by R. L. Stine
I started through the door. Mr. Scotto followed me. “Listen, Matt,” he whispered. “It’s nice of you to try to help Bradley. But don’t take it too far.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t have to cheat to help him,” Mr. Scotto continued. “This is Strike Two, Matt. I don’t understand what’s gotten into you. I know you must be tense about the swim meet. But one more strike, and I’ll have no choice. I’ll have to suspend you from school.”
“But, Mr. Scotto, I —”
He closed the classroom door behind me. I glanced up and down the hall. Empty. I heard voices and laughter from the next classroom.
Bradley leaned against a locker. I stomped over to him and grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt. “Why did you do it?” I growled. “Why did you copy my answers?”
He still had that sick grin on his face. “You’re the math king, right?” he said. “Who else am I going to copy?”
* * *
After school, I picked up Livvy from Shandy Hills Elementary, and we walked home. She began kidding around — bumping me with her backpack, trying to trip me. Livvy is eight. She thinks that stuff is funny.
But I was in no mood. I started walking faster to get away from her.
“I heard you got in trouble today,” she called.
“Huh?” I swung around and stared at her. “How did you hear about it? You’re not even in the same school.”
“Some kids were talking,” she said.
Oh, great. The big news was spreading all over town. Perfect Honor Roll student Matt Daniels is a big cheater.
Thank you, Bradley.
I lowered my head and started to cross the street. Mr. Scotto’s words echoed in my mind: This is Strike Two, Matt … But one more strike, and I’ll have no choice. I’ll have to suspend you from school.
Mom wasn’t home, so I used my key. I climbed the stairs and opened the door to my room. “Oh, no!” I moaned. “What are YOU doing here?”
Bradley sat in front of my laptop. He kept typing for a bit, then spun around. “Your computer is faster than mine,” he said. “You don’t mind if I use it — do you?”
A growl escaped my throat. I realized my hands were balled into tight fists.
“Also, I borrowed this T-shirt from your dresser. Mine got a stain on it,” Bradley said. “It looks better on me, don’t you think? Okay if I keep it?”
The tie-dyed shirt said PEACE, LOVE, ROCK & ROLL FOREVER on the front. It belonged to my dad. He gave it to me last Christmas. It’s my favorite shirt.
I stepped up behind Bradley and wrapped my hands around his neck. “Should I kill you now or wait till after dinner?” I said.
He grinned at me. He thought I was joking. “What’s your problem, Matt?” he said.
I backed away. I’m not a violent dude. I couldn’t let Bradley turn me into one. “Hel-lo! You got me in a mess of trouble today,” I said.
He shrugged his skinny shoulders. “No biggie,” he said.
“Huh?” I couldn’t help it. I reached for his neck again. But he rolled out of my reach on the desk chair.
“You’re Mr. Scotto’s pet,” Bradley said. “He thinks you’re a future astronaut or rocket scientist or something. You know he won’t do anything to you.”
“But — but —” I was so angry, I started to sputter. “Do you know how important this week is to me? You’re dead meat if you ruin it for me. I mean it!”
Bradley began snooping through the papers on my desk. He picked up a red notebook. “Are these the plans for your science project?” he asked. “What is it? Some kind of birdhouse?”
I grabbed the notebook out of his hand. “Yeah. If you really want to know,” I said. “It’s a birdhouse with a computer chip in it.”
He giggled. “A computer chip in a birdhouse? Weird!”
“It’s not weird,” I said. “The chip controls the lights and the air temperature inside. And it controls an automatic seed feeder.”
Bradley thought about it for a moment. “Way cool,” he said. “You’re gonna be a great scientist. Maybe if I stick close enough I will, too.”
Yuck-o. Give me a break.
He stood up and gave me a salute. Then he walked out of my room and clomped down the stairs. I let out a sigh of relief when I heard the front door close behind him.
“Good riddance,” I muttered. He really gets my stomach churning.
I knew I had to calm down. So I filled my big yellow watering can with water. And I carefully watered my ivy plants.
