“Make it snappy,” said Henry. “I’m busy.”
Susan crept beneath the branches.
“Do you really like my shampoo, Henry?” she asked.
Henry stared at Susan. She had a sick smile on her face, as if her stomach hurt.
“Huh?” said Henry.
“You know, my shampoo,” said Susan, simpering.
Had Susan finally gone crazy?
“ That’s your message?” said Horrid Henry.
“No,” said Susan, scowling. She tossed a scrunched-up piece of paper at Henry and marched off.
Henry opened the note:
Henry choked on his cookie. Marry Margaret?! He’d rather walk around town carrying a Walkie–Talkie–Burpy–Slurpy–Teasy–Weasy Doll. He’d rather learn long division. He’d rather trade all his computer games for a Princess Pamper Parlor. He’d rather…he’d rather…he’d rather marry Miss Battle–Axe than marry Margaret!
What on earth had given Margaret the crazy, horrible, revolting idea he wanted to marry her?
He always knew Margaret was nuts. Now he had proof. Well well well, thought Horrid Henry gleefully. Wouldn’t he tease her! Margaret would never live this down.
Henry leaped over the wall and burst into the Secret Club Tent.
“Margaret, you old pants face, I wouldn’t marry you if—”
“Henry loves Margaret! Henry loves Margaret!” chanted Gorgeous Gurinder.
“Henry loves Margaret! Henry loves Margaret!” chanted Lazy Linda, making horrible kissing sounds.
Henry tried to speak. He opened his mouth. Then he closed it.
“No I don’t,” gasped Horrid Henry.
“Oh yeah?” said Gurinder.
“Yeah,” said Henry.
“Then why’d you send her a note saying you did?”
“I didn’t!” howled Henry.
“And you sent Susan a poem!” said Linda.
“I DID NOT!” howled Henry even louder. What on earth was going on? He took a step backward.
The Secret Club members advanced on him, shrieking, “Henry loves Margaret, Henry loves Margaret.”
Time, thought Horrid Henry, to make a strategic retreat. He dashed back to his fort, the terrible words “Henry loves Margaret” burning his ears.
“PETER!” bellowed Horrid Henry. “Come here this minute!”
Perfect Peter crept out of the house to the fort. Henry had found out about the note and the poem. He was dead.
Good-bye, cruel world, thought Peter.
“Did you see anyone going into the Secret Club carrying a note?” demanded Henry, glaring.
Perfect Peter’s heart began to beat again.
“No,” said Peter. That wasn’t a lie because he hadn’t seen himself.
“I want you to stand guard by the wall, and report anyone suspicious to me at once,” said Henry.
“Why?” said Peter innocently.
“None of your business, worm,” snapped Henry. “Just do as you’re told.”
“Yes, Lord High Excellent Majesty of the Purple Hand,” said Perfect Peter. What a lucky escape!
Henry sat on his Purple Hand throne and thought. Who was this foul fiend? Who was this evil genius? Who was spreading these nasty rumors? He had to find out, then strike back hard before the snake struck again.
But who’d want to be his enemy? He was such a nice, kind, friendly boy.
True, Rude Ralph wasn’t very happy when Henry called him Ralphie Walfie.
Tough Toby wasn’t too pleased when Henry depantsed him during playtime.
And for some reason, Brainy Brian didn’t see the joke when Henry scribbled all over his book report.
Vain Violet said she’d pay Henry back for pulling her pigtails.
And just the other day Fiery Fiona said Henry would be sorry he’d laughed during her speech in the assembly.
Even Kind Kasim warned Henry to stop being so horrid or he’d teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
But maybe Margaret was behind the whole plot. He had stinkbombed her Secret Club, after all.
Hmmm. The list of suspects was rather long.
It had to be Ralph. Ralph loved playing practical jokes.
Well, it’s not funny, Ralph, thought Horrid Henry. Let’s see how you like it. Perhaps a little poem to Miss Battle- Axe…
Horrid Henry grabbed a piece of paper and began to scribble:
Ha ha ha ha ha, thought Henry. He’d sign the poem “Ralph,” get to school early, and pin the poem on the door of the girls’ bathroom. Ralph would get into big big trouble.
