Just Call Me Stupid

by Tom Birdseye

  Patrick acted as if he didn’t hear. But Celina couldn’t control herself. She sneered right back at Andy, then turned to Patrick. “You can beat him,” she insisted. “I know you can. I watched him play last week during choice time. He’s pretty good, but not nearly as good as you are. You could beat him with one eye closed. You know things about chess that catch me off guard all the time. You could trounce Andy and shut his big mouth forever. You’d be like the White Knight at a jousting tournament. There’s no way you’d lose. You’d be school champion. You’re great!”

  Patrick glowed under Celina’s compliments, but didn’t let on. “Just ignore him,” he kept repeating.

  Celina couldn’t, though. From then on, she reacted to everything Andy said. Any mention of the chess club, and she turned to Patrick. “Sign up. Beat him!” By the day before the chess club’s first meeting, she was hounding him almost constantly. “Tomorrow is the first meeting. It’s in our room. Mrs. Romero will be there. You’ll do great. You’ve got to sign up!”

  She kept at it, increasing the pressure even more after Andy called her a wetback again on the bus. She spun great tales of victory on the field of battle, until, after a particularly good game that afternoon in The Kingdom, Patrick finally gave in. “OK, OK, I’ll go,” he said, telling himself he was doing this just to get Celina to shut up, but convinced that he really could be school champion. “I’ll go. But only if you promise to go, too.”

  Celina burst into a big grin. “I wouldn’t miss it for all the ice cream in Arizona! It’s you and me, the White Knight and Merlyn, off to the jousting tournament!”

  The next day at school Patrick came into the building early to tell Mrs. Romero he was going to join the chess club. He was excited now that he had decided to do it, and walked quickly toward his room to deliver the good news.

  Just outside of his classroom he heard his name spoken and stopped short. It was Mrs. Nagle’s voice. At first, the sound of it bothered him. But then he remembered her pat on the back, and decided that she was probably telling Mrs. Romero how hard he had been working in the Resource Room. He leaned close to the doorway, careful not to be seen, smiling at the thought of spying on his teachers.

  “Yes, I know Patrick is trying hard,” Mrs. Nagle was saying. “It’s wonderful!”

  Patrick’s smile grew into a big grin.

  “All the more reason not to cut back on his time in the Resource Room when he’s just beginning to make progress. He is so far behind. I don’t know how he’ll ever make it in middle school.”

  Patrick withdrew from the doorway so quickly he almost fell down. His ears rang with Mrs. Nagle’s words. “He is so far behind. I don’t know how he’ll ever make it …” He felt stunned, as if he’d just been hit hard on the head from behind. But she had patted him on the back. He had thought he was doing so well.

  Patrick turned and ran back down the hall. He had to get away, out into the fresh air of the playground.

  Chapter 13

  The Jousting Tournament

  Despite protests, Celina would not let Patrick change his mind about joining the chess club. “A promise is a promise. You said you would. A true knight never goes back on his word. Remember the code of chivalry?”

  Yeah, he remembered. Truthfulness was the first quality of a good knight.

  “You’ll do it, right? Say you will.”

  “All right,” Patrick said, “I’ll do it.” He decided to ignore what Mrs. Nagle had said the same way he’d been ignoring Andy. He decided to ignore the uneasy feeling in his stomach, too, even though it gnawed at him right up till lunch recess when the chess club met for the first time.

  There were at least twenty kids who had joined the club, mostly older, but a few second and third graders. Mrs. Romero decided she would draw names by age level to see who would play who, beginning with fifth grade.

  “AND NOW!” she announced dramatically, hamming it up for all she was worth, “THE FIRST CONTESTANTS!” She held an old cowboy hat over her head. “This is my story hat,” she said. “I wear it sometimes when I tell stories, because my grandpa Manuel always wore it when he told me stories as a child.” She smiled. “But it’s a good chess club hat, too, don’t you think?”

  Patrick didn’t. The first two names that Mrs. Romero drew out of her “story hat” were his own and Andy Wilkinson’s.

  “Oh, man,” Andy moaned loud enough for just about everyone but Mrs. Romero to hear. Andy looked over at Jenny Armstrong, who had come in late. “Does Patrick even know how to play?”

