Revenge of the Bully (13 page)

“Mama's,” we all answered at once.

“Yeah, that's it,” he agreed. “Gloria, are you going to review them on Saturday when they open?”

Mrs. Windbagger answered for my mother. “Fred, you remember what I told you. Gloria always waits a few weeks before she reviews a new restaurant. It gives them a chance to work out the kinks.”

She was right. My mother never reviewed restaurants when they first opened. In fact, I had secretly been hoping that Mama's might close before my mom got down there. After all, with that horrible food, how long could they stay open? I took a sip of water and tried to let my worries about the Boss float away. . . .

“Actually,” my mom said, “there's been so much buzz about Mama's that my editor wants me to review it right away. I'm going Saturday night.”

“UGGGGGHHHHH!” I choked. Mr. Windbagger's meaty palm whacked me on the back and an ice cube shot across the table.

“Are you all right?” my dad asked.

I didn't even answer. I still hadn't told my parents I was working there that night. Plus I pictured Big Earl and Weasel serving up some slop, Cheese and Willy ordering the customers around, and the guys from Chicago causing problems. I was dead. Things couldn't get any worse!

“Well, look who it is,” Mr. Windbagger said loudly.

A man and woman followed by two hulking sons were being shown to a table. As the boys turned around there was no mistaking their identity! I grabbed the menu and covered my face. They were identical twins . . . about twice my size . . . wearing mean expressions. . . .

“Come to eat your last supper?” Mr. Windbagger asked.

“Shhhh, Fred,” his wife scolded. “You can't yell like that in a restaurant. Go over and talk quietly to your friend.”

“That's not my friend,” he said. Then he yelled, “Hey, Belicheat! Getting ready to lose on Saturday?”

Belicheat? Bart and Bruno's father was the Windham coach?

Belicheat turned in his seat to face Windbagger and said, “You Garrettsvillers are pathetic. You finally win a couple of games and you act like you're in the NFL playoffs.”

“Keep talking, Belicheat. I got young Rodney Rathbone at my table and I can't wait to watch him run over your pathetic defense.”

My mom shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Windbagger had used her last name. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat because I was about to poop my pants!

“Take a good look,” Mr. Windbagger continued. Then, noticing me, he added, “Rodney, stop staring at that menu and let the coach take a look at you!” I slowly let the menu slide to the table.

“What do you think, boys?” Belicheat asked his sons. One of them took a sip of water and loudly crunched the ice in his mouth. The other picked up a fork and bent it into a U shape. “Let me introduce you to Bart and Bruno,” Belicheat continued, not knowing we had already met. “We were a little late getting here tonight because they had to meet with the Notre Dame recruiter. It's pretty rare for recruiters to meet with middle school football players, but Bart leads the state in tackles, sacks, tackles for loss, and interceptions. Bruno, on the other hand, leads the county in unnecessary roughness penalties.”

I was about to ask if I could be excused—from earth—but Mr. Windbagger wasn't done. “I hope none of them scouts will be at the game Saturday.” I felt his hand grip my shoulder. “Those two altar boys of yours haven't had to meet Rodney here in the hole. Best running back Garrettsville's ever seen.”

One of the twins said, “Dad, I don't see running back listed on the menu.”

The other one added, “Guess we'll have to wait till Saturday. How do you like your running back cooked?”

“Rare,” his brother answered with a smirk. “I like my running back bloody. It's also important that the meat is well tenderized.”

For the first time in my life I knew how a cow felt and I didn't like it. Looking at the two brutes, I had little doubt they had every intention of making me the main course at Saturday's game—and they had the muscles to live up to their words.

It was all too much. My fate was sealed. Next Saturday was shaping up to be the worst day of my life. I suddenly needed air. “Excuse me, I'll be right back.” I doubted the twin goons would get up and follow me . . . not with so many people around.

My mother looked concerned. “But we haven't ordered.”

“Um, I'll take that Chinese spaghetti you mentioned.”

I crossed the restaurant and headed for the doors. “Glad I brought Tums,” was the last thing I heard from Mr. Windbagger as I pushed open the doors and headed outside.

The night had gotten cool and the air smelled faintly of burning leaves. I took a deep breath and tried to relax. Should I call Jessica? She was the one person I could talk to who would understand and give me advice. Should I run away? I needed a minute to think. I looked around and noticed a bench in a little garden surrounded by tall, trimmed hedges. I sat down and ran my fingers through my hair. After a minute I heard the restaurant door open. Were my parents looking for me? Were the twins looking for me?

