LEMONADE, A COONSKIN CAP,AND RICK'S LUCKY COIN

LEMONADE, A COONSKIN CAP, AND RICK'S LUCKY COIN

By: Kenda

"Do you remember Billy Brummel?" Rick asked his battered sibling.

With the fierce intensity of a man who will long remember the torments of a much feared schoolyard bully, A.J. replied, "Billy Brummel was a subhuman monster. What made you bring him up?"

"Well, you remember when he made fun of you for wearin' the coonskin cap in Miss Dayton's class in the fourth grade?"

"I remember it vividly," A.J. responded. "You laughed. You thought it was funny."

Rick gave a sheepish smile. "Well, yeah...I did. Until he started pushin' you around. Remember what I did then?"

"As I remember, you called him a weasel-faced moron, then he beat you up and made you wear the coonskin cap."

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*The above conversation is taken from the 6th season aired episode - The Case Of Don Diablo

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Rick handed the psychic, Sarah Childs, a coin. Unbeknownst to her, the coin hadn't been found in the vacant lot she'd sent the Simon brothers to search, but rather was Rick's lucky half dollar.

Sarah paced the room, concentrating on the coin she held between her palms. "Blood," she finally said as she looked off into the distance. "I see dried blood. It's on a boy's face...under his nose. There's a torn T-shirt...sneakers. Now other boys are circling around him, cheering, because he's standing over a larger boy who's looking up kind of dazed."

The Simon brothers smiled at each other in amazement, and in fond memory. Without realizing it, Sarah Childs had passed the test A.J. had suggested to Rick in order to verify her unexplainable skills. Without realizing it, Sarah had relayed an incident from the Simon brothers’ boyhood in the exact way it had happened.

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*The above scene is taken from 2nd season aired episode - Guessing Game

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Cecilia Simon smiled as she looked out her kitchen window. Her nine-year-old son, A.J., and his best friend Danny...well, second best friend after Rick, as A.J. often reminded her, were busy in the front yard setting up their lemonade stand. It wasn't so much a stand, as it was an old card table with a handmade sign hanging on the front of it that advertised in boyish print; Lemonade - 10 Cents A Glass.

The weather had grown unusually warm as April turned to May in San Diego that year. The previous Saturday A.J. and Danny had hit upon the idea of opening a lemonade stand. They hoped to entice the neighbors out doing yard work, and the teenagers playing ball, into a refreshing cool drink at a nominal price. Cecilia had donated the card table to the boys' cause, then drove them to the store where they bought fresh lemons, sugar, and paper drinking cups with the funds they pooled together from their weekly allowances. From there it didn't take long before the Harris and Simon Lemonade Stand was in full operation. All weekend long coins were willingly plunked into the old cigar box A.J. had once kept toy cars in. By Sunday night, when the two boys counted their spoils, they had made a hefty profit of five dollars and sixty cents...and one pink hair ribbon. Rick teased A.J. unmercifully about that last item, having correctly surmised A.J. had taken the ribbon in place of monetary payment because it came from Cherry Lynn Bonner. Cherry Lynn sat across from A.J. in Miss Dayton's fourth grade class. The two had been sweet on each other throughout the entire school year, though A.J. had tried hard to keep that fact from his family. Especially from his older brother. But as older brothers have a tendency to do, somehow Rick uncovered A.J.'s secret and didn't hesitate to share it with all who were willing to listen.

Cecilia and Jack were forced to turn away from their youngest and hide their smiles when A.J. threw his shoulders back and stuck his chin out in defiance while stating to his older brother, "I only took the ribbon because I'm a good businessman. It's real silk. Cherry's grandmother bought it for her in New York City. It'll be worth a lot more than ten cents when I sell it to someone else."

A few days later Cecilia ran across that very same hair ribbon hidden under a stack of shirts in A.J.'s dresser drawer. She smiled softly as she put it back, knowing full well A.J. had no intention of selling it. It was hard to believe that her youngest son would be ten years old that summer. Already he was beginning to leave the ways of boyhood behind, to be replaced by the ways of adolescence.