I have two of them in clay pots next to my dresser. Their shiny leaves trickle down the wall, almost to the floor.
I spend a lot of time watering them, and cleaning their leaves, and fixing their soil. Here’s a secret…. Sometimes I even talk to them.
Caring for my two ivy plants always calms me down. They started out as a science project. I wanted to see how they grew under different amounts of light. But now I just like to have them and take care of them.
I watered them carefully. Then I straightened some of the leaves. Turning back to my desk, I glimpsed my laptop. What did Bradley leave on the screen?
I studied the monitor. Two bloodshot eyes stared back at me. And under them, in big green letters, the words MONSTER BLOOD.
What is Monster Blood? One of Bradley’s weird online games?
I looked for an X in the upper right corner to get rid of it. No X.
I hit the ESCAPE key.
The eyes still stared out at me. The words MONSTER BLOOD oozed down the screen like thick clots of green slime.
I hit the DELETE key again and again. I tried several other keys.
I couldn’t exit. No matter what I tried, the ugly bloodshot eyes stared out.
And then I heard a scratchy whispered voice, low at first and then louder: “Enjoy your Monster Blood … Enjoy your Monster Blood … Enjoy your Monster Blood …”
The cold, raspy voice gave me the creeps.
I pushed the MUTE button on the front of the laptop. Silence now?
No. The whispered words still poured out: “Enjoy your Monster Blood … Enjoy your Monster Blood …”
I pushed the MUTE button again. Again.
“Enjoy your Monster Blood …”
What was going on? Why couldn’t I get it to stop?
My heart started to race. What did Bradley do to my computer?
I slammed the laptop closed. Then I waited a minute or two for it to shut down.
When I raised the lid, the eyes stared out at me. Stared out as if they could see me. The words MONSTER BLOOD oozed down the screen. And the voice whispered again and again: “Enjoy your Monster Blood … Enjoy your Monster Blood …”
“NOOOOO!” I cried.
I yanked the power cord from the back of the laptop, then I flipped it over. Fumbled with the battery lid. Finally, pulled the battery out.
Breathing hard, I gaped at the screen. The laptop had no power … no power of any kind.
But still the red eyes glared out at me. And the raspy voice continued to whisper its message: “Enjoy your Monster Blood … Enjoy your Monster Blood.”
“YAAAIIII!” I couldn’t help it. I let out an angry scream. I slammed the laptop shut again.
Livvy came running in from the bathroom in her bathrobe. She had a towel wrapped around her wet hair. A few shampoo bubbles clung to her forehead.
“Matt — what’s wrong?” she cried. “Are you hurt?”
“Bradley!” I shouted. I shook my fists in the air.
Her blue eyes went wide. She knows I’m always the calm one in the family. I’m the one who’s good in emergencies.
There’s only one thing in the world that makes me totally lose it. Bradley Wormser.
Livvy wrapped the towel tighter around her wet hair. “What did he do?” she asked.
“Played one of his dumb jokes,” I said. “He messed up my computer. Fixed it so it won’t turn off.”
“Won’t turn off? Really? Did you try unplugging it and taking out
the battery?” Livvy asked. She’s pretty good with computers for an eight-year-old.
“Of course I tried that,” I snapped. I pushed past her and headed to the door.
“Matt, where are you going?” Livvy called after me.
“To Bradley’s,” I said.
“Are you going to hurt him? Can I watch?”
I didn’t answer. I stomped down the stairs and crossed the backyard and walked through Bradley’s kitchen door. The kitchen was bright and warm and smelled of cinnamon. Mom and Mrs. Wormser must have been baking.
Bradley was standing at the sink, squeezing a yellow cupcake in his hand. He had vanilla frosting smeared around his mouth.
“Sorry I can’t share,” he said. “This is the last one.”
I stared at my tie-dyed shirt. I saw a spot on the pocket. “Give me my shirt!” I shouted. “Now!”
