There's a Boy in the Girls' Bathroom Read online

  Bradley’s father worked in the police department. He had been shot in the leg four years ago while chasing a robber. Now he needed a cane to walk, so he worked behind a desk. He didn’t like that kind of work and often came home grumpy and short-tempered.

  The police never caught the man who had shot him.

  “I hate fish,” Bradley said as he sat down.

  “So do I,” said Claudia. “It sticks to my braces and I taste it for weeks.”

  “Brussels sprouts make me throw up,” said Bradley.

  “They smell like old garbage,” said Claudia.

  “That’s enough,” said their father. “You’ll both eat what’s on your plates.”

  Bradley held his nose with one hand while he picked up a brussels sprout with the other, and put it, whole, into his mouth.

  “What’s all this nonsense about your mother breaking her promise?” asked his father.

  Bradley was ready. “She promised she’d take me to the zoo tomorrow, and now she won’t!”

  “What?” exclaimed his mother. “I never said I’d take you to the zoo.”

  “She did too!” said Bradley. “Since there is no school tomorrow, she said she’d take me to the zoo.”

  “I didn’t even know there was no school tomorrow until his teacher called me this afternoon,” his mother protested.

  “You promised!” said Bradley.

  “Okay,” said his father. “Janet, what time is your appointment tomorrow with Bradley’s teacher?”

  “Eleven o’clock.”

  “Okay, you can go to your appointment and still have time to take Bradley to the zoo, after lunch.”

  “But I never said I’d take him to the zoo.”

  “You did!” accused Bradley. “And we have to go in the morning. We have to be at the zoo at eleven o’clock!”

  Claudia snickered. “Why do you have to be at the zoo at eleven o’clock?”

  He glared at her, then turned back to his father. “Because that’s when they feed the lions.”

  Claudia laughed.

  “She promised she’d take me to see them feed the lions at eleven o’clock,” Bradley insisted.

  His mother was flabbergasted. “I—I don’t even know when they feed the lions!”

  “Eleven o’clock,” said Bradley.

  “Don’t lie to your mother,” said his father.

  “Really,” said Bradley. “They feed the lions at eleven o’clock.”

  “I don’t tolerate lying,” said his father.

  “I’m not lying,” said Bradley. “Call the zoo if you don’t believe me.”

  “Don’t lie to your mother and don’t lie to me!”

  “Call the zoo!”

  “Your mother said she never promised to take you to the zoo.”

  “She’s lying.” Right after he said it, he knew it was a mistake.

  His father turned purple with rage. “Don’t ever call your mother a liar! Now go to your room!”

  “Just call the zoo,” Bradley pleaded.

  “Maybe I did tell him I’d take him to the zoo,” said his mother.

  “See!” said Bradley.

  “Keep it up, Bradley,” said his father. “Just keep it up. You want to be a criminal when you grow up? You want to spend your life in jail? I see people just like you every day at the police station. Just keep it up.”

  Bradley stared angrily at his father. “Not all criminals go to jail!” he asserted. “What about the man who shot you?”

  “I said, go to your room!”

  Bradley stood up from the table. “I didn’t want to eat this junk anyway.” He stomped down the hall into his room and slammed the door. Then he opened it and shouted, “Call the zoo!” one last time, then slammed it again.

  He lay on his bed and cried.

  “Don’t cry, Bradley,” said Ronnie. “Everything will be all right.”

  “You’ll think of something, Bradley,” said Bartholomew. “You always do. You’re the smartest kid in the world.”

  4.

  Bradley stood at the front door and hollered, “Mrs. Ebbel is a liar! Don’t believe anything she tells you.”

  Bradley’s mother got into the car, gritted her teeth, and drove to school. She was just as afraid as Bradley, if not more so, of what Mrs. Ebbel would tell her.

  She wanted to believe Bradley when he told her he was getting all A’s or was elected class president. She tried to fool herself that it could be true, even though she knew it couldn’t. She knew her son. And she knew Mrs. Ebbel wouldn’t take the trouble to call her on the phone if everything were really as wonderful as Bradley said it was. Still, she hoped.

