Elvis and the Underdogs (16 page)

“Elvis, I know what it means. I was making a joke. Forget it.”

“Look, I know this Billy chap was giving you difficulties before, but things are different now. He may be tough, but trust me, I'm tough too. Especially when I'm hungry. Now, start walking.”

“Fine. But who died and made you king of the world?”

“Didn't you hear Taisy? I'm the best fuzziest face in da whole wide world.”

I hadn't eaten in the cafeteria
since the first week of school this year, so I forgot how loud it could get. After I waited in line for a hot lunch and used my emergency sneaker money (my mom always makes me put a twenty-dollar bill in my sneaker) to buy chicken-fried steak—five for Elvis, one for me—lunch was already half over, and some of the tables were empty. So I took my tray and sat down at an empty table over by the far wall.

“Well, no wonder you don't have anyone in your pack. You don't even try to be social. Why not go sit at one of the tables with kids?”

I explained to Elvis that he might know a lot of stuff, but he didn't know anything about the school cafeteria. He didn't know that for someone like me, it's filled with rejection. I actually started school one week after everyone else, because I had an ear infection that gave me vertigo so I couldn't get out of bed without falling down. By the time I got there, I didn't know how lunchtime worked in the fourth grade. Basically, you can't sit at a table unless you're invited. I made that mistake on my first day, and it wasn't pretty. No one let me sit at their table, mainly because where you sit in the lunchroom is all about status, and I had none. It's like a nice neighborhood where you don't want to get that one neighbor who puts up some puny little house smack in the middle of all these super-nice mansions. I just didn't fit in. Third grade wasn't like this, but in fourth grade you were considered an “upperclassman” with the fifth graders. And then in sixth grade you moved to the junior high building and had to start all over at the bottom of the heap.

I don't know why I even bothered explaining it to Elvis, because he wasn't paying attention to anything I said. He just watched me cut up his chicken-fried steak patties and drooled. He wasn't kidding about those napkins. I mixed the chicken-fried steak with his kibble and then started to eat my own food. A minute later, a group of boys stood right next to me while I ate.

“This is our table,” said Travis, their leader.

“Oh, I'm sorry.”

“Did we say you could sit here at our table?”

“No, you didn't. I'll move.” I stood up and picked up my tray.

“I didn't tell you to move.” Travis took a step toward me. His hair was so long, it covered his eyes. I wondered how he could see. I sat back down.

“We don't need the table now because we're going out to play kickball. But we wanted to tell you that this is our table and you're not allowed to sit here again.”

“Okay, I get it. It's your table.”

Just as Travis was about to turn and leave, up walked Billy Thompson with his gang of thugs. This was the last thing I needed. I could have been eating my lunch peacefully in the library. Instead, the two meanest kids in the school were standing a foot away from me and having a face-off. Billy leaned down and put his face about an inch away from Travis's. Travis was a year older, but Billy was bigger. I sat back, ready to duck. I didn't want to be in the way if Billy started spitting.

“What's going on here, Travis?” Billy glared.

“None of your business, Billy.” Travis tried to stand taller.

“I said what's going on here, Travis?” Billy repeated slowly, leaning in even closer. Travis shrank back.

“Nothing's going on, Billy. He's sitting at my table, and I was just letting him know that's not allowed.”

“So this is your table? I don't see your name on it.” Billy pretended to look all around the table.

Okay, now I was confused. Was Billy Thompson standing up for me? Was he defending my honor?

“Everyone knows it's my table, Billy, so cut it out. Don't tell me you care about this skinny sack of bones and his fat, dumb dog.”

Skinny sack of bones? I had been called a lot of things in my life, but skinny sack of bones had never made the list. And I didn't even want to look at Elvis. There was no way he would take being called fat and dumb lightly. I was mad and scared, but I also found the whole scene kind of exciting. Billy and Travis fighting? This was the best bully matchup in the St. Elmo's Street Elementary School history.

“What's it to you what I care about?” asked Billy. “Why are you so interested in me? Do you want me to come over and play hopscotch at your house after school? I bet you have that big bucket of colored chalk and you draw pictures of rainbows and hearts on your driveway.”

Travis blushed. I knew he regretted ever coming over to the table. I hoped he wouldn't take his humiliation out on me in the future, when Billy wasn't around. The last thing I needed was a new bully on my roster.

“Shut up, Billy. We're out of here. I've got a kickball game to get to.”

“Well, don't let me stop you.”

Travis and his boys walked off, which left me with Billy Thompson and his own gang of thugs, who were now all grinning and high-fiving one another. I guess in the battle of the bullies, their leader had just won. I didn't know what to say. I found the whole thing pretty odd. Billy was being territorial over me, like I was his prize punching bag and Travis couldn't have me.

“What are you staring at?” he asked, glaring at me this time.

“M-m-me? Nothing. I, uh, nothing. Sorry?”

“You should be!”

He slammed his fist so hard on the table, my chicken-fried steak patty flew up an inch off my tray into the air. It caught me off guard, and I think I actually squeaked. Elvis moved into the space between Billy and me. They had a major bully versus dog stare-down contest. This time Billy didn't win. I wouldn't say Elvis won, either. It was more like a draw. Billy just walked away. I breathed a sigh of relief. I guess Elvis was right: Billy wasn't bright, but he wasn't dumb enough to go after me and a giant dog.

Of course, just when I thought I was safe, Billy turned around and left me with some parting words. “So did you hear about the new nerd in school? He's got brain issues just like you. Maybe you two can be weirdo BFFs,” he said, laughing.

