by R. L. Stine
We trotted across the Great Lawn. When we passed the statue of I. B. Rotten, I touched his bright red nose for good luck.
Sherman and Wes Updood and a gang of other kids were waiting for us at the School House door.
Belzer opened the door for us, and we crept inside. The building was dark except for a few dim ceiling bulbs.
No one said a word as we climbed the stairs to the classroom kitchen. The only sounds were the scampering of mice over the floor and the thud of our shoes on the concrete steps.
I could smell the blueberry pies from the hallway. Yessss!
We pulled open the doors. Clicked on the overhead lights. And there they were!
The pies were lined up on a long table against the wall. They were covered in aluminum foil. The room smelled so sweet. I stood in the middle of the room, sniffing with my eyes shut, a big smile on my face.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Sherman Oaks stood next to me. “Bernie, stop sniffing,” he said. “We have to start the contest. How’s your back? Are you ready to start carrying me to class?”
Wes and Beast pulled up a table. Belzer started to pile blueberry pies on top of it.
“Sherman, you know this isn’t fair,” I said. “You know I don’t stand a chance with Beast. Let me pick someone else for the contest.”
Sherman shook his head. “No way,” he replied. “It’s Beast against Wes.”
“I’m begging you,” I said, putting my hands together. “Let me eat pies instead of Beast.”
Sherman frowned at me. “Forget it, slave. It’s Wes against Beast.” He waved the watch in my face. “If you’re a good slave, Bernie, maybe I’ll let you touch the watch for a few seconds.”
Then he walked off, laughing.
I chased after him. “Sherman, let’s call the contest off,” I said. “Come on, dude. Be fair.”
He shook his head again. “Bernie, it was your idea, remember? Stop stalling. Let’s see some pie eating.”
Okay. You heard me. I gave Sherman every chance, didn’t I?
I was playing fair. I gave him a chance to back out. But now, the watch was mine, all MINE!
I walked over to Beast. He sat behind the table, hunched over the largest blueberry pie. He looked a little weird—even for Beast! He was breathing hard, his eyes bulging. Drool was running down his chin.
“Take it slow at first,” I whispered. “Don’t eat twenty pies in one gulp. Let Wes Updood think he has a chance.”
I turned to the crowd. “Okay, listen everyone!” I shouted. “Let’s start the contest. One…two…three…
Chapter 16
THE BIG BARF-OFF
Wes Updood raised the first pie to his mouth. Sherman and his Nyce House pals cheered him on. “Go, Wes! Go, Wes! You go, Wes! Eat pie! Eat pie! You’re the Nyce guy!”
Wes opened his mouth wide and took a big bite.
He made a loud noise as he swallowed. Then he pushed the pie to his face and chomped down hard on his second bite.
What’s up with Beast? I wondered.
Beast stared at the pile of pies. He didn’t pick one up. He just stared.
“Beast! Beast! Yo, Beast!” all of my Rotten House buddies cheered.
But Beast ignored the cheers. He just sat there, gazing at the stack of pies.
Wes made disgusting swallowing sounds as he finished his first pie.
The Nyce House crowd was going wild.
Wes grabbed the second pie on his pile. He jammed it into his face.
He was two pies ahead of Beast! He was reaching for his third pie—and Beast just sat there!
“Time out!” I shouted. “Time out!” My heart was doing flip-flops in my chest.
I ran up to the table. I shook Beast by the shoulders. “Wake up! Wake up!” I cried. “The contest started! What are you doing? Start eating!”
Beast grunted. “I…I have a problem, Bernie.”
“A problem?” I said. “What kind of problem?”
“I’m not hungry,” Beast said.
“That’s no problem,” I said. “Don’t stuff yourself. Just eat fifteen pies. That should be enough to win.”
“You don’t get me,” he said. “I’m not hungry. Sherman bet me I couldn’t eat fifty cheeseburgers at dinner. I won the bet. I ate fifty-four cheeseburgers. Now I’m feeling kinda stuffed.”
“Sherman bet you?” I cried. “Where is he? I’ll kill him! He’s a cheater! A total cheater!”
Beast let out a huge burp that sent my glasses flying off my face. He had terrible cheeseburger breath.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Sherman stood beside me. “Is there a problem?” he asked.
“Uh…yes,” I said. “These pies are not the right size. They have an eight-inch diameter. The Pie-Eating Rule Book says that all pies must have a twelve-inch diameter. We’ll have to hold the contest some other time.”
Sherman shook his head. “Bernie, you want out because you know you don’t stand a chance.”
Beast rubbed his bulging stomach. “I have a stomachache,” he moaned.
I couldn’t believe it. All that scheming. All that planning and thinking. And now I was going to lose.