But wait.
What if Ralph wasn’t responsible?
Could it be Toby after all? Or Margaret?
There was only one thing to do. Henry copied his poem seven times, signing each copy with a different name. He would post them all over school tomorrow. One of them was sure to be guilty.
Henry sneaked into school, then quickly pinned up his poems on every bulletin board. That done, he swaggered onto the
playground. Revenge is sweet, thought Horrid Henry.
There was a crowd gathered outside the boys’ bathroom.
“What’s going on?” shrieked Horrid Henry, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd.
“Henry loves Margaret,” chanted Tough Toby.
“Henry loves Margaret,” chanted Rude Ralph.
Uh oh.
Henry glanced at the bathroom door. There was a note taped on it.
HENry
Henry’s blood froze. He ripped the note off the door.
“Margaret wrote it to herself,” blustered Horrid Henry.
“Didn’t!” said Margaret.
“Did!” said Henry.
“Besides, you love me!” shrieked Susan.
“No I don’t!” shrieked Henry.
“That’s ’cause you love me!” said Margaret.
“I hate you!” shouted Henry.
“I hate you more!” said Margaret. “I hate you more,” said Henry.
“You started it,” said Margaret.
“Didn’t.”
“Did! You asked me to marry you.” “NO WAY!” shrieked Henry.
“And you sent me a poem!” said Susan.
“No I didn’t!” howled Henry.
“Well, if you didn’t then who did?” said Margaret.
Silence.
“Henry,” came a little voice, “can we play pirates after school today?”
Horrid Henry thought an incredible thought.
Moody Margaret thought an incredible thought.
Sour Susan thought an incredible thought.
Three pairs of eyes stared at Perfect Peter.
“Wha…what?” said Peter.
Uh oh.
“HELP!” shrieked Perfect Peter. He turned and ran.
“AAAARRRRGHHHHHH!” shrieked Horrid Henry, chasing after him. “You’re dead meat, worm!”
Miss Battle-Axe marched onto the playground. She was clutching a sheaf of papers in her hand.
“Margaret! Brian! Ralph! Toby! Violet! Kasim! Fiona! What is the meaning of these poems? Straight to the principal’s office— now!”
Perfect Peter crashed into her.
Smash!
Miss Battle-Axe toppled backward into the garbage.
“And you too, Peter,” gasped Miss Battle-Axe.
“Waaaaaaa!” wailed Perfect Peter. From now on, he’d definitely be sticking to good deeds. Whoever said revenge was sweet didn’t have a horrid brother like Henry.
4
HORRID HENRY DINES AT RESTAURANT LE POSH
“Great news, everyone,” said Mom, beaming. “Aunt Ruby is taking us all out for dinner to Le Posh, the best French restaurant in town.”
“Oh boy, Restaurant Le Posh,” said Perfect Peter. “We’ve never been there.”
Horrid Henry stopped scribbling all over Peter’s stamp album. His heart sank. French? Restaurant? Oh no. That meant strange, horrible, yucky food. That meant no burgers, no ketchup, no pizza. That meant—
>
“NOOOOOOOOOO! I don’t want to go there!” howled Henry. Who knew what revolting poison would arrive on his plate, covered in gloopy sauce with green pieces floating around. Uggghh.
“It’s Mom’s birthday,” said Dad, “so we’re celebrating.”
“I only like Whopper Whoopee,” said Henry. “Or Fat Frank’s. I don’t want to go to Le Posh.”
“But Henry,” said Perfect Peter, tidying up his toys, “it’s a chance to try new food.”
Mom beamed. “Exactly, Peter. It’s always nice to try new things.”
“No it isn’t,” snarled Horrid Henry. “I hate trying new food when there’s nothing wrong with the old.”
“I love it,” said Dad. “I eat everything except tomatoes.”
“And I eat everything except squid,” said Mom.
“And I love all vegetables except beets,” said Perfect Peter. “Especially spinach and sprouts.”
“Well I don’t,” shrieked Horrid Henry. “Do they have pasta?”
“Whatever they have will be delicious,” said Mom firmly.
“Do they have burgers? If they don’t I’m not going,” wailed Horrid Henry.
