by jeff brown
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Library of Congress catalog card number: 2002027560
ISBN 978-0-06-442174-4
EPub Edition © JUNE 2012 ISBN 9780062035578
10 11 12 13 14 LP/CW 30 29 28 27 26 25 24
First published in Great Britain 1990 by Methuen Children’s Books Ltd.
First Harper Trophy edition, 2003
Reillustrated edition, 2010
BACK AD
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FLAT STANLEY
Stanley, Flat Again!
by Jeff Brown
Pictures by Macky Pamintuan
DEDICATION
For Peter and Wendy,
Ozinger, Betsy, and Ash
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
1. A Morning Surprise
2. Dr. Dan
3. Stanley Sails
4. Back to School
5. Why Me?
6. Emma
7. Where Are You, Emma?
8. Hero!
9. Fame!
Other Works
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
A Morning Surprise
Mrs. Lambchop was making breakfast. Mr. Lambchop, at the kitchen table, helped by reading bits from the morning paper.
“Here’s an odd one, Harriet,” he said. “There’s a chicken in Sweden that rides a bike.”
“So do I, George,” said Mrs. Lambchop, not really listening.
“Listen to this. ‘Merker Building emptied. To be collapsed next week.’ Imagine! Eight floors!”
“Poor thing!” Mrs. Lambchop set out plates. “Boys!” she called. “Breakfast is ready!”
Her glance fell upon a row of photographs on the wall above the sink. There was a smiling Stanley, only half an inch thick, his big bulletin board having fallen from the bedroom wall to rest upon him overnight. Next came reminders of the many family adventures that had come after Stanley’s younger brother, Arthur, had cleverly blown him round again with a bicycle pump. There were the brothers with Prince Haraz, the young genie who had granted wishes for them all after being accidentally summoned by Stanley from a lamp. There was the entire family with Santa Claus and his daughter, Sarah, taken during a Christmas visit to the North Pole. There was the family again in Washington, D.C., in the office of the President of the United States, who had asked them to undertake a secret mission into outer space. The last picture showed Arthur standing beside a balloon on which Mrs. Lambchop had painted a picture of Stanley’s face. The balloon, its string in fact held by Stanley, had been a valuable guide to his presence, since he was invisible at the time. “Boys!” she called again. “Breakfast!”
In their bedroom, Stanley and Arthur had finished dressing.
While Stanley filled his backpack, Arthur bounced a tennis ball. “Let’s go,” he said. “Here! Catch!”
Stanley had just reached for a book on the shelf by his bed. The ball struck his back as he turned, and he banged his shoulder on a corner of the shelf.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry,” Arthur said. “But let’s go, okay? You know how long—STANLEY!”
“Why are you shouting?” Stanley adjusted his pack. “C’mon! I’m so hungry—” He paused. “Oh, boy! Arthur, do you see?”
“I do, actually.” Arthur swallowed hard. “You’re, you know … flat.”
The brothers stared at each other.
“The pump?” Stanley said. “It might work again.”
Arthur fetched the bicycle pump from their toy chest, and Stanley lay on his bed with the hose end in his mouth.
Arthur gave a long, steady, pump.
Stanley made a face. “That hurts!”
Arthur pumped again, and Stanley snatched the hose from his mouth. “Owww! That really hurts! It wasn’t like that before. We’d better stop.”
“Now what?” Arthur said. “We can’t just hide in here forever, you know.”
Mrs. Lambchop’s call came again. “Boys! Please come!”
“Do me a favor,” Stanley said. “You tell them. Sort of get them ready, okay?”
“Okay,” said Arthur, and went to tell.
Arthur stood in the kitchen doorway.
“Hey, guess what?” he said.
“Hay is for horses, dear,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “Good morning! Breakfast is ready.”
“Good morning, Arthur,” Mr. Lambchop said from behind his newspaper. “Where’s Stanley?”
“Guess what?” Arthur said again.
Mrs. Lambchop sighed. “Oh, all right! I can’t guess. Tell.”
“Stanley’s flat again,” said Arthur.
Mr. Lambchop put down his paper.
Mrs. Lambchop closed her eyes. “Flat again? Is that what you said?”
“Yes,” said Arthur.
“It’s true.” Stanley stood now beside Arthur in the doorway. “Just look.”
“Good grief!” said Mr. Lambchop. “I can’t believe that bulletin board—”
“It didn’t fall on me this time,” Stanley said. “I just got flat. Arthur tried to pump me up, like before, but it hurt too much.”
“Oh, Stanley!” Mrs. Lambchop ran to kiss him. “How do you feel now?”