And now, for the second weekend in a row, the young entrepreneurs were selling lemonade on Cecilia's sidewalk.

Within minutes of the stand opening for the day, four little girls pulled up to it on their bicycles. Cecilia recognized them as classmates of A.J.'s and Danny's, including the pretty raven-haired Cherry Lynn.

Cecilia commented with a chuckle, "I wonder how many more hair ribbons A.J. will collect this weekend?" before leaving the window to work in her backyard flower garden.

As is common for girls of nine years old, the quartet drank their lemonade while whispering, giggling, and making eyes at A.J. and Danny. As is common for boys of nine years old, the two young men ignored the girls and their annoying ways. They pretended that the girls' presence didn't matter to them in the slightest, though in reality it very much did.

The young ladies hung around the fringes of the lemonade stand until other customers started to occupy the boys' time. With waves and soprano calls of "Bye, A.J!, Bye, Danny!" they finally rode off down the block.

The boys had a lull in business a few minutes after that, giving them time to collect their breath and restock their supplies. As A.J. was digging around in the cardboard box stored underneath the table for more paper cups, his fifteen year old brother, Rick, came sauntering out of the house.

"Hey, short legs," Rick greeted his kid brother. "Hey, squirt face," was the teen's greeting to the curly headed Danny, whose blond locks were several shades lighter than A.J.'s.

From underneath the table came A.J.'s, "Hi, Rick."

Danny looked up in admiration of the older boy. "Hi, Rick." Part of the benefit of having A.J. as his best friend, was having Rick Simon as his surrogate older brother. Danny was the eldest of four children and the only boy. He thought of A.J. as the brother he never had, and would continue to do so until his death from cancer in 1989. Likewise, he looked up to Rick with a great deal of hero worship, as well as accepted his good- natured teasing in much the same way A.J. did.

A.J. handed Danny a stack of paper cups, then crawled out from under the table. He wiped at the dirt on the knees of his jeans.

"Hey, Rick, you wanna help us with the stand today? We'll split our profit with ya’ if you do."

Rick smiled at his brother's generosity before reaching out a hand to tousle the boy's thick blond hair.

"Naw, kid. I'm too old to be runnin' a lemonade stand. Though if this place continues to attract the chicks like it's been doin,' I may have to rethink your offer."

A.J. scowled. "It doesn't attract chicks."

Rick laughed. "Oh, no? Then who were those admiring females I saw hangin' around here not ten minutes ago?"

A.J. shrugged. "Just some kids from our class."

Danny tried hard to hide the blush that suddenly colored his fair face a rosy pink. "Yeah, Rick. Just some kids from our class."

"Sure," Rick nodded, while crossing his arms over his chest in a superior sort of way. "Just some kids from your class. Kids like Cherry Lynn Bonner and Debbie Darnell."

Much like Cherry Lynn was A.J's special girl, Debbie Darnell was Danny's.

"They were paying customers," A.J. defended. "We had to wait on them."

Rick laughed once more. He well remembered what it was like to be nine years old and in love, and wanting so badly for that fact to remain a secret. He'd been lucky. He didn’t have an older brother to torment him about such things. Therefore, Rick supposed he should take pity on A.J. and not give him such a hard time, but on the other hand... what the heck. It wasn't Rick's fault that Mom had him first.

"Whatever you say, twerp," Rick stated. "But you'll never make me believe it."

Rick headed up the sidewalk. "I'll see you guys later. Mrs. Henderson is payin' me to do some yard work for her today."

"Will you come back and buy a glass of lemonade when you're finished?" A.J. called.

"Sure," Rick agreed with a wave of his hand. "I'll probably even buy two glasses."

With that Rick disappeared around the corner.

A.J. and Danny occupied their lemonade stand for the remainder of the morning. In-between customers they tossed a baseball back and forth in the Simon front lawn. At noon, Cecilia made them close the stand and come in the house for sandwiches and cookies. The elderly Mrs. Henderson was feeding Rick lunch that day, and Jack Simon was putting in overtime at the office.

