Revenge of the Bully (5 page)

I nodded, though understanding what he was saying did little to lift my spirits.The Boss smiled wide and banged his palms on his desk. “Now we's coming to an understanding. Conducting business, you could say. I know you're gonna get us that good review. You do that and we're friends. You don't, and, well . . .”

Willy spoke up. “Let's just say it's healthier to be on the Boss's good side.”

“So, Rodney,” the Boss continued, “do you want to be friends?”

“Uh, I can't think of anything better.” How I managed the lie with a straight face I'll never know.

“Rodney?”

“Yes, er, Mr. Boss?”

“Not Mr. Boss. I hate when people say Mr. Boss! It's just Boss. Now, where was I?”

“You were yelling at me that we should be friends.”

“Right! So listen . . . you're not going to go talking about our business, are you? That's not what friends do.”

“I won't say anything,” I promised.

“Well that's good. Not that anyone would listen. We is pillars of the community.”

My nervousness was building and since my well-being depended on the success of this restaurant, I asked, “What kind of food are you going to serve?”

“Russian Italian, like I had growing up.”

“Russian Italian? Who'd want to eat that?” It was out before my slow brain had a chance to filter it. His eyes darkened and I scrambled to recover. “I mean, it's just that I never heard of mixing Russian and Italian. I . . .”

“What, you never had borscht parmesan or cabbage pizza?” the Boss asked. “I ate it every day. I got a Russian dad and an Italian ma.”

Just the thought of eating that made my stomach gurgle and I could taste my lunch in the back of my throat.

“Great stuff. The kinda food that puts hair on your chest.” He looked over at Willy. “Give Rodney a menu.” Willy took a sheet of paper off a shelf and stuck it in front of me. “Now,” the Boss continued, “tell me dis don't make you hungry.”

I started reading the menu.

Herring Parmesan

Pigs Feet Parmesan

Poached Fish Parmesan

Matzo Balls Parmesan

“So, what do you think?” the Boss asked.

That I'm as good as dead
. There was no way my mother was going to give this place a good review. Instead, I managed, “Interesting.”

“Want to try some of it?” Willy asked.

Before I had a chance to scream “No!” there was a knock at the door.

“What?” the Boss yelled out.

The bald guy with thick glasses stuck his head into the room. “Sorry to bother you, but I can't take it no more.”

“What's the matter?”

“It's Rodney's friend, the little one. He's driving me nuts. He won't shut up about how much money he can make us.”

“Oh yeah?” the Boss asked. “Well bring him in. I think Rodney and I are done with our talk. Right, Rodney?”

I didn't answer, and I didn't pay attention as Josh and Rishi joined us in the back room. I was too busy thinking about the Boss and what to do next. He hadn't exactly
said
anything bad, but somehow I got the feeling he could make my life miserable if I didn't go along with him. Plus I didn't trust Willy or Cheese or those other goons out front. . . .

“Have you set a marketing budget?”

I looked up. Rishi was talking excitedly. Everyone in the room was staring at him like he taught advertising for a living.

“Never mind da budget for now,” the Boss said, “what do you think of our slogan? And our website?”

I realized in shock that Rishi was sitting in the Boss's seat behind the desk. They had placed a laptop in front of him. Rishi looked at the computer screen and read out loud, “
Eat at Mama's, or else
. Yeah, well it's catchy and all, but maybe—”

“Check out our social media campaign,” Willy added.

Rishi read, “
Like us on Facebook, or else
. Well it's a good start. Maybe we could tweak it a bit. Have you considered any e-blasts? Do you have a Twitter account? Are you running any other promotions, like coupons to build a following? Have you been in touch with the local papers? Let me take a look at your press release . . .”

“Rishi, are you ready?” I asked.

“Just a minute, Rodney. I need to add some color to this web page . . .”

“You know what?” the Boss said to Cheese and the other guys. “I kinda like these kids. They got smarts. Maybe we can put them to work. What do you think?”

Rishi looked up at him from the laptop.

“Yeah, it's a good idea,” Willy answered. “They can start hanging flyers around town. You know, spread the word about the restaurant opening.”

I knew that getting in any deeper with these guys would be a real bad idea. I said, “As much as we'd love to spread the word, we have a lot of schoolwork . . .”

Rishi opened his mouth to back me up—or so I thought. “Don't worry, Rodney. I can handle two jobs. You're still my priority. We'd love to get more involved. Is it too soon to talk about compensation?”

The Boss laughed. “Again with da money. Don't worry. We pay very well.”

Rishi looked so excited I thought his eyes were going to pop from his head. He turned to Josh. “What do you think? Want to make some money?”

“I like money,” Josh said.

That seemed to decide it. The Boss reached out his hand and Rishi gripped it, only too happy to shake the hand of his new employer. “And now,” the Boss said, looking down at Rishi, “the first order of business.”

