Revenge of the Bully (8 page)

That afternoon I sat staring out my bedroom window. How was I going to set up a date between Josie and Trevor? I kept trying to come up with a plan but it was no good . . . I was drawing a blank. I knew deep down that this problem was way beyond anything my brain could figure out. It called for someone so shrewd, so devious, so manipulative that even the C.I.A. would fear him.

“Rishi,” I said into the phone, “I need your help.”

“That's what I'm here for. What can I do? Contact the papers for interviews? Speak to the Boss about expanding our role?”

“No, not that. Just listen for a second. I have to get a date with Josie next Sat—”

“Holy smokes! Josie? The cheerleader? I thought you still liked Jessica . . .”

“Rishi, I—”

“Oh, I get it, you're trying to make Jessica jealous. Sneaky, Rodney, sneaky, but I like it. I could make a video of the date and e-mail it to her.”

“Rishi, you're not listening to—”

“I'll get the Boss to hold a private dinner for the two of you. Lots of candles. You should order Josie strawberries. No, lobster. Hmmm, I got it—chocolate-dipped strawberries! No, chocolate-dipped lobster.”

“Rishi!” I snapped. “I don't want to go on the date with her. I'm talking about Trevor.”

There was a pause. “You want to go on a date with Trevor?”

“No!” I tried again. “I want
Josie
to go on a date with Trevor.”

“Why would you possibly want that?” Poor Rishi was having a hard time following me. Finally he just said, “If you're looking to hook someone up on a date, I can think of a guy with dark flowing hair, skin the color of the most delicious caramel, a legendary personality . . .”

“Listen, I kind of promised I'd help Trevor, that's all. He was real upset about Josie. Plus it will make him play better. Remember, we need to start winning football games.”

“But you're the star player!”

“Rishi, you're beginning to believe your own publicity.”

“That's true. See how good I am?”

“Anyway, football isn't tennis. It's a team sport and I need Trevor to get the defense going.”

“Okay, I get it. Do you still like my idea of holding the date at Mama's Restaurant?”

“Yes, that's great. I knew I could count on you to get this going.”

“All right, Rodney. I'll call the Boss right now. Besides, I want to check with him to see if he has more work for us.”

“Has he paid you yet for all the flyers we hung?”

“Well, not yet, but I know he's good for it. Anyway, like I was saying, by the time I get through with that place, Mama's will be the most romantic spot east of the Mississippi. Talk to you later!”

Rishi was a good help but I was still in trouble. I had a place for a date but no way to get Josie interested in Trevor. None of my other friends would have a clue of what to do.

I glanced up at the bulletin board above my desk. I'd hung pictures there from my summer at Camp Wy-Mee. It was only about a month ago but it seemed a world away. There was a picture of Mr. Periwinkle and me sitting under his favorite beech tree. Next to it was a picture of our cabin, Loserville. I was standing in the middle surrounded by all my friends. As I looked at their faces I felt a little sad. I wondered if there was such a thing as camp-sickness. Besides Josh and me, Stinky was in the picture. I could see his wet armpit stains. Next to him, Thorin held an aluminum baseball bat high above his head pretending it was a sword named Orcrist. Next to him was my best friend in the bunch, Fernando. He was wearing a silk burgundy robe smirking at the camera. Next to him—

Fernando!!!

I fell out of my chair. Why hadn't I thought of it sooner? Fernando was a world-class expert on romance and girls. He would know what to do about Josie! I pulled open my drawer and rustled through a bunch of papers looking for the Post-it with his number. Right before search-panic set in I found it stuck to a brochure from Camp Wy-Mee.

With sweaty fingers and a racing heart I hit the numbers. If there was anyone who would know what to do it was Fernando. It rang and rang. Eventually the message clicked on. “Hellooo. You've reached the voice mailbox of . . .
Fernando
. I am currently doing something exciting and romantic, but if you'd leave your name, number, and text me a picture, I'll be sure to call you soon. Adios, for now.”

