Elvis and the Underdogs

by Jenny Lee

  “Mom, hand me a mirror, please.” She reluctantly handed over a tiny mirror, and let’s just say, even though it was a teeny tiny mirror, I could still see that me wearing the helmet was pretty much the worst thing ever.

  Remember how I said I tend to faint a lot? Well, it usually starts with me feeling warm, and then the room spins, and then whammo, I crumple to the floor, but I always wake up, like, a second or two later good as new. The reason I’m telling you this now is because as I stared at my horrific reflection in the mirror, I started to get warm, the room began to spin, and before I could sit down again, I fainted.

  I guess my mom caught me, because when I opened my eyes two seconds later, I was in my mom’s arms and I was sitting on her lap. I looked up at her and without missing a beat said, “Mom, I will not wear this helmet.” I struggled to get out of her lap as I realized it’s hard to make serious demands while sitting in my mom’s lap like a little kid. “So either I get a therapy dog or we’re going to have to roll the dice with whatever might happen if I have another episode. I mean, there’s a chance I’ll never have another one, right, Dr. Helen? Maybe it was just a fluke?”

  Dr. Helen admitted that sometimes children do have a seizure and it never happens again. But normally, there is a second one, and most often than not, they usually occur in clusters, which was why for the immediate future we needed to be extra cautious.

  “Mom, I’m telling you right now that if you make me wear this thing when I leave the house, I will take it off as soon as I get outside. So unless you’re prepared to spend every waking moment playing helmet police, it’s not going to happen.”

  You would think if a kid faints from stress that his mom would just give in to anything he wants, and that’s what would happen if I was normal, but since I faint a few times a week, my whole family is used to it. So basically what I’m saying is I can’t play hardball with my mom, because, well, I rarely win, but this time I wasn’t backing down. My mom took a long look at me, and then she let out a big sigh.

  “I will not say no to the dog right now. But I won’t say yes either. I’m saying I will think about it. But in the meantime, you have to wear the helmet. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”

  “While you’re thinking about the dog, I will wear the helmet, but I won’t go to school. Or leave the house. Or leave my room. Do you think I could get a minifridge in my room?”

  “Fine, then no dog.”

  “That’s not really negotiating, Mom.”

  “I know it’s not, and you know why? Because I’m not negotiating. You know why? Because I’m the mom, and I don’t have to.”

  Dr. Helen quickly sensed that this could take all day, and she had plenty of other crazy patients to deal with, so she intervened.

  “Well, then it’s settled. I’ll look into getting you more information and pricing on the dog.”

  It was dark out when we left the hospital. I had been there for a week. I made my mom pull her car up, and Dino held a sheet up to block everyone from seeing me. I was pretty much near tears by the time we got to the door. Dino squatted down so we were almost face-to-face.

  “Little man, I’m your friend and I’m not going to lie to you, that is one ugly helmet on your head. But here’s some words that I hope will give you a little peace and make you feel better.”

  I sniffled and nodded, because I knew what he was going to say.

  “That which does not kill you makes you stronger. Blah blah blah. You know how many times I’ve had to watch Steel Magnolias with my mom? Plenty,” I said.

  “Meow, little man. You are one cranky cat. Look, I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say at least when you wear that helmet, you can’t get stuffed into a locker at school, because you probably wouldn’t fit because your head is so big now. Heck, I don’t even think they can put your head in the toilet with that thing on, so that’s a positive.”

  I was so shocked by what he said—mainly because it was the painful truth, but also because I couldn’t help myself—I started to laugh and cry at the same time. Dino gently knocked on my helmet and said, “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.” Yes, he too was quoting the movie Steel Magnolias. “I’ve watched that movie with my mom a lot too. Now make a break for the car! Run!”

  I was just about to run when I heard my mom yell out, “On the count of three, smile!” We both turned and what do you know, there was my mom taking a picture of us for her stupid scrapbook. The flash was bright and made me see spots. When I ran to the car, I tripped and scraped my knee. But I didn’t care about my scraped knee. I had much bigger problems to face now.

