This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Text copyright © 2001 by Andrew Clements
Illustrations copyright © 2007 by Janet Pedersen
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Also available in a Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers hardcover edition.
The text of this book was set in Century ITC.
The illustrations were rendered in pen and ink.
First Aladdin Paperbacks edition February 2001
This Aladdin Paperbacks edition June 2007
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Clements, Andrew
Jake Drake, bully buster / Andrew Clements ; illustrated by Amanda Harvey
p. cm.
Summary: Fourth-grader Jake Drake relates how he comes to terms with SuperBully Link Baxter, especially after they are assigned to be partners on a class project.
ISBN: 978-0-689-83917-7 (hc.)
[1. Bullying—Juvenile fiction. 2. Bullies—Fiction. 3. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction.]
PZ7.C59118 Jaj 2001
[Fic] 21—lcac
2001270870
ISBN: 978-1-4169-3933-7 (pbk.)
ISBN: 978-1-44246-231-1 (eBook)
To Kathy, Mary, and Frank Despres
in appreciation of their loving, dedicated service to the children of Westborough
Contents
CHAPTER ONE Bully-Magnet
CHAPTER TWO SuperBully
CHAPTER THREE From Bad to Worse
CHAPTER FOUR Bullyitis
CHAPTER FIVE What Abby Said
CHAPTER SIX Playing It Cool
CHAPTER SEVEN Learning My Lesson
CHAPTER EIGHT Dangerous Duo
CHAPTER NINE Surprises and Questions
CHAPTER TEN Busted Link
CHAPTER ONE
Bully-Magnet
I’m Jake—Jake Drake. I’m in fourth grade. Which is my best grade so far. I’ve got a man teacher this year, Mr. Thompson. He’s pretty old, but he’s not mean. And he likes the same kinds of books I do. Adventure stories, books about volcanoes and jungles and the ocean, joke books, Calvin and Hobbes—stuff like that.
But there is one thing about Mr. Thompson that’s weird. Pete was the first to see it. Which makes sense. Pete is a science kid. He collects bugs and fossils and plants, and he knows all their names, and he’s maybe the smartest kid in the school.
After about two weeks of school, Pete pointed at Mr. Thompson. Then he whispered, “He’s wearing those pants again.”
“Which pants?” I said.
“Those pants,” Pete said. “The same pants he wore yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I think he wears the same pants every day.”
“No way,” I said. “He probably has a lot of pants that are the same, that’s all.”
So Pete said, “I’m going to test my theory.”
See what I mean? That’s how science kids are.
That afternoon we had read-aloud time on the rug, and Mr. Thompson sat in a beanbag chair. Pete sat right next to Mr. Thompson and a little behind him. Mr. Thompson started reading, and he got to the part when the Swiss Family Robinson wrecks their ship.
All the other kids were looking at Mr. Thompson’s face or at the ceiling or somewhere. I was watching Pete.
Pete pulled his hand out of his pocket. His hand went behind Mr. Thompson’s foot, just for a second, and then back to his pocket. And then Pete sat and listened like everyone else.
When reading was over, I got next to Pete and whispered, “What did you do?”
Pete grinned and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a little black marker, the kind that doesn’t wash out.
I got behind Mr. Thompson and looked down. On the right leg of his pants, on the back of his cuff, was a tiny black spot.
So that’s how we found out that Mr. Thompson really has two pairs of pants. Every Thursday he wears tan pants that are just like the other pair, but they don’t have the little black spot and they look a little newer. Pete’s theory is that Thursday must be laundry day at Mr. Thompson’s house. Because every Friday, we can see the little spot again.
• • •
My best friend is Phil Willis. Everyone calls him Willie. Willie isn’t in my class this year. We have gym class and music class and art class together, but for the rest of the time Willie has Mrs. Steele. I’m glad I have Mr. Thompson. I mean, Mrs. Steele is okay, but Willie has a lot more homework than I do. Also, Mrs. Steele is a spelling nut. And a math nut. And a social studies nut. I guess she’s a nut about everything. That’s why Willie’s favorite class this year is gym.
Like I said, I’m in fourth grade. That means I’ve been going to school for five years now. And if you count the two years I went to Miss Lulu’s Dainty Diaper Day Care Center, plus one year of preschool, then it’s more like eight years. Eight years of school.
So here’s what I can’t figure out. If everybody who works at school is so smart, how come they can’t get rid of the bullies? How come when it comes to bullies, kids are mostly on their own?
Because every year, it’s the same thing. Bullies.
Here’s what I mean. Okay, it was way back when I was three. I was at Miss Lulu’s Day Care. It was the middle of the morning on my second day, and I was standing in line for milk and cookies. And this kid with a runny nose and baggy overalls cut right in front of me.
I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know any better. Remember, I was only three back then. For all I knew, kids with runny noses got to go first.
So I took my cookies and my milk and sat down at a table. Nose Boy sat down across from me. I smiled at him and took a drink of my milk.