Beep. “Fernando, it's Rodney . . .”

I launched into my problem, giving him all the major details. Five minutes later my phone rang. “Rodney, it was great to hear your voice, and even greater to hear that you are still searching high and low for adventures. You were right to call me. This sounds like a job for Fernando. I will be there Thursday evening.”

“Don't you have school in Canton on Friday?” I asked.

“On Friday I will have school in Garrettsville.”

“How will you do that? You're not enrolled here.”

“Leave that to Fernando. I need time in your school to get the feel. I want to meet this Josie and I'll need to see Trevor. There is work to be done. You just get your parents ready for my visit. I'll be arriving Thursday and leaving Sunday. This will be a weekend to remember. Now, I go!” Click.

I hoped it would be a weekend to remember for all the right reasons. Even so, I trusted Fernando and began to feel better about things. For the first time all day I actually relaxed and stretched out in the chair, letting my eyes wander back to the bulletin board. Next to the camp pictures was a big blank space where last year's calendar had hung. “What the heck,” I thought, getting up and grabbing something off the bed. “It's not every day you're a football star.”

The picture of me on the back page of the paper took up half the bulletin board, but darn I looked good! In fact, I was so busy admiring myself that I barely noticed Penny burst out laughing when she walked by.

Chapter 9

VISITING DAY

I stared out the classroom window thinking about everything going on in my life, including Fernando's upcoming visit. As I stared, I noticed that the trees beyond the school fence were beginning to turn bright red and orange. I wouldn't have seen that last year locked in Mrs. Lutzkraut's gray class, where the shades were forever drawn. Mrs. Lutzkraut. She was my greatest enemy—worse than the Boss and Trevor combined. Luckily, she was in Shady Pastures and couldn't bother me anymore. I guess after the bulldozer incident at Camp Wy-Mee . . .

“Rodney?” Mr. Witlacker's voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Yes?” I asked my history teacher.

“What's your take on the reading? What do you think of the Trail of Tears?”

Huh? I hadn't heard a word. Trail of Tears? Tears . . . “Uhh, it was sad?” I managed. I knew I was about to get in trouble for staring out the window.

“Wonderful answer, Rodney! I think sadness summarizes it beautifully. Maybe you can follow up with some specifics about the Cherokee.”

Cherokee? I couldn't think of anything. Wait . . . “It's an SUV, made by Jeep, right?” A few kids giggled. Kayla whispered with a nasty smile, “Nice going, genius.”

“Excellent, Rodney,” Mr. Witlacker nodded.

“Huh?” Kayla blurted. “Jeeps have nothing to do with Native Americans and Andrew Jackson. Rodney wasn't listening! He was staring out the window like a zombie.” There were a couple of more giggles.

“Kayla,” Mr. Witlacker continued, “I can see how you might have missed it, but I believe Rodney was trying to take our conversation to the next level. The horrible treatment of the Cherokee has weighed heavily on our nation. As a result, we see that an American car company has used their tribal name as a form of social apology. That was your point, right, Rodney?”

“Exactly.”

“You see, Kayla?”

I turned to face Kayla. She was shaking in her seat and ready to blow.

Mr. Witlacker smiled at me. “I drive a Cherokee, by the way.”

“It's a nice looking truck, sir,” I said.

“It's got air-conditioned seats.”

“Uhhhggggg,” Kayla groaned, snapping her pencil in half.

Boy, Rishi
, I thought,
you sure can pick 'em
.

Beep
. The classroom phone rang. Mr. Witlacker picked it up. “Hello? Yes, he's here . . . Oh? Okay . . . bye.”

Mr. Witlacker looked at me. “Rodney, you're wanted in the principal's office. Bring your things.”

Bring my things? That meant I wasn't returning. Some kids in back of me went “Uh-oh” and Kayla added, “Good! You're in trouble. Why don't you drive a Cherokee down to the principal's office . . .”

Mr. Witlacker frowned. “That's enough, Miss Radisson.”

