Revenge of the Bully Page 7

  What? Really? Wow! I love football! I felt dizzy. The day was actually turning out really good.

  For some of us. Kayla, on the other hand, stamped her foot and I noticed her face redden. She turned to follow Jessica but Rishi sprang up in her way. “So you think my camera work is fancy?”

  “Grrrrrrgghhhhhhhh!” She roughly pushed past him.

  “Yup, she likes me,” he said to me. “Maybe I’ll ask her out to Mama’s. With all the great PR work I’ve done for him, I bet the Boss would let us eat for free.”

  “For free?” I shouted. “You and everyone else in Ohio will be eating for free! There’s no way the G-Men can win a football game, and besides, what ‘great PR’? He hates both of us right now. Remember that little meeting in the locker room on Saturday?”

  “Rodney, he’s just excitable. Everything’s going perfectly.”

  “Perfectly?”

  “Yeah, perfectly. He just offered us another twenty dollars each to put up more flyers around town. Where else can we make that kind of money?”

  I had to admit he had a point, but there was a problem. I knew my mom and dad wouldn’t want me hanging around someone like the Boss, and they definitely wouldn’t want me taking money from him. I had decided not to tell them . . . for now.

  Suddenly Rishi uttered words I never thought I’d hear leave his mouth. “Anyway, Rodney, money isn’t everything.” I realized he wasn’t joking when he added, “Just look around you.”

  I did. Everyone was happy and smiling. A couple of students were still waiting patiently for my autograph. Maybe Rishi was right. Maybe he did know what he was doing.

  “And don’t forget,” he added, “I’m the one doing the heavy lifting around here. You have it easy. I even let you skip yesterday’s autograph session. All you have to do is win a few football games. Now, which way did Kayla go?”

  I didn’t notice. For a split second I had locked eyes with Trevor—the one person who had me worried. And judging from the look on his face I had every reason to be concerned. “Talk to you later, Rishi,” I said. If he replied I didn’t hear him. I had to take care of something important.

  Trevor never walked straight to class in the morning. He would visit his office first, otherwise known as the second-floor bathroom. Today was no different. I followed him up there and watched the door close behind him with a heavy thud.

  I’d never been in the second-floor bathroom. Of all the bathrooms in the school, this one had the toughest reputation. I’d heard tales whispered on the bus of the things that had gone down in there over the years. Horrible stories. Stories that convinced me to make the nurse’s bathroom my toilet of choice.

  But Trevor was in there and I figured Trevor, our best football player, was the one guy who had a slight chance of saving me from the Boss. I hesitated before going in. What if he picked a fight because of all the attention I was getting? After a few minutes I decided it was a chance I’d have to take. I gulped, said a prayer, pushed open the door—and was immediately struck in the face.

  Only not by Trevor’s fist. It was worse. Perhaps the most awful smell I’d ever inhaled choked me and made my eyes water. Trevor, who was washing his hands, saw me in the mirror. “Like that, Rathbone?” he laughed. “Onion rings. I love ’em, but whooooooo-eeee!”

  I pulled my shirt up over my nose. “Good game yesterday. The defense played great.”

  “What?” Trevor asked. “I can’t hear you through your shirt.”

  It was clearly a trick. Without lowering my shirt I repeated what I had said. This time he just shrugged and added more soap to his hands. “I didn’t see myself in the paper after the game,” he finally answered. “I saw this other guy. Then I saw all these girls lined up to see this other guy. And then, then I got mad, but I remembered what the school psychologist is always telling me, so I didn’t punch the other guy. Plus there were some teachers walking around. I figured maybe one day I’d get this other guy alone. And look—what do you know? The other guy is standing right in front of me.”

  “Where?” I almost shouted, but Trevor didn’t look like he would appreciate that. He had finished washing his hands and was now drying them by making fists. I considered bolting. Then I remembered a trick I had used on bullies in the past. Sometimes the smartest thing is to just pretend you didn’t hear their threats. “I think we’re playing Mantua next week,” I said, lowering my shirt from my nose. “Think we can win?”

  “Rathbone, we never win.”

