by R. L. Stine
“Come on. Who’s first to look terrific?” I asked, holding up a shirt.
No takers.
“What’s going on, guys?” I asked.
Feenman finally spoke up. “Bernie, we have to save our money. To buy tickets to Stupid Chicken On Ice.”
My mouth dropped open. “Huh? Ice?”
Feenman nodded. “Yeah. It’s coming to town next week. We’ve got to buy our tickets early.”
“But, guys,” I said, “I’m raising money for Parents’ Day. What about your parents?”
“Let them buy their own tickets!” Feenman said.
Chapter 10
RAH RAH ROTTEN SCHOOL
Was I discouraged? Does a snake eat his dinner whole?
Trick question! Bernie B. is never discouraged.
There are lots of kids on this campus. I just had to find the ones who wanted to wear the snazziest Stupid Chicken shirts and caps on earth.
“Belzer, pick up the shirts and caps,” I said. “Follow me.”
He piled the shirts so high in front of him, he couldn’t see. “Bernie, could you take some of these?” he asked.
“Bad for my back,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to see. Just follow the sound of my voice.”
I sang the Official Rotten School Song all the way to the Student Center.
“Rah rah Rotten School!
I’d rather be in Rotten School
than NOT in school…”
It’s a totally awesome song. And I knew a lot of my friends listened to it day and night on their computers at www.rottenschool.com.
“Careful, Belzer,” I said. “I’ll have to make you pay for any shirts you drop.”
“But, Bernie,” he whined, “you already took all my money in that all-night Ping-Pong game. Remember?”
“Oh. Right,” I muttered. “You were a terrible Ping-Pong player, Belzer.”
“It’s hard to play Ping-Pong in the dark!” Belzer whined.
I led him into the TV room. It was crowded with kids who didn’t want to do their homework. They stared like zombies at the big-screen TV.
I saw April-May June, the coolest, hottest girl at Rotten School. And Flora and Fauna, the Peevish twins. And I saw Wes Updood, and Sherman Oaks, and Joe Sweety, and a bunch of other guys. They’re all from the dorm we hate—Nyce House.
“Okay, Belzer,” I said. “Put the shirts down.”
“Bernie, can you help me?” he asked. “They’re stacked so high; I don’t want to spill them.”
“Sorry. I can’t. I have muscle cramps,” I said.
He stooped low. I could hear his knees crack. He set the shirts and caps on the floor beside the big TV.
“Good work, Belzer,” I said. I touched knuckles with him. “Now, step aside and watch a master salesman go to work.”
I stepped in front of the TV. “Attention, everyone!” I shouted. “Attention!”
I held up a beautiful Stupid Chicken T-shirt. “I’ve got the shirts you want!” I shouted. “Don’t crowd me. There’s plenty to go around!”
“BOOOOOOOOO!”
“HISSSSSSSSSSS!”
What a strange reaction.
“You’re not booing me—are you?” I asked. “You’re booing something on TV—right?”
I held up a Little Cluck-Cluck cap. “These are awesome!” I shouted. “One size fits all. Get your money out!”
They WERE booing and hissing me!
Is that any way to treat a Hall of Famer? Is that any way to treat the most popular dude on campus, even though I’m too modest to say it myself?
What was this about? Did I do something wrong?
“BOOOOOOOOO!”
“HISSSSSSSSSSS!”
Chapter 11
THE CAPED QUACKER
I turned to Wes Updood, the coolest dude in school. “Whussup, Updood?” I asked. “Whussup with the booing and hissing?”
He shrugged. “It’s like maple syrup, man,” he said. “Drink it from the INSIDE of the bottle, you know? It’s sticky like Cincinnati. In your nose, dude. Really.”
Wes is so totally cool, no one can understand a word he says!
I took a breath and started over. “Who likes Stupid Chicken?” I asked. “Everybody, right? So who would like to wear the best Stupid Chicken T-shirts on earth? They’re made of real, genuine, imitation cotton!”
“BOOOOOOOOO!”
