There’s A Boy in the Girl’s Bathroom (8 page)

He didn’t go trick-or-treating that evening, though Ronnie and Bartholomew did. The other animals gave them lots of candy.

“I’m making a list of topics to talk about with
my counselor,” he told them. “Do you have any ideas?”

“How about rabbits?” suggested Ronnie.

“That’s a good one,” said Bradley. He added “Rabbits” to his list.

“Bears,” said Bartholomew.

“That’s good too.”

Claudia barged into his room.

Bradley quickly shoved his list under the pillow on his bed.

“How about what Dad’s going to do to you when he finds out you’re flunking?” she asked. “That’s a good topic.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Bradley.

“The list.”

“What list?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Claudia. She slowly wandered toward the bed, then lunged for the pillow.

Bradley dived for it, too, but Claudia beat him to it. She held the list above her head and read it. As she looked at each new page, she cracked up laughing.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“Your list!”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“This isn’t the kind of stuff you talk about with a counselor.”

“How do you know?”

“Chalk?” asked Claudia. “What can you say about chalk?”

“A lot!” he insisted.

Claudia laughed. “One potato! Two potato! Your counselor’s going to be mad when she sees this.”

“Give it to me!”

“Yes,” she answered as if he had asked a question.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes. Your head looks like a chili bowl.” She laughed.

“Shut up!”

“ ‘Who shot my father?’ “ read Claudia. “How’s she going to know that?”

Bradley shrugged.

Claudia gave him back the list. “You wrote ‘Gold stars’ three times,” she said, shaking her head.

Bradley grabbed it from her hand and looked at what he’d written.

“That’s the stupidest list I’ve ever seen,” said Claudia. “Your counselor’s not going to want to talk about anything on that list.”

“You don’t know her,” he replied. “She’ll talk about anything I want to talk about. She listens to me. She likes me!”

“No she doesn’t,” scoffed Claudia. “That’s just her job!” She walked out of his room, laughing.

Bradley watched her go. Then he added two new topics to his list: Sisters and Jobs.

Tears filled his eyes as he tried to think of another topic. He crossed off two of the “Gold stars,” then crumpled the list into a ball and threw it in his trash basket.

“Look out! Here comes the monster!” screamed a chubby fourth-grade boy. “It’s the monster from outer space!”

“Aaaah! It’s so ugly!” yelled his skinny friend.

“Don’t let it touch you!” warned a girl with pink glasses. “Or you’ll turn into a monster too.”

Bradley ran at them. They scattered and regrouped, like pigeons.

He sat down to eat his lunch.

“It sure is a stupid monster!” shouted a third-grader.

After lunch, Bradley sat at his desk—last seat, last row. He didn’t look at Jeff. He didn’t look the other way, either, at the chart full of gold stars. And he didn’t look straight ahead, at Mrs. Ebbel. He didn’t look anywhere.

It was time to see Carla again. He took the hall pass from Mrs. Ebbel and walked out of the classroom.

He hated Carla. He didn’t want to make the same mistake with her that he had made with Jeff. He realized Claudia was right. Carla didn’t like him. That was just her job.

She was waiting for him outside her door. “Hello, Bradley,” she said as she held out her hand. “It’s a
pleasure to see you today. I appreciate your coming to see me.”

He walked past her and sat down at the round table.

She sat across from him. She was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt with two triangles on it, one red and one blue.

“Did you make a list of topics to discuss?” she asked.

“No, you’re the teacher.”

“So?”

“So you’re the one who has to say what we talk about, not me. That’s your
job!”

“Well, let me think,” said Carla. “Are you sure you can’t think of anything?”

He shook his head.

“I’m surprised. I thought you would have come up with a lot of interesting topics. Well, in that case, we’ll have to talk about school. Shall we start with homework?”

“Monsters from outer space,” he replied.

“Hmm?”

“Monsters from outer space,” he repeated. “You said I could pick the topic. I want to talk about monsters from outer space!”

“What a wonderful topic!” said Carla.

“The only way to kill them is with a ray gun,” said Bradley. “Regular guns, or even hand grenades and atomic bombs, won’t kill them. You need a ray gun.” He stood up and pretended to shoot a ray gun, making
a noise that sounded like a cross between a machine gun and a horse.