  Patrick ignored the insult, instead imagining himself the White Knight readying to joust. Andy’s words didn’t change a thing, just like Mrs. Nagle’s didn’t. Quickly he arranged his pieces on the chessboard, blocking out the sound of other names being drawn, other boards being set up, other games beginning. He blocked out Andy’s continuing moans and groans. He blocked out everything except the battle to come. His name had been drawn first. Mrs. Romero said first draw got to choose colors. No choice there. White. White was his color. He was the White Knight. And white moved first. Good. Patrick knew just the move he wanted to make: king’s pawn forward two.

  Andy rolled his eyes as if that were the stupidest opening move in the history of chess. He quickly answered Patrick’s charge with his own king’s pawn forward two also.

  Patrick nodded. The kings’ pawns stood face-to-face. So far, so good. Now for his king’s knight—a white knight, like him. Charge! He moved it out in front of the king’s bishop, threatening Andy’s pawn.

  Andy looked up from the board. “So, look who knows how to play chess.” He surveyed his pieces. “Well, so do I.” He moved his queen’s knight out to protect the threatened pawn.

  Charge! Patrick moved his other white knight out—bishop three. Into battle the white knights galloped side by side.

  Andy didn’t look up. He moved his king’s bishop diagonally out in front of his queen’s knight. It was a good move. Powerful pieces out as soon as possible rarely backfired.

  Patrick took Andy’s pawn with his king’s knight.

  “Ha!” Andy let out a sharp laugh. “I knew you didn’t know what you were doing.” With a flourish, he took Patrick’s knight with his own. “I’ll trade a pawn for a knight any day. Why not?” He laughed again and looked around to see if Jenny or anyone else were watching.

  Patrick ignored Andy and quietly moved his queen’s pawn up to the fourth square. It now threatened both Andy’s knight and bishop. A fork, protected by his queen. “Sure to do damage either way you go,” just like Dad had said. Charge!

  Andy’s grin dropped into a frown. Glaring at Patrick, he moved his queen out in front of his king. “Take one and I’ll nail you.”

  Patrick almost let himself smile. Perfect! The enemy had made just the fateful mistake he had hoped for. He lowered his lance and galloped into the heart of the battle, moving his white knight directly between Andy’s knight and bishop, threatening the most powerful piece in chess—the queen.

  Patrick kept his eyes down and held his breath. Charging, charging across the sunlit meadow. After a long pause, he looked up.

  Frustration showed clearly on Andy’s face—his forehead furrowed, eyes glaring. Patrick was controlling the game, and now Andy had no choice. He had to move his queen to protect it. He responded by attacking the attacker and moved his queen forward one, threatening Patrick’s white knight.

  Charge! Patrick quickly moved his white knight, taking Andy’s bishop’s pawn. “Check,” he said. Not only was it check, the only way for Andy to get out of it was to lose his queen. Another fork. He had Andy. He had him!

  Patrick smiled. He couldn’t help it. He looked Andy right in the eye. “Check,” he said again. “Your move.”

  The look on Andy’s face was at first one of total astonishment. “That’s not check,” he said.

  Patrick reached over and pointed to his knight, then Andy’s black king. “Yeah, it is. Look.”

  Andy erupted, batting Patrick’s hand a
way, bumping the chessboard. Several pieces fell onto the floor. “You cheated!”

  Patrick sat back, his face growing flushed. “There wasn’t anything wrong with that move!” he said. “You were in check and you know it!”

  Andy grew angrier. “No, I wasn’t! You cheated!”

  “I did not!” Patrick shot back. He lowered his voice. “That move was OK. I know the rules!”

  Andy’s expression went blank, and Patrick thought he had him. But instead of slinking away, admitting defeat, Andy quickly reached over and grabbed a small paperback book from the table next to theirs. “You know so much about chess?” he growled, thrusting the book right in Patrick’s face. “Here’s the rule book. Read them to me, stupid!”