From now on, the only time I’d ever see Sherman’s watch was when I carried him to class in the morning.
But I had no choice. No way I could back out now.
I was defeated. Doomed.
“Okay.” I sighed. “Let’s keep going.”
Suddenly, an idea flashed into my mind. “Beast, start eating, dude,” I whispered. “If you eat twenty pies, I’ll buy you a Snickers bar for dessert.”
Beast raised his head. Snickers bars are his favorite. “Can I have two?” he asked.
“Two,” I said. “Just eat. Eat, eat, eat.”
The contest started again.
Beast grabbed up three pies at once and shoved them into his face. They disappeared in seconds. His face was covered in purple. Blueberries dripped from his hair and down his shirt.
He grabbed two more pies and shoved them into his open mouth.
Grunting, smacking his lips, Beast finished the first stack of pies. Belzer ran over, carrying another stack.
Beast opened his mouth in a powerful blueberry burp that knocked two kids over and peeled some of the wallpaper off the wall. Then he dug into the second stack, slurping and grunting as he ate.
Blueberries poured down his shirt, his pants, into his shoes. His whole face was stained purple. The juice puddled around the table. He shoved pie after pie into his mouth—and didn’t bother to swallow!
“Oh, no. Oh, no.” Sherman was slapping himself on the head. “Oh, no. Oh, no. He did it to me again. Bernie did it to me again!”
Sherman slapped himself again and again.
Sherman knew he was a loser. He knew the watch was mine.
Score one more victory for the good guys and Bernie B!
Wes Updood kept trying. He picked up his third pie. He started to shove it into his mouth. But he suddenly stopped.
The pie fell from his hand. He stood up. His face was bright purple. His eyes bulged.
“Ohhhh.” He let out a groan. He grabbed his stomach with both hands. He opened his mouth—and barfed blueberry gunk all over the table.
Wes heaved again and again, sending up waves of blueberry pie.
Some of the Nyce House kids were standing too close. Wes spewed a gusher of blueberry barf all over them.
Kids ducked and ran for cover.
The Rotten House guys kept on cheering, “Beast! Beast! Beast!” Because he wouldn’t stop.
Beast just kept shoving pies down his throat. He didn’t stop until all twenty-five pies were gone.
Sherman slapped himself in the head a few more times. “Bernie did it to me again. He did it to me again!” he kept repeating.
With a long, sad sigh, he slid the watch off his wrist and handed it to me. Then he bowed his head and slunk away.
Mine! Mine!
I held the watch up. I let my friends touch it.
&nbs
p; Wes Updood was bent over double. He was groaning and moaning. He was covered from head to foot in blueberry barf.
Two of his friends started to carry him from the room.
“Beast! Beast! Beast!” the cheers continued.
Beast stood up to take a bow—and fell facedown into the pile of blueberry barf on the floor. He didn’t move.
I slid the watch onto my wrist. It fit perfectly. I liked the feel of gold against my skin.
“Good work, dudes—” I started. But I stopped when I heard footsteps.
Footsteps?
Yes. Echoing out in the hall.
Rapid footsteps, moving closer.
We all froze as the door swung open. “Ms. Monella!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter 17
BUSTED
Ms. Monella let out a cry.
April-May June stepped in behind her. She gasped and clapped her hands to the sides of her face.
“Well, goodness gracious. This sure ’nuff looks like some kind of crazy party. What are y’all doing in here?” Ms. Monella demanded.
Her eyes wide, she gaped at Beast, facedown in the thick, purple pile of pie. She saw Wes heaving up some more blueberry barf onto the floor.
“Gross! What a disgusting mess!” April-May cried.
“Where are all the wonderful pies?” Ms. Monella asked. “What have you done with the lovely blueberry pies?”
I gave her my cutest, most dimply smile. “Well…we had a little contest,” I said. “You know. A little birthday party to cheer up Chipmunk.”
“But where are all the pies?” Ms. Monella asked again. She raised a hand to her forehead. I guess she was feeling dizzy. “The pies, Bernie? Where are the pies?”
“Well…”
“Remember I told you those pies were for the school Bake Sale?” Ms. Monella said.
“We were going to sell the pies and give all the money to the homeless kids,” April-May said.
I swallowed hard. “The homeless kids?”
Ms. Monella’s face turned angry. “Who is responsible for this?” she asked. “Ah’m afraid he’ll have to come with me to the Headmaster’s office.”
“It was all Bernie’s idea,” Sherman said. “I tried to talk him out of it. I told him he was breaking all the rules. I begged him. But Bernie wouldn’t listen to me.”
Uh-oh. A bad moment for Bernie.
Think fast, Big B. Think fast.
“Wait,” I said. “I have something for the homeless kids. This is better than a bake sale.”
