CHAPTER 51

HUDSON COULDN’T SLEEP. It wasn’t just the fact that he was lying on the floor in Pancake’s room, but more likely he still had a double-dose of adrenalin pumping through his system. If he were at home, he’d grab a glass of milk and maybe a bowl of cereal. Or he’d stare at the green glow of the stars overhead until they led him into a deep sleep. Still, he was glad Mom and Dad had agreed to him doing an overnight at Pancake’s. He would have come home late after the bumper sticker fiasco, and there would have been too many questions.

And once the questions started, his parents wouldn’t stop until they were sure he’d told them everything. Would they put a stop to his whole Creating Change project? Definitely. In some ways he wished he’d never started it.

Pancake stirred. “You still awake?”

“I can’t even close my eyes yet,” Hudson said.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Okay . . . so you’re a Christian, right?”

Hudson paused. “Yeah.” He wasn’t so sure he’d been the best example, though. Not after tonight, anyway.

Pancake rolled onto his side. “I love the way you don’t let the pack walk all over you. Or me.” He hesitated. “But aren’t Christians supposed to kiss the other cheek?”

Hudson smiled. “That’s turn the other cheek.”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah. Sometimes we are. But not always. The Bible is pretty clear about that.”

“So how do you know when to hit someone or to hug them?”

That was the part that wasn’t so clear. “I guess I just figure God will show me the way.” It sounded good, but his stomach twisted a bit. He hadn’t exactly been taking his cues from God lately, had he? He’d done a lot more following his own gut.

“Your dad lost his job at Northrop, and life got messy for your whole family, right?”

“I guess.” Hudson stared at the black ceiling. Messy was an understatement.

“Ever wonder if your dad got on God’s blacklist somehow?”

He’d been raised to think that God worked even the hard things out for good. But did he actually believe that? “Sometimes bad things happen to good people. They make us better. Stronger. Draw us closer to God.” The thought of God having a blacklist was spooky. There’s no way Dad would be on that list. “Ever ask yourself how we got into the mess we’re in?”

Pancake snickered quietly. “That’s easy. You sat at my lunch table.”

How many things would be different if he’d chosen some other table that day? “Remember that Conan the Barbarian painting in Mr. Mann’s room —with that quote?”

“It’s one of his favorites,” Pancake said. “There’s always a way if the desire be coupled with courage.”

“That’s the one,” Hudson said. “Do you believe that?”

“Pretty much. Yeah.”

It might be easier for Hudson to believe it if he were built a little more like Conan.

Pancake sat up. “You up for checking OneInAMillionMaggie?”

Hudson wasn’t so sure that would help him sleep. But he’d be leaving early in the morning for church. Maybe this was the best time. “Let’s do it.”

The two of them hunkered over the glowing screen of the laptop and skimmed.

Giovanna: Cut the mystery, Robin Hood. Tell us who you are. Coward.

Alexa: Better yet, show us. Wear green tights Monday with a pair of red shoes.

Kat: Maybe it will catch on and the other red shoe idiots will wear green tights.

Alexa: Please, no! We don’t need more people dressing as ugly as Maggie.

Wolfman: Show me someone wearing red shoes and I’ll show you an idiot.

Zattora: Cutter spray-painted his shoes. I laughed so hard I fell off my chair!

Maggie: I’ll wear my ugly red shoes until the day I die.

Giovanna: Make it happen, Maggie. I hope you die soon.

Kat: Real soon! Like tonight. I don’t want to see your ugly face or shoes again.

“They are so . . . cruel,” Pancake said. “This is going to hit her hard.”

Hudson was shaking inside. This whole thing was insane.

“Nail ’em, Hudson,” Pancake whispered. “Nail their stinkin’ hides to the wall.”

Hudson squared the laptop in front of himself. Tried to focus on what to write.

Robin Hood: Kat, Alexa, Giovanna, Wolfe, Zattora. Can’t you be nice? Kind? If that’s too hard, why can’t you just leave others alone? Robin Hood and his merry band of men have a little surprise for you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. When your parents ask if you’re bullying, what will you say? I guess you’ll find out in the morning.

Pancake nodded. “His merry band of men. That’s good.”

Merry men was more a figure of speech, but Pancake had a good point. Let them think there was a small army helping. “Maybe that’ll create a little social pressure.”

“And keep them off our trail,” Pancake said. “If they figure out your identity . . .”

Like Hudson really needed a reminder. “Help me add some little details from last year. Something I couldn’t know. Throw them off the scent a little.”

