Don't Feed The Bully - Brad Tassell

Don’t Feed The Bully 55
“I’ll pay,” I said, “but I won’t fetch.” I handed the
money to Ralphie and said, “I’ll have root beer.”
Ralphie looked at me for less than a second before
saying, “Grape it is.”
Ralphie walked inside, more than filling the one student
maximum.
“They don’t have root beer,” Kayla said, sincerely sad
for me. We headed across the cracked parking lot, weeds
running in all directions like an ivy road map, and sat on one
of two weather-beaten picnic tables that spent more time as
pigeon potties than dining spots. Ralphie set down three
large slushies.
“Any change?” I asked.
“Actually, Handy, they were three-fifteen with tax, but I
covered you.”
“I’ll get you something special for Valentine’s Day,” I
said.
Kayla was ready to get serious.
“We think it may be time to do something,” she said,
“and we thought you might have some ideas.”
“Ideas, I have loads,” I said. “I’m short on facts, and
my plans have been as useful as a mime assembly.”
I laid out what I knew and what had happened. I
showed my bruise, and I shared my thoughts on Kurt
Pesterman, the society, and showed them the hall pass from