Shawn could feel the heat.
“You can read about the Golden Rule in the Bible,” Dunkum said.
Eric said, “Look it up. Matthew 7, verse 12.”
Ronny laughed. “No thanks!”
Shawn wished Ronny would go away. His chopsticks were starting to rattle.
Ronny leaned over Shawn. “So . . . how was your chat with Miss Hershey?” he mocked.
Now Jason spoke up. “Get lost, Ronny Kitch!”
“Yeah,” Abby said. “Or I’m telling!”
Ronny copied her in a pinched-up voice. “Or I’m telling!”
“I mean it!” Abby said. She got up and headed for the lunchroom teacher.
Shawn wished Abby would hurry back. He wanted her right here. With him.
Ronny stuck out his tongue at Shawn. “How do you like having your sister babysit you?”
Then he left.
Shawn put his chopsticks down.
“Ronny’s rotten,” Jason said.
Eric agreed. “No kidding.”
Shawn looked up to see Abby coming back to their table. Good, he thought.
“Thank goodness, Ronny’s gone,” Abby said. She looked at Shawn. “And I think I know who started the nickname.”
Shawn said nothing.
“It was Ronny,” Abby said. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Shawn felt hot.
He pressed his lips tight.
SIX
The lunchroom was almost empty.
The Cul-de-sac Kids were still talking.
Abby said, “We can help you, Shawn.”
Eric and Jason nodded.
“Abby’s right,” Jason said.
Dunkum and Stacy looked worried.
“Please tell us,” Stacy said.
Finally, Shawn said, “I not want trouble.”
“Who does?” Jason said. “But Ronny Kitch is already trouble.”
“Big trouble,” Eric said. “He pushed me around during recess. I had the ball. I was dribbling, close to making a goal.”
Shawn listened. Anything about soccer, and he was all ears.
“I was ready for a kick to the goal,” Eric continued. “But the ball got jerked away. By guess who?”
Jason was wide-eyed. “Ronnie is NOT a team player!”
Eric nodded. “That’s the truth.”
“And he was on your team,” Jason said.
“That’s the weirdest thing,” Eric said.
Shawn listened.
“What happened next?” Abby asked.
Eric’s eyes rolled. “Ronny booted the ball. He made the goal.”
“It should’ve been yours,” Jason said.
“That’s how Ronny is,” Eric said. “Rotten.”
Shawn’s jaw twitched. “That not how things be,” he said. “Must change!”
Abby’s eyes were on him now. “We need to have a long talk,” she said. “How about after school?”
“I play violin then,” he said.
“How about when you get home?” Abby asked.
Jason smiled. “Good idea. Talk to Abby. She’s a good listener.”
“Good friend, too,” said Stacy. “Chingu.” She smiled at Shawn.
But Shawn was silent.
The Cul-de-sac Kids went out for recess.
Abby and Stacy scurried off to the swings.
Dunkum and Eric went to shoot hoops.
“Wanna play soccer?” Jason asked Shawn.
“Thank you, but no,” he answered.
“Aw, come on,” Jason said. He looked at the soccer field. “Ronny’s not playing.”
Shawn checked things out. Jason was right. Ronny was way on the other side of the playground.
It was safe.
“Come on,” Jason insisted. “I’ll teach you.”
Shawn didn’t need to be taught. But Jason didn’t know that.
Jason begged him to play. “Come on, you’ll love it,” he said. “I know you will.”
Shawn really wanted to play. This would be his first chance to play on the field. The long, beautiful soccer field.
He glanced at the far end of the playground. Ronny was still there.
At last, Shawn agreed. “OK, I play.”
Jason started by showing how to dribble. A little at a time.
Shawn dribbled, too. But he kept watch for Ronny.
Jason showed how to rocket the ball to the goal.
Shawn tried. Three times he made it.
Jason shouted, “Goal!” each time.
Shawn was having a great time.
He forgot about Ronny.
“Wow, you’re good,” Jason said. “Did you play soccer in Korea?”
