Revenge of the Bully (4 page)

Josh smashed the first two but Trevor sprinted by him as Josh wrestled with a third. Two more frightening linebackers were a step behind Trevor. They all looked like sharks ready to feast on some foolish swimmer. The band's choice in music made perfect sense.

And that's when my instincts, my ultracowardly, ultrachicken instincts, swept through me and took full control over my nervous system. My legs spun into action. They must have looked like two whirlwinds in a cartoon. I ran hard to my right—away from Trevor. I would have run straight to the sideline but a defensive end ran out in front of me. Knowing that I was about to get crushed between four thugs, I turned hard and sprinted down the field away from the horror behind me. My fear was giving me bionic speed.

“That's my boy!” I heard my dad shout as I flew by.

I was making a run like I did at field day the year before and was going in for the touchdown! The wind was rushing through my face mask as my feet tore down the right sideline. The old Rathbone luck was still with me—until someone dove at my legs. Jumping instinctively to my right, I plowed straight into two gigantic kids standing on the sideline. Their heads banged together as all three of us flew into the air. I was the first to land and watched the other two hit the ground with deafening thuds.

Rishi charged down from the stands. “That was great!” he shouted. “You hit them like a bowling ball smashing two pins. I got it all on video.”

The two guys I had clobbered weren't as pleased. As they staggered to their feet, covered in mud and grass and rubbing their heads, I realized it was the Windham twins! Towering over me, one of them growled, “I know you did that on purpose.” He spit some dirt from his mouth. “Too bad we can't properly introduce ourselves with so many witnesses around, but we'll be seeing you soon enough. Bart and Bruno, remember those names.”

Still dazed from the collision, I watched them walk off.

“Rathbone! That was the best run I've seen in years!” It was the excited face of Coach Laimbardi staring down at me. “In a real game, the spectators won't be right next to the field. Unlucky. But with you handling the ball, I see big things for this team. Big things.”

“Super job, son!” my dad yelled from the sideline as I rose to my feet.

Joe clasped my shoulder. “I
knew
we could count on you to take care of those guys.”

“Me too,” JJ added. “It's great that you have our backs! Finally, someone who's not afraid of anything.”

Boy, was I glad my sister wasn't around to hear that one!

Chapter 4

A BIZARRE LESSON IN ROMANCE

The start of school can be a nerve-racking time for a kid. While my first couple of days probably surpassed anything experienced by my classmates, I can't say I was surprised. Trouble knows how to find me. For instance, how many people get thrust into the role of football savior on a team where half the players want to tackle them? Or find three cheerleaders flirting with them—right when they're trying to win back their girlfriend? Or worst of all, witness their dad running around school with a jock strap in his hand?

Well, you get the idea. It was all pretty much business as usual for me. But by the end of the first week, I began to realize my life had taken a turn that even I couldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams. I looked around one day and saw that things were . . . good. Thanks to the incident with Bart and Bruno, I was barely getting threatened in the halls and without Josh by his side, Toby was keeping his distance.

The place where I really noticed a difference was at football practice. I was doing all right and starting to enjoy it. I figured the best thing to do was run right behind Josh as much as possible. And it had been working. He was able to handle Trevor and the middle linebackers, hammering them so hard that they toned down their ferocious assault on the field. Coach Laimbardi loved it. After practice one day he said, “You know, Rathbone, I've never had a running back that uses his lead blocker as well as you.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“Yeah, a lot of times players run away from protection and get tackled.” He certainly didn't have to worry about
me
running from protection. “Keep up the good work, Rathbone.”

“I'll try.”

“Yeah, Coach, he's playing good,” Trevor's voice sounded from behind me.

With my helmet on, I hadn't seen him approach. Laimbardi nodded his head in agreement before turning his attention to Coach Manuel and walking off.

“Hey Josh,” Trevor called out, “someone was just looking for you. He said one of the janitors needed help exploding something.”

Josh immediately tore off in the direction of the school building. I got a sick feeling in my stomach. This wasn't good. Trevor watched him disappear, muttering, “What a loser.” Then he slapped his hand down hard on my shoulder pad. “I wanted to have a little talk without Frankenstein around to protect you.”

Was Trevor really going to start something right in the middle of football practice?

“Listen, Mr. Football Star,” he began, “enjoy the ride, but don't kid yourself into thinking that I'm not going to get ahold of you. I would right now, if Laimbardi wasn't here. Trust me, we Tarantolas have no problem waiting for the best time to strike.”

“Actually, you kinda got me already,” I said. He looked confused so I continued, making it up as fast as I could. “It's the suspense of waiting, you know. Just ask anyone who's been killed. Waiting's the worst part. It would be so much worse for me if you waited, um, say twenty or thirty years.”

