My Life as a Cartoonist
Page 6
“Good, then meet me behind the school at three o’clock. I’m going to kick your butt.”
“WHAT?!” How did THAT just happen?
Before I can say anything else, Umberto takes off to the front of the room. It’s not even eight thirty and the day’s already heading for disaster.
preposterous
If you don’t count the time I stepped in the middle of Swifty and Tommy having it out last year, I’ve never been in a fight at school. Not to mention that I’ve never—nor do I know anyone else who has—been in a fight with a kid in a wheelchair. It’s preposterous, and I look around to see if Umberto’s kidding.
But the taunting expression is gone, replaced by eyes shooting daggers at me from across the room. He holds up three fingers. “Three o’clock—come feel the pain.”
dexterity
Is he insane? As Ms. McCoddle begins her lecture on Antarctica, a rising sense of dread fills my body. This is all a giant scare tactic, right? There’s no way Umberto thinks I’m actually going to fight him … IN A WHEELCHAIR. I suddenly remember his dexterity with the lacrosse stick. Maybe Umberto’s some upper-body martial arts expert who can’t wait to practice his latest lethal move on Yours Truly. For the first time since summer, I actually feel myself sweat.
When the bell rings to switch classes, I race out the door.
“Umberto wants to fight me,” I tell Matt.
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. At three, behind the school.”
evaluate
Matt tries to evaluate my expression to see if I’m pulling his leg.
“You have to help me get out of it,” I say.
“He’s probably just kidding.”
Swifty walks by on the way to his locker. “Three o’clock, huh? I can’t wait to watch you go down.”
“Great,” Matt says. “Umberto probably told the whole school.”
After I tell Swifty to get lost, Carly comes up behind him. “You’re not going to fight, are you?” she asks. “Please tell me you’re not.”
“And be called a chicken for the rest of the year?”
“Afraid to fight a kid in a wheelchair?” Matt adds. “You’ll never hear the end of it.”
self-righteousness
The three of us look over to Umberto, surrounded by a cluster of our classmates. To think I wanted to help him, had even put together a plan to train Frank to be his helper. A sudden wave of self-righteousness sweeps over me. Who does this kid think he is, transferring to our school and stirring up trouble? Copying my comic strip, getting me in trouble with our teacher? Watching him now, I decide Umberto is the one who needs his butt kicked. Wheelchair or no wheelchair, I’m tired of this kid harassing me.
“Three o’clock,” I tell Matt and Carly. “If Umberto wants a fight, he’s going to get one.”
I Hope You Know, This Means War
“You can’t fight a kid in a wheelchair,” Carly says. “It’s just plain—what’s the word?—wrong.”
interjects
“For the millionth time, this wasn’t my idea.”
“It’s Bullying Rule Number One,” Carly pleads. “Just walk away.”
“If I can’t walk away, he can’t either,” Umberto interjects as he races down the hall.
“I have no intention of walking away,” I call after him. “I’ll be there.”
Carly grabs her books tighter to her chest and shakes her head sadly. “I want nothing to do with this. You’re on your own.”
I point up toward her locker, where Crash is waiting for her. “I don’t think YOU’RE on your own.”
She tilts her head, trying to decide whether or not to go to Crash. “I can’t watch you do this,” she says, then heads toward her boyfriend.
When the bell rings at the end of the day, Matt rubs my shoulders as if I’m a boxer going into the ring. I’m completely flabbergasted when we go outside and more than fifty kids are waiting.
“Fight, fight, fight!” everyone chants.
exhilarated
Part of me wants to run screaming through the double doors and not stop until I’m safely hidden underneath my bed at home. But another part of me is exhilarated by this sudden attention and notoriety. I look over and see Charlotte Mayo and Mackenzie Brennan chanting. I didn’t even think they knew who I was.
notoriety
“This is like an old-fashioned duel,” Matt says. “It’s awesome.”
Billy Thompson, who lives a few houses down from Matt, chimes in. “Alexander Hamilton got killed in a duel.”
“That’s not going to happen today,” Matt says.
My exhilaration suddenly shifts to fear, and I find myself with a serious case of flop sweat. “I’ve got to get out of here,” I tell Matt. “Let’s go.”
“No one’s going anywhere,” Umberto says, wheeling up behind me. “Ready to get your butt kicked?”
random
As the other kids chant Umberto’s name, I scan the school yard for a random teacher to put an end to the madness. Why isn’t there ever an adult around when you need one?
“Pick your weapon,” Umberto says. Across his lap, he’s got two lacrosse sticks and two pairs of boxing gloves.
“Are you insane? Who brings boxing gloves to school?”
“I box at the YMCA,” Umberto says. “I’m a black belt in karate, too.”
Billy Thompson chimes in yet again. “Have you seen Umberto on YouTube breaking boards with his head? Or chopping a cinder block in half with his bare hands? He’s amazing.”