By one o'clock the stand was reopened and back in business. The boys were busy that afternoon. Danny's parents and three little sisters walked down for cold drinks, as did several other neighbors. Carlos and one of his cousins came by looking for Rick. They, as well, willingly spent twenty cents on two glasses of lemonade before returning to Carlos's house after finding out Rick was working.

"Have your big brother call me when he gets home," Carlos instructed A.J. as he climbed in his cousin's car.

"I will," A.J. promised.

It wasn't long after that when Cherry Lynn, Debbie, and their girlfriends returned for more lemonade. This time the boys and girls weren't so shy with one another. They stood together on the sidewalk and talked of school happenings.

The children's laughing and joking came to an abrupt halt when Danny glanced up the block.

"Oh no! Look who's coming!"

A.J. followed his friend's gaze. He saw the hulking figure of Billy Brummel, the schoolyard bully, and the gang of toughs he hung around with.

"Just ignore him," A.J. advised. "He'll go away."

Although A.J. didn't have much faith in that advice, advice that Cecilia often gave him in regards to the menacing Billy, for the sake of the girls he acted as though he believed it would make a difference.

Billy Brummel was an eighth grader who liked nothing more than to torment the younger children. He was a stocky boy with an oversized head, large flat nose, and a wide frame. Though not as tall as the five foot nine Rick, he outweighed A.J.'s lanky older brother by twenty-five pounds. When Rick was attending Bayshore Elementary School, Billy, for the most part, steered clear of A.J. and his friends. But this past fall Rick had entered his freshman year at Mission Bay High School, leaving A.J. an open and frequently sought-after target of the bully.

Though A.J. prayed really, really hard that Billy and his friends would walk right on past the Simon house without so much as a second look, he didn't get that lucky. God must have been too busy that day to concern Himself with nine year old boys and their foes.

With all the skill of a ventriloquist, A.J. whispered to Danny, "Hide the money," as Billy loomed ever closer.

Danny scurried around to the other side of the card table and in one clean swoop, grabbed the cigar box full of dimes. He took four steps backwards and thrust it underneath a leafy bush that graced the Simons’ front lawn.

The dark headed Billy stuck his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans as he strutted up to A.J. "So...if it isn't Baby Simon."

A.J. glared up at the bully. He was scared out of his wits, but his pride was at stake. Especially with the girls standing in a cluster behind him.

"Don't call me that, Billy."

Billy gave A.J. a shove. "Why not?" The pimply faced teen sneered. "That's what you are. You're nothin' but Rick Simon's baby brother. Baby Simon. I like that name. It fits you."

"Go away, Billy," was all A.J. said in return.

Billy turned to his two eighth grade friends. "Did you hear that, guys? Baby Simon told me to go away."

Billy's friends laughed. "Sure, Billy," one of the boys acknowledged - a boy who wasn't nearly as mean, or as tough, when he wasn't under the questionable influence of the bully. "We heard 'im. So what? He's just a little punk. A little punk who can't tell you nothin'."

"That's right," Billy agreed. He pushed A.J. backwards once more. "A little punk who can't tell me nothin'."

With all the bravado of General Patton, Danny marched up beside A.J. Bravely he commanded, "Billy, just get out of here. Go on."

Billy took a step forward, towering menacingly over the younger boys. The toes of his black Keds hightops butted up against theirs. "Look guys," he beckoned to his friends. "The babies have a lemonade stand. Let's help ourselves to a glass."

Billy reached around A.J. for the pitcher of lemonade. A.J.'s right hand shot up. He clamped down with all his strength on the bully's beefy forearm. "Not unless you pay for it."

"That'll be the day, Simon. I don't pay for nothin' I don't wanna pay for."

Billy easily wrenched his arm from A.J.'s grasp. He spun A.J. around, twisting the boy's own arm behind his back. In moments the searing pain had A.J. on his knees in the grass.

A.J. heard the bully's guttural growl in his left ear.