And what did he do? He reached over and grabbed both my cookies. Before I could swallow my milk, he took a big slobbery bite from each one. Then he put them back on my napkin. And then he smiled at me.
I looked at the stuff coming out of his nose. Then I looked at my cookies. And then I turned my head to look for Miss Lulu.
She was still handing out goodies. A crime had taken place, but Miss Lulu was busy.
So I reached over real fast and took his cookies. But then I looked down. Nose Boy had already taken a bite out of them, too.
He smiled again, and I could see the crumbs and chocolate chips stuck in his teeth. So I thought to myself, Who needs a snack anyway? I slid his cookies back across the table, drank the rest of my milk, and went outside to play.
Three minutes later I was on a swing, just trying to get it going. And somebody grabbed the chain. That’s right—it was Nose Boy again.
He snuffled a little and said, “Mine.” Nose Boy wasn’t much of a talker.
Then I said something like, “I got here first.” That was a mistake. The first rule of dealing with a bully is: Never try to tell him why he’s wrong. Bullies don’t like that.
He yanked hard on the chain and said, “No! Mine!”
I looked around, and Miss Lulu was on the other side of the playground. Then Nose Boy jerked on the chain again, so I got off the swing.
Nose Boy was my first
bully. And for the next four years, I was a bully-magnet.
In preschool it was Mike Rada. I called him Destructo. Blocks, LEGOs, Popsicle sticks, crayons, and paper—no matter what I made or what it was made out of, Destructo tore it to bits.
In kindergarten it was Kenny Russell. Kenny was King Bump. There are a lot of times every day when a bump or a shove can be bad. Like if you’re standing next to a puddle at the bus stop. Or when you’re drinking a carton of chocolate milk, or maybe when you’re working on a painting. If there was a bumpable moment, King Bump was there, all through kindergarten.
In first grade my main bully was Jack Lerner, also known as The Fist. Jack never actually hit me. He just hit things close to me. Like my lunch bag. Like every day. A big fist does a very bad thing to a Wonder Bread sandwich. And I learned real fast not to bring any little containers of pudding. All during first grade I ate cookie crumbs for dessert.
So that was me. I was Jake Drake, the bully-magnet. It was like all the bullies got together to choose their favorite target. Every bully for miles around seemed to know that I was the perfect kid to pick on. And I think I finally figured out why they all liked me so much.
For one thing, bullies need a kid who’s just the right size. If the kid is too big, then there might be a fight someday. Bullies don’t like to fight. And if the kid is too small, then the bullying is too easy. There’s no challenge.
Another thing about me that bullies like is that I don’t have a big brother, or even a big sister. I just have Abby, and she’s two years younger than me. Bullies figure out stuff like that right away.
And bullies can tell that I’m not the kind of kid who runs to tell the teacher all my problems. Whiny tattletales make bad bully-bait.
Also, I think I look kind of brainy. Most bullies don’t seem so smart, and when they see a kid who looks like he is, something inside a bully says, “Oh, yeah? Well, now you’ve got to deal with me, smart guy!”
And I guess I am a smart guy, because I am good at thinking. And because I’m a good thinker, I finally learned what to do about bullies. But I didn’t figure all this out at once. It took me four long years. It took having to deal with Nose Boy, and then Destructo, and King Bump, and The Fist.
It also took being picked on by a Certified, Grade A, SuperBully. Which is what happened back when I was in second grade. That’s the year I became Jake Drake, Bully Buster.
CHAPTER TWO
SuperBully
Second grade started out great. My mom and dad had asked for me to be in Mrs. Brattle’s class. They told me she was the best teacher at Despres Elementary School. She smiled a lot, and there wasn’t any homework, and there was a lot of neat stuff all over her room, so I was happy she was my teacher.
Phil Willis had Mrs. Brattle, too. Willie and I were already best friends back in second grade, and we had fun every day. We sat at the same group of tables. We were reading partners. We ate lunch together every day, and we always goofed around during recess. We didn’t ride the same bus, but after school sometimes I went to his house, and sometimes he came over to mine.
Best of all, Mrs. Brattle’s class had zero bullies. Not one. It was great. I still had to be careful at lunchtime and out on the playground, but most of the time my life was bully-free.
Then, right before Halloween, a new kid moved to town. The minute he walked into Mrs. Brattle’s room, I knew I was in trouble.
Mrs. Brattle said, “Class, we have a new student today. His name is Link Baxter.”
She kept talking, and we all looked at the new kid. I could see he was kind of tall for a second grader. He had brown hair and a pointy nose and long arms with big hands.
Link Baxter stood there and started looking around the room at all of us, too. When he came to me, he stopped. I looked into his face and I saw that Link Baxter had beady little eyes—bully-eyes. And Link saw me seeing this. And then he smiled at me.
It was not a nice smile.
Then Mrs. Brattle, this lady who was supposed to be such a great teacher, what did she do? She put Link at the same group of desks with me and Willie.
Right away Willie whispered, “Hi. I’m Phil, but really I’m Willie. That’s my nickname.”
