by R. L. Stine
Chapter 5
MY MILLION-DOLLAR WATCH
I waited till all the kids hurried off to class. As April-May trotted away, I saw her blow a kiss to Sherman.
How sick is that?
My girlfriend-to-be (who doesn’t know it yet) blowing a kiss to Sherman Oaks?
That gave me the dry heaves. I covered it up by pretending I was coughing.
Then I turned and backed Sherman up against the statue of I. B. Rotten. “Sherman, my friend, we have to talk,” I said.
Sherman let out a cry. I. B. Rotten’s knee was poking him in the back.
He held up the watch. “You want to feel it?” he asked. “Go ahead. I’ll let you touch it for ten seconds. But don’t get your paw prints all over it.”
I gazed at the watch. I started to drool. “A five-hundred-dollar watch, huh?” I said.
Sherman grinned. “Yes. My parents paid cash for it. You can do that when you’re filthy rich.”
I blinked. The sunlight was reflecting off the shiny watch face.
“It’s solid gold,” Sherman said. “And did I mention it has forty-two functions?”
“Too bad,” I said, lowering my eyes.
“Huh?” Sherman squinted at me. “Excuse me?”
“Too bad,” I repeated, shaking my head.
Sherman pulled the watch away from me. “Too bad? What do you mean, Bernie?”
“Too bad,” I said. I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it. “A guy like you walking around with a watch like that. It’s sad.”
Sherman’s mouth dropped open. “Are you crazy? What’s sad about it?”
“They sell those in the supermarket,” I said. “Check this out.” I grabbed his watch and twisted it over. Then I pretended to read the back. “I knew it. It says ‘Piggly Wiggly Food Stores’ on it.”
Sherman jerked the watch away. He squinted at the back. “Huh? A supermarket watch? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I shouldn’t do this,” I said. “But you know I’m very generous when it comes to my friends….”
Sherman squinted at me. “Give me a break, Bernie. Since when am I your friend?”
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’ll trade you my watch for yours.”
“Huh? You’re joking, right? Ha-ha.”
“I know it’s a bad deal,” I said. “My watch is a lot more valuable than yours. Mine is priceless. It belongs in a museum. But what can I say? I’m a sucker. I’m willing to trade.”
I grabbed Sherman’s watch and tried to slide it off his wrist. I hoped he didn’t see how eager I was.
“Whoa. Wait a minute,” he said, cupping his other hand over the watch. “What’s so valuable about your watch?”
Think fast, Bernie!
“It’s from ancient Egypt. It has an engraving of the Egyptian sun god, Ra. I shouldn’t tell you this, Sherman. But my watch is probably worth a million dollars.”
He stared at my watch. “The ancient sun god, Ra? Really? Let me see it, Bernie.” He grabbed my wrist and checked out the watch. “Bernie, that’s Mickey Mouse,” he said. “Dude, you’ve got a Mickey Mouse watch.”
“It’s the sun god, Ra, disguised as Mickey Mouse!” I told him. “You don’t think Ra would show his own face, do you?”
“Bye, Bernie,” Sherman said. He picked up his zebra-skin backpack and started away.
“Wait!” I cried. “I can pay you for the watch. Sherman—look.” I pulled a fat wad of dollar bills from my pants pocket. It was my life savings. My Eclipse Money.
Last Saturday night, I sold a bunch of second graders tickets to watch the eclipse of Mars. Two dollars each. They got to sit on the grass and stare at the sky. I told them how lucky they were. I told them the Martian eclipse happens only once every three thousand years.
But the kids were very confused.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t see anything.”
“I can’t see Mars. It’s too dark!”
“Of course it’s completely dark up there,” I told them. “That’s how you know it’s an eclipse!”
So the kids had a great time rolling around in the grass, staying up all night, partying with their friends.
And good old Bernie B. made a bundle that night. And now I waved the big wad of cash in front of Sherman’s nose.
He sniffed it like a dog.
“It’s all yours,” I said. “Cash money. For your watch.”
Suddenly, a shadow fell over me.
