Dimples Delight
Dimples Delight
Frieda Wishinsky
with illustrations by
Louise-Andrée Laliberté
Text copyright © 2005 Frieda Wishinsky
Interior illustrations copyright © 2005 Louise-Andrée Laliberté
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
Wishinsky, Frieda
Dimples delight / Frieda Wishinsky; with illustrations by Louise-Andrée Laliberté.
(Orca echoes)
ISBN 1-55143-362-1
1. Teasing--Juvenile fiction. I. Laliberté, Louise-Andrée II. Title. III. Series.
PS8595.I834D54 2005 jC813’.54 C2005-904059-9
First published in the United States: 2005
Library of Congress Control Number: 2005929686
Summary: Lawrence cannot bear Joe’s teasing about his dimples,
but nothing he does will make it stop.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Department of Canadian Heritage’s Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.
Design and layout: Lynn O’Rourke
Orca Book Publishers Orca Book Publishers
Box 5626, Stn. B PO Box 468
Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA
V8R 6S4 98240-0468
www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada
Printed on 50% post-consumer recycled paper,
processed chlorine free using vegetable, low VOC inks.
08 07 06 05 • 4 3 2 1
To Bill:
Without your love and dimples,
this story would never have come to be.
Chapter One
You’re So Cute
On the first day of school, our new teacher, Ms. Parks, spotted me. I smiled at her. Right away, I knew that I had made a mistake.
“Will the boy in the blue sweater with the cute dimples in the second row please stand?” she boomed.
“Cute!” I groaned.
“Young man,” Ms. Parks boomed again, “please stand.”
Everyone’s eyes were on me.
And then a rumbly voice from behind me said with a snicker, “Look at Dimple Boy!”
I knew that voice.
Everyone at school knew that voice.
It was Joe Morse.
“What’s your name?” Ms. Parks asked me.
“Lawrence,” I whispered.
“Speak up. Repeat your name loudly—with confidence,” she said.
“Lawrence,” I said.
“Thank you, Lawrence. You may sit down.”
I sat down. My face burned.
I heard Joe laughing behind me. I turned around.
Joe was drilling holes into his cheeks with his fingers. He stuck out his tongue like he was going to be sick.
I wanted to say something, do something, anything, to make him stop. But what?
Ms. Parks handed out our new math book.
“Write your name in pencil on the inside cover,” she told us.
I wrote my first name. On the first letter of my last name, my pencil point snapped like a twig.
I looked in my pencil case. My new baseball pencil and hot-dog eraser were gone. Eloise! My little sister Eloise always pokes into my stuff.
I looked around the classroom. The pencil sharpener was at the back of the room, past Joe’s desk. The last thing I wanted to do was pass Joe.
“Psst, Stewart,” I said.
My friend Stewart was sitting in the first row. He was drawing pictures of dinosaurs on the back of a notepad. Stewart loves dinosaurs.
Stewart didn’t hear me, but Ms. Parks did.
“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Lawrence?” she barked.
“No,” I stammered.
“Then why aren’t you busy writing?” she asked.
“My pencil broke,” I said.
“Well, go to the back of the room and sharpen it,” she said.
I stood up. My heart thumped. I walked fast.
Just as I thought I’d made it past Joe, I tripped. My head crashed into Lily Malone’s like a rock.
“Ouch!” Lilly screamed.
“Ow!” I groaned.
Ms. Parks rushed to our side.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“No,” said Lilly. “He broke my head.”
“Your head is not broken,” said Ms. Parks. “But go to the office and get an ice pack so you don’t have a bump. You too, Lawrence.”
“I’m fine,” I said, though my head ached.
“Are you sure, Lawrence?” asked Ms. Parks.
“Yes,” I said.
I wasn’t going to show Joe I was hurt. I wasn’t going to give him anything else to tease me about.
“Is this what you tripped on?” Ms. Parks asked, picking up a book.
“Yes,” I said.
Ms. Parks looked inside. “This belongs to you, Joe,” she said. “How did it land on the floor?”
“I must have dropped it,” said Joe. His voice was so sweet you could have eaten it on cereal.
Ms. Parks did not look impressed.
“Put it away,” she said, handing Joe his book.
I walked to my seat. My head really hurt. But it hurt even more to know that Joe dropped the book on purpose. He enjoyed every minute of it.
Chapter Two
Forget About Him
At recess, Stewart and I played catch. I forgot about Joe for a few minutes.
Someone tapped me hard on my shoulder.
I spun around.
It was Joe.
“How’s Dimples’ little boo-boo?” he asked.
“Stop calling me that,” I said.
“Now don’t get so excited,” he sneered. “It makes your face look like a tomato—a tomato with worm holes.”
“Cut it out,” I said, trying to stay cool. My face was burning again.
Joe laughed. “Come on, Dimple Boy. Don’t cry.” He blasted his words across the playground like a trumpet. Three boys stopped playing ball and laughed.
