Bobby the Brave (Sometimes) (2 page)

T
hroughout lunch, Bobby barked and romped and panted. It was, he knew, important to rehearse being a dog so he could get it just right. Several times his friends joined him. It was fun making the first graders scream and seeing how fast they could run.

Later, during afternoon recess, the boys played one of Bobby's favorite games: Arctic ice robots. They were frozen and trying not to melt when Jillian Zarr and her wolf pack circled them.

“Hey Bobby, your shirt is all wrinkled and it's on backward,” Jillian Zarr said. She picked a piece of lint from her ridiculous dress, which looked like a giant pineapple.

Bobby shrugged. “So what?”

“It's inside out too,” Jillian Zarr pointed out. “Do you still need someone to dress you in the morning?”

All the girls started giggling, except for Holly. She had never been a giggler.

“I wore it this way on purpose,” Bobby lied, fixing a steely-eyed glare on Jillian Zarr, the way he had seen his father do when he wanted to freak out the opposing football team. The truth was, Bobby never bothered to check if his clothes were inside out, or outside in, or whatever they were supposed to be. There were more important things to do in the morning, like feed Koloff and Beatrice, his fish.

“Why would you want to wear your clothes all weird?” Jillian Zarr asked. Her eyes narrowed.

Bobby blinked and looked away. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Luckily, Chess spoke up. “Maybe Bobby's starting a trend.”

“A trend?” Jillian Zarr threw her head back when she laughed. She was the only person Bobby knew who did this, other than the evil genius from that movie
Kid Kops
. “That's not a trend, that's a dumb thing to do,” she said. “Besides, Bobby Ellis-Chan is so NOT a trendsetter. If you looked up ‘not a trendsetter' on the computer, Bobby's name would come up.”

Bobby could feel his face turning red. He hated Jillian Zarr with all of his heart, and even more. He hated her with all of his heart, and his arms and legs, and even his ears and nose.

“Bobby's a total trendsetter,” St. James shouted. By now, all the boys had ceased being frozen Arctic robots and transformed into angry fourth graders. “Hey guys, follow me!”

Before Jillian Zarr could reply, there was a great stampede. All at once the boys ran away, leaving Bobby alone with the girls. Had his friends abandoned him? he wondered. What was so bad about a backward, inside-out shirt?

Bobby squirmed as the wolf pack circled him in silence. He knew from his report about wolves last year that the circling meant they were going to attack soon. Then, as quickly as they had disappeared, the boys came running back. Bobby felt a wave of relief wash over him — he hadn't been abandoned! The girls didn't dare rip him to pieces when he had backup.

Bobby's heart swelled. St. James, Jackson, and the others had turned their shirts backward and inside out to match his! Right then and there, Bobby decided he would do anything for them.

Anything.

“I suppose you all think that's funny,” Jillian Zarr said.

Bobby grinned and glanced at Holly, who was trying to hide her smile.

“It
is
funny,” St. James said, making a pig nose. “And so are you! Oink! Oink! Oink!” Soon all the boys were oinking, and the air was thick with pig sounds, and an occasional moo and bark, as Jillian Zarr and her wolf pack retreated.

“Hey, guys,” St. James announced when the animal noises finally stopped. “Besides the backward, inside-out shirts, I know how we can make our class photo even better.”

As they listened to his idea, everyone grinned. “That's going to be awesome!” Jackson crowed.

“Yeah,” Chess chimed in. “It's the best!”

“Are you in?” St. James asked Bobby.

Bobby gulped and then put on his best fake smile. “Oh, sure,” he said, remembering he'd do anything for his friends. Anything. “I'm in all the way!”

 

A red felt hat boasting a spray of colorful feathers perched on the top of the lady's head. The photographer waved her arms to get everyone's attention, and Bobby thought she might fly away.

“Okay, you good-looking kids, come over here!” she called. “Let's see if you can follow orders better than the third graders!”

Everyone laughed. Third grade was so last year.

In an orderly manner, the fourth graders of Room 15 walked to the risers in a straight, single-file line. Once everyone was in place, St. James tapped Bobby on the shoulder and whispered, “Remember what we're supposed to do.” Bobby nodded. He didn't want any of the guys to think he was a party pooper.

“Okay!” the photographer yelled. She honked a bicycle horn to get everyone's attention. “Look at the feathers on my hat, and on the count of three say ‘CHEESE.' One … two … wait a minute!”

Everyone held their frozen smiles as the photographer squinted. “You there, and you and you and you,” she said, pointing at several boys. “Your shirts are on backward and inside out. I can see the tags in the front!”

Bobby and the others shifted nervously.

Mrs. Carlson surveyed her class. “Boys,” she said, shaking her head. “You have exactly two minutes to step outside and fix your shirts.”

