The Bully Book (5 page)

Once you get the Grunt's friends to leave, you need to reward them. Invite them to your lunch table, show them how much cooler life is without the Grunt. Make their lives so good that they'll never want to go back.

They'll be happy, you'll be happy, and the Grunt will be alone. It's a win-win.

At lunch yesterday, Melody asked me if I wanted to get together and watch a movie after school this week. I answered yes because of a combination of social starvation and being in love with her.

I leaned over to her in class this morning and asked how we were getting to her house.

Ruth McNealy, who's in the Girl Scouts with Melody, laughed behind us. I turned to see both Ruth and the puppy on her shirt smiling at me.

“Melody,” I said again, “how are we getting to your house?”

“Eric …” Melody looked away from me and covered her face with her hand. “I can't talk about this right now.”

She was speaking through her teeth. Maybe, I thought, she has a headache.

At lunch, Ruth stomped up to me, literally dragging Melody behind her. She put her hand on one hip, and a fold in her shirt made it seem like the puppy was scowling at me. The look on its face said, everyone loves puppies, but I hate losers.

“Eric,” she said, and my eyes leaped back to her face. “Melody has something she needs to say to you.”

“Um … okay.” I turned to Melody. Her chin dug into her collarbone and her short brown hair hung over her eyes. Ruth elbowed her.

“You can't send me stuff like that, Eric,” she said, not looking at me.

“What do you mean?”

“It's embarrassing and I don't …”

“What?” I said. “What did I do?”

“Eric, I just don't like you like that!” she yelled. “You can't come to my house!”

Melody got quiet and then walked away from me. I watched her leave through the big Old Side doors.

“What is she talking about?” I asked Ruth.

“Like you don't know what you did.”

“I don't, Ruth—so why don't you tell me!” I shouted.

I'm not sure if it was from Melody yelling or me, but I noticed there were five lunch tables of kids staring at me.

“Melody doesn't like you like that, Eric, and she doesn't want to sit next to you in class anymore. We already talked to Mr. Whitner about it and he changed the seats.”

I must have had a surprised look on my face, because Ruth told me, “Don't be shocked, Eric. You're pathetic and you're gay. Melody will never like you.”

I glanced down at the puppy. It had nothing to add, but seemed to agree with what had been said.

When I got home, things became clear.

I checked Facebook and saw this in my notifications:

Request for status as “In a Relationship with Melody Miller” denied

Oh.

Somebody hacked my account. Set my status as “in a relationship” with Melody Miller, and when she saw the request she must have thought I was saying I liked her, or that I was asking her out.

It also looks like someone posted as me on her wall, but she'd deleted whatever it was. I don't know how long it was up or how many people saw it.

What can I do? Go up to her and say I was hacked?

She obviously hates the idea of me liking her. Before, I could just keep it a secret and everything was fine. But now the whole school probably knows about it. Should I go around to everyone saying, just so you know, I don't like Melody? That's insane.

She's made her point. She's grossed out by me.

The three of them did a pretty good job.

Donovan helped me set up my Facebook two summers ago when I didn't know what it was. I never changed my password.

There was no other damage except this: In Activities and Interests, right after reading and bike riding, someone put “Beeing a Grunt.”

This proves it. They're officially out to get me. Jason, Donovan, and Adrian have a conspiracy. And I'm their Grunt.

I deleted what they wrote and changed my password, but I still didn't feel safe. Maybe there's a way to hack it again. When Donovan first heard I didn't have a Facebook account, he said, “You're barely alive if you're not on Facebook.”

Well, Donovan, I'm deleting my account now.

I guess that makes me a dead man.

If you want to make trouble for your Grunt, don't just make up lies. Work with problems the Grunt already has.

Let's say your Grunt calls some kid a moron in class and the teacher gets mad. This is a situation that you can work with.

When everyone else is at lunch, leave a note that says “moron” on the kid's desk. Everyone will think the Grunt did it and because he's the one who called the kid a moron earlier, it'll be hard to deny it.

Or if the Grunt obviously likes someone, write a love note to him or her and sign the Grunt's name. Put it in a public place where anyone can find it and embarrass them both. The Grunt will try to say he didn't write it, but nobody will believe him.

If you're always making up crazy stories about people, you'll get a reputation as a liar. It's better to lie about the truth.

At Colin's house, I knocked on the door. No one answered. I knocked again. Nothing. I knocked three times before I heard the lock turn.

Colin's mother opened up. The smell of boiled chicken smacked me in the face.

“Hello.” I coughed, putting my wrist to my nose.

“Oh, hello …,” Colin's mother said. “Aaron?”

“It's Eric. Eric Haskins,” I said.

“Well, I'm sorry, Eric, Colin's not home right now. He's with his father at the library.”

“Out of TV time?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I actually came to see Richard. Is he home?”

“Oh. Yes he is, Aaron. I'll go get him.”

She went into the house. “It's still Eric,” I said. “Nothing's changed.”

A minute later, Richard appeared in the doorway—his mother had forced him across their entryway to meet me, socks sliding on the tile. There was a big Band-Aid over his left eye.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, “about The Bully Book.”

Richard flinched. He crossed his arm over his chest and put the other hand on the Band-Aid.

“Richard,” I said, “I've gotta to shake this thing. They're ruining my life, Richard. It's like how you said it would happen.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he said.

“They made me the Grunt … not Colin!” I tried to shove past him, but he blocked me.

Richard glared at me, wide-eyed.

“You can't be here. I can't talk to you.”

His pressed his arms against my chest, and peered over my shoulder. He tried to shut the door, but I held it open with my palm. With my other hand I grabbed a fistful of arm fat and kept him in place; he was my only lead on this thing.

“Richard, what is wrong with you?” I said. His chin was buried in his chest and he spoke through his teeth.

“You can't talk to me about this anymore,” he mumbled. “You got me in a lot of trouble, you moron. If they see you talking to me, they'll …” He trailed off.

“What?” I said. “I can't talk to you or what? I didn't get you in trouble, Richard.”

He ripped himself from my grip.

“Who is they?”

The door slammed in my face.

I didn't tell on him—I didn't say anything. This is a lot bigger than Jason and Donovan and Adrian. Everything Richard said was true—there's a conspiracy of Bully Bookers. They're in every grade. They're everywhere.

And they know Richard was talking Bully Book. They did something to shut him up. That Band-Aid.

They attacked him.

But it wasn't because of me. I didn't tell anyone. There's only one explanation. When you're on a sinking ship, you always look for the wettest hole.

Colin.

Colin, you worm. You slimy, shiny turd.

You dense, dumb piece of crap.

You've reached a level of ineptitude I've never before seen.

Con-freaking-fragulations.

By now, you should know why this book needs to stay secret. Having a book about how to rule your class will make people suspicious. That's obvious. But the way the Grunt is picked has to stay confidential.

Magicians seem powerful because nobody can figure out their tricks. But once you do know how a trick is done, it doesn't seem cool anymore.

This book is like a magic trick that gets you to the top of your class. But if people figure out how it's done, it won't work anymore. And you'll just be a loser with a book.

Worst Case Scenario: The Grunt finds the book and learns why he was chosen.

The Grunt will, of course, know he's the biggest loser in class. What's important is that he won't know why, so he can't do anything about it.