Miss Barnett frowned and crinkled her nose. “That’s correct, Timmy. But pay attention, okay?”
Timmy nodded.
Kelly giggled into her palm.
Timmy knew he’d turned as a red as a beet—Kelly had caught him staring at her and it had flushed him full of embarrassment. The other kids were all still looking at him, so he shook his head to clear his thoughts, and followed Miss Barnett’s pointer as she tapped on the next sentence. “Kelly Monahan, what is the subject of this sentence?”
“The horse,” she said, and then placed her hand over her mouth and giggled some more.
After class, Timmy and Kelly had plans to have lunch together, but first Timmy had to go to the bathroom and splash some water over his face. He pushed the swinging door to the boy’s room open and strode inside, slowing because the floor was always slippery. The boys in the school were mostly slobs and, as a result, the floor was wet with paper towels and toilet paper strewn around. He stepped up to one of the weird, U-shaped toilets and opened his fly.
The door opened as Timmy relieved himself.
“Well, well, well, I thought it was you I saw coming in here,” Eddie Batts’ hateful voice said.
Timmy trembled, his hand shaking as he pulled his zipper back up. With dread, he turned from the toilet and faced Eddie. The tall, heavy kid had a wicked look on his face. “You know how much trouble you keep getting me in, Shrimpo?” Eddie hollered. “You’re dead.”
Timmy shut his eyes and shrank as Eddie rushed him.
The door opened. “Eddie!”
Recognizing Dr. Marchland’s stern, British-sounding voice, Eddie slammed on the breaks, but with a loud squeak his sneakers slipped out from under him on the wet floor.
Eddie flopped down, his butt connecting with the tiles first, then the back of his meaty arms, producing a well-padded thump.
The bully laid there, his eyes blinking, his breath coming out cautiously. Dr. Marchland, the school’s counselor, glanced at Timmy. “Timmy, go wait for me by the door.”
Hesitating only a second, Timmy nodded then stepped carefully around Eddie as the bully sat up and said, “I wasn’t doing anything, Mr. Marchland.”
“That’s the problem with you, Eddie,” Dr. Marchland said. “You are never doing anything. Please find your way to lunch now and I will see you in my office at three o’clock. And you had better be there this time or you will be expelled from school.”
Timmy couldn’t understand why, but Eddie nodded his head obediently and got up. The bully seemed too scared to even look at Timmy. What Dr. Marchland said had somehow worked.
Eddie squeezed past Timmy without incident, opened the door and left. Then the counselor wrapped his arm around Timmy and guided him toward the exit. “Come with me,” he said.
The nameplate on Dr. Marchland’s desk said Dr. Richard Marchland, Student Counselor. Over this sign and his clasped fingers, Marchland stared at Timmy, as if daring Timmy to lie.
“Timmy, you are being bullied, am I correct?
Timmy dropped his head and then lifted it in a hesitant yes, before glancing back down.
Dr. Marchland said, “Timmy, many, but not all, bullies are themselves the victims of bullying.” The psychologist paused and then said, “Timmy, look at me.”
Timmy gazed into Dr. Marchland’s piercing, dark eyes.
Dr. Marchland continued, “The best way to deal with a bully is to tell the bully that he is hurting your feelings. You need to shout this, and you will likely draw the attention of a teacher or me.”
Maybe that works in England where you’re from, but not here. Timmy thought, once again avoiding the school counselor’s probing stare.
“Will you try this approach Timmy? Of shouting to the bully that he is hurting your feelings and is hurting you? It’s the only way. Look at me and tell me you understand and will do this.”
Timmy doubted that shouting to Eddie and the other bullies that they were hurting his feelings would work. But he sure couldn’t win by fighting back and there was never an adult around when he needed one. Might as well try it again, he told himself. He gazed up at Dr. Marchland and said, “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir, what?”
“Yes sir, I’ll try it?”
The final bell rang and Timmy walked home. During lunch, Kelly had told him that she had after-school drama class followed by a horseback riding lesson. He walked alone.
“Hey Shrimpo Underpants!”
Timmy spun around, holding his books out in front of him like a shield. “You’re hurting my feelings, Eddie!” he shouted.