I spun around—and saw Headmaster Upchuck standing right behind me. His eyes weren’t on me. They were on the thick wad of cash in my hand.
“Bernie Bridges!” the Headmaster cried. “Young man, what are you doing with all that cash?”
Chapter 6
HEADMASTER UPCHUCK
Think fast AGAIN, Bernie.
I made my eyes go all wide and innocent. “Do you mean this money in my hand, sir?” I asked.
“Yes, that money in your hand,” Headmaster Upchuck replied.
The Headmaster is short and squat and bald, and he kind of waddles when he walks. He looks a lot like a duck. Some sixth grade kids say he has webbed feet. But you can’t believe sixth graders.
I was surprised to see him out on the Great Lawn. The Headmaster has his own little house and office next to the classroom building. And he seldom leaves it.
“That’s a very handsome suit you’re wearing, sir,” I said. “I like the stripes. Makes you look at least a foot taller.”
“Bernie, the cash,” he said. “What are you doing with all that money?”
I held the wad of bills tightly in my hand. “This is money I’ve raised, sir, from all the kids,” I said. “It’s to build a statue of you, sir. Right next to I. B. Rotten.”
I gave him a quick, two-fingered salute. “You belong here, sir. You’ve inspired us all so much. We want to put your statue right here.”
“That’s nice of you, Bernie,” the Headmaster said. “But I really think—”
Sherman pointed to the wad of bills in my hand. “That’s the money I donated, sir,” he said. “I gave Bernie all that money. That’s how much you mean to me, sir.”
“Whoa. Wait—” I started to choke.
“I appreciate that, Sherman,” Headmaster Upchuck said, patting Sherman on the shoulder. “That’s very generous of you.”
“But—but—” I sputtered.
“I can’t accept these donations, boys,” Upchuck said. “Bernie, give Sherman back his money.”
I stared at the fat wad of bills. My Eclipse Money. My hard-earned cash. My hand started to shake. “But, sir, your statue. It will give us all such joy!” I said.
“Right now, Bernie,” Upchuck snapped. “Give Sherman back his money.”
I had no choice.
I handed the cash over to Sherman.
Sherman had a big, evil grin on his face. He knew he was a rat.
A rat who had just won big-time.
He stuffed my money into his sealskin wallet. Then he edged close to Headmaster Upchuck. Sherman slid a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. He pressed it into the Headmaster’s hand. “This is for you, sir,” he said. “A little gift from the Oaks family.”
Upchuck stared at the hundred-dollar bill. “Sherman, are you trying to bribe me again?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Sherman replied.
“Take it back,” the Headmaster said, stuffing it into Sherman’s shirt pocket. “Aren’t you boys late for class?”
“Class? Yes, sir,” I said. “But I would gladly miss class to help build that statue of you. Perhaps we should start by having Sherman return that donation to me?”
The Headmaster started to shake. He made a few sharp quacking sounds. “I’m shaking again,” he said. “You always do this to me, Bernie. You always give me the—quaaack—shakes. Now get to class!”
“Okay, sir,” I said. I gave him another two-fingered salute. “Lovely to see you, sir. I do love that suit. Those big shoulders make you look very strong. I know yo
u’ll grow into them in no time!”
“BERNIE! GET TO CLASS!” he screamed.
He started quacking at the top of his lungs and tearing out his hair with both hands. (Only he didn’t have any hair.)
“GO AWAY! QUACK! GO AWAY!”
I can take a hint.
I took off, running across the grass to the School House building.
Talk about rotten mornings!
Sherman tricked me out of my money. And he still had the watch.
I needed it. Needed it!
I gazed up at the sun, rising golden and bright over the school grounds. It wasn’t as bright as that watch.
I had to have it. But how?
How?
That night at dinner, I knew how I would do it. It all came to me in the crunch of a pizza crust….
Chapter 7
CHIPMUNK
That evening, I was climbing the stairs to my room in Rotten House. I stopped to straighten the framed portrait of me that I had hung on the second-floor landing.
