Fiddlesticks (2 page)

She wrote on the chalkboard:
Bach has a birthday this month.

“Who knows when this composer was born?” the teacher asked.

Shawn sat up straight. “Yes!” he said. “1685, very long time.”

Miss Hershey smiled. “Thank you, Shawn. That's correct. March 21, 1685. A long time ago, indeed.” She wrote the date on the board.

While her back was turned, some kids made faces at Shawn. “Fiddlesticks,” they said.

Abby heard.

So did Miss Hershey. “No talking, please!”

Shawn slumped in his seat. He couldn't help being small and thin.

He stared at Miss Hershey's desk. There was a suggestion box at one end. Miss Hershey emptied the box every Thursday. She read the suggestions to the class, and they discussed each one.

I write suggestion for box,
thought Shawn.
I tell teacher about make-fun kids.

Miss Hershey walked to her desk. “Class, please open to page 57 in your Language arts notebook,” she said. “We will work till recess.”

Shawn looked in his desk. He found a notebook and pencil. He began to write his name on the seat-work page.

“Ps-st—fiddlesticks!” someone whispered.

It was Ronny Kitch, the boy behind him.

“Hey, fiddlesticks boy,” Ronny whispered again.

Shawn refused to turn around.

Ronny tapped Shawn's shoulder. “What page are we supposed to do?” he asked.

Slowly, Shawn turned. He was going to be nice. He was going to give Ronny the page number.

But now Ronny was making his eyes
slant. He was pulling at his eyes on purpose. Making fun of Shawn. “Only a sissy plays a fiddle,” Ronny hissed through his teeth.

In a flash, Shawn turned back around. He was
not
a sissy!

Instead of starting on the assignment, Shawn pulled out a fresh piece of paper. He glanced at Miss Hershey's suggestion box.

He wrote:
I not like to tattle. Students call me name. Name is Fiddlesticks. Because I short, little person. Because I come from Korea and play violin.

Shawn read what he'd written. Then he picked up his pencil again.

I make suggestion for box. Can teacher make name stop? I thank you very much.

Respect to you,

Shawn Hunter—Li Sung Jin,

from Korea

Shawn folded the note and pushed it into his jeans. Before recess, he would
visit the suggestion box.

“Hey, fiddlesticks boy,” Ronny said in his ear. “What do you think you're doing?”

Shawn froze.

Had Ronny seen the note?

THREE

Ronny Kitch raised his hand. He waved it high.

“Yes, Ronny?” Miss Hershey said.

“I need to speak to you,” he said.

Miss Hershey called him to her desk. They were whispering. Ronny shook his head. Then he turned and pointed to Shawn.

Miss Hershey's eyebrows flew up. “Shawn Hunter?” she said.

Quickly, Shawn stood up and bowed.

The kids snickered.

But Miss Hershey was kind. “In America, we don't bow when someone speaks to us,” she explained. “Do you understand?”

Shawn nodded. He almost forgot and started to bow again.

“Will you please see me at recess?” the teacher asked.

Shawn nodded again. “I come see you.”

He sat down, worried. What had Ronny just told Miss Hershey?

Shawn thought and thought. He
had
been fooling around, not doing his seat work. Was Miss Hershey going to talk to him about
that?

Ronny marched down the row of desks. He bumped against Shawn on the way back to his seat. He shoved him hard on purpose.

Miss Hershey was too busy to notice.

Shawn didn't like being pushed around. But he was a peanut next to Ronny. His arm muscles were like three jelly beans. His legs were like toothpicks.

Or . . .

Shawn swallowed the lump in his throat.

He looked down at his legs. They looked like violin bows. Like fiddlesticks.

No wonder the kids called him that!

Shawn sighed. He hoped Ronny wouldn't pick a fight. Even if Shawn wanted to fight, he couldn't beat him. Ronny was tough. He was mean.

Determined not to slouch, Shawn picked up his pencil. He read the assignment and began to fill in the answers.

Abby glanced over at him. Her lips formed these words:
Are you OK?

Shawn rubbed his nose. He formed these words back:
Shawn OK.

But he wasn't. Not really.

Abby turned her head and went back to work.

So did Shawn.

When he was finished, he took out a book about soccer. Miss Hershey wanted
everyone to keep a library book handy. She called it free reading—when you finished seat work early.

Shawn liked books. He was a good reader. And smart. He wished he could talk better. Faster too.

The soccer book was exciting. From the time he'd learned to walk, Shawn liked to kick a ball around.

