For the remainder of the holiday break I was a nervous wreck. Rocco Ronboni was heading west. I didn’t know when, and it might be over a month away, but he was coming. It was like an approaching storm I couldn’t stop. He knew who I really was. When he got here, he’d go right back to beating me up. Of course, as soon as he did, Josh and Toby would join in. Then, seeing what a true wimp I am, other kids would want to get in on the fun. My life would be full of bruises and pain. I imagined that my friends wouldn’t want to hang out with the big phony named Rodney Rathbone. And any chance of landing a cute blond girlfriend would be lost for good.
I pleaded with my mom to tell them not to come, but she merely said, “Don’t be silly, Rodney. You always played so nicely together when you were younger. Remember when you used to play Marco Polo at the public pool?”
“Yeah, I remember. Every time he caught me, he held my head underwater.”
“What an imagination you have. . . .”
“Mom, I still have water in my left ear!”
“Rodney, you’re going to be late for school. Just think, you’ll be able to introduce Rocco to everyone.”
She was so excited to have one of her friends from the old neighborhood coming to visit that she couldn’t listen to sense.
I decided to try my dad. “Can’t you speak to mom for me?” I pleaded.
He took a deep breath and answered, “Rodney, one day when you’re married you’ll realize wives rarely listen to their husbands. I’m afraid we’re stuck with your mother’s choice in friends. You get this creepy Rocco and I get Fred Windbagger.”
“But Fred Windbagger doesn’t give you wedgies. . . .”
“You might prefer a wedgie to a two-hour life insurance conversation.”
“Dad . . .”
“Rodney, you’ve handled some tough characters this year. I’ve been proud of you, and I’m sure this Rocco’s going to meet his match too.”
Now it’s nice to have a dad who’s proud of you, but I wondered how proud he’d be after I got pounded to a pulp by half the town. The only good news was that Rocco and his family wouldn’t be here for a while.
• • •
As I walked into school the first day back, I realized the other kids didn’t know about my private problems. All they could talk about was my flight off the Ravine of Doom. And it wasn’t just because they had seen it in person. A father who had been there filming his five-year-old twins had heard some shouts, had turned his camera in my direction, and had captured most of my amazing trip on video. A week later it had made its way to YouTube and was now one of the most popular videos.
Yes, that January my celebrity status was at an all-time high, and while it did wonders to help me forget about Rocco, it didn’t do much to impress the one person I hoped it would: Jessica. As I tried to talk to her I could see that she was okay with me, but it felt like her mind was on something, or someone, else.
Maybe it was just the time of year. The dreariness of winter had settled in on us. The weather was bad and we were stuck inside during recess. To make matters worse, each time my big mouth got me in trouble I would have to spend recess alone with Mrs. Lutzkraut, watching her eat disgusting squishy sandwiches and slurpy soups, all followed by her one treat—chocolates. The woman loved chocolate. The first time I saw her eat any I thought she was fainting. She swooned, kind of shook for a second, smiled, and closed her eyes. As soon as the chocolates were gone, her face would regain the nasty look I’d come to know and despise.
There was nothing pleasant about Mrs. Lutzkraut or her drab classroom. It became darker and sadder with each cold January day. It was during one particularly long, depressing afternoon that she surprised us.
“I’ve decided to put on a play this year.” We all sat up. “You know, I was quite the actress in my younger years.”
“Yeah, bet she was a great Medusa,” I whispered to Rishi.
She turned in our direction. Rishi and I stared straight ahead. It was Samantha who broke the silence.
“Are we doing High School Musical?”
Mrs. Lutzkraut took a deep breath. “No, Samantha. We are doing a real play. We will be putting on Robin Hood.” The class broke into a discussion and Mrs. Lutzkraut glared us back into silence. “Now, if I may continue, I’ve already decided on the parts.”
Jessica, not surprisingly, would be our Maid Marion. Kayla would be an evil witch, which also made sense to me. Rishi was cast as the sheriff of Nottingham, one of the villains. Dave got the part of Will Scarlet, one of the Merry Men. Toby was told he would be Friar Tuck. He sat there scowling, but he was always scowling and I couldn’t tell from his reaction whether he liked his role or not.
“What about me?” Slim asked excitedly. “Do I get a part?”
“I have decided to give you the part of Little John.”
“But Mrs. Lutzkraut, I’m not little,” Slim observed.
“Precisely, Timothy. It’s called irony. It’s much funnier to have the part of Little John played by someone big and plump.” I watched the smile fade from his face as he slunk down in his chair. Then I felt that familiar tingle on my tongue. . . .
