Text and illustrations copyright © 2013 by Michael Fry
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For Kim
It had to be you
Chapter 1
I was stuffed in my locker.
Again.
It wasn’t so bad. Lockers are a lot
roomier than you’d think.
Especially when you’re as short as
I am. I might be the shortest twelve-
year-old on the planet. Which would be
cool if they kept world records for that
sort of thing. But they don’t. I checked.
Mom says to me all the time,
“Nicholas, you’ll grow eventually.”
Eventually is a Mom word that means
between now and never.
Mom’s just trying to cheer me up. Which
is fine. What’s not fine is when she calls me
Nicholas. My name is Nick. Nicholas sounds like
some kid with head lice on Memaw’s favorite
show, Dr. Holmes.
Memaw doesn’t think I’m short. She says,
“You’re just stuck that way ’cause when you were
four you were so cute we stacked bricks on your
head so you’d never grow up. You’ll get unstuck.
Eventually.”
Memaw makes up a lot of stuff that almost
makes sense but not quite.
The fact is, I’m short. Which is exactly why
Roy stuffed me in my locker in the first place.
I fit.
Roy has issues. At least that’s what Dr.
Daniels, the school counselor, says. The only
issue I see is: Roy is a mutant troll.
Unlike me, Dr. Daniels
doesn’t have troll-vision. She
says Roy is just a regular
kid who feels powerless and
gets control by controlling
me. She’s full of beans. Roy
is just mean. Some kids are,
you know.
Even though I felt safe in
my locker, it wasn’t exactly
comfortable. My butt had
fallen asleep. Living-dead
asleep. It’s called zombie butt. And as everyone
knows, zombie butt leads to log legs. You can
sort of move with log legs.
But not really.
I knew if I didn’t get out of that locker soon, I
wasn’t getting out at all. And I really didn’t want
to have to wait for a certain someone to come
along to help me out.
Chapter 2
It was the janitor, Mr. Dupree,
staring into my locker. He was the
someone I didn’t want to find me.
Mostly because he’s weird, but also
because he would make me go see
Dr. Daniels in the office.
Mr. Dupree isn’t weird like all
grown-ups are weird. He’s way weirder. I think
he’s a hippie. Like Memaw when she was young.
Hippies are dinosaur versions of skaters.
After he opened the locker, Mr. Dupree stood
there for a few seconds. Then he said, “You seem
to like it in there.”
I shrugged. The shrug is my go-to move when
anything I say may be used against me later.
“Because I find you in there a lot,” he said.
I shrugged again.
“You want to tell me how you got in there?”
I shrugged a third time.
“Shrug, you’re not going to tell me? Or shrug,
you don’t know how you got in there?”
I shrugged a fourth time. A new world record!
Woo-hoo!
Mr. Dupree wasn’t impressed. “Then I guess
it must have been Emily.”
I guess I must have looked surprised because
Middle School a long time.”
Emily isn’t real. At least, I don’t think she’s
real. And she’s definitely not the ghost of Emily
Dickinson, the poet. Kids invented her years ago
to explain all the weird stuff that happens at
school.
Like, why do the last five minutes of class
always seem to take forever? It’s Emily (she
holds back the minute hand). Why does the
cafeteria serve beets (which no kid has ever
eaten in the history of the universe)? Emily
again (she’s a beet freak). Who sets up the toilet
paper dispensers so that only one teeny-tiny
sheet comes out at a time? That’s right—Emily
(sometimes she’s just mean).
Emily gets around. But she didn’t shove
me into my locker. And I was not about to tell
anyone who did.
Mr. Dupree shook his head, then reached in and
pulled me out of the locker. That’s when we both
noticed the huge rip down the side of my shirt.
“Emily again?” Mr. Dupree asked.
No shrug this time. You can’t do five shrugs.
Five shrugs, and adults go from thinking
you’re messing with them to knowing you’re
messing with them.
I shook my head no.
The shirt must have ripped
when Roy stuffed me into the
locker. Mom’s going to notice.