“HISSSSSSSSSSS!”
I could tell it wasn’t going well.
And then Joe Sweety, the biggest, meanest kid in school, bounced up from his chair. He stampeded toward me, shaking his huge fist.
“Bernie, I’m gonna punch out your lights!” he snarled.
“Down, boy, down!” I said. “Sit! Sit!”
That always worked with Beast. But Sweety was a little more human.
“Remember the raw hamburger Chef Baloney gave us for lunch that made us all puke our guts out?” he growled. “Well, that’s what your face is gonna look like!”
I grabbed his big fist as it swung toward me. “I think you have a hangnail,” I said. “Let me take a look at that.”
My heart was thudding in my chest. I felt weak. Dizzy.
Why did Sweety want to pound me into chopped meat? What did I do wrong?
He pulled his fist back. I could see that it had my name written on it. My whole life flashed before my eyes.
“Someone, please—” I begged. “Tell me! What did I do wrong?”
Joe Sweety lowered his fist. “We HATE Stupid Chicken!” he growled.
“He’s totally stupid!” Flora Peevish said with a sneer. “Only babies watch Stupid Chicken.”
Sweety pulled the shirt from my hands and ripped it into tiny shreds. “That’s what we think of Stupid Chicken,” he said.
“YAAAAAAAAAAAY!”
Everyone cheered.
I glanced at the TV. “I don’t get it,” I said. “You’re not watching Stupid Chicken? What are you watching?”
Sweety rolled his eyes. “We’re watching Drastic Duck, of course. What else?”
Excuse me? Drastic Duck?
“The Caped Quacker!” Fauna Peevish exclaimed. “He’s Plucked—and he’s Pumped—for ACTION!”
“YAAAAAAAAAAAY!”
They cheered again, jumping up and down and quacking at the top of their lungs.
Sherman Oaks—that spoiled, rich kid—walked up to me. He flashed me his perfect, million-dollar smile and brushed back his wavy blond hair. His blue eyes sparkled.
“Check these out, Bernie,” he said.
He held up a handful of gray feathers. “My parents bought me these feathers. They’re worth five thousand dollars.”
I squinted at the feathers. They looked like normal feathers to me. “Why are they so valuable?” I asked.
Sherman sneered at me. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? They came off the actual duck used as a model for Drastic Duck. They are the most valuable duck feathers in the world!”
“YAAAAAAAAAAAY!”
The kids in the TV room all cheered again. Then they began to do the Drastic Duck chant:
“Drastic is Fantastic!
Drastic is Fantastic!
Drastic is NOT a spastic!
Drastic is Fantastic!”
They did some more cheering and some more quacking.
When it finally got quiet, I turned back to Sherman. “Let me see those five-thousand-dollar feathers,” I said.
He raised them to my face.
The feathers brushed my nose. And—UH-OH!—I…
SNEEZED!
Whoa. The feathers flew up into the air. The ceiling fan blew them everywhere. I saw some of them sail out the window.
Sherman dove to the floor in a feeble attempt to rescue his precious feathers. He caught two or three of them. He waved his fist at me.
“You did that on purpose!” he shouted. “You did that because you’re a Stupid Chicken fan!”
“No. Not true!” I cried. “I couldn’t help it! I—I—”
I sneezed again. Sherman’s last three feathers went flying out the window.
Kids gasped in horror.
Joe Sweety jumped to his feet. “This means WAR!” he boomed.
Chapter 12
DANGLEPHOBIA
Joe Sweety picked me up by my shirt and pushed me against the wall.
“Want to watch some TV?” I gave him my best smile.
Sweety growled.
All the girls and Nyce House dudes mobbed me, shouting angrily.
I didn’t like the way this was going. I’m a popular guy. Popular guys don’t like to be pressed against a wall and mobbed.
“You got me wrong!” I shouted. “I love Drastic Duck! He’s my favorite duck! Really! He’s so totally…drastic!”
“WAR!”
Sweety bellowed.
