Revenge of the Bully (6 page)

All through music class his words echoed in my head. On one hand, I doubted he would do anything. His brother Trevor was depending on me for dating advice and Josh and I were best buddies now. On the other hand, I knew Toby too well. He was the mastermind behind all my problems last year with Josh. Even worse, over the past few days I had noticed him hanging out with some pretty tough-looking kids. Was he about to set them loose on me? Had he talked his brother into crushing me on the football field tomorrow in front of all Garrettsville?

At lunch I sat down with Rishi and Slim but the image of a mysteriously happy Toby had ruined my appetite. I pushed my tray of greasy nachos in front of Slim. “Go ahead, you can have them.”

“Thanks!” he said, smiling, ready to attack the cheese-covered mush.

“Did you hang the flyers in the back hallway?” Rishi asked me.

Before I could respond I saw the kid with the gray sweatshirt slowly walking up to us. He always ate alone, so I was surprised to see him approaching our table. Was he actually going to say something? Maybe apologize for taking the flyer down? When he reached me he removed a piece of paper from his notebook and placed it on the table. It was the flyer, only he had sketched a perfect drawing on it of what I guessed was borscht parmesan. The drawing was in full color and looked as good as any painting I had seen in a museum back in New York City. You could even see steam rising from the food! It looked so good that it actually made me hungry. Slim whimpered as I took back my nachos.

Rishi, looking over my shoulder, shouted, “This is brilliant. Great job, Rodney, enlisting an artist to help us market the restaurant. I should have thought of it myself! Are you going to introduce me?”

“Uhh . . .” I faced the kid in the sweatshirt. “Hi, I'm Rodney. This is Rishi. My pouting friend over there is Slim.” Slim gave a little wave.

The kid looked scared but eventually managed a quiet, “I'm Pablo.”

“Pablo, I like that name. I like your work even more.” Rishi grabbed Pablo's hand and started shaking it. “Come, sit with us. You drew that picture just this morning?”

Pablo nodded. “It took about ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes! Did you hear that, Rodney?”

I nodded. I smiled. I noticed a slight smile begin to form on Pablo's face.

Rishi said, “Pablo, do you think you could do some more food drawings for me?”

The next thing I knew, Rishi and Pablo were deep in conversation. It was hard to catch everything they were talking about, especially since Pablo spoke so quietly, but I did hear him say something about converting the image to a digital file and I could tell Rishi really liked that.

“Pablo,” Rishi said, grinning, putting his hand on the kid's shoulder, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Then he looked around. “Hey, where's the flyer?”

Josh was holding the drawing to his face and sniffing it. In all the excitement I hadn't seen him walk over to us. “What are you doing?” I asked.

He didn't answer. Instead he stuck his tongue out and started licking the picture. A stream of drool fell from his mouth to the floor.

“You'll have to pardon our friend . . . ,” Rishi started to tell Pablo, but it was too late. The sight of a drooling giant towering over the table was too much for him.

“Where'd he go?” Slim asked.

I pointed to a shaking gray hoodie in the corner of the cafeteria.

“Don't worry,” Rishi remarked, “I'm sure we'll be seeing quite a bit of Pablo. In fact, Rodney, you'll be seeing him tomorrow.”

“Huh? What are you up to, Rishi?”

“I just hired him to sketch your first touchdown! I wonder if the
Akron Beacon Journal
uses freelance artists. . . .”

Slim must have noticed my face turn white as I remembered the game. “Can I?” he asked.

“Take them!” I shouted. With all the vultures flying around my stomach, the last thing I needed was a pile of soggy nachos.

Chapter 7

MY FIRST BIG GAME

My dad was right about the whole town coming down. The stands were packed. Half the crowd wore black for Garrettsville, the other half blue for Streetsboro. Black and blue. Not a promising sign. My stomach tightened and I glanced at the four porta-potties behind the end zone. Hopefully I wouldn't have to make any sudden visits.

I decided to turn my mind to more pleasant thoughts and tried to pick out a familiar face or two in the stands. The first one I spotted was the Boss. Not so pleasant. He was flanked by Cheese and Willy. All three wore dark sunglasses and mean expressions. The seats around them were empty, as if everyone felt their menacing presence.

Everyone except one kid. I watched as Rishi walked right up to the three toughest guys in the bleachers with a big smile on his face. He blabbed to the Boss for a couple of minutes and showed him something on his iPad. The Boss removed his sunglasses, stared at what Rishi was showing him, and eventually nodded approval. Rishi immediately took out his phone and was about to sit down when Willy gestured for him to beat it.