Carla put her hands up to protect herself. “Don’t shoot me,” she said.

“You’re a monster from outer space,” he told her.

“No I’m not. I’m a counselor.”

He stopped firing. “Do you believe in monsters from outer space?”

She shook her head. “No. But I do believe there are other types of creatures living in outer space. I just don’t believe in monsters. I believe that Earth is just one small planet in a gigantic universe. I think there are billions of other planets with trillions of other kinds of creatures living on them. Some are real stupid and others smarter than you or me. Some are bigger than dinosaurs; others, smaller than ants. But out of all those creatures, I don’t think there is even one monster.”

“Not even one?”

“No,” said Carla. “I think everyone has ‘good’ inside him. Everyone can feel happiness, and sadness and loneliness. But sometimes people think someone’s a monster. But that’s only because they can’t see the ‘good’ that’s there inside him. And then a terrible thing happens.”

“They kill him?”

“No, even worse. They call him a monster, and other people start calling him a monster, and everyone treats him like a monster, and then after a while, he starts believing it himself. He thinks he’s a monster
too. So he acts like one. But he still isn’t a monster. He still has lots of good, buried deep inside him.”

“But what if he’s real ugly?” asked Bradley. “What if he has green skin, and only one eye in the middle of his face, and three arms, and two hands on each arm, and eight fingers on each hand?”

Carla laughed. “You and I might think that’s ugly,” she said, “but that’s just because it’s different from what we’re used to seeing. On that planet, that might be considered beautiful. You may have just described a handsome movie star.”

Bradley laughed.

“On that planet, they probably would think I was ugly, because I don’t have green skin and I have two eyes.”

Bradley shook his head. “No, they might think I was ugly, but not
you.”

“Why, Bradley,” Carla said with astonishment, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Thank you.”

He blushed. He hadn’t meant it the way it came out. “I don’t want to talk about monsters anymore,” he mumbled.

“Okay,” said Carla. “I think we had a very good conversation, don’t you? You picked an excellent topic.”

For the rest of the session, he colored. He took a green crayon out of Carla’s large box of crayons and tried to draw the creature from outer space that he had described. He was able to draw the three arms,
and six hands, but he had trouble fitting eight fingers onto each hand.

He looked up. “Carla?”

“Yes, Bradley.”

“Can you see inside monsters?” he asked. “Can you see the ‘good’?”

“That’s all I see.”

He returned to his picture. He drew a black eye in the middle of the creature’s face. He drew a red heart inside the creature’s chest to show all the “good” that was there.

“Well, how does a monster stop being a monster?” he asked. “I mean, if everyone sees only a monster, and they keep treating him like a monster, how does he stop being a monster?”

“It isn’t easy,” Carla said. “I think, first, he has to realize for himself that he isn’t a monster. That, I think, is the first step. Until he knows he isn’t a monster, how is anybody else supposed to know?”

Bradley finished coloring and showed his picture to Carla. “He’s a movie star on his planet,” he said. “Everyone loves him.”

“He’s very handsome,” said Carla.

“You want it?” asked Bradley. “I mean, I don’t want it anyway, so you can have it.”

“I’d love it!” said Carla. “Thank you. In fact, I’m going to hang it on the wall right now.”

Bradley watched her tack it up. He almost told her she wasn’t allowed to put holes in the wall, but he changed his mind.

It was time for him to go back to class.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you next week,” said Carla. “I hope you have another wonderful topic for us to discuss.”

He started to go, then stopped and turned around.

“Yes?” she asked.

He put his hands on his hips and stared at her.

“Did you forget something?”

He stood and waited.

Her eyes suddenly lit up. She held out her hand and said, “I enjoyed your visit very much. Thank you for sharing so much with me.”

He stretched his mouth into a half smile/half frown, then hurried out of her office.

“Here he comes,” said Lori. “Don’t be a chicken.”

Colleen bit her bottom lip.

It was after school. The three girls stood across the street and watched Jeff.

“Maybe we should wait until tomorrow,” said Colleen.

“Hey, Jeff!” Lori shouted.

