Brendan Buckley's Sixth-Grade Experiment (22 page)

“Hey,” I said.

“Congratulations.” He held out his hand.

I shook it.

“It's really cool that you and Morgan were chosen.” A smile crept onto his face. “Even if your experiment
was
totally nasty.”

I smiled in return. “Thanks.” I looked at my desktop, then back up at Khal. “Are you still mad … about your nose?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “Thanks to you, I became a real chick magnet there for a few weeks.” It was true. Girls had waited on him hand and foot while his nose had been broken. “I kept those bandages on a whole
week longer than I needed to!” He laughed. It looked like Khal and I could get back to being friends again.

In science class, Mr. Hammond threw Morgan and me a pizza party. Everyone was really excited for us, even Aadesh. I'd thought he might have been a little sore over not getting chosen himself.

Dwight David hovered around Morgan like a bee near a flower. I'd been trying to be nicer to him since I'd found out about his dad being deployed overseas, but right then, he was really getting on my nerves. He kept asking Morgan if she wanted a refill on her pop and bringing her slices of pizza and saying what an awesome thing it was that
her
experiment had been picked.

Lauren Dweck handed me a folded piece of paper with a pencil drawing on the front. It said “Brendan the Super Scientist” across the top. In the picture, I stood at a counter wearing a lab coat and protective goggles. The beakers in my hands were bubbling and steaming. I opened the card. “Good luck in the national contest! I hope you win!!! ♥ xoxo ♥, Lauren.”

“Thanks,” I said. I glanced around, trying to figure out where to stash the card before one of the guys saw it.

“You're welcome.” She stood there beaming.

“Um … it's a good drawing.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I really hope you win.”

“Thanks.” A seat was open at Cordé's table. Khal was over there, too. “Well … I'll see you later.” I folded up
the card and stuffed it in my back pocket, then grabbed another piece of pizza and went to join them.

The guys gave me a hard time about thinking I was too good for them now that I was a science contest winner, but I knew they were just playing. We joked and laughed. It felt good to be back to normal with Khal.

During lunch break, Khal wanted to play football since we'd already eaten in science. I told the guys I'd meet them on the field after I put some things in my locker, which I didn't mention included Lauren's card. When I was done, I headed outside.

“Brendan, over here!” Khal waved his arms in the air.

I jogged over, an occasional raindrop hitting my face. Khal turned just in time to catch Marcus's pass. He zigged and zagged while Oscar and Dwight David chased after him. Khal zipped past the tree that we used as a goal line, spiked the ball, and did his end zone dance—flapping knees, bobbing head, and disco finger up and down.

“Hi … Brendan,” Oscar said, between gulps of air. His cheeks were pink and his hairline was sweaty, even though the air was nippy. Dwight David flopped to the ground with his arms and legs spread wide.

Marcus and Khal came over. Khal tossed me the ball. “Jaivier Brown and his boys challenged us to a game after school.”

“Yeah,” Dwight David said. “Five on five. We're going to get thrashed.”

“Totally thrashed,” Oscar said, still huffing. “They play on a club team. They're really good.”

“I …” I started to say I couldn't be there after school. Morgan and I had agreed to go to her house to research a new experiment idea—this one on water pollution.

“Why are we standing around?” Marcus grabbed the ball from me. “Let's play.”

Oh, well. I'd play with them now and convince Cordé to take my place after school. Or maybe I'd tell Morgan we could get together the next day. One thing I knew for sure: The guys couldn't find out about Morgan and me and the whole hand-holding thing. I was still feeling confused about what that had meant and what Morgan might be expecting next.

I got in a three-point stance across from Khal, who hiked the ball to Marcus, then took off running. I stayed on him like white on milk … until I saw Morgan. She crossed the field, headed straight toward us. It started to rain for real.

Suddenly, Dwight David, who had been defending Oscar, broke away and started running after Morgan!

She screamed and headed in the opposite direction. He continued after her, grinning, even though it was obvious that she wasn't enjoying this game of tag. Morgan cut this way and that, trying to avoid getting caught.

She screamed again. “Stop!” She had almost reached the far fence when I saw him tackle her. Morgan squirmed on the grass beneath him.

I sprinted toward them. “Get off her!”

Was he trying to kiss her? It was like I became the Incredible Hulk or something. I yanked him to his feet, then dropped him with a hammer-fist strike to the head.

Dwight David yelped.

An adult yelled out, “Stop! No fighting!”

Dwight David had fallen to his knees when I'd brought my fist down. Now he toppled, as if he were impersonating a dying cow. He rolled on the wet ground, moaning and groaning.
What a faker!

The lady who had yelled, a seventh-grade teacher with a scary reputation, grabbed my arm and yanked me back. “I saw that. To the vice principal.
Now
.”

Vice Principal Bowman! I couldn't. Dad would kill me!

“But he jumped her!” I helped Morgan to her feet and pointed at Dwight David, who had stopped rolling and moaning while the teacher yelled at me, but now started up again.

“She tripped and I fell on her,” Dwight David protested.

I looked to Morgan to confirm what he was saying, but she seemed too much in shock to answer.

“Ohhh … I think he broke my neck,” Dwight David whined. He clutched his throat, and his face screwed up in what had to be mock pain. I hadn't clobbered him
that
hard. At least, I didn't think I had.

A bunch of kids crowded around, including Khal, Oscar, and Marcus. Even a few seventh graders.

“Isn't he the kid who broke your nose?” one of them asked Khal.

“Yeah! Jackie Chan!” another one said.

The teacher's eyes narrowed.

Weren't any of my friends going to stick up for me? I stared at Khal but he wouldn't look me in the eyes.

Morgan had her arms around her middle. Her freckles stood out even more than usual against her pale skin, which had gone ghostly.

