Free Pigboy by Vicki Grant Page B

now.
    I rooted around in my backpack. I found allergy pills, Kleenex, duct tape—all the stuff you’d expect a nerd like me to have—but nothing for carsickness.
    We went over another bump, and it was all I could do not to heave. I closed my eyes and told myself not to think about it.
    That was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be.
    A second later, my face was smashed up against the bus window. I heard the arm to my glasses snap off and that stupid laugh of his. On the plus side, I completely forgot about throwing up.
    Shane Coolen gave me a big yellow smile and said, “Mind if I join you, Pigboy?”

chapter four
    Mr. Benvie bugged me, but I had to say this for him: Whenever we went on a field trip, he always sat at the back of the bus. There was no way he’d ever let Shane and Tyler out of his sight.
    I should have thought about that before I chose my seat. I should have found a place up front near Ms. Creaser. I would have looked like a chicken, but at least I wouldn’t have had two hundred poundsof Shane Coolen slamming me into the side of the bus.
    â€œScooch over!” he said in this fake girly voice. “A little more...A little more... Attaboy. I’m not squishing you now, am I?”
    What was I supposed to say?
    If I said yes, he’d pound me for being a wuss. If I said no, he’d crush me until I said yes—then he’d pound me.
    I couldn’t win. I just kept my mouth shut and hoped that the lenses of my glasses wouldn’t break. I’d be blind without them. I could probably have lived with that—but what would I tell my mother? I didn’t need her finding out about this. If Shane thought I was running home to my mama like some little wimp, he’d really torture me.
    Shane had his feet pushed up against the arm of the seat and was leaning against my back like I was a beanbag chair. Every time he moved, that little metal rim around the window dug deeper into my face. I could taste the bloodfrom my nose dripping into my mouth. I wondered how much longer my teeth would last.
    Shane took my arm and bent it back at the elbow. He started going, “This little piggy went to market. This little piggy went home...” Tyler and his buddies were cracking up. I could hear them snorting.
    I was worried about what Shane had in store for the last little piggy—when everyone suddenly stopped laughing. Shane hopped up and moved over to his side of the seat.
    Ms. Creaser was heading to the back of the bus.
    Shane, like, hissed at me, “Keep your face down!” Then he started whistling. What an idiot. If Ms. Creaser didn’t think he was guilty before, she sure did when he started doing that zippity-do-dah stuff. He was trying way too hard to look innocent.
    â€œWhat happened here?” she said.
    Shane shrugged and went, “Huh? What do you mean? I’ve just been enjoyingthe scenery. Nothing happened that I know of.”
    â€œNothing?” she said. “Then why’s your friend here bleeding?”
    Shane went, “Oh, right! Sorry, I forgot about that.” He patted me on the back. “Daniel has a nosebleed. He gets them all the time, poor guy.” Another one of those big yellow smiles.
    Ms. Creaser leaned over and lifted my chin. She looked at me and my bloody face and my broken glasses, then she looked at Shane. She looked at Shane for a long, long time. After a while, he stopped smiling. You could tell she thought he was an idiot.
    She said, “I don’t suppose you’re the famous Mr. Coolen now, are you?”
    He clicked his tongue and winked at her. Who did he think he was? Brad Pitt?
    â€œYup,” he said. “That’s me. The famous Mr. Coolen!”
    â€œIt’s nothing to be proud of,” she said. “You and I and the principal are going to have a little talk later.”
    â€œI’m looking forward to it,” he said. “Not as much as I am,” she said. Then