“Whoa.” His brown eyes went wide. He shoved the whole cupcake into his mouth and swallowed it without chewing. “What’s your problem, Matt? I just borrowed it!”
“Give it back!” I demanded. I started across the room toward him.
“Okay, okay.” He started to pull off the shirt. He was so skinny, I could see all his ribs.
“What did you do to my computer?” I asked. “Did you think that was funny?”
He handed me the shirt. “Excuse me?”
“You messed with my computer,” I said. “One of your stupid jokes. You fixed it so I can’t turn the thing off.”
He shook his head. “No way. You’re crazy.”
“And you’re a liar!” I shouted.
“No way,” he repeated. He shoved back his scraggly hair with both hands. “Are you sick or something? You’re acting like a total nutcase.”
I stared at his skinny ribs. “You look like a plucked chicken,” I said with a laugh. “Everyone calls you Worm. But they should call you Chicken Bones!”
His face turned bright red. “Oh, yeah?” he cried. I could see he was hurt. “You won’t be making fun of me very long,” he said.
I laughed again.
“You’ll see,” Bradley said. “I found something awesome. It’s going to make me bigger and stronger than even you, Matt. And then you’ll talk to me with some respect.”
“That’s tough talk for a pile of chicken bones,” I said.
I know, I know. It wasn’t very clever. But I was still too angry to think clearly.
I swung around and stomped out the kitchen door. At least I got my dad’s shirt back. That made me feel a little better.
Outside, I turned and looked through the window. Bradley was reaching for another cupcake.
When I got home, Mom was sitting at the kitchen table. She had a tall glass of iced tea in her hand.
She glanced at the clock over the sink when I walked in. “Matt, hi. Were you at swim practice?”
“No,” I said, rolling the shirt in my hand. “I had to get something back from Bradley.”
She mopped her forehead with a paper napkin. “I’m beat. I just got back from next door. Shirley and I baked eight dozen chocolate and vanilla cupcakes today. Can you imagine?”
I snickered. “Bradley was enjoying a few of them,” I said.
Mom groaned. “Shirley and I told him he couldn’t have any. They’re for a big party on Saturday.”
“Face it. He’s a creep, Mom,” I said.
Mom frowned at me. “Don’t say that. He’s your friend. You two have known each other your whole lives. And let’s be honest. Bradley knows he can’t compete with you in sports, or in science, or in popularity. So he does these things just to get your attention.”
“He’s still a creep,” I said.
My cell phone vibrated. I pulled it out of my jeans pocket. I had a text message from Bradley:
CAN I GET UR SHIRT BACK? FITS ME BETTER.
I worked on my science project till after midnight. The next morning, I woke up a little late. I pulled on my cool new black-and-white Raiders jersey and my jeans and hurried down to breakfast.
Bradley was already at the kitchen table, gobbling down a toasted muffin. He stood up when I came in. “Check it out, dude,” he said. He stretched out his arms.
He was wearing the same Raiders jersey.
“We’re twins!” he said, and slapped me on the back.
Great way to start the day.
“Matt, want some eggs this morning?” Mom asked.
“No time,” I muttered. “I have to go change my shirt.”
* * *
Before class began, Mr. Scotto called me to the front of the room.
My brain spun. What did I do wrong this time? I couldn’t think of anything.
Did he want to talk about his broken windshield again?
My heart started to pound as I stepped up to his desk. “Morning,” he said softly. He took my arm and led me out into the hall, away from the other kids.
Kids were still at their lockers or making their way to their classrooms. I studied Mr. Scotto’s face. I couldn’t tell whether he was angry or not.
He smelled like peppermint. I think it was his aftershave. He had a small cut on his chin from shaving.
He leaned against the tile wall. “How’s it going?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
He nodded. “I just wanted to say, you’re doing a great job with Bradley.”
I stared at him. Bradley? What kind of a job did I do with Bradley? I hated his guts!
“He told me you helped him think up an idea for his science project. He showed me his plans for his computerized birdhouse. And they are terrific.”
