by Judy Blume
At lunch I found out B.B. means Baby Brenner. It could have been worse. Wendy put a diaper pin on my desk with a note attached to it.
Baby Brenner better change her
diapers. She’s smelling up the
whole room!
After I read the note I said, “Ha ha …” remembering that my mother told me a person should always be able to laugh at herself. I tried to laugh as hard as the rest of the kids to show what a good sport I can be.
“Goo goo …” Robby Winters said. “See Baby Brenner laugh!” He sounded like he was reading from a first-grade book.
“See Baby Brenner eat!” Caroline said.
“Baby Brenner eats only mushy-gushy foods like peanut butter,” Wendy told everyone, “because Baby Brenner can’t chew big people’s food yet.”
I didn’t finish my lunch.
That afternoon, when I got on the bus, Wendy stuck out her foot and tripped me. I fell flat on my face and my books flew all over the place. I tried to laugh again but this time the laugh just wouldn’t come. Tracy helped me up, collected my books, and led me to the seat she’d been saving.
“See Baby Brenner!” Wendy shouted. “Baby Brenner hasn’t learned to walk yet.”
The next day they all held their noses when I came near them. In the Girls’ Room Donna Davidson shoved me against the sink and I got a black and blue mark on my leg. As I was getting a drink from the fountain, Caroline pushed me and I wound up with water all over my face.
During lunch period Wendy wrote on the blackboard, B.B. loves W.W.
“What’s that mean?” Irwin asked.
“Baby Brenner is in love,” Wendy said. “Baby Brenner is in love with Warren Winkler.”
That was just too much. “I am not!” I told everybody. “That’s a big lie!”
Then Wendy whispered something to Linda and both of them laughed.
On the playground we jumped rope. I knew I’d be last on line and I was. I bit my nails the whole time I was waiting.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked Great Maudie, throwing my books down.
“Whatever your mother brings home,” Great Maudie said. She was in one of her Yoga positions, with her legs crossed Indian style and her arms out straight.
“I wish you knew how to cook!” I ran for my room, bumping into Kenny on the way.
“Watch where you’re going,” he said.
“Shut up, carnivore!” I shouted at him.
I heard him ask Great Maudie, “What’s with her?”
Great Maudie sighed and told him, “A bad day, I suppose.”
I slammed my bedroom door and sat down at my desk.
Friday, November 22
Dear Mrs. Sandmeier,
I hope you’re having fun in Switzerland. Nothing is very good at home. Do you believe that bad things always happen in threes? Grandma once told me that and I’m beginning to think it’s true. Great Maudie turned out to be a terrible baby-sitter. She believes in cold showers, morning exercises, and crazy things to eat such as carrot juice and wheat germ mush. She can’t cook regular foods at all. That is, she won’t! So every night Mom and Dad bring our supper home from a take-out place. I am surviving on peanut butter. Did you know it’s not bad with bananas?
I’ve been thinking that the next time you go on vacation and if it isn’t the summer when me and Kenny are at camp, maybe we should ask Grandma to come after all. She’s a good cook. She can make soup from real chicken. And besides, her hobby is cleaning. Mom already announced that we are going to spend all day tomorrow doing that.
Things are not the greatest in school either. I am having this special problem. It doesn’t have to do with reading or math or anything like that. It’s much worse. A lot of people don’t like me anymore. And for no good reason. I’m trying hard to pretend it doesn’t matter, but the truth is, it does. Sometimes I feel like crying but I hold it in. I wouldn’t want to spoil your vacation so I won’t say anything else.
I hope your mother is having a nice birthday and that you hurry home to us. Tu m’as beaucoup manqué.
Love,
Jill
Mom and Dad brought home Chinese food for supper. “What about me?” I said. “What am I supposed to eat?”
“Oh, Jill …” Mom said. “It’s time you learned to eat like everyone else.”
“Everyone else doesn’t eat that stuff.”