Shawn grinned. He didn’t want Jason to know about his secret practice. “Not play in Korea.”
Jason seemed surprised. “Let’s try some fancy moves.”
“I try,” Shawn said.
Jason grinned and showed off his fancy footwork.
Shawn was getting the feel of it. He was doing really well.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. An enormous shadow. The shadow followed the ball as it rolled downfield.
Jason yelled at the big shadow. “Hey! We had the ball first!”
But Shawn didn’t say anything. He kept dribbling. There was no other choice. It was dribble or die.
The shadow was roaring now.
Too close!
SEVEN
Shawn raced toward the goal area. He still had the ball.
“Fiddlesticks don’t play soccer!” the shadow yelled.
Shawn tried to shut out the horrible nickname.
Fiddlesticks.
The name burned like red peppers.
Shawn couldn’t think about the ball. He couldn’t think about his feet. And the goal—which way was the goal?
“Fiddlesticks . . . fiddlesticks!” the voice shouted.
Shawn knew that voice. It was the put-down voice. That voice kept him awake at night. Sometimes, he heard it in his worst dreams.
Shawn turned around slowly.
Ronny rushed at him like a giant. “Go back where you came from,” he sneered.
But he kept coming.
Closer.
Shawn was scared stiff. He sped up.
“Don’t you understand English, fiddlesticks boy?” Ronny said. “Go back to Korea! I don’t want you here!”
Jason caught up. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
Ronny stopped running. He turned and looked Jason in the eye. “Don’t stick up for fiddlesticks!” Ronny roared.
“Stop it!” yelled Jason. “Shawn’s not fiddlesticks! He’s a person!”
Shawn stopped running. He stood very still. He saw the angry glow in Ronny’s eyes and was afraid for Jason.
Ronny put up his fists.
Shawn gulped. “Not fight!” he shouted. “Please, not fight!”
Ronny glared at Shawn. “Keep out of this! You got me in trouble with Miss Hershey. You’ll be sorry for that!”
Then Ronny spotted the soccer ball. He shoved Jason aside. He charged down the field toward Shawn.
Zoom!
With a mighty kick, the ball flew across the field.
Ronny roared like a lion. He dribbled a few feet downfield. Then he booted the ball toward the goal.
But the kick was off. Way off. It landed out of the line.
Jason started laughing.
Shawn didn’t. He was too scared.
Just then, the recess bell rang.
Jason pulled on Shawn’s shirt sleeve. “Let’s get out of here.”
Shawn’s face was burning. “You not fight. That good thing.”
“This time Ronny was lucky,” Jason muttered. “I wanted to smash his face.”
The boys hurried to the classroom door. They huffed and puffed.
Shawn looked back over his shoulder.
Jason looked back, too.
“Ronny not coming,” Shawn said.
“That was close,” Jason said. Then he wiped his face on his sleeve. “Hey, y
ou’re really good. You should come practice soccer after school. After violin.”
Shawn wanted to. He really did. But Ronnie Kitch might be there.
Should he take the chance?
EIGHT
Ronny bugged Shawn all afternoon. He poked him with a pencil. He kicked his chair. He muttered put-downs.
“You told about the nickname,” Ronny whispered. “Miss Hershey scolded me at lunch.”
Shawn thought Miss Hershey’s talk would change things. But it hadn’t. Ronny was still pestering him.
Now Miss Hershey wasn’t looking.
Ronny whispered again. “Better watch that dumb violin of yours. It might disappear!”
Shawn curled his toes inside his shoes. Ronny was rotten. Was he a thief, too?
Shawn didn’t want to sit near Ronny anymore. He couldn’t think about his work. He couldn’t think about his violin lesson. And he couldn’t think about something else. Trying out for soccer!
After school, Shawn’s violin teacher greeted him. “How’s it going, Shawn?” asked Mr. Jones.
“I have big surprise,” Shawn said.
Mr. Jones’s eyes lit up. “What’s the surprise?”
“I learn all songs for you,” Shawn said.
He tucked his violin under his chin and began to play.