  Patrick sat back as if pushed. He was no longer the victorious White Knight. He was Patrick Lowe, fifth-grade failure. The print on the cover of the book Andy shoved at him seemed to grow in size, reaching out for him. Then the letters blurred, and he felt a weight on his chest. The walls of the classroom began to close in. Everyone was looking at him, he knew. It became hard to breathe. He had to get out.

  “Read the rules, stupid!” Andy demanded again, this time louder.

  Patrick was beginning to panic. Everything looked fuzzy. Sounds echoed. He heard Celina’s voice clearly, though. “Leave him alone, Andy!” He could hear Mrs. Romero’s, too—calm but firm, telling Andy to back off, “Now!”

  But Andy wasn’t about to stop. He drowned out Celina and Mrs. Romero, yelling so that everyone in the room could hear. “How can Patrick be in the chess club? He can’t even read the rules. He’s too stupid!”

  There was a great uproar. Voices full of emotion rang all around. But it was only Andy’s that Patrick could hear clearly. “Stupid! Stupid!” Then his father’s, at first echoing, as if from far away, then up close. “Can’t get anything right! Stupid! Stupid!” Andy’s and his father’s words swarmed around Patrick like angry bees, stinging him, forcing him back, closing in on him, until Patrick couldn’t take it anymore, broke wildly away, and ran.

  Chapter 14

  The Magic Book

  Celina darted after Patrick. He could hear her footsteps behind him in the school hall.

  “Patrick! Patrick, come back!”

  He sprinted out the front door of Dewey Elementary and down the sidewalk in the blinding midday sun.

  Celina followed. “Patrick, stop!”

  But he didn’t stop until blocks later when he plunged through the oleander bushes into The Kingdom. Celina staggered in after him and dropped to her knees, dripping with sweat, gasping for air, unable to talk.

  Patrick faced her with pain and anger in his voice. “Andy’s right!” he cried out. “I am stupid! I can’t read. I’ll never be able to read. I’ll never make it in middle school. I’m too stupid. Everybody knows it! Mrs. Nagle. Mrs. Romero. Everybody probably says it behind my back. Go ahead. You say it, too. Say it to my face. Just call me stupid!”

  Patrick turned away when he felt the tears well up in his eyes and his shoulders begin to shake.

  Celina reached out and touched him. “No, Patrick. You’re not stupid. You can read. You can!”

  He spun back to face her. “You don’t understand!” he yelled. “I’m not like you! I can’t!”

  But just as quickly as angry frustration filled him, it left. His voice went soft, as if someone had taken the air out of it. His next words, when they came out, had no life, only hurt and despair. “I just get all messed up. It’s like I can’t see regular or something. I don’t know … I want to read, but I just can’t do it the way I should. I really can’t. I try. I’ve been working hard for Mrs. Nagle. I have. But …”

  Patrick’s voice quavered and he stopped talking, trying to get control, trying to keep the great flood of emotions he felt building up in him from spilling out like water over a dam.

  “It’s OK,” Celina said, “don’t cry.”

  Patrick sat up straight. “I’m not crying.” He took a deep breath, then let it out forcefully. “Andy just made me mad, that’s all.”

  Celina nodded. “If I was really Merlyn, Andy would be in big trouble right now. I’d turn him into a”—she looked around The Kingdom—“a Questing Beast. And I’d put him on the run from King Pellinore!” She forced a laugh. “That’s what I’d do!”

  Patrick looked over at the sleeping chuckwalla and tried to smile. But it was a small and fragile smile, and wouldn’t stay on his lips. He sighed and looked at Celina. “If you were really Merlyn, you know what I’d get you to do?”

  Celina shook her head. “No.”

  “I’d get you to make me a magic book, that’s what.”

  Celina sat back, cross-legged on the dirt. She folded her hands in her lap. “How would the book be magic?”

  Patrick let his gaze wander over the cutouts and the castle, coming to rest on the Questing Beast again. He tapped on the glass cage, got no response from the sleepy lizard, then looked back at Celina. “It would be magic because all you would have to do is open it and you’d know the story. There wouldn’t be a tape recording, or video, or anything fancy like that inside. No one would have to read it out loud. There wouldn’t even be words. You’d just open the cover, and magically you’d know the story, just like that!”