“No,” Colleen whispered.

Jeff turned.

Lori and Melinda walked toward him. Colleen lagged behind.

“Hello, Jeff,” said Lori.

“Hi, Jeff,” said Melinda.

“Hello, hi,” answered Jeff.

Lori laughed.

“C’mon, Colleen,” said Melinda. “Ask him.”

Colleen blushed and looked away.

“Colleen has something she wants to ask you,” said Lori.

“Well, see, um, okay, well—” stammered Colleen.

“Quit bothering me,” Jeff said very quietly.

“We’re not
bothering
you,” said Lori. “Colleen just wants to ask you—”

Melinda stopped her. “Let Colleen ask him,” she said.

“Well, see,” said Colleen. “Okay.” She took a breath. “I’m having a … it’s my birth—”

“I don’t want her asking me anything!” Jeff snapped.

Colleen turned bright red.

“And quit saying hello to me too!”

“We can say hello if we want,” said Melinda. “It’s a free country.”

“I don’t want you saying it to me,” said Jeff.

“Don’t worry!” Colleen exploded. “I won’t!”

“I will,” said Lori. “Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello.”

“Shut up!” said Jeff. He slammed his book down on the sidewalk.

“Hello, Jeff, hello, Jeff,” said Lori. “Jello, Jeff.” She laughed at her mistake. “Jello, Jeff. Hello, Jello.” She laughed hysterically.

“And quit laughing!” Jeff shouted.

“She can laugh,” said Colleen. “You can’t tell her she can’t laugh.”

“Hellohellohellohellohellohello,” said Lori as fast as she could.

“Shut up!” screamed Jeff.

“You shut up,” said Melinda.

“I’m not afraid of you, Melinda,” said Jeff.

“I’m not afraid of you either,” said Melinda.

Jeff raised his fists in the air. Melinda did the same.

Lori shrieked with anticipation.

“Okay, hit me,” said Jeff.

“You hit me first,” said Melinda.

“No, you hit me first,” said Jeff.

“Somebody hit somebody!” shouted Lori.

Jeff tapped Melinda’s shoulder with his fist.

She slugged him in the stomach. As he bent over she hit him in the nose. Jeff flailed his arms as he tried to defend himself, but Melinda kept punching him, in the neck, in the stomach, then in the eye.

Jeff fell to the ground.

Melinda jumped on top of him, knees first. She sat on his chest and held his arms flat against the ground.

Lori knelt beside them and slapped the ground as she counted: “One … two … three … four … five … six … seven … eight … nine
ten!”

Melinda stood up.

Lori held Melinda’s arm high in the air. Holding her nose with her other hand, she bellowed: “The winner, and still champion of the world … Marvelous Melinda!”

Colleen clapped her hands.

I’m going to be good
, thought Bradley,
and then, when everybody sees how good I am, they’ll know I’m not a monster
.

“And Mrs. Ebbel will give you a gold star,” said Ronnie.

Bradley was so excited, he didn’t realize he was putting on two different-colored socks: a blue one and a green one. He tied his shoelaces, then went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.

His black eye was almost all gone. It had faded into a light brownish-yellowish color. He hurried out to breakfast.

His mother made oatmeal for him.

“I hate hot cereal,” he complained.

“You’ll eat what you’re served,” said his father. “This isn’t a restaurant.”

He frowned, not because he had to eat oatmeal, but because he realized he never should have said he hated it. That was something the Bad Bradley would say. The Good Bradley liked hot, lumpy cereal.

He took a big spoonful, brought it to his mouth, and swallowed the glop. “Mmm, good!” he said, but as he withdrew the spoon from his mouth, his elbow bumped his glass of orange juice.

Claudia screamed and jumped up.

“Oh, Bradley!” said his mother.

His father glared at him.

“It was an acci—” He started to say it was an accident but then remembered Carla didn’t believe in accidents. That puzzled him. He wondered why he would want to spill his orange juice on purpose. He liked orange juice. It was the oatmeal he should have spilled.

“Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to help your mother clean it up?” asked his father.

He picked up his napkin to help, but his mother told him to stay out of her way. “You’ll only make a bigger mess,” she said.