Even though Jillian Zarr was in the back row, Bobby knew she had a smug smile on her face.

The boys began to stomp down the risers and make their way out of the auditorium, when Chess suddenly stopped and declared, “Freedom of speech!”

Everyone looked surprised.

“Freedom of speech,” he repeated. “Mrs. Carlson, you're teaching us about freedom of speech and expression, and this is one way we're making a statement.”

Mrs. Carlson asked, “Chess, exactly what statement are you boys trying to make?”

“I don't know,” Chess said, pointing to Bobby. “Ask him. He started it.”

The rest of the boys nodded and pointed to Bobby.

Bobby wanted to pull his shirt up over his head and hide. Finally, he stammered, “Um, the freedom to, um, to wear clothes however?”

Could he go to prison for this? Bobby wondered. He imagined himself behind bars with nothing to eat but stale bread crusts and brown water.

Chess jumped in. “See, it's our right as American citizens to express ourselves by what we wear.”

Mrs. Carlson laughed. “Well, you do have a point. And your clothes aren't offensive. I'll tell you what…. If you think your parents will be okay with it, then I will be too. Now then, back into position, everyone!”

“Are you sure?” the photographer asked.

Mrs. Carlson nodded. As Bobby exhaled, the boys grinned at each other and the girls frowned.

“Don't forget, we're still doing what we promised to do,” St. James whispered.

Bobby was game for anything now. So when the photographer counted “One … two … three!” he made the silliest, goofiest face he could.

A
s they gathered around for dinner, the Ellis-Chan family all talked at once. Sometimes it was hard to get a word in, but Bobby was used to that.

“I want to get some clean dirt for Wormy Worm Worm,” Casey was telling her mother. “The dirt he has now is all dirty.”

“Then what did your coach say?” Mr. Ellis-Chan asked Annie. He could get very focused when talking football.

“Coach says that I have a great throwing arm, but that I need to practice more.” Annie stopped talking just long enough to poke her father's double crusted mac 'n' cheese 'n' cabbage 'n' carrots.

“I'm going to be Annie's dog,” Bobby volunteered. When no one paid attention, he repeated himself louder. “I'm going to be Annie's dog!”

His big sister frowned. “I don't want you to be my dog.”

“No, I'm going to be in the musical about Little Orphan Annie and play Sandy, the dog.”

“Oh, that's wonderful,” his mother said. “Bobby, you'll make a great dog. I just know it.”

Bobby felt warm inside. It was true, he thought. He'd make the greatest dog, not just in the entire world, but in the entire solar system. Bobby loved dogs and even considered himself an expert on all things dog. If he didn't have asthma and wasn't allergic to fur, he would have five dogs, maybe ten or even twenty.

“Dad, did you hear? I'm going to be a dog!” Bobby took a bite of his father's latest creation and then quickly drank some milk.

“What if we had a more regimented series of backyard drills?” Mr. Ellis-Chan asked Annie. “I can even show you some we used to do when I played for the Earthquakes.”

“Cool!” Annie said. “Can we do it right after we finish eating?”

“Of course,” her father replied. “I love it that you're living your dream. Wow, my daughter is quarterback of the high school football team! Have I told you how proud I am?”

“Yeah.” Annie laughed. “Like about a million times!”

“Dad?” Bobby said meekly. “I'm going to be a dog.”

But his father was too busy talking to Annie to hear him. Why would he even care that his son was going to be a dog when his daughter was a football star?

 

Later, as Mr. Ellis-Chan guided Annie through her football drills, Bobby watched them from his bedroom window. “He's not like me,” Bobby recalled his father telling Annie. What exactly did that mean? That Bobby wasn't as brave as his father? That he wasn't as athletic as his father? That he wasn't as popular as his father? That he wasn't as big and strong as his father?

Bobby's shoulders slumped. It probably meant all those things and more. The two of them couldn't be more different.

Over in the garden, Bobby could also see his mom tending to her zinnias and Casey talking to Wormy Worm Worm.

“Look, I brought you a present,” his little sister was saying. She loved giving presents and just yesterday had insisted that Bobby keep the butterfly barrette she gave him. He smiled as Casey tried to coax her worm into sitting up straight in a doll-house chair.

“Great job!” Mr. Ellis-Chan yelled to Annie when she mowed down all the empty cans on the brick wall with her throws. “Oh man, you were right on target every time. Let's see that again; I know you can do it!”

Bobby closed the window and then retrieved his wooden cigar box from his bookshelf. It housed some of his most valuable possessions: Gramps's gold cuff links; an odd-shaped piece of metal, possibly from an alien spacecraft; a photo of Mr. Ellis-Chan holding the two-year-old Bobby in a football jersey with the entire LA Earthquakes team surrounding them. Bobby found what he was looking for under a broken stopwatch.