  Celina burst into a wide grin. “What a great idea! Tell me the story the magic book would tell. C’mon, Patrick. Please!”

  Patrick hesitated. “I don’t know what it would be. Something about a White Knight, I guess. But after that … I don’t know.”

  Celina scooted closer. “Yeah, a White Knight. He’d be fighting for what’s right. Please tell me. It’s a magic book, remember?”

  Patrick took a deep breath. “Well …” He looked at Celina.

  “Go on,” she said. “Pleeeease.”

  Patrick nodded. It was OK. She was his friend.

  “The White Knight lay near death,” he began, “alone in the Dark Forest of Tuskdor.”

  The words seemed to come into his mind just before he needed to say them. Somehow, from somewhere deep down inside, they came. It was like a story he already knew, had already told, even though he was making it up as he went. The feeling was magical, as if Celina really were Merlyn, and she had spun another spell. She smiled, and he continued.

  “He was the bravest knight to ever live, and people said he had never broken the code of chivalry …”

  Chapter 15

  Bravo!

  By the time Patrick finished his story—“and the White Knight defeated the dragon and became king of all the land”—Celina was bouncing with excitement. “We’ve got to write it down. It’s too good not to. Great stories have to be saved. I LOVE it!”

  Patrick sat back, panic jumping into his eyes. She didn’t mean that he should write it down, did she? No way. “I’m not going to write—”

  “We could tape it,” Celina quickly cut in. “All you’d have to do is tell it again, just like you did now. You wouldn’t have to write a thing.”

  Patrick relaxed a bit, but still wasn’t sure.

  “We could use my dad’s recorder.” Celina got more excited as she talked. Her smile grew with each word, until she was almost laughing as she spoke. “It’s such a great story, Patrick. Really! I love it! You can tell it again, can’t you? You’re so good.”

  “Well …” Patrick said, liking the feel of Celina’s compliments, but at the same time not sure what it would be like to talk into a tape machine. He didn’t like performances of any kind.

  Celina took his well as a yes. “Great!” she said, already headed out of The Kingdom. “I wonder where Dad put the recorder … I haven’t seen it since we moved.… Wow! What a story!”

  Patrick couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. He gave in. What harm could it do? It really was a good story. He had surprised himself with it. His anger and frustration had worked to his advantage. Somehow the story had come out easier because of those feelings, as if they had formed his thoughts into words and sentences. Why
not tell it again? It’d be all right. “But only if you promise that the tape will be just for us,” he called after her.

  “Sure, whatever!” Celina yelled back at him as she clambered over the block wall. “It’s such a great story!”

  Patrick insisted the best title was “The White Knight.” “That’s who the story’s about.”

  Celina pressed for something more dramatic. “How about … ‘Into the Shadow of Death,’ or something like that?”

  Patrick held firm, though. “No. I like ‘The White Knight.’ I can name it whatever I want. It’s my story.”

  It was his story, and he proved it by telling it even better the second time. At first he was nervous, self-conscious with the tape recorder whirring on the table in front of him. But within seconds of beginning, he actually forgot the thing was there. He was swept away, slipping easily into the role of the noble White Knight in the Forest of Tuskdor. He added extra detail, described how the knight felt, put in dialogue and a lot more action.

  When Patrick finished, Celina applauded and shouted, “Bravo! Bravo!” over and over again. Pellinore, who had come with Celina when she returned, barked happily.

  Patrick blushed, then noticed that the tape recorder was still on. He reached for the red Off button.

  Celina quickly scooped the machine up and held it out of Patrick’s reach. She laughed and spoke directly into the microphone. “Yay, Patrick, the great storyteller. Bravo! Bravo!”

  Patrick reached for the machine again. “Don’t say that on the tape,” he said. “That’s embarrassing!”

  But the laughter in his voice gave him away. “Bravo, Patrick!” Celina kept saying into the microphone, giggling, laughing. “He’s embarrassed, but he’s so great!”

  Patrick faked an angry glare at her and dove for the recorder. Celina screamed and fell over backward, trying to get away. They wrestled for the machine, laughing as they rolled around in the dirt.