by Isaac A. Bond and Katherine Grace Bond

Kahil strolled onto the playground. This new school year felt like a visit to another planet. He was a sixth-grader—a glorious sixth-grader. Last year’s bullies were gone, gone, gone to junior high.

All last year they had harassed him by calling him “short stuff” and making faces at him in the hallways. Well, he wasn’t “short stuff” anymore!

Kahil had grown 6 inches in three months. His legs ached a lot, but it was worth it to have the other kids look up at him and say, “Whoa, Kahil.”

New bullies took the place of the old ones. Some things never change. Just this morning on the bus Kahil had seen Marty McCormick stumble, and Kahil was pretty sure it was over Edgar Vizzutti’s stuck-out foot. Marty was the shortest kid in the fifth grade. Boy, did Kahil remember what that was like!

Gran liked to quote Proverbs 28:5: “Evil men do not understand justice, but those who seek the LORD understand it fully.”

“Seek the Lord, Kahil,” she’d say. “Those bullies just don’t get it.”

As he neared the cluster of trees everyone called “the forest,” he heard shouting. Screened from the view of Ms. Stevens, the playground supervisor, was a circle of boys—a fifth-grader cowered in the center.

Kahil wasn’t surprised to see it was Marty McCormick.

“Hey, Mini-Mart!” the boys shouted. “Hey, loser!”

Marty looked scared. Kahil felt sick to his stomach.

I can’t let another kid go through the same thing I did, he thought. Evil men do not understand justice. Well, I sure do!

He pushed through the mob.

“You guys are the poorest excuses for people I’ve ever seen!” he hollered. “You’re more like amoebas! If you don’t lay off this second, I will personally make sure you are suspended!”

Kahil stopped. He was sweating like a leaky faucet. The boys stared.

Edgar finally swaggered forward. He wore a too-big army jacket and his hair stood up in the wind.

“Who you calling a melba?” he drawled as he stepped back a pace.

“That’s a-moeba,” Kahil said, “as in, single-celled blob with no brain.”

Edgar doubled his fists but dropped them instantly when Ms. Stevens stepped into the forest, her arms folded across her chest.

“Hello, Edgar,” she said. “I hope we are all getting along.”

“Uh, yeah,” Edgar said.

The bell rang.

“I’ll get you later,” Edgar hissed at Kahil.

“Hey, thanks,” Marty smiled shyly at Kahil. “Why did you do that? Nobody stands up to Edgar.”

“Yeah, well, it’s about time someone did,” Kahil said. He felt as if he’d grown another inch.

The Losers’ Club

At lunchtime, Marty brought Kahil to a far table where two other fifth-graders sat.

“Teagan and Luke,” he said, “meet Kahil.”

The two looked at Kahil uneasily.

“We’re used to getting grief from sixth-graders,” Marty explained.

“Hi,” Luke finally said.

“Relax,” Kahil said. “Nobody’s going to mess with you while I’m here.”

As if on cue, Edgar and six of his crew sidled up to the table.

“Wookie what we have here,” Edgar said in baby talk. “Might dis be da Woosers’ Cwub?”

The sleeves of his army jacket were rolled up, and his fists were planted on his hips.

Teagan looked worriedly at Kahil. A picture of knocking Edgar to the next table formed in Kahil’s mind, but along with it came another of Gran’s favorite verses. Hitting Edgar, he knew, would not be seeking the Lord.

Kahil stood to his full height. “Blessed are the peacemakers,” he said calmly.

Edgar gaped like a caught salmon. Kahil tried not to smile.

“What a weirdo,” Edgar mumbled. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

They left. Teagan and Luke looked at Kahil with unconcealed admiration. Kahil straightened his shoulders and sat down.

“Welcome to the club,” he said.

“What club?” Luke asked.

“The Losers’ Club,” Kahil said.

