The Stupendous Dodgeball Fiasco

by Janice Repka

  “Young man,” Mr. Bellow said, “that bad attitude is not amusing.” Phillip looked at the vice-principal. He looked at the principal. Mr. Bellow was right—they did not look amused.

  “Veola,” said Mr. Race, “you have my sympathies, taking in a boy who is constantly stirring up trouble.”

  Phillip’s eyes stung. He squeezed them shut and tried to think of something else, anything else. Mr. Race has a big face. Mr. Race has braces on his face. Mr. Race ate a shoelace. Now disappear from this place, without a trace. He opened his eyes. The vice-principal was still there.

  “A boy who refuses to even try to get along,” added Mr. Bellow.

  “I’m not an unfair man,” Mr. Race said. “I realize that children have poor judgment and frequently make mistakes.”

  “Frequently,” agreed Mr. Bellow. “I don’t need to remind you of the fiasco Phillip’s mother created with her poor judgment.”

  Mr. Race ran his tongue across his braces.

  Aunt Veola looked away and stared at a spot on the wall.

  “We’re willing to put this whole misunderstanding with Phillip behind us,” Mr. Race said.

  “Veola,” said Mr. Bellow, “if you will see to it that the lawsuit is withdrawn, the school is willing to forgive and forget.”

  Aunt Veola paused as if she was thinking it over. Mr. Bellow had an extra-large smile, the kind you see on a chimpanzee when he spreads the flaps of his lips to show his teeth. Phillip imagined Mr. Bellow swinging from the conference room light fixture with a bunch of rotted bananas under one of his hairy arms.

  The beat of the clock took over the room until, at last, Aunt Veola spoke.

  “Has Phillip broken any school rules?” she asked.

  “No, I suppose, technically, he hasn’t,” Mr. Race admitted. “Nonetheless, when you file a lawsuit against your own school, it does violate the spirit of—

  “Has he…” asked Aunt Veola, “broken any laws?”

  “Of course not,” Mr. Bellow bellowed. “But what kind of a kid sues his own school?”

  “Phillip, my nephew, does, and as long as he’s broken no school rules or law, I believe this is his decision to make.”

  Mr. Bellow pressed his apelike knuckles against the table and stood up. He leaned toward Aunt Veola. His brow wrinkled and his eyebrows twisted toward his nose. “Things could turn out badly for the boy,” he warned.

  Aunt Veola propped her own five-foot frame up against the other side of the table and matched him stare for stare. “Are you making a threat?” she demanded.

  “I’m making a promise,” Mr. Bellow answered. “I promise that unless you drop this ridiculous lawsuit, every man, woman, and child in Hardingtown will hear about it and will know that you and your family are antidodgeball fanatics.”

  “Veola,” said Mr. Race, “you have always been a respected member of this community. Ask yourself if you want to risk it all for a stubborn child.”

  “Vice-principal Race,” Aunt Veola replied, “you can learn a lot from a stubborn child.” She left the office so quickly that Phillip had a hard time keeping up. He hadn’t seen anyone that angry since Perzi the Talking Parrot had given away the secret of the vanishing bird trick during a performance.

  “B.B. Tyson isn’t the only bully in Hardingtown Middle School,” Aunt Veola muttered as they got into her car.

  Phillip wasn’t sure what Aunt Veola meant. The whole meeting had been strange. It was like they knew something he didn’t.

  She flipped open her glove compartment and fished out her driving gloves.

  Mr. Bellow had said, “I don’t need to remind you of the fiasco Phillip’s mother created with her poor judgment.”

  Fiasco? Phillip had heard that word before. But where? Then he remembered. It was in the snack bar, when Sam was telling him about the worst fiasco in Hardingtown dodgeball history—the Dodgeball Cheerleader Fiasco.

  “The girl,” Phillip said as Aunt Veola turned her ignition key, “the base cheerleader. She was my mom, wasn’t she?”

  The engine made a grinding sound. It died. Aunt Veola suddenly looked like she had, too. “I’m so sorry, Phillip.” Her voice was strained. “I should have said something.”