  3

  When Principal Kriesky saw me sitting outside his office with my giant green helmet on, he stopped short and stared. Before he could get out a single word, my mom told me to wait for her while she talked to him alone in his office. I sat on the bench outside his office and pulled out a book about dogs my dad had given me the night before when he tucked me into bed.

  “Does this mean I can get the dog?” I asked when he handed it to me.

  “Like your mom said, we’re going to look into it. I did read an article about it online, and it’s pretty amazing what these service dogs can do.” I took that as a really good sign.

  While I sat reading, I also tried to listen to my mom in Principal Kriesky’s office. I actually really like Principal Kriesky. He’s tough, but I would categorize him under the heading of bark-worse-than-bite. I think he has a really difficult job. He is the head honcho of a school that goes from kindergarten all the way to eighth grade. (Though the junior high kids, grades six through eight, were in a different building.) That’s a lot of kids to deal with on a daily basis, and this is his fifteenth year, so he’s got that nothing-surprises-me demeanor. Plus he drives a really cool turquoise 1964 Mustang with a thick black racing stripe down the side. It’s just so unexpected to see him show up in that car, because in every other way he seems like a typical boring adult.

  It wasn’t long before Principal Kriesky walked out of his office with my mom. This time when he looked at me, I could tell he was trying to keep his expression normal because he knew my mom was watching him.

  “Good morning, Benjamin,” he said.

  “Hi, Principal Kriesky.”

  “I’m pleased you’re out of the hospital and feeling better.”

  “Not as pleased as I am. So, Principal Kriesky, if I had a therapy service dog, would I be allowed to bring him to school?”

  “Benji . . .,” my mom said, using her polite but firm voice.

  “Mom, I’m just asking in case.”

  “Well, Benjamin, of course if you had a service dog for medical purposes, it would be allowed in the school, because state law mandates that. Can you spell mandates and use it in a sentence?”

  Did I forget to mention that Principal Kriesky is a spelling-bee nut? He won the state championship when he was a kid but lost in the seventh round of the national competition on the word “tonsorial.” He spelled it T-O-N-S-O-R-E-A-L as opposed to T-O-N-S-O-R-I-A-L. (In case you are wondering, the word means having to do with barbering your hair.) Anyway, he’s obsessed with it now, and every year he pins his hopes on some kid making it further than him. In fifteen years of being principal, he’s only had one kid make it to the national competition, Leroy Fencebetter. Leroy lost in the first round on his very first word, spoliator. Rumor has it that Principal Kriesky cried when it happened.

  “Mandate. M-A-N-D-A-T-E. Mandate.” I figured it was best to humor him. “I must wear this helmet against my will because of the mandate by my doctor and my mom.”

  I could tell Principal Kriesky wanted to smile, but he looked over at my mom, who wasn’t smiling, and he took his cue from her. Principal Kriesky has known my mom for a long time, so he knows as well as anyone that her bite is actually worse than her bark.

  “Very good spelling, Benjamin. Now here’s a hall pass. You should run along to class.”

  When my mom and I stepped out of the f
ront office, I was relieved the hallway was empty. “Okay, bye, Mom.” I half waved, but there was no way she was letting me off that easily. She pulled me back and gave me a big hug.

  “It’s going to be better than you think.”

  “I think it’s going to be pretty bad, Mom.”

  “I know. But it’s still not going to be as bad as you think it is.”

  “Well, here goes nothing. Or maybe I should say here goes everything.”

  I headed down the hallway toward Ms. Blaine’s classroom. I didn’t turn around, because I knew my mom was watching me go, trying not to look too worried, even though she was. If I turned around, she would give me her best fake smile. I didn’t think I had it in me to give her a fake smile back.

  As soon as I rounded the corner of the hallway, I ducked into the boys’ bathroom. I was shaking. I just didn’t want to walk into class and have everyone stare at me and start laughing. What made matters worse was that my mom and I had cleaned out her car, and we couldn’t find my titanium lug nut. Now I didn’t even have my lucky charm to calm me down. I was really upset about it, but I kept telling her that it was no big deal.

