Fiddlesticks

  © 1997 by Beverly Lewis

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2012

  Ebook corrections 5.18.2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6079-6

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Cover illustration by Paul Turnbaugh

  Story illustrations by Janet Huntington

  For Michael,

  a soccer-lovin’

  fan,

  who eagerly awaits

  the new books

  in this series.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  About the Author

  Other Books by Author

  Back Cover

  ONE

  Shawn Hunter tuned his violin.

  “Ready to practice?” his American sister asked.

  “Almost.” Shawn tucked the violin under his chin. He smiled at Abby. “Now ready.”

  Abby held the music. “High enough?”

  “Very good,” Shawn said. It came out like velly good.

  Shawn was still learning to speak English. His first language was Korean. Abby’s parents had adopted him.

  It was hard getting used to a new country. And a new school. But music lessons weren’t new. Shawn, whose Korean name was Li Sung Jin, loved music. Mostly violin music.

  “I start now,” Shawn said.

  He drew the bow across the strings. A soaring melody filled the living room.

  Abby tapped her toe to the music.

  Suddenly, Shawn stopped playing.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Abby.

  “Something missing,” Shawn said.

  He set his violin and bow on the sofa. He hurried down the hall to his bedroom.

  Soon, he returned with his soccer ball.

  “What’s that for?” Abby asked.

  “Ball help balance me,” Shawn said.

  He picked up his violin and bow. He set his right foot on top of the soccer ball. “That better.”

  Abby giggled.

  Shawn began to play again.

  He practiced major scales. Next he reviewed two old songs. He worked on two new ones.

  Over and over he practiced. Shawn loved playing his violin. As much as he loved playing soccer.

  Shawn liked to dribble and punt. Sometimes he practiced in his big backyard. Mostly when no one was watching.

  Practicing in secret wasn’t easy. But Shawn was determined to play with the Blossom Hill Blitzers. The team was named for Shawn’s school. He wasn’t sure what Blitzers meant. But it sounded good. Fast too.

  When Shawn finished practicing his violin, Abby clapped. “You sound double dabble good!” she said.

  “Thank you.” Shawn gave a stiff bow.

  Woof!

  Abby looked at their dog, Snow White. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked the floppy-eared pet.

  Shawn laughed his high-pitched laugh. “Snow White not like violin music.”

  “Bad dog,” Abby scolded. She went over and tickled her paws. She was lying on her back. All four legs were sticking up. “Shawn makes nice music,” she told Snow White. “You don’t have to play dead.”

  Shawn was still laughing. “Snow White need music lesson. She not understand.”

  “You’re right,” Abby said. She put the music away.

  Shawn stopped laughing. Now he spoke softly. “Some people not understand, too.”

  “What?” Abby asked.

  “Is not important,” Shawn muttered into his violin case.

  Abby insisted. “What did you say?”

  Shawn was silent.

  He put his violin away. Snap! The lid clicked shut.

  Abby sat on the floor and touched Shawn’s arm. “Something’s bugging you,” she said. “You can’t fool me.”

  Shawn sat beside her. “Abby good sister and chingu.”

  “Friends talk to each other,” Abby said.

  Shawn sighed. His dark, almondshaped eyes grew serious. He pushed his hand through his black hair.

  “I not fit in. America hard place for Korean kid. With violin,” he added quickly.

  “It takes time getting used to a new culture. But don’t give up,” Abby pleaded. She looked at him. “Are kids at school making fun of you?”

  Shawn nodded sadly. “They have nickname for me.”

  Abby frowned. “What are they calling you?”

  Shawn’s eyes popped open. “Abby mad?”

  “Yes, I’m mad!” She stood up. “What’s the nickname?”

  “They say make-fun name,” he said. “They say, ‘fiddlesticks.’ Because I skinny and . . . and small. And play violin. Boys not play violin in America?”

  “Of course they do,” Abby said. She puffed air through her lips. “Who’s calling you fiddlesticks?”

  “Kids who not like me,” Shawn said.

  Abby nodded. “I figured that, but who?”

  “I not say.” Shawn got up and walked toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, come back!” Abby called.

  But Shawn didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

  There was a big lump in his throat.

  TWO

  The next day was Friday, March first.

  Miss Hershey made an announcement to the class. “Today is the beginning of Music in Our Schools Month.”

  Shawn grinned. ‘‘Very good,” he whispered.

  Abby smiled at him across the row.

  Shawn thought, Music month great idea.

  Miss Hershey talked about composers. Famous ones. “The Three B’s,” she called them. Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms.

  She wrote on the chalkboard: Bach has a birthday this month.

  “Who knows when this composer was born?” the teacher asked.

  Shawn sat up straight. “Yes!” he said. “1685, very long time.”

  Miss Hershey smiled. “Thank you, Shawn. That’s correct. March 21, 1685. A long time ago, indeed.” She wrote the date on the board.

  While her back was turned, some kids made faces at Shawn. “Fiddlesticks,” they said.

  Abby heard.

  So did Miss Hershey. “No talking, please!”

