Free Raising Rufus by David Fulk Page B

down at her badly tattered skirt. Grimacing, she quickly grabbed the torn pieces of fabric and pushed them back together, twisting herself into a pretzel to try to preserve some shred of modesty.
    “All right, that’s enough!” Ms. Olerud barked.
“Quiet!”
    But it was too late. The laugh fest had taken on a life of its own.
    Ms. Olerud didn’t catch on to Donald’s treachery. “Come on, honey,” she said as she led Audrey, face as red as her hair and lips all twisted, toward the door. “You kids are being very mean!”
    Audrey took one sidelong glance at the roomful of laughing faces, all bug-eyed and stretched out like grotesque circus clowns, as she and Ms. Olerud went out. There was only one person who knew what Audrey must have felt like, and he wasn’t laughing at all. That was Martin Tinker.
    —
    The final bell rang, and kids exploded out of the building in a big, noisy, joyous blob. Summer at last!
    Not one for such mindless displays of emotion, Martin walked out calmly amid the jubilant crowd, his now-empty backpack in his hand, trying his best to dodge all the flying knees and elbows. But he had barely reached the bottom of the steps when he heard a familiar voice right behind him.
    “Get rid of this, Tinkleberry! It’s summer!”
    With one lightning-quick move, Donald Grimes snatched away Martin’s backpack and heaved it up in the air—where the strap caught neatly on a branch of a big elm tree hanging over the fence into the schoolyard. Delighted with his perfect aim, Donald let out a shrill “Wooo-hoooo!” and lumbered on his way.
    Except for the occasional butt pinch or ear flick, Donald hadn’t hassled Martin all that much for the past few weeks. And Martin had figured he wouldn’t bother with it on a happy day like this one, so he had let his guard down. Oh, well.
    With a sigh, he trudged over and looked up at his tree-borne backpack. He tried jumping up to grab it, but it was just out of reach. So he jumped again…still not quite. He made a few more jumps, feeling like an idiot—and drawing laughs from some of the nearby kids—but never quite getting his hand on it.
    Suddenly, a short, heavy stick flew up and thwacked on the backpack. It came loose from the branch and plopped at his feet. He looked to his left, and there stood Audrey Blanchard—her skirt neatly reassembled with safety pins, her freckled face carrying a strange, unreadable expression.
    “Thanks,” Martin muttered self-consciously as he picked up his bag and headed out the gate. He figured that would be the end of that, but he was a bit startled to notice she was walking right next to him—and even more startled when she spoke.
    “How come you didn’t laugh?”
    “Huh?”
    “You were the only one.”
    “Wasn’t that funny.”
    They walked on in silence. Martin could feel the sweat building up in his pores. He and Audrey hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words since the day she arrived—the last time they’d spoken at all was when he ran off after she helped with his fallen books. Why was she talking to him now? Hoping to end it, he quickly cut across the street. But five seconds later, there she was again, walking right behind him. He walked faster. So did she. He tried to ignore her, but when he got a strange sensation and glanced back, there she was, doing a comical imitation of his mopey walk. She gave him an impish smile, but all he could do was roll his eyes.
    With a dramatic sigh, she put it straight to him.
    “Martin, what is the deal with you?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I don’t get you. You’re the only one who’s ever sort of, like, almost nice to me, but then you won’t even talk to me.”
    “I’m talking to you now.”
    “This is not talking. This is me throwing out words and you slapping them away like bugs. I mean,
geez.
You act like you don’t even
want
any friends.”
    “Nobody wants to be friends with me.”
    “How do you know?”
    “They all think I’m