The Bully

by Paul Langan

  Just behind Amberlynn was a heavy-set boy who seemed to nod at Darrell at the beginning of class. When the teacher, Ms. Webb, took attendance, Darrell learned the boy’s name was Harold Davis. But during the rest of the class, the boy did not look in his direction. Darrell figured he must have imagined that Harold was trying to be friendly. Once Ms. Webb started teaching, the class passed pretty quickly. Darrell was glad he was able to understand the day’s lesson. But like lunch, the algebra class ended without a single person bothering to talk to him.

  After algebra, Darrell went to his last class, the one he feared most—gym class. Darrell knew he looked small enough with regular clothes on, but in gym shorts and a T-shirt, he felt ridiculous. He went into the locker room and got ready to change into the gym clothes he brought from home. He could not stand having other kids see him shirt-less, so he waited until most of them had gone before he changed. When he came out of the locker room, he sat with the other kids and waited for Mr. Dooling, the teacher, to take attendance. Mr. Dooling was a tall balding white man who looked to be in his midfifties. He looked like he spent his entire teaching career in the Bluford gymnasium.

  “Listen up, freshmen,” Mr. Dooling instructed. “Before we get started, I want to make a few announcements. First of all, the fall season is almost over. This means winter sports teams will start soon. I encourage you all to join a winter sport—indoor track, basketball, or wrestling. Sports help you build strength, discipline, and confidence,” he said. A few people in the class snickered. Darrell thought about each of the sports and decided there was no way he would ever try to play a sport at Bluford. Not in a million years.

  Then it happened again. Mr. Dooling told the class that they had a new student from Philadelphia and asked him to stand up. Embarrassed, Darrell stood, the only kid forced to do so in the entire gym class.

  “Man, that boy looks like he should join the wrestling team. He could be the practice dummy,” someone whispered nearby. A few kids laughed.

  “He looks like a chicken. Look at them chicken legs,” said another voice. When he turned to face them, everyone just looked at him with straight faces.

  “Welcome to Bluford, Darrell,” Mr. Dooling said. The teacher was too far away to hear the kids’ comments.

  “Thanks,” Darrell said, sitting down. “Thanks a lot,” he mumbled.

  The gym assignment was to jog outside, loop around the track four times, and run back in. “If you lke this run,” Mr. Dooling said, “go out for winter track.”

  Darrell followed the crowd outside and began to jog. About halfway around the track, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

  “Hey, chicken legs. You’re in sorry shape.”

  He turned back to see Tyray and Rodney running side by side. Darrell nearly stumbled over his own feet when he saw them. He felt like a cat being chased by a pack of wild dogs. But for him, there was no tree to climb. Fortunately, Mr. Dooling was jogging along with the class, and he was not far away. Darrell decided to stick with Mr. Dooling’s pace, no matter how fast he ran. “Boy, you are going to hate Bluford,” Tyray said. Then he started to pass Darrell. As he went by, he stepped on the heel of Darrell’s shoe, almost causing him to trip. “Hey, man, watch where you’re stepping,” he added as he sprinted ahead.

  Darrell’s spirits were never lower. He did not know how he was going to survive the whole year this way. A year without friends would be bad enough. But a year with Tyray would be unbearable. At the end of gym, Darrell changed as quickly as possible. He wanted to get out of the locker room before Tyray bumped into him again. When the bell finally rang, Darrell moved quickly through the hallways and out of Bluford. Thank God the day is over, he thought.

  Darrell decided to go home using the same route he took to school, through a back street instead of the main street. As he walked behind the supermarket, he noticed Amberlynn walking with a friend not far ahead of him. The other girl was Jamee Wills, also in his English class. Neither girl seemed to pay any attention to him. They were busy talking about their day and their plans for the evening. After a minute, Jamee turned off in another direction, and Amberlynn was alone. Immediately she walked over to join him.

  Darrell looked at her as she approached him. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black, and her skin was the color of milk chocolate. He noticed how her body curved gracefully in her jeans. She looks like a woman, and I look like a ten-year-old, he thought. Darrell knew there was no way a girl like her would ever be his girlfriend.