  “It’s okay,” said Phillip. “Sam told me about it.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. I should have said something when Stinky threw the ball.”

  “You saw him do it?” asked Phillip.

  Aunt Veola looked away.

  “Of course you did,” said Phillip, thinking out loud. “You were the scorekeeper. If anyone had been paying attention, it would have been you.”

  “I should have told them it was Stinky’s fault, not Matilda’s. I was afraid if I said anything I would be an outcast. But the guilt from not saying anything was worse. I felt like I was covered in dirt.” Phillip wondered if that was why Aunt Veola was always cleaning her hands and wiping things with disinfectant.

  “Then Matilda ran away and disappeared,” she said. “Most people still think it was her fault, that she was showing off by trying to hold up too many cheerleaders.”

  Aunt Veola removed a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her steering wheel. She tried the ignition again and the engine leaped to life. Her voice was so shaky, it made the car seem like it was wobbling, too.

  “They say that nobody told on Stinky, but they’re wrong. Felix did. He told the principal what he saw. He made the mistake of forgetting to take off his mascot uniform when he did it. You can’t blame the principal for not believing him. It’s hard for people to take someone seriously when he’s dressed like a giant dodgeball with a stuffed hedgehog hanging off.”

  Phillip silently agreed.

  “But Felix tried, God bless him,” she continued. “I could never forgive myself for not going with him. But Felix forgave me. He loved me anyway. Forgive and forget, that’s his motto. I guess the forgiving is worth the forgetting.”

  Aunt Veola’s face softened, and her driving became smoother.

  “I’m glad you told me,” Phillip said. He wanted to ask Aunt Veola for more details about the fiasco. Where did his mother go when she disappeared? Whatever happened to Stinky? But he figured maybe he should be quiet and try not to further upset Aunt Veola. He had caused enough of a commotion for one day.

  When the circus comes to town, local people are often hired to do odd jobs. To ensure they get paid before the circus pulls up stakes, local authorities used to remove a nut from the wagon wheel of the circus office. Consequently, a “nut,” in circus lingo, is a term for the daily cost of operating a show. A “nut,” in the vocabulary of public school children, is a person who does something that seems insane, like suing your uncle’s boss.

  Phillip knew that Uncle Felix would be home after dinner. Aunt Veola said it was Phillip’s job to tell Uncle Felix about his lawsuit. He should have told him earlier, but talking to Uncle Felix always seemed to make things worse, so he had kept putting it off.

  Aunt Veola had been wonderfully understanding about the lawsuit, even supportive. But Uncle Felix might react differently. After all, he worked at the dodgeball factory. How would Uncle Felix feel about his nephew suing his employer?

  When they pulled up to the house, Uncle Felix was sitting on the front stoop. A worried expression came across Aunt Veola’s face.

  “Tell me you came home early because you’re sick or something,” she said.

  “It was something,” he answered.

  “Fired again?” she asked.

  “Now, Veola, it wasn’t my fault.”

  “They don’t fire people for nothing,” she said. She pushed past him and went into the house.

  “It really wasn’t my fault,” Uncle Felix said to Phillip. “You believe me, right?”

  “I do believe you,” Phillip said. I should tell him about the lawsuit now, he thought. Whatever the reason they told him he was fired, the real reason was the lawsuit.

  As if on cue, Uncle Felix asked, “Do you know why I got fired?”
/>   Phillip nodded.

  “It was that missing screw. If it wasn’t for that missing screw, the door to the seaming machine would have stayed shut. You can’t let dust get into the machinery. Who would be dumb enough to leave the door open?”

  “It wasn’t the screw,” Phillip said. “It was me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I sued the dodgeball factory. I didn’t want Aunt Veola to have to pay for my new glasses.”

  “You did what?” Uncle Felix asked.

  “I didn’t think about what would happen to you. They fired you because I sued the factory.”

  For the first time since he had met Uncle Felix, the man was rendered momentarily speechless. Then a sly smile spread across his face.

  “I’ll be doggoned,” Uncle Felix said.

  “I apologize for getting you fired,” said Phillip.