“What your mother means,” Dad said, “is that practically everyone likes Chinese food. It’s very popular in this country.”
“Egg rolls and spare ribs and chow mein are not Chinese foods,” I said. “If you don’t believe me just ask Tracy … she’ll tell you.”
“Tracy’s American,” Kenny said.
“She’s Chinese-American.”
“She eats hot dogs.”
“So?” I swallowed hard and nibbled on my nails.
“When did you start biting your nails again?” Mom asked.
I didn’t answer her.
Dad said, “What about our deal? You haven’t forgotten all those stamps at Gimbels, have you?”
I didn’t answer him either.
When we sat down to supper I didn’t feel like eating anything, not even the bread and cheese I knew Mom had put out just for me. My throat was tight and I had a pain in my stomach. “I’m not very hungry,” I said.
“Are you getting sick?” Mom asked, touching my forehead.
“No …” I managed to say, before the tears came. I pushed my chair away from the table and ran for my room.
“You want to talk about it?” Mom asked, a few minutes later, as she sat on the edge of my bed.
“What?” I said, like I didn’t know.
“Whatever’s bothering you. It might make you feel better.”
“Nobody likes me anymore,” I told her. Then I started crying hard.
Mom held me. “I know … I know how it hurts.”
“I hate them all …”
“Now … now …” Mom said, smoothing my hair.
“I do!”
“Maybe that’s the trouble. You can be a pretty tough character sometimes …”
“Even so … it still isn’t fair.”
“Lots of things aren’t fair.”
“You told me a person who can laugh at herself will be respected.”
“True.”
“So I laughed,” I said. “I tried to show I didn’t care.”
“That’s good.”
“But they don’t respect me … they don’t even like me … I need a tissue,” I said, sniffling.
Mom handed one to me and I blew my nose.
“It’s rough to be on the other side, isn’t it?” she asked.
18
“Never mind spitting.”
We spent all day Saturday cleaning the house, just like my mother promised. My job was dusting everything in sight. Dad scrubbed the bathrooms and kitchen while Mom changed the beds and went to the supermarket. Kenny got to vacuum. Great Maudie watered the plants.
I didn’t start my math homework until Sunday night. I’m not supposed to wait till the last minute but somehow, I always do. It took me over an hour to finish and then I gave the paper to Dad to check. He said it was perfect. I was really pleased.
Talking to Mom on Friday night helped me feel a little better about going back to school on Monday. But even so, I wasn’t taking any chances. I wouldn’t wear a skirt for anything.
Pants were much safer. That way Wendy couldn’t force me to show the boys my underwear.
I called for Tracy and told her, “If they try to make me kiss Bruce I’ll spit on them. That’s what he said he’d do to Blubber if she touched his lips.”
“Never mind spitting,” Tracy said. “If they try anything at all you should bite them.”
“I should?”
“Yes. I once read a news article about this woman who bit off another woman’s finger. The human bite is very dangerous.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said.
When we got to
our bus stop a group of kids was coming over the hill, heading in our direction. When I saw who they were my heart started thumping. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Tracy answered, “but we better find out.”
Wendy, Caroline, Donna and Linda were first, with Robby, Michael and Irwin right behind them. They looked like an army.
“What’re you doing here?” Tracy asked as they got to our corner. “You get the bus at Hidden Valley.”
“Not today,” Wendy said and she charged into me, knocking my things to the ground.
Before I had a chance to pick everything up Wendy grabbed my math book and she and the others started playing catch with it.
“Cut that out!” I yelled, trying to get my book back. But they threw it over my head. I couldn’t stop them from doing whatever they wanted.
“Give it to her!” Tracy hollered and she bopped Robby with her notebook.
Just as Irwin caught my book I kicked him as hard as I could, figuring he would drop it. But instead, he kicked me back and tossed my book into the street. I won’t cry, I thought. I’ll never let them see me cry. Never!