  “So, Darrell, how was your first day at Bluford?” she asked warmly. “I’ve been here forever, and I had a miserable day. I got two teachers mad at me because I forgot something I was supposed to turn in today. I dropped spaghetti on my shirt at lunchtime, and this guy I like dissed me for this other girl. But that’s my problem. So how about you?”

  Darrell was amazed at how friendly she was after ignoring him all day. It made sense, though, he thought. Around her friends, she was embarrassed to admit she knew him. But now that no one was around, she could act nice to him again. That’s just the way things were if you were not popular.

  “My day was . . . ” Darrell paused. He was going to say what he usually said— “okay”—but then he stopped himself. “Bad. It was really bad. It was ten times worse than I thought it would be. I hate that school so much, I am about to walk back to Philly right now,” he said.

  “Really?” she replied, seeming shocked. “You must have some bad teachers. Mitchell is good, though. Who do you have for—”

  “It’s not the teachers,” he said sharply. “They’re all fine.”

  “Then what’s the matter?” she asked.

  “The kids. I hate them,” Darrell said bluntly. “There’s this guy, Tyray Hobbs, and he wants to kill me. And the rest of the school treats me like I’m invisible—”

  “Darrell, you just got here! Give it a chance,” Amberlynn said. “I mean you made one friend already.”

  “Who?” Darrell asked.

  “Me, dummy!” Amberlynn laughed. “Gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

  Darrell watched her go up a side street. She had a blue and gold warm-up jacket with the words Bluford Cheerleaders on the back. He could hardly take his eyes off her. “Yeah, right,” he muttered to himself. She could not even look at him during school, so how would she ever be his friend?

  When Darrell arrived home, he was hungry—he had eaten very little of his lunch. He could not find anything in the refrigerator, so he decided to have a bowl of the ice cream his mother had him buy at the supermarket. That was the one good thing about being skinny, Darrell thought. He could eat whatever he wanted and never get fat.

  As he scooped the ice cream into his bowl, he heard a funny sound outside the door. It sounded like crying, a cat maybe. Darrell listened more intently.

  It was a kid crying.

  Darrell opened the door and saw his cousin Nate sitting on the back steps sobbing.

  “What’s wrong, Nate?” he asked. The boy shrugged his shoulders. Darrell noticed Nate was holding something tightly in his hand. “Whatcha got there?”

  “Nothin’,” Nate said, sniffling and wiping his eyes. Pieces of what he was clutching dropped to the ground. Darrell could see small wheels and the red hood of a tiny race car.

  “What happened to your car?” Darrell asked.

  “My brother broke it!” Nate sobbed. “He broke my favorite car! I hate him!”

  “Why’d he do that?”

  “He did it ’cause he knew it was my favorite,” Nate said.

  “Go tell your mom and dad,” Darrell insisted. He felt anger surging inside him just thinking about what Travis did.

  “I can’t tell on him,” Nate said, picking up the pieces of his car. “He’ll get worse if I tell on him. He always does.” A tear rolled down Nate’s face. He grabbed the last piece of the broken car and silently went inside.

  Darrell knew how Nate felt. His little cousin was in the same situation he was in. Shaking his head, Darrell retur
ned to his kitchen. “It shouldn’t be this way,” he said out loud. He wanted to stop what was happening to Nate and to himself. Darrell knew that this was just the way things were for people like him and Nate. But he was sick of it. And he was angry.

  He went into his bedroom and looked in the mirror. Staring back at him was a short, skinny, scared kid. He took off his shirt and flexed his arms like the body-builders he had seen on TV.

  There was not one ripple of muscle on his body. He was so skinny, he could see the ridges along his sides where his ribs were. “Oh, man,” he groaned in frustration. Then he remembered what Mr. Dooling said about sports, about how they help build strength and confidence.

  “Yeah, but Mr. Dooling never looked like me,” he mumbled as he looked at his thin shoulders. No team would ever take him. Then he remembered what Malik always said to do—push-ups. Back home, Darrell had done them every once in a while, but he never did them regularly. Yet now things were different, he thought. Back home he had friends. Now he had kids laughing at him, and Tyray was after him. I gotta do something, Darrell thought. He was desperate. He was tired of being laughed at.

  Darrell got on his hands and toes and did a push-up. And another. He kept doing them until his chest trembled and his arms burned. Then he heard his mother come home. He got up and looked in the mirror again.>

  Darrell glared at his naked chest. It did not look any different. He yanked a clean T-shirt out of a drawer and put it on. Nothing he did would matter, he thought bitterly. Like Nate, he was trapped. At least his cousin would grow up one day to be a big kid. But not Darrell. He would never be big. He promised himself he would do more push-ups tomorrow. Just then, his mother walked into his room.

  “How was school, baby?” she asked.

  “It was fine, Mom,” he replied. He did not want to admit to her that he spent his entire first day alone. That would only add to her worries.

  “I picked up some Chinese food from this restaurant near the office,” she said. “Let’s eat, and you can tell me all about what happened today.” He followed her into the kitchen. She had ordered his favorite, sweet and sour chicken.

  “I remember my first day of high school,” she recalled as they sat down to eat. “I couldn’t stop talking about it. I talked so much to your grandma that she fell asleep listening to me! So tell me about your day.”

  “Oh, not much happened, Mom. The teachers are okay. Mr. Mitchell, he teaches English. He’s cool,” Darrell said.

  “Did you find someone nice to have lunch with? I know it’s hard to find people to eat with when you’re new, and it feels awful to eat alone,” she said with concern.

  “Yeah, I found somebody,” Darrell said.

  “Who?”

  “Oh, some guy from my English class. He’s pretty nice.”

  “See?” Mom replied, smiling. “Didn’t I tell you you’d find a nice friend? And you were so worried. I told you things would be all right.”

  “Yeah,” Darrell mumbled. He used to tell his mother everything that happened at school, but he stopped doing that when things got embarrassing. He liked having her think everything was okay, although it made him feel even more alone. At least one person doesn’t think I’m pathetic, he thought. Even back in Philadelphia, he did not tell her the truth about all the times Malik fought his battles.

  “My day was pretty good too,” Mom said, smiling. “Everybody was friendly and helpful. I feel like I already fit in, and it’s only my first day.”

  “That’s good, Mom.” He was glad she did not have a day like his, but he felt even more miserable because his mother had such an easy time on her first day. What’s wrong with me? he thought. He wished she would hate California and decide to move back to Philadelphia tomorrow. Or better yet, right now.

  Darrell finished dinner, cleaned the dishes, went to his room, and closed the door. He did a few more push-ups, but his arms were tired. His mother must have noticed that he was not being himself because she came into his room a few minutes later.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Darrell?” she asked. “I know this move isn’t easy for you.”

  “Mom, I’m fine.”

  “Well, if you need to talk about something, you don’t have to talk to me. You can always go to Uncle Jason,” she said.

  There’s no way I would ever speak to that man about anything, Darrell thought. “I know, Mom.”

  “Jason is another reason I moved us here. I think it is good to have a man around, and Jason has always wanted to be closer to you. Besides, he seems so good with his sons, I thought having him around might make it easier . . . especially if you ever wanted to talk to a man about man stuff.”

  Darrell felt sick. Every time his uncle looked a him, Darrell could tell he was sizing him up, judging him. Even worse, Darrell knew he did not measure up in his uncle’s eyes. And he knew Uncle Jason had no idea what was happening with his own boys. He was so busy teaching them to be tough that he did not notice one of them was getting hurt. He taught Travis that strength was a way to force others to do what you want, and he taught Nate that strength meant not telling others when you needed help. Both sounded like bad lessons to Darrell. I don’t need that man’s help, he thought. And I don’t want it.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he said. “Maybe I’ll talk to him.”

  “Good,” she sighed, looking relieved. “Now, can you do me a favor? I’ve got this coupon for oranges at the supermarket, and it expires today. Do you think you could run down there and pick up a bag? I’d go, but my feet are tired.”