Mom looked at Dad.
Dad looked at Mom.
Last time they’d taken Henry to a fancy restaurant he’d had a tantrum under the table. The time before he’d run screaming around the room snatching all the salt and pepper shakers and then threw up on the people at the next table. The time before that—Mom and Dad preferred not to think about that.
“Should we get a babysitter?” murmured Dad.
“Leave him home on my birthday?” murmured Mom. She allowed herself to be tempted for a moment. Then she sighed.
“Henry, you are coming and you will be on your best behavior,” said Mom. “Your cousin Steve will be there. You wouldn’t want Steve to see you make a fuss, would you?”
The hairs on the back of Henry’s neck stood up. Steve! Stuck-Up Steve! Horrid Henry’s archenemy and the world’s worst cousin. If there was a slimier boy than Steve slithering around then Horrid Henry would eat worms.
Last time they’d met Henry had tricked Steve into thinking there was a monster under his bed. Steve had sworn revenge. There was nothing Steve wouldn’t do to get back at Henry.
Boy, did Horrid Henry hate Stuck-Up Steve.
Boy, did Stuck-Up Steve hate Horrid Henry.
“I’m not coming and that’s final!” screamed Horrid Henry.
“Henry,” said Dad. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“What deal?” said Henry. It was always wise to be suspicious when parents offered deals.
“I want you to be pleasant and talk to everyone. And you will eat everything on your plate like everyone else without making a fuss. If you do, I’ll give you $2.”
Two dollars! Two whole dollars! Horrid Henry gasped. Two whole dollars just for talking and shoving a few mouthfuls of disgusting food in his mouth. Normally he had to do that for free.
“How about $3?” said Henry.
“Henry…” said Mom.
“OK, deal,” said Horrid Henry. But I won’t eat a thing and they can’t make me, he thought. He’d find a way. Dad said he had to eat everything on his plate. Well, maybe some food wouldn’t stay on his plate…Horrid Henry smiled.
Perfect Peter stopped putting away his blocks. He frowned. Shouldn’t he get two dollars like Henry?
“What’s my reward for being good?” said Perfect Peter.
“Goodness is its own reward,” said Dad.
* * *
The restaurant was hushed. The tables were covered in snowy-white tablecloths, with yellow silk chairs. Huge gold chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. Crystal glasses twinkled. The rectangular china plates sparkled. Horrid Henry was impressed.
“Wow,” said Henry. It was like walking into a palace.
“Haven’t you ever been here before?” sneered Stuck-Up Steve.
“No,” said Henry.
“ We eat here all the time,” said Steve. “I guess you’re too poor.”
“It’s ’cause we’d rather eat at Whopper Whoopee,” lied Henry.
“Hush, Steve,” said Rich Aunt Ruby. “I’m sure Whopper Whoopee is a lovely restaurant.”
Steve snorted.
Henry kicked him under the table.
“OWWWW!” yelped Steve. “Henry kicked me!”
“No I didn’t,” said Henry. “It was an accident.”
“Henry,” said Mom through gritted teeth. “Remember what we said about best behavior? We’re in a fancy restaurant.”
Horrid Henry scowled. He looked cautiously around. It was just as he’d feared. Everyone was busy eating weird
pieces of this and that, covered in gloopy sauces. Henry checked under the tables to see if anyone was throwing up yet.
There was no one lying poisoned under the tables. I guess it’s just a matter of time, thought Henry grimly. You won’t catch me eating anything here.
Mom, Dad, Peter and Rich Aunt Ruby blabbed away at their end of the table. Horrid Henry sat sullenly next to Stuck-Up Steve.
“I’ve got a new bike,” Steve bragged. “Do you still have that old rust bucket you had last Christmas?”
“Hush, Steve,” said Rich Aunt Ruby.
Horrid Henry’s foot got ready to kick Steve.
“Boudicca Battle-Axe! How many times have I told you—don’t chew with your mouth open,” boomed a terrible voice.
Horrid Henry looked up. His jaw dropped.
There was his terrifying teacher, Miss Battle-Axe, sitting at a small table in the corner with her back to him. She was
with someone even taller, skinnier, and more ferocious than she was.
