by Louis Sachar
Claudia shrugged and left his room. Bradley got up from his bed and went into the kitchen, where his mother was making chocolate chip cookies. She let him lick the spoon.
“I want to know the names of the boys who did this to you,” she said. “I’m going to call your school principal.”
Bradley thought for a moment. “I don’t know all their names,” he said.
“Don’t be afraid to tell me,” said his mother. “They won’t hurt you anymore.”
Bradley thought a moment. “Jeff Fishkin!” he declared. “He was the leader of the gang.”
“I’ll call the school first thing in the morning,” said his mother.
“Good!” said Bradley. “I hope he gets in trouble. I hate him.”
16.
Bradley walked slowly, holding his hand over his eye so nobody would see it. His mother would have let him stay home from school, but his father said he had to go.
“He’s scared,” his mother had said. “Some bullies have been terrorizing him.”
“Babying him will not solve the problem,” said his father. “He has to learn to stand up for himself and fight back. The only reason the bullies pick on him is because they know he’s afraid.”
Bradley was afraid, but not of bullies. He wasn’t scared of Melinda, either. It was little Lori Westin who scared him. He could picture her standing in the middle of the playground with her big mouth shouting for the whole school to hear: “Melinda Birch beat up Bradley Chalkers and made him cry!”
Cautiously, he walked across the schoolyard, hand over eye, and entered Mrs. Ebbel’s class. He sat down in the last seat of the last row.
Jeff’s chair was empty.
Good, he thought, still covering his eye. He probably got kicked out of school.
Out of his uncovered eye, he looked at the chart full of gold stars on the wall next to him. He was glad he didn’t have any. He thought gold stars were ugly.
Mrs. Ebbel was in the middle of teaching the difference between adjectives and adverbs when she suddenly stopped and asked, “Bradley, is there something the matter with your eye?”
“No.”
“Then please take your hand away from it.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“Why can’t you?”
He quickly tried to think of a reason why he had to keep his eye covered. His mind raced through a hundred ideas. “My hand’s stuck,” he said.
“It’s stuck?” asked Mrs. Ebbel.
“I was gluing something and got glue on my hand, and then I accidentally touched my face with my hand and it got stuck.”
“Bradley, take your hand away from your eye.”
He grabbed his wrist with his free hand and pretended to try to pull it away. “I can’t. It’s stuck.”
“Do you want to go to the principal’s office?” she asked. “He’s good at unsticking things.”
“Wait, I think it’s starting to loosen now,” he said. He pried his hand away.
There was a bluish-black circle around his eye.
For a few seconds nobody said anything, then everybody started talking at once.
“What happened?” asked Mrs. Ebbel, but then quickly said, “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” She told the class to turn around, and started again on adverbs and adjectives.
Jeff walked in late. He said something to Mrs. Ebbel, then sat down next to Bradley.
Bradley looked the other way, at the chart full of gold stars. Of all the stars, Jeff’s were the ugliest.
For once, he wished he sat in the front of the room. Then only Mrs. Ebbel would have been able to see his face. Where he was, everyone could turn around and stare at him. All morning, Mrs. Ebbel had to keep telling kids to turn around and face front.
When the bell rang for recess, he put his hand over his eye and hurried outside. He went to the far end of the playground where nobody would bother him. But the word quickly spread that Bradley Chalkers had a black eye and kids kept wandering past him trying to get a peek.
“Melinda fights dirty,” said Jeff, coming up behind him. “She hit you when you weren’t looking. And you couldn’t hit her back because it’s impolite to hit a girl.”
“Right!” said Bradley, turning around. “I would have punched her face in, except it’s impolite. Melinda probably told the whole school that she beat me up, she’s so stupid.”
“No, I don’t think she told anybody. After you left, she asked me not to tell anyone what happened. She made Lori and Colleen promise not to tell too.”
“She’s probably afraid I’ll punch her face in,” said Bradley.
“Probably,” said Jeff. “Then, this morning I was called into the principal’s office. He thought I was the one who hit you.”
“Wha’d you tell him?” Bradley asked.
Jeff shrugged. “I told him you’re my best friend.”
“The principal’s stupid,” Bradley agreed.
17.
Jeff and Bradley ate lunch together around the side of the building, where nobody would bother them.
Jeff stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Which one?” Bradley asked.
“Boys’,” said Jeff.
“Oh,” said Bradley. “I’ll wait for you here.”
It was a very long wait.
“Hey, Jeff!” Robbie called as Jeff stepped out of the bathroom.
“Me?” asked Jeff. It surprised him because Robbie had always called him Fishnose or Fishbrain.
“Come over here,” said Robbie. A group of boys was with him. Jeff recognized some from his class, but didn’t know them all. One of the boys had a basketball.
“Hi, Jeff,” said Brian, a boy from his class.
“Hi, Brian,” he replied.
“How’s it goin’, Jeff?” asked Russell.
“Okay.”
“This is Jeff Fishkin,” Robbie told the boys who weren’t in his class. “He’s the guy who gave Chalkers the black eye.”