Was Kayla right? Was I in trouble? What had gone wrong now? My mind scrolled through all the possibilities. When nothing came up I let myself breathe a sigh of relief.

Had I known what was coming, I would have escaped down my own Trail of Tears and never looked back.

Things didn't start bad. The secretary in the office said, “Hello Rodney, have a seat on the bench. Your mom is picking you up soon for the doctor's appointment.”

Oh, so that was it. But what doctor's appointment? Maybe she mentioned it the other night. Must be a checkup. I probably wasn't listening.

As I sat on the bench outside the office, I smiled to myself thinking about all the times last year outside Mr. Feebletop's office. He would have called me in and started talking about the New York Mets. Stepping into his office was like visiting the Baseball Hall of Fame, with signed posters on the walls and everything. I craned my neck around and peered into my current principal's office. The walls were empty. The office was neat and sparse. The desk was almost completely bare. No autographed baseballs. Only a computer, a stapler, a person staring at me, a pen . . . Yikes!

“Can I help you?” It was the first time Dr. Elizabeth Stone had said anything to me. I'd seen her before standing in the hall looking serious. She was just as serious now. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun and her face was as emotionless and blank as her office.

“Um, no. Sorry to be looking in. I was just curious.”

Her face didn't move. “You're that Rodney Rathbone I've heard so much about.”

“Yes, I am.” I puffed up my chest a little. Sometimes my reputation was a good thing.

“I hear you're pretty active in the community.”

“I try to get involved.”
Why be modest?

“That impresses some people. Do you know what impresses me?”

“No.”

“I appreciate students who follow the rules. Students that work hard and make academics their priority. The stories I hear about you and that restaurant . . .” She paused and straightened the pen on her desk. “The stories tell me you have a lot of other things going on. Perhaps you don't share my priorities.”

So much for my reputation. “Well I—”

“I'm not interested in what you have to say. I'm interested in the decisions you make from this point forward. Now, I need to return to work. Please remove your head from my doorway.”

I didn't have much time to ponder Dr. Stone's warm and fuzzy advice before my mom showed up and signed me out. One second I was sitting in class, the next I was driving to a doctor's appointment I didn't even know I had.

We made our way through town and then headed out toward the country. As we drove along I decided to ask my mom about Fernando visiting. I was happy when she said it was okay. She was hesitant at first but seemed glad that I was maintaining a camp friendship. While discussing Fernando, I told a couple of silly stories from camp. Mom told me a few of her own childhood summer stories. They were pretty funny and the ride went by quickly. After a while I just looked out the window at passing cows and farms. “Mom,” I finally asked, “what doctor am I going to all the way out here? I don't remember you saying anything about a checkup and I definitely have never been here before.”

She smiled but didn't say anything. For a moment I studied her face, watching her round sunglasses reflecting the road.

“Uh, Mom?”

“Rodney, you're really going to enjoy today.”

“I'm going to enjoy the doctor's?”

“Rodney, I got a phone call, and let's just say you're going to have a special surprise today.”

My heart started beating a little quicker. “You know, Mom, contrary to what you and Dad believe, I don't like surprises.”

“Oh, come on, Rodney, everyone likes surprises.”

“I never like them, and they never turn out good.”

“You didn't like camp?”

“Well, that was different. I wound up liking it, but that was because—”

“Oh, stop your worrying. Look, we're here.”

We made a sharp turn through a large iron gate onto a long tree-lined driveway. The sun was shining and the sky was blue, but something felt a bit off as we approached the brick building looming at the end of the drive. My mom pulled to a halt in front of the main doors and a guy in a white shirt approached the car. “Hello, ma'am,” he said. “May I take your car?”

“Valet service.” My mom smiled. “How nice.”

As we got out and the valet drove off I suddenly realized that maybe she was taking me on a surprise restaurant review. Before I had a chance to ask, two guys in uniforms ran out the door. One of them turned to my mom. “Have you seen Johnny?”

“Johnny? You mean the valet?”

