by Doug Wilhelm
“Yeah …”
“It was okay, you asking me those questions,” he said quickly. “I mean, I didn’t mind it.”
“You seemed to mind it,” I mumbled. “You hit me.”
“Well … you just got to ask the right questions.”
I said, “Huh.” I had no idea what was going on. As usual.
“It’s all right,” Richie said. “Stand up to people, you get respect. And … listen, kid. If you want to ask me questions again sometime, it’s okay. You can.”
I had no idea what to say. Richie picked up the basketball and handed it to me.
“Here,” he said. “Hold on to your balls.”
“Oh, it’s not mine. You need one?”
His eyebrows clenched and he got in my face. “What are you saying? Are you saying something?”
“What? No!”
He scrutinized me. “You better not be.”
I blinked. “I don’t know what anybody’s talking about,” I said.
Richie drew back. “Sure you do,” he said. He kept on studying me. But I don’t think he was looking for weakness this time.
“Put the squids in their place,” he said. “You get that, right?”
I nodded.
“Well,” he said, “what else is there?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, you figure it out,” he said. “I’m watching you.”
“I know.”
Richie looked me in the eye, and nodded. Then he turned and walked off.
HEY GUYS
“Okay,” Elliot said, now that Catalina was here. He’d been waiting to show us. He swung off his bed and hopped to his chair, which was a pretty cool, high-backed execu-chair from his dad’s office, borrowed because it had casters and Elliot could roll around on it. He rolled to his desk.
“These came,” he said, poking the keyboard and waiting while the dinosaur screen saver dissipated. “I put them together so we could look at them.”
“At what?”
“Just look.”
The file that swam up on his screen had three messages.
Dear Bully Lab,
Once this kid started making fun of me because I got a 35 on a spelling test. She called me bacteria brain. On the bus she got these other kids to go “Dumb and Dumber, Dumb and Dumber, Dumb and Dumber.” Now she does it all the time.
Almost every morning this guy, he’s in eighth grade, waits for me. Sometimes he has two people hold my arms so he can hit me. He hits me and hits me. Once he tripped me into a mud puddle, and I had mud on my pants all day in school. He makes me so mad I would like to hurt him really, really bad.
Hey Guys,
It’s not so simple as good guys and bad guys, you know. One time I heard this banging in the hallway and I stuck my head out of the room and I saw this big kid throwing this little kid against a locker. He would grab him and throw him again, smash, like it was a game of catch off the wall. Then I started noticing that these two kids are always doing this. Outside at recess the big kid picks up the little kid, twirls him, and smashes him on the ground. You may think this is just cruel bullying and this is what I thought too, at first. But then I noticed the little kid would always scramble right up and say something teasing, like “You can’t hurt me, that one didn’t hurt”—and then the big kid would chase him and they would do it again. Other kids pick on this little kid, too. He eggs them on. He calls himself the Bouncer. He loves to get pounded. That’s true, too.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “These are from three different kids?”
“Yeah,” Elliot said, wiggling on his chair.
“Where’d they come from?”
“They came on KidNet. They were replies to my story. Here’s a message that came with one of them …”
He worked his mouse and double-tapped.
“Dear Elliot,” it said, “here is one story I can tell. Please do the same thing with mine.”
“What does he mean, ‘the same thing’?” I said.
“He means, send it out. To everyone. Like we did.”
I looked at Catalina, who was sitting there wide-eyed.
“So these three kids just read your story,” I said, “and they sent you theirs?”
“It’s amazing the way you’re putting the pieces together,” Elliot said.
“Why can’t they put their stories out themselves?”
“We’re the ones who know how to do that, remember? Besides, this is what we do. Everybody knows that now.” He nodded, and crossed his arms.
I said to Catalina, “What do you think?”
She was just shaking her head. “I … well. Huh! I guess we should do it. And we should ask people for more.”
“Ask for more? Why?” I said. “So more kids can get pounded some more?”
“They sent me their stories ’cause they wanted to,” Elliot said. “Just like I wanted to send out mine.”
I shook my head. “That was crazy, what you wrote. You want to know how much trouble it’s already caused? Burke and Blanchette were waiting for me, just a little while ago, so they could tell me they’ll kill you if you put out their names.”
“Did they say that?”
“That was the general idea.”
“Did they hit you or anything?”
“Naw. I’m not scared of those guys.”
“Well, neither am I,” Elliot said. “So why shouldn’t we help other people broadcast what’s happened to them? Maybe they won’t be so scared anymore either.”
I don’t know—it bothered me. I was trying to think why.
“You know what it’s like?” I finally said. “It’s like one of those trashy daytime talk shows. I mean, okay, maybe we could make people famous for five minutes because they’re victims. Everybody could read their stories and say, Whoa, their lives are pathetic! And then what? Either these kids get their arms and legs ripped off because they’ve told on somebody, or a few kids feel sorry for them and everyone else just laughs.”