Mr. Jones closed his eyes. He swayed to the music. Sometimes he stopped to point out soft and loud parts.
When Shawn finished, Mr. Jones smiled. “What a wonderful surprise. You are an excellent violin player.”
Shawn bowed low. He wanted to bow—even in America.
After his lesson, Shawn hurried to the soccer field. He looked for Jason and Eric. They were nowhere in sight. Ronnie Kitch was. Right in the middle of everything.
Quickly, Shawn turned away. He gripped his violin case and remembered what Ronny had said. Better watch your violin.
“No soccer for me,” Shawn said out loud.
“Why not?” a voice called.
Shawn spun around.
It was Jason Birchall.
“Hi,” Shawn said. He was glad to see his friend.
“You’re staying, aren’t you?” Jason asked.
“Well . . . uh . . .” Shawn looked down at his violin. He wanted to stay and play soccer. He really did. But he didn’t want to lose his violin. His wonderful, beautiful instrument. Ronny might steal it out from under his nose!
Just then, Coach spotted Shawn. “Welcome!” he called and kicked a ball to him.
Shawn stopped the ball with his foot. But he held on to his violin case.
“Come on!” hollered Jason. He was already running down the field.
So was Coach.
Shawn dribbled around the edge of the field. Far away from Ronny. His violin was safe with him.
He punted back and forth with Jason. Then he rocketed the ball toward the goal.
“Hey, good stuff!” hollered Jason.
Now Eric was there, too. “Glad you showed up,” he said. Then he stared at the violin. “Why are you carrying your instrument around?”
Shawn ran to get the ball.
Jason called to him, “It’s not a good idea. Your violin might get crunched.”
Shawn thought about it. He loved his violin. He was good at it. The music made him feel terrific.
“I keep violin with me,” Shawn said. He held up the case and grinned. “I run with music.”
Suddenly, Ronnie was coming at him.
Fast!
Shawn didn’t have time to protect his violin.
He closed his eyes and prayed.
His violin was about to be history.
So was he!
NINE
Sa-whoosh! Ronny flew past Shawn.
“Fiddlesticks!” Ronny whispered into the wind.
Shawn heard the nickname. He almost dropped his violin case. He gripped harder.
Seconds later, Ronnie turned around. He charged at Shawn again. “Fiddlesticks never play soccer!” he hissed.
Shawn wanted to bop him. Flatten him good!
But the nickname mixed him up. He couldn’t remember what to do with his feet.
His ball spun away. It was loose at midfield.
Ronny laughed. “Fiddlesticks boy!”
Shawn was still carrying his violin. He looked down. He thought, This case very hard. Make good head hopper.
He scanned the field. The coach was at the other end—out of sight. He would never see Ronny getting bopped!
Shawn raised his violin case. His heart thumped.
“Don’t!” yelled Eric from the goal.
Ronny punted a ball off his head. “You’ll be sorry if you hit me!” he shouted at Shawn.
Ka-boink! Ronny’s ball bounced off Shawn’s violin case. On purpose.
Shawn saw Eric dashing toward him. “Don’t fight back!” Eric yelled. “Remember the Golden Rule.”
Just then, Coach came running. He nabbed Ronny. He lugged him right off the field.
Ronny roared and ranted.
Jason laughed. “What a big baby!”
Shawn agreed, but he didn’t say anything. He felt awful. He’d almost hit Ronny.
He’d come so close.
At home, Shawn and Abby had a long talk.
Abby read Matthew 7:12 out loud.
“Read very slow,” Shawn said.
Abby did. “ ‘Do for other people the same things you want them to do for you,’ ” she read.
“Gold rule?” Shawn asked.
“The Golden Rule,” Abby told him. “The most important rule of all.”
Shawn thought about the Bible verse. He thought about Ronny Kitch.
“Ronny not know rule?” he asked.
Abby shook her head. “I doubt it.”
“I teach,” Shawn said. “I teach Ronny Golden Rule.”
Abby looked surprised. “What do you mean?”
