The Legend of Charles Storkers
I was just standing there, alone except for the oversized 8th grader charging at me from the opposite side of the court. The entire school was watching from the bleachers all around me, screaming and yelling like our dean, Mr. Osterwinch, when someone is caught cheating. Randy Strofrenski was standing right in front of me, winding up to launch a dodgeball right at my head. But, as I looked into his eyes, I detected not his well-known look of arrogance, but a hint of doubt, because this moment could end his reign as the school bully, and change the way of life at Hightower Middle School forever. However, I should start this story at the beginning.
My name is Charles Storkers. I am a 7th grade student at Hightower Middle School in Donner, Illinois, but, thanks to the previously mentioned Randy Strofrenski, most kids call me Charles Dorkers. I first considered competing in the school-wide dodgeball tournament when I heard the life-changing announcement over the intercom, “Any students who would like to participate in the dodgeball tournament today after school please be in the gymnasium today at 3:00 with a team of 3 students.”
Randy shouted from the back of the classroom, “I am so doing that. I’ll destroy any team that tries to stand in my way! Reggie, Gumbo, you in?”
“Definitely,” Reggie replied. “I’ll do anything for you, Randy”
“I play ball for friend,” said Gumbo with his advanced vocabulary and well-developed grammar.
Reggie and Gumbo were Randy’s right hand men, both as arrogant and dumb as their leader.
I realized at this moment that if I could somehow create a team of my own, and beat Randy’s dodgeball team in front of the whole school, I could humiliate him, and end his bullying and abuse of all the nerds throughout Hightower.
I began my recruiting mission during lunch that same day, surrounded by my friends at our table in Hightower’s run-down cafeteria.
“Listen guys, I need two teammates to beat Randy’s team in the tournament,” I pleaded.
“Charles, there’s no way any of us could beat Randy in a game of dodgeball. He’s like, 6’2”, and we’re like, half his size,” said Carlos, the chess team captain for our school.
“Yeah, Carlos is right, Charles. If we went out there, it’d be like signing our death certificates,” responded Olaf, another good friend of mine.
“But guys,” I pleaded, “We could actually win this. Dodgeball isn’t just about brute strength, it’s about intelligence and strategy. It’s about knowing where and how to throw the ball, or which way to move when you dodge a ball. Those guys are too stupid to understand this, which is why we have an advantage.”
I watched them think it over in their head, and slowly come to realize that I was telling the truth.
“Alright, I’m in,” Olaf said.
“I still think we’ll be destroyed, but I’ll do it for you, Charles,” Carlos responded.
“Great,” I said. “It’s after school today if you haven’t heard. Be there at 2:45.”
My group and I became a sort-of underdog for the school, because we represented how great it could be with sufficient change, which began to bother me. Throughout the day, I received encouragement and support from my fellow classmates. However, even though the comments were spoken to help me, I felt a growing sense of pressure and doubt. I didn’t want the whole school relying on me to fix its problems. I was doing this for myself because you have to solve your own problems in this world. No one in this school ever helped me when I needed it. The same goes for everyone else. They will have to learn to solve their own problems, because even as fellow nerds, we are still alone.
3:00 approached rapidly, and the tournament began. It was a traditional 16-team bracket with only 1 champion. The referee for the games would be our 94 year old janitor, Mr. Ozzensub, who had volunteered for the position. I examined the bracket and saw my team and Randy’s on opposite sides. If we were going to meet, it would be in the championship.
The first games went by fairly easily for Randy’s team, but not ours. We lost two players in each of the games leading up to the championship, barely squeezing by with a victory, and they didn’t lose a player the whole tournament. Gumbo had such a strong arm that he broke a 6th grader’s arm with one throw. Reggie was as quick to dodge as a cheetah; not a single ball came within a 5-foot radius of him. Randy was their leader, and he was by far the best overall player on their team. When the game neared its start, the crowd’s deafening cheers could be heard all throughout the school. However, no one really thought we could win, not even Carlos or myself, and we were always the most optimistic.
I was daydreaming about my upcoming doom when I was startled to hear the yell to begin by Mr. Ozzensub, “Dodgeball!” I foolishly ran out to the center line in a panic, and was beaten there by Reggie. He grabbed the balls and tossed one to Gumbo and one to Randy. I was defenseless as they winded up to send me to the hospital. I closed my eyes as they released their balls, but I felt no pain. I looked up, bewildered, to see Carlos and Olaf collapsing in front of me, unconscious from shielding me from the deadly projectiles of the opposing team. Mr. Ozzensub called a cease-fire to allow my teammates to get off the court.
As Carlos was waking up, I asked him, “Carlos, why did you do that?”
He said to me in a quiet whisper, “Dude, we’re in this together. We always look out for each other, us nerds, you know?”
As the paramedics rolled in, and I was called back to the court, I heard Olaf say, “You can beat them, Charles. Do it for all the nerds.”
This new way of thinking was strange to me; it wasn’t the every-man-for-himself motto that I was used to. I realized I had some pretty amazing friends. However, I also understood that these goons had hurt my friends, and they were going to pay.
After play was resumed, it was a three-on-one, but I had two of the dodgeballs on my half. I scooped both of them up and charged at the opposing team. I was willing to try an old trick I had learned in 1st grade. Anyone with a pre-school level of intelligence wouldn’t fall for it, which is why it would work perfectly on Gumbo.
I lobbed one ball high in the air, an easy catch for anyone who could walk. Gumbo foolishly ran under it, ready to catch it.
“Dorkers stinks at ball. I catch ball, win game for team. Hahaha!” Gumbo shouted.
Right before his grubby hands could catch the ball I lobbed, I threw another right at him and hit him squarely in the face.
“Owwy!” he shouted. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!”
“Jeez Gumbo, you’re so dumb. How’d you fall for that one?” chided Randy.
Randy and Reggie laughed at Gumbo, who was now crying on the ground, as I watched one of the balls roll back to my side. I quickly grabbed it and launched it at Randy. He had no time to dodge, so he used his pal Reggie as a shield. Reggie got hit in the eye, so now it was just Randy and I left. He had all of the balls, so he charged me, enraged. I tried to dodge but was too slow. He hit me with all three of his dodgeballs, and I was knocked backwards. I was out. I had lost.
As I struggled to regain my feet, I saw a very startling sight. The students in the bleachers had swarmed the court, but instead of mobbing the match’s victor, they surrounded me. They lifted me into the air and cheered even louder when they saw I wasn’t injured from Randy’s dodgeball. I spotted Randy standing alone in the distance, looking confused because no one was cheering for him at all, not even his two closest pals. I saw them exiting the gym, and Reggie saw me.
He just looked at me and smiled, as if saying, “You know, Charles, you’re alright.” That was all that I ever wanted.