  “But maybe we could start winning.” Wow, my trick had worked. Just for good measure I threw in a compliment. “You’re our best player, Trevor. You could really get the team going.”

  “I’m quitting.”

  The shock made me inhale sharply. After spluttering and wiping my watering eyes, I managed, “What? You can’t quit. You’re too good.” What I wanted to say was, “You can’t quit or the Boss will make Beet Parmesan out of me!”

  “Rodney, I played football to impress the girls. Josie won’t even speak to me. My heart’s not into playing anymore. You know how it is . . .” He looked more depressed than fearsome. “I’m done with football,” he continued. “You even said you’d get me a date. How’s that going? Not too good, I bet.”

  This was horrible. Every time I mentioned Trevor to Josie she’d go, “Ewww, he’s gross,” and start in about the demolition derby date. There was no way I could get her to go out with him.

  Trevor stared at himself in the mirror for a few long seconds. Then he turned to me and took a step closer. The mean, scary look was back in his eyes. “Yeah, Rathbone, there’s not much point to playing anymore, is there? Looks like there’s only one thing left to make me happy.” He cracked his knuckles and stepped closer still.

  I’m not sure if it was the threat of Trevor’s fist or picturing Cheese lurking outside my bedroom window but my mouth took over. “Trevor, guess what I came in here to tell you?”

  He paused.

  My mouth continued, “I got you a date with Josie next Saturday night.”

  “Rodney, that’s the best thing anyone’s ever told me. I owe you! I’ll do you any favor.” He grabbed my hand and started pumping it up and down. Good thing I’d seen him wash so thoroughly.

  “Any favor?” I repeated. “Just try to win next week. Josie said she’d love to see the G-Men win at least one time while she’s head cheerleader.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to make sure we win. Hey, you’re not lying to me now, are you?” His grip tightened.

  “I never lie,” I lied. “No, Josie said she couldn’t wait.”

  His hand released mine and he actually tousled my hair. “Rodney, you’re the best.” He turned back to the mirror. “Do you think I need a haircut?” He smiled at himself then made his hand look like a gun and fired it at his reflection. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I look good either way. See you at practice, Rathbone.”

  He walked out. As the door clicked shut, reality kicked in. What had I just gotten myself into? There was no way Josie was going out with Trevor on Saturday.

  My life was beginning to stink worse than this bathroom!

  That afternoon I sat staring out my bedroom window. How was I going to set up a date between Josie and Trevor? I kept trying to come up with a plan but it was no good . . . I was drawing a blank. I knew deep down that this problem was way beyond anything my brain could figure out. It called for someone so shrewd, so devious, so manipulative that even the C.I.A. would fear him.

  “Rishi,” I said into the phone, “I need your help.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. What can I do? Contact the papers for interviews? Speak to the Boss about expanding our role?”

  “No, not that. Just listen for a second. I have to get a date with Josie next Sat—”

  “Holy smokes! Josie? The cheerleader? I thought you still liked Jessica . . .”

/>   “Rishi, I—”

  “Oh, I get it, you’re trying to make Jessica jealous. Sneaky, Rodney, sneaky, but I like it. I could make a video of the date and e-mail it to her.”

  “Rishi, you’re not listening to—”

  “I’ll get the Boss to hold a private dinner for the two of you. Lots of candles. You should order Josie strawberries. No, lobster. Hmmm, I got it—chocolate-dipped strawberries! No, chocolate-dipped lobster.”

  “Rishi!” I snapped. “I don’t want to go on the date with her. I’m talking about Trevor.”

  There was a pause. “You want to go on a date with Trevor?”

  “No!” I tried again. “I want Josie to go on a date with Trevor.”

  “Why would you possibly want that?” Poor Rishi was having a hard time following me. Finally he just said, “If you’re looking to hook someone up on a date, I can think of a guy with dark flowing hair, skin the color of the most delicious caramel, a legendary personality . . .”

  “Listen, I kind of promised I’d help Trevor, that’s all. He was real upset about Josie. Plus it will make him play better. Remember, we need to start winning football games.”

  “But you’re the star player!”

