EASY TARGETS
From the instant I heard about PeaceJoy Charter School, I knew I had to go there. I’d spotted a big article about it in the newspaper my parents were reading at breakfast. There was a headline on the front page of the local section: BULLY-FREE SCHOOL SET TO OPEN IN SEPTEMBER.
Wow. A school without any bullies. According to the article, students from anywhere in the city or the surrounding suburbs could apply to go there. I closed my eyes and pictured it. I smiled as I saw smart, unathletic kids walking safely and happily through hallways decorated with inspiring posters about working together and being friends with everyone.
Imagine that—a school without a single bully.
Better yet—imagine a school with just one bully: Me. All those pathetic little losers would be at my mercy. They say bullies feel bad about themselves. Not me. I feel great. I’m strong and powerful. And I’m smart. Smart enough not to get caught. Smart enough, at times, so that even my victim doesn’t realize he’s being bullied.
Yeah, that’s how good I am at making little whiny rodents feel fear and misery. I can make them tremble, blink back tears, and look in vain desperation for an escape route. But, as good as I am, nobody is perfect. I’d coasted through sixth and seventh grades without getting caught, but some of the teachers at my middle school had started to look at me like they were suspicious. When I walked through crowded hallways between classes, most kids tried to avoid getting too close to me. I had a feeling I’d end up in trouble before I finished eighth grade. I was afraid that my reputation for being a troublemaker would follow me to the high school, which was right across the street. So, it was time for a change, and for new hunting grounds.
I’d convinced my parents to fill out an application to PeaceJoy. That was easy enough. They aren’t all that smart. Sometimes, I wonder where I came from. Maybe I had a great-great grandparent who was related to some brutal warlord or military genius. I sure didn’t share any traits with my parents. I could twist them both around my little finger. They’d do anything I asked.
I had to write an essay as part of the admissions process for the school. That was a joke. I knew exactly what they wanted to hear. I tossed in phrases like “tired of being picked on,” “peer pressure,” and “self-esteem,” and capped it all off with “I just want to be allowed to learn at my own pace in a fear-free and nurturing environment.” It was priceless. I laughed the whole time I was writing it.
I got accepted, of course. The letter from PeaceJoy came two weeks before school started. I would be a member of the first graduating class. I’d walk the halls along with fifty-nine other students drawn from sixteen different middle schools in this part of the state.
I couldn’t wait.
My dad dropped me off in front of the school the first morning.
“I’m proud of you, son,” he said. “It takes a real man to admit his weaknesses.”
“And strengths,” I said as he drove off.
I merged with a group of kids going up the steps, and looked around, wondering who would be my favorite target this year. Maybe I could trip someone on the stairs. That was always fun. But it might be smarter to wait until I had a better sense of my classmates.
“Hey!”
I went tumbling.
Someone had tripped me.
I looked around as I got up, but I couldn’t tell who had done it. It had to be an accident. Nobody here would dare do that on purpose.
I went in through the doorway.
“Hey!” I shouted again as someone smacked the back of my head. I looked around. Once again, I couldn’t tell anything. But as I took a good look at the kids near me, I realized something disturbing.
I wasn’t towering over the crowd.
This wasn’t the way I’d pictured things. This wasn’t the fantasy that had entertained me ever since I’d learned about PeaceJoy. Most of the other kids were my size … or bigger. There were one or two runts, but they didn’t look scared. Their expressions were tough. They seemed alert, like they were looking all around for any source of danger. Or maybe they were looking for targets.
The teachers, who were waiting inside, led us into the auditorium. I got hit twice more before I took a seat. I sat in the last row, so there’d be nobody behind me. I noticed a banner over the stage:
PEACEJOY CHARTER SCHOOL: MAKING SCHOOLS SAFER EVERYWHERE
Everywhere? That didn’t make sense.
A huge kid sat on my left. He was so big, at first I thought he was a teacher.
“Give me your lunch money,” he said.
I didn’t even try to argue. That’s how scary he was. Right after I handed over my money, the kid on my right said, “Give me your sneakers.”
He was even bigger.
I looked around the auditorium, wondering who I could steal lunch money and sneakers from. That’s when it hit me—and it hit me so hard, I almost threw up. I wasn’t the only kid who realized it would be great to be the one bully in a school full of victims.
Everyone had that idea. Every bully in sixteen different schools. And, based on the banner, the people who ran PeaceJoy already knew it. They were making schools safer by stuffing all of us here. Other schools would be safer. But not this one, for sure.
It was going to be a rough year.
Copyright © 2016 by David Lubar
