Free Dexter the Tough by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page A

out, even as he yelled at Robin. He remembered why he was so mad at Robin: Because Robin was crying, and Dexter couldn’t.
    â€œAnd then,” Robin said, “you just stared at me for a few minutes, like you were waiting for me to stop crying. And then you ran out of the bathroom again.”
    Dexter blinked. Robin was right. That was what had happened. Dexter rememberedskidding out of the bathroom, and seeing the secretary again. She’d still looked pale, with sweat beads on her lip. And then she’d taken him on to Ms. Abbott’s class. That was how everything had happened. But the way Robin told the story, so calmly—that wasn’t how it had felt. Dexter had felt crazy, like someone turning into a monster in a comic book. Dexter felt like he’d hit Robin a million times. He felt like he’d beat him up.
    â€œWell, anyway,” Dexter said, a little sheepishly. “I did hit you. Why didn’t you tell on me? Why didn’t you tattle? Right then—that morning? Why didn’t you run down to the office and say, ‘Hey! The new kid just punched me! Look! I have bruises!’?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Robin said, shrugging. He picked up a handful of grass pieces, and let them sift back down to the ground. “I guess because . . . all the other kids were trying to get me to cry, you know? When they called me crybaby—they were happy when that made me cry harder. It gave them more tolaugh at. But you . . . you didn’t want me to cry. It kind of seemed like you were trying to help.”
    â€œThat’s crazy,” Dexter said. “I hit you.”
    It was sad that so many kids had been mean to Robin, that he thought someone who hit him was actually being nice.
    Then Dexter remembered something else.
    â€œBut you told your mom,” he said.
    â€œNo, I didn’t,” Robin said.
    â€œYes, you did,” Dexter said. “I heard you, at the park, just as Grandma was driving me away. You said, ‘See, Mom, that’s the boy I was telling you about, the one who beat me up.’ Or, ‘hit me.’ Or something like that.”
    Robin shook his head.
    â€œYou’re wrong,” he said. “What I said was, ‘See, Mom, that’s the boy I was telling you about. The one who said “Bryce” was a good last name. The one who . . . ” ’ Robin looked down at the grass, avoiding Dexter’s eyes. ‘ “The one who’s going to be my friend.’ ”
    Dexter didn’t say anything.
    Robin looked back up, a little wild-eyed.
    â€œIt’s true!” he said. “Don’t you know what my mom would have done if I said you hit me? She would have talked to the principal. She would have called your parents. She would have taken me out of school. She would have been really, really mad!”
    Dexter believed him.
    â€œI am sorry,” Dexter said.
    Robin nodded.
    â€œI know.”
    The two of them sat in the grass for a long time. Dexter thought about what a strange kid Robin was. Dexter never would have talked like this with any of his friends back home. Of course, he also hadn’t been able to talk to his friends back home about his dad being sick. And they knew about Dexter’s dad—their moms must have told them. Dexter knew they knew because they gave him strange looks sometimes, and Jaydell and Dillon wouldn’t play at Dexter’s house anymore. “No, sorry, I’ve got to go home and do . . . chores,”Jaydell had said once when Dexter asked. And one time when Dad had come with Mom to pick Dexter up at school, Dexter’s friends had all kind of backed away, scared.
    Somehow, Dexter didn’t think Robin would do that.
    But Dexter didn’t know how to say all that to Robin; he didn’t know how to say that he really didn’t mind Robin being strange.
    And then he did.
    â€œHey, Robin?” he