Authors: Frieda Wishinsky
with illustrations by
Text copyright Â© 2005 Frieda Wishinsky
Interior illustrations copyright Â© 2005 Louise-AndrÃ©e LalibertÃ©
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
Dimples delight / Frieda Wishinsky; with illustrations by Louise-AndrÃ©e LalibertÃ©.
1. Teasing--Juvenile fiction. I. LalibertÃ©, Louise-AndrÃ©e II. Title. III. Series.
PS8595.I834D54 2005Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â jC813'.54Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C2005-904059-9
First published in the United States: 2005
Library of Congress Control Number: 2005929686
: Lawrence cannot bear Joe's teasing about his dimples,
but nothing he does will make it stop.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Department of Canadian Heritage's Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.
Design and layout: Lynn O'Rourke
Orca Book PublishersÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Orca Book Publishers
Box 5626, Stn. BÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â PO Box 468
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V8R 6S4Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 98240-0468
Printed and bound in Canada
Printed on 50% post-consumer recycled paper,
processed chlorine free using vegetable, low VOC inks.
08Â Â 07Â Â 06Â Â 05Â Â â¢Â Â 4Â Â 3Â Â 2Â Â 1
Without your love and dimples,
this story would never have come to be.
On the first day of school, our new teacher, Ms. Parks, spotted me. I smiled at her. Right away, I knew that I had made a mistake.
“Will the boy in the blue sweater with the cute dimples in the second row please stand?” she boomed.
“Cute!” I groaned.
“Young man,” Ms. Parks boomed again, “please stand.”
Everyone's eyes were on me.
And then a rumbly voice from behind me said with a snicker, “Look at Dimple Boy!”
I knew that voice.
Everyone at school knew that voice.
It was Joe Morse.
“What's your name?” Ms. Parks asked me.
“Lawrence,” I whispered.
“Speak up. Repeat your name loudlyâwith confidence,” she said.
“Lawrence,” I said.
“Thank you, Lawrence. You may sit down.”
I sat down. My face burned.
I heard Joe laughing behind me. I turned around.
Joe was drilling holes into his cheeks with his fingers. He stuck out his tongue like he was going to be sick.
I wanted to say something, do something, anything, to make him stop. But what?
Ms. Parks handed out our new math book.
“Write your name in pencil on the inside cover,” she told us.
I wrote my first name. On the first letter of my last name, my pencil point snapped like a twig.
I looked in my pencil case. My new baseball pencil and hot-dog eraser were gone. Eloise! My little sister Eloise always pokes into my stuff.
I looked around the classroom. The pencil sharpener was at the back of the room, past Joe's desk. The last thing I wanted to do was pass Joe.
“Psst, Stewart,” I said.
My friend Stewart was sitting in the first row. He was drawing pictures of dinosaurs on the back of a notepad. Stewart loves dinosaurs.
Stewart didn't hear me, but Ms. Parks did.
“Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Lawrence?” she barked.
“No,” I stammered.
“Then why aren't you busy writing?” she asked.
“My pencil broke,” I said.
“Well, go to the back of the room and sharpen it,” she said.
I stood up. My heart thumped. I walked fast.
Just as I thought I'd made it past Joe, I tripped. My head crashed into Lily Malone's like a rock.
“Ouch!” Lilly screamed.
“Ow!” I groaned.
Ms. Parks rushed to our side.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“No,” said Lilly. “He broke my head.”
“Your head is not broken,” said Ms. Parks. “But go to the office and get an ice pack so you don't have a bump. You too, Lawrence.”
“I'm fine,” I said, though my head ached.
“Are you sure, Lawrence?” asked Ms. Parks.
“Yes,” I said.
I wasn't going to show Joe I was hurt. I wasn't going to give him anything else to tease me about.
“Is this what you tripped on?” Ms. Parks asked, picking up a book.
“Yes,” I said.
Ms. Parks looked inside. “This belongs to you, Joe,” she said. “How did it land on the floor?”
“I must have dropped it,” said Joe. His voice was so sweet you could have eaten it on cereal.
Ms. Parks did not look impressed.
“Put it away,” she said, handing Joe his book.
I walked to my seat. My head really hurt. But it hurt even more to know that Joe dropped the book on purpose. He enjoyed every minute of it.
At recess, Stewart and I played catch. I forgot about Joe for a few minutes.
Someone tapped me hard on my shoulder.
I spun around.
It was Joe.
“How's Dimples' little boo-boo?” he asked.
“Stop calling me that,” I said.
“Now don't get so excited,” he sneered. “It makes your face look like a tomatoâa tomato with worm holes.”
“Cut it out,” I said, trying to stay cool. My face was burning again.
Joe laughed. “Come on, Dimple Boy. Don't cry.” He blasted his words across the playground like a trumpet. Three boys stopped playing ball and laughed.
“Stop it!” I screamed.
“Relax, Dimple Boy,” said Joe, “or your tomato face might explode. That would be gross!”
The three boys playing ball laughed louder. “Bye-bye, Dimple Boy,” Joe called. He ran off to play with his friend Andrew.
I wanted to run, but I couldn't move my feet. I wanted to hide from the sound of those three boys laughing, but my feet wouldn't let me. All I could see was Joe's face.
Stewart yanked my sleeve. “Come on, Lawrence,” he said. “Forget about him. He's a creep. Let's play ball.”
“You're right,” I said. “He is a creep.”
I followed Stewart to a quiet spot at the back of the playground. We tossed a ball back and forth.
I tried to forget about Joe. By the end of recess, I almost had.
But at lunch, Joe was back. He leaned over my table. His stringy black hair almost dipped into my strawberry yogurt.
“Ugh!” he said, pointing to the yogurt. “Look at Dimples' girly food. It's all pink and gooey.”
I ignored him, but the yogurt began to taste sour. I couldn't eat it. I put down my spoon.
“Hey,” said Stewart. “Can I have your yogurt if you don't want it? I love yogurt. All my mom ever makes me are peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches on white bread.”
“Sure,” I said, handing Stewart the yogurt.
He wolfed it down in four spoonfuls. It's amazing how much Stewart can eat and still stay as skinny as a toothpick.
That's what he calls himself, The Amazing Food-Gobbling Toothpick.
“Don't let Joe bother you,” Stewart mumbled between bites of his chocolate donut.
“But he does bother me. I hate it when he teases me,” I said.
“He knows you hate it. You should see the happy look on his face. If you ignore him, he'll stop bugging you.”
“How do I ignore him?” I asked Stewart.
”Watch me,” said Stewart. “Call me a name.”
Stewart didn't look at me. He just kept eating.
“Now call me a mean and nasty name. Something really bad,” said Stewart.
“Hey, Slobber Mouth. Four Eyes. Pig Face,” I said.
Stewart finished his donut and opened his milk carton as if he were deaf.
“That's good,” he said. “Try a few more. Even meaner.”
“Puke Head. Drool Face. Fat Lips,” I said.
“Great,” said Stewart. “Now I'll call you names so when Joe does, you'll be ready.”
Stewart called me Bonzo Brain, Stupid Head, Dog Breath and twenty other disgusting names.
I ignored every one.
“See, it's not so hard,” said Stewart.