Pwincesssssss!!!!”
“Why don’t you leave her alone?” Oh no. Jeremy had stopped walking. He had turned and was yelling back.
Very
bad idea.
“Jeremy!” I whispered urgently. Nicky and the other boys had rounded the side of the tennis courts and were coming toward us.
“Oh my!” said Nicky in a fake high voice, charging forward. “The PWINCE is standing up for his pwincess.” He switched back to his usual gruff voice. “Yo, Prince Charming! I’ve got something for you!”
Nicky raised his arm behind his head while the other twoboys laughed loudly, “Bwaah haa haa haa!” My heart began to pound, fast. Something awful was about to happen.
I didn’t stop to find out what it was, though.
“Jeremy, come ON!” I yelled, hopping onto my bike seat and pedaling frantically. Hoping Jeremy was right behind me.
When I got to the dorms, I coasted to a stop under a streetlamp and tried to catch my breath. In a moment, Jeremy came into view.
“Are you okay?” he called.
“Yeah, I guess. You?”
“I’m fine,” said Jeremy. He stopped, untucked his shirt, and shook the hem. He leaned over and ran his hands through his hair.
Ping, ping, ping
. One by one, pebbles fell from his clothes and hair.
Wait, not pebbles
, I realized, looking at the ground.
Pennies
.
“What the—?!”
“I know,” said Jeremy.
Ping
went one last penny. “Classic, right?”
“Classic?!”
I said.
“Yeah. Bullies love to throw stuff. Pennies, balls, you know. Pudding, on occasion.” He smiled feebly. “Seth says I’m a bully magnet.”
“Jeremy, this isn’t funny.”
“Of course not! But what do you want me to do?”
“I dunno. We can’t let him get away with that.”
Jeremy studied me. “You can try to show bullies they don’tbother you, but you can’t actually make them change. It’s true,” he added. “My dad does research on this stuff.”
“Yeah, but …,” I said, tempted to argue back but not wanting to defend Nicky. Besides, maybe Jeremy was right. I thought of all the mean things I’d seen Nicky do. Nicky calling me names my first day at school. Nicky putting thumbtacks on Kristin Garrett’s chair. Nicky scrambling to the top of the climbing structure with Kirk Bowman’s watermelon Blow Pop and taking one long, cruel lick before chucking it onto the wood chips below. Nicky had spent a lot of time in the principal’s office on account of his behavior. It didn’t seem to make a whole lot of difference.
Jeremy got back on his bike and motioned for me to follow him. Slowly we retraced our route through the darkened campus. Our bike race on the same path seemed like it had taken place a century before.
At my house, I said goodbye to Jeremy and went to park my bike in my garage. When I came out, there was Jeremy, still standing with his bike.
“Just so you know, I’m not saying it’s okay,” said Jeremy quietly.
“I know,” I told him. But before I could say anything else, Jeremy chimed his bike bell and zoomed away, racing down the block, the streetlight bouncing off the reflective tape on his sneakers.
When I woke up the next day, I couldn’t help wondering if I had dreamed the whole thing. My stomach felt jumpy, though. Maybe because I knew it was no dream. Telling my mom what had happened at the tennis courts crossed my mind, but I squashed the idea just as fast. She’d probably call Jeremy’s parents—and Nicky’s, for that matter—so not only would we be dead meat when school rolled around, we wouldn’t be allowed outside the rest of the summer.
Besides, my stomach was probably nervous for another reason. Today was the day Allie was coming home, at long last. Before Allie had left, her mom had promised her that I could go with her and Allie’s dad to pick her up at camp. But now, after three whole weeks and not a single letter, I wondered if she would even still recognize me, much less care if I was there.
I thought about taking O.J. out for his morning walk, but the
“Why don’t you leave her alone?” Oh no. Jeremy had stopped walking. He had turned and was yelling back.
Very
bad idea.
“Jeremy!” I whispered urgently. Nicky and the other boys had rounded the side of the tennis courts and were coming toward us.
“Oh my!” said Nicky in a fake high voice, charging forward. “The PWINCE is standing up for his pwincess.” He switched back to his usual gruff voice. “Yo, Prince Charming! I’ve got something for you!”
Nicky raised his arm behind his head while the other twoboys laughed loudly, “Bwaah haa haa haa!” My heart began to pound, fast. Something awful was about to happen.
I didn’t stop to find out what it was, though.
“Jeremy, come ON!” I yelled, hopping onto my bike seat and pedaling frantically. Hoping Jeremy was right behind me.
When I got to the dorms, I coasted to a stop under a streetlamp and tried to catch my breath. In a moment, Jeremy came into view.
“Are you okay?” he called.
“Yeah, I guess. You?”
“I’m fine,” said Jeremy. He stopped, untucked his shirt, and shook the hem. He leaned over and ran his hands through his hair.
Ping, ping, ping
. One by one, pebbles fell from his clothes and hair.
Wait, not pebbles
, I realized, looking at the ground.
Pennies
.
“What the—?!”
“I know,” said Jeremy.
Ping
went one last penny. “Classic, right?”
“Classic?!”
I said.
“Yeah. Bullies love to throw stuff. Pennies, balls, you know. Pudding, on occasion.” He smiled feebly. “Seth says I’m a bully magnet.”
“Jeremy, this isn’t funny.”
“Of course not! But what do you want me to do?”
“I dunno. We can’t let him get away with that.”
Jeremy studied me. “You can try to show bullies they don’tbother you, but you can’t actually make them change. It’s true,” he added. “My dad does research on this stuff.”
“Yeah, but …,” I said, tempted to argue back but not wanting to defend Nicky. Besides, maybe Jeremy was right. I thought of all the mean things I’d seen Nicky do. Nicky calling me names my first day at school. Nicky putting thumbtacks on Kristin Garrett’s chair. Nicky scrambling to the top of the climbing structure with Kirk Bowman’s watermelon Blow Pop and taking one long, cruel lick before chucking it onto the wood chips below. Nicky had spent a lot of time in the principal’s office on account of his behavior. It didn’t seem to make a whole lot of difference.
Jeremy got back on his bike and motioned for me to follow him. Slowly we retraced our route through the darkened campus. Our bike race on the same path seemed like it had taken place a century before.
At my house, I said goodbye to Jeremy and went to park my bike in my garage. When I came out, there was Jeremy, still standing with his bike.
“Just so you know, I’m not saying it’s okay,” said Jeremy quietly.
“I know,” I told him. But before I could say anything else, Jeremy chimed his bike bell and zoomed away, racing down the block, the streetlight bouncing off the reflective tape on his sneakers.
When I woke up the next day, I couldn’t help wondering if I had dreamed the whole thing. My stomach felt jumpy, though. Maybe because I knew it was no dream. Telling my mom what had happened at the tennis courts crossed my mind, but I squashed the idea just as fast. She’d probably call Jeremy’s parents—and Nicky’s, for that matter—so not only would we be dead meat when school rolled around, we wouldn’t be allowed outside the rest of the summer.
Besides, my stomach was probably nervous for another reason. Today was the day Allie was coming home, at long last. Before Allie had left, her mom had promised her that I could go with her and Allie’s dad to pick her up at camp. But now, after three whole weeks and not a single letter, I wondered if she would even still recognize me, much less care if I was there.
I thought about taking O.J. out for his morning walk, but the
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