“Our champion today in the short-stirrup division is Victoria Giles riding Gandalf.”
Timmy stared angrily at the ridiculously large fourteen-year-old who’d beaten his friend. The teenager clasped her hands together, looking surprised and honored by the judge’s decision. A woman walked over to Victoria and handed her the oversized blue, yellow, and red champion ribbon.
Kelly, on the other hand, had received fifth- and sixth-place ribbons. Fighting back the tears after she’d once more returned from the ring, Kelly climbed down from Ponce.
Timmy was there for her. He reached down and took her hand. Squeezing it affectionately, he said, “Don’t worry, Kelly. I think you did great. You’ll get her the next time.”
Chapter Eleven
Timmy hated the idea of a first-thing-Monday-morning French class bad enough as it was. But to make matters worse, he had to sit in front of seventh-graders Eddie, Stew, and Ralph, who heckled and shot silent spitballs at him whenever Mrs. Dumont had her back turned. Meanwhile, Kelly sat in the front, a row ahead of Timmy and just to his right. As Timmy watched Mrs. Dumont write on the board, he stole a glance at Kelly. Her head was down. She still seemed sad from the weekend’s disappointing horse show, and she neither watched the teacher nor looked back at Timmy with her usual lively smile.
Mrs. Dumont said, “Now students, let us conjugate the verb ‘to go’ in French in the present tense. Ready? I go?”
“Je vais!” most of the students answered in unison.
Kelly still hadn’t looked up at the board. Man, she takes this horse riding seriously, Timmy thought. There were so many things he wanted to say to her to make her feel better, to be there for her as she’d tried to be there for him. He took out a piece of scrap paper and started scribbling a note to her.
“Hey, Shrimpo Underpants!” Eddie hissed from behind just as the students were calling out the next translation in French.
Timmy froze, hoping that if he ignored Eddie the bully would stop.
“They go,” Mrs. Dumont prodded.
“Ils alont!” the students replied.
“Hey, mommy’s boy,” Stew Pressner taunted. “Does your mommy have to save you every day or just on Fridays?”
“Now for the past tense, class.” Mrs. Dumont said. “I went.”
As the students answered, Ralph Bacchio blended in sneakily and squeakily. “We want to talk to you at recess, Shrimpo.”
Remembering Pedro’s advice about fighting back, and how spunky the donkey had been around the mean horses, Timmy turned in his chair. “What are you guys doing in this class anyway? Did you fail beginner French last year?” As Timmy finished his statement, he realized the classroom had gone silent and that everyone was staring at him, including Mrs. Dumont. His blood turned cold in fear and embarrassment. He swallowed, immediately regretting what he’d said.
“Timmy Unterkanz!” the teacher cried, breaking the silence and grating Timmy’s spine. “How dare you say such a thing?”
“But, but—”
“Go to the office, now.” Mrs. Dumont said.
Timmy waited in the main office for an aggravatingly long time. The wait allowed his mind to imagine the trouble he was going to get into for yelling mean things at Eddie, Stew, and Ralph and getting sent to the office. First he was going to get scolded by the principal. Then he was going to get beaten up during recess and after school by Eddie and his gang for having the nerve to say something back to them. And then finally, when he got home, he was going to get scolded and probably grounded by his mother, who would undoubtedly be receiving a call from the school about his behavior today.
It wasn’t fair—Eddie teased and abused him all the time and barely got in any trouble. Now, the one time Timmy had decided to say something back, Mrs. Dumont, the school, and everyone were getting ready to nail him to the wall. All of this made it difficult for him to breathe—his heart was in his throat, beating irregularly.
He glanced up anxiously at Miss Morton, the school secretary, whose big, bouffant hairdo rose above the front office counter. From the angle of her head, Miss Morton seemed to be busy typing something. Timmy cleared his throat. The tall nest of dyed orange hair didn’t move and Timmy continued to hear the tapping of keyboard keys. He dropped his head into his hands and tried to relax.
A few torturous minutes later the office door opened, and Timmy turned in his chair and saw Dr. Marchland standing in the doorway. The school counselor glanced around, and then his gaze fell on Timmy. “Timmy, please come with me,” he said.
