Revenge of the Bully by Scott Starkey Page A

Stories that convinced me to make the nurse’s bathroom my toilet of choice.
    But Trevor was in there and I figured Trevor, our best football player, was the one guy who had a slight chance of saving me from the Boss. I hesitated before going in. What if he picked a fight because of all the attention I was getting? After a few minutes I decided it was a chance I’d have to take. I gulped, said a prayer, pushed open the door—and was immediately struck in the face.
    Only not by Trevor’s fist. It was worse. Perhaps the most awful smell I’d ever inhaled choked me and made my eyes water. Trevor, who was washing his hands, saw me in the mirror. “Like that, Rathbone?” he laughed. “Onion rings. I love ’em, but whooooooo-eeee!”
    I pulled my shirt up over my nose. “Good game yesterday. The defense played great.”
    â€œWhat?” Trevor asked. “I can’t hear you through your shirt.”
    It was clearly a trick. Without lowering my shirt I repeated what I had said. This time he just shrugged and added more soap to his hands. “I didn’t see myself in the paper after the game,” he finally answered. “I saw this other guy. Then I saw all these girls lined up to see this other guy. And then, then I got mad, but I remembered what the school psychologist is always telling me, so I didn’t punch the other guy. Plus there were some teachers walking around. I figured maybe one day I’d get this other guy alone. And look—what do you know? The other guy is standing right in front of me.”
    â€œWhere?” I almost shouted, but Trevor didn’t look like he would appreciate that. He had finished washing his hands and was now drying them by making fists. I considered bolting. Then I remembered a trick I had used on bullies in the past. Sometimes the smartest thing is to just pretend you didn’t hear their threats. “I think we’re playing Mantua next week,” I said, lowering my shirt from my nose. “Think we can win?”
    â€œRathbone, we never win.”
    â€œBut maybe we could start winning.” Wow, my trick had worked. Just for good measure I threw in a compliment. “You’re our best player, Trevor. You could really get the team going.”
    â€œI’m quitting.”
    The shock made me inhale sharply. After spluttering and wiping my watering eyes, I managed, “What? You can’t quit. You’re too good.” What I wanted to say was, “You can’t quit or the Boss will make Beet Parmesan out of me!”
    â€œRodney, I played football to impress the girls. Josie won’t even speak to me. My heart’s not into playing anymore. You know how it is . . .” He looked more depressed than fearsome. “I’m done with football,” he continued. “You even said you’d get me a date. How’s that going? Not too good, I bet.”
    This was horrible. Every time I mentioned Trevor to Josie she’d go, “Ewww, he’s gross,” and start in about the demolition derby date. There was no way I could get her to go out with him.
    Trevor stared at himself in the mirror for a few long seconds. Then he turned to me and took a step closer. The mean, scary look was back in his eyes. “Yeah, Rathbone, there’s not much point to playing anymore, is there? Looks like there’s only one thing left to make me happy.” He cracked his knuckles and stepped closer still.
    I’m not sure if it was the threat of Trevor’s fist or picturing Cheese lurking outside my bedroom window but my mouth took over. “Trevor, guess what I came in here to tell you?”
    He paused.
    My mouth continued, “I got you a date with Josie next Saturday night.”
    â€œRodney, that’s the best thing anyone’s ever told me. I owe you! I’ll do you any favor.” He grabbed my hand and started pumping it up and down. Good thing I’d seen him