Revenge of the Bully (17 page)

The home crowd went bananas and the next few minutes were pure chaos. I was swept up on shoulders and praised, cheered, thanked, and applauded from every direction. I finally broke away to run over and congratulate Coach Laimbardi. Before I could say anything he started shaking my hand.

“Rodney, you've made me a very happy man.” His voice choked up. “I knew from that first day of school that you've got what it takes. You're a great athlete and a real team player. I'll never forget what you did for me here today.” The look he gave me was one of pure joy. He was savoring the greatest victory of his life.

Before I could say, “You're welcome,” someone shouted, “The float's out of control!”

I looked up in time to see it go in reverse right under the goalpost, the giant football on top crunching flat and flopping over the driver's windshield. Brown crepe paper flew everywhere. Next it lurched forward and started going in circles. I couldn't see who was driving but they sure were bad. When the float turned and headed straight for Coach Laimbardi and me, I had an idea who was behind the wheel. Mrs. Lutzkraut had tried to run me over with a bulldozer at summer camp! Was she up to her old tricks? I watched as the huge “G-Men” football veered wildly from side to side. It circled past us one last time and swooped back in our direction.

“Take cover, Rodney!” Coach Laimbardi shouted. “It's heading straight for the . . .”

BOOM!!!

Like a massive blue missile,
Doodie Calls
soared into the air and flew halfway across the field before landing near the Windham bench. Unfortunately for Belicheat and most of the Bomber players, including Bart and Bruno, it exploded on impact.

“EEEeeewwWW!” hundreds of people screamed in unison. It wasn't a pretty sight. Coach Laimbardi put his hand on my shoulder. “Glad we're not on the Windham bus later.”

I turned my attention from the opposite sideline back to the float. It sat silent and empty where it had collided with the porta-potty . . . its driver's door wide open.

“Where'd she go?” I wondered out loud. People were swarming everywhere. Once or twice I thought I saw her but there was too much confusion. If it
had
been Mrs. Lutzkraut behind the wheel, she had managed to escape.

“What a show!” Rishi ran up to me grinning from ear to ear holding his phone in the air. “I caught the whole thing on video, especially your awesome touchdowns.” Then, as though reading my mind, he added, “Don't worry, I pushed ‘record' this time.”

My other friends soon joined us along with my parents and Penny and even the Windbaggers. They all congratulated me and spoke at once about the great Garrettsville win over Windham. My dad went on and on about how the game was destined for football legend. He began stopping strangers. “My son scored both G-Men touchdowns!”

“Okay, I've got to go now.” I laughed. “Time to celebrate with my teammates.” I was getting more embarrassed by the second.

We all said good-bye and as I headed back to the school building I realized that the battle was only half won. I still had to survive tonight at Mama's Restaurant—a night that might be all the more difficult thanks to a certain former teacher. But that was later. For now, the unthinkable had happened. I, Rodney Rathbone, had helped Garrettsville Middle School win the biggest game in its history.

As I pulled open the gym door and was greeted by shouts of “Rod-ney!” I realized it was even more than my school team winning. My home team had won. For the first time since leaving New York, I was finally home.

Chapter 18

SPATS HOULIHAN

“Rodney, I couldn't be prouder,” my dad announced from his big chair in the living room. He had been sitting there, smiling, since getting back from the game. “This is the greatest day of my life!”

“What about the day I was born?” Penny asked, momentarily lowering her iPad.

“Yeah, that was good,” he added absently, “but I've been waiting my whole life to beat the Windham Burgers!”

“What are you talking about?” Penny snapped. “We've only lived here a year. And it's Bombers, not Burgers.”

“Oh . . . right. Guess I've got Freddy Burgers on my mind. Hey, what do you say we all celebrate Rodney's big victory by heading over to The Brick for dinner?”

I felt a rush of nervousness to my stomach. A couple of days earlier I had told my parents about my plans to bus tables tonight at Mama's and they weren't exactly thrilled. In fact, it kind of felt like they were saying “no” so I had dropped the subject.

“I'd like to go with you tonight, Dad,” I began, “but you know, well, I have to work at Mama's Restaurant.”

The glory left his face. “I told you, Rodney, I don't like you hanging out down there. I've heard the owner isn't a nice guy.”

He was right about that, but there was no backing out now. “I've promised to help,” I explained, “and besides, Rishi says we're going to make a lot of money. It's the grand opening.”

My dad didn't look impressed. “Money isn't everything.”