“Geez,” Elliot said. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing’s the matter with me. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. It’ll only make things worse.”
“That didn’t happen for me,” Catalina said softly.
Elliot said, “No?”
“No. It’s funny, but ever since we sent out my story, people have been treating me differently. It’s like they see me now. Before I was … invisible. I didn’t mean anything to anybody.”
Elliot folded his arms. “Yeah,” he said.
I shrugged.
“It’s hard to describe exactly,” Catalina said. “Bethany stays away from me now. I don’t know if she’s embarrassed or ashamed or maybe just figuring out what to do next, but so far she hasn’t done anything. And the regular kids, even some of the cool kids, they say hi to me now. That’s a big difference, you know?”
“And I send my story out and get three stories back,” Elliot said. “It’s something, Russell. We have to keep doing it.”
“But Catalina’s story was different,” I said. “These kids are just telling about everyday school stuff. Kids who do this stuff like to get attention for it.”
Elliot sat back and thought. “Okay, how about this?” he said. “We broadcast the messages, but we take off the kids’ Net names. No addresses, no authors’ names. Then no one knows who they are.”
“What if other kids figure out who they are?”
“Russell, these guys want us to put their stories out,” he said. “They asked us to.”
“Only one asked.”
“They all want that,” he said. “That’s why they sent their stories. Geez.” Elliot flopped backward.
But I felt stubborn. “I guarantee you. Putting out stories like this will only make things worse.”
“You don’t know that,” Elliot said.
“I bet you.”
“Why don’t we find out?” Catalina said.
We both looked at her.
“Well,”
she said, “we’re supposed to be the Bully Lab, right? We’re supposed to be experimenting. Why don’t we try this and watch what happens? We could put these stories out, anonymously like you say, and ask for more. If we get any more we can put those out, and just watch what happens.”
Elliot said, “Send these stories to the whole seventh grade, right?”
She shrugged. “Why not all three grades?”
“The Bully Lab Bulletin,” Elliot mused, sitting up again. “We can send it to every kid in school.”
“It’s not a good name,” I said.
“Why not?” said Elliot.
“It’s too … young. Bully Lab sounds like a little kid thing. It needs to be more powerful.” I have to admit, I was getting a little excited about the idea.
“Hmm,” Elliot said. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. How about … The Justice League?”
“Name it after a superhero comic? That even sounds nerdy to me,” Elliot said, grinning now.
“Okay, okay. How about The Avengers?”
“TV show,” he said. “Really old. They made a movie out of it. Really bad.”
“All right, well …”
“The Revealer,” Catalina said.
We looked at her again. “Hey!” Elliot said. “Maybe so.”
“Because we’re revealing the truth,” she said.
“Yeah?” Elliot swiveled to me. “What do you think?”
“It sounds like something on a supermarket rack. The Revealer. ALIEN BABIES WITH MULTIPLE HEADS!”
“It does not,” Elliot said. “Besides, people read those things.”
I shrugged. “I guess it’s all right with me.”
We decided to use Elliot for the contact point, because he was home. This is what we wrote:
The Darkland Revealer
We are three Parkland seventh graders, Russell Trainor, Elliot Gekewicz, and Catalina Aarons. You can reach us at this address on SchoolStream: Troo
We have been the targets of mean cliques and nasty kids, and maybe you have, too. We have definitely seen how bullying and abuse of kids by kids is incredibly common at this school. In fact we think it is probably out of control. The school doesn’t do anything about it, so it happens all the time. If you have been affected by it, you know. If you haven’t noticed it, it’s time you do.
We’re not going to tell people why kids do this, because we don’t really know. We’re not going to tell you some kids are bad and the kids who get picked on are all good, because maybe it’s not always that simple.
We just want to tell you true stories. We want to tell people your true stories.
We started with two stories of our own. We sent them out on SchoolStream. We didn’t expect other kids to send us theirs. But three kids did.
So here are their stories. If you have been affected by evil behavior, send us your story. We will put it in the next Revealer. We won’t divulge your name.
We are not sure what will happen from this, but we will be interested to find out. Maybe you will be, too—especially after you read about some of the things that go on.
To send us your story, all you have to do is write it in a SchoolStream message, or include it as a file attachment. Just report what happened to you. Tell us the facts.
Sincerely,
The Revealers
We didn’t use the word “victim” at all. That was my idea. We added the three kids’ stories at the end, with no names or addresses. We pulled down the Distribute menu, and looked at the choices for a minute. Then we chose All.
I thought it was pretty good, what we wrote. I didn’t know what was going to happen. But when we got done with the distribution—we just hit the command, and there it went—Elliot spun around, hand up, and I gave him a high five. Then we had to grab him before he fell off his dad’s execu-chair.
FOREVER YOURS
We were getting out of social studies the next day when Ms. Hogeboom said, “Oh, Russell.”
I stepped out of the funnel of kids cramming for the door.
“I read your Revealer on the network,” she said.
I blinked. “You did?”
“I did. Is that a problem?”