I heard a soft sound. Squeaky. Sniffling.
Was someone crying?
I don’t like crying. I like my guys to be happy, cheerful.
I poked my head into the first room. Three bunk beds were jammed into this room. In one bottom bunk, a kid sat hunched over, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders heaved up and down. He was definitely crying.
“Chipmunk? What’s up?” I asked. I stepped over two weeks of dirty laundry to get to his bed.
My friend Chipmunk raised his head. He had tear stains on his puffy cheeks. His eyes were red and runny.
I guess I don’t have to describe Chipmunk to you. You can probably figure out how he got that name.
He was wearing faded jeans, and a gray T-shirt that said SHY PEOPLE RULE! in tiny letters. He wiped his runny nose with the front of his T-shirt.
“Chipmunk, get into your school uniform, dude,” I said. “It’s almost dinnertime.”
“I can’t go to dinner,” Chipmunk said in his whispery mouse voice. “I can’t leave the dorm, Bernie. I have to stay in my room for at least two weeks.”
“Excuse me?” I said. “Are you sick?” I jumped back. “You’re not contagious—are you?”
Chipmunk lowered his head again. “No. I’m not sick. Look at me. Look at my hair, Bernie. Someone…someone snuck down here last night while I was sleeping—and gave me a haircut.” He let out a sob.
I stared at his head. It looked like a patchy quilt with some of the pieces missing. He had sprouts of hair surrounded by big, bald squares.
“At least they left you two ears,” I said. “Did you ever meet One-Ear Schmidt? He transferred to another school after his haircut last year.”
Chipmunk let out a long, sad sigh. “I just have to stay in my room till it grows out,” he said.
“Turn around,” I said. “Let’s see who did this to you.”
Chipmunk turned so I could see the back of his head.
“I knew it!” I cried. “It was one of those creeps from Nyce House! He carved a big N on the back of your head.”
“He did?” Chipmunk covered his face with his hands again. “An N on the back of my head?”
“Sherman Oaks is behind this,” I said. “Do you believe it? Jerks from Nyce House sneaking into our dorm and giving my guys haircuts while they sleep?”
I slapped Chipmunk on the back. “One more reason to pay them back—right? Leave it to Bernie. I’ll show these jerks they can’t carve letters in our hair!”
Chipmunk shook his head. “I don’t care about that,” he said. “I’m ruined, Bernie. Ruined.”
“No way,” I said. “Chipmunk, are you kidding me? Hel-lo. This is an awesome new look for you.”
He squinted at me. “Huh?”
“It’s totally punk,” I said. I picked up a paper clip from the floor. “Here. Put this on one ear. Awesome. The punk look is perfect for you. Everyone will be imitating it. You’ll see. Guys will beg you to tell them how you did it.”
Chipmunk’s eyes brightened. “You really think so?”
“Of course I do.” I slapped him on the back. “Now, get dressed for dinner. People are waiting in the Dining Hall to see your new look.”
He jumped to his feet. “Okay, Bernie.” He had a smile on his face. But then the smile fell. “Bernie…what about the N?” he asked.
I stopped at the door. “You’re from Nebraska, right?” I asked.
“Yeah. Omaha.”
“Well, okay!” I said. “No problem, dude. Tell everyone the N stands for Nebraska. Then just watch—in a few days, the other guys will all be cutting their state initials into their heads. No kidding.”
“Thanks, Bernie,” Chipmunk said. He had a big grin on his face. “N for Nebraska. Thanks a lot!” He flashed me a thumbs-up.
I turned and climbed the stairs to my room. I had a smile on my face, too.
I’d just saved another life.
All in a day’s work for Bernie B.
Chapter 8
MY FRIEND BEAST
A short while later, I stepped into the Dining Hall. I saw Sherman Oaks standing at the first table. He was showing off his watch to a group of third graders.
He was shouting over the roar of loud voices and the clatter of plates and silverware. “This is Function 32,” he said. “It’s a first-aid kit. Function 33—a powerful halogen flashlight.” He beamed the blinding bright light into a kid’s face. The poor kid fell off his chair.