“Buh-ha-ha-ha!” Eddie snorted with laughter. “Did you hear that guys?” Eddie glanced quickly at his gang of Joey, Ralph, and Stew and then said mockingly, “We’re hurting the poor Shrimpo’s feelings.”
Timmy choked. Out of breath and paralyzed by fear, he could only watch as Eddie came toward him and then grasped his hair and pulled. Finally his airway cleared and he cried, “You’re hurting me!”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have tattled on us then, you little—”
The screech of tires and the bully Eddie paused, his pudgy fingers loosening on Timmy’s scalp. Timmy glanced over and recognized the dirty side of his mother’s blue Ford Fiesta which had pulled up to the curb where only the buses were supposed to go.
Eddie’s fingers gripped Timmy’s hair again, and then the bully gave a yank.
“Owwww!” Timmy cried, the pain shooting across his scalp.
The sound of a car door opening then footsteps on pavement as Eddie tugged Timmy toward the circle of other bullies.
“You’re hurting my feelings,” Ralph said in a mocking, baby voice. “You’re hurting—”
More hard footsteps, now over the curb; a woman’s voice roared above the others.
“You leave my son alone!” Ann Unterkanz yelled.
The bullies hesitated and Timmy felt Eddie’s fingers slide from his hair. But the stinging pain from his scalp was now so great it brought tears to his eyes. He winced and turned toward his mother.
Still staring down Eddie, Timmy’s mother reached back and opened the passenger door. She was still in her nurse’s uniform. “Get in Timmy. And if any of you boys move you’ll be needing a ride to the hospital where I work.”
Eddie, Joey, Ralph, and Stew glanced at each other, shrugged, and then started off in the opposite direction toward the Bradwick part of town where they all lived. After a few steps, Eddie turned. At first he’d been shocked by the arrival of Timmy’s mom, but as he glared at Timmy it was clear that Eddie had returned to his usual hateful, aggressive self; a bully who always had to get the last word in. “I just wanted to talk to him, Mrs. Underpants,” Eddie explained. “Tell him I don’t appreciate him making up stories about what I did to him.”
Timmy’s mother shot Eddie an angry glare and said, “You are so lucky there are laws to protect you, roly-poly boy.”
Pride swelled in Timmy’s throat as he hurried toward the car and got inside. His mother shut the door behind him. She came around and got in the other side, then pulled the Ford into drive. They left the school.
Timmy wept. This time they were tears of joy, choked up in appreciation for his mother who’d lost Dad and took care of him alone.
“Mom,” Timmy stammered, “how did you know? How—”
“Mother’s intuition,” she said, driving down School Street, away from the place that Timmy hated and that hated him.
His first week of middle school was finally over.
Timmy sniffled. Thank God for weekends.
Chapter Ten
Timmy woke to the blaring buzz of his nineteen-dollar-and-ninety-nine-cent X-Men clock. He lifted his head groggily then stretched to shut off the alarm. The time was four-thirty. He wasn’t sure he’d ever gotten up this early before. It was still dark outside and he felt sleepy, grumpy, and weak.
He dressed and made his own breakfast, letting his exhausted mother rest. She worked so hard, doing everything she could, except for going to
school with him. Timmy pulled the front door shut behind him, then walked over to Kelly’s house.
Kelly’s mom greeted him at the door. Mrs. Monahan was a pretty, smiling woman in her late thirties with short, dark, wavy hair and kind, greenish-hazel eyes. “You must be Timmy,” she said, inviting him in. “Kelly’s almost ready.”
Timmy was inside for only a moment before Kelly emerged carrying her duffle bag, “I’m ready, Mom,” she announced, striding past Timmy. Then more softly, she said, “Hi Timmy. Thanks for coming to cheer me on at my horse show.”
He followed Kelly outside, squinting from the sudden brightness of the sun burning behind Richfield Hills to the east. The car was a four-door Ford sport utility vehicle. Kelly got in the front and buckled up, while Timmy sat in the back behind the driver’s seat.
Kelly glanced back at him. “You look stupid tired,” she said, then giggled.
Mrs. Monahan opened the front door, sat down, and started the engine.
