Bully-Be-Gone (14 page)

I
t was seven
A.M
. and Millicent hadn't slept at all. It wasn't for lack of trying, but whenever she closed her eyes, images of her angry friends entered her half-awake dreams.

She'd called Pollock the night before, after Tonisha had hung up on her. Pollock hung up, too, as soon as he heard her voice. She called Juanita—same response. She hadn't been able to keep anyone on the phone long enough to blurt out a warning. She spent the rest of the evening and into the morning devising and revising numerous strategies to end Bully-Be-Gone's chain of horrific events.

She stumbled out of bed to shower, her legs an uncoop
erative pair of noodles. Bleary-eyed and tired, she ran into the doorjamb on her way into the bathroom.

“How am I going to make it through today?” she asked herself.

Millicent wasn't a regular coffee drinker because a misinformed adult once told her that coffee stunted one's growth. She was a preschooler then. Now, she was older and had scientific evidence to the contrary. She showered and dressed, then tiptoed past Uncle Phineas's door. She had to get out of the house before he woke up and found the Hooky Spray missing.

Once downstairs, she made herself a cup of Lid-Yanker Morning Blend. On the package it said it was guaranteed to pull your eyelids back over your eyeballs with a single sip. She hoped it was true. She took a big gulp. Sure enough, her eyelids snapped open. She was as awake as she could hope to be.

“Wow.” She picked up a spoon and examined her reflection on its convex side. She looked like a lemur.

Bristling with energy and sporting bugging eyeballs to match, she bounded upstairs. She emptied the contents of her backpack onto the floor, placing only the bottle of Hooky Spray inside. She donned a zip-front, hooded sweatshirt, swung a crocheted scarf around her neck, and was ready to go. Before she left, she placed a note on the kitchen counter that simply read:
Dear Uncle Phineas, I'm sorry. Love, Millicent.

 

T
hroughout the morning, Millicent alternately felt like a fugitive, a hunter, and an outcast. First, she snuck out of the house after being grounded by Uncle Phineas. Half expecting him to appear around each corner, she skulked through school as nervous and twitchy as a criminal. Second, she had to get close enough to the bullies to squirt them with Hooky Spray, but she hadn't seen them all morning and had no idea where to find them. Third, her friends weren't speaking to her.

At lunch, she sat at the Wunderkind table in the cafeteria, spreading her lunch out in an inviting display, hoping her friends would join her. Pollock and Juanita showed up, chatting with each other, but when they saw Millicent they stopped talking except to say, “Let's sit at that table over there today.”

Millicent called out, “I have something important to tell you.” They ignored her, traipsing past as if she didn't exist.
Fine
, she thought.
They'll be thanking me once I stop the bullies from stalking them. I can wait.

She put her lunch in her backpack and took it to the Winifred T. Langley Memorial Fountain. “Hi, Winifred,” she said as she sat. “Gee. You're not talking to me either.” She smiled at her joke—her only smile of the morning—and proceeded to eat her lunch alone.

Moments later, Tonisha walked by, scribbling a poem in her notepad. “Tonisha,” Millicent said, setting her sandwich down. “Please—”

Tonisha muttered to herself, “Did you hear something?
I didn't hear anything,” and kept going.

The end-of-lunch bell rang. Millicent rose to go to class when Roderick's voice startled her.

“Hi, honey,” he said.

She spun around to face him. “Hi?” she asked more than stated.

“I've been looking for you,” he said.

Of all the luck
, Millicent thought,
the one person speaking to me is…him.
“You found me,” she said. “Now I've got to go.” She started for her next class, social science, at a brisk pace. Roderick kept pace with her, his fists pumping as if he were jogging.

“What about pizza? Have you thought about having pizza with me? Huh? Pizza? Gosh, you smell good,” he panted.

Rounding a corner into the hallway, Millicent blurted, “I don't eat anymore.”

“But you just had lunch.”

“My last meal. Gotta lose weight.”

“You're perfect the way you are.”

Millicent bolted, dodging students as she raced for her classroom.

“You're perfect!” Roderick shouted. “Don't forget—pizza!”

H
alfway through social science class Mr. Pennystacker made an announcement over the P.A. system. “All students participating in the Masonville Young Talent Extravaganza, please report to the Winifred T. Langley
Memorial Fountain in the next ten minutes. Your shuttle bus is waiting. Best of luck to you.”

Millicent looked up from her social science book to glance out the window. To her surprise, Fletch snuck past, wearing an ill-fitting light-blue tuxedo. He darted from shrub to bush like a spy. Next, Pollywog lumbered past the window with only a small measure of Fletch's stealth. He wore a burgundy and gold brocade tuxedo that seemed to be straining to stay on him. Nina came last, scampering from one bush to another, as if she were playing hide-and-seek. She wore an ungainly wedding dress that was too long for her—except for the sleeves, which fit fine. She tripped on the hem of the dress and disappeared from view. Pollywog helped her up. She hit him and he fell into a bush.

“I have to take care of this before it's too late,” Millicent said, unconscious she'd spoken aloud.