Gingerly, he took out the tiny soccer ball and cradled it in the palm of his hand. It was about the size of a marble and had belonged to Rover. Rover had been Bobby's beloved goldfish, but he had died in a tragic bubble-bath accident. It still pained Bobby to think about it.

As Bobby dropped the soccer ball in the aquarium, Koloff and Beatrice swam away from it. “Come on, you two, try to push the ball!” Bobby coached. “Rover loved playing with his soccer ball. He could push it all around the tank and even get it into the soccer net. Give it a try. Come on, I know you can do it!”

Koloff and Beatrice did not seem interested. Not even Diver Dave, the plastic diver who swam up and down, up and down, wanted anything to do with the ball.

“Okay then, how about this?” Bobby said, giving them hand signals. Rover had been able to follow Bobby's commands to swim though hoops and in circles. When Koloff and Beatrice didn't respond, Bobby gave up.

“That's okay,” he assured the fish. “Sometimes these things take time.”

 

“Mmmmmmmmm …”

The morning started off great. At the urging of his family, Mr. Ellis-Chan served his delicious homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast. It was the one thing he made that the entire family loved. “Mmmmmmm,” Bobby said again as he took another bite. “Dad, you should make your cinnamon rolls for every meal!”

“Thanks, son,” his father said, beaming.

At school, Mrs. Carlson taught the class the songs from
Annie
. Bobby was glad he didn't have a solo; pretending to sing along was hard enough. Jillian Zarr's singing sounded just like her talking, except louder. St. James was a terrible singer, but he didn't seem to notice. Holly was great as Miss Hannigan and had everyone laughing, especially because Miss Hannigan was mean and Holly was always nice. But the big surprise was Swoozie. Bobby had hardly noticed her before. She was just one of the girls in Jillian Zarr's wolf pack. Yet when Swoozie sang, it was like she was someone else entirely. She was a star.

Bobby wondered what that would be like — to be a star. His dad was a famous ex-football player, and Annie was the star of her high school football team. His mom was a star at her company, Go Girly Girl, and had been named employee of the month twice. Even Casey had people fawning over her wherever she went because she was so cute. But Bobby, well, he was just plain Bobby.

Later, during lunch, St. James asked, “If you could have one superpower, what would it be? I'd like to fly.” To prove this, he jumped up and, with his arms extended, ran around the lunch tables until a lunch lady made him stop.

“I'd read minds,” Chess said as St. James was getting lectured.

“I would be invisible,” Jackson said, nodding. “Yep. Invisible, so I could spy on people. Either that or be a diabolical super genius. What about you, Bobby?”

“Superhuman strength,” Bobby answered. He imagined himself making the winning Super Bowl touchdown as his father cheered, “That's my boy — I am so proud of him!”

“Superhuman strength?” St. James repeated when he was allowed to sit back down. “That'll come in handy in PE. Did you hear? We got a new PE teacher. And get a load of this, his name is … Mr. Wiener House!”

“Wiener House?” Jackson said, laughing so hard that milk almost came out his nose.

“Yeah, Wiener House!” St. James said as the boys cracked up.

“Wiener House! Wiener House! Wiener House!” they chanted as the bell rang.

 

As the students of Room 15 stood in straight rows on the playground, their new PE teacher looked them over and frowned. Bobby thought Mr. Wiener House looked mean, like that man in the bathtub cleaner commercial who scrubbed away stubborn dirt and soap scum.

“When I call your name, say ‘here,'” the PE teacher ordered.

“Amy Aoki?”

“Here.”

“Jackson Chavez?”

“Here.”

“Robert Ellis-Chan?”

Bobby gulped. “Um, excuse me, Mr. Wiener House? Can you call me Bobby instead of Robert?”

Bobby watched as the new PE teacher's face went from pale to pink to a deep dark red. “What did you say?”

Bobby felt himself shrink. “Bobby. If you could call me —”

“What did you just call me?” the teacher boomed.

“Mr. Wiener House?”

All the kids were snickering, especially St. James.

“It's Rainerhaus. My name is Mr.
Rainerhaus
. It's pronounced Rain-er-house. And you, Robert, can sit on that bench for the rest of PE. I will not tolerate smart alecks!”

Bobby glared at St. James as he made his way to the bench. St. James was famous for stirring up trouble, and usually Bobby thought it was funny — except when he was at the center of it.

Sitting alone, Bobby watched his class play soccer. They looked like they were having fun. His dad would never have let himself get tricked like that. Bobby was glad his father wasn't there to see him sitting on the sidelines.