"Now I'm gonna take some of this lemonade for me and my friends whether you like it or not, Baby Simon. Do you hear me?" Like he was screwing a cork back in a bottle, Billy twisted A.J.'s arm higher. "Huh? Do you hear me, Simon?"

The blond's eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the agony that ran up his arm and into his shoulder. No matter how much Billy hurt him, even if the bully broke his arm, A.J. wouldn't give Billy the satisfaction of answering him.

Billy shifted his weight, bringing more pressure down on the displaced appendage. A.J. had to bite his lip to keep from crying out at the additional agony the movement caused.

With that, Cherry Lynn flew into action. She threw down her bike and barreled toward the bigger boy. "Let him go, Billy! Let A.J. go and get out of here!"

A pointed toe of Cherry's Annie Oakley cowgirl boots caught the bully in the center of his shin. With a strangled cry, Billy released A.J. The blond boy scrambled to his feet while tenderly cradling his sore arm.

"Why you little..." Billy swiped a large hand out, snaring Cherry before she could run away. He grabbed one of her braids and pulled for all he was worth. Cherry’s head was yanked backwards, and the triumphant Billy came away with a fistful of hair.

Cherry screamed as tears sprang to her eyes. "Ah!"

Now it was A.J.'s turn to fly at the bigger boy in a blind rage. It was one thing for the bully to pick on A.J. and his buddies, but it was another matter entirely when he hurt A.J.'s girlfriend.

"Let her go, Billy," A.J. ordered. "Let her go!"

A.J. didn't pay attention to where his fists landed, but rather threw misplaced punch after misplaced punch in deference to Cherry Lynn's maiden honor. Though Billy was easily able to thwart off the nine-year-old's efforts to hurt him, if nothing else A.J. accomplished what he set out to do - getting Billy to release his hold on Cherry Lynn.

Cherry's girlfriends reached out for her. They drew her into a circle and clucked soothing words like protective hens, while wiping her tears and smoothing her braids. Danny ran to help A.J., who was once again on the losing end of a fight with Billy Brummel. As usual, Danny was easily held at bay by Billy's two friends, Glen and Tony. Though he fought, and kicked, and struggled, Danny couldn't break loose of the bigger boys' hold.

When he'd had all the fun he could stand for one day, Billy picked the battered A.J. up by the waist. The blond hung over the bully's thick forearm like a limp sack of flour.

"I told you I wanted some lemonade, Baby Simon, and I'm gonna have it."

With that, Billy picked up the pitcher of lemonade and gulped four big swallows. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave a thunderous belch. He laughed as he poured the remainder of the cold, sticky liquid over A.J.'s head and upper body.

Billy released the fourth grader with all the care one would give to a bag of potatoes, letting him free-fall to the ground. With a final kick to A.J.'s midsection he warned, "The next time I want lemonade, Simon, you damn well better give it to me."

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A.J. stood under the shower for a long time that afternoon letting the hot water soothe his aches, pains, and battered ego...and letting it wash the gooey dried lemonade out of his hair.

After Billy and his friends left, Danny helped A.J. to his feet. A.J. waved away all solicitous ministrations from the girls, acting as though getting beaten up by Billy Brummel was an every day occurrence and nothing to be concerned with. The girls helped A.J. and Danny clean up the remnants of their lemonade stand. They folded up and carried the card table into the Simon's garage, while A.J. and Danny carried everything else into the kitchen. Fortunately for A.J., his mother was still at work on her knees in a flower garden in the far corner of the backyard, and was therefore unaware of what had just occurred out front. A.J. had to reassure Cherry three more times that he was okay before he could finally get the girls to leave. The last thing he needed was a bunch of girls feeling sorry for him. It was bad enough he'd been humiliated in front of them by that big ape Billy. The only good thing about the entire afternoon was the quick kiss Cherry planted on his cheek when the other girls and Danny had turned away to head for their bikes.

Before running off for her own bicycle, Cherry Lynn whispered in his ear, "You're so brave, A.J."