Trevor shook his head before responding. “My brother Toby said you had a smart mouth. He wasn't kidding. You know, part of me appreciates that, though. Really. But another part of me, a bigger part, can't stop thinking of the joy your squeals of pain will bring me. Besides, you took my spot as running back and I'm not forgiving that!”

“Why not? You're still the starting middle linebacker.”

“True, Rathbone, true. Coach says defense wins championships. But
I
know that offense gets the girls. I was
this
close to kissing Josie.” He held his fingers an inch apart in front of the bars of my mask. “Then you show up and she hasn't spoken to me since. I've been really depressed.” He shook his head. “And you know, there's only one thing that can get me out of this funk. Can you guess what that is?”

I had a pretty good idea, especially since he was twisting the front of my jersey and pulling me closer. He said, “You know, maybe now isn't such a bad time after all, Rathbone. The school psychologist says I need to find an outlet for my anger issues. He advised me not to bottle up my feelings. . . .”

“Have you tried yoga?”

“Do you punch people in yoga?”

“No, but my mom showed me how to do the downward dog. Here, I'll show you.” I attempted to pull away but Trevor only pulled me in closer. I watched his other hand form a fist. The coaches had conveniently wandered off. Josh was still back at the school. How had the field gotten so empty? Where would he punch? If he went for my face mask he would probably break his hand. Would he aim at my stomach instead?

Before I found out the answer to my last question, my chicken instincts took over. “What if I can get you a date with Josie?”

His fist lowered slightly. “I don't need a slimy runt like you to land me a lady. She already went on a date with me during the summer.”

“What happened?”

“We had a great date. Super romantic.”

“Candlelit dinner?”

“Nahh, we went to see the demolition derby.”

“You think a demolition derby is romantic?” I asked.

“All right, maybe it's not as romantic as professional wrestling, but that's why I bought her dinner.”

“Well, that part sounds nice.”

“Yeah. The hot dog had a little dirt on it, but it gets dusty at the track.”

I almost pointed out his stupidity but decided to play along. “Certainly sounds like a special evening,” I lied. “The track dust is part of the ambiance. Besides, I've always felt that dirt adds a nice smoky flavor to meat.”

“Exactly!” he said, nodding. “You get it.”

“So after this clearly wonderful date, what happened?”

“I don't know!” He let go of my jersey and put his hands into the air. “I texted her a couple of days later to see if she wanted to go cow tipping at the old Smith farm. She never wrote back and when I try to talk to her she avoids me.”

I had to ask. “What's cow tipping?”

“You city boys don't know nothin' about a good time. Cow tipping is when you sneak up on a sleeping cow and push it over. They wake up mad and you run away. Good thing you moved here from the city. You've been missing out on the finer things in life.”

“So I see . . .” Afraid he might still need to unleash his anger, I added, “What about me getting you a second date?”

He looked at me for a moment, thinking.

“Tarantola!” Coach Laimbardi called from the other side of the field. “Bring in that tackling dummy.” I glanced down at the large red pad lying on the grass.

Trevor lifted the back of my jersey and hollered, “Don't worry, Coach, I got the dummy right here!”

Then, so only I could hear, he added, “You get me that date with Josie and maybe you'll avoid a date with my fists.” With that, he gave me a jarring shove to the ground and walked off the field.

After a pretty quiet week, my life had returned to normal.

Chapter 5

PULLED INTO A MEETING

In the days that followed I did everything possible to ask Josie about a second date with Trevor, but there was a problem. Jessica. She still wasn't talking to me and the last thing I needed was for her to see me with Josie—or to hear about it from someone else. Three different times I had approached Josie in the hallway only to have Kayla pop up out of nowhere and give me one of her knowing, angry looks.

I finally got my chance late one morning while Jessica and Kayla were outside for gym. Josie had been excused from gym for a week after a particularly nasty split during cheerleading practice. I noticed her alone in the library and decided to bring up a different nasty split.

“So,” I began, “I heard from Trevor that you won't return his phone calls.”

She stuck her finger down her throat and pretended to throw up on the floor.

“Oh come on, he's not so bad,” I said.

“He took me to a drag race. Me! Do you know how gross it was?”

“It was a demolition derby, and he
did
buy you dinner.”

At the mention of the infamous hot dog, Josie's face twisted into such a disgusted expression that I really did expect her to throw up. She limped off toward the bathroom.

I had my work cut out for me. Before long, Trevor would run out of patience. For the time being, however, I was safe.