  Shawn slumped in his seat. He couldn’t help being small and thin.

  He stared at Miss Hershey’s desk. There was a suggestion box at one end. Miss Hershey emptied the box every Thursday. She read the suggestions to the class, and they discussed each one.

  I write suggestion for box, thought Shawn. I tell teacher about make-fun kids.

  Miss Hershey walked to her desk. “Class, please open to page 57 in your Language arts notebook,” she said. “We will work till recess.”

  Shawn looked in his desk. He found a notebook and pencil. He began to write his name on the seat-work page.

  “Ps-st—fiddlesticks!” someone whispered.

  It wa
s Ronny Kitch, the boy behind him.

  “Hey, fiddlesticks boy,” Ronny whispered again.

  Shawn refused to turn around.

  Ronny tapped Shawn’s shoulder. “What page are we supposed to do?” he asked.

  Slowly, Shawn turned. He was going to be nice. He was going to give Ronny the page number.

  But now Ronny was making his eyes slant. He was pulling at his eyes on purpose. Making fun of Shawn. “Only a sissy plays a fiddle,” Ronny hissed through his teeth.

  In a flash, Shawn turned back around. He was not a sissy!

  Instead of starting on the assignment, Shawn pulled out a fresh piece of paper. He glanced at Miss Hershey’s suggestion box.

  He wrote: I not like to tattle. Students call me name. Name is Fiddlesticks. Because I short, little person. Because I come from Korea and play violin.

  Shawn read what he’d written. Then he picked up his pencil again.

  I make suggestion for box. Can teacher make name stop? I thank you very much.

  Respect to you,

  Shawn Hunter—Li Sung Jin,

  from Korea

  Shawn folded the note and pushed it into his jeans. Before recess, he would visit the suggestion box.

  “Hey, fiddlesticks boy,” Ronny said in his ear. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Shawn froze.

  Had Ronny seen the note?

  THREE

  Ronny Kitch raised his hand. He waved it high.

  “Yes, Ronny?” Miss Hershey said.

  “I need to speak to you,” he said.

  Miss Hershey called him to her desk. They were whispering. Ronny shook his head. Then he turned and pointed to Shawn.

  Miss Hershey’s eyebrows flew up. “Shawn Hunter?” she said.

  Quickly, Shawn stood up and bowed.

  The kids snickered.

  But Miss Hershey was kind. “In America, we don’t bow when someone speaks to us,” she explained. “Do you understand?”

  Shawn nodded. He almost forgot and started to bow again.

  “Will you please see me at recess?” the teacher asked.

  Shawn nodded again. “I come see you.”

  He sat down, worried. What had Ronny just told Miss Hershey?

  Shawn thought and thought. He had been fooling around, not doing his seat work. Was Miss Hershey going to talk to him about that?

  Ronny marched down the row of desks. He bumped against Shawn on the way back to his seat. He shoved him hard on purpose.

  Miss Hershey was too busy to notice.

  Shawn didn’t like being pushed around. But he was a peanut next to Ronny. His arm muscles were like three jelly beans. His legs were like toothpicks.

  Or . . .

  Shawn swallowed the lump in his throat.

  He looked down at his legs. They looked like violin bows. Like fiddlesticks.

  No wonder the kids called him that!

  Shawn sighed. He hoped Ronny wouldn’t pick a fight. Even if Shawn wanted to fight, he couldn’t beat him. Ronny was tough. He was mean.

  Determined not to slouch, Shawn picked up his pencil. He read the assignment and began to fill in the answers.

  Abby glanced over at him. Her lips formed these words: Are you OK?

  Shawn rubbed his nose. He formed these words back: Shawn OK.

  But he wasn’t. Not really.

  Abby turned her head and went back to work.

  So did Shawn.

  When he was finished, he took out a book about soccer. Miss Hershey wanted everyone to keep a library book handy. She called it free reading—when you finished seat work early.

  Shawn liked books. He was a good reader. And smart. He wished he could talk better. Faster too.

  The soccer book was exciting. From the time he’d learned to walk, Shawn liked to kick a ball around.

  And two weeks from now, Shawn wanted to try out for the Blitzers. But he wanted to watch the boys practice today.

  Then he remembered. His violin lesson was after school. What could he do?

  Shawn stared at the pictures in the soccer book. He thought about Ronny. Would he be at soccer practice?

  Shawn stopped thinking and started reading. The soccer book was wonderful. He couldn’t stop reading.

  Soon, ideas were bouncing in his head. Maybe he could watch practice after violin lesson. Maybe he wouldn’t be too late getting home.

  He wished he could practice out on the soccer field. He was tired of practicing in secret. The backyard was OK. But the gigantic soccer field—that would be terrific!

  Kids could dribble, punt, and kick on a field like that. They could guard and do teamwork. Soccer stuff—things that made a great player.

  Eric Hagel and Jason Birchall were good players, too. They were two of Shawn’s best friends. Eric and Jason lived on his street, a cul-de-sac. It was called Blossom Hill Lane, close to Blossom Hill School.