“That
is
good news,” I heard a man say. I assumed he was on a cell phone. Relieved that it wasn't the twins, I exhaled and was about to call Jessica but stopped when I heard the man's next words: “So you've managed to record almost all the G-Men's plays?”

Staying hidden in the shadows, I turned around and peeked through the bushes. It was Belicheat! He was about two feet away with his back toward me. After a pause I heard him continue on the phone. “That's more than I hoped for . . . Oh, I know I won't need their playbook, but what kind of coach would I be if I didn't dot my i's and cross my t's? . . . Hahahahah . . . Now
that's
what I call tutoring! . . . Hahahahahah . . . Great, see you tomorrow. Good work, Agent Orange!” He hung up and walked back into the restaurant.

For a few minutes longer I sat on the bench and debated my next move. I knew I had to head back in but I needed time to absorb everything. Thanks to old Windbagger, it was now a certainty that the two biggest, toughest kids in the state would take me apart on Saturday. If that wasn't enough, their dad was working with a certain orange-haired tutor named Mrs. Lutzkraut to learn our plays ahead of time! My mind felt like it was going to explode. This was all too much for a kid my age. It was only Monday night. What would Tuesday bring, an earthquake? I couldn't take it anymore. Eventually I managed to stumble back inside and sit down at the table.

“You were gone for a while, honey,” my mom said. “Are you all right?”

I was pretty far from all right. I wasn't even sure of what to say. I was in a fog the rest of the meal. I vaguely remember nibbling on some food and trying not to make eye contact with the twins. The one time I did, either Bruno or Bart mouthed the word “you” while pointing down at his chicken. I remember my stomach doing flips as I watched him repeatedly stab the chicken with his bent fork.

I turned to Mr. Windbagger. “Did I hear you say you had Tums?”

It was the start of the toughest week of my life.

Chapter 14

TAKEN FOR A RIDE

“Rodney, what's gotten into you?” Rishi asked as we headed down the hall to lunch. “Aren't you aware that in two days you're playing Windham, and then it's opening night at Mama's?”

“Yeah, I'm pretty aware of it.”

“Isn't that awesome? Why aren't you smiling from ear to ear? You've been moping around all week.”

He sounded like my mom. “You don't have a clue, do you?” I finally asked.

While the few days since my dinner with the Windbaggers hadn't been a complete disaster, they hadn't exactly been incident-free. For starters, Mrs. Lutzkraut had hosted an afternoon get-together at her house on Tuesday for all the kids she was tutoring. Every G-Men player who ate her chocolate chip cookies wound up getting sick to their stomachs by the time they got home. Today was Thursday and some were still out. When I said to Hector, “See, she's trying to weaken the team before the big game,” he just looked at me and shook his head.

“A bad batch of cookies, Rodney. It could happen to anyone.”

Luckily I hadn't been invited to Mrs. Lutzkraut's little throw-up party, but on Tuesday night I had an encounter of my own that left me pretty shaken. My dad and I had driven over to the Home Depot in Streetsboro to pick up some paint he needed for my sister's room. While he examined all the colors I wandered up and down the aisles. Somewhere between kitchen cabinets and kitchen flooring I got the sense I was being followed. I spun around. For a second, all I saw were two enormous barrels taking up the aisle. Then I realized it was Bart and Bruno.

“That guy last night in the restaurant said you could beat us,” one of them taunted. They both took a step in my direction. I couldn't tell which brother was which but it didn't really matter. By now I was pressed against a stainless-steel refrigerator with nowhere to run.

“How about we find out right here how tough you really are?” the other twin said, grabbing the front of my shirt and lifting me slightly off the ground. I guessed it was the twin who excelled at unnecessary roughness.

“Listen, fellas,” I began, “you don't want to do this here—not in aisle nine. We'll just get in trouble.” My mind was racing.
Say anything to stay alive!
“At Saturday's game we'll have plenty of time to find out who's really tougher!”

Did I just say that?

I felt my feet returning to the floor. “You got a deal,” grunted twin #1.

“Yeah,” the other one added. “That is, if we don't see you before then.”

They both laughed like they were sharing a private joke and high-fived each other before walking off to join their dad. I didn't like that at all. Those two would have lots of chances to crush me on Saturday and make it look like an accident. They had probably been planning it for weeks! Wasn't that enough? Were they going to do something
before
Saturday's game?

