When You’re in the Mood for a Story

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Bullies Getting Their Comeuppance

Snowfield Elementary was experiencing the coldest winter on record. Given their location in the country—not too far from the border of Canada—one would think they would be well equipped to handle whatever Jack Frost threw their way. But this year, without exception, was particularly frigid.

“Not even the rager of February 1860 compares to this Polar Vortex of epic proportions,” the weatherman on Channel Nine reported, shaking his head dramatically with the horror of it all. (Secretly, the weatherman was thrilled with these record-breaking temperatures, even if it did mean adding another layer of long underwear underneath his three-piece suit. It created lots of viewer ratings—and job security.)

The kids of Snowfield didn’t seem to care about the cold as much as the grown-ups did. But still, this year the kids all felt cheated. Even with all the ‘polar’ air, and a name like Snowfield, there was hardly any snow at all. Their teachers tried explaining the science behind the arctic temperatures affecting the water vapor dew point levels blah blah blah—but they got drowned out by the kids complaining that there were no snowy hills to sled down, no dirty snowplowed mountains to push each other off of, and no icicles to chuck at the brick buildings and watch them shatter. Plus, dangerous windchills even prevented them from lacing up their skates. In fact, state codes mandated that no child was allowed outside for recess—at all.

They were soooooooooo booooooooored.

And when The Gang got bored, that meant trouble.

Bradford Beau Bingly was not part of The Gang. No, Bradford was much too polite to even ask, “Please, may I join you in your shenanigans?” He wouldn’t dare. Ever since first grade, when The Gang formed and made his official nickname “Bradfart”, he decided they were not the sort to hang around with.

The Gang consisted of three troublemakers:

·       lousy Lars “Weasel” Larson—the muscle of the operation, who was known for pushing kids into walls or lockers bellering “Body check!” as loudly as he could;

·       mean Emelia Evergreen—the brains behind all unkind nicknames;

·       and the devilish Darren Dobson—who came up with all sorts of pranks on the teachers, subtle enough to not get in trouble, but infuriating enough to put the teachers in a bad mood.

The Gang was particularly peevish that Monday morning. They had all been cooped up for most of the weekend. Weasel’s video game system had busted, so he was kicking the lockers as he walked by. Emelia’s father had never come to take her out for hot chocolate as promised, so she was growling at the desks. And Darren had been assigned to write an extra report for English class as make-up from last week’s tardiness, which always left him itchy and irritable.

By lunchtime, The Gang had already exhausted most of their usual tricks:

·       walking in front of the younger, unsuspecting, kids at Snowfield Elementary at varying speeds then suddenly stopping so the little kids would slam into their backs and The Gang could turn around menacingly and send the younger kids screaming;

·       Emelia “asking” her classmates politely for the cookies from their lunches while Weasel made angry eyes and clenched fists behind her—making it clear that all answers must be “yes”;

·       Darren moving Mr. Parachek’s chair by a few inches, so he’d hit his shins when he turned around from writing on the blackboard.

“I’m bored,” Emelia growled.

“Yeah, me too,” whined Weasel.

A sudden grunt from behind them made The Gang jump.

“Hmpf,” Mr. Klinker, the janitor, repeated as he shuffled forward with his mop and bucket.

The Gang waited until Mr. Klinker had passed them a way before Emelia exclaimed, “I’m so sick of Mr. Stinker!”

“Yeah,” Weasel agreed, “he’s always getting in our way and scaring us and making us get out of his way and stuff.”

“Yeah,” echoed Darren. “He moves like such an old man—and what’s with his greasy grey hair? Hasn’t he ever heard of scissors?”

“Yeah!” Weasel chimed in. “Somebody should clean him up.”

Darren’s mind started whirring—it took great effort to whir when it did, and he furrowed his brow in concentration. Weasel and Emelia knew that look—it meant genius was being born.