2 .

There are some kids—you can tell just by looking at them—who are good spitters. That is probably the best way to describe Bradley Chalkers. He looked like a good spitter.

He was the oldest and the toughest-looking kid in Mrs. Ebbel’s class. He was a year older than the other kids. That was because he had taken the fourth grade twice. Now he was in the fifth grade for the first, but probably not the last, time.

Jeff stared at him, then gave him a dollar and ran away.

Bradley laughed to himself, then watched all the other kids have fun.

When he returned to class after recess, he was surprised Mrs. Ebbel didn’t say anything to him. He figured that Jeff would probably tell on him and that he’d have to give back the dollar.

He sat at his desk in the back of the room—last seat, last row. He’s afraid to tell on me , he decided. He knows if he tells on me, I’ll punch his face in! He laughed to himself.

He ate lunch alone too.

As he walked in from lunch, Mrs. Ebbel called him to her desk.

“Who, me?” he asked. He glared at Jeff, who was already sitting down. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Did you give my note to your mother?” asked Mrs. Ebbel.

“Huh? What note? You never gave me a note.”

Mrs. Ebbel sighed. “Yes I did, Bradley. In fact, I gave you two notes because you said the first one was stolen.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he said. “I gave it to her a long time ago.”

Mrs. Ebbel eyed him suspiciously. “Bradley, I think it’s very important for your mother to come tomorrow.”

Tomorrow was Parents’ Conference Day.

“She can’t come,” said Bradley. “She’s sick.”

“You never gave her the note, did you?”

“Call her doctor if you don’t believe me.”

“The school has just hired a new counselor,” said Mrs. Ebbel. “And I think it’s very important that your mother meet her.”

“Oh, they already met,” said Bradley. “They go bowling together.”

“I’m trying to help you, Bradley.”

“Call the bowling alley if you don’t believe me!”

“Okay, Bradley,” said Mrs. Ebbel, and she let the matter drop.

Bradley returned to his seat, glad that was over. He glanced at Jeff, surprised Jeff hadn’t told on him. As he scribbled he kept thinking about what Jeff had said to him. Hey, Bradley, wait up. Hi. I don’t mind sitting next to you. Really. I have been to the White House. If you want, I’ll tell you about it .

It confused him.

He understood it when the other kids were mean to him. It didn’t bother him. He simply hated them. As long as he hated them, it didn’t matter what they thought of him.

That was why he had threatened to spit on Jeff. He had to hate Jeff before Jeff hated him.

But now he was confused. Hey, Bradley, wait up. Hi. I don’t mind sitting next to you. Really . The words rolled around in his head and banged against his brain.

After school, he followed Jeff out the door. “Hey, Jeff,” he called, “wait up!”

Jeff turned, then started to run, but Bradley was faster. He caught up to Jeff at the corner of the school building.

“I don’t have any more money,” Jeff said nervously.

“I’ll give you a dollar if you’ll be my friend,” said Bradley. He held out the dollar Jeff had given him earlier.

Jeff slowly reached out, then grabbed it. Bradley smiled his same twisted smile. “Have you ever been to the White House?” he asked.

“Um … yes,” said Jeff.

“Me too!” said Bradley. He turned and ran home.