  “You didn’t get me fired,” Uncle Felix said. He motioned for Phillip to move closer. “It wasn’t the screw either. That was something I cooked up for Veola so she wouldn’t hit me with a frying pan. The truth is, I forgot—” He looked around nervously and lowered his voice. “I forgot to put the lid on the toilet seat down after I used it.”

  “They can fire you for that?”

  “Actually the company president fired me for using her private bathroom instead of the employees’ restroom. Forgetting to put the seat down is how I got caught.”

  Phillip didn’t know what to say.

  “That’s the third time this year I’ve lost my job for forgetting to do something.” Listening to Uncle Felix talk about his troubles was kind of weird. No grown-up had ever confided in Phillip before. He wanted to help. Uncle Felix was a good guy, just forgetful. He wasn’t that different from Phillip’s dad. Both were clownish. Except his dad had found a way to turn it into a career. Sam was right—that was kind of cool.

  But the important thing right now was to help Uncle Felix find a new job. Phillip went straight to Sam, who agreed that he would ask around. Within a few days, with Sam’s help, Uncle Felix had a new job as a cargo loader at the Hardingtown Airport.

  Sam also gave Phillip an update on what was happening in the lawsuit. There was grim news.

  “I got a call from an old friend who works at the trophy shop,” Sam explained as they sat at their usual table. “Seems the lawyers for the dodgeball factory are poking around asking questions about you.”

  “Why?” asked Phillip.

  “They’re digging up dirt for the hearing, most likely,” said Sam.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “These lawyers are out to win, and they may stoop to taking cheap shots if they think it will help.”

  “How?” Phillip asked.

  “It’s like this,” explained Sam. “If they ask you questions about your parents and circus life, it may fluster you, get you upset, and make you look foolish.”

  “It won’t bother me,” said Phillip, nibbling a ketchupy chip. “Everybody already knows I came from the circus.”

  “Do they know your mother is the fat lady? Do they know you have a morbid fear of custard pie? Do they know your father is a clown, and that he does a gag wearing a baby diaper and bottle?”

  Phillip felt his ears flush. “Can’t you stop them?”

  “I can try,” said Sam. “But the bottom line is that you have a decision to make. Are you willing to continue with your lawsuit even if it all comes out?”

  Phillip imagined a banner hanging across Hardingtown Middle School that said:

  PHILLIP EDWARD COLESLAW IS A PIE-FEARING,

  ELEPHANT-POOP-SCOOPER WITH A DIAPER-WEARING

  CLOWN DAD AND A FAT-LADY MOM.

  “I made you promise not to quit,” Sam said, “but I don’t want you to get hurt worse. So I’m releasing you from your promise. If you want to drop the lawsuit rather than have the whole school find out about your family, if you’re afraid to go on, I’ll understand.”

  Phillip leaned back in his chair. Its legs made a squeaky sound against the floor. How had things gotten this out of hand? All he wanted was to be a regular kid. Maybe he should drop the lawsuit. Mr. Race said it was wrong for a kid to sue his own school. Maybe he was right.

  “What do you think I should do?” Phillip asked Sam.

  “It’s your decision,” Sam said.

  Phillip thought about what would happen if he quit. He thought about going back to school and having to play dodgeball again. He thought about watching the kids getting beaned and bumped and slammed and whacked and hearing them being called sissies if they didn’t pretend to enjoy it. He thought about Stinky throwing the dodgeball at his mother and of all the people who saw but were too scared to do anything about it. If he did nothing, would he, like Aunt Veola, spend the rest of his life regretting it? Phillip took a deep breath.

  “I don’t want to drop the lawsuit,” he said, “and I’m not afraid to go on.”

  The Windy Van Hooten Circus once put up posters announcing that a genuine unicorn would be performing in their show. One morning, the animal arrived in a large wooden crate. Phillip, expecting a one-horned horse, was disappointed to find a one-horned goat. His mom explained that the word unicorn simply means “one horn.” So the circus wasn’t really lying when it said it had a genuine unicorn.

