Free The Stupendous Dodgeball Fiasco by Janice Repka

because he’s Matilda’s son.”
    Phillip wondered what they were talking about.
    Mr. Race smiled, and a glint of light reflected off hisbraces. “I might take a different approach if this were Phillip’s first offense,” he continued, “but there have been others.”
    “Others?” asked Aunt Veola.
    “He’s left school early without permission on two occasions. The first time was an early morning; he was spotted in the hallway but failed to report to homeroom. The second time, he asked to go to the bathroom and never returned to class. Of course there are also complaints about his bad dodgeball attitude. I’m sure you understand how important school spirit is.”
    “He’s had a hard time adjusting,” Aunt Veola said weakly.
    “Attacking dodgeball is not my idea of trying to adjust.” Mr. Race looked over at Phillip. “If you really want to adjust, start with your attitude.”
    “What’s the difference?” Phillip replied. “I’ll never fit in.”
    They did not discuss the point further. Phillip collected his schoolbooks and loaded them into Aunt Veola’s car. He held his feelings in for as long as he could. By the time they were driving away from the school, he was filled to the brim and began to overflow.
    “I’m no good at anything,” he said. “When I was with the circus, I wasn’t brave enough to walk on hot coals, patient enough to train a bear to dance, or graceful enough to stand on a horse. I thought if I lived like a regular kid, I would find a place where I belong. But things are no better here.”
    Phillip sighed. “I’m not strong enough to be an athlete. I’m not rich enough to be a snob. Even the nerds don’t want me because I’m not nerdy enough.”
    “It takes all types in this world,” said Aunt Veola. “Noteveryone is an athlete or a snob or a nerd. Just look at your father, and he’s a very successful clown.”
    “But clowning comes easy to him. He’s always been a clown.”
    “Is that what you think?” Aunt Veola pulled over to the side of the road, waited for traffic, and made a U-turn. Phillip didn’t care. Nothing seemed to matter.
    The sedan didn’t stop until the scenery had turned to countryside. They pulled into the parking lot of a run-down country diner. Phillip followed Aunt Veola to a pickup window. She ordered two hot chocolates with extra whipped cream and put her change in a tin box on the counter for donations to the Dodgeball Museum.
    Aunt Veola wiped her cup with a paper napkin. They took the cups to a large pond and watched a family of ducks diving for dinner. October leaves were blowing in swirling patterns. Aunt Veola spread a napkin on a wooden bench, where they sipped their rich, soothing drinks.
    “I used to fish here with your mother when we were girls. I would catch them. She would eat them.”
    Phillip tried to imagine Aunt Veola as a young girl with a fishing rod in her hand and a can of disinfectant in her pocket to clean the hook between worms.
    “After your mother joined the circus,” she said, “I stopped fishing. I sold my rod and reel the day of her wedding. I knew she would never move back after she became one of the Stupendous Stanislaws.”
    Phillip listened with interest. He sipped his hot chocolate slowly, letting it clear a warm path down his throat.
    “You don’t know much about your father’s family history. Do you?” she asked.
    Phillip shook his head.
    “Your great-grandparents on your father’s side of the family were turnip farmers. They were sensible people, hoping to raise your grandfather to be a sensible man. They taught him that ‘the early bird catches the worm’ and ‘a penny saved is a penny earned.’ They took him to turnip-farming conventions and bought him books about crop rotation and soil conditions.
    “One day your grandfather was riding in the back of the truck on the way to market with a load of turnips. They hit a bump in the road, and your grandfather fell off the turnip truck. In the