Timmy followed Dr. Marchland out.
Inside the student counselor’s office, Dr. Marchland shuffled some papers and then with an irritated huff, slammed the paperwork down on the desk. Timmy braced himself.
“Timmy, I understand the reason for your outburst in French class today,” Dr. Marchland said.
Timmy stared in disbelief. “You do?”
“Yes.” Dr. Marchland smiled reassuringly. “But obviously we can’t have you shouting in the middle of class.”
“But they were calling me names,” Timmy protested, “Shrimpo and mommy’s boy and—”
“I realize that Timmy, but let me and Principal Meek handle that,” Dr. Marchland said. “I’m working with Eddie on his—” he paused, “—anger issues, and I think with a few more sessions I can get him to focus his attention on football or some other healthier form of release.”
“Thank you, Dr. Marchland,” Timmy mumbled, though he didn’t believe Dr. Marchland’s plan was going to work. His mother had made the same promise after calling the principal’s office to report the bullying and the bruises on his face. She had said she would make the problem go away but her good intentions had only made the problem worse!
Dr. Marchland stared over his desk at Timmy. “Are you making friends okay, Timmy? Sometimes in a new school it takes a while to get acquainted and involved in extracurricular activities.”
“Yes, I’ve made a friend,” Timmy said.
“Great!” Marchland said. “And have you been doing things with this friend? Throwing the football around with him?”
“It’s a she, and yes, I went to watch her ride at a horse show on Saturday.”
“Fantastic. And what about activities of your own? Have you thought about trying out for sports, the drama club, or maybe Boy Scouts?”
Timmy looked down at the short stack of books on his lap. “Not yet Dr. Marchland, sir.”
“Well, I highly recommend it. The more involved you are, the less these bullies will see you as an outsider.” Dr. Marchland glanced at his watch. “Okay, Timmy, what is your next class?”
Timmy’s stomach growled. With a sheepish grin, he said, “Lunch.”
“Go to it, Timmy. Have a nice lunch and feel free to come and see me any time.”
“Thank you, Dr. Marchland.” And Timmy got up and left the counselor’s office.
He visited his locker, dropped off his books, and headed for the cafeteria. Kelly sat at their usual table, munching on a breaded fish stick. Timmy pulled up a chair across from her and bit into a ham sandwich. “How are you doing?” he asked. “You haven’t said a word all day.”
Kelly took another bite and then used her free hand to brush a curl out of her face. “Okay, I guess.”
“Well, you don’t look okay,” he said, trying to get her to look him in the eye. It pained him to see those pretty green eyes so sad and evasive. “Now it’s my turn to cheer you up.”
Kelly picked up a new fish stick and nibbled at one end. “How ya gonna do that?” she asked.
Timmy sniffed the air. The fish smelled yucky. “How can you eat that stuff?” he said. “It smells like, uh, well, like fish.”
Finally, Kelly met his gaze. A determined, mischievous expression formed on her face. “Have you ever even tried fish sticks, Mr. Knock-It-Before-You-Try-It?” She leaned forward.
Timmy shrugged and said, “No, and I’m not about to. I think it stinks and—”
Kelly shuffled forwar
d in her chair and shoved the partially eaten fish stick into Timmy’s open mouth. She giggled as Timmy coughed and leaned back in his chair, almost tipping over. A large chunk of the filet was in his mouth and it was . . . it was . . . it was surprisingly yummy.
Kelly watched him, her lively green eyes smiling. Then she blurted out laughing.
Timmy chewed once.
Kelly continued to watch. “Go on, swallow it,” she ordered and then crossed her arms expectantly.
He chewed again, and then swallowed.
“So? How was it?” Kelly asked.
Timmy cleared his throat and swished his tongue around in his mouth.
“Well?” she prodded, her arms still crossed.
Timmy reached across the table and plucked another fish stick from her plate. He took a bite and smiled.
“You see?” she said. “How are you going to know if you like something or not unless you—” Suddenly, her gleeful face turned to horror as she saw something behind Timmy’s back. Timmy felt a hand on his shoulder.