The person I now want to fight is Billy Thompson.
I turn to Matt. “This is ridiculous. I can’t fight a kid in a wheelchair.”
Umberto overhears me. “You want me to get out of my chair? Cuz I’ll beat you lying on the ground too.”
As my life flashes before my eyes, I think about my drawings and wish Super Frank were here to help me. He may be fictional, but no one else seems willing to help me out today.
medieval
“Enough stalling.” Umberto tosses me a lacrosse stick. “You get on one end of the school yard, I’ll get on the other. We’ll meet in the middle and joust until one of us wins.”
“You want to joust? What is this, medieval times?”
“Jousting began in Europe in the tenth century,” Billy Thompson says. “It was first—”
“Will you please SHUT UP!” I yell. I grab the lacrosse stick and head to the other end of the yard. “Let’s get this over with.”
bandana
Everyone starts chanting “Fight, fight, fight” again, and when Stephen waves his bandana, Umberto and I race to the middle of the yard. Using his wheelchair, he’s much faster than I am. Carly’s words echo in my head, reminding me what a stupendously bad idea this is.
Before I get a chance to raise my stick, Umberto smacks me in the knee with his. As much as I try not to react, it hurts, and I let out a short scream. I hoist the lacrosse stick above my head and get ready to hit Umberto back when a shout stops me in my tracks.
reprimanded
“Derek Fallon, put that stick down now!”
disperse
I’m embarrassed to be reprimanded by Ms. McCoddle, especially in front of half the school.
“I didn’t even want to do this!” I say as the crowd begins to disperse. “This was all Umberto’s idea.”
defenseless
Umberto has magically ditched the boxing gloves as well as his own lacrosse stick. I try to visualize the scene from Ms. McCoddle’s perspective: me wielding a weapon at the defenseless new kid in a wheelchair who now wears an innocent expression.
“Both of you, principal’s office, NOW!” she says.
I suddenly spot a crack in Umberto’s calm demeanor. He seems as upset as I am.
“Ms. McCoddle, please—” I begin.
“We won’t do it again,” Umberto adds.
detention
She spins around to face the two of us. “I’ll give you two a choice: a one week dete
ntion with me or a meeting with Principal Demetri and your parents.”
Umberto and I answer in unison. “Detention.”
“My classroom—let’s go!”
All I can think of is what I’m going to tell my parents when I finally get home.
You Want Us to What?
Ms. McCoddle is still in super-serious mode as she erases the board in her room.
cooperative
“Here’s the plan: You two are going to collaborate on a project that’s due next week.”
I start to complain but think better of it. Umberto’s back to wearing his cooperative grin. What a phony.
“Since you two are interested in comics, you can come up with one together—contributing without fighting.”
“I’d love to collaborate, Ms. McCoddle,” Umberto begins. “But it might be hard because Derek keeps taking all my ideas.”
ploy
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?” Before the sentence is out of my mouth, I realize this was just a clever ploy to get me to blow my stack in front of our teacher. I compose myself before continuing.
“I think it’s a great idea. It actually sounds fun,” I say.
When Ms. McCoddle tries to hide a smile, I realize I’ve gone too far in the other direction. “Then it’s settled. We start tomorrow. I want a note from both your parents saying they’re on board.”
Matt and Carly are waiting for me by the school’s front entrance. I don’t bother looking behind me to see where Umberto’s gone.
“Did you get in trouble?” Carly asks.
“Did she make you see Demetri?” Matt adds.
I tell them about detention, but what really makes them groan is the fact that I have to create a comic strip with Umberto as punishment.
“He doesn’t have one original idea,” Matt says. “All he does is copy your stuff.”
Carly shakes her head, looking off into space. “I just don’t get it. Why is he picking on you? You’re such a nice kid.”
I feel my cheeks flush at the unexpected compliment.
automatic
Behind Matt, I notice Umberto still inside the school lobby. The automatic doors are locked, and he’s trying to open the regular door and wheel himself through. No one else is around, and I’m the only one who can see him.
“Come on,” I tell Matt and Carly. “Let’s go.”
Someone will probably come along to help Umberto. It’s just not going to be me.
My First Detention
pestering
Needless to say, my parents are not happy when they find out I have a week’s detention. My mother listens to my side of the story and says she’ll call Ms. McCoddle tomorrow.
“It sounds like this new kid’s really been pestering you. What do you think set him off?”
I tell her I’ve been trying to figure that out for weeks.
abruptly
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” she says. One of Mom’s interns knocks at the door and says there’s an emergency with a Dalmatian who got hit by a car. I feel bad about the dog but I’m I glad the conversation abruptly ends. I grab a handful of Girl Scout cookies and head to my room.
ingenious
I’ve got to hand it to Umberto—the guy’s pretty ingenious when it comes to slipping out of trouble. It makes me wonder what he was like at his old school. Did he lure other innocent kids into detention there too?