Mr. Kulcher, her social science teacher, stopped writing on the blackboard, nearly dropping his chalk. “Take care of what?”

“My—my—” She glanced at a photo of Albert Einstein Mr. Kulcher had taped to the chalkboard, her eyes landing on his full shiny forehead. To her, it looked like a…“Blister!” she said. “I have a huge blister—on my foot.”

“That's disgusting,” the girl in front of her said.

“Go to the school nurse,” Mr. Kulcher said. “Skip the hall pass.”

Millicent hobbled to the door. Once she was out of Mr. Kulcher's sight, she charged straight for her car.

T
he bear roared again, angry at having been so painfully awakened. It heaved its bulk onto its four limbs and looked as if it might rip right through the side of the bus, it was so enraged. The passengers in the bus gasped and held their breaths. But then the bear's nose jiggled like a bonbon on a candy factory conveyor belt. It sniffed to the left and to the right.

The Swiss Cheese Moon Rock had landed several feet away from the bear's head after bouncing off its snout. Skimming its face along the road, the bear found the snack and gobbled it up.

“Another,” Felicity urged, “farther away, Clay.”

Clay aimed a few feet up the road and shot another one. The bear located that one as well. Clay kept shooting Swiss Cheese Moon Rocks until the bear was about twenty yards away, then he switched places with Cleon, who could shoot farther. Cleon coaxed the bear another twenty yards when they ran out of Swiss Cheese Moon Rocks.

“All gone,” said Clay, climbing down Dallas's back.

The bear squatted in the distance, looking like nothing more than a mound of unraveled black yarn, sniffing for more snacks.

“Seems it's now or never,” said Dallas, reaching for the hole in the roof.

They had decided that Dallas would be the first through the trapdoor since he was the strongest and would be able to lift everyone else out. However, he was also the heaviest. With much grunting, they all pitched in, pushing Dallas as best they could through the opening.

“Ow,” Boris complained as the tip of Dallas's cowboy boot lodged itself in his ear. “Watch the boot, please.”

Dallas's other foot flailed as he tried to hoist himself onto the bus roof. It found a foothold on Mr. Wayfersson's head.

“Hey!” whined Mr. Wayfersson. His hair slid down his forehead. He struggled to keep it in place.

“Toupee, eh?” asked Boris, voicing a question to which the answer was obvious. “Glad to see I'm not the only fake around here.”

Dallas's legs disappeared through the trapdoor. His head popped through a second later.

“All righty,” he said, adjusting his hat, “who's next?”

Felicity was next, they agreed, since she was the oldest of the group. Dallas drew her through the hole in a flash of white tulle. One by one, he easily lifted the rest of them as if they were babies out of the bus and onto the roof.

Now situated safely on top of the bus, they conferred in hushed voices, sporadically glancing at the bear. Its face was still to the ground, prowling for more food.

From that point on, their lives would depend on speed. Once again, Dallas would be first. He'd leap off the bus and help the others down as quickly as possible. Felicity volunteered to be last because she wanted to make sure everyone got off safely. The entire scheme was of her design, so she felt a motherly sort of obligation that the whole thing go according to plan. Everyone agreed to let her go last, but only if she hurried. They had calculated that, even though the bus was tied to a rock, it was merely a matter of time before the rope snapped and the bus hurtled into the valley below. When they hit the ground, they would all have to make a run for it, down the mountain road and away from the bear until they reached Masonville.

“Ready?” asked Dallas.

“As we'll ever be,” said Mr. Wayfersson, buttoning up his blazer, straightening his tie, and pressing his toupee to his scalp.

Miss Dewey cleared her throat and in a quivering voice said, “If we don't make it, I'd just like to say that I enjoyed our—”

“Foolishness,” huffed Anne. “We will make it.”

“Got no choice,” said Dallas, nodding. With that, he scooted on his bottom toward the edge of the roof and jumped off the bus. He landed with a loud thud.

In the distance, the blind bear's ears pricked up like two little satellite dishes, but it didn't turn toward the bus.

Dallas stood bracing himself to catch Clay and Cleon. They insisted on jumping together; so they did, hand in hand. Dallas caught them as easily as he would have two five-pound sacks of sugar.

To Miss Dewey, the roof of the bus was infinitely dirtier than its floor. From her skirt pocket, she removed a solitary tissue and began scouring a path in the caked-on soil as she crawled to the edge of the roof, whimpering.

“What in the blazes?” asked Boris.

“You leave me be, pork man,” she said. “You leave me be.” She scrubbed and crawled and scrubbed and crawled, muttering, until she found herself at the roof's edge. She stood and discarded the tissue.

“Uuuuummm,” said Clay and Cleon. “She littered.”

Dallas clamped their mouths shut with his hands.

“Oh, my,” Miss Dewey sighed, fanning herself. “I made it. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.”

“I don't know whether to push her or shove her,” Boris said under his breath.

“Boris,” scolded Felicity.

Finally, Miss Dewey jumped daintily into Dallas's arms.

Next, Anne dismounted the roof with little more than a grunt. Mr. Wayfersson came after, tossing his briefcase down first.

Boris walked to the edge of the roof.

