elrhiarhodan

Fourth Grade - Dodge Ball

It was raining. That meant they had recess in the gym. Not for all of the kids, though. The first and second graders were in the auditorium watching a movie, but the third and fourth graders got sole control of all the balls, and the basketball hoops and the tumbling mats for a half an hour.

“Wanna play catch?”

Phil Kramer was sort of a friend, he lived down the block and their mothers knew each other. He had gotten left back and had to repeat Kindergarten. Peter’s mom had asked him to be nice to Phil, because he had some “social problems” (according to his mom) and didn’t really have any friends. To tell the truth, Peter didn’t like the older boy. He wasn’t very smart, he usually smelled like the liverwurst or tuna fish or baloney his mother gave him for lunch (or worse), and he was mean. He liked to bully anyone smaller than him, or anyone who couldn’t fight back.

But Peter couldn’t tell that to his mother, who’d look at him like she was disappointed. He’d agree to let Phil come over and play sometimes, but never in his room and never with his favorite toys. He did that once, and Phil had stolen his favorite action figure and deliberately broke the wheels off of three of his best Matchbox cars.

The biggest problem was that the kid clung to him like a bad smell. He always tried to sit next to Peter during lunch and he monopolized him at recess. Like today. He didn’t want to play catch with Phil. When the class was brought into the gym from the lunchroom, Peter had caught a glimpse of Neal Caffrey surrounded by a bunch of third and fourth graders. It looked like he was organizing some game.

Peter liked Neal, even though he was a grade younger. Neal was the opposite of Phil Kramer; he was nice and smart and he was good at a lot of things. They were in French class together, and Neal could already count to one hundred and speak in basic sentences.

Everyone liked Neal – even the older kids. He was the playground king, and as long as he had to be nice to stupid, smelly Phil the Pill, he’d never be part of Neal’s circle during recess.

“So, want to play catch or what?” Phil threw a pink rubber ball at him. It bounced off his shoulder.

Peter went to retrieve Phil’s ball (which was most likely his ball that Phil nicked from his desk). It had rolled towards Neal and the crowd of kids around him. Neal picked it up and handed it back with a smile.

“We’re going to play dodge ball – wanna play with us?”

Peter smiled back, about to accept the invitation, when he looked back a Phil – who had a thunderous expression on his face.

“He can play too.” Neal was so nice, Peter couldn’t tell if he really meant the invitation or not.

He called across the gym, “Want to play dodge ball?” Phil came lumbering over; of course he’d want to play. Peter sighed, and Neal caught his eye.

“You can be a team captain.” The other kids groaned – Neal never played favorites when organizing the games, but Peter wasn’t part of the usual crew. Neal turned to the rest of the kids. “Let him be captain – he’s never had a turn.”

Phil was panting at his side, whispering “pick me first, pick me first.” There was no way he was going to get saddled with the Pill if he didn’t have to.

Neal picked first, and it was an odd choice – a short little kid with big, dorky glasses. Peter knew him vaguely from the neighborhood. He’d seen him hanging out with Neal on the playground. Peter’s first choice was Clinton Jones, Neal picked Diana Berrigan and so it went until Phil and Andy Woods, who was probably even more obnoxious than the Pill, were left unpicked. Phil was beet–red and furious, but Peter didn’t care. Except that the thought of having Andy on his team was worse than dealing with Phil.

He picked Phil and the game got started. The kids made a mad scramble for the balls, which went flying everywhere. Peter threw his and hit Diana. When she ran off the field, she stuck out her tongue at him. Someone shouted and Peter instinctively ducked. The ball thrown at him by little Elizabeth Mitchell missed him by an inch and bounced off of Clinton.

The melee was fast and fierce and soon the two teams were down to two players each. Peter was shocked to see that Phil was still in the game – he wasn’t particularly good at sports. He wasn’t particularly good at anything, really. Neal was still in, as was his friend Mozzie.

There were few rules for playground dodge ball, but the one thing you were never supposed to do was aim for the crotch or for the face, especially if the kid wore glasses. Of course there were accidents, but you didn’t do those things on purpose.

Mozzie threw a ball at Phil, and missed. Peter watched as he got a really ugly look in his eyes and threw his own ball as hard as possible directly at the little guy’s face. Mozzie went down, his glasses broken and his nose bleeding. Ellie Mitchell screamed “NO!” Neal tossed his own ball away and went down on his knees to help his friend. Before any of the recess monitors could come running, Phil picked up Neal’s discarded ball, and at point blank range, spiked it directly at Neal’s head.

Later on, Peter would have sworn that it was at least a minute between the time that Mozzie went down and Phil did the kamikaze on Neal, but it was probably no more than a few seconds. Neal, his nose also bloody, got up and charged Phil, butting him in the stomach with his head. Peter stepped in and pulled Neal off. Kramer stepped back, laughing like a jackass.

Peter looked at Neal, blood streaming down his face, lips pursed and blue eyes blazing with anger. All Peter said was “I’ll take care of this.”

Neal stepped back. There was a moment’s hush from all the kids surrounding them. Phil the Poison Pill was grinning like an idiot, hopping around like he was Muhammad Ali with his fists raised in the air. Peter walked over to him.

“Didja see? I won! I won!”

Peter decked him. He hit him in the face, as hard as he could. There was the feeling of something breaking under his fist and suddenly there was hot blood all over the place. Kramer was momentarily stunned, and to be honest, so was Peter. He had never hit another kid in his whole life. Kramer recovered and took a swing at him, but Peter ducked and punched Phil again, in the stomach.

Suddenly, the gym was filled with the chant “fight, fight, fight, fight” and he was hitting and kicking and punching as if his life depended on it. Phil landed a punch on his face, but Peter was in such a frenzy, he didn’t really feel it.

And just as quick as the fight started, it was over. They were pulled apart by adults who shouted at them to stop. Of course, the little rat Phil got in one more punch and Peter tasted blood.

He was hustled down to the principal’s office with Phil and Neal. Mozzie was rushed to the nurse’s office.

The three of them sat on the wooden benches, with Mr. Oswald, the gym teacher, watching over them. Phil was on one side of the room, Peter and Neal on the other. He looked over at Neal, who had the makings of a shiner from where he was hit. Peter supposed he looked worse. His nose felt swollen, so did his lip. There might even be a tooth loose. He lifted a careful hand up to his face and touched his eyelid. It was sore.

Neal scooted over to him, completely disregarding Mr. Oswald’s stare. He whispered, “Thanks.”

Peter smiled, as much as his split lip would allow. “You’re welcome.” He didn’t have a chance to say anything else. The principal, Mr. Hughes, called them all into the office. When Neal smiled back at him, Peter figured that any suspension he got would be worth it.

Go to Chapter One <- ::: -> Go to Chapter Three