To take my mind off my punishment, I spend the rest of the afternoon working on my comic strip. I name the bad guy Roberto as a nod to my own school yard villain. I sketch him sitting in a jail cell with nothing but a cot, a toilet, and a giant cellmate covered in tattoos.
Drawing actually makes me feel better and by dinnertime I have a stack of papers full of Roberto in ridiculous situations and one new Super Frank comic strip.
As he serves the chicken, Dad says he wants to “throw his two cents in” by telling me to “take the high road” when kids are looking for trouble. His little talk has me wondering why parents have to resort to idioms when they want to have a serious discussion. It makes me want to “bury my head in the sand.”
“So now that the dust has settled…,” my mom begins.
I close my eyes. If she’s starting in with the idioms too, this can only mean they’re gearing up for A Serious Conversation.
“We pulled together some information to go over with you,” she continues.
“Information on what?” I ask.
My father looks me straight in the eyes. “Bullying.”
Get Me Out of Here!
preoccupied
The last thing I want to do is spend even more time preoccupied with Umberto, but I can tell by both my parents’ faces that there will be no escaping them tonight. They’ve even printed a handout from the Internet. I pray my dentist calls, demanding my presence for an emergency root canal.
“Bullying is a hot topic now,” Dad begins. “There are websites, books, and public service announcements where you can get a lot of information.”
I’m almost embarrassed to ask the next question. “Are you telling me this because I’m being bullied or do you think I AM a bully because I got into a fight?”
rarity
My mother suddenly seems confused, a rarity for her. “From everything you’ve told me, Umberto’s been bullying you. Am I wrong?”
“No! I just wanted to check.” I’d give anything to change places with Frank in his cage right now. Anything.
My mother settles down. “The experts say when you’re being taunted by a bully, the most important thing to do is walk away.”
Both of them stare at me, waiting for some kind of answer that makes sense.
relentless
“I know I should’ve walked away,” I say. “I tried to. But Umberto was relentless.”
“You still had a choice,” my mother says. “You could’ve left school at three o’clock. You could’ve told a teacher.”
“There are lots of things I could’ve done,” I say. “But I didn’t.”
“Why?” It’s the simplest of questions but not one with an easy answer.
My parents wait for me to respond. With this kind of patience, they’d probably make good surfers.
My mother finally tilts her head and meets my eyes. “I know why you went,” she says. “I just want you to say it.”
I know my parents well enough to know they’re not going to let this subject die. It’s the whole only-child thing: They have to over-analyze everything I do as if every tiny detail of my life is the most important thing in the world. I’m usually flattered by this kind of hyper-attention, but today it only wears me down.
I take a deep sigh. “I went because I didn’t want to be the kid who was too afraid to fight a kid in a wheelchair.”
“That’s wrong on so many levels,” she says. “First of all, even though he’s in a wheelchair, Umberto could’ve beaten you by being smarter. Smart always counts in a fight.”
I don’t dare interrupt to find out why my mother is suddenly an expert in the art of hand-to-hand combat.
“Second,” she says. “If you thought you somehow deserved to win because you were able-bodied and he wasn’t, that’s wrong too.”
Inquisition
I’m about to protest when she holds up her hand to stop me. “That’s your part in all this. As far as Umberto goes, he needs to understand that being in a wheelchair isn’t an excuse to be a bully. If he’s using a physical challenge as an excuse for bad behavior, that’s just as wrong.”
discomfort
I glance over at the clock, wondering when this Spanish Inquisition will finally end. My father must sense my discomfort because he takes a sheet of paper and slides it across the table.
“Why don’t you read this,” he says. “Let us know what you think.”
“Jeremy, I’m not really done,” my mother says.
belabor
My father places his hand on hers. “I don’t think we need to belabor the point.”
I grab the paper and race to my room.
That was worse than a root canal and I’ve never even had one.
Some Crazy Facts
statistics
Anyone who knows me knows I hate to read, but even I have to admit that some of the statistics on bullying and intimidation were interesting—and scary.
intimidation
I shove the sheet in a folder and cram it under the books on my desk. Why did my parents give me such gloomy stuff to read before bed? I lie on the floor next to Bodi and try to pretend I’d never read it.
solace
I appreciate my parents’ efforts but Umberto shows no signs of stopping. I don’t take much solace knowing that other kids around the world are being bullied much worse than I am. And I don’t care what my mother says: The fact that Umberto is in a wheelchair does factor into it.
cynical
The tips my parents have printed out run through my mind: avoid being alone with the bully, ignore his threats, walk away, find a safe place, tell a trusted adult. But when push comes to shove—literally—I don’t know how helpful these tips will be. Maybe I’m being cynical, maybe these tips are foolproof and work every time. In the end, I decide I have nothing to lose by trying.