A.J. managed to finish his shower before his mother came in to start supper. Thankfully, his bruises were minor. Nothing Mom would spot and ask about. She might question the sticky lemonade-soaked shirt he'd laid in the basement sink next to the washing machine, but that could easily enough be explained. He'd just say he tripped while carrying a fresh pitcher from the house.

A.J. was called to supper an hour later. His dad had just arrived home from the office, and Rick was in the bathroom washing his hands.

When everyone was seated at the table, Ceclia began passing the food. Jack looked over at his youngest. "So, Andy, how'd the lemonade business go today?"

A.J. kept his attention on his mashed potatoes. "Okay."

"How much money did you rake in, sport?"

With surprisingly little enthusiasm, A.J. mumbled, "Four dollars and twenty cents." The blond boy supposed he should be more thankful for that small favor. At least Billy hadn't taken notice of where Danny had secured their hard-earned profit.

Cecilia started the dinner rolls circling the table by handing the basket to Rick. "Are you boys going to open the stand again tomorrow?"

"No," A.J. shook his head. "We're not going to do it anymore."

"Why not?" Cecilia asked. "I thought you were having fun. Some of the neighbors mentioned that it might be nice if your stand operated every weekend throughout the summer."

"It was boring," A.J. said with disdain. "We don't wanna do it anymore."

Cecilia and Jack exchanged surprised glances, but let the subject drop there. It wasn't like A.J. to so easily give up a new project by claiming boredom, but if that's how he felt so be it. Soon Jack was questioning Rick on the work he had done for Mrs. Henderson, and the lemonade stand became a subject of the past.

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It was nine o'clock that night when Rick ran upstairs in search of his brother. He found A.J. sprawled across his twin bed reading a book in the room the brothers shared.

Rick did a belly flop onto his own bed. The mattress bounced up and down and the springs squeaked in protest.

"What cha' doin' up here all by yourself, kid? Dad made popcorn. We've been watchin' Saturday Night Mystery Theatre."

A.J. laid his book aside. "I know. Mom told me. I'm not hungry, and I don't feel like watchin' TV tonight."

"But you love Mystery Theatre. It's one of your favorites."

"I know. I'm just not in the mood for it tonight."

This was the first Rick had heard of A.J. needing to be 'in the mood' for Mystery Theatre. He studied his brother a moment. A.J. was on his stomach with his chin resting on his cupped fists. A preoccupied air seemed to hang over the blond boy.

When another full minute passed and A.J. said no more, Rick shrugged his shoulders and rose to go back downstairs. The commercials were probably over by now and the movie ready to resume.

"Rick?"

Rick turned from where he stopped in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Rick...Rick, what should I do about Billy Brummel?" The question tumbled out of nine-year-old's mouth in a rush of troubled words.

Now A.J.'s preoccupation made sense. Obviously the bully was giving the kid a hard time again.

Rick walked over and sat down on the edge of his bed. "He botherin' you again?"

"Some."

"Like today?" Rick guessed.

A.J. reluctantly nodded. "Yeah."

"Is that why you and Danny don't wanna have the lemonade stand anymore?"

"Yeah. He...Billy poured a whole pitcher of lemonade over my head."

With that Rick started to laugh.

"Hey!" A.J. cried as he sat up on his bed. "Don't laugh. It wasn't funny."

"I can't help it," Rick managed to get out between his chuckles. "It musta' been kinda funny considerin' he poured the stuff over your head."

"Well, it wasn't funny! It was...it was embarrassing."

"The girls...Cherry, and Debbie, and their girlfriends, were here when it happened, huh?" Rick surmised with sympathy.

A.J.'s eyes dropped to his blue bedspread. "Yeah."

"Look, A.J., you're gettin' too big for me to fight your battles for you, or I'd take on Brummel myself."

"I know that. And I don't want you to fight him anyway." A.J. pulled mindlessly on a loose thread at the hem of his blue jeans. "He already calls me Baby Simon. If you fight him it will only make it worse."

"Yeah, it probably will," Rick honestly agreed. "Besides, the best way to beat a bully, one who you can't actually beat up in the physical sense, is to outsmart him."