“You see,” Shawn said.
“Be careful around Ronny,” Abby said. “He could easily beat you up.”
“I get strong body,” Shawn said. He stood up. “And you help me.”
He went outside. Abby followed.
“I be strong. No more fiddlestick legs. No more jelly bean muscles,” Shawn explained.
He knelt down in the grass. He started with push-ups. Next, came sit-ups. Shawn ran around the backyard while Abby timed him.
“Now measure,” Shawn said. He wanted Abby to see if his arms were bigger. His legs, too.
Abby found the measuring tape.
He hadn’t grown.
The second day, Shawn ran and jumped some more. He did twenty sit-ups. He groaned through fifteen push-ups.
Abby measured his muscles. “No change,” she said.
Every day Shawn did his exercises. For two whole weeks!
He ate more food than usual. More American food, too. Pizza and cheeseburgers.
Ice cream and cake.
And lots of celery with gooey dips.
The day before soccer tryouts, Abby measured Shawn’s muscles. “They’re the same size,” she said.
Shawn frowned. “What go wrong?”
Abby tried to explain. “Building up your body takes time. Two weeks isn’t enough. Keep exercising.”
Shawn sat on the porch step. His face drooped. “I still fiddlesticks. I always be fiddlesticks.”
“That’s not true!” Abby sat beside him. “You’re Shawn Hunter. Don’t call yourself fiddlesticks anymore!”
Shawn was quiet.
So was Abby.
Brr-eep! A cricket chirped.
Buzz-za biz-z-z. Bees hummed.
At last, Shawn said, “Maybe I supposed to be small.”
“Small isn’t so bad,” Abby said.
Then Shawn had an idea. “I be fast! Fastest small person in world!”
Abby grinned. “That’s a double dabble good idea.”
“Tomorrow, I be fastest player on soccer field!”
Shawn couldn’t wait for tryouts.
TEN
&nb
sp; That night, Shawn packed away his chopsticks.
“I use fork now,” he said at supper. “I live in America.”
Abby smiled.
So did the rest of the family.
After supper, Shawn helped Abby load the dishwasher. When they were finished, he asked her to pray. “I want God to help.”
“About making the soccer team?” Abby asked.
Shawn nodded. He pointed to himself. “About skinny body, too.”
Abby smiled. “God won’t make you big overnight.”
Shawn frowned. “I need big, power body.”
Abby said, “God makes our bodies grow. But we can’t be in a hurry.”
“Shawn in very big hurry,” he said.
“Be happy with who you are,” Abby said and looked at Shawn. “But I’ll pray about tryouts.”
Shawn’s eyes shone. “I like that. Very much!”
Abby prayed. At the end she said, “Amen.”
“Amen, too,” Shawn said. “I go now. Thank you for prayer.”
He went to his room. There, he took out a picture. He sat on the floor beside his dog. Snow White nuzzled into his lap.
Shawn’s Korean parents were in the picture. He studied it.
“Father not have power body,” he said.
Just then, Jimmy, his little brother, came in.
Shawn hid the picture behind his back.
Jimmy found his skates and left.
Shawn sighed. He looked at the picture again. He missed his parents. His father had died years ago. Then his mother became sick. She couldn’t take care of Shawn and Jimmy anymore.
Shawn put his arms around Snow White and she licked away his tears.
Shawn hugged the dog. “You very good pet,” he said. “You Golden Rule dog!”
ELEVEN
It was Friday. Soccer tryouts day!
Shawn got up early. He took a warm shower.
Before he dressed, Shawn measured his arms. He hadn’t grown overnight. No power body.
Abby was right.
But Shawn knew he could be fast. Faster than the other boys. Even faster than Ronny Kitch!
Freeet! Coach blew his whistle.
The boys lined up.
“Show me some teamwork,” Coach said.
Jason, Eric, and two other boys burst onto the field.
Shawn watched eagerly. They did lots of passing and shooting. Back and forth.
He waited his turn, holding his violin. He didn’t dare put it down. Not with Ronny around.
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