I was about to say, “Well, maybe not to you,” but decided to let it go. He was having too good a day. Instead I just said, “I've promised to help, and I don't want to be a quitter.” I knew that would do it. My dad was always going on about finishing what you started.

“All right, son, but be careful.”

I suddenly remembered the review. “Hey, aren't you and Penny still going with mom later to review Mama's for the newspaper?”

His face perked up. From the other room my mom called, “Yes, we are, and the Windbaggers are picking us up at seven-fifteen.”

His face sagged—until he got an idea. “Rodney, want me to drive you to Mama's? We could leave right now. I'm sure your mom and Penny wouldn't mind heading over there with Fred and Ethel . . .”

“Nice try, Dad,” I said, patting his shoulder, “but Mr. Singh is taking us.”

Poor dad. Even on the greatest day of his life, there was no escaping Mr. Windbagger!

Two hours later, Rishi, Josh, and I walked in through the front door of Mama's. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I heard someone start clapping slow and loud. Cheese was pounding his big palms together.

The Boss turned around from the back of the restaurant and joined in with Cheese. I thought of my dad and how he might be wrong about the Boss. “Nice win today, Rodney,” the Boss called out. “I have to admit, I was a bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” Rishi scoffed. “There was never any doubt. Windham didn't stand a chance. And,” he said, raising a finger in the air, “I estimate my marketing plan has given you one hundred times the exposure you would have had. I think you'll see quite a return on your investment. Maybe it's time we speak about compensation . . .”

“You believe dis kid?” Cheese said.

Willy walked in carrying a stack of menus. “What'd he do?”

“He's shaking down the Boss for money. Now. Right before da big opening.”

“Unbelievable,” the Boss agreed. “We're running around trying to make everything perfect before my Chicago friends arrive and dis one brings up money.”

Money was the one subject that could instantly put the Boss in a bad mood. I was afraid Rishi might remind him that he hadn't paid us a penny yet, but even Rishi sensed this wasn't the time.

“Anyways,” the Boss continued, looking madder by the second, “football star or not, I've been waiting for you to show up for an hour now. And where's that fourth kid you promised?”

It was a good question. We had offered to pick up Pablo at his house but he said he would just meet us here. I got the sense he didn't like people seeing where he lived. “Uh, our friend is running late,” I explained, wondering if he would show up at all.

The Boss wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Well, let's hope he comes soon. We got a lot of work to do. You”—he pointed at Josh—“we got tables to bus. You ever bus before?”

“Sure,” Josh said. “Every day.” The Boss looked relieved until Josh added, “I ride one to school.”

The Boss growled and ran his hands angrily through his hair. He must have been wearing a lot of gel or something because it stuck straight up. Josh laughed. “Nice hair.”

We all gasped. The Boss's eyes narrowed. He took a step toward Josh. It was so silent in the restaurant I could hear the clock ticking on the wall. When the phone suddenly rang I almost bolted out the door. Everyone was too busy watching the Boss to move. The phone kept ringing until the bartender I had seen that first day walked out from the office and answered it.

“Yeah . . . yeah, okay, I'll tell him.” He hung up. “Boss, that was Toothpick.”

The Boss's face went white. He forgot about Josh. “What'd he want?”

“He said they just landed in Cleveland. Should be here within the hour. And that Spats is starving.”

The Boss turned to Rishi and me. “Okay, let's hustle. You two are busboys tonight. Willy and Cheese will be waiting tables. I need you to fill people's water and take away their dirty plates and stuff. Right now you can start by setting the tables. And you, knucklehead,” he said to Josh, “I've got a special job for you. Weasel and Big Earl left a ton of dirty dishes in the kitchen yesterday. I guess they's was testing recipes or something. Can you handle washing dishes?”

“Sure,” Josh grunted.

As the two disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen I heard the Boss ask, “You're positive, right? You're not going to say you ride a dish to school or something . . .”

Once they were gone, Rishi and I had a chance to talk. As we put the silverware and glasses on the tables, I whispered, “I don't like this. The Boss seems super nervous. What if people don't show up? What if he finds out my mom hates the food? He'll blame me for everything. I'm finally enjoying Garrettsville and I'll have to move to another town. I mean . . .” I stopped talking and stared at Rishi.

“What?” he asked. “I'm listening.”

It sure didn't look like it. He had a big smile on his face and was busy doing some weird thing with the napkins. “I'm folding them into swans!” he said proudly. “For the plates.”

“Swans? That looks like a crumpled-up ball. The Boss is going to have a fit!”

“Some things take imagination, Rodney.”

I pointed to a corner of the napkin. “Is that the beak?”