I figured I had about another minute before the game started so I scanned the crowd one last time. I spotted my parents and Penny. My mom waved. My dad looked proud. Penny stuck out her tongue. To their left I noticed Kayla and Jessica. Kayla saw me and also stuck out her tongue. This was getting ridiculous. At least Jessica made a little smile before flipping her blond hair and staring off. Two rows in back of them sat my former principal, Mr. Feebletop. He wore a New York Mets hat and gave me a big thumbs-up. I also noticed that Wendy Whizowitz had come out to support Josh, which was nice, except her head was buried in a book. Dave, Slim, and Greg sat nearby. Below all of them, under the bleachers where no one could spot him, sat Pablo. I gave him a little wave and was happy to see a hand pop out of his gray sweatshirt and wave back. In fact, seeing him and my other friends and my family gave me a feeling of relief.

Until Coach Laimbardi approached from the sideline and I remembered I was about to play my first big game in front of everyone I knew.

“Good to see you boys so excited,” he said. He was either joking or blind because the team was staring at the ground in silence. He continued, “I've been waiting for a day like this for several years. Who else is ready to go win a football game?”

Hector coughed, AJ whimpered, and Joe dejectedly kicked his cleat, trying to dislodge some caked mud.

“That's the spirit!” Laimbardi continued. I began to realize he was serious. He took a step closer to us and stared into our eyes. “You know our game plan, right? The one that almost guarantees victory?”

A no-lose game plan?
That sounded promising.

“Just hand the ball to Rathbone and get out of his way!”

Just hand the ball to Rath
. . . What?

“Go get 'em, Rodney!” Coach Laimbardi shouted. “Hands in! G-Men on three. One-two-three!”

I caught myself glancing back at the porta-potties as a barely audible “G-Men” wafted into the fall Ohio air.

There's nothing like starting a game with an exciting, memorable play. Ours saw Hector toss the football back to me, as we had planned. It floated in the air for just a second but to me it seemed to hover there for ages.

I had heard that the game slows down for great athletes and they have time to do extraordinary things while the average player sees the game quickly and barely has time to react. And here it was, slowing down for me. But instead of calculating some brilliant play, all I could think about was everyone watching me. The thought sent a nervous shudder through my body—and my fingertips—just as the football arrived. Still in slow motion I watched it slip from my hands.

“Fumble!” I heard a defender scream.

I gasped and tried to dive after it but my knees turned to Jell-O and I fell to the grass. The only other person nearby was Josh. “Get the ball!” I hollered. Amazingly, he reacted quickly and picked it up. “Run!” I yelled. He took a couple of steps but the Streetsboro defenders had broken through the line. The first tackler ran full speed into him. It was a jarring blow. I watched the Streetsboro kid go flying backward and land hard on the packed dirt. Josh, on the other hand, had barely moved. Unfortunately for Streetsboro, the hit had clearly left him angry.

“Run!” I yelled again, only this time it was a warning to the other team.

Ignoring me, the next tackler, a big, tough-looking linebacker, dove at the enraged grizzly bear in their midst. Josh caught him in midair and body-slammed him to the ground. Seeing this, the rest of the Streetsboro team stopped dead in their tracks. Their coach screamed them on but Josh looked so ferocious they refused to go near him.

At this point, Josh could have walked the length of the field and strolled into the end zone for a touchdown. Instead, his crazy temper made him hurl the ball at the closest Streetsboro player. It bounced off the kid's backside and rolled toward me. I gulped. A chance to redeem myself! I picked it up and darted forward, managing to cross the line of scrimmage before the defense attacked and tripped me up. I'd gained about five yards.

Some people in the stands cheered, but most just looked confused. The Streetsboro coached hollered at the refs and called time-out. We shuffled over toward our sideline. Josh was still breathing hard but starting to calm down. I was unsure of what to expect from Coach Laimbardi. Yeah, I had gained a couple of yards, but I had also fumbled.

I needn't have worried. “Now
that's
how you play football,” Laimbardi said, grinning. “I like the way you two think. Being unpredictable is a gift. Look how rattled you got Coach Laundry and his players. Keep it up.” He called over to Trevor, “I hope you're taking notes.”

I thought I saw a puff of steam shoot out from the ear holes of Trevor's helmet.

“Did I get a home run?” Josh asked.