And now I had Rishi asking me why I wasn't grinning from ear to ear. I realized he would never understand all the stuff on my mind and decided to just keep it to myself. “Only kidding,” I said as we entered the cafeteria. “Everything's great.”

He stopped and stared at me for a second. He looked a little confused, but then he starting laughing. “You almost got me, Rodney. That was a good one. Hey, I can't wait to tell you the great news I just got.”

Oh no, not Rishi news! I prepared to bolt back down the hall before he could open his mouth but a voice stopped my feet cold.

“What news?” Jessica asked. She was standing behind us with Kayla and Samantha.

When Rishi saw them, his big smile stretched even wider.

“I'm glad you three are here. You got to hear this. I just got a call from
ESPN
magazine. Did you hear me? ESPN! They want to do a photo shoot and interview with my man, Rodney Rathbone.”

“Really?” Jessica said.

“That's so cool,” Samantha added.

Even Kayla looked at me with less annoyance than usual.

I wished I could share in the excitement, but I didn't want any additional unjustified appreciation. I wanted to keep out of the spotlight. It seemed like the world would never let that happen, and Rishi certainly wasn't helping.

“All right, Rodney,” he said, “I've cleared up Friday afternoon's schedule. I just got off the phone with your father.”

“Wait, what?”

“Can we come to the shoot tomorrow?” Jessica asked.

“Absolutely!” Rishi answered. “I'm sure I can get the three of you VIP status.”

“There's Josh,” I began, “we'd better tell him and the other players—”

“No,” Rishi whispered, “not Josh and not Trevor. Just you. I was specifically told by
ESPN
not to bring them to tomorrow's shoot.”

“Won't they notice a bunch of photographers showing up at practice?”

Rishi smiled. “They won't notice because it's not at the school. It's out at the Ledges.”

“Nelson Ledges?” I gulped.

“You got it. They said it would be a really cool place to take the pictures.”

I had heard a lot about Nelson Ledges from my friends—it was pretty close to town—and I could already picture it in my mind. I knew there were paths in the woods that led in and around a number of big rock formations. The place was a huge labyrinth full of caves and cliffs and waterfalls surrounding a lake. I remembered that Slim's mom had never let him go out there. She was afraid he'd fall into one of the ravines. From the sound of it, she was right. When I first moved to Garrettsville last year I had read that there were many drops in Nelson Ledges over one hundred feet, and that visitors had to stay on marked paths. It sounded like an odd location for a photo shoot. A creepy tingle rose up my spine.

“It'll be fun, Rodney,” Jessica said.

“You bet it will be fun!” Rishi shouted. “It'll be the perfect way to begin the best weekend of your life!”

With Jessica and Rishi grinning at me, I fought hard to think of an excuse of why I couldn't go. Fortunately, good old Kayla quickly put an end to the plans. “How are we getting out there, brainiac? The Ledges is like five miles away. Don't think for a second that I'm going to ride my bike there and come back in the dark!”

I could kiss her
, I thought . . . before quickly erasing the image.

Rishi smiled at her. “A bike? I have a car coming to school tomorrow to pick us up.”

“Like a limo?” Samantha asked.

“Close,” Rishi said. “Rodney, what does your dad drive again?”

“The same thing he's driven for ten years. A Honda.”

“High-class all the way.” He grinned.

The next day after school, the five of us stood outside the front entrance waiting for my dad to pick us up. I was happy that Jessica's parents had let her come along. It was fine that Samantha was coming too. And Kayla, well, at least Rishi would be happy.

My dad's Honda pulled up on time. I opened the back door for Jessica. Several greasy food wrappers tumbled out and the car smelled like French fries.

“Dad, couldn't you have cleaned out the backseat?”

My dad turned around. “Oh, sorry, son. Don't tell Mom. I don't want to listen to her recite my cholesterol counts again.” Then, spotting Jessica, he added, “Hi, dear. Hope this is a nicer ride for you than coming back from Camp Wy-Mee!”

I cringed and wished he hadn't brought up about the time Jessica rode all the way home in silence because she was mad at me. Jessica looked at me and smiled, as if to say, “Don't worry, I know how dads are.” Out loud she said, “Hi, Mr. Rathbone. Nice to see you. These are my friends, Kayla and Samantha.”