“And take your elbows off the table!”
“Yes, Mom,” said Miss Battle-Axe meekly.
Henry could not believe his ears. Did teachers have mothers? Did teachers ever leave the school? Impossible.
“Boudicca! Stop slouching!”
“Yes, Mom,” said Miss Battle-Axe, straightening up a fraction.
“So, what’s everyone having?” beamed Aunt Ruby. Horrid Henry tore his eyes away from Miss Battle-Axe and stared
at the menu. It was entirely written in French.
“I recommend the mussels,” said Aunt Ruby.
“Mussels! Ick!” shrieked Henry.
“Or the blah blah blah blah blah.” Aunt Ruby pronounced a few mysterious French words.
“Maybe,” said Mom. She looked a little uncertain.
“Maybe,” said Dad. He looked a little uncertain.
“You order for me, Aunt Ruby,” said Perfect Peter. “I eat everything.”
Horrid Henry had no idea what food Aunt Ruby had suggested, but he knew he hated every single thing on the menu.
“I want a burger,” said Henry.
“No burgers here,” said Mom firmly. “This is Restaurant Le Posh.”
“I said I want a burger!” shouted Henry. Several diners looked up.
“Don’t be horrid, Henry!” hissed Mom.
“I CAN’T UNDERSTAND THIS MENU!” screamed Henry.
“Calm down this minute Henry,” hissed Dad. “Or no $2.”
Mom translated: “A tasty…uh…something on a bed of roast something with a something sauce.”
“Sounds delicious,” said Dad.
“Wait, there’s more,” said Mom. “A big piece of something enrobed with something cooked in something with carrots.”
“Right, I’m having that,” said Dad. “I love carrots.”
Mom carried on translating. Henry opened his mouth to scream—
“Why don’t you order tripe?” said Steve.
“What’s that?” asked Henry suspiciously.
“You don’t want to know,” said Steve.
“Try me,” said Henry.
“Intestines,” said Steve. “You know, the wriggly bits in your stomach.”
Horrid Henry snorted. Sometimes he felt sorry for Steve. Did Steve really think he’d fool him with that
old trick? Tripe was probably a fancy French word for spaghetti. Or cake.
“Or you could order escargots,” said Steve. “I dare you.”
“What’s escargots?” said Henry.
Stuck-Up Steve stuck his nose in the air.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot you don’t learn French at your school. I’ve been learning it for years.”
“Whoopee for you,” said Horrid Henry.
“ Escargots are snails, stupid,” said Stuck-Up Steve.
Steve must think he was a real idiot, thought Horrid Henry indignantly. Snails. Ha ha ha. In a restaurant? As if.
“Oh yeah, right, you big fat liar,” said Henry.
Steve shrugged.
“Too chicken, huh?” he sneered. “Cluck cluck cluck.”
Horrid Henry was outraged. No one called him chicken and lived.
“Course not,” said Horrid Henry. “I’d love to eat snails.” Naturally it would turn out to be fish or something in a smelly, disgusting sauce, but so what? Escargots could hardly be more revolting than all the other yucky things on the menu. Steve would have to try harder than that to fool him. He would order so-called “snails” just to show Steve up for the liar he was. Then wouldn’t he make fun of stupid old Steve!
“And vat are ve having tonight?” asked the French waiter.
Aunt Ruby ordered.
“An excellent choice, madame,” said the waiter.
Dad ordered. The waiter kissed his fingers.
“ Magnifique, monsieur, our speciality.”
Mom ordered.
“Bravo, madame. And what about you, young man?” the waiter asked Henry.
“I’m having escargots,” said Henry.
“Hmmm,” said the waiter. “Monsieur is a gourmet?”
Horrid Henry wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. Stuck-Up Steve snickered. What was going on? thought Horrid Henry.
“Boudicca! Eat your vegetables!”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Boudicca! Stop slurping.”
“Yes, Mom,” snapped Miss Battle-Axe.
“Boudicca! Don’t pick your nose!”
“I wasn’t!” said Miss Battle-Axe.
Horrid Henry and the Mega-Mean Time Machine Page 3