The Losers’ Club found an old tree stump at the edge of the playground. No one knew they were there, which gave them a break from Edgar’s gang and their shenanigans: names called down the hallway, a mean look out of the corner of someone’s eye and, if the teachers’ backs were turned and Kahil wasn’t around, spitwads.

“These bullies just don’t get it,” Kahil said. They were meeting on a Saturday and had the entire playground to themselves. “But we don’t have to let them bother us.”

“You stop them in their tracks, Kahil,” Luke said. “They’re afraid to come near you.”

Afraid of me? Kahil found the thought a little startling. But maybe fear was what it took to make bullies understand justice.

Egged On

As the weeks went by, Kahil tried not to notice the way most kids crossed to the other side of the hall when he passed. He tried not to hear conversations that suddenly ended when he rounded a corner. But these “little nasties” were getting to him more than he wanted to admit.

One Friday, Kahil felt different, jumpy. Edgar and his gang sniggered by the boys’ bathroom. Something was going to happen, and it wasn’t going to be good.

The Losers’ Club only had to wait a day to find out what. Three minutes into their Saturday meeting, they heard a SPLAT! Marty poked his head out of the stump and quickly pulled it back . . . covered in raw egg!

Another egg flew by, and then another came straight into the clubhouse entrance.

“There must be eight guys out there!” Teagan shouted.

“Come on out, Losers!” Edgar jeered. “It’s time for breakfast!”

Kahil had a sour taste in his mouth. No way were they going to get away with this. A fourth egg exploded against the stump. This was war!

“Yaaah!” Kahil shouted.

He tore out of the stump, straight into a flank of boys and a barrage of flying eggs. Edgar stood with his army jacket tied around his waist, egging on the eggers.

An egg hit Teagan in the back. Luke had egg in his hair. Yolk dripped down the back of Kahil’s neck.

Edgar darted for the egg carton, and his jacket fell to the ground. Kahil snatched it up. Edgar whirled and tossed the last egg, which landed with a crunch at Luke’s feet.

Then he saw his jacket. “You better give that back,” he said.

Kahil used the jacket to wipe the goo off his arms, then tossed it to Luke.

Coat of Honor

Edgar’s face fell. “I want it back,” he said. There was a note of pleading in his voice. Ed’s buddies shifted from foot to foot, but nobody went after the jacket.

Kahil smiled. He noticed a jagged branch, sharp enough to shred cloth. He took the jacket from Luke. Now he had this bully where he wanted him.

“What do you think, Losers?” Kahil asked. “Should I make confetti?”

Teagan grinned, but Marty got a strange, shadowed look.

“Don’t,” Edgar begged.

Kahil whipped the jacket onto the branch.

“Don’t!” Edgar yelped again. “It’s my brother’s.”

Kahil stopped.

“My brother’s overseas,” Edgar choked out. “He’s been gone seven months.” He took a breath. “If you wreck his jacket, I’ll make you pay.”

He narrowed his eyes, trying to look mean.

Kahil felt the eggshell clinging to his neck.

“So make me pay,” he said and reached to give the jacket a yank.

Marty put a hand on Kahil’s arm.

“Kahil,” he said, “ ‘blessed are the peacemakers.’ That’s what you said.”

Kahil’s energy drained. Peacemakers? What about justice? Evil men do not understand justice. He looked at his hands. Who was the bully now?

Carefully, Kahil removed the jacket from the branch.

“That must be tough,” he said quietly. “You must miss him.”

Edgar snatched his jacket and shrugged.

“C’mon,” he said to his friends. “Let’s go.”

At the gate, Edgar turned and looked back—not a mean look this time, just unsettled.

Kahil suddenly realized what Gran meant by “seek the Lord.” Maybe he hadn’t understood God’s justice as well as he thought. Maybe he had to give up the idea of revenge.

“You know,” Teagan said, “I don’t think we’re the Losers’ Club anymore.”

Kahil nodded. “I think you’re right.”

	Q: What do you call a bag that’s asleep? A: A knapsack. Valerie L., 9, Wisconsin Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe