Karen's Bully

by Ann M. Martin

  “Yeah,” said Hannie. “But I never liked her.”

  Bobby’s House

  On Monday morning I got some bad news. I got the news from Bully Bobby Gianelli in school. My friends and I were in our classroom. We were waiting for Ms. Colman to arrive and start the day.

  Hannie and Nancy and I were sitting on desks in the back of the room. We heard someone call, “Yo!”

  “Yuck,” I said. “Bobby is here.”

  “Yuck,” said Hannie and Nancy.

  Bobby wandered through the room. He wandered right back to me. He stood in front of me and just stared.

  “Take a picture. It will last longer,” I said.

  “So funny I forgot to laugh.”

  I stuck out my tongue at Bobby. “What do you want, anyway?” I asked him.

  “I thought you might want to know something,” he said. “I thought you might want to know that I am going to move into my new house in five days. So you better watch out, Karen. In five days I will be living on your street. Five days,” he repeated.

  “I can count,” I replied.

  It was Bobby’s turn to stick his tongue out at me. Then he began to dance around the desks where my friends and I were sitting. “Oh, you better watch out, you better watch out!” he sang. He paused. “Hey, Karen, where will you be on Saturday?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, which family will you be living with? Your mom’s or your dad’s?”

  Well, I was going to be at Mommy’s. But if Bobby did not know that, then I was not going to tell him.

  Before I could answer, Bobby began to laugh. “You do not even know!” he cried. “You are so weird, Karen.”

  “I do too know!” I shouted.

  “She does too know!” said Nancy.

  “Yeah!” added Hannie.

  I glanced over at Ricky. He was putting his books in his desk. He would not look back at me. Also, he would not look at Bobby. But when Bobby said, “Hey, Ricky, lend me your glasses,” Ricky handed those glasses over.

  Bobby put the glasses on. Then he said, in a high, silly voice, “Oh, hello, everybody. I am Karen Brewer. See my glasses?”

  “Shut up, Bobby!” I yelled.

  Bobby would not shut up. “Hmm. Today is Monday,” he said. “Do I live at my mother’s house or my father’s house? I cannot remember…. Where am I? Who am I?”

  I looked at Ricky again. He had opened a book. (He was only pretending to read it, since he was not wearing his glasses.) I could tell that Ricky was not going to help me. But at least he was not laughing at Bobby.

  Luckily, Ms. Colman arrived then. We all raced for our seats.

  * * *

  After school that day, Nancy and I took a walk. We walked down our street to the house with the For Sale sign in the yard.

  “Soon this will be Bobby Gianelli’s house,” said Nancy sadly.

  I nodded. “Yeah. What a shame.”

  Nancy was looking at the windows. “I wonder which room will be his bedroom,” she said. “Maybe that one.” She pointed to the second story.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “There’s the basement. Maybe that will be his room. Except it will be a dungeon. A dungeon for Bobby, the Evil Prince.” I tried to laugh. But I was too worried about Saturday.

  Moving Day

  On Saturday morning I woke up in my room at Mommy’s house. My stomach felt sort of funny. Right away, I remembered why.

  It was Bobby Gianelli Day.

  “Boo and bullfrogs,” I mumbled. I rolled over and put the pillow on my head. I pulled the covers up as far as they would go.

  Soon I had to get out of bed, though. My funny stomach had become a hungry stomach. I needed breakfast.

  Andrew and I ate cereal in the kitchen. When we were finished, I called Nancy on the telephone. “Want to go watch?” I asked her.

  Nancy knew what I meant. “Sure! Come right over.”

  I decided to be nice to my little brother. I invited him to come with us. “Nancy and I are going to watch Bobby move into his new house,” I said. “Do you want to watch, too?”

  Andrew looked scared, but he said, “Okay.”

  “Do not worry. I will protect you.” I put my arm around him.

  Nancy and Andrew and I were not the only ones who had decided to watch the Gianellis move in. When we walked down the street, a whole bunch of kids were already there. Most of them were on their bicycles. Three of them were on roller skates. One was on her skateboard. They were bunched onto the sidewalk. They were watching a moving van, which had just pulled into the driveway.

  “Hey, look. The For Sale sign is gone,” I whispered to Nancy.

  “Why are you whispering?” she replied.

  I shrugged. But Andrew said, “It is in case of Bobby. He might be hiding some-where. He might be listening to us.”

  Bobby was not there, though. Only the movers. They opened the side of the van. They began handing down boxes and lugging out furniture. Two of them were staggering through the front door with a couch, when a car honked in the street behind us.

  Everybody turned around.

  A man was parking a station wagon. He opened the door and climbed out. So did a woman. So did a little girl. (She looked like she was about Andrew’s age.) The last person out of the car was … Bobby.

  “Yikes!” squeaked Andrew. “There he is!”

  “Shhhh!” I hissed.

  Bobby stood before us. He put his hands on his hips.

  “Hi, Bobby,” said Nancy nervously.

  “Yeah, hi. Um, we came to watch you move in,” I added.

  “Why, how nice,” said Mrs. Gianelli. “You already have friends, Robert.”

  I nudged Nancy. “Robert!” I whispered, giggling.

  Bobby glared at me. He waited until his mother and father and sister had walked across the lawn to the front door of their new house. Then he said to Andrew and Nancy and me, “What are you guys doing here anyway? Are you spying on me?”

  “Get real, Bobby,” I replied. “I mean, Robert. You are not that interesting.”

  “At least I know where I live,” said Robert. “I only have one house. Not like some people I know.”

  Andrew stuck out his chin. “Being a two-two is not so bad,” he said.

  “Being a what?!” cried Bobby.

  “A two-two. That is what Karen calls us. Andrew Two-Two and Karen Two-Two. So — so leave us alone, Bobby!”

  Bobby stepped up to Andrew and leaned over so that their noses were almost touching. “Hey, pip-squeak,” said Bobby. “BOO!”

  “Aughh!” screamed my brother, and he turned and ran home.

  The 3 Musketeers + 2

  I was so, so mad at Bobby. He was all I could think about.

  “He called Andrew a pip-squeak,” I complained to Kristy over the phone. “He scared him and made him run home. Plus, he — ”

  “Karen, give it a rest,” said Kristy. “Forget about Bobby for awhile. Think about Amanda’s visit instead.”

  That was a good idea. I did need to think about Amanda’s visit. I wanted to do something special for her. So one evening, in my room at the little house, I found a pencil and a pad of paper. I wrote NICE THINGS TO DO FOR AMANDA WHEN SHE VISITS. Then I made a list:

  Let her meet Melody.

  Show her her old house and old room.

  Be sure David Michael does not bother her.

  Fix her an ice-cream cone.

  Tell Hannie to put on her good manners.

  Play Lovely Laddies Ladies.

  Have a slumber party.

  A slumber party! That was a great idea! We could have a real slumber party. Not just Amanda and me staying up late and talking — but guests and games and s’mores and soda …

  Now who should I invite (besides Amanda and myself)? Well, Nancy and Hannie, of course. The Three Musketeers have to be together at most any party. And I should ask Melody. She and Amanda had lots in common, after all. They were practically related. I decided five peopl
e was enough. That is, if Daddy would let me have a sleepover.

  I ran to the kitchen and called the big house. I talked to Daddy and Elizabeth. “Puh-lease can I have a slumber party?” I asked. “I will only invite five people — including Amanda and me. And since Amanda and I will already be at the big house, I am really only inviting three people.”

  Daddy and Elizabeth said I could have the party. (In the background I could hear David Michael say, “Five girls? Gross me out.”)

  I did not care. I was too excited about my party. I thought about the things we could do. I decided we should: eat supper by ourselves in the playroom, watch a rented movie, maybe try on Elizabeth’s makeup, play Truth or Dare, bother David Michael, raid the refrigerator.

  I hoped my friends would be able to come to the party. I hoped Hannie would want to come. I decided she would rather come than be left out.

  Saving Andrew

  It was Tuesday. Bobby had been living on my street for exactly three days.

  I was already sick of him.