I pulled off the watch and held it up. “This watch is worth five hundred dollars. I’m donating it to the homeless kids.”
My hand shook as I handed it to Ms. Monella. I watched the gold disappear as she wrapped her hand around it.
Gone…gone forever.
“Why, thank you, Bernie,” she said. “That’s so wonderful and generous of you. Now start cleaning up this classroom before I pound your butt.”
Chapter 18
DANCE LESSONS
We found mops and buckets in the supply closet and started to wash up the piles and puddles of blueberry gunk. Dazed, I swished the mop back and forth. But I didn’t see the floor. All I saw was that watch.
I had it in my hands…in my hands—for less than a minute. Tragic. Tragic.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Belzer behind me. He had a worried look on his face.
“Bernie, you’re standing in the bucket,” he said.
I glanced down and saw my shoe in the bucket. My pants leg was covered in purple goo. I felt too bad to move it.
Feenman and Crench came over. Feenman slapped me on the back. “Cheer up, Big B,” he said, grinning. “We won the pie-eating contest!”
“Yeah. We beat those Nyce House bums!” Crench said.
I looked at my three buddies one by one. Did any guy ever have better friends in the world?
“You’re right!” I said, stepping out of the bucket. “We won! We won the contest! Rotten House RULES! Nyce House lost—big-time!”
We all cheered and pumped our fists in the air and slapped one another a lot of high-fives and did the secret Rotten House handshake.
“Shut up and mop,” Ms. Monella said.
The next night, I wandered to the Student Center, thinking hard. I needed a plan, a new scheme to take my mind off that watch.
I was thinking so hard, I didn’t even see April-May come up to me. She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me to get my attention.
She smiled at me. “Bernie, when you gave that watch away last night, that was the most generous thing I ever saw in my whole life,” she said. “Maybe you’re not a totally scheming, selfish, egomaniac creep, after all!”
A compliment!
Do you believe it? A compliment from April-May!
“The dance lessons are just starting,” April-May said. She took my hand and started to pull me down the hall. “Come on. Let’s take them together.”
Yesssss!
Victory! Victory!
Who needs a stupid watch? Bernie is king again!
We walked about four steps when I heard a shout behind me. Then I heard the thunder of running footsteps.
I cried out as strong arms wrapped around me and someone tackled me hard from behind.
“Ooof!” I fell flat on the floor on my stomach. I whipped around—and stared up at Jennifer Ecch.
“There you are, Sweet Cakes!” she gushed. “Time for our dance lessons. You promised, remember? Let’s go.”
She swung me over her shoulder and carried me down the hall, screaming, “You’re MINE! All MINE!”
April-May stood frozen in the hall with her mouth hanging open. “Bernie—?” she called.
Bouncing on Jennifer Ecch’s big shoulder, I sadly watched April-May fade into the distance. “April-May!” I shouted. “I have one question I have to ask you!”
“A question? What is it?” she shouted back.
“Would you like to buy a T-shirt?”
About the Author
R.L. Stine graduated from the Rotten School with a solid D+ average, which put him at the top of his class. He says that his favorite activities at school were Scratching Body Parts and Making Armpit Noises.
In sixth grade, R.L. won the school Athletic Award for his performance in the Wedgie Championships. Unfortunately, after the tournament, his underpants had to be surgically removed.
R.L. was very popular in school. He could tell this because kids always clapped and cheered whenever he left the room. One of his teachers remembers him fondly: “R.L. was a hard worker. He was so proud of himself when he learned to wave bye-bye with both hands.”
After graduation, R.L. became well known for writing scary book series such as The Nightmare Room, Fear Street, Goosebumps, and Mostly Ghostly, and a short story collection called Beware!
Today, R.L. lives in a cage in New York City, where he is busy writing stories about his school days. Says he: “I wish everyone could be a Rotten Student.”
For more information about R.L. Stine, go to www.rottenschool.com and www.rlstine.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
READ ALL THE
ROTTEN SCHOOL BOOKS!
#1. The Big Blueberry Barf-Off!
#2. The Great Smelling Bee
#3. The Good, the Bad and the Very Slimy
#4. Lose, Team, Lose!
#5. Shake, Rattle, and Hurl!
#6. The Heinie Prize
#7. Dudes, the School Is Haunted!
#8. The Teacher from Heck
#9. Party Poopers
#10. The Rottenest Angel
#11. Punk’d and Skunked
#12. Battle of the Dum Diddys
#13. Got Cake?
#14. Night of the Creepy Things
#15. Calling All Birdbrains
#16. Dumb Clucks
Copyright
ROTTEN SCHOOL #1: THE BIG BLUEBERRY BARF-OFF!.
Copyright 2005 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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