Shrugs and head-shakes don’t work
on Mom. I’ll have to come up with
some excuse. It can’t be something
lame like the dog did it or shirt-
ripping aliens tried to abduct me
at recess. And I can’t blame it on
Emily. It’s not her style.
I tucked in my shirt to hide
the rip as we started toward the office. Luckily,
homeroom had already started, so the halls were
empty. You never want to do the Wimp Walk to
the office in front of an audience.
I like to keep my mouth shut during these
walks. Anything I say is always used against me.
Unfortunately, that day Mr. Dupree wanted
to chat. Out of the blue, he asked me if I’d ever
been to Borneo.
I shook my head no.
Mr. Dupree told me
Borneo is an island in the
Pacific Ocean. It’s mostly
rain forests and snakes.
Big snakes. Thirty-foot-
long snakes. Lots of big,
thirty-foot-long, kid-eating snakes.
Mr. Dupree said he was once in Borneo under
deep cover—like he was some sort of spy or some-
thing. Mr. Dupree doesn’t look like any spy I’ve
ever seen. Spies are cool. Mr. Dupree is not cool.
Mr. Dupree was helping stop some tribe from
being bullied by another tribe that was stealing
their pigs. He said the other tribe wanted the
pigs to feed to the
snakes so the snakes wouldn’t
eat them, because . . .
. . . they were tiny little hobbit people.
Mr. Dupree said the hobbit people were fierce
warriors. They hunted in packs and took down
elephants.
To feed to the snakes.
I did a report on elephants once. They
only live in Africa and India. I turned to Mr.
Dupree and said, “There aren’t any elephants in
Borneo.”
“There aren’t.” He smiled. “Anymore.”
He continued with his story. He explained
that every day, a couple of hobbit people would
come to steal the pigs, and he would beat them
back. But one night all the hobbit people came.
“I could ninja maybe three or four of them,
but after that it was gonna be Dupree-on-a-
Stick,” he said.
Even though I didn’t believe a word he was
saying, I had to give Mr. Dupree props for telling
a good story.
“What happened next?” I asked.
“What does every bully fear?”
“I dunno,” I said.
“They fear losing control.”
I was confused.
afraid. If they get afraid, they run away.”
“How do you make them lose control?” I asked.
“You take it from them.”
“How?”
Mr. Dupree smiled as he leaned down and got
right in my face. He said, “You bring the crazy.”
And then—right there in the middle of the
hallway—Mr. Dupree brought the crazy.
I’d never seen a grown-up freak out like that.
You’d think I would be scared, but it was really
sort of awesome.
And it did the trick. “Bringing the crazy
scared the hobbit people away. The tribe kept
their pigs,” explained Mr. Dupree.
I guess the hobbit people kept getting eaten
by snakes. Mr. Dupree didn’t say.
“Wait,” I said. “Acting like an insane person
will somehow keep me from getting stuffed in my
locker?”
Mr. Dupree said, “If you scare yourself, you’ll
probably scare them. You can do anything crazy
or scary. The scarier the better. But never pee
your pants. That’s just gross.”
I nodded, even though I didn’t believe
“bringing the crazy” would work on a bully. An
arm fart concert wouldn’t stop Roy.
I said, “None of that stuff really happened,
did it?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“You’re a janitor, not a spy.”
“‘ There are more things in heaven and earth,
Horatio , than are dreamt of in your philosophy . ’ ”
“Um . . . my name is Nick.”
“Nick, maybe it’s true and maybe it isn’t. But
just because I might be lying, doesn’t mean I’m
not telling the truth.”
Huh? How can a lie be the truth?
We arrived at the office. Dr. Daniels wasn’t
there. Mr. Dupree told me to sit and wait. He
started to leave, then stopped and pulled a sock
out of his pocket and put it on his hand.
I told you he was weird.
Chapter 3
After Mr. Dupree
left, I looked around
and realized I was
alone. Mrs. Korn, the
office secretary who
everyone says is an
alien, must have been on her break.
Which meant I was unsupervised. I had the
whole office to myself, including the PA system.