And two weeks from now, Shawn wanted to try out for the Blitzers. But he wanted to watch the boys practice
today.

Then he remembered. His violin lesson was after school. What could he do?

Shawn stared at the pictures in the soccer book. He thought about Ronny. Would
he
be at soccer practice?

Shawn stopped thinking and started reading. The soccer book was wonderful. He couldn't stop reading.

Soon, ideas were bouncing in his head. Maybe he could watch practice after violin
lesson. Maybe he wouldn't be too late getting home.

He wished he could practice out on the soccer field. He was tired of practicing in secret. The backyard was OK. But the gigantic soccer field—that would be terrific!

Kids could dribble, punt, and kick on a field like that. They could guard and do teamwork. Soccer stuff—things that made a great player.

Eric Hagel and Jason Birchall were good players, too. They were two of Shawn's best friends. Eric and Jason lived on his street, a cul-de-sac. It was called Blossom Hill Lane, close to Blossom Hill School.

Eric, Jason, and Shawn belonged to The Cul-de-sac Kids. Nine kids on one street. Each one was Shawn's
chingu—
friend!

He was glad for friends. Very glad.

Then he remembered rotten Ronny Kitch.

He not chingu,
Shawn thought.

Shawn closed the soccer book. He felt scared thinking about Ronny.
I forget about soccer team
, he thought.
I not try out.

The recess bell rang.

Time to see Miss Hershey.

Shawn stood up. Slowly, he went to the front of the classroom.

“You see me, yes?” he asked.

“Let's talk,” Miss Hershey said. “Have a seat.”

Just then, Ronny ran outside for recess. Shawn could hear him laugh. It was a loud laugh. A roaring laugh.

Shawn sat near Miss Hershey's desk.

She looked him in the eyes.

Shawn bit his lip.

Was he in big trouble?

FOUR

Miss Hershey's voice was soft. “Were you passing notes in class?”

“No pass note,” Shawn said.

Miss Hershey asked, “Did you write one?”

Shawn was worried. Ronny
had
seen him.

He reached into his jeans pocket. The note for the suggestion box was all folded up. He handed it to Miss Hershey.

Her eyes opened wide. “What's this?” she asked.

Shawn said, “This what I write in class. So sorry.” It sounded like so
sallee.

The teacher opened the note. Her pretty blue eyes scanned the page.

She looked up. “My goodness,” she said. “You don't deserve a nickname, Shawn. Thank you for telling me about this.”

He nodded his head in a half bow. Then he caught himself. “Sorry.”

Miss Hershey's smile was warm. “Please, don't be bashful about talking to me. I want all my students to feel comfortable at school. Always.”

Shawn said, “Thank you,” and headed outside.

Several boys were already playing soccer. Ronny Kitch was on the field, too.

Shawn stood beside the swings and watched.

Abby ran over to him. “What did Miss Hershey want?”

Shawn said, “We have talk. Miss Hershey
very nice teacher.”

“I know that,” Abby insisted. “But why'd she want to see you?”

Shawn explained about the suggestion box. And about his note.

Abby's eyes started to get shiny in the corners. “Did you tell her who is calling you ‘fiddlesticks'?”

Shawn looked down at his feet. “I not say.”

Abby shook her head. “Come on, Shawn, you have to tell her!”

Shawn's eyes were wet, too. He wanted them to be dry. But they kept getting watery.

Shawn ran into the school—right to the boys' room. He washed his face.

Soon, Eric came in, too. He stared at Shawn's face. “You've been crying,” he said. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing wrong.” Shawn looked away.

“Something
is
wrong!” Eric said.

Just then, Ronny Kitch burst in the door.

Shawn saw him first. He didn't say anything to Ronny. He darted past him and ran into the hallway.

At the drinking fountain, Shawn's heart was pounding.

And quickly, he rubbed his eyes dry.

FIVE

At lunch, Shawn sat with Abby and her friend, Stacy Henry.

Dunkum Mifflin, another Cul-de-sac Kid, came over and sat with them.

Eric and Jason were having hot lunch. They joined Shawn, Abby, and the others.

Shawn and Abby had their packed lunches from home. Shawn used chopsticks to eat cold
bulkoki
in a plastic dish. He'd sprinkled garlic on the sticky rice this morning. Bulkoki was his favorite lunch.

Shawn held up his cold Korean stir fry. “OK with you?” he asked everyone at the table.

Eric and Jason didn't seem to mind.

Dunkum pinched his nose just for fun.

Stacy Henry smiled. “It's OK.”