“Clearly that's a wing.”

My stomach started gurgling. I was surrounded by crazy people, including my best friend! “Rishi, stop doing that. No one's going to know it's a . . .”

Cheese was walking by so I shut my mouth. He took a few steps past us, slowed down, and came back. This was it.

“Hey!” he hollered. “It's one of dem big white birds! One of dem swan things. Willy, check it out. Dis guy's a regular Margaret Steward.”

For the next five minutes, Rishi taught Cheese and Willy how to fold napkins into animals. I, on the other hand, kept waiting for the Boss to see them and go ballistic.

CRASH!

I jumped. It sounded like a plate breaking on the kitchen floor. I heard Josh laugh. “Oops!”

Willy and Cheese scattered as the Boss yelled “Careful!” before bursting out of the kitchen. He glared at Rishi and me and came over to the table we were setting. “Hurry up. People are going to be here any minute.” Then he flashed one of his not-so-happy smiles and warned, “We're about to find out if all them dumb ads and flyers was worth it. If no one shows up, all I can say is I'm glad you two will be right here where I can find you.”

As he walked away he brushed against the table, knocking Rishi's swan napkin on its side. For the first time it actually looked real to me—a big dead duck in the middle of a plate! I gulped. This was going to be some night.

We had just finished with the final table when the front doors swung open. Before I could stop him, Rishi stepped forward to greet a middle-aged couple. “Welcome to Mama's. My name is Rishi. I'll be the maître-d' this evening . . .”

The Boss stepped in front of him. “This
busboy
will fill your glass with water and keep your table clean. If he don't, we'll lock him in the freezer overnight.”

The lady laughed at what she assumed was a joke.

Over the next ten minutes, more people began to arrive. Suddenly it felt like hundreds of people were showing up at once! Willy and Cheese tried to seat everyone as fast as they could but a line was forming outside. When one man complained that he had reserved a table by the window, Cheese said, “Oh yeah? How's about I
toss
you through da window?”

While Cheese's customer service left something to be desired, one thing was certain—I could stop worrying whether people would show up for the opening. Of course, once they tasted the cabbage spaghetti they'd probably never come back, but for now the Boss would be happy.

A hand gripped my shoulder. It was the Boss. He was anything but happy. His face was whiter than before and his eyes were bulging. “There he is,” he whispered. “Spats Houlihan. All the way from Chicago. And he brought backup.”

Four men and a couple of women walked in, cutting straight to the front of the line. “Is Spats Houlihan the one with the toothpick in his mouth?” I asked.

“Use your brain!” the Boss scolded. “The one with the toothpick is Toothpick. Toothpick Tudeski. He's Spats's right-hand man. Real mean. Spats is the bald one with the white things over his shoes. The other two mugs with the squashed faces are a couple of tough guys from the old neighborhood. Oh no! Big Mouth is talking to them!”

Sure enough, Big Mouth Singh had put down his pitcher of water and was busy running his mouth. The Boss and I hurried to the front of the restaurant.

“Welcome to Mama's!” the Boss said.

Spats ignored the greeting and pointed at Rishi. “Who's dis kid?”

“Him? That's just one of our busboys. He—”

“He seems to know an awful lot about our operation. Says we should expand into Pittsburgh. How would he know about that? You been talking in front of him?”

Beads of sweat covered the Boss's forehead. “No! Nothing like that. Just a lucky guess on his part.”

“Not so lucky for you,” Spats answered. “Makes me wonder if it was a mistake letting you take over Ohio.”

I was beginning to see that there was nothing friendly about the Boss's Chicago “friends.”

Spats looked at his watch. “Are we ever going to sit or are we eating standing up?”

Before the Boss could answer, Willy started shouting at a young couple waiting in line. “I don't care if you just got married! You, sit at that table, and you, sit back there where we got room. See the open seat next to them brats?”

As the woman ran crying from the restaurant the Boss pulled me aside. “Rodney, I don't trust Willy or Cheese to wait on Spats. I've always thought you had smarts. A bright kid. Just tuck in your shirt and be Spats's waiter tonight. We have to keep him happy.”

Keep him happy? I'd hate to see him mad!

The Boss looked at me. “Be his waiter and there's an extra twenty in it for you. Here.”

I was finally going to get some money from the Boss! Instead he shoved a pad and pen into my hand.

“But—”

“But nothing.” He turned to Spats. “Rodney will show you to your table.”

Toothpick Tudeski stared at me and shifted the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “He's just a kid,” he said. “He better not mess up.”