  She opened the door to Bradley’s classroom. No one was there. “Hello?” she called out timidly.

  She looked around. There was a bulletin board covered with A papers. She looked from one paper to another and hoped, with all her heart, that she’d see one with Bradley’s name on it. She didn’t.

  In the back corner of the room she saw a chart that listed the name of every student in the class. Next to each name was a row of gold stars. Next to “Bradley Chalkers,” there were no stars.

  “Mrs. Chalkers?”

  Startled, she turned around to see Mrs. Ebbel. “Oh, you scared me,” she said, then smiled.

  Mrs. Ebbel didn’t smile.

  Mrs. Chalkers sat at a chair next to the teacher’s desk and bravely listened as Mrs. Ebbel told her about Bradley. There was nothing Mrs. Ebbel said that she didn’t already know. Still, it hurt to hear it.

  “Deep down, he really is a good boy,” she tried to tell Bradley’s teacher.

  “I’m sure he has a lot of good qualities,” said Mrs. Ebbel. “However, I have twenty-eight other children in my class, and I can’t spend all my time trying to help Bradley. He has to decide whether he wants to be a part of the class or not. And if he doesn’t want to be a part of the class, then he shouldn’t be here. He just makes it that much harder for everyone else.”

  “What can I do?” asked Bradley’s mother.

  “The school has just hired a counselor,” said Mrs. Ebbel. “I’d like your permission for Bradley to begin seeing her once a week.”

  “Anything that will help my son,” said Mrs. Chalkers.

  “I don’t know if she can help him or not,” said Mrs. Ebbel. “Bradley has a very serious behavior problem. If he doesn’t show improvement soon, more drastic measures will have to be taken.”

  “Deep down, he really is a good boy,” said Bradley’s mother.

  “Well, let’s go meet the counselor,” said Mrs. Ebbel. She led Bradley’s mother down the halls to the counselor’s office. The door was open, but no one was there.

  Bradley’s mother stepped into the room. Boxes were everywhere. Some were turned over, with their contents half spilled onto the floor. A yellow ladder lay on its side. In the center of the room was a round table surrounded by chairs, but the table and chairs were covered with papers and boxes and games and books. There was hardly room for Bradley’s mother and teacher to stand.

  “She’s just moving in,” Mrs. Ebbel explained. “I’m sure she’ll have it cleaned up by tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Chalkers shrugged. She picked up a dolphin puppet from an open box on the table and put her hand inside it.

  Suddenly there was a loud grunt and a young woman entered the room. She dropped the box she was carrying, and more than a hundred crayons spilled out across the floor. “Oh, hello,” she said.

  She was a lot younger than either Mrs. Ebbel or Mrs. Chalkers. She wore blue jeans and a red T-shirt with ROCK ‘N’ ROLL written across it in light blue letters. She had light brown hair, almost blond, and clear blue eyes.

  “I’m Carla Davis,” she said, and held out her hand.

  Bradley’s mother stared at her a moment, then reached out to shake her hand but suddenly realized she was still wearing the dolphin puppet. She quickly removed it and put it back in the box on the table.

  The counselor smiled.

  �
��She needs to sign the form so that you can start seeing her son,” said Mrs. Ebbel.

  Miss Davis looked hopelessly around her office. “They’re around here somewhere,” she muttered, then began tearing into the boxes.

  “Perhaps I’d better come back,” said Bradley’s mother.

  “Found them!” said the counselor, holding up the forms. She cleared a space on the round table by pushing away a box and gave Mrs. Chalkers a form to sign.

  Bradley’s mother looked around the messy office, then at the young woman with the rock ‘n’ roll T-shirt. She shrugged her shoulders and signed her name.

  Miss Davis took the form from her. “Oh! You’re Bradley Chalkers’ mother!”

  Mrs. Chalkers nodded.

  “You would not believe all the horror stories I’ve heard about Bradley Chalkers,” said the new counselor. “I’ve been here less than three hours but it seems like every teacher in the school has dropped by to warn me about him.”