“Back up, everyone. We'll let Mr. Bowman sort it out.” The teacher put her hand on Morgan's shoulder and took me by the elbow. She looked at Khal and nodded toward Dwight David. “Help this boy to the office, will you? Everyone else, you've got three minutes left of free time. I recommend you get in out of the rain.”

I walked quickly alongside the teacher. There was no point in trying to make my case to her. She didn't want to hear it. I'd save my defense for Mr. Bowman, and boy, would I need a strong one. If he told Mom and Dad, I'd be grounded for the rest of my life.

I'd broken cardinal rule number one of Tae Kwon Do—the very first rule we learned as white belts and that we hear over and over again: Never use your abilities to attack or harm another. Truly strong Tae Kwon Do warriors promote nonviolence and do everything they can to avoid physical conflict. Dad had warned me that if I ever used Tae Kwon Do at school, the consequences would be severe.

I glanced over my shoulder. Dwight David hobbled along, leaning heavily on Khal. What an act. Was the kid trying to win an Academy Award?

I couldn't believe I was being sent to the vice principal. In elementary, the only times I'd been sent to the office were when the teacher asked me to pick up messages, and once to be congratulated for earning high marks in the fifth-grade science fair.

We took off our wet coats and waited in chairs along the wall while the teacher spoke with Mr. Bowman in his office. Morgan sat shivering next to me. Dwight David slouched a few seats away. Khal stood in the middle of the room, looking unsure of what to do. Finally, he sat on my other side.

“Why didn't you say anything out there?” I half-whispered.

“You kind of went ballistic, man,” he whispered back.

“He attacked her!” I didn't bother trying to keep my voice down this time.

“You didn't have to go Tae Kwon Do on him.”

Dwight David glared. “Yeah, you didn't have to go Tae Kwon Do on me!” His shoulders slumped even more. “Lola's gonna make me go to Mass every night for a week for getting sent to the vice principal again.”

I glanced at Morgan, who looked about as comfortable as if she were sitting on a pincushion. She looked away. Was she mad at me, too?

“Anyway, I told you, she
tripped
,” Dwight David said.

Morgan looked at him. “I wouldn't have, if you hadn't been
chasing
me.”

“You actually tripped?” I said. Had I only seen what I wanted to?

The bell rang for fourth period. “Good luck,” Khal said to me as he got up to go. “You're going to need it.”

Suddenly, Vice Principal Bowman stood before us. The three of us sitting there sounded like a bullfrog choir.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp
. The man was as tall as Dad, but wider, much wider, with a big, oval-shaped, shiny head—shiny as an eight ball, like he got up every morning and polished it along with his shiny black shoes. His eyes, cheeks, and lips sagged like a bulldog's. Hopefully that was the only reason kids called him Bowman the Bulldog, and not because he tore into people and ripped them to shreds.

“Gentlemen,” he said in a deep voice, “and young lady.” He nodded toward Morgan, then gave me a look so piercing I thought I might turn to dust on the spot, as if his stare had special disintegration powers, like one of the X-Men or something. “Follow me, please.”

I was so weak from fear, I wasn't sure my legs would hold me if I stood.
Baekjul boolgool
. Indomitable spirit.
Stay strong
, I told myself. Dwight David was the troublemaker. I'd just been defending an innocent person.

Your girlfriend
, a voice in my head said.

Whoa
, I said back,
no one said anything about her being my girlfriend
. So, I'd held her hand. Maybe I even liked
her enough to ask her to be my girlfriend. But I'd defended her because it was the right thing to do.

Mr. Bowman pulled a chair into his office and set it next to the two already in front of his desk. “Have a seat, please.” At least he was a polite X-Man bulldog. He skewered me with his stare again. “Mr. Buckley, is it?”

My heart palpitated. I was suddenly short of breath, but I found the strength to whisper, “Yes, sir.”

“Can you please tell me what happened out there—”

“He hit me over the head!” Dwight David blurted out.

I glared at him across Morgan.

“Excuse me!” Mr. Bowman thundered. Dwight David shrank in his seat. “You will have your turn in due time, Mr. Del Santos.” Mr. Bowman looked at me again. “Mr. Buckley?”

It felt as if we were sitting across from a judge, high on his judgment seat. Morgan stared straight ahead, looking as if she was trying not to cry. I swallowed again. “Dwight David was chasing Morgan. She kept telling him to stop. When he jumped on—”

“I
fell
on her.”

“Jumped, fell, whatever—I ran over to …” I stopped. I didn't want it to sound like I was protecting my girlfriend.

But weren't you?

No!

“To
what
, Mr. Buckley?” Mr. Bowman clasped his hands on his desk.

“To … uh … to uphold justice!” I said triumphantly. Surely Mr. X-Man Vice Principal could appreciate that. I almost added that it was the Tae Kwon Do
way
to defend innocents, but decided it'd be better not to reveal I was a
you gup ja
, a black-belt-in-training.

Vice Principal Bowman's thick black eyebrows pulled together. “I see … And did you or did you not punch Mr. Del Santos in the head?”

“Well, not exactly. It's called a hammer-fist—”

Mr. Bowman cut me off with the death stare. He turned his attention to Dwight David. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Del Santos? Was Miss”—he glanced at a paper on his desk—“Miss Belcher telling you to stop chasing her?”

Dwight David picked at his thumbnail. “I guess.…”

“And Miss Belcher, did Dwight David jump on you, or did you in fact trip, as he maintains?”

“I slipped on the grass. But still, he should have stopped when I told him to.”

“You're absolutely correct. So, the first order of business is that you, Mr. Del Santos, need to offer this young lady an apology.”

“I'm sorry,” Dwight David mumbled.