“WAR!”
“WAR! WAR! WAR!”
Even April-May was pumping her fists and chanting.
Didn’t she know she was my girlfriend? Didn’t she know she should be helping me?
“Punch him in the encyclopedia!” Wes Updood roared.
That dude is so cool. I wish I could understand him.
“Encyclopedia! Encyclopedia!” Updood started to chant.
But no one joined in on that one.
“Put me down! Put me down!” I shouted at Joe Sweety. “I have Danglephobia! It’s very serious. I’m afraid of having my feet dangle in the air!”
Sweety pressed me harder against the wall. “Sorry, Bernie,” he growled. “We have to defend Drastic Duck!” He pushed till it felt like his hand went right through me!
I was rapidly becoming Flat Bernie!
Could things get worse? Yes.
The mob went for my shirts. They knocked over the pile. Then they began grabbing them away.
“Not the shirts!” I cried. “Not the shirts! They cost me big bucks!”
What were these Nyce House creeps doing? I saw them passing around black markers. They spread the shirts on the floor.
They were drawing on them!
I couldn’t believe it. They were drawing DUCKS all over my Stupid Chicken shirts!
“WAR! WAR! WAR!”
“Encyclopedia!
Encyclopedia!”
They quacked and chanted as they destroyed my shirts.
“I’m ruined!” I wailed. “Ruined!”
And then a booming, deep voice silenced everyone:
“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”
Joe Sweety let go of me, and I slid to the floor. Kids dropped the shirts and backed away in silence. They were all trembling.
“THAT’S BETTER!”
the voice boomed.
I lay in a flattened heap on the floor. I looked up and saw the owner of the voice. Jennifer! Jennifer Ecch!
Jennifer is the biggest, meanest, muscliest, hulkiest girl in school. She’s, like, prehistoric! I mean like those furry mastodons in our history textbook.
Jennifer once arm wrestled a car—and WON!
And did I forget to mention that The Ecch is totally in love with me?
Do you know how embarrassing it is to be in fourth grade and have the hulkiest, muscliest, biggest, meanest girl in school slobbering all over you with wet, smoochy kisses?
Well…tonight I was glad to see her.
She reached down, grabbed the collar of my shirt, and lifted me off the floor with one hand. “Are you okay, Lamby Nose?” she asked.
“Please don’t call me Lamby Nose,” I begged.
She licked my arm for a minute or two. “You’re so sweet, I could eat you up!” she gushed.
“Please don’t,” I muttered.
She took a big bite out of my arm.
Memo to self: Remember to get more Band-Aids.
Then she jumped up and turned to the crowd of kids. “What’s going on? Why are you all picking on Honey Face?” she snarled.
No one spoke. They were all too afraid to answer.
The Ecch gazed at the TV screen. “And why are you watching that stupid duck show?” she demanded.
“It’s not stupid,” Joe Sweety said softly. “We kinda like Drastic Duck.”
“CHANGE THE CHANNEL!”
Jennifer roared. “Are you all crazy? You’ve got to watch the best show!”
“Wh-what’s the best show?” Sherman asked.
Jennifer didn’t reply. Instead she pulled back her school blazer. And we could all see her T-shirt:
POWER PIGEON!
Chapter 13
HE’S COO-COO-COOLOSSAL!
“Power Pigeon?” Joe Sweety cried. “You can’t be serious, Ecch! You have to be a total geek to watch that fat pigeon. He eats garbage off the sidewalk!”
“Oh, yeah?” Jennifer sneered. “That’s how he gets his COO-COO-COOURAGE!”
“Who wants a superhero that coos?” Sweety said.
“Only coo-coo-cool people!” Jennifer replied. “Let me show you a coo-coo-cool trick I learned on Power Pigeon. Did you ever see the episode called ‘Knots To You!’?”
She grabbed Sweety around the neck and lifted him off the floor. Then she began twisting his arms and legs like he was a balloon animal.
In three seconds, she had him tied into a knot. “This is called a Double Shell Bend knot,” Jennifer said.
