wasn’t really broken. But it hurt. A
lot. I shifted my backpack on my shoulders and leaned back against the tree.
“Know what I’d like to do?” I told Chuck.
“Pay them back?”
“You’re right!” I replied. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.” He stepped up beside me. I could see that he was thinking
hard. Chuck always scrunches up his face when he’s trying to think.
“It’s almost Halloween,” he said finally. “Maybe we could think of some way
to scare them. I mean, really scare them.” His dark eyes lit up with
excitement.
“Well… maybe.” I hesitated. “They’re just little kids. I don’t want to
do anything mean.”
My backpack felt weird—too full. I pulled it off my shoulder and lowered it
to the ground.
I leaned over and unzipped it.
And about ten million feathers came floating out.
“Those kids—!” Chuck exclaimed.
I pulled open the backpack. All of my notebooks, all of my textbooks—covered in sticky feathers. Those animals had glued feathers to my books.
I tossed down the backpack and turned to Chuck. “Maybe I do want to do
something mean!” I growled.
A few days later, Chuck and I were walking home from the playground. It was a
cold, windy afternoon. Dark storm clouds rose up in the distance.
The storm clouds were too late to help me. I had just finished afternoon
practice with the Hogs.
It hadn’t been a bad practice. It hadn’t been a good practice, either.
Just as we started, Andrew Foster lowered his head and came at me full speed.
He weighs about a thousand pounds, and he has a very hard head. He plowed into
my stomach and knocked the wind out of me.
I rolled around on the ground for a few minutes, groaning and choking and
gasping. The kids thought it was pretty funny. Andrew claimed it was an
accident.
I’m going to get you guys back, I vowed to myself. I don’t know how.
But I’m going to get you guys.
Then Marnie Rosen jumped on my back and tore the collar off my new winter
coat.
Chuck met me after practice. He’d started doing that now. He knew that after
one hour with the first graders, I usually needed help getting home.
“I hate them,” I muttered. “Do you know how to spell hate? H-O-G-S.” My torn
coat collar flapped in the swirling wind.
“Why don’t you make all of them practice with a concrete ball?” Chuck
suggested. He adjusted his Cubs cap over his hair. “No. Wait. I’ve got it. Let
them take turns being the ball!”
“No. No good,” I replied, shaking my head. The sky darkened. The trees shook,
sending a shower of dead leaves down around us.
My sneakers crunched over the leaves. “I don’t want to hurt them,” I told
Chuck. “I just want to scare them. I just want to scare them to death.”
The wind blew colder. I felt a cold drop of rain on my forehead.
As we crossed the street, I noticed two girls from our class walking on the
other side. I recognized Sabrina Mason’s black ponytail swinging behind her as
she hurried along the sidewalk. And next to her, I recognized her friend Carly
Beth Caldwell.
“Hey—!” I started to call out to them, but I stopped.
An idea flashed into my mind.
Seeing Carly Beth, I knew how to scare those first graders.
Seeing Carly Beth, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.
3
I started to call to the girls. But Chuck clamped his hand over my mouth and
dragged me behind a wide tree.
“Hey—get your clammy paws off me. What’s the big idea?” I cried when he
finally pulled his hand away.
He pushed me against the rough bark of the tree trunk. “Ssshhh. They haven’t
seen us.” He motioned with his eyes toward the two girls.
“So?”
“So we can sneak up and scare them,” Chuck whispered, his dark eyes
practically glowing with evil excitement. “Let’s make Carly Beth scream.”
“You mean for old times’ sake?”
Chuck nodded, grinning.
For many years, making Carly Beth scream had been our hobby. That’s because
she was a really
lot. I shifted my backpack on my shoulders and leaned back against the tree.
“Know what I’d like to do?” I told Chuck.
“Pay them back?”
“You’re right!” I replied. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.” He stepped up beside me. I could see that he was thinking
hard. Chuck always scrunches up his face when he’s trying to think.
“It’s almost Halloween,” he said finally. “Maybe we could think of some way
to scare them. I mean, really scare them.” His dark eyes lit up with
excitement.
“Well… maybe.” I hesitated. “They’re just little kids. I don’t want to
do anything mean.”
My backpack felt weird—too full. I pulled it off my shoulder and lowered it
to the ground.
I leaned over and unzipped it.
And about ten million feathers came floating out.
“Those kids—!” Chuck exclaimed.
I pulled open the backpack. All of my notebooks, all of my textbooks—covered in sticky feathers. Those animals had glued feathers to my books.
I tossed down the backpack and turned to Chuck. “Maybe I do want to do
something mean!” I growled.
A few days later, Chuck and I were walking home from the playground. It was a
cold, windy afternoon. Dark storm clouds rose up in the distance.
The storm clouds were too late to help me. I had just finished afternoon
practice with the Hogs.
It hadn’t been a bad practice. It hadn’t been a good practice, either.
Just as we started, Andrew Foster lowered his head and came at me full speed.
He weighs about a thousand pounds, and he has a very hard head. He plowed into
my stomach and knocked the wind out of me.
I rolled around on the ground for a few minutes, groaning and choking and
gasping. The kids thought it was pretty funny. Andrew claimed it was an
accident.
I’m going to get you guys back, I vowed to myself. I don’t know how.
But I’m going to get you guys.
Then Marnie Rosen jumped on my back and tore the collar off my new winter
coat.
Chuck met me after practice. He’d started doing that now. He knew that after
one hour with the first graders, I usually needed help getting home.
“I hate them,” I muttered. “Do you know how to spell hate? H-O-G-S.” My torn
coat collar flapped in the swirling wind.
“Why don’t you make all of them practice with a concrete ball?” Chuck
suggested. He adjusted his Cubs cap over his hair. “No. Wait. I’ve got it. Let
them take turns being the ball!”
“No. No good,” I replied, shaking my head. The sky darkened. The trees shook,
sending a shower of dead leaves down around us.
My sneakers crunched over the leaves. “I don’t want to hurt them,” I told
Chuck. “I just want to scare them. I just want to scare them to death.”
The wind blew colder. I felt a cold drop of rain on my forehead.
As we crossed the street, I noticed two girls from our class walking on the
other side. I recognized Sabrina Mason’s black ponytail swinging behind her as
she hurried along the sidewalk. And next to her, I recognized her friend Carly
Beth Caldwell.
“Hey—!” I started to call out to them, but I stopped.
An idea flashed into my mind.
Seeing Carly Beth, I knew how to scare those first graders.
Seeing Carly Beth, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.
3
I started to call to the girls. But Chuck clamped his hand over my mouth and
dragged me behind a wide tree.
“Hey—get your clammy paws off me. What’s the big idea?” I cried when he
finally pulled his hand away.
He pushed me against the rough bark of the tree trunk. “Ssshhh. They haven’t
seen us.” He motioned with his eyes toward the two girls.
“So?”
“So we can sneak up and scare them,” Chuck whispered, his dark eyes
practically glowing with evil excitement. “Let’s make Carly Beth scream.”
“You mean for old times’ sake?”
Chuck nodded, grinning.
For many years, making Carly Beth scream had been our hobby. That’s because
she was a really
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