Of course, my new school gives me all sorts of terrific opportunities to test my “anti-bullying” theories.
Because once I make it through my Imaginary Zombie Zone, there’s another drooling demon for me to deal with. A real one.
Meet Stevie Kosgrov. Long Beach’s Bully of the Year, three years running. All-Pro. Master of Disaster. Inventor of the Upside-Down Shanghai Shakedown. Kosgrov puts the cruel in Long Beach Middle School.
As I cruise across the playground, he’s busy making change with a sixth grader and gravity. The poor kid’s in serious trouble. I know because I’ve been in his position before: upside down, with loose change sprinkling out of my pockets.
I roll right up to Kosgrov and his victim.
Inside, I’m trembling. Outside, I try not to let it show. Bullies can smell fear. Sweat, too. They’re also pretty good at picking up on involuntary toots.
“Hey, Stevie,” I say as calmly and coolly as I can. “How’s it going?”
“Get lost, Grimm. I’m busy here.”
“Sure. Say, did you hear about the kidnapping?”
“No.”
“Don’t worry. He woke up.”
The upside-down kid losing all his lunch money laughs at the joke. Stevie does not.
“And how about that karate champion who joined the army?”
“What about him?”
“Oh, I hear it was pretty bad. First time he saluted, he nearly killed himself.”
Kosgrov’s victim is totally cracking up. Kosgrov? Not so much.
Desperate, I try one more time with what I think is some can’t-miss Homer Simpson material: “Yesterday I asked my teacher, ‘How come I have to study English? I’m never going to England!’ ”
Stevie still isn’t laughing, but he does, finally, loosen his grip on the small kid’s ankles.
The little guy drops to the ground—and takes off like a race car at Talladega Superspeedway.
“Thanks, Jamie! I owe you one!” I think that’s what he says. He’s running away very, very quickly when he says it.
Meanwhile, Kosgrov redirects his rage. At me.
He lurches forward, grabs hold of both my armrests, and leans down. I’m basically frozen in place. Petrifying fear and locked wheel brakes will do that to you.
From his hot, steamy breath, I can tell that Stevie Kosgrov recently enjoyed a bowl of Fruity Pebbles (with milk that had hit its expiration date, oh, maybe a month ago).
“What?” says Kosgrov. “You think I won’t lay you out just because you’re stuck in a wheelchair, funny boy?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Pretty much.”
Turns out I’m pretty wrong.