A.J. looked over at his brother. "How do I do that?"

Rick reached out and tousled his brother's hair before standing up. "I'll leave that up to you, short legs. You're a bright kid. You'll think of something."

With that, Rick left the room to rejoin his parents downstairs.

A.J. wasn't as easily fooled as Rick might think. Rick actually had no idea how to outsmart Billy Brummel. If he did, he would have told A.J. what to do. He would have offered A.J. some suggestions. Now that Rick was in high school, he didn't always seem to understand his younger brother. He seemed to have forgotten what it was like to be tormented by a boy so much older and stronger. He seemed to have more important things to do than concern himself with A.J.'s problems, or the goings on at Bayshore Elementary. Or so it appeared to the forlorn blond at this particular moment.

A.J. sat on his bed and thought a long time that night about how he could to outsmart Billy Brummel. When he didn't come up with so much as one good plan, he returned his attention to his book. Maybe once he slept on it an idea would come to him. At least that was what Dad always recommended when it came to problems too big for a boy to handle all in one night. A.J. sure wished Rick had more sympathy for him. Things always worked out for the best when he and Rick worked as a team.

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Unlikely as it might seem, coonskin caps were the rage amongst preteen boys that year of 1959. The fad could directly be attributed to the popular Walt Disney television series Davy Crockett. Much like Rick had been a tireless devotee of The Rough Rider during his boyhood, A.J.'s hero was Davy Crockett, and the soft-spoken larger-than-life actor who portrayed the frontiersman week after week, Fess Parker.

The youngest Simon son was not only a faithful follower of the TV show, but as was his nature, had read everything he could get his hands on in regards to biographical accounts of the life and times of the backwoodsman and politician. Davy Crockett ranked right behind his dad and Rick in terms of A.J.'s personal heroes.

And for as much of an aversion as A.J. had to hats of any kind, he religiously wore his coonskin cap to school every day that year making him no different from the majority of other boys in his fourth grade class. Cecilia and Jack would often chuckle with shared amusement as their youngest headed out the door each morning with the fur cap perched firmly on his head, the striped coon's tail hanging down his neck. It was a strange sight to see in suburban San Diego, California to say the least.

More than a week had passed since the incident with Billy Brummel in front of the lemonade stand. In that time period A.J. had done his best to avoid the bully, and surprisingly enough, Billy had seemed to lose interest in him. That hardly meant Billy had taken a turn for the better and had stopped his tormenting ways. It only meant he was occupying his time making some other hapless boy miserable. A.J. didn't much care what the reason was, as long as the eighth grader was leaving him and his friends alone.

It was a gorgeous spring Wednesday afternoon. The kind when, so close to the end of the school year, that children have trouble concentrating on their studies while cooped up in a stale classroom illuminated by artificial lighting.

When the dismissal bell rang at three-thirty Miss Dayton's fourth graders spilled out the door. The hall was full of laughter and shouts as the children grabbed jackets, jump ropes, baseball mitts, and coonskin caps off hooks and shelves.

A.J. and his friends ran out the front doors, the tails of their caps flying along behind them. Once outside, they slowed to a walk. They teased, and laughed, and jostled one another, as they headed for the sidewalks beyond the schoolyard that would lead them home.

Before A.J. realized what was happening, Billy Brummel whizzed by him at full speed. The older boy leaped through the air like an oversized leprechaun and snatched A.J.'s cap off his head. He landed a few feet in front of the blond and twirled the hat on the end of his finger with a gleeful smile.

"Hey, Baby Simon. Whatcha' wearin' this dopey hat for?"

A.J. glared up at the older boy. "Give it back to me, Billy."

"What? This stupid thing?" Billy studied the hat. "This ain't nothin' but a dead animal. A dead raccoon to be exact. I don't know why you guys wanna go around wearin' dead raccoons on your heads. You look like little idiots. Little idiot raccoons." Billy looked out over the crowd of fourth grade boys and scowled. "Every single one of you."

A.J. made a futile attempt at grabbing the twirling hat. Billy only laughed at the boy's effort and held the cap higher.