“I'd better not get hurt,” he hissed to Dallas. “You ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Dallas answered.

“You sure?”

“Yup.”

“I've got a bad back,” said Boris. “Don't you forget it.”

“How could we forget?” asked Felicity. “Just jump.”

Dallas braced himself for Boris's impact.

Helter-skelter and arms flailing, Boris sailed into Dallas's arms. Dallas staggered a bit, regained his balance, and set Boris on the ground.

Felicity stood alone on top of the bus, the morning breeze raising her veil, making it flutter like a circus banner. She was finally going home. One jump and she'd be on her way. She turned, looking up the highway for the bear. It wasn't there. Last she saw it, it was about a hundred yards away. She scanned the road. Suddenly, she saw a black blur approaching the far corner of the bus.

“Run!” She screamed.

The bus started creaking. The group let out a collective gasp when they saw the rope pulled tight. They let out
another collective gasp when they saw the bear. They seemed confused as to whether they should escape or wait for Felicity.

“Run,” she screamed again.

“Not without you, little lady,” said Dallas. “Hurry!” He held out his arms.

Felicity was about to leap when the wind kicked up, wrapping her skirt around her uplifted leg, blowing her veil into her face. She lost her footing and fell off the bus. Dallas did his best to catch her, but he fell, too, leaving them both in a tangled heap of netting and denim. Dallas popped up and lifted Felicity onto her feet.

The bear sniffed and growled just a few yards away.

“Oh, oh, oh,” Felicity groaned, buckling over in pain. “I twisted my ankle. I can't stand on it.”

“Rats,” Boris said gruffly. “The rest of you run. I'll take it from here.”

They stood, frozen.

“Run,” Boris yelled, waving them off.

They started to run, glancing over their shoulders, their faces imprinted with worry.

“Get on my back,” said Boris.

“What?” asked Felicity.

“Good heavens,” said Boris. “Doesn't anyone around here do as they're told? I said get on my blasted back.”

“But—”

“Now!” yelled Boris.

Felicity climbed onto his back, fitted her arms into his
padded piggyback racer harness, and clamped her legs around his waist.

Boris took off in a chorus of squeaking leather. And just in time. There was a sharp twang as the rope snapped in two, and the bus, screeching and scraping, went over the cliff into the valley below. The bear bellowed loudly, alarmed at the sound of the bus and at having lost its eight-course breakfast.

“A
aaawwww, gaaaawd,” screeched Boris. “Such pain.” He galloped along, Felicity on his back, whining and moaning.

“Really, Boris,” said Felicity. “Put me down. I'll try to manage myself.”

“No, no. Quite all right,” he said. “Aaaawwww, gaaaawd. Torment! Misery! Agony!”

“I think I can at least walk,” Felicity assured him.

“No, no. Won't hear of it,” he said. “Oh, help me! Daggers of anguish in my back!”

“Please, Boris, put me down,” said Felicity. She wasn't sure what was worse—being eaten by a bear or suffering Boris's whining.

“No, no. No can do,” he said. “Aaaawwww, gaaaawd. My tortured, bedeviled spine!”

On it went, Boris's howling and Felicity's pleading, as they made their way down the final Curmudgeonly Mountain. Their traveling companions were several paces ahead of them, their hands protecting their ears from
Boris's grating voice as they ran. They'd put a good length between the bear and themselves. In fact, they couldn't see it anymore. Nevertheless, they kept a fast pace.

Soon, they reached an intersection on the crest of a small hill. To their left, a road slithered its way up the hill slightly and into the forest. Below, they could see Masonville stretching out like a blanket, the glistening green bay just beyond.

“Rest,” called Anne to the others. “Let's catch our breaths.”

Everyone came to a halt with Boris and Felicity bringing up the rear.

“Which way?” asked Dallas.

Felicity was happy that she remembered the intersection. When she was a child, her family went on many outings to the woods around here. “The road to the left goes into Curmudgeonly State Park; the one we're on goes to Masonville.” The road bent dramatically, then unfurled downhill like a hair ribbon.

“Then this is our road,” said Dallas.

“Oh, oh, oh,” panted Boris, shifting his weight. “Aaaawwww, gaaaawd. The sheer pain of it all.”

A sportscar came buzzing up the highway ahead of them, a young man at the wheel, a young woman in the passenger seat.

“We must warn them,” said Anne, stepping into the highway. She waved the car to a halt.

The man stared at the group before saying, “Good
morning. What are you all doing out on the road so early? I rarely see people here at this hour.”

“We've had a near run-in with a ravenous bear about a mile farther up the road,” Anne informed the driver.

“How frightening!” exclaimed the female passenger.

“Are you and your friends okay?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Anne replied, “but you should turn around.”

“Right. We don't want a brush with a bear, do we?” the man asked her friend, who shook her head worriedly. “I'm sorry we can't offer all of you a ride into town,” he added, indicating with a bob of his head that his auto could accommodate only two people.

“We'll be fine,” Anne said, patting the hood of his car.

Felicity was about to ask if the driver could at least take Clay and Cleon with them when the man made a Y-turn and rolled back toward town.