Dexter the Tough by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page A

is,” Robin said softly.
    A man with a broom was sweeping dirt into a dustpan.
    â€œMr. Chandler, this is the kid I was telling you about,” Robin said. “Mr. Chandler, this is Dexter. Dexter, this is Mr. Chandler.”
    Mr. Chandler was young and had a ponytail that hung halfway down his back. He had a bandana wrapped around his head, like a pirate.
    â€œNice to meet you, Dexter,” Mr. Chandler said, holding out his hand. “From what Robintells me, I think I owe you an apology. Something about polishing the floors too well?”
    â€œUh . . . ,” Dexter said. He didn’t know what else to do, except shake Mr. Chandler’s hand.
    â€œMr. Chandler’s the janitor,” Robin said. “He’s really a nice guy.”
    â€œYeah, I felt terrible when Robin told me about you falling down your very first day here,” Mr. Chandler said. “Think I should change the brand of floor wax we use?”
    Dexter shrugged. Robin started nodding like crazy.
    â€œI’ve got an idea,” Robin said. “Maybe Dexter and me could help you try out the different kinds, see what works best without getting too slippery. Could we?”
    â€œSure,” Mr. Chandler said. “I always like having helpers.”
    â€œSee?” Robin told Dexter. “Didn’t I tell you he was nice?”
    Dexter flushed red. What if Robin hadtold Mr. Chandler that Dexter hated him?
    â€œIt wasn’t just falling down that made me mad,” he mumbled. “The secretary was mean to me, too.”
    â€œOh, right, she went off and left you in the middle of the hall,” Robin said. “And you didn’t know where you were or what you were supposed to do.”
    â€œBetty Sue did that?” Mr. Chandler said. He looked shocked. “Betty Sue’s the nicest person I’ve ever met. She wouldn’t leave a new kid alone when . . . Wait a minute—when was your first day?”
    â€œMonday. A week ago,” Dexter said.
    â€œOooh,” Mr. Chandler said. “I bet I know what happened, then.”
    â€œWhat?” Robin asked.
    â€œWell, one day last week—it had to have been Monday—Betty Sue caught that stomach bug that’s been going around,” Mr. Chandler said. “She kept having to run to the bathroom to throw up. She said she wanted to finish up her work before she went hometo rest and get better. And—I remember now—she said she threw up for the first time right before the first bell rang. That must have been when she was taking you to your class. But Betty Sue would have apologized. She wouldn’t have been mean about it.”
    Dexter narrowed his eyes, staring at some kindergartener’s mess of red and blue paint. Now that he thought about it, he remembered that the secretary had looked pale and clammy. And she’d had beads of sweat on her upper lip, right before she’d run away, leaving him behind. And she’d said something, but Dexter hadn’t really heard her. It’d been right then that he’d stepped forward and his feet had flown out from under him, and he’d crashed to the ground and all those kids had laughed at him. And then he’d run into the bathroom.
    And when he came out of the bathroom, and saw the secretary again, maybe she had said something. Maybe she’d made all kinds of apologies. Dexter hadn’t been able to listento anything then, because his ears were buzzing and his eyes were blurry.
    And his hand hurt, from hitting Robin.
    â€œMaybe you should talk to Betty Sue,” Mr. Chandler was saying now. “She’d feel really bad if she knew you were still upset. She’d probably bake you some chocolate chip cookies to make it up to you.” He grinned. “If she does, will you share some with me?”
    It was hard to hate Mr. Chandler when he was grinning like that. And it was hard to hate anyone named Betty