“Nice to see you again!” my dad said to the girls. “I remember you both from the school dance at Baber Intermediate. Well, pile on in.” As he said this I realized the car would be a little tight for us all. I smiled to myself. It would be nice to scrunch in close with Jessica. . . .

“Rodney, you and Rishi get up here with me. Let the girls have the back.”

That daydream didn't last long! For the next five miles I had Rishi's elbow digging into my ribs. Turns out scrunching wasn't much fun.

As we pulled into the deserted Ledges parking lot, my chicken sense started tingling. Samantha must have been having similar thoughts. “Shouldn't there be a truck here or something?” she asked.

Kayla growled,
“Rishi.”

As usual, Rishi just smiled. “Have no fear. Look!” He pointed across the road to the entrance. Some teenager was holding an ESPN sign—except it didn't look very official. We got out anyway and my father started to join us.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“You didn't think your old man was going to drive off and miss all the excitement, did you?”

The last thing I needed was my dad directing a bunch of photographers on how to take pictures of me. I said, “I was kind of hoping I could handle this on my own.”

He looked disappointed . . . but only for a second. “No problem, son! Those fries were awfully salty and I can't seem to get a milk shake out of my mind. Vanilla or chocolate? Oh, it's a tough decision.” He started the car. “Text me when you want me to pick you up!” he called out as the Honda sped off down the quiet, wooded road. The brake lights flickered once before he rounded a bank and drove out of sight.

A chilly breeze blew across the parking lot and I couldn't help shivering. Something sure seemed strange about this photo shoot—but it was too late now. We crossed the road.

“You work for ESPN?” Kayla asked the kid with the sign. “What are you, like twelve years old?”

Before the kid could answer, Rishi spoke up. “Don't worry, Kayla. The woman I spoke to on the phone sounded real mature.”

“I'm an intern,” the kid added defensively. “See? I'm holding a clipboard and everything.” He looked down as if reading something. “Mr. Rathbone?”

I didn't like this but just nodded.

He pulled out a walkie-talkie. “He's here. He's got some friends with him.”

His walkie-talkie hissed for a second. A voice said, “All right. Send him up here to get his makeup done, but make sure his friends wait down there with you. I'll send someone down in five minutes to take them to the, uhh, interview.”

Nervous pangs gripped my chest. “Wait, my friends can't go with me?”

The intern kid said, “You heard him. They'll be picked up in a few minutes.”

“But I don't see why—”

“Listen, do you want to be interviewed or not?”

I was about to answer “or not” but Rishi cut in. “Oh, he does, he does . . .”

I looked at the girls. All three wore worried expressions. I noticed that the woods in back of them were beginning to grow dark as the late-afternoon sun dipped below the treetops. “I don't want to leave you guys,” I said.

“Nonsense,” Rishi insisted, “we'll be along in a minute. Go, go.”

Jessica said, “Don't feel bad about us. It's not your fault. I'm sure we'll see you in a minute.”

I had little choice after that but to walk into the woods . . . alone. I passed a big sign that said,
DANGEROUS CLIFFS—STAY ON MARKED TRAILS ONLY
. Beyond it was a smaller sign that explained the park's trail system. White Trails were the safest. After that there were various colors until you came to Red Trails. They were the most dangerous. I also noticed with alarm that the trail I was on led to the “Devil's Hole,” which was right by something called the “Devil's Icebox.” Did every trail in this place have to start with the word “Devil”?

I continued on, heading farther into the boulders and cliffs. For a little while I could hear Kayla far below whining to Rishi. “. . . So, is standing in a parking lot your idea of VIP treatment? . . .” As the trail rose higher, however, her words grew fainter. I grew more nervous. I couldn't believe I was missing Kayla's complaints.

I got to the top of a bluff. Other than the wind rattling through dry leaves, it was quiet. The sun was definitely getting lower in the sky. I looked around and noticed an ESPN sign pointing down into a ravine. Unfortunately, the sign looked like it had been painted on the back of a pizza box. I strongly considered walking back out and telling everyone that I had gotten lost. There was something off about the whole setup and the idea of heading down into a dark chasm—alone—seemed about the worst thing I could do. It had also started to dawn on me how strange it was that no one had told me to bring a uniform, let alone a football.

“Hello,” I called out. The only reply was my voice bouncing off the boulders.
That's it
, I told myself.
No way I'm heading down there
.

“Hey, Mr. Rathbone!”

I turned. The intern guy had followed me up the trail. “The interview team wants to know what's keeping you.”