He knew who it was without turning around.
“You’re not off the hook yet, Shrimpo,” Eddie snarled. “Principal Meek, Dr. Marchland, and all the teachers are watching me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get you outside of school.”
“Leave him alone!” Kelly cried.
“Stay out of this one, Smelly Kelly!” Eddie snapped. “Why don’t you let Shrimpo fight his own battles for a change?”
Kelly picked up on the same irony that came to Timmy’s mind. “Oh? You mean like how you fight all your battles without Joey, Stew, and Ralphie around?”
“Shut up!” Eddie yelled at her. He gave Timmy’s shoulder a hard shove and then said, “I’ll see you around, Shrimpo.”
The bully left, leaving Timmy with a ball of partially chewed fish stick stuck in his throat. Timmy grabbed his napkin and coughed, freeing his air passage. He looked at Kelly, fear and humiliation once more circulating through his nervous system.
“Don’t worry Timmy,” she said in a soft, determined voice, “that bully will get his soon enough.”
Chapter Twelve
Friday came and the second week of school ended more quickly and mercifully than it had the week before. After the final bell Timmy spotted Kelly among the flood of students leaving the building and called to her. Aside from the fish stick encounter, he hadn’t seen her much since the horse show and it was only by good fortune that he’d caught a glimpse of her in the crowd. With a flurry of excitement in his chest, he caught up to her and asked if he could walk her home.
“Only if you carry my stuff,” Kelly said shoving her backpack into Timmy’s arms and forcing him to sling his own bag over his shoulder in order to hold hers. As they walked, Timmy noticed with a mixture of bitterness and amusement that Kelly swung her arms freely, carrying nothing and wearing a teasing smirk on her face as Timmy strained to lug both his bag and hers.
“I’m glad to see you smile,” he said as they headed down the sidewalk of School Street, “even if it is at my expense.”
“He-he,” Kelly said. “What else are boys good for?”
Timmy smiled and said, “And it’s nice to finally see you again this week. What have you been up to?”
She sighed. “Oh, you know, schoolwork, drama club, horseback riding. Other than that, I hardly ever get a moment to enjoy doing nothing like I am right now.”
Timmy watched her as they walked. The late summer sun had reddened her brown curls and tanned the flesh around her freckled nose and cheeks. She wore a different green shirt this time that nonetheless brought out the brilliance in her eyes, and a long pair of green and white plaid shorts that reached down nearly to her knee socks. Timmy’s heart pounded inside his chest and he tried to catch his breath. A lot of things had made him asthmatic in the past, but never a girl before.
She turned to catch him looking at her. “Oh, is my bag too heavy for you?” she said with a giggle.
Glancing away, Timmy said, “Um . . . it’s not the bag.”
“Well, what then?” she asked, stopping to fold her arms as they waited to cross the busy intersection.
Timmy adjusted the backpack straps on his shoulders and shrugged. “Nothing.” He checked the traffic. The road was clear. “Come on, let’s cross.”
They reached the sidewalk and walked in silence along the fence bordering Crabapple Farm, with Timmy peering down the hilly pasture looking for Pedro. At first he couldn’t spot the donkey, but then as he and Kelly neared the turn leading down Huckleberry Drive, Timmy made out two horse-like forms, one big, one smaller, snacking on a few flakes of hay.
“Whatcha looking at?” Kelly asked, breaking the silence.
They rounded the corner onto Huckleberry. “Oh, nothing. Just the horses.”
“Them?” Kelly said, holding her belly with one hand and pointing with the other, followed by a snort. “That’s nothing but an old nag and a mangy donkey.”
Timmy wheeled around and said, “Penelope’s not a nag! And Pedro’s not mangy!”
“Yes, he is!” Kelly said with a giggle. “And how do you know their names and so much about them?”
Timmy shook his head and kept walking.
“Why are you so angry about it?” she asked.
“Forget it.” Timmy kept walking.
“Hello?” Kelly said. “Earth to Timmy.”
Timmy stopped. “What?”
