Revenge of the Bully (2 page)

“There he is!” Another girl giggled.

Three girls in matching black tank tops and gold skirts looked my way. “It
is
him!” the third girl gushed. I glanced over my shoulder expecting to see some famous singer but grew alarmed when I realized they were definitely talking about me. The one in the middle, who was slightly taller than the other two, and much taller than me, stepped forward.

“We heard all about you. This is Sarah and Mindy. I'm Josie, captain of the cheerleaders, and I heard you're our new starting running back.”

“Ummmm,” I mumbled.

“He's a little cutey,” Mindy said.

Josie pinched my cheek. “I like running backs.”

I began to wheeze.

“We'll see you around,” Josie said, smiling and giving me a wink.

I watched them walk up the stairs. “What were we talking about?” I asked Jessica.

“I can't imagine what I ever saw in you! You're horrible.”

“But Jessica, I don't know them. They—”

“Leave me alone, Rodney.” She whipped out of the stairwell into the crazed corridor. I gulped down a feeling of sorrow. The day had barely begun and I had hit rock bottom.

“Crack!”

I felt a jarring sensation in my arm as my new notebooks flew into the air. They smashed against the banister and the loose-leaf paper exploded. I should never underestimate just how low rock bottom can get. A slick voice behind me yelled, “Fumble!” followed by a round of laughs.

I wasn't eager to see who had knocked the books from my arm and for a moment I watched some of the paper float down to the basement. Reluctantly, I turned around. Five or six big guys were laughing at me. One of them stepped forward. “A running back needs to hold on to the ball.” I wondered how everyone knew about my new football career already. I took a better look at the guy talking and swallowed down my breakfast. I was looking at a bigger, nastier version of a face I'd come to know and despise.

I didn't really need the introduction but got it anyway. “I think you know my little brother, Toby.” He jerked his thumb behind his back. Toby stood there smiling. “I'm Trevor.
Starting
running back. I hear you've come to take my spot.”

Not wanting to give him any extra reason to dislike me, I said, “Me? No. I've always kind of pictured myself sitting comfortably on the bench. You know, come to think of it, I'm actually quite gifted at filling water jugs. I'm sure that—”

Trevor's smile vanished and his hands closed on my shirt. “Stop talking. You think I don't know all about you, Rathbone? You think my runty brother here hasn't been begging me to hunt you down and pulverize you for months?”

“Uhh.”

“Truth is, I never listen to the annoying shrimp. . . .” Toby's smile turned to a scowl but I was too preoccupied to enjoy it. His monster brother continued, “Now I see what he's been talkin' about. You just come waltzin' in here like you own the place, thinking you're the baddest. Thinking you can take my spot! Thinking all the cheerleaders are gonna like you! I don't care what you did in that nursery school last year, you're in middle school now and I'm going to be real happy showing you just how
bad
bad can be. I'll see you at practice, loser.” He let go of my shirt before adding a not-so-gentle shove.

The group took Trevor's cue to leave. I got a few hard shoulders as they walked off. Toby lingered for a second. “This year's going to be a lot different from last year. I can't wait.” He cackled a little and took off up the stairs.

I stood watching him go, now suddenly alone. As I scrambled around in a meager effort to get my books back together, a poster on the wall caught my attention:
THIS IS A BULLY-FREE ZONE!

Great,
I thought.
Too bad bullies can't read
.

Chapter 2

A SURPRISE ANNOUNCEMENT

Luckily, the rest of my first morning at Garrettsville Middle School was wonderfully uneventful, except for the occasional congratulations on my new football career. It wasn't until lunch in the cafeteria that I found out how everyone knew about my rise to stardom. Holding up his phone, Rishi explained, “I posted on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Flickr, Instagram, and Tumblr that you're the new starting running back.”

“You forgot smoke signals,” I said.

“And this morning,” he continued, “I wrote a couple of blogs. Plus Dave and I are making a rap video for YouTube tonight. Rodney, you'll be a star when I get through with you.”

“Look Rishi, I don't really want to—”

“Don't worry, you're not imposing. I don't mind putting in some legwork for a friend, but remember, as your agent I get ten percent of your earnings.”

“School athletes don't get paid,” I reminded him.

“Until now. I already have calls in to Nike and Gatorade. Oh yeah, keep Friday night open.”

“Why?”

“You're making an appearance at the mall.”

“No I'm not. I—”

“Relax, all you got to do is sign a few autographs, kiss a few babies, remind the kids to eat their veggies. You know, the all-American athlete stuff.”

