Fiddlesticks by Beverly Lewis Page B

Hershey?
    Shawn thought and thought. He had been fooling around, not doing his seat work. Was Miss Hershey going to talk to him about that?
    Ronny marched down the row of desks. He bumped against Shawn on the way back to his seat. He shoved him hard on purpose.
    Miss Hershey was too busy to notice.
    Shawn didn’t like being pushed around. But he was a peanut next to Ronny. His arm muscles were like three jelly beans. His legs were like toothpicks.
    Or . . .
    Shawn swallowed the lump in his throat.
    He looked down at his legs. They looked like violin bows. Like fiddlesticks.
    No wonder the kids called him that!
    Shawn sighed. He hoped Ronny wouldn’t pick a fight. Even if Shawn wanted to fight, he couldn’t beat him. Ronny was tough. He was mean.
    Determined not to slouch, Shawn picked up his pencil. He read the assignment and began to fill in the answers.
    Abby glanced over at him. Her lips formed these words: Are you OK?
    Shawn rubbed his nose. He formed these words back: Shawn OK.
    But he wasn’t. Not really.
    Abby turned her head and went back to work.
    So did Shawn.
    When he was finished, he took out a book about soccer. Miss Hershey wantedeveryone to keep a library book handy. She called it free reading—when you finished seat work early.
    Shawn liked books. He was a good reader. And smart. He wished he could talk better. Faster too.
    The soccer book was exciting. From the time he’d learned to walk, Shawn liked to kick a ball around.
    And two weeks from now, Shawn wanted to try out for the Blitzers. But he wanted to watch the boys practice today.
    Then he remembered. His violin lesson was after school. What could he do?
    Shawn stared at the pictures in the soccer book. He thought about Ronny. Would he be at soccer practice?
    Shawn stopped thinking and started reading. The soccer book was wonderful. He couldn’t stop reading.
    Soon, ideas were bouncing in his head. Maybe he could watch practice after violinlesson. Maybe he wouldn’t be too late getting home.
    He wished he could practice out on the soccer field. He was tired of practicing in secret. The backyard was OK. But the gigantic soccer field—that would be terrific!
    Kids could dribble, punt, and kick on a field like that. They could guard and do teamwork. Soccer stuff—things that made a great player.
    Eric Hagel and Jason Birchall were good players, too. They were two of Shawn’s best friends. Eric and Jason lived on his street, a cul-de-sac. It was called Blossom Hill Lane, close to Blossom Hill School.
    Eric, Jason, and Shawn belonged to The Cul-de-sac Kids. Nine kids on one street. Each one was Shawn’s chingu— friend!
    He was glad for friends. Very glad.
    Then he remembered rotten Ronny Kitch.
    He not chingu, Shawn thought.
    Shawn closed the soccer book. He felt scared thinking about Ronny. I forget about soccer team , he thought. I not try out.
    The recess bell rang.
    Time to see Miss Hershey.
    Shawn stood up. Slowly, he went to the front of the classroom.
    â€œYou see me, yes?” he asked.
    â€œLet’s talk,” Miss Hershey said. “Have a seat.”
    Just then, Ronny ran outside for recess. Shawn could hear him laugh. It was a loud laugh. A roaring laugh.
    Shawn sat near Miss Hershey’s desk.
    She looked him in the eyes.
    Shawn bit his lip.
    Was he in big trouble?

FOUR
    Miss Hershey’s voice was soft. “Were you passing notes in class?”
    â€œNo pass note,” Shawn said.
    Miss Hershey asked, “Did you write one?”
    Shawn was worried. Ronny had seen him.
    He reached into his jeans pocket. The note for the suggestion box was all folded up. He handed it to Miss Hershey.
    Her eyes opened wide. “What’s this?” she asked.
    Shawn said, “This what I write in class. So sorry.” It sounded like so sallee.
    The teacher opened the note. Her pretty blue eyes scanned the page.
    She looked up. “My goodness,” she said. “You don’t