The Boy Who Cried WolverineLets face it: Elementary school is a jungle. Want to survive? Know your beasts. The herds of nerds, the packs of bullies, the rich kids, the jockseach creature in this jungle has its own identifying marks.Take Ben Dova, wolverine. One look told the tale. Dagger claws, check. Furry boulders that passed for shoulders, check. B.O. strong enough to make a stinkbug cry, check. Ben Dova might just as well have had bully stamped across his forehead. He was big. He was bad. And hed been hogging the tetherball for ten minutes. Wolverine or no wolverine, I wanted to play. Scuse me, bub, I said. You almost finished? Grrr, he replied. Did I mention that Ben was also a brilliant conversationalist?t; FONT-FAMILY: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt" He planted a pair of hamlike fists on his hips, snorkeled some air through his nose, and scanned the scene. Pee-yew, he said. What stinks? I gazed up at Ben. Your armpits come to mind, I said. As does your breath, your sister, and your grades. Pick one. Bens lip curled, flashing fangs that a great white shark wouldve envied. I reached for the tetherball. Hey, if youre not going to play . . . The wolverine hoisted the ball out of my reach. Smells like barf, he said. Smells like a pukey little lizard. This brought some girlish giggles. A weasel and a rabbit stood nearby watching. Sheesh. Its always worse with an audience. My jaw tightened. Look, pal. Why dont you give someone else a turn, and get back to practicing your tough-guy talk? Bens bullet-hole eyes burned yellow. You gonna make me, punk? Normally, I try to deal with bullies the Rodney Rodent way. (You know, the star of Rodney Rodents House of Cartoons?) Rodney always says: Dont show fear; speak firmly but politely; and just walk away. I didnt show fear. Speaking firmly, I said, I dont make beanheads, I bake them. Ive always had problems with the polite part. Turning to go, I nodded to the girls. A paw like a catchers mitt swung at my head.I ducked. The gleam in Bens eyes went from yellow to red. That was my cue. Yaaah! I pelted across the blacktop, straight for the nearest portable classroom. Mere steps ahead of the wolverine, I reached it. Fa-zzup! I scuttled up the wall. Whether youre a PI like me or just a fourth grader trapped in a sixth-grade world, it pays to have serious climbing skills. In three shakes, I made the roof. Come back here, Gecko! yelled Ben Dova. I laughed. If you think Im coming down to get creamed, youre so dumb you put lipstick on your forehead to make up your mind. A snarl below told me the joke had found its mark. I savored the moment. Verrry funny, came an oily voice from behind me. You should try stand-up. A huge brown bat hovered in midair. I did, I said, but I kept falling down. Too bad you didnt fall farther, she crooned. Swell. Another bully. Even for Emerson Hicky, this was excessive. What is this, Lets Pick on a PI Week?

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Excerpted from The Possum Always Rings Twice by Bruce Hale
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