  “Rishi, you’re beginning to believe your own publicity.”

  “That’s true. See how good I am?”

  “Anyway, football isn’t tennis. It’s a team sport and I need Trevor to get the defense going.”

  “Okay, I get it. Do you still like my idea of holding the date at Mama’s Restaurant?”

  “Yes, that’s great. I knew I could count on you to get this going.”

  “All right, Rodney. I’ll call the Boss right now. Besides, I want to check with him to see if he has more work for us.”

  “Has he paid you yet for all the flyers we hung?”

  “Well, not yet, but I know he’s good for it. Anyway, like I was saying, by the time I get through with that place, Mama’s will be the most romantic spot east of the Mississippi. Talk to you later!”

  Rishi was a good help but I was still in trouble. I had a place for a date but no way to get Josie interested in Trevor. None of my other friends would have a clue of what to do.

  I glanced up at the bulletin board above my desk. I’d hung pictures there from my summer at Camp Wy-Mee. It was only about a month ago but it seemed a world away. There was a picture of Mr. Periwinkle and me sitting under his favorite beech tree. Next to it was a picture of our cabin, Loserville. I was standing in the middle surrounded by all my friends. As I looked at their faces I felt a little sad. I wondered if there was such a thing as camp-sickness. Besides Josh and me, Stinky was in the picture. I could see his wet armpit stains. Next to him, Thorin held an aluminum baseball bat high above his head pretending it was a sword named Orcrist. Next to him was my best friend in the bunch, Fernando. He was wearing a silk burgundy robe smirking at the camera. Next to him—

  Fernando!!!

  I fell out of my chair. Why hadn’t I thought of it sooner? Fernando was a world-class expert on romance and girls. He would know what to do about Josie! I pulled open my drawer and rustled through a bunch of papers looking for the Post-it with his number. Right before search-panic set in I found it stuck to a brochure from Camp Wy-Mee.

  With sweaty fingers and a racing heart I hit the numbers. If there was anyone who would know what to do it was Fernando. It rang and rang. Eventually the message clicked on. “Hellooo. You’ve reached the voice mailbox of . . . Fernando. I am currently doing something exciting and romantic, but if you’d leave your name, number, and text me a picture, I’ll be sure to call you soon. Adios, for now.”

  Beep. “Fernando, it’s Rodney . . .”

  I launched into my problem, giving him all the major details. Five minutes later my phone rang. “Rodney, it was great to hear your voice, and even greater to hear that you are still searching high and low for adventures. You were right to call me. This sounds like a job for Fernando. I will be there Thursday evening.”

  “Don’t you have school in Canton on Friday?” I asked.

  “On Friday I will have school in Garrettsville.”

  “How will you do that? You’re not enrolled here.”

  “Leave that to Fernando. I need time in your school to get the feel. I want to meet this Josie and I’ll need to see Trevor. There is work to be done. You just get your parents ready for my visit. I’ll be arriving Thursday and leaving Sunday. This will be a weekend to remember. Now, I go!” Click.

  I hoped it would be a weekend to remember for all the right reasons. Even so, I trusted Fernando and began to feel better about things. For the first time all day I actually relaxed and stretched out in the chair, letting my eyes wander back to the bulletin board. Next to the camp pictures was a big blank space where last year’s calendar had hung. “What the heck,” I thought, getting up and grabbing something off the bed. “It’s not every day you’re a football star.”

  The picture of me on the back page of the paper took up half the bulletin board, but darn I looked good! In fact, I was so busy admiring myself that I barely noticed Penny burst out laughing when she walked by.

  Chapter 9

  VISITING DAY

  I stared out the classroom window thinking about everything going on in my life, including Fernando’s upcoming visit. As I stared, I noticed that the trees beyond the school fence were beginning to turn bright red and orange. I wouldn’t have seen that last year locked in Mrs. Lutzkraut’s gray class, where the shades were forever drawn. Mrs. Lutzkraut. She was my greatest enemy—worse than the Boss and Trevor combined. Luckily, she was in Shady Pastures and couldn’t bother me anymore. I guess after the bulldozer incident at Camp Wy-Mee . . .

