave and Slim nodded in agreement. Sometimes I wanted to bang their heads together.

  “Why are you guys worrying yourselves?” I looked up and saw Greg holding his lunch tray. “We’re really lucky to be putting on the play,” he explained. “It beats long division and editing essays.”

  Slim snapped, “Didn’t you see the slides, Mr. Hood? You’re going to be in tights, too.”

  “So what? I’ve got nice legs. Besides, the girls are excited to see us wearing them. Jessica told me this morning that she couldn’t wait to see me in the dress rehearsal. Anyway, I’ll see you guys later. Oh yeah,” he exclaimed, looking at the other end of the table. “Thanks, Toby, for offering to give me a copy of the video.”

  “No problem, Greg,” Toby answered, looking at me with a slight smile. I wanted to pelt the two of them with today’s chicken nuggets.

  By the time I got to gym class, I was so jealous that I actually confronted Jessica. We were playing what my old school had called Dodgeball, but at Baber it was named “Happy Marshmallow Ball” because the government here had outlawed Dodgeball. It never made sense to me, especially since both games used the same red playground balls. I walked over to Jessica and whispered, “What are you doing with Greg?”