“Way to go, Jeff!” said one of the boys he didn’t know.
“All right, Jeff!” said another.
“Oh, man, would I have liked to have seen that.”
“Man, when I saw Chalkers’ eye today,” said Robbie, “I just smiled. And then when I found out you got called to the principal’s office, I thought, ‘Way to go, Jeff.’ ”
“You didn’t get in trouble, did you, Jeff?” asked Dan.
Jeff shook his head.
“They probably gave him a medal,” said Russell, laughing.
The others laughed too.
“You like to play basketball, Jeff?” asked Andy, the boy with the basketball.
“Sure!” said Jeff.
They chose teams. Robbie and Andy were captains. Robbie had first pick. “I got Jeff,” he said.
Jeff beamed.
They played basketball for the remainder of the lunch period. Jeff’s team won, but it was also the team with five players. The other team had only four.
Everyone told him he played a great game.
“I always wondered why a guy like you was hanging around with Chalkers,” said Robbie. “I guess it just took you a while to find out who your real friends were.”
Jeff smiled. These were the kind of friends he had had back in his old school in Washington, D.C.
Of course, it meant he couldn’t be friends with Bradley anymore, but … He shrugged.
18.
From around the corner of the brick building, Bradley watched the end of Jeff’s basketball game. Every time Jeff took a shot, Bradley prayed he’d miss. When the bell rang, he hurried back to class ahead of Jeff and the other boys.
He sat at his desk—last seat, last row—and took out one of his books; it didn’t matter which one. He stared at it very intently as Jeff sat down next to him.
Well, maybe it was okay for Jeff to have other friends, he decided as he turned a page. I’m still his best friend. That’s what he told the principal. Jeff wouldn’t
lie to the principal! Maybe I’ll get to play basketball with his new friends, too, like Carla said.
“Jeff,” he whispered.
He wanted to tell Jeff that everything was still okay, that they could still be friends.
“Hey, Jeff!”
Jeff didn’t look up from his work.
Jeff works hard, Bradley realized. That’s how he gets all the gold stars.
He had to wait until after school.
“Hey, Jeff,” he said as soon as the bell rang.
Jeff picked up his books and started out the door.
Bradley hurried after him. “Jeff!” he called. “Wait up.”
Jeff stopped and slowly turned around.
Bradley suddenly felt very nervous. “Do you want to do our homework together?” he asked. “I can come over to your house if you want, or you can come over to mine. We can use my book. See.” He showed Jeff his book.
“Hey, out of our way, Chalkers,” said Robbie as he and Brian pushed past him.
“Chicken Chalkers,” said Brian.
“Yeah, Chalkers,” said Jeff.
Bradley walked away. He heard Jeff and his new friends laughing behind him.
But when he got home, his own friends were very glad to see him.
“We’re so glad you’re home,” said Ronnie. “We missed you. We’re glad you didn’t go over to Jeff’s house.”
“You’re our best friend,” said Bartholomew.
“Hooray for Bradley!” shouted the wooden hippopotamus. “Hip … hip …”
“Hooray!” yelled all the other animals.
“Hip … hip …”
“Hooray!”
“Hip … hip …” said the hippo one last time.
“Hooray!”
“Let’s play a game,” said the donkey.
“What do you want to play?” asked Ronnie.
“Anything but basketball,” said Bartholomew. “I hate basketball.”
“Basketball is a stupid game,” Ronnie agreed.
“It’s the worst game in the world,” said the hippopotamus.
“Why would anybody want to play basketball?” laughed the ivory donkey.
All the other animals laughed too.
19.
Everything returned to normal.
Bradley scribbled, cut up bits of paper, and taped things together. He hated everyone and everyone hated him. That was the way he liked it.
He shuddered whenever he remembered that he actually had almost done his homework. He couldn’t imagine anything more horrible than that!
And he was glad Jeff wasn’t his friend anymore. He realized he was better off without friends. In fact, he never was friends with Jeff! I was just pretending to be his friend.
He decided he’d never pretend to be anybody’s friend again.
Jeff was normal now too. That was what he told Carla. He walked into her office and announced, “I don’t need any help anymore. I have eight friends now. We play basketball every recess and lunch, and I’m the best player.”
“Good for you, Jeff,” said Carla. “I’m very proud of you.”
“How many friends have you made?” he asked.
“I don’t keep score,” said Carla.
“I’ve made eight,” said Jeff.
“I’ve always considered quality to be more important than quantity when it comes to friendship,” said Carla.
“Eight,” Jeff repeated. “And I’m not friends with Bradley anymore either.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why? I’m not. I hate him. In fact”—he looked around the room—“I gave him a black eye!” He quickly glanced at Carla to see if she knew he was lying, then looked away.
“What happened?” Carla asked.
“Oh, you know, he wouldn’t stop bothering me. I kept telling him to get lost, but he kept hanging around. I never liked him. No one does. Then he said to me, ‘Give me a dollar or I’ll spit on you!’ Well, no one threatens me and gets away with it! I don’t take that from nobody. So he tried to hit me, but I ducked, then punched his face in. I didn’t want to do it, but I had no choice.”
