When people believe you have a right hook like a heavyweight champ, life is pretty good. It’s even better when you use that famous punch to knock out public enemy number one. As soon as Josh crumpled to the dirt, Baber Intermediate became a new place. I didn’t realize it at first, since I had never gone there before, but over the next couple of weeks it became clear. That nose-seeking baseball had saved my skin—and everyone else’s.
“This is the first time I like school,” Dave announced one morning as we lined up for class.
“Yeah, I get to eat my whole lunch now,” Slim added. “Josh used to always eat my Doritos and cupcakes.”
“That was probably a good thing,” Rishi joked, patting Slim’s belly. “You’re right, though,” he continued. “This year sure is nice, and we owe it all to our main man here.”
Then he pointed at Josh and Toby. “How ya feeling today, Josh? Got the sniffles? Must be tough to blow your nose?”
Oh no. Josh looked back at us. He had returned to school just a few days earlier and his face was still black and blue. His nose, which was covered by a large splint, now made a strange whistling noise when he breathed. Even though I hadn’t said anything, he was staring straight at me.
“Looking good!” Rishi yelled.
Will you shut up, I thought. Josh and Toby were still afraid of me since the supposed fight, but I didn’t want to get them mad enough to try something again.
Rishi was convinced I would bail him out of any trouble. His big mouth scared me, but we had become best friends, along with Slim and Dave. I still missed my old friends from New York, but thanks to these guys I was having a lot of fun at my new school.
There was someone else I liked a lot, but in a different way. I found myself thinking about that pretty blond girl in my class. Her name was Jessica. She looked great and seemed nice, but she was best friends with Kayla—a girl whose favorite hobby was rolling her eyes, making nasty faces, and keeping Jessica to herself.
On two wonderful days when Kayla was out with strep throat, Jessica and I did speak, and it went well. After that she would sometimes look right at me and smile, which was great, except that my face would turn red. Rishi would usually show up at these moments and make some gross kissing noises. Sometimes I’d tackle him, but I was really in such a good mood that I didn’t mind all that much.
Yes, most things were good. Really good. An e-mail from New York reminded me just how good. The e-mail was from Timmy, one of my three best friends back in New York. It said:
I hope you’re having fun in Ohio. Things here are the same. Rocco punched me, elbowed Tony, and smacked Tommy. Talk to you later.
Rocco. Reading his name made me wince. His full name was Rocco Salvatore Ronboni. One time a rather unintelligent kid made fun of his name. He said, “Hey Ronzoni, make me some spaghetti!” Those were his final words. We never saw him again. Some said he moved away, but most of us pictured darker outcomes. Instead we kept our mouths shut tight and tried our best to avoid Rocco, the worst bully in New York City.
Knowing his atomic wedgies, full nelsons, and locker-room headlocks were five hundred miles away was comforting, but I felt bad for my boys. Timmy, Tony, and Tommy hadn’t benefited from the baseball incident like me and were still taking daily beatings.
As I sat and thought about them, I knew more than ever that my phony tough-guy rep meant everything to my survival. My sister had said it was only a matter of time before the true Rodney was discovered. With a shiver I wondered if life at Baber might take a turn for the worse, and that’s exactly what happened one chilly day in late September.
Like most Americans, my friends and I watched football on Sundays. After school we’d meet at a vacant field by my house and try to re-create the great plays of the pros. It belonged to an elementary school that was now closed and boarded up, but it was a perfect place to play since the school district still mowed the lawn. We arranged to meet there at four o’clock.
As I ran out the door my mom yelled, “Get back here, mister!” I turned. “You’re not ruining another good school shirt. Here, put this on.” She held up a light blue jersey. On the front was a big picture of Mickey Mouse.
“Mom, Mickey? I’m a little old to be running around with . . .”
“I don’t care. I picked this up at a garage sale. It doesn’t matter if you rip or stain it. Put it on.” I sighed, but did what she said. Right before I left, she added, “Bet it brings you good luck.” Little did she know how much I would need it.
I rode my bike up to the field and saw there were already kids running around and throwing balls to each other. Rishi saw me and muttered, “Nice shirt,” before turning to the crowd. “All right, let’s make teams . . .”
“Hey, you punks! Get off our lawn!” It was a deep angry voice and it was coming through a crack in the stockade fence. We all froze and waited.
“Let’s just see if he goes away,” Rishi whispered.
Even though we were on public property, the guy doing the yelling was a McThugg, and you didn’t want to argue with him. I had first heard about the McThuggs from Rishi. They were four brothers who were either in their twenties or thirties and roamed the streets of Garrettsville, my new hometown. They were famous for terrorizing anyone who got in their way. Their house was next to where we played ball, and most of the time they didn’t bother us because they were out causing trouble down at the Silver Crik Saloon. When they were in their backyard, however, we knew to stay away from their fence. They didn’t seem to like anyone or anything—except their Harleys and loud music.
“Are you punks deaf?” the voice suddenly shouted again. “That’s it, I’m coming over!”
We took off and ran around the corner of the building, where we could hide but still keep an eye on the field. Engines revved and dark smoke floated up over the fence, but so far no one was coming. We waited, almost afraid to talk to each other. After five minutes, Slim complained, “This is crazy. I’m going to have to leave soon for dinner.”
“Figures, you’re already thinking of dinner,” Rishi teased him.
“Well yeah, but I’m also thinking about what happened the last time, when the McThuggs came around the fence and tried to run us over with their motorcycles.”
I was beginning to question whether football was worth it today, but things eventually quieted down and Rishi suggested we head back to the grass. Once there, we made teams and were about to start playing when two more kids rode up on their bikes. I almost left when I saw them. What were Josh and Toby doing here? As Josh hung back on his bike, Toby came over and stood in front of us on the field. “Can I play?” he asked.
Everyone stopped and looked at me. Terrific, I thought. They want the chicken to handle this. Believe me, I wanted to say no, but I was scared of what he might do. With everyone looking to me for a decision, I said, “Let him play.” It was my first bad move of the afternoon.
We played for a while. I did okay, considering the fact that I couldn’t decide who to fear most, Josh and Toby or the McThuggs. What happened next didn’t exactly clear up my confusion.