She grabbed Sweety’s arms and tucked them around his legs. “And this is a Halyard knot. It’s used a lot by fishermen and sailors. Now let me show you my favorite.”
She bent and twisted poor Joe’s body. “This is a perfect Figure Eight knot,” she said. She held him up so everyone could see.
No lie. She bent Sweety into a perfect figure eight. If you put salt on him, he’d look just like a pretzel!
She dropped him to the floor. We all watched him roll away, dazed and defeated. I could hear him out in the hall trying to untangle himself.
“Jennifer—you can’t DO that!” Sherman Oaks screamed.
“We have a right to watch Drastic Duck!” Flora Peevish shouted. “It’s in the Constitution!”
“Oh, yeah?” the Ecch boomed. She made a move toward Flora. But Angel Goodeboy jumped between them.
Angel looks a lot like an angel. He has shiny blond hair and a round face with pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. Sometimes I look for a halo floating over his head.
Angel smiled warmly at Jennifer. “Why can’t we all just get along?” he asked. “Let’s all be kind to each other.”
“I’ll show you my idea of kind,” Jennifer cried.
She lifted Angel off his feet and began shifting his arms and legs. She finished by tucking his head into his body. Then she held him up for everyone to see.
“Look. A box turtle!” Jennifer said.
She set him on the floor, and Angel crawled away slowly.
“Anyone else want to say something bad about the Pigeon of Plutonium?” Jennifer demanded.
“A lightbulb only screws in one way,” Wes Updood said.
“Oh, yeah?” Jennifer cried.
She dove at Wes. She grabbed his arms and started to bend him.
But April-May June and her friend Sharonda Davis leaped onto Jennifer. They tugged her off Wes, pushed her to the floor, and tried to sit on her.
And that’s when things got out of control.
Some kids started chanting:
“WAR! WAR! WAR!”
Another group began chanting the Drastic Duck Chant:
“Drastic is Fantastic!
Drastic is Fantastic!”
Some of my Rotten House friends came into the TV room and began blucking their heads off.
BLUCK BLUCK BLUCK
GLUCK LUCK BLUCK BLUCK!
That made the Drastic fans quack.
QUACK BLUCK COO
Louder. Louder. Quacking and blucking till the floor vibrated and the walls shook.
Quack Bluck
“Buffalo Wings of Steel!” someone shouted.
Coo BLUCK QUACK
“Webbed Feet of Wonder!”
BLUCK Quack COO
“Stupid
Chicken is a featherbrain!”
QUACK BLUCK COO
“Stupid Chicken will roast Drastic Duck on a spit!”
Quack Bluck
“Power Pigeon is Coo-Coo-Coolossal!”
COO BLUCK
BLUCK Quack Coo
“QUACK QUACK QUACK ATTACK!”
COO Coo Bluck
“BLUCK BLUCK—You’re outta LUCK!”
BLUCK QUACK COO
Then it got REALLY UGLY. With everyone pushing and shoving and twisting and bending and quacking and blucking and fighting and flapping and crying and crowing.
And three guesses who walked in.
You got it. Headmaster Upchuck.
“Bernie,” he said. “What’s going on here?”
Chapter 14
CALM AND QUIET
A hush fell over the room. A few feathers floated down from the ceiling. Nothing else moved.
“What’s going on in here?” The Upchuck repeated, glaring at me.
“Nothing, sir,” I said. “Just keeping things calm and quiet.”
He glared at me some more.
“Keeping it calm and quiet the way you wanted, sir,” I said. “We’re just hanging out here calmly and quietly. Watching some science shows on TV. You know. Our favorite wildlife documentaries.”
He scratched his bald head. “Science documentaries?”
“Yes, it’s Newt Week,” I said. “We always try to catch the shows about newts. It’s like a thrill.”
I’m not sure the Headmaster believed me. He gave me the evil eye. “I’m watching you, Bernie. And guess what? I’ve been practicing cartwheels. Know why?”
