The Cow Ate My Homework

5. The Stereotypical Bully

Sarah and I (and a good handful of other Dermont High School students who find themselves low on the food chain) know Rodney as a dumb thug. To our minds, there is very little nuance or depth to his character at all. He's practically the personification of that Bully character you'd find in lame coming-of-age movies, or maybe in high school sitcoms from like the 80s. He's the equivalent of that guy who is after the hero for no good reason in one of those stories.

Only he's here in my real life. Lucky me.

I've been acquainted with Rodney since I first moved to Dermont ten years ago, when we were eight. While the rest of the eight-year-olds and I all grew up at least a little and matured some during that intervening decade, it seems suspiciously as if Rodney has grown emotionally at a much slower rate. Quantifying how much he's matured is certainly not an exact science, but if I had to guess, I'd say he's matured about fifty...eight percent less than the rest of us. Fifty-eight percent? Sure. If pressed to make an estimate.

And granted, if we're being totally honest, I know that I myself am not always a total model of maturity or a pro at the adulthood that my eighteenth birthday was sort of supposed to bring. But I think I might just seem as mature as a middle-aged man in comparison to Rodney's current maturity level. It's like he never left the elementary school playground where he became king of recess by throwing around his substantial weight.

And I'm feeling that substantial weight right now as he scowls at me in the hallway, in the wake of Mrs. M's instructions. If I try to talk to him about how we should go about following those instructions, I fear he might throw me over his shoulder and put me on top of the monkey bars to be stranded there until a recess supervisor notices—or whatever the high school equivalent of that might be (probably death).

There have been rumors over the years about Rodney's home life. Rumors that I've mostly tuned out, maybe because they hit a little too close to home for me.

Word on the street (also known as the school hallways) has been that he spends his mornings scarfing cold cereal in a run-down doubled wide while getting verbally abused by his crappy father for getting bad grades.

It's hard to picture this, even if his dad is somehow a bigger dude than Rodney himself. Is it possible that Rodney would stand for something like this? If rumor mills and grapevines are to be trusted even a little, it seems that he does stand for it, maybe because it's been happening for so many years.

Looking at him here in front of me, it's hard to think of him as anything other than a run-of-the-mill thug. But just maybe, a shitty home life is the deeper reason for Rodney's ridiculous, legit walking-stereotype-of-a-bully behavior.

Maybe, if any of those rumors are true, he's always just been acting out by doing these things, trying to get attention. Or maybe trying to prove to the world that he's not someone to be pushed around, now that he's outside of his home where he can't change that.

These thoughts race through my mind as I look back at his scowl, my possible sympathy warring with the way I tend to think of him and with the real fear that he'll just start beating me up right here right now.

Though I don't see it necessarily going well for me, I can't help it and the sympathy begins to win out, in an ounce of goodwill and a belief that this second chance for the two of us might actually be able to work. I try, "So, uh, should we make a plan to—"

He cuts me off. "I don't think so, Kayla. You just go ahead and do it again."

With that, he starts sauntering away. I seethe, consider totally throwing that ounce of goodwill I was thinking about out the window. Seriously, I tell myself, he can't be that dumb, that pompous. "But you heard her, we have to turn in a video."

He barely even turns back toward me to call, "I'm sure you'll figure something out, right? Be a good little loser."

I can't believe it. Who cares about whatever pathetic life circumstances he might have going on. He does not get a pass. He does not get to screw up my graduation for the hell of it. Not today.

I take a moment, summoning my courage. And then: "No."

He stops walking. Turns around. "Excuse me?"

I try not to freak out, hold my ground. "No. I'm not doing it myself." I ignore his menacing look and the barely in-check rage as he stalks back toward me. "Even if I had a clue how to go about trying to fudge some video that might look like you're helping me, I'm not risking my graduation just because you don't feel like doing work."

He's all the way back into my bubble. I have to look up in order to stare him in the eyes, but I don't back down as he practically growls, "Find a way to do it yourself."

I take a moment, will my facial expression into something that doesn't look like I'm about to crap myself. Then, "Or else what?"

"Or else you won't graduate... because you'll be dead."

With that, he leaves, thankfully not glancing back at me to see that I'm literally shaking from the adrenaline rush.

I stand there, try to slow my racing heart, aware that at least a couple of people are watching. Great, just like my fantasy—can you call it a fantasy if it's about something terrible? Is anti-fantasy a word? It is now. My anti-fantasy where the onlookers see me shaking and wonder if I'm really cold or have Parkinson's. I grab my hands into fists to try and force them to be steady as I glance around for the friendly face I kind of need to see.

Sarah is racing over to me from the lockers where she was watching the encounter in shock. "Go Caleb! Way to stand your ground."

I breathe, try to act like I'm okay even though I'm sure she can see right through the act. We fall into step toward our next class (because the tardy bell does not wait for life-threatening encounters with bullies), and I shake my head. "Lot of good it did me. What does he even think, threatening to kill me like some stereotypical bully in some lame teen movie?"

"What's new. Those stereotypical bullies were modeled after Rodney," she says. Even as she says it, I can see the wheels turning in her mind.

"What am I gonna do?" Because if anyone can actually think of a solution to this ridiculous unsolvable problem, it's Sarah.

"Well..." She thinks it through another second, then says with an air of finality, "We'll just have to come up with something to make a believable video somehow." And then she adds, "Though that does seriously cut into our time to prepare for the party slash grand musical debut..."

This makes sense (except that part I'm choosing to ignore that implies I'm totally all in with the dream of becoming a famous country duo). I sit with the idea for a second, the idea of caving once again like I always have, of putting myself out to do the entire thing without him and coming up with a way to make it look like he helped to save both our diplomas.

And I can't. I can't do it. I'm through.

I'm not risking it, and I'm not letting him walk all over me. Not this time.

"You know what? No. There's no way I'm letting him get away with this. One way or another, I am getting that asshole to do his part of the work this time."

Sarah looks surprised but immediately jumps on board. "Yeah man! What're we gonna do, fight fire with fire? Kick some redneck bully ass?"

Maybe Sarah's enthusiasm should be the kick in the butt I need to set me on the path of overtly standing up to him like she's clearly thinking I meant. But at this very moment, we are passing a PSA flier about bullying and the school's "Zero Tolerance Policy."

I stop and read it, nodding to myself. "I've got a much better idea."