“Thanks, but I've already got enough friends.”

“Really? Is that why you're sitting here eating lunch with your fat dog?”

“Look, pick on me all you want, but don't call my dog fat. He's not fat. He's big boned.”

“Whatever, dude.” He laughed again. “How come you're not hiding out in the library eating lunch with your girlfriend the librarian?”

For some reason this comment hit me hard. I was surprised Billy knew about the library. I had always assumed no one even thought about me, so they'd never notice if I ate in the library. The next thing I knew, the boys behind Billy slowly backed up, and I had no idea why. I guess I was so distracted by Billy glaring down at me, I didn't hear what was happening. Then I heard it, a low buzzing like a giant swarm of bees in this movie I once saw or the low-octave hum of a motorcycle gang riding down the highway in the distance. Then I realized it was coming from Elvis. He looked completely normal. His mouth was closed. But it was an unmistakable sound, the low growl of a dog. He stared at the boys intently.

“Anyway, Billy, my chicken-fried steak is getting cold, so unless there was something you wanted to talk to me about specifically, I'm just going to eat my lunch. Okay?”

“Okay, lamebrain Benji, you do that. Come on, guys, let's bail. It smells over here.”

And just like that they walked off. The whole thing probably only lasted five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I was so stressed, I actually forgot to faint. I turned to Elvis.

“Eating in the library doesn't look so bad anymore, does it? Hey, was that you growling?”

“No.”

“It was too! That's cool how you can do that without opening your mouth.”

There were only ten more minutes left until the bell rang. Then I had art class, then PE (which I got to sit out of because of my wrist), then back to Ms. Blaine's class and then the day was over. I looked over at Elvis. He had licked his plate clean. Literally.

“Hey do you want the rest of my—”

“—lunch?” he said, finishing my sentence.

Elvis cocked his head to the side, and I turned to see what he looking at.

I heard chanting, low and rhythmic. It took me a second to figure out what everyone was saying. “New kid! New kid! New kid!” they chanted. Coach Connor stood up from the teachers' table and blew his whistle, and the chanting stopped. That man doesn't go anywhere without wearing his whistle. Like, I bet he wears it in the shower and sleeps with it.

Then I saw him, the new kid everyone was talking about. He was standing by the cafeteria cashier, scanning the room for a safe place to sit. I recognized his expression immediately. It was terror. Just looking at his face made my stomach hurt, so I looked away.

“Hey, you should wave him over here,” Elvis suggested.

“What? No way,” I said.

“Benjamin, he's new. He doesn't know anyone. We have room at our table.”

“You mean the table no one is sitting at because I don't have any friends? So now you want me to risk falling even lower on the scale of nobodies in this place by inviting the new kid to sit with us? Didn't you see what just happened a minute ago? I had two of the meanest bullies in the entire school fighting over me. I'm already a target, and now you want me to basically shoot off a flare gun so we can have a second go-around? Forget it. I don't know about you, but I'd like to make it to art class today. There's a Popsicle-stick log cabin project I'm trying to finish.”

“It's the right thing to do.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. And you of all people should be empathetic to his plight. He's new, and alone. You can add him to your pack.”

“Shut up about my pack. I'm not a dog. I'm a kid. If you want to add him to your pack, you go over and sit with him.”

Elvis let out a short, sharp bark. Everyone turned to look at us, including the new kid. This was a disaster. A new emotion flashed over the kid's face. It was just a split second, but I caught it and recognized it immediately. It was hope. Now I really had no choice, so I waved him to come over to my table. He smiled and headed our way. I turned to Elvis.

“Happy? I'm basically a sitting duck now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you have no right to boss me around like this. You're new, and you don't understand how elementary school works.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Elvis insisted.

“So what? Don't you get it? You're the dog and I'm the master. I'm supposed to tell you what to do, not the other way around.”

“First off, I'm not your dog. And second, in this pack, I'm clearly the alpha, which means I'm in charge of you.”

“Oh, here we go, how could I possibly forget? All you do is remind me. You're the president's dog. I get it. So go be the president's dog then! I'll wear my stupid helmet tomorrow if it means you'll stop meddling in my life. You do realize you're only making my life harder for me, right? And don't forget, you threw me out of a window!”

“I did it to save you!”

“You did it to show off! I thought you were here to help me, to protect me, but no, what you're doing is making me an even bigger target than I used to be.”

“Benjamin, calm down. I didn't mean to make you so upset. I just wanted you to do the right thing and—”

Just then the new kid put his tray down on the table. He looked at me and then at Elvis, realizing we were in the middle of something serious.

“I forgot my milk. I'm going to go get it. May I get you or your dog something while I'm up there?” he asked.

“No, thanks.” The new kid walked off, and we went back to our fight.

“I know it's the right thing to do. I'm not stupid. But it's easy for you to be all high and mighty about doing the right thing when you're big and strong and smarter than everyone else. But it's not so easy for the rest of us. You just don't understand what it's like to be me.”

“Don't tell me I don't understand. I understand plenty. I'll have you know I was born the runt of my litter. And in the dog world, that means I was born a nobody. A lot of times the runt doesn't even survive. You know why? Sometimes the mother rejects the runt and doesn't feed it enough because she wants to save her milk for the other puppies, the stronger ones.”

“Are you going to tell me you were kicked out of your litter and raised by wolves? Or a duck? Or better yet, you went out into the woods and built yourself a doghouse out of twigs and survived on berries?” I asked.