  Bobby had told everyone in Ms. Colman’s class that I call myself Karen Two-Two. He thought that was hysterical. Now he always called me Karen Two-Two. Only when he said it, he meant Karen Tutu. He would hold his arms in the air and pretend to be a dancing ballerina. In school, everyone laughed at him. And everyone called me Karen Tutu. (Except for Hannie and Nancy. The Three Musketeers do not tease each other.)

  Bobby was a pest and a bully, but I could stand up to him.

  Andrew could not. He was three years younger than Bobby. And a lot smaller. He was extra afraid of Bobby.

  On Tuesday afternoon I was in my bedroom. I was playing with my rat. I was making a bridal gown for her, in case she ever got married.

  I was working on a rat-sized veil when I heard the front door slam downstairs. Then I heard Andrew crying. I ran to see what had happened.

  I found Andrew looking for Mommy. Mommy had run next door to return something to Mrs. Dawes. I would have to be the mommy.

  “What’s wrong, Andrew?” I asked.

  “I cannot play outside anymore,” he said. He was sobbing.

  “Why not?”

  “I am too afraid. I’m afraid of Bobby. And, um, other things.”

  “What other things?” I wanted to know. (I tried to think what Mommy would do if Andrew was upset. I was not sure. So I fixed him a dish of ice cream. Then I fixed one for me, too.)

  “Thank you,” said Andrew as we sat down at the kitchen table.

  “You’re welcome. What other things are you afraid of?”

  “The killer bees,” Andrew replied. “Bobby says they are coming to Stoneybrook. He says they are coming to our street. He says one little sting and, poof, you die. And he says you cannot even tell a killer bee from a regular bee. He says any bee could be a killer bee.”

  I frowned. I was pretty sure that was a big bunch of lies. “What else are you afraid of?” I asked my brother.

  “Your glasses.”

  “My glasses? Why?”

  “Because of the Martians. Bobby said the Martians send TV signals through your glasses. He says that is how they spy on earthlings. Karen, could you please take off your glasses?”

  “No!” I exclaimed. “I need them to see. I am not supposed to take them off, except when I am asleep. Or maybe when I take a bath. But that is all. You know that. Anyway, Bobby was telling lies. There are no killer bees here, and Martians cannot spy on us through my glasses.”

  “I don’t know,” said Andrew. And he began to cry again.

  Ooh, I was so, so mad.

  I waited until Mommy came home. Then I said to Andrew, “Do not worry. I will save you from Bobby.”

  I ran down our street to the Gianellis’ house. Bobby was in the yard.

  “Hi, Karen Tutu!” he called.

  “Bobby Gianelli, you leave my brother alone!” I shouted at him.

  “Who is going to make me?”

  I paused. Then I said, “I am. I challenge you to a fight!”

  Bobby stared at me. “I cannot fight a girl!” he replied.

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Of you? No way!”

  “Okay. Then we will fight tomorrow after school,” I said.

  “Okay!”

  “Okay!”

  “OKAY!”

  “Good.” I turned around and walked home.

  Taking Sides

  “Hey, Karen! Are you really going to fight Bobby today?”

  It was Wednesday. I was in the yard outside school. Natalie Springer had asked me the question. She was the fourth person who had asked me about the fight. And I had only been at school for five minutes.

  “Yes,” I answered tiredly. “I really am. This afternoon.”

  “Where?” Natalie wanted to know. “Maybe I will come watch.”

  “They are going to fight in Bobby’s front yard,” spoke up Hannie. “Nancy and I are going to watch, too. We are going to get there early for a good view.”

  “You’re coming?” I said to Hannie.

  “Yup,” she replied. “I am going home with you and Nancy today.”

  “Just to see the fight?”

  “Just to see the fight.”

  “Wow.” I felt kind of important as I walked into school with my friends.

  I felt even more important when Pamela Harding met me at the door to our room. “Is it true?” she asked. “Are you going to fight Bobby?” (I nodded.) “It is about time someone did,” said Pamela.

  “Yeah,” agreed Leslie Morris. “What a bully.”

  Across the room stood a bunch of boys. They began to laugh. They kept looking at me. Finally Hank Reubens said, “Karen, Bobby is going to cream you! Why are you going to bother with a fight?”