"Hey, Tony. Hey, Glenn," Billy said to the friends who had come to stand on either side of him. "I think this hat's got fleas. Which must mean Baby Simon has fleas, too."

Billy began tugging at the fur on the cap with his fingers. He pretended to pick fleas off and flick them on the ground where he rubbed the imaginary insects out with his size nine shoe.

Soon Billy, with his ever-fruitful imagination, was changing the words to the Davy Crockett theme song, making them more useful to the present situation.

"Aaaay Jaaay. A.J. Simon. He's got a bad case of fleas."

Over and over Billy sang the chorus, much to the amusement of his friends and the utter humiliation of A.J. It was bad enough to have lemonade poured over his head in front of Cherry Lynn and her friends, but to be made the butt of a cruel joke in front of the entire fourth grade, and a good deal of the rest of the school, was mortifying. Especially to a gentle boy as popular and well-liked as A.J. The young blond wasn't used to being put in such a position. Nor would he ever purposefully hurt the feelings of, or torment, another child. Therefore, A.J. couldn't understand why Billy took such delight in this type of behavior.

A.J. stood there trying to decide how best to save face in such a formidable situation as the song went on and on.

At that moment Rick and Carlos were passing by Bayshore Elementary on their way home from high school. Rick glanced with disinterest off to his right when he heard Billy's horribly off-key voice raised in rousing song. He looked again with more curiosity when he realized it was A.J. whom the bully was deriving pleasure from picking on.

"Hey," Carlos said, as Rick changed direction. "Where you goin'?"

"To the schoolyard for a minute. It looks like Brummel's givin' A.J. a hard time again."

Carlos trotted over to join his friend as Rick strode onto the grade school's playground. "Ya' gonna fight 'im, Ricky?"

"No," Rick shook his head. "Not unless he hurts the kid. I'm just gonna hang back and keep an eye on things."

Carlos nodded his understanding. He'd hang back and watch as well, yet remain poised to jump in and offer assistance at a moment's notice if Rick gave the word.

Rick and Carlos stood at the edge of the crowd out of A.J.'s line of vision. They had no trouble getting a bird's eye view over the heads of the younger children.

A.J. steadfastly stood his ground and ordered once again, "Give it back to me, Billy." He refused to feed the bully's appetite for fun by jumping for the hat that was held out of his reach. A.J. was smart enough to know Billy would never let the hat drop low enough where he'd have a chance to grab it. He'd seen Billy play this game with other boys' treasured objects often enough to know he'd only end up looking like a foolish jumping jack.

Billy shook the hat in A.J.'s face like one would tease a puppy with a favorite toy. "Come on, Baby Simon. You want it? Come get it."

"Just stop it and give it to me, Billy."

Billy raised his voice in imitation. "Just stop it and give it to me, Billy."

"Knock it off."

"Knock it off," Billy echoed.

“Give it back to me.”

Billy started singing his song again. "Aaaay Jaaay. A.J. Simon. He's got a bad case of fleas."

And that's when A.J. heard it. Rick's laugh. The high- pitched laugh that A.J. could pick out of any crowd. He turned and saw his brother and Carlos standing at the edge of his classmates. Just standing there and watching. Watching and laughing. Now A.J. was mad. Mad at Billy Brummel, and even madder at Rick.

A.J.'s anger ran amok and so did he. He threw his body into the bully's. "Give it to me, Billy! Give it to me!"

Billy easily pushed A.J. aside. And kept on pushing. "Get outta my way, you little parasite," the bully growled while advancing on the younger boy. He used two thick fingers to poke A.J. roughly in the shoulder. The blond would stumble backwards, only barely regaining his footing, before he'd be pushed again.

The amusement Rick had been finding in Billy's song came to an abrupt end when the eighth grader began shoving A.J. around. Rick handed his schoolbooks to Carlos.

"Here. Hold these for me, amigo."

Carlos readily accepted Rick's load. "You want my help?"

“No,” Rick shook his head. "I can handle this bozo."

