Pushing me down. All the time. They made fun of me for being so small. They didn't know half of the reasons why I was the way I was. They didn't understand, and no one cared. I hated the schoolyard bullies, and that was basically all the kids, so I hated every one of them…

***

Brett Shelton was not a very nice first grader. He was a bit manipulative, and he liked to poke fun at people for various reasons. He was a bit jealous of Andy Barclay; the new kid was talked about by everyone, not only because of his doll, but because of his personality. Everyone liked Andy. He was nice, and he was polite. Brett felt his position was threatened. Of course, kids were his friends, but truth was, it was only because they were scared of him. Normally, he was okay with that, but now that Andy was around, all the kids ran to play with him instead. What was so great about Andy, anyways? He bet that kid couldn't fight, and he hung out with those girls more than he did with the other boys. Plus, he had a doll, and that was a sissy thing to have when you were a boy of six.

He was watching him now. He hated him, he hated the boy who everyone liked, the boy who was quiet and shy. He hated how those girls loved to play with him- especially Quanisha, he wanted her to be his friend, not Andy's. He hated how Andy was stealing her from him. He hated that doll, too, with its stupid smile and phrases that made Andy laugh and hug it close. He didn't want Andy to laugh; he wanted him to cry and be miserable because he, Brett, was miserable.

He crossed the playground across the swings to the dome shaped monkey bars where Andy and the girls were. What were they doing anyways? Talking? Andy should be playing kickball, like a real boy, not chatting with the girls like he was one of them! He growled inwardly at how the girls laughed at something he said. Quanisha was laughing the loudest; she looked so pretty when she laughed. How dare Andy steal that moment away from him! He rapped his knuckles against the metal bar, startling them.

"I like to be hugged!" That stupid doll. And they acted like it was real. Everyone knows dolls can't really move, or talk. They should know that. He looked at them as mean and as threatening as a six year old boy could. "What are you dummies doing?" he asked angrily. Quanisha was frowning at him now; he hated that. Andy was hugging the doll and saying some garb about how he liked to hug it. Gross. "Why do you do that?" he demanded the other boy. Andy looked at him, confused. "Because I do," he said, as if it was obvious, don't you know that, Brett? He hated that too. How simple Andy was. Krista didn't even hold back a laugh. They thought Andy was so funny, didn't they? He wondered how cool they'd think Andy was if he beat him up. "Well, why even play with dolls in the first place?" he went on. "Isn't that for girls?" Andy just kept staring at him. There was no sadness in his eyes, just deeper confusion. "How so?" he asked.

"Because it just is!" Brett exclaimed. The three children were looking at him now. They knew he was mad, but they didn't know why. "What's your problem, Brett?" Krista asked. She was frowning. "What now, Andy? You need a girl to protect you? Or maybe that dumb doll." Now Andy was frowning. "Chucky is not dumb," he said defensively. "He's my friend." He was standing; was he standing up against him? No way. Brett stepped closer so that his face was up in Andy's. "Dolls don't talk, dummy," he said. "Everybody knows that." Andy shook his head. "Actually, Chucky does," he responded. "He talks all the time."

That was it. Brett shoved that smart-alec boy down against the wood chips. The girls gasped. He smiled; maybe now Quanisha would play with him since he was the biggest boy on the playground. Maybe Andy would cry. He kicked Andy as he tried to get up. "You're a dummy," he said again. "You won't even fight back." Andy, of course, did not fight back.

But his doll did.

"You little bastard!" The children covered their ears. "Chucky, no," Andy was saying. "Don't." The doll- it was walking towards him! It was moving, and it was talking! "Don't you dare shove him down again like that." It pushed him against the ground; Brett fought back, but the doll was punching him hard for plastic fists. "Chucky, stop!" Andy was screaming. He was trying to peel the doll off of him, but it was still hitting, yelling, "Don't you ever touch Andy like that. Don't you ever talk to him like that! You leave him alone, you little piece of shit! You don't know anything about him; you have no right..!" he was still screaming when the girls finally came to and helped the struggling Andy pull the doll off of him. "Chucky, please, calm down, what have I told you about all this mean stuff?" Andy was asking desperately. Brett sat up and wiped his bloody nose. "Are you okay?" Quanisha was asking. Krista was just staring, openmouthed, waiting for an answer.

He growled. This was not the way he wanted to look to the girls. He got beat up by a doll. A doll! He was so angry, and he would have started fighting again, but the doll was looking at him with fierce blue eyes that were reminding him of who was the better fighter. Andy was apologizing to him. "Get away from me!" he screeched at the boy with the doll. Then he stomped away from them. "I'm telling on all of you!" he yelled back at them. He hoped they would all get in trouble. Especially Andy. It was his fault he got beat up. If Andy hadn't made him so mad, he wouldn't have picked on him, and that doll would have never hurt him. He wiped the blood off his elbow and went to find his teacher. She would get them in trouble. Then everything would be fair.

***

Serves him right. How dare he touch my Andy.