“Well … I thought we only sent it to the kids.”
“Well, I got it,” she said. “Maybe you sent it to the whole school.”
For a second the room rippled. “The whole school? Like Mrs. Capelli and everybody?” Mrs. Capelli was the principal. She still is.
“Could be,” Ms. Hogeboom said. “I just wanted to say I think it’s bold and challenging. It’s like an underground newspaper.”
“A what?”
She laughed. “Of course you’ve never heard of an underground newspaper, have you?”
“Uh … not really.”
“It’s a newspaper that challenges the establishment.”
Her eyes were sparkling. I had no idea what she was talking about.
“The establishment is the way people imagine things have to be,” she said. “Especially people who have power.”
That word “power” bumped me back to reality. “Like Mrs. Capelli?” I said. My mouth felt dry. You know those fortunetelling eight balls—the ones that you ask a question and shake, and then you look in the window until the answer comes swimming up? I felt as if the answer was swimming up at me, and it was: You made a big mistake.
“Well, yes, in part,” Ms. Hogeboom said. “But I think the establishment isn’t so much people as it is people’s assumptions. I mean, people assume these sorts of incidents are a fact of life at your age. We tend to say, ‘Oh well, kids will be kids.’ It’s almost like we assume that cruelty and violence are part of growing up. I wonder why we assume that?”
Ms. Hogeboom was pretty much talking to herself at this point. “See how you’ve made me think?”
“We really didn’t mean for grownups to see it,” I said.
She nodded. “I wonder what Janet will think,” she murmured.
I had a feeling Mrs. Capelli (that’s Janet) might not be thrilled. Hadn’t we said abuse of kids by kids was out of control at her school? And Mrs. Capelli was a fairly stiff character anyway. She tended to consider your behavior either “appropriate” or “inappropriate”—and there wasn’t much doubt in my mind where on that scale this was going to fall.
I suddenly wondered if Mrs. Capelli wasn’t the “certain authority figure” that made Mr. Dallas nervous about how we used the Net. “Be careful,” he’d said. He probably couldn’t bring himself to say, “Be appropriate.”
“You better run,” Ms. Hogeboom said.
I was thinking the same thing.
Elliot was back that day. After school I was at his locker, holding his crutches while he filled his backpack.
I sagged against the locker. “You know what we did?”
“What?”
“We sent The Revealer to the whole school. Not just the kids.”
“So what?”
“So what? Don’t you think that’s bad?”
“I don’t know. What’s wrong with it?”
Just then, Jake Messner stopped by. “Hey, guys,” he said.
“Ah … hey.”
“You know what—it’s pretty cool what you’re doing,” Jake said. “That KidNet thing.”
Elliot stared at him.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I bet everyone read it—but nobody’s saying much,” Jake said. He lowered his voice. “What do you think that means?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
He shook his head. “Me neither. Well, anyway—I hope you keep going with it. Let me know if I can help. Okay?”
“Sure,” I said.
He gave a little wave and walked away.
“Don’t stand there goggling,” I said to Elliot. “You look like a frog.”
“Jake Messner said we were cool.”
“He didn’t say we were cool. He said The Revealer kind of was.
“He didn’t say kind of,” Elliot s
aid. “He said pretty cool.”
“He’s a decent guy.”
“And you’re worried about people reading the thing,” Elliot said. He swung his backpack on and staggered backward on wobbly crutches. I grabbed and steadied him.
“I’m still getting the hang of these,” he said. “Hey! That thing you wrote about Richie punching you. Let’s put that in the next Revealer.”
“What? No way.”
Elliot peered at me. “I wrote about the Rots,” he said. “Catalina wrote about Bethany.”
“Catalina did not write about Bethany.”
“Sort of, she did.”
“You are not broadcasting what I wrote. I’m serious, Elliot.”
“Why? Everybody else is supposed to tell their stories, but you don’t need to tell yours?” Elliot started swinging himself down the hall.
“No, I don’t need to. And maybe I don’t want to.”
He stopped. “You’re afraid he’ll pound you again if you do.”
I shook my head. “Actually, I don’t think he would. When Burke and Blanchette started threatening me, Richie scared them away. Not that I needed him to,” I added quickly.
“So you think he’s your buddy now? Richie Tucker?”
“No. It’s just that he’s been acting … different. He said I could ask him questions.”
Elliot blinked. “Questions?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, do! Ask him why he terrorizes people.”
“I did that already. He almost broke my face.”
“Okay, so ask him how he does it. How does he get to people like that? How does he make a person so scared?”
“Hmm,” I said. “He might like getting asked that. Or he might break my face.”
“I can see it now: PROFILE OF A PREDATOR,” Elliot said, holding up one hand like he was scanning a headline. He grinned. “Who wouldn’t read that?”
When my mom got home she said, “What are you up to tonight?” It was Friday.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Well, why don’t you see if Elliot and Catalina would like to go to the movies? If it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable for him. I think you three ought to do something together.”