Chapter 5
BULLY FOR ME
Meet Stevie Kosgrov.
“Look at me, everybody,” Stevie bellows into a microphone he probably stole out of the chorus room. “I’m a big, stupid comedian, just like Jamie Grimm!”
His mic doesn’t have an amplifier. Stevie doesn’t need one. The guy’s a loudmouth.
“Well, if it isn’t Nick the Hick,” Stevie continues. “Nick’s family’s so poor, they eat cereal with a fork to save money on milk.”
Ladies and gentlemen, no matter what he says, Stevie Kosgrov is not a comedian. He’s a bully. Plain and simple. In fact, if it weren’t for certain Third World dictators, Stevie would definitely be declared Bully of the Century. He once slugged a teddy bear that said the wrong thing when he pulled its string.
Stevie and his two buddies have turned the back corridor—the one everybody in my grade has to use to get to our lockers—into their private, insults-and-putdowns-only comedy club.
“There’s a five-dollar cover charge,” says Stevie’s friend Zits.
“And a two-punch minimum,” adds his other pal, Useless.
(Believe it or not, Stevie Kosgrov is an equal-opportunity bully. He gave Zits and Useless their nicknames. I find it pretty hard to feel bad for them, though.)
“Hey there, Jimari,” says Stevie, zoning in on his next victim. “Calling you an idiot would be an insult to stupid people everywhere.”
“Now pay up,” says Zits, as Useless gives Jimari two knuckle punches in the arm.
“Let’s go around the other way,” whispers Gilda behind me.
“Nope,” I say to Gilda. “My arms are too pooped.” I move forward.
“Ladies and gentlemen, whaddya know—we have a surprise guest star,” snarls Kosgrov. “Put your hands together for the Crip from Cornball.”
Stevie’s two pals snigger—just like they do every time he calls me that. See, I used to live upstate in a small New York town called Cornwall. Stevie, comic genius that he is, has turned Cornwall into Cornball. Clever, huh? The guy should write material for Jay Leno.
I inch my wheels forward again.
“What?” says Kosgrov. “You think you’re the only one who can be funny? No, wait. You’re not funny. You’re just funny-looking.”
“Stevie,” I say with a sigh like I’m bored. “I need to get to my locker. Can I ignore you some other time?”
“You think I’m gonna give you a free pass because you’re a gimp?”
“Look, Stevie,” I say. “I’m not offended by anything you say. I’m just glad you’re finally able to string words together into sentences.”
Now Stevie steps forward.
“You know what your real handicap is, Grimm? Your mouth. It won’t shut up when it should.”
He might be right, but he’s made me too mad to care. I give my wheels a good shove and zoom straight up the hallway.
Yep. I’m going to roll right over Kosgrov.
I’ve already learned the hard way never to let him roll over me.