Or so I thought. Later that same day, Rishi, Josh, and I were walking home from school, joking around and enjoying the beautiful September afternoon. Josh began to lag behind but I was used to that. A crack in the sidewalk was enough to distract him. Rishi was in the middle of a story when I began to notice a car engine idling in back of us. I could also hear tires crunching very slowly over sandy gravel. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. This was all too familiar. Last year, my crazy teacher Mrs. Lutzkraut and her nutty friend Long Nose had followed me all through my neighborhood. Were they inching along with me now? It couldn't be! Mrs. Lutzkraut was supposed to be “resting” for a few months in a place called Shady Pastures.

I glanced back slowly. There was a car following us all right, but it was a black limousine.

“Ooof,” I gasped, colliding with something soft yet solid. I found myself eye-to-eye with the buttons on a beige dress shirt.

“Are you's Rodney Rathbone?” a deep voice asked. I peered up at an enormous man. He had a big face that matched his large belly. A large strange man asking for me by name. Definitely not good.

I was about to run off screaming. I turned to Rishi and whispered, “Let's get out of here.”

Instead, Rishi took a step closer to the stranger. “To answer your question, yes, this is Rodney Rathbone, but you'll need to talk to me. I handle all his business affairs.”

Another man was climbing out of the limo. He wore a bright ugly shirt and tilted hat. He looked at Rishi. “What are you, his lawyer?”

Rishi looked unfazed. “I prefer agent. Rishi Singh, at your service.” He handed both men his card. “What can I do for you?”

Ugly Shirt said, “I like this kid. He's good with da words. You like him, Cheese?”

The big guy, who I guessed was named Cheese, grunted. I couldn't tell if it was a yes or no grunt.

Ugly Shirt said, “Look kid, the guy we work for wants to talk to Rodney. My name's Willy and this here is Cheese. Whadaya say we take a little ride downtown?”

The idea of a limo ride with these two seemed like the worst idea in the world.

“Sounds great,” Rishi said.

“What?” I squeaked. “Listen, it looks like a nice car and all, but we prefer to walk. Nice day and besides—”

“That's right,” Rishi cut in, “my clients are in training.” He motioned to Josh, who had finally caught up with us. “Josh, meet Mr. Cheese and Mr. Willy.”

Josh yawned.

Willy continued. “Anyway, you's can walk then. Walk on down to Mama's Restaurant. It's under a mile away. No reason to be afraid—”

“I ain't afraid of nothin'!” Josh barked.

“
Dis
is da one I like,” Cheese said, pointing at Josh.

“That makes sense. He's like a mini you.”

“Who you callin' mini?” Josh snapped, taking a few steps toward Willy.

“The Boss might want to talk to this one too.” Willy laughed. “We'll see you at Mama's. You know where it is?”

“Yes,” said Rishi, looking at his phone. “You can tell Mr. Boss we should be there in twenty minutes.”

“It's not Mr. Boss. Boss isn't his last name. He's the boss, because he owns the restaurant, and he don't like to be kept waiting, so make it quick.” The two of them climbed into the back of the limo and drove off. 

What did they want with me? And who was this Boss? I had lots of questions but knew one thing for sure. No way was I heading to this meeting. I went to take the left toward home.

“Where are you going, Rodney?” Rishi asked.

“Home.”

“What do you mean? We have a business meeting in fifteen minutes. I told you my hard work would start to pay off. One of the town's big shots wants to meet you. He must be important if he's called Mr. Boss.”

“Look Rishi, something feels a bit strange about these guys. I have homework and my parents will expect me . . .”

“No they won't. I just texted your father that you're eating over my house. This, Rodney, is called opportunity. And what kind of friend, what kind of agent, would I be if I let you take the turn toward home? What do you think, Josh?”

“Huh?”

“See? He understands. Now, let's go.” And of course, against my better judgment, I followed.

As we rounded onto the main street in town Rishi shouted, “Look, there it is.” He pointed to a building with a green awning over a white-tile entranceway. Above the awning was an unlit neon sign that read,
mama's
. In the window was another sign:
opening soon
. It was only when we got closer that I noticed a smaller sentence below:
and you's better show up
.

I glanced up and down the street hoping to spot a convenient police car. The only car was the black limo parked in front. I could hear its engine rattling, cooling down. Otherwise, the street was empty. Second, third, and fourth thoughts swept my mind but before I had a chance to voice them, Rishi and Josh walked into the restaurant. Once again, I had no choice but to follow.

Inside it was dark. A few beams of daylight shined in through the slats of thick wood blinds. A couple of green lights hung above a wood bar that ran the length of one side. Twenty or so tables dotted the room. I noticed a bartender with rolled up sleeves and a bald guy with some gray hair above his ears and heavy, black-framed glasses. He wore a jogging suit and sat at a table writing something in a big book. Besides them, the room was empty.