Our bus came along then, flashing its red stop lights. I ran into the street to get my math book, then Tracy helped me put my lunch back together because somebody had pulled it all apart. As I climbed onto the bus the driver yelled at me for taking too long. When I finally sat down next to Tracy I saw that Wendy and Linda were sharing a seat. Caroline sat alone, behind them.
Later, when Mrs. Minish collected our math homework, I couldn’t find mine. “But I did it, Mrs. Minish,” I said. “You can ask my father. He checked it for me.”
“Maybe you left it at home.” Mrs. Minish didn’t seem to care.
I said, “No … I’m positive I put it inside my book.”
“Maybe it fell out,” Mrs. Minish told me.
“No!” I said, suddenly sure of what had happened to it. “It didn’t just fall out!”
“Well, Jill … since this is the first time you’ve ever forgotten your homework I won’t count it against you.”
“But I didn’t forget it,” I said. “I told you I didn’t forget it.”
“All right, Jill. Don’t worry about it. If you find it you can hand it in tomorrow.”
“I’ll do it over,” I said.
“You can if you want to, but it really isn’t necessary. Now … let’s all take out our math books and open to Chapter Three.”
Wendy turned around and smiled. I wanted to kill her.
When we went to the Girls’ Room Wendy blocked the toilets and wouldn’t let me use one until I said, I am Baby Brenner. I’m not toilet trained yet. That’s why I stink.
I shook my head at her.
“You have to say it!” Wendy told me.
“No way” I said. “I won’t.”
“Then I’ll have to check your diapers myself.”
I thought about making a run for it, but Wendy had Caroline, Donna and Linda on her side and I wasn’t sure I had anyone on mine. So I said, “You touch me and you’re dead!”
“Grab her, Caroline!” Wendy said. “Grab her arms and I’ll pull her smelly diapers off.”
Caroline is bigger than me and stronger too. As she came toward me I shouted, “You always do what Wendy says? Don’t you have a mind of your own?”
“I have a mind of my own.”
“Then why don’t you use it for once! Wendy doesn’t even like you anymore so why should you follow her orders?”
“Shut up, Brenner!” Wendy said. “Don’t listen to her, Caroline.”
“She does too like me,” Caroline said.
“Then how come she’s always hanging around Linda? Didn’t you see them this morning, on the bus? I’ll bet she’s not even your partner for the class trip.”
Caroline looked at Wendy. “We’re partners, aren’t we?”
Before Wendy could answer, Linda said, “I’m Wendy’s partner.” She hung an arm over Wendy’s shoulder.
Caroline bit her lip, turned and walked out of the Girls’ Room. Donna followed her.
“Don’t you ever answer for me again!” Wendy told Linda.
Linda looked as if Wendy had slapped her in the face.
I didn’t wait around to see what Wendy would do next. I opened the door to a toilet and locked myself in the booth. I was really shaking. Before I came out I checked underneath to make sure there were no feet in sight. That way I knew I was safe.
Nobody called me Baby Brenner during lunch. Donna and Caroline moved their desks together and Wendy invited Laurie to eat with her. Linda sat alone at her desk, the way she used to.
I took out my sandwich and looked at it, thinking how much better it would taste if I had someone to talk to. I hate to eat all by myself. I glanced around the room, wondering, should I or shouldn’t I? Oh, I might as well try, I finally decided. You sometimes have to make the first move or else you might wind up like Linda—letting other people decide what’s going to happen to you.
I stood up, walked over to Rochelle’s desk and said, “Hey Rochelle … you want to eat with me?”
Rochelle didn’t answer right away and for a second I was sorry I’d asked her. But then she finished chewing, swallowed whatever was in her mouth, and said, “Why not?”
I moved my desk next to hers. She had a peanut butter sandwich too.
19
“Put your money
where your mouth is.”
Tuesday morning, on the way to school, Irwin called me some of his best names. I said, “The same to you,” and everybody laughed, but not at me.