“Right,” Pancake said. “But nothing too obvious.”

Hudson kept quiet so Pancake could think.

“I don’t know what to say. Kat and Alexa were jerks. I ignored them.”

“How about Giovanna? She’s the weakest link. I need to hit her hard.”

Pancake looked down for a moment. “She was best friends with Maggie.”

“Details.”

Over the next few minutes Pancake gave Hudson all he needed to write a new post from Robin Hood.

Robin Hood: Giovanna, stop trying to figure out who I am. Figure out who you are. Last year you and Maggie were always together. In the halls. Same lunch table. You even did that speech project together —and together you brought that dog to class. What happened to you? You opened a Pandora’s Box when you switched friends. Attacking your ex-best friend? That’s low. It’s ugly. You know who you are? Like I told you before, you’re a total loser.

“Yes,” Pancake said. “Perfect.”

Suddenly Hudson wasn’t so sure. He read the last couple of lines over again. He was trashing Giovanna. How could that be right? Is that who I am . . . who I want to be? “Maybe I should take that last part out.” Maybe?

“Leave it,” Pancake said. “You could be a lot harder on her —and she’d deserve it. Maybe it will make her think.”

Deep down, Hudson wasn’t buying it. But he pushed away his doubts, and focused on the references to last year. The trick was not to overdo it. Make it too obvious, and they might see right through it.

“You should say something to everyone wearing red shoes. Tell them to keep going,” Pancake said.

“Good idea.”

Robin Hood: To the 14 who wore red shoes to school Friday . . . congratulations. You’re making a difference. You’re standing up to Kat and Alexa and Giovanna . . . and to Wolfe and Skirt and Zattora and bullies like them who choose to torture others with their nasty comments. I saw some had actually spray-painted their shoes. Keep going! Wear them Monday. Tuesday. All week.

“Nicely done,” Pancake said.

Hudson reread the post. “But we need more kids joining in.”

Robin Hood: Now . . . to the rest of you reading this. Make a statement. Buy some red shoes —or get some spray paint. This isn’t about fashion or liking red shoes. This is about liking other kids —like Maggie. This is about liking yourself enough to step up and do the right thing. To help those who can’t help themselves. This is your way to help protect students from cruel bullies. This is your way to fight back. Be an army, an anti-bully brigade —the Red Shoe Brigade. Show your support for Maggie —and kids at Southfield like her —by wearing red shoes.

Pancake gave a low whistle. “You’re declaring war. You know that, right?”

“A war on bullying,” Hudson said. “What if Maggie really felt she was better off dead than alive? What if they bullied her to the point of doing something stupid?”

“Not Maggie,” Pancake said. “She’s strong.”

“But even the strong feel weak sometimes,” Hudson said. “And what’ll stop them from picking other targets? This has got to stop.” He should do a recording of the events while they were fresh in his memory. Then again, there wasn’t much chance he’d forget any details if he did it tomorrow. Hudson closed the laptop. The room seemed suddenly darker than before.

Pancake’s bed groaned and squeaked when he flopped back onto it. Hudson felt his way to the mattress on the floor and lay on his back. The ceiling was black. Like it didn’t exist at all.

“Hudson?”

“Yeah?”

“This thing . . . Robin Hood . . . the Red Shoe Brigade . . . all that. It’s not just about the assignment, is it?”

Hudson pictured Maggie reading the nasty posts. Crying. And he knew there were countless others like her. “I guess not.” He wasn’t sure it ever was.

“So what’s next?”

There was no script. No Google Maps. “I’m playing this by ear.” And maybe that was a problem. He’d done okay so far, hadn’t he? But could he really expect to come through this without becoming a casualty —or causing one? He stared at the ceiling. So dark. Shouldn’t his eyes have adjusted by now?

“So no master plan, huh?”

Hudson peered into the black hole above him. “I wish.” He needed direction. God, help me. It was a simple prayer, but God didn’t need anything more than that, right? Why didn’t God just hand him a playbook . . . and show him exactly what to do? Then again, how hard was Hudson really trying to listen? He’d pretty much been calling the plays himself so far, hadn’t he?

Pancake’s breathing drifted into a steady rhythm. The room seemed darker somehow. Hudson got the feeling that their little adventure with the stickers tonight wasn’t going to solve anything. It might even make things worse.

The stars. That’s what was missing on the ceiling. More than anything Hudson wanted to talk to his dad. He needed to get a little guidance. A little light shed on his path. But right now he felt so incredibly alone, and he didn’t even have a star to help him find the way.