  “Deep down, he really is—” Bradley’s mother started to say.

  “I can’t wait to meet him,” the counselor interrupted. “He sounds charming, just delightful.”

  5.

  At dinner Bradley’s father asked how the meeting with Bradley’s teacher went.

  Bradley looked down at his mashed potatoes.

  “Fine,” said his mother. “Bradley is doing very well.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it,” said his father.

  Bradley was glad to hear it too.

  Later that evening his mother came into his room. “I met Miss Davis, the new counselor,” she said. “You’re going to begin seeing her tomorrow.”

  “No,” said Bradley. “I won’t go!”

  “Please, Bradley. Don’t be that way. She can help you, if you’ll let her.”

  “I don’t need any help. You said I was doing very well.”

  “Did you want me to tell your father the truth? Do you want to be sent to military school? Maybe he’s right. I don’t know. Maybe that’s what you need.”

  “You said I was doing very well. I heard you.”

  “Please, Bradley,” said his mother. “Give Miss Davis a chance. Please.”

  “You should have taken me to the zoo.”

  It was drizzling the next morning as Bradley walked to school. He wore red rubber boots and a yellow raincoat. He stamped in every puddle along the way, making big splashes.

  He suddenly stopped when he saw Jeff standing next to the school, under the overhang. Bradley’s right foot remained in the center of a puddle as he stared at his one and only friend.

  He took a deep breath, then slowly walked toward Jeff. “He has to like me,” he tried to convince himself. “I gave him a dollar.”

  “Hi, Bradley,” Jeff greeted him.

  He didn’t answer.

  “If you want, I can help you with your homework sometimes,” Jeff offered. “I know I’m new here, but I’m pretty smart, and we learned the same stuff at my old school.” He shrugged modestly.

  Bradley looked at Jeff as if he were from outer space. “I don’t need any help,” he said. “I’m the smartest kid in class. Ask anyone.”

  They headed for Mrs. Ebbel’s room, side by side but not necessarily together.

  6.

  Jeff Fishkin was hopelessly lost. He clutched his hall pass as he looked down the long empty corridor. The school seemed so big to him.

  He was on his way to see the new counselor. She was supposed to help him “adjust to his new environment.” Now he not only didn’t know how to get to her office, he had no idea how to get back to Mrs. Ebbel’s class either.

  The floor was slippery. It had started raining during recess and the kids had tracked water and mud inside with them.

  A teacher carrying a stack of papers stepped out of a door and Jeff hurried up to her. “Can you tell me where the counselor’s office is, please?” he asked. His voice trembled.

  The teacher first checked to make sure he had a hall pass. Then she said: “The counselor’s office … let’s see. Go down this hall to the end, turn right, and it’s the third door on your left.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Jeff. He started to go.

  “No, wait,” said the teacher. “That’s not right, she’s in the new office in the other wing. Turn around and go back the way you just came, then turn left at the end of the hall and it’s the second door on your right.”

  “Thank you,” Jeff said again.

  He walked to the end of the hall, turned right, counted to the second door on his left, and pushed it open.

  A girl with red hair and a freckled face was washing her hands at the sink. When she saw Jeff, her mouth dropped open. “What are you doing in here?” she asked.

  “Huh?” Jeff uttered.

  “Get out of here!” she yelled. “This is the girls’ bathroom!”

  Jeff froze. He covered his face with his hands, then dashed out the door.

  “THERE’S A BOY IN THE GIRLS’ BATHROOM!” the girl screamed after him.

  He raced down the hall. Suddenly his feet slipped out from under him. He waved his arms wildly as he tried to keep his balance, then flopped down on the floor.

  “Oh no, no, no, oh no, no, no,” he groaned. “What have I done? Oh, why didn’t I just read the sign on the door? This is the worst day of my whole life!”

  Suddenly he realized he was no longer holding the hall pass. He stood up and frantically looked around. “Don’t tell me I dropped it in the girls’ bathroom.”