  Phillip wasn’t really lying to Sam when he told him he wasn’t afraid to continue the lawsuit. At the time, he hadn’t been scared. But now it was Monday, he was at school, and B.B. Tyson was coming down the hall.

  Phillip slammed his locker shut so he could hurry off, but the sleeve of his shirt got caught in the door. B.B. was headed straight for him. He twisted and pulled to yank the cloth free. But it was too late. He was trapped. Phillip hid his stuck arm behind his back and tried to look casual.

  “I need to talk to you,” B.B. said. She was so close, he could smell her mint toothpaste. “Somewhere private.”

  “No,” said Phillip, discreetly trying to tug his sleeve free. “Here.”

  B.B. shot him a funny look. The hallway crowds had thinned and the remaining kids were heading toward their classrooms.

  “Okay,” she said. “It’s about your lawsuit. I want you to know how I feel about it.

  Phillip glanced around uncomfortably. She was going to clobber him, then and there. He didn’t need the whole school to see it. On the other hand, she wasn’t likely to beat him to death in front of witnesses.

  “I’ve never seen my dad so angry,” she said, “and Vice-principal Race, too. All because of some nobody kid. It was so…so…”

  B.B. raised her arm, and Phillip readied himself for the blow.

  “So cool,” she said. “I mean, here I am thinking you’re completely spineless because you don’t like to play dodgeball. Then you pick a fight with the whole school, with the whole town.”

  She flipped a strand of hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. “There’s hope for you yet.”

  Phillip’s mouth was still hanging open as he watched her zip off to class. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his free shoulder.

  “Phillip, geez, where you been?” It was Shawn, breathing heavy like he’d been running. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “What?” asked Phillip, still half dazed from his encounter with B.B.

  “You have to swear not to let anyone know I told you.”

  “Okay,” said Phillip.

  “Swear it,” demanded Shawn.

  “I swear,” said Phillip, crossing his heart with his free hand.

  “A bunch of kids were talking. Their parents work at the dodgeball factory. Next dodgeball game, they’re going to try to put you out of commission.”

  “How many kids?” Phillip asked.

  “More than you can handle,” said Shawn. “If you want my advice, the only way you’re not going to get hurt in gym class is if you make sure you get hurt before gym class. Catch my drift?”

  Phillip caught it. He was suggesting Phillip fake an injury to get out of gym class.
Phillip decided he would take Shawn’s advice. He would bandage a finger. When Coach asked him what had happened, he would say he had slammed his locker door on himself. It wouldn’t be a complete lie.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  He watched as Shawn and the other kids scurried off to class, leaving him all by himself. Strangely, for the first time since he arrived in Hardingtown, he didn’t feel alone. Shawn was on his side. Even more amazing, B.B. Tyson had chosen not to beat him to death. Phillip felt like things might finally be starting to go his way. Until he remembered his sleeve was still stuck in the locker.

  After an hour and a half of hanging upside down, even the best acrobat will get dizzy and take a break. Just thinking about all the dodgeballs that had whizzed his way since his first dodgeball game made Phillip dizzy. Hadn’t he earned a break, too?

  Coach scarcely cared when Phillip showed his bandaged finger and asked to sit out. Phillip had feared he would have to go to the nurse’s office and get a note. Instead, Coach treated him like an insect not worth swatting

  Phillip climbed to the top of the bleachers like he was ascending a throne. He would be immune to the chaos below. But as soon as he was there and felt the cold, hard wood beneath him, he wondered if he had done the right thing.

  The kids picked teams and went to their respective sides.

  A couple of them glanced up at Phillip. He hoped they understood. Once he’d won the injunction, they’d be safe, too. Until then, he had to save himself, especially with a whole gang after him.

  Coach put the first ball on the line, then the second, and the third. With each ball, Phillip felt his heart beating harder, like the quickening pace of a drum. Coach looked up at Phillip. It felt as if he knew Phillip’s thoughts.

  “B.B.,” Coach yelled, “grab another ball.” The gym was so silent you could hear the sound of her sneakers squeaking across the floor. Coach took the ball and added it to the line.

  “Let the game begin,” he said. He blew his whistle.