  Locking myself in the far stall, I looked at the late pass Principal Kriesky had given me. It was 8:51 a.m. And the time he’d written down was 8:50 a.m. Assembly would be over in nine minutes. I wondered if there was any way I could change the time on his note so I could delay the inevitable for just a little while longer. I looked through my book bag for a pen.

  I stared at the numbers. 8:50. Hmmm, not much wiggle room there. The only thing I could do was change the zero into the number eight, which wouldn’t buy that much extra time. Well, eight minutes was better than nothing, as far as I was concerned. I put my backpack on the floor, sat on the toilet, and hung out.

  The bell rang, and soon the bathroom was filled with the sounds of boys doing boy bathroom stuff (I’ll spare you the gory details). It was now nine o’clock, and I had to head to class. It was time to face the music. Why not start in the lion’s den? If I survived the boys’ bathroom, I could survive anywhere. I stood up, grabbed my backpack, and then turned and glanced back at the toilet. Dino was right. My helmet was way too big to get shoved into a toilet.

  I put my hand on the lever and unlocked the door. Then I froze. I couldn’t move. The twins always tell me I’m a big waffle—well, technically they call me a butt-waffle or waffle-head, but whatever. They always say I could never be the quarterback of a football team, because you have to make a decision out on the field in a half second or less, and do it with guys charging at you who want to remove your head from your shoulders. So what did it say for me that I couldn’t even make a decision when I was all by myself with no screaming fans, no time clock, and no guys charging at me? I don’t know how it’s possible to feel brave and scared at the exact same time, but that’s exactly what I felt like. Suddenly, while I was still frozen, the stall door was kicked open. It slammed right into me and knocked me down.

  I didn’t know for sure who’d kicked the door open, but I had a pretty good guess. I was at least 90 percent sure it was Billy Thompson. The door slammed into my hand when Billy kicked it. A shooting pain went up my arm. I fell backward and screamed.

  I guess all Billy saw was my giant green helmet, because he screamed in surprise too. I just yelled, “Ahhhh!”

  But Billy yelled, “Alien! Monster! Don’t take me!”

  This caused complete panic in the boys’ bathroom. Everyone in the entire school knows who Billy Thompson is, and when Billy Thompson sounds scared and yells, people listen. All I heard was screaming and stall doors slamming. More than a few boys called out for their moms. Pickles McGrew, who was in the next stall, even ran out of the bathroom with his pants down. (His real name isn’t Pickles, by the way. It’s his nickname, because it’s the thing he loves the most. After Billy Thompson put all those crackers in his locker, a small group of people started calling him Crackers instead of Pickles, but it didn’t take.) Apparently Pickles was so scared, he ran down the hall, straight into Mr. Trenton, the fifth-grade teacher, who happened to be holding the winning entry of the fifth-grade solar system mobile competition. Grace Park had just won first prize. She’s pretty much won every competition since preschool. Well, Grace Park’s solar system never had a chance. I heard only two of Jupiter’s moons came out unscathed. I’m just glad that Grace Park wasn’t there to see it. She was absent because she was first-chair cello in a string quartet, and they were out of town playing in the regional string quartet competition, where she was no doubt winning first place in that too.

  The good news is that when I fell and my head slammed up against the wall, it didn’t hurt. (Giant ugly helmet one, wall zero.) The bad news is that I thought my wrist was broken, because it was already throbbing.

  When Billy jumped back in surprise after seeing my helmet, I guess he fell backward too and hit his head on the wall behind him. When I came out, he was sitting on the floor outside the stall, rubbing the back of his head.

  “Hey, Billy, you okay?” I asked. I may despise the guy, but I can relate to anyone who’s down. I held out my good hand, to see if he wanted some help up off the floor. And for a split second, I wondered if when he accepted it, we’d immediately put all the bad blood behind us and he’d adopt me as his faithful sidekick from here on out. But instead of taking my hand, he actually spit on it, and then he kicked me in the shin. I stumbled, flew through the stall door again, and landed on the floor, narrowly missing the toilet. I was too stunned to speak. Where was this kid raised? In a barn?

