Randy was able to avoid the red-head for the rest of that week, but the following Monday, trouble struck again. Randy gathered his things and was about to head home for lunch when the red-head, the blonde and two others caught up with him.

"Hey, Wolfy!" called a biggish dark-haired boy. "Ralph says you wear diapers! Is it true?"

Anger stirred within Randy. Only relatives and close friends of the family ever called him Wolfy. Suddenly, someone yanked down his pants from behind.

"It is!" shouted an excited voice.

"What does it matter?" Randy demanded, pulling up his pants.

The red-head, whom he guessed to be Ralph, stepped forward.

"What’s the real reason you wear diapers?" he asked.

"I told you," Randy answered impatiently, "my bladder’s too small."

"Sherer!" sneered the blonde girl from the back of the little group. "I bet you’re just too chicken to use a potty--afraid something’s goona bite your bumbum."

"What would you do if your bladder were so small that you had to wee every hour?" Randy asked.

"I’d do it," said Ralph stubbornly. "I’m not scared of the potty."

Randy decided it was time to leave. With a last dirty look at Ralph and his friends, he walked briskly away.

"They’re so stupid!" he thought.

The house was empty when he got home, but he found lunch waiting in the fridge. He ate, changed quickly and hurried back to school. As he reached the school grounds, he looked for Ralph and his little gang. They were nowhere to be seen.

The first class after lunch that day was math, followed by PE then English. In math, Randy noticed that both Ralph and the blonde girl kept shooting glances at him. When he was called to write an equation on the blackboard, he could sense them watching his every move. As he returned to his seat, Ralph caught his arm and hissed, "You’re pants are slipping!"

This was not true, as Randy always checked them before leaving his desk.

"You there! Brinckman!" Mrs. Morrison said sharply, "Pay attention!"

In PE, Randy changed in to his PE strip and joined the cue filing past Mr. Bradley in to the gym. Class that day was Dodge-Ball. The object was to "tag" members of the opposing team by hitting them with the ball as they crossed the gym. Each team had a "safety zone" at the end of the gym from which to shoot. The rule was that all shots must be aimed below the waist. Randy noticed that Ralph, who was on the other team, kept fumbling the ball. He was frequently tagged and sent off. Once he even hit one of his own teammates! Mr. Bradley penalized him for aiming above the waist, then benched him for unsportsmanlike conduct for swearing at him. He spent the rest of the game glaring at Randy. Randy himself was very good. His sharp eyes and quick reflexes made him a difficult target and a dangerous opponent.

When the game finally ended, everyone hurried back to the changing room. Randy changed quickly, picked up his clean diaper and headed for the washroom. The wheelchair-accessible cubicle was already occupied. Randy waited, but the boy seemed to be taking forever. Finally he knocked.

"Wait your turn!" came Ralph’s voice from within.

Peeking beneath the door, Randy saw Ralph’s striped sneakers. He could only see him from the knees down, but that was enough to tell him that Ralph was just standing there, not doing anything.

"What’s taking you so long?" Randy asked. "Nearly everyone else is gone."

Ralph didn’t reply.

"We’ll be late for class if you don’t hurry!" Randy called impatiently.

"Then change your diapee on the floooooooor!" said Ralph in a whiny, baby voice.

At that moment, the buzzer sounded. There wasn’t time to change now. Furious, Randy grabbed his things and hurried off to English class, hoping his diaper wouldn’t leak. What had Ralph been up to? Did he really have to go, or was he just being spiteful? Privately, Randy suspected the latter.

When 3-00 came, Randy collected his things and hastened to leave, hoping to get away from Ralph and his gang. Unfortunately, they were a step ahead of him. As he reached the main door, there they were. They allowed the kids in front to pass, but when they saw Randy, they closed ranks, barring his way.

"Excuse me please," Randy said as he approached them.

"Show us your pass, Wolfy," Ralph ordered.

"Pass?" Randy repeated. "What pass?"

"You know what pass, baby," snapped the blonde girl.

Not wanting to play this stupid game, Randy turned away, intending to leave by another door.

"Scared of the door guards, baby?" Ralph sneered. "Just show your passy, then you can go."

Randy turned back. "Your just being stupid!" she said, "Nobody needs passes here. Now if you’ll excuse me please."

He started to move around Ralph, but suddenly two pairs of hands yanked down his pants, tripping him. As he went down, someone slapped his diapered bum. It didn’t hurt much through the diaper, but he still felt it.

"That’s what happens to pushy babies!" said the blond girl. "Now go home and tell your mummy you need a clean diapee! You’re soaked!"

"Who’s being rude?" Randy demanded, getting to his feet. "Is it ruder to say "excuse me please" than to pull someone’s pants down in public?"

As he bent to pull up his pants, he felt someone writing on the back of his plastic pants. Things might have turned nasty if the principal, Mr. Goldman, hadn’t arrived. He took one look at the seen and scowled.

"What’s this?" he asked. "What’s going on?"

"He pushed me!" Ralph shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Randy.

"Liar!" Randy yelled before he could stop himself.

"In to my office, all of you!" Mr. Goldman commanded.

In the office, Mr. Goldman turn first to Randy who recounted the whole event. When he’d finished, there was a tense silence.

"Do you really consider yourself in the right?" Mr. Goldman asked Ralph. He spoke quietly, but something in his voice made everyone shiver. No one answered.

"I see you need a few lessons on respect," Mr. Goldman said at last. "You will stay here for half an hour, and I’ll be contacting all of your parents. Randy, if you’re not injured, you may leave."

Mr. Goldman now placed each of the four members of Ralph’s gang in a separate corner. "No talking, any of you," he warned as he returned to his desk. "One sound or movement, and I’ll add ten minutes to your time."