Sherman laughed. “Function 34. It’s a portable shower.”
The third graders were ignoring their food and gaping in total awe at the watch.
My watch. I knew Sherman would soon be handing it over to me. I just needed a plan….
The third graders were begging Sherman to shine the light into their eyes, too. But Sherman spoke into the watch: “Later, dudes.”
His voice boomed over the table. Function 35—It was also a loudspeaker.
He walked off with his friend Wes Updood. I watched them go to the Nyce House table against the far wall. Sherman started showing off the forty-two functions to Wes and some of his other Nyce House buddies.
With a sigh, I stepped up to the food line.
I picked up a tray and some silverware. Then I saw a crowd of kids down the line. They weren’t getting food. They were watching somebody.
Did someone else have an awesome watch?
“Hey, what’s up?” I pushed through the crowd—and saw my friend Beast at the pizza table.
Yes, that’s what everyone calls him. Even his parents call him Beast.
I think it’s because…well…he’s a beast! No one is sure if he’s totally human or not. I mean, he walks on all fours some of the time. And he has bristly black hair up and down his arms and his back.
Mrs. Heinie is very tense when Beast is in class. She keeps him on a leash.
I really don’t think that’s fair. Yes, he growls a lot and chases squirrels on the Great Lawn. And we’re not sure what he does after he catches them, but Beast is a good guy.
The guys in Rotten House all like Beast. He has a bottom bunk in a room on the first floor. But he likes to sleep on the floor.
So, there was Beast at the pizza table. He didn’t have a dinner plate or a tray. He picked up an entire pepperoni pizza from the table. Holding it in both hands, he raised it to his face. And shoved the entire pie into his open mouth.
Kids cheered and clapped.
Gulp gulp gulp. Beast swallowed the pie whole. He didn’t even chew it!
Kids cheered and clapped some more. A fifth grader slapped him on the back, and Beast let out a disgusting, loud burp that blew back the kid’s hair and turned his shirt brown.
Beast swung back to the pizza table. Only one pie left. A huge pizza loaded down with sausages and peppers.
Beast raised the pizza over his head. Then he folded it in half, lowered the whole pie into his open mouth, and swallowed. It made a gross, wet squishing sound as it went down his throat.
&
nbsp; Beast smiled. He rubbed his bulging stomach. Then he let out another roaring burp that peeled some of the paint off the wall.
“Ooh, gross,” a girl said, making a face. “It isn’t funny. It’s disgusting.”
Yes. Maybe she was right.
But I didn’t care. I had a big grin on my face.
Because I knew.
I suddenly knew how I was going to take that watch from Sherman.
Chapter 9
PIE FIGHT
After dinner, I found my pals Feenman and Crench at the Student Center. They were sprawled on couches in the lounge. They were tossing pencils up to the ceiling, trying to make them stick.
This is a difficult sport. You have to get the pencil point to go deep into the ceiling tile. Feenman and Crench practiced pencil-tossing all the time. They had already stuck around twenty pencils up there. Not bad.
“Where’s Sherman Oaks?” I asked. “Have you seen him?”
Crench pointed. “He’s in the video room with a bunch of kids,” he said. “He’s showing the new Spider-Man movie on his watch.”
“Hope he enjoys it,” I said. “Because in a few days, all the new movies will be on my wrist.”
A pencil dropped from the ceiling and stuck into the top of Feenman’s head. He didn’t even notice. “How, Bernie?” he asked. “How are you going to get the watch?”
“I’m going to challenge him to a pie-eating contest,” I said. “No way we can lose. Not with Beast on our side.”
Their eyes bulged. “Beast?” Crench said. “You’re joking, right? He’s an animal, Bernie. Know what he did? Beast chased a car down the street this morning.”
“And he caught it,” Feenman said.
“Trust me,” I said. “Trust me.”
I ran to the video room. Sherman’s movie had just ended. He was popping popcorn on the watch with a special popcorn attachment.
I pulled him aside. “Sherman, what’s up, dude?”