***

Ms. Kettlewell was having her conference with Mrs. Barclay in the small, colorful classroom when Brett stormed in angrily. "Ms. Kettlewell!" he exclaimed. The women looked up from their deep conversation over the desk in confusion. "Look at my arms! And my nose!" he was shouting. Ms. Kettlewell gave him a concerned look-over. "Brett, sweetie, how in the world did you get all banged up like that? You need to be careful when you play kickball." Karen watched as the roughed up boy crossed his arms; she could see where he had been scratched up. "That's not it," he said in frustration. "It was Andy. He beat me up, and I didn't even do nothin'!" Ms. Kettlewell gave Karen a glance, and the blonde woman was at a loss for words. "My Andy?" she asked. The teacher nodded slowly. "Brett, go on to the nurse's office. I'll talk to Andy."

The boy seemed satisfied with himself as he left the classroom. Karen was shaking her head. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Kettlewell, I had no idea… Andy is so good at home…" Ms. Kettlewell put a hand on hers. "Don't worry about this fight," she said. "Brett is known to be a little rough, and I honestly doubt Andy did anything to him…" But they were both looking at the obscenity on the paper. "I didn't even know he knew those words," Karen murmured. "And he always tells me how much he loves you." Ms. Kettlewell sighed. "I don't want to believe it was him, Mrs. Barclay," she agreed. "Andy is a sweet kid. He never, ever causes trouble. I just wanted to know if maybe there was some sort of anger he's holding inside, something that he takes out on his papers or school… or me."

Karen slumped on the large oak desk. "His father died. He was murdered. I lied and told him it was just a car accident. Andy wasn't allowed to see his father's body. He cried so much. I work all the time, so he's alone a lot." She could feel her eyes watering. "I… I just don't know. He doesn't show any sign of this behavior at home…" She pressed her hand against her face. Ms. Kettlewell handed her a tissue. "It's alright, Mrs. Barclay," she said softly. "It's not your fault, really. Maybe this is a big misunderstanding. Maybe someone else wrote this on his paper. Because, I've been thinking, now that we've looked at it again, this…" she turned the sheet so that Karen could see it. "This doesn't look like Andy's handwriting. Does it?"

The women observed. "Another child from the classroom perhaps?" Karen said, though she honestly wondered what child in first grade would have the nerve or the knowledge to use such language. "That's the thing. It doesn't look like any child's handwriting," Ms. Kettlewell said, shifting through the other worksheets. "This look like it was written with a smaller hand, someone who had trouble holding the crayon, and none of my kids show that." Ms. Kettlewell continued to stare at the sheet in confusion, but Karen had a thought suddenly dawn on her. What was it that Mike had said about that night? No. She pushed that away. Impossible.

Dolls don't talk. And they don't move.

***

Andy was sitting in the office. Brett had continued to tell his tale, including to the principal, so there was no way out. "I believe you, Andy," his teacher had told him. "But I'm afraid other people don't. And we have no explanation, do we?" Andy had shook his head and slid out of his desk to the office, nearly dragging Chucky behind him.

He elbowed the doll. "See what happens when you get all mad and agg-er-essive?" he said. "I get in trouble. Maybe you should come to life now since it's so unfair that I get in trouble for what you did." Chucky held onto his hand tightly. "I'm sorry, kid," he replied softly. "I just couldn't sit there and watch you get humiliated by that jack-ass." He laid his cheek against Andy's arm shifting into his doll form just as the principal came out. "Andy Barclay?" he asked. Andy nodded. The principal gestured into his office.

***

Keep Andy safe. I would a million times over rather have been in the office with the principal than with those brats. Keep him safe. From them, anyways.

From me is a different story…

Andy was a car-rider for the day. "Did you get in trouble?" Krista asked him as he sat down next to her and waited for his mom. Quanisha was running toward the back of the school to catch her bus. He nodded. "Not too bad, though, since Principal said this was my first time," he said. Krista blew out her breath hotly. "I hate that Brett Shelton. He thinks he's so great. And he always gets his way. One time, he spilled milk on my dress and blamed it on Quanisha. That's how we became friends, you know. 'Cuz we had to sit in the office together and get stuff cleared up." Andy smiled. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one Brett picked on.

Finally, his mother's Sedan pulled up against the school curb. He waved to Krista and walked to his car. His mother was smiling as he opened the door and climbed in. "Hey, Andy," she said softly. "How was your day?" Andy hung his head. "I got in trouble," he said. Karen feigned surprise. "What? For what, honey?" Andy shrugged. "I didn't do it. Some boy named Brett got beat up and he blamed it on me. I don't think he likes me all too much." Karen watched her son sadly. There was no way that Andy was doing the things it seemed he was. But who else was to blame? Who else…?

"Andy," she began cautiously. "You said Chucky talks to you right?" Andy nodded. "Yeah, but you don't believe me, remember? 'Cuz you said that dolls don't talk." Karen nodded. "I know," she said. "But, assuming I'm wrong, I'm curious. What exactly does Chucky tell you? And Andy, I want you to tell me everything…"

***

There are some things I've told Andy that are meant to be kept secret. I hope he knows that. I hope he doesn't tell anything. I hope he makes stuff up.

But Andy is not a good liar, which probably means I'm screwed…