  “Yeah, you will only get hurt,” added another boy. He was not even in our class. He was just standing around, looking cool.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I am in third grade,” he answered proudly.

  “How do you know about the fight?”

  “Everyone knows. And we are all going to come watch.”

  I frowned. “Ricky?”

  He was standing with the boys. He had not said anything yet, but I had this horrible feeling he was going to come to the fight — and cheer for Bobby.

  “I can’t come,” said Ricky. “Um, I have a dentist appointment.”

  I did not think that was true. I almost said, “But Ricky, I am your wife!” Then I decided Ricky might not like that. Instead I said, “You do not have a dentist appointment!”

  “Well, I might.”

  Darn old Ricky. He was not going to cheer for Bobby or for me.

  I looked around the classroom. I realized that everyone in it was staring at me. “Are all these people really coming to the fight?” I whispered to Nancy.

  “I think so,” she replied. “Everyone is taking sides. The girls are going to cheer for you. The boys are going to cheer for Bobby.”

  “Except for darn old Ricky,” I added. “He is too chicken to come.”

  “You are the chicken, Karen!” cried Bobby from the boys’ side of the room. “You will not show up! Bawk, bawk, bawk … chicken!”

  “Karen will too show up!” said Jannie Gilbert. “And she will beat you!”

  “With what?” asked Bobby. “She does not have any muscles. But I do. Look at this!” Bobby rolled up his sleeve. He bent his arm. He made his muscles bulge. “I have been working out,” he informed us.

  “Me too!” I cried. (I have never worked out.)

  “Then show us your muscles!” called the third-grader.

  “I will,” I replied. “This afternoon at the fight.”

  Oh, no. I was in big, huge, gigundo trouble. I knew I could not beat Bobby. But I had to go to the fight. I did not want to be a bawk-bawk-bawk-chicken. So I turned to Ricky and called him a bawk-bawk-bawk-chicken.

  Ricky just shrugged.

  The Fight

  Thumpety-thumpety-thump. My heart was crashing around in my chest
. I was standing in the front yard at the little house. I was looking down the street at Bobby’s yard. It was crowded with kids.

  Andrew was standing next to me, looking too. “Yipes,” he said.

  “I know….”

  “Karen, you do not have to fight Bobby.”

  “Yes, I do. He scared you.”

  “That’s okay. I will just stay indoors. Bobby won’t be able to get me then.”

  “Young boys need fresh air and sunshine,” I told Andrew.

  “But I do not want you to fight. I am telling Mommy!”

  I grabbed my little brother by the arm. “Do not tell Mommy!” I hissed. “The grown-ups do not know about the fight. Now it is time for me to go down there. Are you coming with me?”

  “Will Nancy protect me from Bobby?”

  “Yes. You can watch with her and Hannie.”

  “Okay.”

  I squared my shoulders. I puffed out my chest. Then I marched down the street to Bobby Gianelli’s yard. Andrew followed me. He tried to hide behind me so Bobby would not see him.

  “After the fight,” I said to Andrew, “you will not have to live like this anymore. You will be able to go out in public again.”

  I saw Nancy and Hannie with a big bunch of kids from our class. (But no Ricky.) I took Andrew to Nancy. “Can you please watch Andrew?” I asked her. “He needs protection from Bobby. But only until Bobby loses the fight.”

  “Where is Bobby, anyway?” asked Hannie.

  “Isn’t he here?” I said. I looked around the yard. I did not see him.

  “Nope,” Hannie replied. “We are waiting for him.”

  Maybe Bobby was not going to show up! That would be great. Maybe Bobby was just a big old bawk-bawk-bawk-chicken. I could say to everybody, “Bobby was so scared he did not even come to our fight.” That would be as good as winning the fight — plus, I would not have to punch anyone. (And no one would have to punch me.)

  “Yo, Karen!”

  “Yipes! It’s Bobby!” cried Andrew.

  “Hide behind Nancy,” I told my brother. “I will take care of this.”

  “Yo, Bobby!” I shouted back.

  Bobby was stomping across the yard. He was trying to look mean. He showed off his muscles again.