Unbeknownst to Billy, Rick Simon advanced on him from behind. At that same time, Billy gave A.J. one final mighty shove that lifted the blond's feet off the ground. The nine-year-old flew through the air before landing hard on the blacktop on his bottom. The air was forced out of his lungs in a painful, "Umph!"

"Hey, Brummel!"

Billy turned around to find himself standing face to face with Rick Simon. Although William Warren Brummel wasn't afraid of much of anything or anybody, he had a healthy respect for Rick Simon and his reputation. Nonetheless, he wasn't about to chicken out in front of his friends. No way was Rick Simon gonna corner him now and make him run scared.

"Whatta ya' want, Simon?"

"That's my kid brother your messin' with, Brummel."

Billy turned around briefly and looked down at the prone A.J., Danny now by his side.

Billy turned to face Rick once more. He gave a shrug of nonchalance. "Oh, really? Guess I didn't know that."

"You damn good and well knew it, Brummel. Give the kid his cap back and leave him alone."

Billy held up the coonskin cap that had started the afternoon's fun. "This cap?"

"Yeah," Rick nodded tightly. "That cap." Rick stood nose to nose with the bully and snarled, "Now you listen to me, Brummel, and you listen to me good. I'm gonna walk over there and help my brother up. When he's on his feet I expect you to give him his hat back and apologize to him."

Rick stepped around the bully. He bent down and hooked a hand underneath A.J.'s arm.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yeah, Rick," A.J. nodded. "I'm okay."

"Let's get you off the ground then."

Rick helped A.J. stand. His anger increased when he spotted the raw, bloody scrapes on his brother's elbows.

As he looked over A.J.'s wounds Rick stated flatly, "Brummel, you're a real scum bag to pick on a little kid like this. As a matter of fact, you're a weasel faced moron who--"

Because his attention was on A.J.'s bloody elbows, Rick never saw it coming. Never saw coming the sucker punch that caught him hard on the right cheekbone. So hard that it knocked him to the ground.

A.J. had tried to shout a warning, as had Carlos. But it was too late. Billy was too quick. And just as quickly, Billy plunked A.J.'s coonskin cap on Rick's head, then yanked it down over the oldest Simon's eyes right before he, Glen, and Tony raced out of the schoolyard.

Carlos dropped the books he was holding and ran off after them to no avail. They'd had such a large head start that Carlos lost sight of them before he got to the end of the first block. With a sigh of frustration, Carlos headed back to help the wounded Simon brothers.

S&S S&S S&S S&S S&S S&S

Later that evening, A.J. sat at the desk in his and Rick's room doing homework. Rick was sitting on his bed, leaning back on his pillow that was propped against the headboard. The teenager's knees were bent and his open English book rested in his lap. The paper of sentences he was supposed to be diagramming lay untouched inside the book.

Thanks to swift thinking on Rick's part, he and A.J. had made it past their mother earlier that afternoon without too much of a fuss being made over their disheveled appearance. The brothers acted like they had some important place to be when they hastily grabbed cookies off the plate their mother held out to them as they buzzed by her.

"Rick?" Cecilia had called after her teenager. "What happened to your face?" .

Rick's replied was garbled by his mouthful of oatmeal cookie. "I fell in gym class today. It's no big deal, Mom."

"And, A.J. Your elbows." The concerned mother snared her youngest by the back of his shirt. "They're scraped raw."

"I fell in gym class, too," A.J. readily used the lie Rick had instructed him to. "We were playing dodge ball."

The younger boy pulled away from his mother before she could study his wounds any further. If she'd been able to take a close look, she would have seen the gravel in the cuts and wondered how such a thing could happen on a hardwood gymnasium floor.

Cecilia started to follow her sons up the stairs. "Those scrapes need to be cleaned, A.J."

Rick stopped his running feet on the fourth stair and turned to look at his mother. "I'll take care of him, Mom."

Before Cecilia could either accept that offer or negate it, the phone rang.

"All right," she agreed as she hurried off to answer it. "But use warm water and soap. And iodine! I don't care if he does say it stings!"