“Ha ha! Good one,” Coach answered. “You two crack me up. What a duo!” As he walked away I heard him say something about Mack and Byner.

I was surprised by how quickly halftime rolled around. Streetsboro had scored a second-quarter field goal and the score was 3–0. Before heading to the locker room for the break I was joined by a couple of my friends on the field. Rishi seemed oddly nervous.

“You're holding back, right?” he asked. “Saving everything for the second half, right? I get it.”

I was about to ask why he cared so much when my parents and Penny came up to us. “Rishi,” my mom asked, “who are those three men you were talking to in the stands?”

“What men?” he lied.

“
Those
men,” my mom answered, pointing right at the Boss, “and why are they wearing pinstripe suits at a football game?”

Before he could answer, the marching band started heading our way. “I've got to go join the team,” I said. “Enjoy the game. See you all later.”

As it turned out, however, there wasn't much to enjoy. The second half dragged and dragged. Late into the fourth quarter we still trailed by three. With every passing second I felt more desperate to win. I felt full of energy. I had stayed right behind Josh for most of the game and avoided getting smashed to pieces . . . except for one hard hit that left my ears ringing. But now wasn't the time to worry about injuries. Now was the time for a hero! For the first time, I knew I could do it.

We had the ball and were down to our final play. We lined up. This was it. My nerves were on overload. Hector snapped and flipped the ball to me. Luckily the defense seemed unusually slow to react and I bolted through the line without being touched. I couldn't believe I was in the open field! Seeing the end zone ahead, I ratcheted up the speed. Only the Streetsboro safety could stop me now but instead of running me down, he just watched me run by. Evidently he and the whole team were in awe of my blazing speed. I was going in for the touchdown. I really
was
hero material. Why had I ever doubted myself? As I crossed into the gold-painted end zone I knew that Jessica was somewhere in the stands watching me save the game for Garrettsville. Just like all my favorite players, I spiked the ball and turned, ready to soak in the cheers of the adoring crowd.

I was met by silence. It was oddly terrifying. My first thought was that I was in some bizarre dream. Finally the crowd erupted—into screeching laughter. All I saw were fingers pointing at me. I quickly checked to see if my pants were still on.

The line judge walked over and picked up the ball I had spiked. “That was some run, son,” he said. “Too bad the other team called time-out just before the play got off.”

I hadn't heard the call because of the dumb ringing in my ears! Feeling like a fool, I walked back to the huddle through the howling Streetsboro defense.

“Classic Rathbone!” Trevor called from the side.

The game ended a few minutes later. Streetsboro held on for the 3–0 win.

I avoided looking into the crowd. I didn't want to see any more smiling, laughing faces. At least I'd given them something to enjoy. Trailing Coach Laimbardi, we shuffled back to the locker room. Losing the game was bad enough, but playing the role of town bonehead . . . well, I felt pretty low.

The rest of the team and I sat down on the wooden benches with our helmets resting by our feet. I wasn't looking forward to the speech I knew was coming. Was he going to yell at us? At me? I kept my eyes fixed on a pattern in the blue linoleum tile floor. Coach Laimbardi walked into the middle of the locker room.

“Boys, that was spectacular!” he cheered.

Huh?

“Coach Manuel, when was the last time we lost by only three?”

“Five years ago.”

Coach Laimbardi blotted his eyes. “You boys have made me very happy today. Well done! A three-point loss. I think I'll be heading out with Mrs. Laimbardi and treating myself to the surf and turf tonight. I'll see you Monday. Game ball goes to Rathbone! Enjoy the rest of your weekend!”

We changed back into our street clothes. Coach's speech had an uplifting effect, and while I had to deal with the typical “Nice run, Rodney!” comments, I recognized that it was okay to laugh at myself. In the end, the whole team was cracking up about the famous “Time-out Touchdown.” I joked around with everyone as they filed out of the locker room and was actually starting to feel pretty good when one word sent a shiver down my spine.

“Scram!”

It was the unmistakable voice of Cheese and it was directed to the few kids still left talking to me. I turned around to face him. Cheese was well over six feet tall and looked about as wide as our entire offensive line. The remaining teammates took one look at the oversize visitor and bolted. Cheese called out, “Da coast is clear.”

The Boss and Willy walked in. Followed by Rishi! Satisfied that no one else was in the locker room, the Boss stared down at me and shook his head. Something told me the words “Better luck next time” weren't about to spring from his lips. He got right to the point.