  “Rodney?” Mr. Witlacker’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “Yes?” I asked my history teacher.

  “What’s your take on the reading? What do you think of the Trail of Tears?”

  Huh? I hadn’t heard a word. Trail of Tears? Tears . . . “Uhh, it was sad?” I managed. I knew I was about to get in trouble for staring out the window.

  “Wonderful answer, Rodney! I think sadness summarizes it beautifully. Maybe you can follow up with some specifics about the Cherokee.”

  Cherokee? I couldn’t think of anything. Wait . . . “It’s an SUV, made by Jeep, right?” A few kids giggled. Kayla whispered with a nasty smile, “Nice going, genius.”

  “Excellent, Rodney,” Mr. Witlacker nodded.

  “Huh?” Kayla blurted. “Jeeps have nothing to do with Native Americans and Andrew Jackson. Rodney wasn’t listening! He was staring out the window like a zombie.” There were a couple of more giggles.

  “Kayla,” Mr. Witlacker continued, “I can see how you might have missed it, but I believe Rodney was trying to take our conversation to the next level. The horrible treatment of the Cherokee has weighed heavily on our nation. As a result, we see that an American car company has used their tribal name as a form of social apology. That was your point, right, Rodney?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You see, Kayla?”

  I turned to face Kayla. She was shaking in her seat and ready to blow.

  Mr. Witlacker smiled at me. “I drive a Cherokee, by the way.”

  “It’s a nice looking truck, sir,” I said.

  “It’s got air-conditioned seats.”

  “Uhhhggggg,” Kayla groaned, snapping her pencil in half.

  Boy, Rishi, I thought, you sure can pick ’em.

  Beep. The classroom phone rang. Mr. Witlacker picked it up. “Hello? Yes, he’s here . . . Oh? Okay . . . bye.”

  Mr. Witlacker looked at me. “Rodney, you’re wanted in the principal’s office. Bring your things.”

  Bring my things? That meant I wasn’t returning. Some kids in back of me went “Uh-oh” and Kayla added, “Good! You’re in trouble. Why don’t you drive a Cherokee d
own to the principal’s office . . .”

  Mr. Witlacker frowned. “That’s enough, Miss Radisson.”

  Was Kayla right? Was I in trouble? What had gone wrong now? My mind scrolled through all the possibilities. When nothing came up I let myself breathe a sigh of relief.

  Had I known what was coming, I would have escaped down my own Trail of Tears and never looked back.

  Things didn’t start bad. The secretary in the office said, “Hello Rodney, have a seat on the bench. Your mom is picking you up soon for the doctor’s appointment.”

  Oh, so that was it. But what doctor’s appointment? Maybe she mentioned it the other night. Must be a checkup. I probably wasn’t listening.

  As I sat on the bench outside the office, I smiled to myself thinking about all the times last year outside Mr. Feebletop’s office. He would have called me in and started talking about the New York Mets. Stepping into his office was like visiting the Baseball Hall of Fame, with signed posters on the walls and everything. I craned my neck around and peered into my current principal’s office. The walls were empty. The office was neat and sparse. The desk was almost completely bare. No autographed baseballs. Only a computer, a stapler, a person staring at me, a pen . . . Yikes!

  “Can I help you?” It was the first time Dr. Elizabeth Stone had said anything to me. I’d seen her before standing in the hall looking serious. She was just as serious now. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun and her face was as emotionless and blank as her office.

  “Um, no. Sorry to be looking in. I was just curious.”

  Her face didn’t move. “You’re that Rodney Rathbone I’ve heard so much about.”

  “Yes, I am.” I puffed up my chest a little. Sometimes my reputation was a good thing.

  “I hear you’re pretty active in the community.”

  “I try to get involved.” Why be modest?

  “That impresses some people. Do you know what impresses me?”

  “No.”

  “I appreciate students who follow the rules. Students that work hard and make academics their priority. The stories I hear about you and that restaurant . . .” She paused and straightened the pen on her desk. “The stories tell me you have a lot of other things going on. Perhaps you don’t share my priorities.”