“Here we are,” Rishi announced.

“You Rodney?” asked the guy at the table.

“No, I'm his manager.”

“Well the Boss only wants to talk to Rodney.” He looked at Josh and me and asked Rishi, “Which one of dem is Rodney? The runt or the big guy?”

The scared, shaking runt
, I wanted to answer. “Me,” I volunteered.

“Good.” His glasses made his eyes seem twice as big as normal. “Go back through that door.”

“I usually do most of Mr. Rathbone's business planning,” Rishi began. “I'd better talk to Mr. Boss with him—”

“You'd better sit!” the guy shouted. “And it's just Boss. None of this Mr. Boss stuff. Got it?”

Rishi didn't answer. Instead he climbed onto a bar stool and tapped the wood bar. “I'll have a stiff one.”

The bartender just stared at him.

“Make that a Coke,” Rishi said, smiling.

The bartender reached for a glass and looked at Josh. “What about you, big fella? What can I get you to drink?”

“A drink,” Josh said.

While this brilliant exchange was underway, Cheese and Willy stepped out from the back room. “All right, enough gabbing. The Boss is waiting. Come on, Rodney.”

Rishi called out, “Don't sign anything without me reviewing it first!”

The guy at the table muttered, “Dis kid,” and shook his head. Then he looked up at me as I passed by with Willy and Cheese. His big eyes behind his glasses were blank and told me nothing of what to expect on the other side of the door. To be honest, I was as curious as I was scared.

The old, heavy door swung open. A man who I guessed was the Boss sat behind a huge wooden desk. His hair was dark brown and slicked straight back. A smile broke across his wide, clean-shaven face. “Rodney, thank you for accepting my invitation here this afternoon.”

“What, I had a choice?” I said as I sat down in one of two leather chairs facing the desk.

The Boss laughed. “You a funny kid, Rodney. I heard you had a big mouth. I like funny people. They make me laugh. Watch this. Hey Cheese, what kind do I have in the drawer?”

I heard Cheese inhale noisily. “Provolone.”

The Boss clapped his hands together. “Man's a genius. Can sniff out a slice of cheddar from thirty paces.”

At least I now knew how he got his name, but that's all I knew. How did this Boss guy know
my
name, and that I had a big mouth? How did he know anything about me? I was about to find out.

“So Rodney, I guess you're wonderin' why you's sittin' here today.”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“Well, first let me say that all of us is big fans of yours. Them McThuggs have been quiet for a year. Now, we can certainly handle those boys, but you know handling problems can be, shall we say, bad for business. Also, I hear you're the new running back on the G-Men. I like football.”

I was about to ask how he knew I was the running back when he said something that really shocked me. “Anyway, the real reason you's here is your mother.”

My mom?
I hadn't seen that coming. Did she think I should get a part-time job or something?

“She's the new food critic for the paper,” he continued, “and we is opening a new restaurant here. Do you know what a restaurant needs to be successful?”

“Good food,” I answered.

The Boss shook his head. “No.”

“Good service?” I tried again.

Looking impatient and kind of angry he shook his head again.

“Nice decor?” I tried. “Reasonable prices?” I spat. I didn't like the change in his expression.

“You obviously know nothin' about the restaurant business, kid. Why should we waste our money hiring an expensive chef or fancy-pants decorator?”

“Because people come here to eat?”

“No, they come here because someone tells them it's good. Someone they trust. Someone like a food critic. Someone like your mom.”

“You want my mom to write a good review for your restaurant?”

“Ah, a quick learner.”

“But she's not going to write a good review if you don't have good food.”

The Boss smiled at me. It wasn't the kind of smile that made you feel all warm and fuzzy. He said, “Why do you think you're sitting here, Rodney? Just to chat? I got my own bratty son at home to annoy me. Your mom
will
write a good review, because you're going to convince her to.”

I understood. I understood I was in big trouble. “My mom doesn't listen to anything I have to say. She's not—”

“I told you that I like football. I wanted my son to play, but he spends all his time on music, composing some phonies.”

“Symphonies?”

“Yeah, that's it. He wants to go to this joint called Juilliard. I say what about Ohio State?”

“Go Buckeyes!” I added, trying to stay on his good side.

The Boss nodded. Then his forehead creased and his eyes went cold. “But I didn't bring you down here to talk about the Phil Moronic Orchestra. I want to talk about your career. Now, you get me a nice little restaurant review in the
Cleveland Plain Dealer
and I'll see you get whatever you want, on or off the field. Let's just say I got connections in dis town. You understand, Rodney?”