That was the short version. Jeff had told that same story to his eight new friends, but he usually made it much longer.
“So I don’t think I need to see a counselor anymore,” he said, “since I have eight friends.”
“Okay, Jeff, if that’s how you feel,” said Carla.
“They might think I’m weird or something,” he explained.
“Well, we can’t have them thinking that.”
“Does that mean I can go?”
Carla nodded. “But anytime you want to talk again, please feel free to come and see me.” She smiled. “Even if you just feel like getting out of class for a while.”
He left, glad to be out of there.
On his way back to class, he walked past the girls’ bathroom. He stopped, shook his head, and chuckled to himself. It seemed like it was such a long time ago when he accidentally went in there. I used to be such a jerk, he thought.
He smiled a strange smile. He stretched his mouth so wide, it was hard to tell whether it was a smile or a frown.
20.
Colleen walked into Carla’s office.
“I just came to tell you I can’t talk to you,” she said.
“Your parents didn’t sign the form?”
“No, and they won’t either! You know what they said? They said it was a waste of money for the school to hire you. They said you should get married and have your own children before you start telling other parents how they should raise theirs.”
Carla shrugged.
“They said if I have any problems I should talk to them. But when I try to talk to them, they don’t listen.” She sighed. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Jeff has lots of other friends now besides Bradley.”
“Eight,” said Carla with a smile.
“So now I can invite Jeff to my birthday party without having to invite Bradley. I can invite one of Jeff’s other friends. Andy’s nice. I couldn’t invite Bradley even if I wanted to, because Melinda is my best friend, except for Lori, and she gave Bradley a black eye.”
Colleen quickly covered her mouth with her hand, then slowly took it away. “That was supposed to be a secret,” she said. “Melinda doesn’t want anybody to know.”
“I never repeat anything anyone tells me,” Carla assured her.
“Good,” said Colleen. “Melinda would kill me.”
“Have you asked Jeff to your party yet?”
“No, not yet, but I will. I know he likes me because he always says hello to me when I say hello to him. But then I always get so scared. I never know what to say next. I wish you could help me. Why did my parents say such bad things about you? They don’t even know you.”
“Your parents are just trying to do what’s best for you,” said Carla. “A lot of people think counselors don’t belong in schools.” She shrugged. “I guess they’re afraid I might fill your head with all kinds of crazy ideas.”
21.
“Hello, Bradley,” said Carla. “It’s a pleasure to see you today. I appreciate your coming to see me.” She held out her hand.
“I punched myself in the eye,” he said as he walked past her. He didn’t want her thinking someone else gave it to him. “I’m the only one who can beat me up.”
“Did it hurt?” she asked.
“No,” he said, sitting at the round table. “Nobody can hurt me. Not even me.”
She sat across from him. She was wearing a light blue shirt with yellow mice running all over it. The shirt was the same color as her eyes. The mice were the same color as her hair.
“I wanted to hit somebody,” he explained as he stared at her shirt. “But if I hit another kid, I would have gotten in trouble, so I hit myself.”
“Why’d you want to hit somebody?”
“Because I hate him.”
“Who?”
“Everybody.”
“Is that why you hit yourself
? Do you hate yourself?”
He didn’t answer. He thought it was another one of her trick questions.
“Do you like yourself?” she asked.
He didn’t trust that question either.
“Maybe the reason you say you don’t like anybody else is because you really don’t like yourself.”
“I like myself,” he said. “You’re the one I don’t like!”
“Tell me some things about yourself that you like.”
He glared at her.
“I like you,” she said. “I think you have lots of good qualities. But I want you to tell me things you like about yourself.”
“I can’t talk anymore,” he said.
“Why not?”
“I’m sick. The doctor said I can’t talk. The more I talk, the sicker I get.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is! I’ve probably said too much already, and it’s your fault. I’ll probably throw up.”
Carla nodded. “Don’t say another word,” she said quietly. “We’ll just sit together in silence. Sometimes people can learn a lot about each other just by sitting together in silence.” She locked her mouth shut, then opened it to swallow the key.
“You’re weird,” said Bradley.
“A lot of people tell me that,” she admitted, then put her finger to her lips.
They sat together in silence. Bradley shifted in his chair. His eyes darted restlessly around the room. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back, then brought his hands out in front of him and folded them. Then he unfolded them.
He didn’t like sitting together in silence. He thought she was probably learning too much about him. “I can probably talk a little bit,” he said.
“No, I don’t want you to get sick,” said Carla. “I like you too much.”
“The doctor says I’m supposed to talk a little, just not a lot.”
“All right. Shall we talk about school?”
“No! The doctor says if I talk about school, I’ll die!”
Carla frowned. “That’s a problem,” she said. “See, as part of my job, I’m supposed to help you do better in school. But how can I help you if we can’t even talk about it?”