After twenty minutes of driving, they made a brief stop for Kwikki Donuts in Dickson City. According to Kelly, they still had about a half-hour before they reached Birchtown Stables where the horse show would take place. She was unusually quiet now, probably concentrating on the events she was about to compete in. Happy music played on the radio, but Timmy felt crowded by some of Kelly’s riding apparel that was stacked in the seat next to him. More of her stuff was pressed up against the back of his seat from the rear, including a leather flap that shook and rapped the back of his head. There was a strong, leathery, musky-horse odor in the vehicle. As they headed down the long country highway, Timmy nibbled at a toasted coconut doughnut while Kelly bit into a powdered jelly one. She turned and smiled at him, the white sugar coating her lips.
Leaning between the gap in the front seats, Kelly held up her jelly doughnut. “Watch this,” she said, then clamped her teeth together, piercing the doughnut. Jelly squirted toward him.
Timmy checked his sweatshirt—clean. The shooting wad of jelly had missed.
“Ha-ha-ha,” Kelly blurted, covering her mouth so nothing would fly out.
Kelly Monahan . . . Timmy thought, I think I love you.
“Oh look, it got you,” she said, pointing at Timmy’s knee and letting out a squeal. She returned to the front, still laughing, and then twisted back toward Timmy holding a clump of napkins. Kelly wiped the jelly from Timmy’s knee.
Even as he looked down at the remaining smear of jelly on his knee, Timmy could feel her staring at him. He gazed up into her smiling green eyes. How can someone be so happy? Why can’t I?
“I’m sorry I squirted you with my donut’s yummy center,” Kelly said. Then she lost it again, laughing.
They parked in a grassy field already lined with cars and small trucks. Horse trailers were hitched to several of the larger vehicles. Kelly got out and laid an armful of her gear over the nearest fence. Timmy had already unbuckled his seat belt, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing. Kelly called to him, “Can you grab my saddle?”
He twisted around and, kneeling on the seat, reached back and grabbed Kelly’s saddle. So that’s what that annoying thing behind me was! One of its leather flaps had swatted his head for the entire ride. He carried Kelly’s saddle out to her.
“Why thank you,” she said, grinning, and took the saddle from him. She laid it over the top fence post next to the other items.
Timmy saw the happiness on Kelly’s face grow. “Oh, there’s my baby!” she cried. Timmy turned to see Kelly’s mom and a teenage girl, who was also dressed for competition, leading a pony toward them.
The teenage girl smiled and said, “Good luck, Kelly,” then turned to leave.
“Thanks, Reagan,” Kelly said. “Timmy, meet Ponce, my favorite pony. Ponce, meet my friend Timmy.” Kelly fed Ponce a treat from the palm of her hand.
Timmy didn’t know what to say. Was he supposed to say hello to Kelly’s pony? He was starting to feel a little crazy. Sad and crazy wasn’t good, he knew that. Fortunately, Ponce the pony hadn’t said anything.
Yet.
“Well, aren’t you going to pet him?” Kelly cried. She cradled the pony’s head and kissed him on the eyelid. The horse twitched, annoyed. But at least it wasn’t talking. Cautiously, Timmy took a step and patted the pony’s neck. Ponce was a good-sized pony, reddish-brown, with a darker brown mane.
With her mom holding the pony’s reins, Kelly went into her duffle bag and returned with a long and flat circular brush. Standing to the left of Ponce, she raised her arm high and brushed the pony’s mane.
Later, with a bottle of soda in her hand, Kelly leaned against the fence with her elbows planted atop the second rail, facing the ring where a bigger, older girl was riding. Kelly was fully dressed for riding herself, hard hat included. But she had a jelly doughnut smear on her white, button-down shirt, up high where her navy blue riding jacket didn’t close.
“That girl on the horse is Victoria,” she said with a tilt of her chin. “She’s freaking fourteen years old and she still rides short-stirrup equitation.”
Timmy studied Kelly’s face. It was the first time—other than when Eddie was threatening him in the cafeteria—that Timmy noticed any sort of unpleasant look on Kelly’s face.
“And she does this whole thing where she acts surprised when she’s announced the winner.” Kelly stomped her boot on the ground. “Why is she riding against eleven-year-olds?”
Timmy looked into the ring and watched the enormously tall girl ride the small horse around the ring as part of her practice round. The horse trotted and stepped lazily over one of the one-and-a-half-foot high jumps, then another. Timmy said, “You’re right, Kelly. She’s too big to be riding against little girls.”