Just as I was about to get into
even more trouble, she showed up.
She is Becky Harrison, the prettiest
girl in school. And my girlfriend.
Sort of.
A while back, Memaw and I
watched this Science Channel
thing about how there might be lots and lots
of universes with lots and lots of versions of
everyone walking around, so that across all the
universes every possible thing happens at every
possible moment.
I figure in at least one of those multiple
universes Becky Harrison is my girlfriend.
I love science.
Becky was delivering attendance sheets. She
didn’t see me at first. Which was good. It gave
me time to activate my cloaking device.
When I decloaked, Becky was gone. Which
was a relief. I’m pretty sure if the Becky in
this universe knew I existed, the Becky in
the alternate universe would stop being my
girlfriend.
Finally, Dr. Daniels
showed up. She wasn’t
alone. She had a
freakishly tall girl,
and a husky kid (that’s
Memaw’s word for
fat) dressed up like a
pretend police boy.
Before I could ask the husky kid if he got the
belt and badge out of a cereal box, Dr. Daniels
marched us all into her office.
Dr. Daniels and I go way back. She used to be
my counselor at Buzz Aldrin Elementary School.
She moved up to Emily Dickinson the same year
I did.
I’m pretty sure she’s stalking me.
Her office looks the same as the one back in
grade school. Both of them were decorated by
unicorns. It’s all bright and shiny and filled with
role-play puppets and not-so-helpful brochures.
After I was done throwing up a little in my
mouth, Dr. Daniels walked in with our files.
She dropped each one on
her desk as she said our
names. “Nick Ramsey.”
THUNK! “Molly Wibble.”
THUNK! “Karl Mooney.”
TH-THUNK! Then she looked at us in turn and
said, “I presume you know each other.”
I’d seen Molly before. She’s kinda hard to
miss.
Whenever kids call her stuff like “The Molly
Green Giant,” she unleashes her withering stare
of pity. It’s
like getting
blasted with
two laser
beams of
shame.
She’s known all over school as The Stare
Master.
I’d seen Karl around, too. Karl’s one of those
kids you avoid eye contact with because he’ll
think you want to be friends. Then he’ll latch on
to you with his superhuman loser grip.
Karl is also kind of an OFFline hacker. He
likes to mess around with old electronic toys and
rewire them.
Dr. Daniels sat on the edge of her desk and
looked at me from the BFF Pose they taught her
at counselor school. She said, “Nick, this is the
eighth time this year you’ve been stuffed in a
locker. Any idea how you got there?”
I shrugged.
She turned to Karl.
“This is the ninth time
you’ve been found hanging
by your shorts from a coat
hook. What happened?”
Karl shrugged.
She turned to Molly.
“This is the seventh time you’ve been found
sprawled in the hallway with your shoes tied
&nb
sp; together.”
“Any clue as to who might have done it?”
asked Dr. Daniels.
Molly shrugged.
Three out of three shrugs! Go, team!
Dr. Daniels shook her head and sighed. Then
she said, “I know you’re being bullied. I just don’t
know who’s doing it. What I do know is that
bullies go after isolated kids kids who are not
part of a group. And you three are definitely not
part of any group.”
She nodded. “You all suffer from peer
allergies.”
That didn’t make
any sense to me. I
wasn’t allergic to other
kids. I just didn’t like
them very much.
Karl raised his
hand. “Does that mean we have to live in a
bubble for the rest of our lives?”
Dr. Daniels said no. Karl looked really
disappointed.
“You three need a place to belong,” said Dr.
Daniels.
Karl raised his hand again. “But I belong in
Safety Patrol.”
Dr. Daniels closed her eyes. “Karl, you’re the
only member of Safety Patrol.”
That’s when I realized where I’d seen that
belt and badge before. I’d seen it on Karl during
fire drills as he pointed at exits everyone could
see for themselves.
Dr. Daniels continued, “Other kids find places
to belong. Like sports, student government,
band, or chorus. But not you guys. I don’t
understand. Why?”
That’s easy, I thought: BECAUSE THEY’RE
ALL LAME!