That afternoon we had our Thanksgiving program. The sixth graders put on a boring play about the Pilgrims, the Indians and the first Thanksgiving. I wish our school could do a play like the one in Harriet the Spy where everybody pretends to be a different vegetable. I would like to play the onion. I’d roll around the floor the way Harriet did in the book. I wonder if there really are schools where they do that kind of thing?
When we got back to class Mrs. Minish stayed out in the hall, talking to the teacher from the next room. So Robby Winters had plenty of time to stick pins through his fingers and do his zombie act. When he shoved his hands in my face I said, “What’s so great about that? Anybody can do it.”
“Oh yeah …”
“Yeah …”
“Including you?”
“Including me.”
“Put your money where your mouth is, Brenner.”
“How much?” I asked him.
“A quarter.”
“You’re on … give me some pins.”
Robby took the pins out of his fingers and handed them to me. I stuck one through the top layer of skin of every finger, being careful not to flinch as I did. Then I stood up, held my hands out straight, and walked around making zombie noises.
“Exactly what is going on here?” Mrs. Minish stood in the doorway, watching me. “Jill … you’re out of your seat.”
“Yes, Mrs. Minish.” I hurried back to my desk, hid my hands underneath it and pulled the pins out of my fingers.
Robby passed me a quarter.
By lunchtime it was easy to tell that Wendy and Laurie were going to be best friends and so were Donna and Caroline. Some people are always changing best friends. I’m glad me and Tracy aren’t that way. Still, it’s nice to have a regular friend in your class, even if it’s not a best friend. I ate lunch with Rochelle again. She’s kind of quiet but I get the feeling that a lot goes on inside her head. So later, when it was time to go home, and we all ran for our lockers, I said, “Hey Rochelle … you want to be my partner for the class trip?”
She put on her jacket, closed her locker door, and said, “Why not?”
I didn’t bite my nails once that afternoon or night and when Dad tucked me into bed I said, “You know something? There’s still a whole month to go before Christmas.”
“So?” he asked.
“So … is our deal still on?” I held out my hands and wiggled
my fingers to show him what I was talking about.
“It’s still on,” he told me.
“Good … because I think I can make it this time.”
We had just half a day of school on Wednesday. On the bus ride home we played Keep-Away with Robby’s hat and the sixth graders taught us a song about the girls in France. The bus driver yelled, “Shut up or I’ll report you to the principal.”
Nobody paid any attention.
When we got off the bus me and Tracy stopped for the mail. Both of us had a packet of approvals from Winthrop.
“Come over and we’ll decide what to buy,” I said.
“As soon as I change.”
“Don’t forget your album.”
“How could I?” Tracy asked.
Kenny met me at the front door. “Did you know the longest earthworm in the world measures twenty-one feet when fully extended?”
“I’m really glad to hear that,” I said. “His mother must be very proud.”
Judy Blume talks about writing
Blubber
When my daughter was in fifth grade the class leader used her power in an evil way to turn everyone in the class against one girl. This bully (like Wendy in the book) made the other girl’s life miserable. My daughter was the shy, quiet girl in the class, the observer, like Rochelle. She was upset by what was going on, but she didn’t know what to do about it. I think she was scared. Like many other kids in that class, she worried she could wind up the next victim of the bully.
I wrote Blubber because bullying is often kept a secret by the kids who see it happening, and even by the person who’s being bullied. Being bullied feels so humiliating, it’s such a terrible and frightening experience, that kids are often afraid to tell anyone, even their parents. But keeping it a secret doesn’t help anyone. It just makes it worse. It leaves the bully thinking she or he can get away with anything. I hope this story will help kids, parents, and teachers to start talking and working together. No more secrets. If it happens to you, talk to the people you trust most. It’s too hard to worry alone.
Iggie’s House
Print ISBN: 978-0-440-44062-8