Revenge of the Bully Read Online Free

dad, Rishi, Penny, and I were all smiles. My mom wasn’t. “You’ve just ruined the review. They know who I am now.”
    â€œWhat? No they don’t.”
    As my dad answered, a waiter slid a glass of champagne in front of him. “Compliments of the house.”
    â€œAh, thanks.” My dad turned back to my mom. “Honey, they’re just reacting to my powers of persuasion.”
    She frowned slightly and opened the menu. As my dad looked it over I noticed his hands begin to tremble. “Gloria, these prices! Are you positive you got the job?”
    â€œRelax, Donald. Stop being silly. We need to figure out what everyone’s getting.”
    Before we had a chance to read any further, the waiter sprinted to the table like an Olympics finalist. He launched into a grand speech describing all sorts of food. I soon lost interest. All I remember is something about an S car going, which made no sense, and then something about sweet bread.
    Rishi smiled. “That’s what I want. I like bread and I like sweets. And I’ll have the filet mignon . . . medium rare.”
    â€œVery good, sir.”
    â€œI’ll take the S car going and the duck,” I said.
    The waiter smiled at my parents. “What sophisticated eaters you have with you.”
    My dad put down his champagne long enough to answer, “We try our best to expose them to the finer things.”
    â€œI’m quite sure,” the waiter said. “Now, what can I get for the rest of the table?”
    Everyone ordered and the waiter walked off. I noticed that my mom was smiling slightly at Rishi and me. It seemed like she found something funny, but instead of talking she turned back and listened to what my dad was saying about the beautiful view.
    I smoothed out the white tablecloth in front of me, leaned back in my chair, and took a sip of my Coke. I could get used to this. I realized that my mom really had gotten a dream job—except that she had to go home and write a review. I, on the other hand, just had to eat fine food. Ah, to be the son of a food critic! Finally, here was something I could enjoy that wouldn’t put me in great physical danger.
    Yeah, I never learn, do I? Being the son of a food critic was about to land me in the middle of the most dangerous adventure of my life. Not knowing what awaited me, however, I raised my Coke glass and said, “To Mom, getting the best job in the world.”
    The glasses clinked and we were all smiles—until the appetizers arrived! The waiter placed a small white plate in front of me with six slimy looking gray things on it. “What’s this?” I almost shouted.
    â€œEscargot.”
    â€œWhat is it?’
    â€œWhy, it’s snails, of course,” the waiter said, smiling.
    Rishi and Penny laughed. Rishi said, “You’re turning green, Rodney! Maybe I’ll give you a piece of crust from my bread.”
    The waiter plopped down a plate in front of him. “Your sweetbreads, sir.” It didn’t look like any bread I’d ever seen. Rishi queasily looked up. The waiter, wearing a slight grin, said, “I’ve never served sweetbreads to a boy your age. Children don’t often enjoy cow throat. Have fun.”
    It was my turn to laugh.
    Fortunately for both of us, the steak and the duck were really just steak and duck. We also loved the flourless chocolate cake and the other desserts. By the time we got up to leave we were stuffed. My dad, who had almost licked his plate clean, had to unbutton his pants on the ride home—which any food critic would have to agree is the sign of a good meal.
    I should have fallen right to sleep that night but something a lot heavier than the chocolate cake weighed on my mind. Tomorrow would bring football practice, and along with it my new enemy, Trevor. Plus Toby was itching for a fight, Rishi was trying to make me famous, and the girl I liked wasn’t talking to me. Some