I groaned. Once Rishi got going there was no slowing him down. My friend Slim, who was sitting at the table with my other friends from last year, Dave and Greg, interrupted my thoughts. “You sure he's harmless?”

“Rishi? Of course he's—”

“Not Rishi,” Slim whispered, motioning to the newcomer sitting in our midst. I looked over at Josh. He was attacking his sandwich like a lion mauling a zebra.

“Just keep your hands away from his mouth while he's eating,” I cautioned.

Slim sat on his hands and let out a nervous giggle.

It was good to eat lunch with the guys. I'd made new friends while away at camp but I'd missed the lunchroom laughs. Being back with them even made me feel better about the second half of the day, which turned out pretty normal—until I got back home, that is.

“I just saw your texts,” my dad yelled excitedly to Rishi as we walked in the front door. “You made the football team, Rodney. Great job!”

My mom stood behind him. “I'm not sure I like this whole football thing.”

I didn't like it either. I knew Trevor would get me sooner or later so I was more than ready to accept my mom's removing me from the team.

“But since you seem so talented at it . . . ,” she continued.
What was that?
“. . . I've allowed your father to convince me to let you keep playing.”

My dad nodded at me with a grin. “That's what dads are for.”

My mom said, “Well, it looks like we now have two reasons to celebrate. Rodney, I have something to tell you and we're going out to a fancy French restaurant where I'll make my announcement.”

“Sound's great. Which one are we going to?” Rishi asked.

My mom looked at him. I could see by her face that Rishi hadn't been on the guest list but she swallowed and said, “We're going to Chez Pierre.”

“Awesome.” Rishi smiled. “Good thing I'm wearing my fancy first-day-of-school shirt.”

Unlike Rishi, I was surprised my family was going out to an expensive restaurant. During the summer my dad had taken a good-paying job with a developer called Vanderdick Enterprises. Everything was fine until the company decided to bulldoze my summer camp to build a shopping mall. I kind of stopped it from happening and they fired my dad. Luckily, he had just gotten another job, only it was part-time—in a mall of all places—and money was a bit tight.

I was thinking about this as we piled into the car. Penny brought me back to more immediate concerns when she said, without looking up from her iTouch, “I can't believe you're playing football, Rodney.”

Neither can I,
I thought.

Rishi said, “I may have had a little to do with it—”

“That makes sense,” Penny interrupted. “Rodney would be too scared to join the football team himself.”

I glared at her. My sister could be a nasty little thing, and to make matters worse, she was the one person in the world who had me figured out.

“Penny,” Rishi said, “you're a cute kid. Having a brother like Rodney must be difficult. Jealousy's natural. If you ever need to talk it out, I'm here for you, okay?”

She gazed at him in disbelief before muttering, “What a dope.”

My mom turned around from the front seat. “That's not nice, Penny. Now children, about my announcement. I've been wanting to get a job since moving here last year and I just found out this week that I landed the most amazing one imaginable.”

“It's a very difficult job to get,” my dad added. “Very prestigious.”

“You're going to have your own TV talk show?” Rishi asked.

“No, I am—”

“You're going to be a scout for the Cleveland Indians?” Rishi tried again.

“No, I'm—”

“The next secretary of state?”

“Rishi!” My mom held her finger to her lips. “I am the new food critic for the
Cleveland Plain Dealer
. It's the city's top paper.”

“Food critic?” Rishi shouted excitedly. “What's a food critic?”

My mom took a deep breath and explained, “A food critic goes to a restaurant when it opens and writes a review about the restaurant. If it's a good review, more customers will come than if the critic hates the restaurant.”

“Tell them the best part!” my dad said.

“In order for me to sample as much food as possible, I'm allowed to take people with me. Everyone can order something different and I'll just sneak a taste from each of your plates.”

“Not
that
part, Gloria,” my dad whined. “Tell them the
best
part!”

She smiled. “The entire bill is paid for by the newspaper.”

“Can you believe it?” my dad shouted.

“This is awesome,” Rishi blurted. “We'll be eating like kings!”

“Just one thing,” my mom cautioned. “Don't mention our real last name or they'll know I'm a critic and treat us differently. You see, there was an item in today's paper announcing that I'll be handling restaurant reviews from now on.”

“Won't they treat us better if they know you're a critic?” I asked.

“Yes, but then the review won't be accurate.”

“So you're like a secret agent?” Rishi asked.

“Sort of, I suppose. Just remember not to mention Gloria Rathbone.”

“Who's Gloria?” Rishi asked.

“Me. Got it?”

He winked at her as we pulled up at the restaurant. “Got it, Gloria.”

My eyes took a minute to adjust to the darkness of the dining room. When they did, I noticed white tablecloths, wood paneling, and lots of candles. My skin started to break out in goose bumps from the freezing air conditioning.

“Good evening,” said a man in a tuxedo. “Welcome to Chez Pierre.” He said it kind of snooty like we weren't really welcome.

“We have a reservation for Smith,” my mom said.

The man looked down at his ledger and made a face. “Smith is a party of four.”

“Now it's five!” Rishi said proudly.

“Quite. I'll show you to your table.”

We followed him to the back of the restaurant where he stuck us between the men's room and ladies' room.

“We don't need to use the bathroom,” my dad said with a frown. “Perhaps we could sit at one of
those
tables?” He pointed to the many available ones in the front of the restaurant.

The man made a fake apologetic face. “Oh, I'm sorry sir, those are reserved.”

My dad turned dark red. “Didn't
we
have a reservation? Didn't you just read ‘Rathbone' back there in your little book?”

“Donald!” My mom tried to shush him.

“What, Gloria? Oh, sorry. I meant Smith.”

The man's eyes got real big. “Rahthbone . . . Gloria . . .” He gripped the back of a chair to steady himself. “Oh sir, you're absolutely right. I have a wonderful table for you. It overlooks the river. I think you'll like it. Madame, let me help you to your chair. Are these your children? Very handsome.” He patted Penny on the head. “You light up the restaurant like a spring day.” He turned sharply, snapped his fingers at two waiters, and made a couple of frantic-looking gestures. “Right this way, right this way.”

My dad, Rishi, Penny, and I were all smiles. My mom wasn't. “You've just ruined the review. They know who I am now.”

“What? No they don't.”

As my dad answered, a waiter slid a glass of champagne in front of him. “Compliments of the house.”

“Ah, thanks.” My dad turned back to my mom. “Honey, they're just reacting to my powers of persuasion.”

She frowned slightly and opened the menu. As my dad looked it over I noticed his hands begin to tremble. “Gloria, these prices! Are you
positive
you got the job?”

“Relax, Donald. Stop being silly. We need to figure out what everyone's getting.”

Before we had a chance to read any further, the waiter sprinted to the table like an Olympics finalist. He launched into a grand speech describing all sorts of food. I soon lost interest. All I remember is something about an
S
car going, which made no sense, and then something about sweet bread.

Rishi smiled. “That's what I want. I like bread and I like sweets. And I'll have the filet mignon . . . medium rare.”

“Very good, sir.”

“I'll take the
S
car going and the duck,” I said.

The waiter smiled at my parents. “What sophisticated eaters you have with you.”

My dad put down his champagne long enough to answer, “We try our best to expose them to the finer things.”

“I'm quite sure,” the waiter said. “Now, what can I get for the rest of the table?”

Everyone ordered and the waiter walked off. I noticed that my mom was smiling slightly at Rishi and me. It seemed like she found something funny, but instead of talking she turned back and listened to what my dad was saying about the beautiful view.

I smoothed out the white tablecloth in front of me, leaned back in my chair, and took a sip of my Coke. I could get used to this. I realized that my mom really
had
gotten a dream job—except that she had to go home and write a review. I, on the other hand, just had to eat fine food. Ah, to be the son of a food critic! Finally, here was something I could enjoy that wouldn't put me in great physical danger.

Yeah, I never learn, do I? Being the son of a food critic was about to land me in the middle of the most dangerous adventure of my life. Not knowing what awaited me, however, I raised my Coke glass and said, “To Mom, getting the best job in the world.”

The glasses clinked and we were all smiles—until the appetizers arrived! The waiter placed a small white plate in front of me with six slimy looking gray things on it. “What's this?” I almost shouted.

“Escargot.”

“What is it?'

“Why, it's snails, of course,” the waiter said, smiling.

Rishi and Penny laughed. Rishi said, “You're turning green, Rodney! Maybe I'll give you a piece of crust from my bread.”

The waiter plopped down a plate in front of him. “Your sweetbreads, sir.” It didn't look like any bread I'd ever seen. Rishi queasily looked up. The waiter, wearing a slight grin, said, “I've never served sweetbreads to a boy your age. Children don't often enjoy cow throat. Have fun.”

It was my turn to laugh.

Fortunately for both of us, the steak and the duck were really just steak and duck. We also loved the flourless chocolate cake and the other desserts. By the time we got up to leave we were stuffed. My dad, who had almost licked his plate clean, had to unbutton his pants on the ride home—which any food critic would have to agree is the sign of a good meal.