minutes in Mr. Coldstream’s ninth grade English class seemed like fifty-five hours. The ringing of the bell was music to my ears. I grabbed my book and hurried out into the hall.
“Hey, Clod Hopper.”
I turned to see a tall boy leaning against the wall. He had red hair and about a thousand freckles.
“What are you doing here?”
Another boy and two girls were with him. They stared at me, waiting for me to say something.
“Going to history class.”
“No, what are you doing in high school?”
I didn’t know what he meant. I shrugged.
“You’re supposed to go to junior high first.”
The one-room school I came from had grades one through eight, but no junior high. “Oh.”
“What an idiot,” the other boy said. It was Henry Witt.
“He doesn’t even know what junior high is,” Ember said.
All of them laughed at me.
“Love your overalls,” Ember said, then giggled.
I turned, wanting to run from the building and go home, but I forced myself to walk away slowly.
I’ve got to find my history class.
I walked down the hall, then turned back.
I must have missed it.
I heard some girls singing. “Pee wadley Pasty, huge big fatsy.”
Turning a corner in the hallway, I saw a group of four girls facing an overweight girl.
“Pee wadley Pasty, huge big fatsy,” they sang, then laughed at the big girl as tears streamed down her cheeks.
The poor girl was backed up against her locker, with no place to go. Her sky-blue eyes were clouded with tears. She wiped her face on her sleeve and turned to lean her head against the locker. Her long blonde hair curled down over her shoulders. She was big, probably over 250 pounds, but why did they tease her?
Other students walked by, some laughing or making mean remarks as they went on their way. I felt as if I should say or do something, but one of those girls was Ember Coldstream. I didn’t want her to remind everyone of my humiliation in English class.
Apparently tiring of their torturing of Patsy, the four girls went on their way, still singing their silly ditty. After they left, Patsy opened her locker and found a handkerchief.
What can I say to the girl? I feel sorry for her, but I’m such a klutz. I’d probably just say something stupid.
Patsy watched the four girls go into a classroom, then she took some books from her locker. I hesitated, but when she turned and saw me standing there, I hurried away, looking for the history classroom.
The lunch hour was an even worse experience.
“What’s that smell?” said a boy at the next table.
“Cow shit,” said another.
“Where’s it coming from?”
“Oh, look, it’s the plow boy.”
“What are you doing in here, Clod Hopper?”
I looked down at the egg sandwich Mom had made for me.
“I think he’s eating a cow shit sandwich.”
The other boys laughed, drawing attention from the next table.
“I thought brown-baggers were supposed to eat outside?”
“Yep, that’s the rule.”
“Probably when he learns the parts of speech,” a girl said, “he’ll be able to read the rulebook.”
I knew who it was without looking—Ember.
“Didn’t they make a rule book with pictures,” she said, “so the farmers can figure out the regulations?”
That got her a round of laughter.
“Yeah,” a boy said, “a coloring book.”
I rolled the rest of my sandwich in the paper bag and grabbed my thermos of milk.
“Oh, no. He’s about to cry.”
They boo-hooed and tossed off more smart remarks as I hurried from the cafeteria.
I couldn’t get away fast enough, and I sure wasn’t hungry anymore.
That’s the last time I’ll go there for lunch. Is there really a rule about not taking your lunch into the cafeteria? Maybe if I eat there, I have to buy my lunch. If I had lunch money, I would. Tomorrow, I’ll go outside at lunchtime to see if anyone else brings their lunch from home.
“Mom, I don’t want to go to school.”
It was the morning after my first day of high school.
“Why?” She worked on my sandwich for lunch.
“Everyone hates me.”
“I don’t think they hate you.”
“They picked on me all day, even at lunch.”
“Did you tell them to leave you alone?”
I shook my head and took a bite of Post Toasties and milk, then added another teaspoon of sugar.
“When they say something mean to you, say something back.”
“But I can never think of anything until it’s all over. After they laugh and walk away, then I think of a comeback.”
“Well, you have to think faster.”
Yeah, good idea, Mom. But my brain is too slow for that.
“How about if I just punch them in the face? Except for the girls.”
“The girls are mean, too?”
“Yes.”
There’s no way I’m gonna talk to a girl. Or punch one, although I’d rather do that than talk to them.
“Where are you when they pick on you?”
“In the hallway, and at lunchtime in the cafeteria.”
“Okay, when a class ends, stay in the classroom until just a minute before the next class, then hurry to the next one before they have time to say anything. And find a quiet place to eat lunch. You don’t have to go to the cafeteria for lunch.”
“Good idea, Mom.”
I took my lunch sack and ran to catch the school bus.