“Hey!” Kelly wheeled and punched Timmy’s arm. “I am not a little girl!”
“Oww!” Timmy moaned. Reflexively he rubbed the spot.
“OMG,” Kelly said and her hands went to her face. “I’m so sorry, Timmy.” She leaned in, her mouth open, and she patted his arm and whispered, “I was thinking about Victoria in there and I got angry. Sorry, Timmy.”
“She usually wins?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’ve only beaten her twice out of a whole bunch of times. Once at Allegheny and once at—oh never mind. It’s almost my turn.” Kelly had her game face on now. She snapped her chin strap, took her crop, and turned toward Ponce. But before climbing up into the saddle, she ducked down and gave Timmy’s arm a quick peck with her lips. “There . . . all better,” she said and strode off.
Timmy watched through the fence. Kelly’s practice rounds, where she’d gotten familiar with both courses, had gone well and she was riding for real now in the official show.
“Kelly, your diagonal,” Kelly’s mom said quietly as Kelly and Ponce circled then passed just inside the fence. To Timmy, Mrs. Monahan said, “This is the walk, trot, and canter—or flat—class. Kelly’s not in the right rhythm with her pony; that’s what we call a diagonal.” Mrs. Monahan’s eyes returned to her daughter riding in the ring. “Oh good, she’s got it now.”
Timmy watched Ponce trot along the far side of the ring. He couldn’t tell the difference between the right diagonal and the wrong one. “How can you tell?”
“She’s supposed to be posting up when the pony’s outside leg goes forward.” Mrs. Monahan frowned and added, “She’s not doing that. She’s bouncing around in the saddle trying to get back on the right one. Okay, now she’s got it again. Darn, that’s gonna cost her.”
Wow, he thought. Mrs. Monahan sure takes Kelly’s riding seriously.
When the class ended, a gate opened and all of the horses and ponies took turns walking out. Mrs. Monahan left to greet her daughter. Even from a hundred feet away, Timmy could tell that his friend Kelly was dejected.
She dismounted and Timmy walked toward her.
“Hey, you did great,” he said.
Kelly’s head was down and she didn’t look up at him as she said, “No, I didn’t.”
“You’ll do better during the jumping class,” Mrs. Monahan said. She placed her arm around her daughter. “Just be confident and get on the right—”
“Hi Kelly!” someone said loudly, interrupting Kelly’s mom.
Timmy looked in the direction of the voice and saw the tall girl, Victoria, atop her white horse. The horse had a silvery mane and was finely groomed from head to hoof. Timmy focused on Victoria as she rode toward them. The girl was nearly as tall as Kelly’s mom and wore a dark gray riding jacket over a perfectly pressed, spotless white shirt. “Nice diagonal,” Victoria said with a sneer.
“Oooh,” Kelly said, fuming as Victoria and her horse made their way into the ring. “I don’t like her.”
Timmy was heartsick when Kelly’s pony, Ponce, later tripped over a rail in the jumping class. And then, distracted and disappointed, Kelly missed her diagonal again.
This isn’t going well.
Based on the clean ride that fourteen-year-old Victoria had performed in the flat class, and her easy time of it in the jumper event a few minutes ago, Timmy felt sure that Victoria had bested Kelly again. The five other riders had been a mixed bag of results, some riding poorly, others nearly as well as Victoria.
When Kelly returned from the ring, she was crying.
Mrs. Monahan took the reins as Kelly climbed down from the pony. “Chin up.” Mrs. Monahan said. “The judge is looking at how well you react after the ride, too.”
Kelly sniffled then wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket. “I know,” she said in a sad, defeated voice.
Timmy wanted to go over and hug her, but he hesitated. What would she think if he wrapped his arms around her and just held her?
He saw Kelly’s chest heave right before she turned to hide her face, resting her forehead on Ponce’s shoulder. The sound of her sobs moved Timmy, and he went over and gave her a firm but gentle hug.
The results of the ribbon ceremony weren’t much of a surprise to anyone, although from Victoria’s theatrical performance, one would think the teenager hadn’t expected to be awarded a blue ribbon for both the jumper and flat classes. And then, over the speakers, came the announcement of the day’s champion. The announcer’s voice drove the stake deeper into Timmy’s heart.
Donkey Sense Page 4