The man didn't answer. Instead he shouted into his walkie-talkie, “Johnny's mobile.”

The other man said to us, “Don't worry, we'll get your car back.”

“He's not the valet?” my mom asked, beginning to sound alarmed

“No, he's a patient. But he's an excellent driver.”

Before my mom could say anything the two men sped off in a van, kicking up gravel and leaving us standing in a cloud of dust. “I guess we might as well go in,” she suggested after a minute, looking a little uneasy.

“Mom,
what
is going on?” I asked. “Where are we?”

Just then, a guy carrying a clipboard and wearing thick black glasses walked over to us. “What's all the commotion?” he asked. “I'm Dr. Pecans. May I help you?”

My mother stared at him for a minute before asking, “Are you
really
Dr. Pecans?”

“Yes, I am. You must be Gloria Rathbone. We spoke on the phone. And this must be the famous Rodney Rathbone. Please, come upstairs to my office. Oh, and welcome to Shady Pastures.”

My mom and I sat in two leather chairs facing Dr. Pecans, who was seated at his desk. To his left was a wall completely covered with books. Behind him was an open window—which I was ready to jump out. My mom and her surprises.

Dr. Pecans looked directly at me when he spoke. “I'm so glad you could make the trip out here on visiting day. I so appreciate it. I think it will make such a positive difference in one of our patients . . .”

I stood up and shouted, “I know who you're talking about! I also know there's nothing I can do to help her. I'm definitely the last person on earth she'd want to see, and I . . .”

Dr. Pecans raised his palms to me and motioned for me to sit back down. “Rodney, let's just talk for a second. So, you realize that you're here to see Mrs. Lutzkraut.” Hearing the name out loud caused me to shudder. “Now Rodney, you are aware that Mrs. Lutzkraut suffered quite a disappointment during the summer.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“From what I understand, she was about to become a millionaire when some, uh, young person caused a change in her fortunes.”

I smiled, remembering how I had ruined her plans to bulldoze Camp Wy-Mee.

“When she transferred here,” he continued, “all she could do was mutter
your
name.” Dr. Pecans looked at me with an accusing eye. “Over and over, day and night, Rodney, Rodney, Rodney . . .” He trailed off and stared out the window, his lips still mouthing my name. Finally he remembered us sitting there and spun around. “It was awful!” My mom and I jumped. He settled down and took a deep breath. “Anyway, that's all over now. To speak frankly, we recently had an unexpected breakthrough. I believe our dear friend is well enough to return to society.”

My mom grabbed my knee. “Isn't that wonderful, Rodney?”

My mouth just kind of hung there and I felt like I needed to visit the bathroom.

Dr. Pecans said, “I can see you're happy to hear it!”

Happy? This guy was clueless. I decided to set him straight. “Mrs. Lutzkraut belongs here,” I said. “She's evil, and if you think she's made some great recovery, she's fooling you. Trust me, I know her. And I have no idea why I'm even here. She hates me—”

“Rodney, that's not true,” my mom cut in. “She always told me how much she adores you.” She turned back to Dr. Pecans. “She may come across as a bit stern, but she's a very dedicated teacher. She even stopped by our house one time when she had some concerns about Rodney's difficulty socializing. Not too many teachers would take the time to do that.”

I remembered the visit. “Mom, she was secretly threatening me and plotting my end . . .”

My mom shook her head. “Rodney, the only thing she was plotting was a wonderful summer for you! You loved Camp Wy-Mee. She's done so much for you. Now's your chance to help her in return.”

This conversation was going nowhere. I tried one last time. “Mom, I have no problem helping people. I'll help at the soup kitchen. I'll make valentines for veterans. I'll talk to anyone else here. I'll even go for rides with Johnny downstairs. Just don't make me see Mrs. Lutzkraut!”

“Rodney,” Dr. Pecans interrupted, “many times we act most hostile to the people for whom we feel the greatest emotional interest.”

Huh? I had no idea what he was talking about.