“Mrs. Lutzkraut, maybe you should be the witch,” I mumbled.
My mouth had done it again. The whole class went silent. I knew she was about to order me to sit recess with her, but what came next was far worse. It felt like a punch in the stomach. She locked eyes with me, gave me a wicked smile, and announced, “Greg will play the role of Robin Hood.” Then, to Greg, she asked, “Are you sure you can handle it? After all, you are the play’s hero. At the end, you slay the evil Guy of Gisborne and then kiss Jessica. I mean Maid Marian.”
What??? I looked over at Greg, who was smiling and definitely seemed like he could handle it. Greg. He had just moved here from California and started at Baber soon after the winter break. He was a perfect Robin Hood, darn it! He was tall, athletic, and the girls all seemed to think he was good-looking. Lately I had gotten the feeling that Jessica liked him better than me. To my added alarm, I could see Jessica blushing and smiling back at him.
“Well, Greg?” Mrs. Lutzkraut asked again.
“No problem, Mrs. L,” he replied, his oily voice smooth and confident. “I can handle kissing Maid Marian.”
“Excellent, Greg,” she said with a sideways look in my direction.
I noticed Jessica turn darker red but her smile remained. I wanted to jump out the window.
“Wonderful. Oh, and Greg?”
“Yes?”
“You also will have to kill Rodney.”
I shivered. The words kill and Rodney in the same sentence didn’t do wonders for my digestive system.
“Rodney will play Guy of Gisborne.” A smile spread across her face as she glanced my way and added, “He’ll need to die in the end.”
Suddenly my heart began racing, but not because I thought Mrs. Lutzkraut really wanted me dead. She had actually said something far worse. I was going to be playing a character. I would have to speak lines in front of everyone! One of my biggest fears—besides bullies, basements, scary movies, and a hundred other things—is standing up in front of people and talking. Once, in New York, I pretended I was sick for a whole week just to get out of reading my book report to the class.
And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. Mrs. Lutzkraut began to show a PowerPoint presentation of another Robin Hood production she had done a few years ago. As she fiddled with the mouse, a photo of some Merry Men walking on the stage appeared. The costumes were ridiculous. They had hoods and something that looked like short robes, but worst of all, these Merry Men were wearing long yellow tights. I was thinking how bad I felt for that group up there dressed in panty hose when I was struck by an alarming thought.
I was going to be in the same play. Not only did I have to worry about throwing up on the audience when I opened my mouth to speak, but I, too, could wind up wearing tights.
Just as this began to sink in, a sword scene between Robin Hood and the guy I assumed to be Guy of Gisborne twirled onto the screen. It was even worse than I imagined. His tights were powder-blue!
I cringed. I looked over and saw Slim smiling to himself. Evidently he hadn’t figured it out yet. Dave, however, sat with a look of horror on his face. He raised his hand.
“Yes, Dave?” Mrs. Lutzkraut asked, clearly annoyed at having her presentation interrupted.
“Uh, Mrs. Lutzkraut, we don’t have to wear stockings like them, do we?” he asked.
“They are not wearing stockings. They are wearing authentic tights from the age. That was the look in the medieval time period. We want our play to be visually stunning and genuine. So, yes, you will be wearing them.” She went back to clicking and smiling to herself as she looked at the pictures, not noticing the looks we exchanged. The only boy smiling was Toby. A picture on the screen showed a kid pretending to be Friar Tuck. He wore a long brown monk’s robe, and if he was wearing tights, they weren’t visible. Our Friar Tuck looked over at me, winked, and then raised his hand.
“Yes, what is it now?” Mrs. Lutzkraut asked.
Toby turned to her. “My dad has a video camera. I could probably get him to film the whole play.”
Mrs. Lutzkraut looked thoughtful. “I think that would be a very good thing to do. I’ll speak to you about that later.” As she spoke, Toby passed me a note. I read it and gulped. “Is there a problem, Rodney?” Mrs. Lutzkraut snapped.
Toby had only written one little word, but it was enough to make me panic. The note read: “YouTube.” It was too much for my brain to handle. I’d be walking around in tights on the Internet for the whole world to see. Half a million people had watched me bravely fly off a cliff on my sled. Now, thanks to Toby, they would all be texting, “Check out Sled Boy’s tights.” I blurted, “Mrs. Lutzkraut, you can’t really expect us to wear those outfits!”
“I believe, Rodney, that I already explained about the need for medieval hosen, and since you seem to have difficulty grasping that concept, not to mention every other one, you can join me for lunch today and I’ll explain it to you, again.”