  He heard someone coming and hurried off in the opposite direction. He rounded the corner, then spotted what looked like some kind of storage room. It was cluttered with boxes.

  He ducked inside and closed the door behind him.

  “Hello,” said a voice.

  He spun around.

  A woman stepped down off a yellow ladder. “You must be Jeff,” she said. “I’m Carla Davis.” She smiled and held out her hand. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I was afraid you might get lost.”

  7.

  Jeff sat at the round table. The counselor sat across from him.

  “So how do you like Red Hill School?” she asked.

  He stared straight ahead. There’s a boy in the girls’ bathroom echoed inside his head.

  “I imagine it must seem a little scary,” said the counselor.

  He didn’t answer.

  “I think it’s scary,” she said. “It seems so big! Anytime I try to go anywhere, I get lost.”

  He smiled weakly.

  “It’s hard for me because I’m new here,” she explained. “Today is only my second day of school. I don’t know anybody. Nobody knows me. The other teachers all look at me strangely. It’s hard for me to make friends with them. They already have their own friends.”

  “I know what you mean,” Jeff said.

  “Maybe you can help me,” said the counselor.

  “Me?” said Jeff. “How can I help you? I’m the one who needs help!”

  “Well, maybe we can help each other. What do you think about that?”

  “How?”

  “We’re the two new kids at school,” she said. “We can share our experiences and learn from each other.”

  Jeff smiled. “Okay, Miss Davis,” he said.

  “Jeff,” she said, “if we’re going to be friends, I want you to call me Carla, not Miss Davis.”

  He laughed.

  “Do you think Carla is a funny name?”

  “Oh, no! I just never called a teacher by her first name, that’s all.”

  “But we’re friends. Friends don’t call each other Miss Davis and Mr. Fishkin, do they?”

  Jeff laughed again. “No,” he said, then he frowned. “The kids in my class call me Fishface.”

  “Have you made any friends?” asked Carla.

  “I sort of made one friend,” said Jeff, “but I don’t like him.”

  “How can he be your friend if you don’t like him?”

  “Nobody likes him. At first I felt sorry
for him because nobody wanted to sit next to him. Mrs. Ebbel said it out loud right in front of the whole class. ‘Nobody likes sitting there,’ she said. It was like he wasn’t even there. It’s bad enough when a kid says something like that, but a teacher.”

  “It must have hurt his feelings,” said Carla.

  “No. He just smiled.”

  “He may have been smiling on the outside, but do you think he really was smiling on the inside?”

  “I don’t know. I guess not. I guess that’s why I tried to be friends with him. I told him I liked sitting next to him. But then he said, ‘Give me a dollar or I’ll spit on you.’ “

  “What did you do?”

  “I gave him a dollar. I didn’t want him to spit on me. But then, later, he said, ‘I’ll give you a dollar to be my friend.’ So I took it. It was my dollar! So does that mean I have to be his friend, even though I just broke even?”

  “What do you think friendship is?” Carla asked him.

  “I don’t know. I mean I know what it is, but I can’t explain it.”

  “Is it something you can buy and sell? Can you go to the store and get a quart of milk, a dozen eggs, and a friend?”

  Jeff laughed. “No. So does that mean I don’t have to be friends with him?”

  “I won’t tell you what to do,” said Carla. “All I can do is help you think for yourself.”

  “I don’t even know if Bradley wants to be my friend,” said Jeff. “Today, at recess, we hung around together but we didn’t do anything. He acted like I wasn’t there. Then, when it started to rain, he ran around trying to push little kids into the mud.”

  “Could you share your feelings with him?” asked Carla. “That’s the real way to build a friendship: by talking, and by being honest and by sharing your feelings. Like the way we’re talking and being honest with each other now. That’s why we’re friends.”

  “But Bradley’s different than you and me,” said Jeff.

  “I think you’ll find that if you’re nice to Bradley, he’ll be nice to you. If you are honest and friendly with him, he’ll be honest and friendly with you. It’s just like with the dollar. You always break even.”

  Jeff smiled. “Are you going to see Bradley, too?” he asked.