Read Online The Stupendous Dodgeball Fiasco by Janice Repka - Free Book Online
Authors: Janice Repka
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crowd.
“Because nobody likes coleslaw,” B.B. said, then turned and tromped off.
Once Phillip calmed down, he was shocked at what he had gotten into. He ran to grab his history book before heading to class. As soon as he got there, Phillip caught a boy whispering and pointing at him. He pretended it was just another school day, but he kept dropping things and couldn’t get any answers right. All he could think about was the one-on-one dodgeball game with B.B.
Finally, he asked to go to the bathroom. He wandered down the deserted hallway, and walked past the door that said BOYS . Then he sneaked out the back door of the school and slunk to the courthouse.
As soon as he got to the courthouse, he began to feel he had made a mistake. On the gym floor B.B. would have beaten him, but if he had faced off with her, at least he would have been doing something. That evening, a faint smell like rotting cabbage hung in the air.
The next school day, it took all the nerve Phillip had just to get out of bed. He expected everyone at school to make fun of him. He expected there to be a banner hanging across the face of the Hardingtown Middle School that said:
PHILLIP EDWARD COLESLAW IS A YELLOW-CHICKEN,
ELEPHANT-POOP-SCOOPING CIRCUS BOY SISSY.
There wasn’t.
He expected kids to laugh when he walked by.
They didn’t.
A few kids called him Coleslaw, but most simply avoidedhim. Phillip poured himself into his work. The next few weeks passed without incident. Whenever he saw B.B., she glared triumphantly and her friends snickered. There was no way the student council would approve his petition now. There was no use even trying.
Then it happened.
“Stanislaw,” Coach called to Phillip as he made his way up the bleachers. “Three weeks is up. You’re on the floor today.”
Panic filled him.
B.B. dribbled a dodgeball and gave him a menacing wink. Coach mixed things up by picking captains and having them select their teammates. B.B. made sure she didn’t pick Phillip for her team. Phillip crept to his side of the gym with a couple of kids anxious to share their dodgeball strategies.
“If you flex your stomach muscles right before the ball hits you, you’ll hardly feel it,” a student tipped him off.
“Personally,” said another, “I’ll take a head shot anytime.” She knocked on her skull. “It’s one of the good things about being hardheaded.”
“Stomach shot, head shot, they both have their advantages under the right conditions,” said a third, “but overall, I prefer the twisted-shoulder defense.”
“What’s that?” asked Phillip.
“When you see the ball coming,” the kid explained, “you twist your torso so that you take the hit in the square of your top arm. It’s the best place to absorb the impact.”
Phillip considered his options. He didn’t want to climb the rope or hide behind other players. He was tired of running away. They are not custard pies, he reminded himself. They are balls. How much could a dodgeball hurt?
Seeing one coming, he held still and waited for impact. Itwhizzed past, so close he could taste its stiff, inflatable rubber. The gym floor vibrated faintly as kids ran and dodged and fell against it. Screams, laughs, and grunts filled Phillip’s ears as balls found their marks. But he did not move.
“This is for you, Coleslaw,” he heard B.B. yell. The burning ball sped at him like a meteor racing toward Earth, anxious to form a nasty crater.
Defiantly, he closed his eyes.
WHAP!!!!
The ball pounded him on the side of the head at the temple. His glasses dug across his nose. They flew off and sailed across the room, crashing against a wall. Phillip held his burning face in his hands and struggled to keep from crying.
Coach blew his whistle and stopped the game. Phillip located the pieces of his glasses and made his way to the bleachers, where he sat with the other defeated players.
“You should have tried the twisted-shoulder defense,” one said.
Phillip examined
“Because nobody likes coleslaw,” B.B. said, then turned and tromped off.
Once Phillip calmed down, he was shocked at what he had gotten into. He ran to grab his history book before heading to class. As soon as he got there, Phillip caught a boy whispering and pointing at him. He pretended it was just another school day, but he kept dropping things and couldn’t get any answers right. All he could think about was the one-on-one dodgeball game with B.B.
Finally, he asked to go to the bathroom. He wandered down the deserted hallway, and walked past the door that said BOYS . Then he sneaked out the back door of the school and slunk to the courthouse.
As soon as he got to the courthouse, he began to feel he had made a mistake. On the gym floor B.B. would have beaten him, but if he had faced off with her, at least he would have been doing something. That evening, a faint smell like rotting cabbage hung in the air.
The next school day, it took all the nerve Phillip had just to get out of bed. He expected everyone at school to make fun of him. He expected there to be a banner hanging across the face of the Hardingtown Middle School that said:
PHILLIP EDWARD COLESLAW IS A YELLOW-CHICKEN,
ELEPHANT-POOP-SCOOPING CIRCUS BOY SISSY.
There wasn’t.
He expected kids to laugh when he walked by.
They didn’t.
A few kids called him Coleslaw, but most simply avoidedhim. Phillip poured himself into his work. The next few weeks passed without incident. Whenever he saw B.B., she glared triumphantly and her friends snickered. There was no way the student council would approve his petition now. There was no use even trying.
Then it happened.
“Stanislaw,” Coach called to Phillip as he made his way up the bleachers. “Three weeks is up. You’re on the floor today.”
Panic filled him.
B.B. dribbled a dodgeball and gave him a menacing wink. Coach mixed things up by picking captains and having them select their teammates. B.B. made sure she didn’t pick Phillip for her team. Phillip crept to his side of the gym with a couple of kids anxious to share their dodgeball strategies.
“If you flex your stomach muscles right before the ball hits you, you’ll hardly feel it,” a student tipped him off.
“Personally,” said another, “I’ll take a head shot anytime.” She knocked on her skull. “It’s one of the good things about being hardheaded.”
“Stomach shot, head shot, they both have their advantages under the right conditions,” said a third, “but overall, I prefer the twisted-shoulder defense.”
“What’s that?” asked Phillip.
“When you see the ball coming,” the kid explained, “you twist your torso so that you take the hit in the square of your top arm. It’s the best place to absorb the impact.”
Phillip considered his options. He didn’t want to climb the rope or hide behind other players. He was tired of running away. They are not custard pies, he reminded himself. They are balls. How much could a dodgeball hurt?
Seeing one coming, he held still and waited for impact. Itwhizzed past, so close he could taste its stiff, inflatable rubber. The gym floor vibrated faintly as kids ran and dodged and fell against it. Screams, laughs, and grunts filled Phillip’s ears as balls found their marks. But he did not move.
“This is for you, Coleslaw,” he heard B.B. yell. The burning ball sped at him like a meteor racing toward Earth, anxious to form a nasty crater.
Defiantly, he closed his eyes.
WHAP!!!!
The ball pounded him on the side of the head at the temple. His glasses dug across his nose. They flew off and sailed across the room, crashing against a wall. Phillip held his burning face in his hands and struggled to keep from crying.
Coach blew his whistle and stopped the game. Phillip located the pieces of his glasses and made his way to the bleachers, where he sat with the other defeated players.
“You should have tried the twisted-shoulder defense,” one said.
Phillip examined
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