“What is it?” Rishi asked, grinning.

“Get outa my chair!”

Chapter 6

BEET LITERATURE

“May I try the herring-stuffed ravioli?” my mom asked the Boss. I sat squeezed between the two of them, our backs to the wall of the restaurant. As the large plate passed in front of me I noticed the ravioli was gray and wet. My mom took a bite. “This is the worst meal I've ever tasted!” she shouted. The Boss gave me an evil look. “Help,” I tried to shout, but nothing came out. My mom took another bite and gagged. “It's awful!” This time the Boss grabbed his fork and . . .

I awoke so suddenly that it took me a few seconds to realize I was safe in my bed. My heart was beating fast. It was pitch black and the house was silent. I guessed it was a few hours before dawn. After a minute I began to relax and forget about the dream . . .

Relax? Safe in my bed? Who was I kidding?

Yesterday's meeting with the Boss shot through my brain. I immediately craned my neck to glance out the bedroom window, half-expecting that Cheese guy's big face to be peering back at me. There was no one there but I realized that these new people in my life were no dream. I had watched enough old movies with my dad to know that someone like the Boss could be more dangerous than any schoolyard bully from my past. Just the kind of thought a coward like me needs in the middle of the night.

Later, at breakfast, I was still nervous and jumped when my mom shut the silverware drawer. My dad smiled, folded his paper, and looked at me. “Rodney, it's totally normal to be excited.” His eyes twinkled.

I put down the piece of buttered toast I was about to bite and swallowed nervously. My dad and I viewed the world rather differently. The fact that Penny was smirking did little to ease the tension.

“Why should I be excited?” I asked.

“It's Friday,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“And tomorrow's Saturday,” he continued.

I was getting impatient. “And the day after that is Sunday. I know how it works.”

He speared a sausage off a plate in the middle of the table. “You realize what Saturday is, don't you?” Was he just talking about enjoying the weekend? I doubted it. I took a sip of orange juice. “Don't you remember? Tomorrow is your first football game.”

I almost spit the juice in his face. Game tomorrow? I had been so caught up with Mama's Restaurant and Trevor's love life and trying to win back Jessica that I had forgotten about the game. I wasn't ready to play an actual football game!

“You'd better finish your toast,” my dad said, interrupting my panic. “You need to start carb-loading. Also drink lots of water. I can't wait to see you play. I bet the whole town is going to be there.”

“
Everyone
will be watching you,” Penny added, her devious grin widening. “Rishi's made sure of that.”

“That's right. You'll be the star,” my dad said, missing my sister's attempt to elevate my panic level. She was doing a great job.

“I have your jersey all ready for you,” my mom added. “It's folded over there.” I looked at the black jersey with the gold numbers. I could feel my heart beating harder.

“Number twenty-eight, just like Curtis Martin,” my dad said proudly. Curtis Martin was my dad's all-time favorite New York Jet.

It was all too real. I was going to be on the big stage. Ready to blow it in front of everyone. I grabbed my stomach. “I don't feel so good.”

“That's just butterflies. You step on the field tomorrow and all your problems will vanish.”

My stomach twisted again. Butterflies? More like giant vultures!

“Can you pass the sausages?” my mom asked my dad.

As the large plate moved in front of me I suddenly remembered last night's dream. I couldn't take it anymore and bolted from the kitchen. The last thing I heard was my dad tell her, “Look at him practice sprinting. That boy is a born football star.”

Josh and I walked into school from the bus and I realized that I didn't know which problem to worry about first. Just a couple of days ago I thought my life had taken a turn for the better. Lurking disasters were part of my past, I had told myself. Yeah, right! Now I was so overwhelmed that I walked straight to my locker, making no attempt to talk to Josie about Trevor. I didn't even want to talk to Jessica about me. Girls would have to wait. I was taking some books out when Rishi stuck his head around the open locker door. “You're going to have to take care of the back basement hallway.”

I had no idea what he was talking about and didn't care. “Not now, Rishi.”

As usual, he ignored me and went right on talking. “I've already covered the front of the building, the gym, and two stairwells, not to mention half the telephone poles in town.”

He thrust a roll of masking tape and some flyers into my hands. I glanced at the papers.
EAT AT MAMA'S—HOME OF THE WORLD'S BEST BORSCHT PARMESAN
.

“World's best?”

“Rodney, don't get bogged down by the details. We're building excitement.”

“What's borscht anyway?” I asked, looking at a gross picture.

“I don't know. I Googled it last night. It's something made with beets.”

Josh had joined us. “I can beats things up,” he shouted, denting the locker with a punch.

Rishi turned to him. “I read another interesting fact about beets last night. One that you might appreciate.”

Josh cocked his head.

“Apparently, if you eat enough beets, your poop turns red.”

