Free Fish in a Tree by Lynda Mullaly Hunt Page A

me . . . and, well . . .”
    “Listen, Albert.” Keisha’s voice has softened. “I didn’t mean . . .”
    Albert interrupts. “I was not implying it was you who is not kind to me.”
    I’m relieved.
    “But there are others who are not kind,” he says.

CHAPTER 19
    N o t - S o - S w e e t S e c r e t
    Just as I thought, my mother smiles when she sees Albert, Keisha, and me walk into Petersen’s. She seats us in a booth right in the middle of the restaurant and takes our order. Keisha sits next to me and Albert fills a good part of the seat across from us.
    “So,” Keisha begins. “Thanks for inviting us for ice cream.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “Must be cool to come here every day,” she says.
    “Is the ice cream free?” Albert asks.
    “My mom doesn’t let me have ice cream more than once a week. And it isn’t free, but we get it for half off, I think,” I tell them.
    Albert fidgets a bit. “So, do either of you ever miss Mrs. Hall?”
    “Our old
teacher
Mrs. Hall?” I say. “She was okay, but I like Mr. Daniels way more. He’s nice.”
    “He is,” Keisha says. “Goofy, but in a good way.”
    “Yeah,” I say.
    “I do not think he is a trusting person,” Albert says.
    “Mr.
Daniels
?” I ask.
    Albert rubs his palms on the top of his jeans. “He inquired about my bruises. I think he hypothesized that they came from my parents. Then I had to speak to the school psychologist.” He shifts in his seat. “My parents rescue insects and arachnids from our home, taking them outside rather than killing them. It’s illogical for my parents to save spiders and hit their own son.”
    I look over at Keisha. Hoping she knows what to say. She doesn’t.
    I take a deep breath. “Well, Albert, even I’ve wondered where all those bruises come from.”
    His voice is quiet. Like a boy. Not a robot version of one. “There’s a group of boys. I meet them many days after school.”
    “You
meet
them?” Keisha asks.
    “Well, no,” he says. “They meet
me
.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say.
    He nods once and then stares at the floor.
    “Can’t you tell anyone?” I ask.
    Albert shrugs.
    “Well do you at least hit them
back
?” Keisha asks.
    “I don’t believe in violence. And anyway, it seems to me that big kids would get the blame in a fight. No one’s going to think a big kid like me didn’t start it, so they would assume I give the punches, not receive them.”
    He stares at his vanilla ice cream and then looks up. Maybe a little happier. “This reminds me of ice cream on Ellis Island.”
    “You may have a skull full of brains, but,
again,
Albert . . . no sense,” Keisha says.
    “When the immigrants came to America through Ellis Island, they would sometimes get ice cream for a treat. But they didn’t recognize ice cream. They thought it was butter, so they spread it on toast.”
    We laugh.
    “I think this is like that. Those boys just think I’m a fighter, so they . . . well, fight me.”
    “No, Albert,” Keisha says. “They think you
won’t
fight. They think you’ll just keep being their punching bag.
That’s
why they fight you.”
    His eyebrows scrunch up.
    “
Albert.
This is no joke,” Keisha says. “They leave nasty marks on you! Don’t your parents get mad? My mother would hunt down anyone who did that to me.”
    “My father is busy with his inventions and my mother has other things to worry about.”
    “You should ask them for help,” I say. “I think Keisha is right.”
    He shrugs. “I don’t want help. I should be able to solve this.”
    “Albert!” Keisha says, her dark eyes wide and angry. “You
can
solve this. Just don’t let those boys pound on you! You said you’re bigger than they are.”
    “Yes, I call them the fire ants. A group of small beings that can become overwhelming.”
    I laugh, but I’m sad on the inside.
    “No, seriously, Albert.” Keisha is downright mad now. “Teach them a lesson. Hit them back!”
    “I don’t think it is