  “Sure, Mom,” Darrell said. Lugging ten pounds of oranges might help build muscles, he thought. He grabbed the coupon and some money and headed out the door. The street was pretty empty. It was a good time to head to the store because most people were inside eating dinner. An hour or two from now, Darrell thought, the older kids will be hanging out in the streets. Some will be looking for trouble.

  But not yet, he hoped. A nervous chill ran down Darrell’s back as he hurried down the street.

  The supermarket was much different than when he met Amberlynn. The lines were short, and it took him only a few minutes to make his purchase. Hoisting the bag on his shoulder, Darrell left the store and headed home. He had walked about a block when he saw three kids jogging across the street towards him. As they got closer, he realized the one in the middle was Tyray. Darrell’s stomach sank, and his chest started to pound. He wanted to drop the oranges right there and sprint home.

  “Hey, Darrell Mercer,” Tyray said as they stepped onto the curb.

  Darrell kept walking. He hoped if he got close enough to home, they’d leave him alone.

  But Tyray and his friends moved in front of Darrell and stopped, blocking his path. “I’m talking to you, fool,” Tyray said, jabbing his index finger into Darrell’s forehead, snapping his head back. “Don’t act like you don’t hear me!”

  “I’m in a hurry. I gotta get home,”

  Darrell mumbled.

  “Hear that?” Tyray glanced over to his friends. “The boy says he’s in a hurry. He’s gotta get home to his momma,” Tyray said in a mocking tone. “Man, you ain’t nothin’ but a little punk.” Tyray spat as he spoke. Droplets of spit landed on Darrell’s cheek. He was so scared he could barely talk.

  “Please, man. I gotta go home,” Darrell said, almost whimpering.

  “I think poor Darrell’s going to cry,” Tyray replied, putting his hands to his own eyes, pretending to wipe away tears. His friends chuckled. Then Tyray sniffled as if he were crying. “Mom, I hate the kids in this neighborhood,” he said, bending his knees so he was as short as Darrell. “Everybody picks on me, Mommy.” Tyray’s voice became high-pitched, as if he were imitating a young child. Then he heaved his chest and made several loud sobbing noises. Even his face twisted into a false display of sadness and hurt. Tyray’s friends laughed so hard they could barely stand.

  Rage boiled within Darrell, so much so that tears welled in his eyes, making him look as if he really was crying.
He hated being this scared. He hated himself for being so small and weak that he could be humiliated just a few blocks from his own house. And he hated Tyray with every cel in his body. But he felt that if he even tried to hit Tyray, he would be beaten to a bloody pulp, that he might never make it home.

  Then Tyray shoved Darrell into one of his friends. That kid shoved him back.

  Tyray yanked Darrell by his shirt and brought his face so close that the two were staring directly into each other’s eyes. Another boy grabbed Darrell’s arms and held them behind his back. “How much cash you got on you, boy?” Tyray asked. “Me and my boys got plans for this evening, and we need some money,” he added, his voice suddenly becoming serious.

  “I got no money on me,” Darrell said. “I spent it all on these oranges.”

  Tyray whipped out a knife and held it up to Darrell’s face.

  Oh no, Darrell thought, he’s gonna kill me. This is the end. I’ve been in California for three days, and I am gonna die right here on the street. He imagined how his mother would have Thanksgiving dinner in two weeks without him, and how sad she would be. He cringed and waited for the knife to rip into his body.

  Tyray stabbed the orange bag, cutting a wide hole in it with the tip of his knife. Oranges dropped out and went rolling in all directions. Then Tyray shoved Darrell to the ground. As he struggled back to his feet, Tyray’s friends began stomping on the oranges, crushing them into a juicy mush on the sidewalk. When Darrell saw what they were doing, he rushed to get to the fruit before the boys did. But they outnumbered him. It quickly became a game for them, stepping on the oranges before Darrell could pick them up.

  The frantic struggle ended when Tyray grabbed Darrell’s shirt and pushed him against a parked car. Darrell was trapped.

  “Next time you better have cash for me, hear? Tomorrow morning, I’ll be waiting right in front of the supermarket. You better be there,” Tyray said. He crushed one more orange and then went back across the street. His friends followed him.

  Darrell dried the tears from his eyes. He had never been more frightened in his entire life.