It was a rare moment when Josh grasped a concept immediately. “Red poop!” he yelled. He clapped his hands together and laughed and laughed. Eventually he gained control of himself and, turning around, noticed a group of girls walking our way. “Guess what I learned?” he asked them.

The five stopped and stared. “What?” one asked.

Josh proudly announced his new fact. Four of the girls let out a simultaneous “Ewwwwwwww!” and hurriedly walked on, but one lingered. It was Wendy Whizowitz. I didn't know her too well but I knew she was considered to be the smartest girl in Garrettsville Middle School. She was also the tallest . . . just about the same height as Josh.

“Interesting,” she observed, before asking, “Did you read my paper on cow chips and their impact on homesteaders, or do you just find the large intestine fascinating like me?”

Josh managed a nod. I caught an elbow from Rishi.

“Yes,” Wendy continued, “as I suspected. Of course, it's really an interesting point you bring up. If a beet can have that kind of effect on the digestive tract, are there other underlying benefits in the process? Maybe we could do an experiment. We could create a colon health breakthrough and publish our findings. Would you like to be my coauthor?”

Josh managed another nod.

“Nice. I'm Wendy Whizowitz. I know you're Josh Dumbrowski. I'll be at your game tomorrow. I was going to spend the day reading
Moby-Dick
again—”

“Hahaha,” Josh interrupted.

“You find Herman Melville humorous too? So many people miss the subtle comedy in his prose. Want to walk me to my first class? We can talk beets and nineteenth century lit.”

Josh shot Rishi and me a puzzled look before heading off with her. Rishi smiled. “Maybe Wendy's got a friend for you, too, Rodney.”

“Yeah, that's just what I need.” I looked at the flyers in my hand. “Listen, Rishi, I've got too much going on right now. I can't get involved with this restaurant thing.”

“Hey, I know you're busy. Big day tomorrow and all that.” For once he sounded reasonable—which lasted for about a second. “Don't worry,” he continued, “I've got you covered. I already have a reporter from the
Akron Beacon Journal
assigned to do a write-up on the game. I sent him several photos of you to use in the spread.”

“Photos? What photos?”

“Who's the best cameraman you know? Hey, I also sent him one that your mom showed me from Camp Wy-Mee. You know, the one of you in a dress.”

“What?” I wanted to strangle him.

“We need to emphasize your playful side. You can come across very serious sometimes.”

“Rishi,” I began to growl.

“See? You're doing it now. Anyway, you made a deal to work for the Boss. After history class you pass the back basement hallway on the way to music. Just hang three of them down there. Make sure they're eye level. Do you like the graphic? I had trouble finding a good picture of borscht.”

I glanced again. “It looks like a bucket of vomit. How's that going to build excitement? It's more likely to scare people away.”

Rishi frowned. “I'm not an artist. It's all we got. Anyway, can you hang them?”

“Okay,” I finally agreed. “I'll see you at lunch.”

Rishi smiled. “Let's hope they're not serving beets.”

After history class, my head hurt as I pondered the list of horrors facing me. For about the hundredth time in my life I thought about running away to some faraway place, only I knew that the first person I'd meet in Faraway Land would either be the town thug or some local evil mastermind. At least here in Garrettsville my enemies were familiar and after a year in Ohio I was learning the good places to hide out. In fact, this quiet back basement hallway seemed like an ideal location.

I hung the first flyer above a clogged, dirty water fountain. I figured that anyone who'd drink from it might actually enjoy Mama's disgusting food. I moved along, sticking up another flyer about twenty feet down the hall. I was putting up the third flyer when I noticed some boy pull down the first one. “Hey!” I yelled.

He turned toward me and I immediately felt bad I had shouted at him. It was a quiet kid I'd noticed a few times around school. He was always drawing in a notebook and wore the same hooded sweatshirt every day. The first time I saw him he was sitting on the floor outside my history class leaning back against the lockers. I remember he glanced my way and I thought there was something sad about him. I had tried to say hello but he had quickly shifted his attention back to whatever he was drawing.

Now, in the basement, he stared at me for a moment before backing away, the flyer still in his hand. I decided not to say anything. Besides, maybe he enjoyed Russian-Italian food!

I continued down the hall, still thinking about the quiet kid. Just yesterday I had seen him getting teased by some students in Mr. Scab's class. I was glad I hadn't said anything mean just now. Anyway, it wasn't his fault I was having a bad day.

And with that thought my day got a whole lot worse.

“Hanging out with the rats in the basement, Rat-bone?”

I looked up. It was my old enemy, Toby. I hadn't seen him coming down the stairs at the end of the hall. “Land in any bushes lately?” I asked.

He gave me a big smile. “That's right, keep joking. I've been waiting a long time for my revenge and the wait will soon be over.
Real
soon.” He chuckled.

I realized with horror that he actually looked happy, like a child about to open a birthday present. I had never seen him like this. Usually he just frowned. He turned and practically skipped into the basement gloom.