My Life as a Cartoonist (17 page)

“And be called a chicken for the rest of the year?”

“Afraid to fight a kid in a wheelchair?” Matt adds. “You'll never hear the end of it.”

The three of us look over to Umberto, surrounded by a cluster of our classmates. To think I wanted to help him, had even put together a plan to train Frank to be his helper. A sudden wave of self-righteousness sweeps over me. Who does this kid think he is, transferring to our school and stirring up trouble? Copying my comic strip, getting me in trouble with our teacher? Watching him now, I decide Umberto is the one who needs his butt kicked. Wheelchair or no wheelchair, I'm tired of this kid harassing me.

“Three o'clock,” I tell Matt and Carly. “If Umberto wants a fight, he's going to get one.”

I Hope You Know, This Means War

“You can't fight a kid in a wheelchair,” Carly says. “It's just plain—what's the word?—
wrong
.”

“For the millionth time, this wasn't my idea.”

“It's Bullying Rule Number One,” Carly pleads. “Just walk away.”

“If I can't walk away, he can't either,” Umberto interjects as he races down the hall.

“I have no intention of walking away,” I call after him. “I'll be there.”

Carly grabs her books tighter to her chest and shakes her head sadly. “I want nothing to do with this. You're on your own.”

I point up toward her locker, where Crash is waiting for her. “I don't think YOU'RE on your own.”

She tilts her head, trying to decide whether or not to go to Crash. “I can't watch you do this,” she says, then heads toward her boyfriend.

When the bell rings at the end of the day, Matt rubs my shoulders as if I'm a boxer going into the ring. I'm completely flabbergasted when we go outside and more than fifty kids are waiting.

“Fight, fight, fight!” everyone chants.

Part of me wants to run screaming through the double doors and not stop until I'm safely hidden underneath my bed at home. But another part of me is exhilarated by this sudden attention and notoriety. I look over and see Charlotte Mayo and Mackenzie Brennan chanting. I didn't even think they knew who I was.

“This is like an old-fashioned duel,” Matt says. “It's awesome.”

Billy Thompson, who lives a few houses down from Matt, chimes in. “Alexander Hamilton got killed in a duel.”

“That's not going to happen today,” Matt says.

My exhilaration suddenly shifts to fear, and I find myself with a serious case of flop sweat. “I've got to get out of here,” I tell Matt. “Let's go.”

“No one's going anywhere,” Umberto says, wheeling up behind me. “Ready to get your butt kicked?”

As the other kids chant Umberto's name, I scan the school yard for a random teacher to put an end to the madness. Why isn't there ever an adult around when you need one?

“Pick your weapon,” Umberto says. Across his lap, he's got two lacrosse sticks and two pairs of boxing gloves.

“Are you insane? Who brings boxing gloves to school?”

“I box at the YMCA,” Umberto says. “I'm a black belt in karate, too.”

Billy Thompson chimes in yet again. “Have you seen Umberto on YouTube breaking boards with his head? Or chopping a cinder block in half with his bare hands? He's amazing.”

The person I now want to fight is Billy Thompson.

I turn to Matt. “This is ridiculous. I can't fight a kid in a wheelchair.”

Umberto overhears me. “You want me to get out of my chair? Cuz I'll beat you lying on the ground too.”

As my life flashes before my eyes, I think about my drawings and wish Super Frank were here to help me. He may be fictional, but no one else seems willing to help me out today.

“Enough stalling.” Umberto tosses me a lacrosse stick. “You get on one end of the school yard, I'll get on the other. We'll meet in the middle and joust until one of us wins.”

“You want to joust? What is this, medieval times?”

“Jousting began in Europe in the tenth century,” Billy Thompson says. “It was first—”

“Will you please SHUT UP!” I yell. I grab the lacrosse stick and head to the other end of the yard. “Let's get this over with.”

Everyone starts chanting “Fight, fight, fight” again, and when Stephen waves his bandana, Umberto and I race to the middle of the yard. Using his wheelchair, he's much faster than I am. Carly's words echo in my head, reminding me what a stupendously bad idea this is.

Before I get a chance to raise my stick, Umberto smacks me in the knee with his. As much as I try not to react, it hurts, and I let out a short scream. I hoist the lacrosse stick above my head and get ready to hit Umberto back when a shout stops me in my tracks.

“Derek Fallon, put that stick down now!”