“Stop it!” I screamed.
“Relax, Dimple Boy,” said Joe, “or your tomato face might explode. That would be gross!”
The three boys playing ball laughed louder. “Bye-bye, Dimple Boy,” Joe called. He ran off to play with his friend Andrew.
I wanted to run, but I couldn’t move my feet. I wanted to hide from the sound of those three boys laughing, but my feet wouldn’t let me. All I could see was Joe’s face.
Stewart yanked my sleeve. “Come on, Lawrence,” he said. “Forget about him. He’s a creep. Let’s play ball.”
“You’re right,” I said. “He is a creep.”
I followed Stewart to a quiet spot at the back of the playground. We tossed a ball back and forth. I tried to forget about Joe. By the end of recess, I almost had.
But at lunch, Joe was back. He leaned over my table. His stringy black hair almost dipped into my strawberry yogurt.
“Ugh!” he said, pointing to the yogurt. “Look at Dimples’ girly food. It’s all pink and gooey.”
I ignored him, but the yogurt began to taste sour. I couldn’t eat it. I put down my spoon.
“Hey,” said Stewart. “Can I have your yogurt if you don’t want it? I love yogurt. All my mom ever
makes me are peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches on white bread.”
“Sure,” I said, handing Stewart the yogurt.
He wolfed it down in four spoonfuls. It’s amazing how much Stewart can eat and still stay as skinny as a toothpick.
That’s what he calls himself, The Amazing Food-Gobbling Toothpick.
“Don’t let Joe bother you,” Stewart mumbled between bites of his chocolate donut.
“But he does bother me. I hate it when he teases me,” I said.
“He knows you hate it. You should see the happy look on his face. If you ignore him, he’ll stop bugging you.”
“How do I ignore him?” I asked Stewart.
”Watch me,” said Stewart. “Call me a name.”
“Hey, Toothpick.”
Stewart didn’t look at me. He just kept eating.
“Now call me a mean and nasty name. Something really bad,” said Stewart.
“Hey, Slobber Mouth. Four Eyes. Pig Face,” I said.
Stewart finished his donut and opened his milk carton as if he were deaf.
“That’s good,” he said. “Try a few more. Even meaner.”
“Puke Head. Drool Face. Fat Lips,” I said.
“Great,” said Stewart. “Now I’ll call you names so when Joe does, you’ll be ready.”
Stewart called me Bonzo Brain, Stupid Head, Dog Breath and twenty other disgusting names.
I ignored every one.
“See, it’s not so hard,” said Stewart.
“You’re right,“ I said. “I can do it! I will do it! Starting tomorrow!”
Chapter Three
Wherever You Go
Today I will ignore Joe, I told myself all the way to school the next day.
Today, no matter what mean, gross names Joe calls me, I will be cold like an iceberg, deaf like a mummy, silent like a grave. Today I will do it!
I strode into class like a cowboy, ready to face the bad guys.
I looked around. No sign of Joe or Andrew.
I bent down to toss my schoolbag in my cubby. Something greasy touched my head. It was Joe. His hair dangled above me like black spaghetti.
He laughed.
“How wide are those dimples?” he said.
I ignored him.
“Come on, Andrew,” said Joe. “Let’s measure Lawrence’s dimples.”
Joe pulled a ruler out of his schoolbag.
“Voila!” he said, aiming his ruler at me like a sword.
I stood up and, cool as an iceberg, walked to my seat.
Joe was right behind me.
“Scared?” he said, waving his ruler in my face.
Deaf as a mummy, I said nothing.
“Dimple Boy is a chicken,” sang Joe.
Silent as a grave, I did not answer.
Joe began clucking and circling me. He flapped his arms like a crazy chicken. Andrew clucked and flapped too.
I was still deaf and silent, but the cool was going. Fast. No matter how hard I tried not to let it, my face was burning.
The more they clucked and circled, the redder I got.
Lilly and Frank, who sat beside Joe, began to laugh. Sweat poured down my face like hot sauce.
I didn’t know how much more I could take.
Ms. Parks walked in. The clucking and flapping stopped.
For the next two hours I was safe.
Then it was recess.
As soon as the bell rang, Stewart dashed over to me.
“Follow me. Run!” Stewart whispered.
Stewart and I ran as fast as we could to the back of the schoolyard. We crawled under some bushes near a big shady maple.
We dropped to the ground.
“Stay here,” said Stewart. “I’ll see if we’re safe.”
Stewart crawled out to peek. He came back.
“No sign of them,” he said.
“Phew,” I said.
“Want to hear a dinosaur joke?” asked Stewart.
“Sure,” I said.
“Why did the dinosaur paint his toenails ten different colors?”
“I don’t know.”
“To hide in the jelly-bean jar,” said Stewart. He began to laugh.
I laughed too. I laughed harder and louder than I’d ever laughed at any dinosaur joke before. Soon Stewart and I were rolling on the ground, laughing.
“What’s the matter with Dimples? Has he got ants in his pants?” said a voice.
Stewart and I stopped rolling and laughing.
Joe and Andrew crawled through the bushes.
“Hiding, Dimples?” asked Joe.
“From us?” asked Andrew.
We didn’t answer.
“Don’t try to hide, Dimples. Wherever you go, we’ll find you,” said Joe.
“We’ll find you on top of the highest mountain. We’ll find you at the bottom of the deepest ocean. We’ll find you on the moon. We’ll find you in... in...” said Andrew.
“We’ll find you in your own room,” said Joe, in a deep gangster voice.
Just then the school bell rang. Recess was over.
Stewart and I stood up.
We began to walk.
Joe and Andrew followed us.
We kept walking.
Joe and Andrew kept following.
We walked down the yard.
We walked up the stairs.
We walked into our classroom.
I sat in my seat and opened my math book.
Ms. Parks began the lesson. No matter how hard I tried to think about division, all I could think of was Joe and Andrew.
I had been cool. I had been deaf. I had been silent. I had ignored all the rotten, mean, disgusting things they had said.
But it hadn’t done any good.
Chapter Four
Phone
That night the phone rang.
“Hi, cutie,” said a high voice.
“Who is this?” I shouted.
“Want a kiss?” said the voice, cracking a little. A screechy kiss hissed through the phone.
I slammed it down.
Joe had said he would find me even in my room. And he had.
The phone rang again. I let it ring. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Please answer the phone,” my mother called from the basement.
“I’m sure it’s a wrong number,” I called back. The phone rang again.
“It might be important. I can’t go to the phone now,” said my mother. “Eloise stuck a wad of toilet paper down the toilet. It’s running over.”
The phone rang again. And again. And again. Joe wasn’t going to stop.
“Lawrence!” called my mother.
I had no choice. I picked up the phone.
“Hello,” I said.
No one answered. I could hear someone breathing.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
The breathing got louder. Creepier.
“What do you want?” I shouted.
“You,” said the voice, laughing so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my ear.
I hung up.
Joe was trying to drive me crazy. Well, he wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let him. The next time he called, I’d tell him off but good.
“Who was it?” called my mom.
“Wrong number,” I said.
The phone rang again.
Okay. Here goes. I took a long, deep breath. I picked up the phone. “Hello,” I said calmly.
Someone coughed into the phone.
“I know it’s you, you big creep,” I said and slammed the phone down.
The phone rang again.
I picked it up.
“Lawrence, what’s the matter with you?” said the voice.
The voice did not belong to Joe.
It belonged to my Aunt Molly.
“Did you just call?” I asked.
“Yes, I did, and you called me a creep. How could you? How could you?”
“But Aunt Molly,” I said.
It was too late. She hung up. She called later and told my
mother. Mom was angry with me.
“But Mom, please listen,” I said.
At last she did.
“Oh,” she said. “I see. Well, ignore Joe.”
“I have,” I said. “But it’s not helping.”
“Give it a little more time. Believe me. He’ll grow tired of bugging you.”
Yeah, sure. Maybe when I’m ninety, I thought, but not now. Now he’s having too much fun.
Chapter Five
The Rash
When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I thought of was Joe. I didn’t want to think about him. But there he was. His face hung over me like a black cloud. His screechy voice rang in my ear like a fire bell.
I blinked and shook my head to get his voice and face out of my mind.
It helped a little, but what helped more was the clock.
Nuts! It was 8:30! I had fifteen minutes to get out of the house and dash to school.
“Breakfast, Lawrence,” my mother called.
“In a minute,” I answered.
I leaped into my jeans and pulled a T-shirt over my head.
I ran to the bathroom and brushed my teeth and combed my hair. Then I glanced in the mirror.
”Yikes!” I shrieked.
“What’s the matter?” called my mom. She dashed into the bathroom.
I couldn’t talk. I could just point to my face.
There, where my dimples usually are, were two large dots, two fire-engine-red dots.
“Eloise!” I gasped. “How could she? How did she?”
“Eloise,” said my mother, “come here, please.” Eloise hopped into the bathroom in her bunny pajamas.
She looked at me and giggled.
“Eloise,” said my mother, “you are never to draw on anyone’s face.”
“But Lawrence looks cute like that,” said Eloise. “And I didn’t wake him up. He was asleep the whole time.”
“Lawrence does not think he looks cute like that,” said Mom.” Faces are not for drawing. Use paper next time ”
“I didn’t have any paper,” Eloise said. She giggled again.
“Ask for paper,” said Mom.
“I couldn’t,” said Eloise. “You were sleeping.”
“Mom!” I said. “I’m late. I have to get this stuff off my face.”
Mom handed me a wet washcloth with soap on it.
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