She flashed a calming smile and pointed at the house they’d just passed. “You walked right past your driveway, Dummy.”
He started back, moving past her and toward his driveway.
“Umm . . .”
“What now?” he snapped with irritation.
Kelly held out her hands. “Can I have my backpack?”
Timmy blushed and gave it to her.
Her fingers caressed his as she took it from him. “Thanks for carrying my books from school Timmy,” she said.
That evening, Timmy’s mother studied him across the dinner table with concern. “How was the walk home today?” she asked. “Any trouble?”
Timmy finished chewing a piece of vegetable lasagna and said, “No. I walked with a friend.”
His mom’s eyes widened and she prompted him with a cock of her head. “Oh? What’s his name?”
Timmy scooped up another piece of lasagna. “It’s a she, Mom. Her name’s Kelly.” Without looking up, he reached for his glass of milk and drank.
“Oh . . . uh, that’s wonderful, Timmy. Does she live nearby?”
Timmy nodded. “Two houses over.”
“On Huckleberry? Really? Oh, she’s the one you went to the horse show with.”
“Yeah.”
She stared at him for several moments and then said, “Well, why don’t you have her over for lunch tomorrow?”
Timmy peered at his mom. She seemed so happy to hear that he’d found a friend that her face beamed with pride, while her eyes welled with tears. “All right, Mom,” he said. “I’ll see if she has another horse show. If she doesn’t, maybe she can come over for lunch.”
His mother clasped her hands and smiled, “Great. What does she like to eat? I’ll make something special for her.”
“I dunno. Maybe doughnuts.”
She gave him a stern look and said, “Will turkey sandwiches be all right?”
Timmy broke into a smile. His mom was so good to him. “I’ll ask her. I’m sure turkey sandwiches will be fine.”
When dinner was over, Timmy went into the bathroom where he washed his hands, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair. He checked himself in the mirror and frowned. No matter how much he combed his hair, he hated it. It was an ugly dark orange, like a clown’s. And freckles covered his face, some of them dark brown, like his eyes. With a sigh, he left the bathroom and headed over to Kelly’s house to ask her over to lunch tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
Kelly arrived at noon on Saturday. Timmy introduced her to his mother and then led her to the kitchen table where they sat do
wn. Timmy’s mom brought a tray of sandwiches and corn chips. She returned to the counter for two glasses of lemonade which she then placed next to each of them. She left them alone and disappeared into the house.
“So whatcha doing this weekend?” Kelly asked. “I’m gonna ride today and then go swimming. You want to come?”
Timmy finished swallowing a bite of his turkey sandwich and said, “Sure. What time?”
She took a sip of lemonade. “Mmm . . . this sure is great lemonade. Um, I’m gonna ride Ponce, and then I’m going to cool off in the rec center pool. So maybe about two-thirty.” She looked at him. ”Are you in?”
Timmy didn’t have any other plans so he shrugged. “Sure.”
“Awesome.” Kelly glanced at his plate and reached across the table and snagged the last chip.
“Hey!” Timmy said.
“Hay is for horses,” Kelly said with a teasing smile. She popped the chip into her mouth and munched. “So, whaddya wanna do in the meantime?” she said, her mouth filled with mashed tortilla. “We still have a couple hours.”
Timmy thought for a moment. The only plan he’d had for the day was to visit Crabapple Farm, and to say hello to Mr. Atkins and Pedro. It would be interesting to find out how Pedro acted around other kids. Would he bray in that ear-shattering way and ask, ‘Who’s your girlfriend?’
“It’s nice outside,” Timmy answered finally. “You want to go for a walk?”
Kelly finished her lemonade and exhaled with satisfaction. “Where to?”
Smirking across the table, he said, “Crabapple Farm. I want to introduce you to Pedro. Show you he’s not a mangy donkey.”
Kelly squealed with delight. “Betcha he is,” she said.
“No, he’s not,” Timmy insisted. Then, in an imitation of Mr. Atkins’ Texas accent, he said, “You’ll see. Pedro is a priiiiiiiize—”
Chapter Fourteen
Donkey Sense Page 5