  “Why are you so mean?” The words just came out of my mouth, and I was pretty surprised to hear them myself.

  “Why are you so weak?” Billy replied. “Oh, I know, so you can go home and cry to your mommy.”

  I was already down. Billy had already kicked me and spit on me, so I really didn’t have much to lose. Plus I was wearing a safety helmet. So I continued.

  “I’m not weak. I’m sickly, and that’s not totally my fault. But being a jerk is definitely . . .”

  Billy got up on his feet and stood over me. I shut my mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut and prepared for the pummeling I was probably about to receive. Note to self: trying to reason with a jerk can actually make the jerk jerkier. Luckily, someone came into the bathroom before Billy could prove my new theory.

  Apparently, Grady the janitor had volunteered to check for alien monsters in the boys’ bathroom to calm everyone down. He found Billy standing over me.

  “What’s going on in here?” Grady asked.

  Billy answered before I could. “This helmet head freaked out and fell on his face. I was just about to help him up.”

  I just stared up at Billy. How could he lie so easily? Grady was no fool, and he knew better than to trust anything coming out of Billy’s mouth, so he looked down at me for confirmation.

  Suddenly I was faced with one of those moments of truth you come up against as a kid. I could either tell the truth and hope for justice, or I could keep my mouth shut and hope that if I didn’t poke the bear and make it even angrier, I’d get out of fourth grade at some point. Alive.

  “I g-guess I-I-I fell down. Somehow . . .,” I stammered.

  You know that expression you hear about how the truth hurts? Well, I figured maybe it wasn’t the best day to get hurt any more than I already was.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, help the kid up,” Grady said.

  “You help him up. I’m late for class.”

  Billy turned and walked out of the bathroom. Grady watched him go, shaking his head and muttering something that I didn’t catch, but I’m sure it was something you’re not supposed to say about a kid. I held up my one good hand.

  “Hey, Grady. Do you think you can help me up? I hurt my arm.”

  “Did Billy do this to you? That kid is no good with a capital N and a capital G.” He grabbed my good hand and pulled me up on my feet.

  “Kinda. It was partly an accident, because Billy freaked out w
hen he saw my helmet. But then he kicked me afterward. So much for the saying, Don’t kick a man when he’s down.”

  “Yup, that sounds about right.”

  “I just don’t understand why he’s so mean.”

  Grady patted my shoulder. “There are always a few really mean kids out there. So what’s up with that helmet thing you’re wearing? Is it to protect you from Billy?”

  That was actually a pretty funny idea. Maybe I should start a business selling antibully helmets. “No, it’s a long story.”

  “We’ve all got one.” Grady nodded.

  By then Principal Kriesky had been alerted, and I heard someone outside in the hallway yell out, “Principal Kriesky, over here!” Two seconds later he walked into the bathroom. Taking one look at my arm, which was already swelling up around the wrist, he made a face and shook his head. I knew exactly what he was feeling: complete and utter dread. Now he had to call my mom and tell her to meet us at the emergency room.

  Grady volunteered to drive me, but Principal Kriesky said he thought it would be better if he did it, mainly because Grady has a pacemaker. I think he was nervous my mom’s reaction would be the end of him. I’d never been in Principal Kriesky’s car before. I was pretty excited and asked to ride in the front seat.

  “Benji, I’m going to try to get you back into your mother’s care without further incident, so let’s err on the side of safety, shall we?” he answered.

  We pulled into the emergency room parking lot, and as we approached, I saw my mom’s car parked right in front.

  “Hey, that looks like my mom’s car. I wonder if she’s . . .”

  I wasn’t able to finish my sentence, because suddenly she was running alongside the car.

  “What happened? What about our talk this morning? You assured me Benji would be fine, and less than a half hour later I get a call from the helmet people saying that the helmet has been activated? Did he have another seizure? What are you doing just sitting there? Answer me. Is my baby okay?”