  Eric, Jason, and Shawn belonged to The Cul-de-sac Kids. Nine kids on one street. Each one was Shawn’s chingu— friend!

  He was glad for friends. Very glad.

  Then he remembered rotten Ronny Kitch.

  He not chingu, Shawn thought.

  Shawn closed the soccer book. He felt scared thinking about Ronny. I forget about soccer team, he thought. I not try out.

  The recess bell rang.

  Time to see Miss Hershey.

  Shawn stood up. Slowly, he went to the front of the classroom.

  “You see me, yes?” he asked.

  “Let’s talk,” Miss Hershey said. “Have a seat.”

  Just then, Ronny ran outside for recess. Shawn could hear him laugh. It was a loud laugh. A roaring laugh.

  Shawn sat near Miss Hershey’s desk.

  She looked him in the eyes.

  Shawn bit his lip.

  Was he in big trouble?

  FOUR

  Miss Hershey’s voice was soft. “Were you passing notes in class?”

  “No pass note,” Shawn said.

  Miss Hershey asked, “Did you write one?”

  Shawn was worried. Ronny had seen him.

  He reached into his jeans pocket. The note for the suggestion box was all folded up. He handed it to Miss Hershey.

  Her eyes opened wide. “What’s this?” she asked.

  Shawn said, “This what I write in class. So sorry.” It sounded like so sallee.

  The teacher opened the note. Her pretty blue eyes scanned the page.

  She looked up. “My goodness,” she said. “You don’t deserve a nickname, Shawn. Thank you for telling me about this.”

  He nodded his head in a half bow. Then he caught himself. “Sorry.”

  Miss Hershey’s smile was warm. “Please, don’t be bashful about talking to me. I want all my students to feel comfortable at school. Always.”

  Shawn said, “Thank you,” and headed outside.

  Several boys were already playing soccer. Ronny Kitch was on the field, too.

  Shawn stood beside the swings and watched.

  Abby ran over to him. “What did Miss Hershey want?”

  Shawn said, “We have talk. Miss Hershey very nice teacher.”

  “I know that,” Abby insisted. “But why’d she want to see you?”

  Shawn explained about the suggestion box. And about his note.

  Abby’s eyes started to get shiny in the corners. “Did you tell her who is calling you ‘fiddlesticks’?”

  Shawn looked down at his feet. “I not say.”

  Abby shook her head. “Come on, Shawn, you have to tell her!”

  Shawn’s eyes were wet, too. He wanted them to be dry. But they kept getting watery.

  Shawn ran into the school—right to the boys’ room. He washed his face.

  Soon, Eric came in, too. He stared at Shawn’s face. “You’ve been crying,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing wrong.” Shawn looked away.

  “Something is wrong!” Eric said.

  Just then, Ronny Kitch burst in the door.

 
Shawn saw him first. He didn’t say anything to Ronny. He darted past him and ran into the hallway.

  At the drinking fountain, Shawn’s heart was pounding.

  And quickly, he rubbed his eyes dry.

  FIVE

  At lunch, Shawn sat with Abby and her friend, Stacy Henry.

  Dunkum Mifflin, another Cul-de-sac Kid, came over and sat with them.

  Eric and Jason were having hot lunch. They joined Shawn, Abby, and the others.

  Shawn and Abby had their packed lunches from home. Shawn used chopsticks to eat cold bulkoki in a plastic dish. He’d sprinkled garlic on the sticky rice this morning. Bulkoki was his favorite lunch.

  Shawn held up his cold Korean stir fry. “OK with you?” he asked everyone at the table.

  Eric and Jason didn’t seem to mind.

  Dunkum pinched his nose just for fun.

  Stacy Henry smiled. “It’s OK.”

  Shawn always asked his American friends about the garlic smell. It was the kind thing to do.

  “Why’d you run away in the boys’ room?” Eric asked.

  Shawn’s mouth was full. He didn’t answer.

  When he finished chewing, Ronny kitch had shown up.

  “AAUGH!” Ronny covered his nose. “What’s that horrible smell?”

  Abby grinned. “It’s garlic. And if it bugs you, then go away.”

  “YUCK! Garlic isn’t cool,” he roared at Shawn. “Haven’t you learned anything about America?”

  Eric and Jason looked at each other. Their mouths dropped open.

  Stacy shook her head.

  Dunkum frowned.

  Abby did, too.

  Shawn put his head down. He was afraid. Ronny might hit him. Maybe smash his teeth in or something worse.

  He stared at his chopsticks. He thought about the suggestion box note. What if Ronny knew he’d tattled? What would Ronny do?

  Shawn heard Ronny laughing.

  “Only sissies play violin,” the mean boy said. “And only weirdos eat with chopsticks!”

  Jason leaped out of his seat. “Leave Shawn alone!”

  “It’s not cool to make fun,” Eric insisted.

  Abby spoke up. “Eric’s right. It’s not cool.” She was frowning.

  Shawn was shaking.

  “Have you ever heard of the Golden Rule?” Abby asked.

  “Sounds dumb,” Ronny said. He clumped around the table and stood behind Shawn.