Bobby the Brave (Sometimes) (6 page)

A
ll weekend the familiar sound of the sewing machine whirring away filled the air. To Bobby, it seemed like his dad had been working on the Sandy costume forever. Yet whenever he'd ask about it, Mr. Ellis-Chan would say, “Soon enough, son. You'll have to wait until it's done to get the full effect!”

While Annie was out buying Halloween decorations with Mrs. Ellis-Chan, Casey stayed home to watch
Princess Becky's Planet
. Princess Becky sang to the Halloween pumpkins to make them grow big and strong.
That's what I need
, Bobby thought.
If I could get Princess Becky to sing to me, maybe I'd get big and strong.

As he watched the rest of the show, Bobby wondered if his mom would let him quit school. He didn't want to face Mr. Rainerhaus on Monday. Perhaps he could get a job. Bobby tried to think of what he was qualified to do. Ice-cream tester. Donut taster. Rock collector.

The sewing machine noise ceased and Mr. Ellis-Chan appeared in the doorway holding a football. “Bobby, how about tossing the ball with me for a bit?”

Normally when his dad asked him to play football, Bobby said no. But this time was different. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle would occur and he could learn enough not to humiliate himself during PE. It was a long shot, but anything was worth trying.

“Sure, Dad, why not?”

Mr. Ellis-Chan lit up. “Really? Wow! All right then, let's go!”

The targets and other things were still set up for Annie's football drills, but Bobby was more interested in just throwing the ball and catching it. He knew the rules of the game pretty well. Bobby had watched football lots of times on TV with his father. Whenever someone got tackled, Bobby shut his eyes. He didn't like seeing people get hurt.

The last time his dad played professionally, Bobby had been six years old. When The Freezer got knocked down and didn't get up, both Bobby and his mother started crying.

Later, at the hospital, Bobby was still crying. He thought his father was going to die. But he didn't die. Instead, his knee was so busted that he would never play pro ball again. Bobby never told his dad, but he was happy when he heard the news. That meant he wouldn't get hurt anymore. Only, these days Annie was playing football and now Bobby worried about her, even though she was tougher than most boys.

Mr. Ellis-Chan lined up five footballs on the ground in front of him. “First, we'll practice catching. I'll throw these to you one after the other. You just catch the ball, then drop it and catch the next one, okay?”

Bobby felt his body tense as he nodded. Five footballs meant that he could mess up five times in a row.

“It might help if you open your eyes when I throw the ball to you,” Mr. Ellis-Chan suggested.

Bobby did his best to keep his eyes open as his father threw. Still, he missed almost every time. Once he did catch the ball, but it hurt when the pointy part hit his chest.
Why don't they make footballs softer?
he wondered.

They switched to throwing. “Okay, hold the ball like this,” his father said, showing Bobby what to do.

Bobby tried to imitate his dad, but the ball was too big for his hands. Plus, it never went very far when he threw it, and it certainly didn't have that same spin The Freezer's or Annie's throws had.

“You just need more upper-body strength,” Mr. Ellis-Chan was saying. “Put more muscle into your throw, like this.” Effortlessly, the football sailed across the sky. “You'll get there. Don't worry.”

But Bobby did worry. He had to get there by Monday.

 

That night before bed, Mrs. Ellis-Chan came in to check on her son. “New poster?” she asked.

Bobby nodded. He had just put up his autographed Troy Eagle poster on his wall — the one of Troy doing an aerial over the Grand Canyon.

“What shall we talk about tonight, Bobby?” his mother asked as she fluffed up his pillow and motioned for him to get into bed. As was their custom, they had a nightly talk about the universe, or rocks, or skateboarding. It was Bobby's job to decide, and he always picked interesting subjects.

“Mom,” he began, “when do you think I'll start growing?” He had been thinking about this a lot lately.

Mrs. Ellis-Chan took Bobby's hand in hers. “Well, I can feel you growing right now!” she exclaimed.

Bobby took his hand back. “No, really, Mom. I'm serious.”

His mother brushed the hair away from his eyes. “Yes, I can tell you are, and that you're not a little kid anymore.” Bobby nodded. He was happy his mother had noticed. “Everyone gets their growth spurts at different times. You'll have yours soon enough. How tall are you compared to the other kids in your grade?”

“Not the smallest, but nowhere near the tallest,” he said. “Do you ever think I'll ever be as big as Dad?”

“Hmmm,” his mother mused. “That's unlikely, because you're a combination of my side of the family and his. If you think about it, your father is way bigger than either of his parents were. As for his strength, you know how much your father works out.”

Bobby nodded. His dad was always lifting weights in the garage, and he ran a couple miles a day with Annie. Sometimes Bobby followed them on his bike.

“Annie's pretty tall,” he pointed out.

“Yes, and Annie is in high school. But by the time you're her age, you will be a lot taller, I promise,” his mother reassured him. “Any other questions? Or are you stalling for time now?”

Bobby started to say something, but then stopped himself. “All done,” he said.

His mother kissed him on the forehead. “Okay then! Now, lights out. It's time for bed. Getting plenty of sleep will help you grow! Good night, honey.”

“Good night, Mom.”

Bobby did have one more question, but it always got stuck in his throat. He wanted to know what “He's not like me” meant.

O
n Monday morning, Mrs. Carlson announced, “Class, Mr. Rainerhaus has food poisoning and is out sick today, so PE is canceled.”

Bobby tried not to grin, because that would be rude. Still, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. No PE! No football! But when he turned toward Chess, it looked like Chess had food poisoning too.

“Are you okay?” Bobby asked.

“I'm nervous,” Chess croaked.

“What are you nervous about?”

“About the musical. My uncle Carrom is coming, and he's a great singer,” Chess explained. “Every family reunion, he forces us to listen as he sings Bollywood songs. He says he's bringing all the relatives to the musical — and you know how many of those I have.”

“Well, I'm scared I'm going to forget my lines,” St. James confessed. “I had no idea Daddy Warbucks was such a blabbermouth.”

“Boys,” Mrs. Carlson said, “is there something you'd like to share with the class?”

St. James pointed to Chess. “He's scared.”

“So is he!” Chess cried, pointing back at St. James.

Mrs. Carlson looked curious. “What exactly scares the two of you?”

“The musical,” Chess said softly.

Several students nodded in agreement.

“Well,” Mrs. Carlson said, “let's take a few minutes to talk about our fears. It's an excellent subject.” Chess sat up straighter. So did St. James. “What are the kinds of things that you find scary? I know that when I was your age, I was scared of the dark, and to this day I still sleep with a night-light on.”

Bobby was happy to hear that his teacher had a night-light too.

Everyone had their hands raised, ready to share what scared them.

“Wow, this is certainly a hot topic,” Mrs. Carlson noted. “I think we're going to need to spend more than a few minutes on this. Okay, here's what we are going to do. I'd like everyone to write down what scares you. You don't need to include your names. Then I'll write everyone's fears on the board and we can talk about them. If you don't want to write anything, you don't have to.”

Some students began writing immediately. Others stared off into the distance. A few chewed on their pencils or fingernails. Bobby disguised his handwriting by slanting the letters to the left.

After about ten minutes, Mrs. Carlson asked the class to fold their papers in half and pass them forward. “After recess we'll talk about this,” she said. “In the meantime, please take out your history books.”

Later, as the boys waited for their turns at the handball court, Jackson asked Bobby, “What are you afraid of?”

Bobby just shrugged. “Things,” he said. “What about you?”

Jackson shrugged. “Same as you. Things.”

 

When the class returned from recess, the blackboard was filled with fears. Bobby was surprised to see so many. Mrs. Carlson had written …

And the list went on.

“I think it's great that you were able to identify your fears,” Mrs. Carlson told the class. “These are all very real and very valid worries. So many times there are things we are afraid of, but we don't talk about them, and that could actually make it seem worse. Some of these fears you can do something about. Others, you may just have to face.

“For example, I know that many of you are nervous about the musical. Singing and dancing in front of a lot of people can be frightening. But the more you practice, the easier it will be. I've also heard that if you imagine everyone in the audience is just wearing their underwear, they won't seem so scary.”

Bobby and the rest of the class howled with laughter. It was funny to hear a teacher say “underwear,” and imagining a room full of people in their underwear was even funnier.

Mrs. Carlson continued, “If you're worried about global warming, then maybe you can help try to stop it. You may not be able to do this single-handedly, but just knowing that you are part of the solution may make you feel better. Does anyone else have some ideas on how to cope with any of these fears? You don't have to say which one is yours.”

Jillian Zarr raised her hand. “If you are afraid of clowns, then don't go to the circus.”

“That's good thinking,” Mrs. Carlson said. She pointed to Swoozie next.

“If you don't want to go to Principal Coun's office, then you shouldn't do anything bad,” Swoozie said, looking at St. James. “Oh, and I'm scared of robbers. One of our lawn gnomes was stolen a couple weeks ago, and in the middle of the day too!”

Bobby's eyes grew big when he heard this.

“You should carry a dart gun and a cage to capture the small animals with sharp teeth,” Jackson said. “Plus always bring bait, like a pepperoni pizza.”

As the class discussed everyone's fears, Bobby waited for someone to come up with a solution to his. But nobody did.

“And so, remember,” Mrs. Carlson said at last. “Talk to someone about your worries. Don't let them grow inside of you. Find someone you trust and share how you feel. You'd be surprised at how just talking can make you feel better.”