I exploded. “His WHAT?!”
“You’ll have to work very hard to top him, Matt,” Mr. Scotto said. “Bradley is definitely the front-runner for the Science Prize. His birdhouse is brilliant!”
Oh, no. Please — no.
This was too much. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t think.
I felt as if my head was about to pop like a balloon. I never felt so angry, so furious in my life.
How could Bradley do that to me? Did he really think he could get away with it? Win the prize by stealing my idea?
I squeezed my fists so tight, my fingernails dug into my palms. “Uh … Mr. Scotto … ?” I said through gritted teeth. “I have to tell you something about that idea.”
He grinned at me. “That was such a nice thing to do for Bradley,” he said. “I’m going to forget all about that little cheating thing. I’ll let you make up the math test.”
“Uh … thanks,” I muttered. What could I say? I needed that math grade. But I couldn’t let Bradley get away with stealing my project — could I?
Checking his watch, Mr. Scotto walked back into the classroom.
Locker doors slammed. The hall was emptying out.
I tried to calm down. But then I spotted Bradley in the corner, showing off his Raiders jersey to a couple of girls. And I couldn’t stop myself.
I hurtled myself at him. Grabbed him hard with both hands. And slammed him against a locker.
He stumbled back, his eyes wide with surprise. His eyeglasses fell off and hit the floor.
Behind me, a crowd had gathered. Where did they all come from?
“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” they began to chant.
“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” Their voices rang in my ears.
I saw red. I knew I was out of control. But I couldn’t help it.
I pressed Bradley against the locker with both hands.
And heard an angry woman’s voice from down the hall. “What’s going ON here?”
Mrs. Grant. The principal.
The chanting stopped. The kids behind me didn’t move.
Mrs. Grant pushed through the crowd. She’s a tiny woman, frail and old. She wears gray skirts and gray sweaters. She looks like a sparrow, with short, shiny white hair.
“Stop it! Stop it!” she screamed. She grabbed my arm and pulled me off Bradley.
“Matt, are you fighting?” she asked, still holding my
arm.
Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.
I realized instantly that I was in HUGE trouble.
Strike Three. The words flashed into my mind.
Mrs. Grant slowly let go of my arm. She stared hard at me with her sharp black sparrow eyes.
Strike Three and you’re out, I thought.
Bradley slid to the side, smoothing out the front of his Raiders shirt. His face was very pale. He bent to pick up his glasses.
“You know I have no choice,” Mrs. Grant said. “The school rules say no fighting of any kind. I have to suspend you, Matt.”
“I — I —” I wanted to explain. But what could I say?
Mrs. Grant shook her head. “I don’t understand,” she said softly. “Why would you do this on the day before the swim championship? You know how much our team is counting on you.”
This isn’t happening, I thought. This CAN’T be happening to a nice guy like me.
Mrs. Grant pointed down the hall. “Go clean out your locker,” she said. “I’m really sorry, Matt. But rules are rules. I’ll call your mother right now to let her know. You’re suspended from school for a week.”
My legs felt weak. My mouth hung open in disbelief. I felt drops of sweat running down my forehead.
“Go,” Mrs. Grant said, pointing again toward my locker.
Suddenly, Bradley spoke up. “But we weren’t fighting!” he said.
Mrs. Grant squinted at him.
Bradley hung an arm around my shoulder. “Matt and I are best friends,” he told her. “We were just goofing on each other.”
The principal frowned. I could tell she didn’t believe Bradley.
“It wasn’t a fight at all,” Bradley said. “We were acting out this scene we saw on TV last night.”
“Yeah. That’s right,” I chimed in. “It was an awesome fight scene. These two guys totally wrecked each other. Bradley and I thought it was funny. We were just pretending to be those crazy guys.”
“That’s the truth,” Bradley lied. He still had his arm around my shoulder like we were best buddies.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. My legs still felt shaky and weak.
Was Mrs. Grant buying our story? She had to — or I was doomed.