You see, Willie has never had any trouble with bullies, mostly because he’s too small. He’s a nice kid and he minds his own business, and bullies don’t even seem to notice him.
So Link smiled at Willie and said, “Hi.”
Then Willie pointed at me and said, “This is Jake.”
Link Baxter pointed his beady eyes at me and smiled that bully-smile again. And he said, “Jake. Okay.”
I tried to smile and nod at him, but I know I looked kind of spooked, because I was spooked. And Link could see I was spooked. And he liked it. And that’s when I knew I was in big bully-trouble.
Link was only eight years old, just like me. But I could tell right from the start that Link had big plans. He wanted to be the MVP on the Bully All-Star team. He wanted to make it into the Bullies Hall of Fame. And me, Jake Drake, I was his new project.
On that first day when Link came to my class, we practiced handwriting. Mrs. Brattle passed out some lined white paper. We had to write six sentences very, very neatly. Handwriting practice was the only time we could use a pen instead of a pencil.
I loved using my pen. It was made of bright red plastic, and it had black ink. There was a little button on the side. When I pushed the button, the pen went click, and the top popped up.
So I was in the middle of my fifth sentence, almost done. The pen was gliding over the smooth paper. My handwriting looked great.
Then Link gave his desk a quick shake. My desk was touching his desk, so my pen went jerking all over. My paper was a mess.
I looked over at Link, and he smiled. Then he whispered, “Nice pen.”
So I went up to Mrs. Brattle and got a new piece of paper. I started copying my sentences again. But now I watched Link all the time to be sure he didn’t shake his desk again. I was so nervous that I messed up two more pieces of paper all by myself. And Link didn’t make a move.
So I settled down. I was on the very last sentence. Mrs. Brattle was helping a kid at the back of the room. So Link reached over real fast and flicked my ear. Not hard, just enough to make me jump. My pen skidded, and my paper was a mess all over again.
You see, Link was no ordinary bully. Any big kid can push a little kid around. That’s one kind of bullying. But this was different. Link Baxter, well… he got inside my head—and it only took him twenty minutes. No doubt about it. This was a bully with real talent.
So there I was, asking Mrs. Brattle for my fifth piece of paper, and she said, “Jake, you should be more careful.”
And I almost shouted, “Yeah, well, you should pay more attention. Don’t you know there’s a SuperBully loose in your classroom?”
But of course I didn’t say that. Because the second rule about bullies is that if you tattle to the teacher, things might get a lot worse. And I had a feeling things were going to be bad enough already.
And I was right.
CHAPTER THREE
From Bad to Worse
So I got on the bus after Link’s first day of school. I looked out the window. I saw Link walking behind Mrs. Brattle. She was showing him which bus to ride home.
“Please,” I whispered. “Not my bus. Not bus three. Please, please, please, not bus three.”
But Mrs. Brattle led him right over to bus number three. And ten seconds later, Link was on my bus, standing there next to me. Looking down at me.
In a voice much louder than it needed to be, he said, “Hey, Fake, anyone else gonna sit here?”
I looked up and I remembered how tall he was. But now he was messing with my name. And he already had me mad and scared at the same time. But I didn’t care, because I didn’t want him to make fun of my name.
So I said, “My name’s Jake, Jake Drake.” And right away I knew I had made a mistake. Because now he knew that I cared about him g
oofing around with my name.
Link smiled that special bully-smile. He said, “Yeah, I know. Like I said. Your name’s Fake, Fake Drake.” And that made the other kids on the bus start laughing. And then he sat down next to me.
He didn’t push me or hit me, because anybody can do that sort of thing. He was a new kind of bully. He was a SuperBully.
I felt my ears turning red. My lips were clamped together. I turned my head away from him and looked out the window. I was ready for the next attack.
But it didn’t come. A fourth grader in the seat across had a baseball glove. So Link said, “What’s the best Little League team in this town?”
And Link started talking about how he was on the top team in his old town. He didn’t want to join a new team unless it was going to be a winner.
It was like I wasn’t there. I was right there on the seat next to him, but I might as well have been on the moon.
The bus stopped at Maple Street, and some kids got off. Then at Cross Street, and more kids got off. And then the bus was at my stop, Greenwood Street.
So I said, “I have to get off at this stop.” About ten kids stood up as the bus slowed down. But Link kept on talking to the fourth grader about Little League.
So I said it louder. “This is my stop. I have to get off here.”
I looked over the seat in front of me. There were only three kids left, up by the bus driver.
So I shouted, “NOW. I have to get off NOW!”
The bus driver looked up into her mirror and frowned. But Link smiled at her. And loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, “Oops. Almost forgot, Fake. I’m a new kid, remember? This is my stop, too. This is where me and Fake Drake get off the bus.”
Following Link Baxter off the bus? That was one of the worst moments of my life. As I went down those tall black steps, I thought, Every morning and every afternoon and all day long for the rest of second grade—maybe even for the rest of my life—it’s going to be me and Link Baxter.