“Fine, actually,” Stanley said. “Just surprised. Can I go to school?”
Mrs. Lambchop thought for a moment. “Very well. Eat your breakfast. After school we’ll hear what Dr. Dan has to say.”
2
Dr. Dan
“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Lambchop! And the boys!” said Dr. Dan as they entered his office. “How nice to—”
His eyes widened. “Good heavens, Stanley! Mr. Lambchop, you really must do something about that bulletin board!”
“It is still firmly in place, Dr. Dan,” Mrs. Lambchop said. “We are at a loss to account for this attack of flatness.”
“Hmmm.” Dr. Dan thought for a moment. “Is there, perhaps, a family history of flatness?”
“No,” Mr. Lambchop said. “We’d remember that.”
“We got dressed for school,” Stanley explained. “We didn’t even have breakfast. And all of a sudden, I got flat.”
Dr. Dan frowned. “Nothing happened? Nothing at all?”
“Well, Arthur hit me with a tennis ball,” Stanley said. “And then I banged my shoulder on—”
“Aha!” Jumping up, Dr. Dan took a large book from the case behind his desk and began turning pages. “This is Dr. Franz Gemeister’s excellent Difficult and Peculiar Cases. Just let me find … here it is! ‘Flatness, page two seventeen!’”
He read aloud. “‘Sudden flatness … extremely rare … minimal documentation … hearsay reports …’ Ah, here it is! Dates back to the fifth century! ‘During battle, Mongo the Fierce, an aide to Attila the Hun, was struck twice, simultaneously, from behind, and at once became no thicker than his shield. He became known as Mongo the Plate, and lived to old age without regaining his original girth.’”
Dr. Dan closed the book. “As I suspected! The OBP.”
“Beg pardon?” said Mrs. Lambchop.
“The OBP. Osteal Balance Point,” Dr. Dan explained. “A little-known anatomical feature. The human body, of course, is a complex miracle, its skeleton a delicate framework of supports and balances. The Osteal Balance Point may occur almost anywhere in the upper torso. It is vulnerable only to the application of simultaneous pressures at two points which vary depending on the age and particular ‘design,’ let us say, of the individual involved. In my opinion, the pressures created by the tennis ball and the shelf corner affected Stanley’s OBP, thereby turning him flat.”
For a moment, everyone was silent.
“The first time Stanley went flat, you were greatly puzzled by his condition,” Mr. Lambchop said at last. “Now you seem remarkably well informed.”
“I read up on it,” said Dr. Dan.
Mrs. Lambchop sighed. “Perhaps we should seek a second opinion. Who is the world’s leading authority on the OBP?”
“That would be me,” said Dr. Dan.
“I see. … Well, we’ve taken enough of your time.” Mr. Lambchop rose, motioning his family to follow. “Thank you, Dr. Dan.”
At the door, Mrs. Lambchop turned. “Perhaps if we found the, you know, the OBP, we could make Stanley—”
“No, no!” said Dr. Dan. “It would be dangerous to put the lad through such a skeletal strain again! And finding the OBP? Not very likely, I’m afraid.”
Arthur had an idea. “I know! If we all got sticks and hit Stanley all over at the same time, and kept doing it, then—”
“That will do, Arthur,” Mr. Lambchop said, and led his family out.
3
Stanley Sails
Early the next Sunday morning, Mr. Lambchop had a call from an old college friend, Ralph Jones.
“Just wanted to remind you, George, that Stanley and I have a date to go sailing today,” he said.
“He’s looking forward to it, Ralph.” Mr. Lambchop hesitated. “I should mention, perhaps, that Stanley has gone flat again.”
Mr. Jones sighed. “I thought he’d got over that. Well, I’ll pick him up at ten.”
Later that morning, driving with Stanley to his sailing club on the seashore, Mr. Jones inquired about a foreign visitor he had once met with the Lambchops. “A prince, yes? He around these days?”
Stanley knew he meant the young genie, Prince Haraz, but it would be difficult to explain not only the genie part, but also that Haraz had returned to the genie kingdom from which he had come.
“No,” Stanley said. “He went home, actually.”
“Too bad.” Mr. Jones was famous for his amazing memory. “Haraz, as I recall. Prince Fawzi Mustafa Aslan Mirza Malek Namerd Haraz?”
“Right,” said Stanley.
In the harbor of the sailing club, Mr. Jones prepared his boat, Lovebug, and explained it to Stanley. “This big sail here is the mainsail, and that’s the rudder back there, for steering. In this zip bag is another sail, called a spinnaker. We’ll use that one for extra speed when we’re running before the wind. See that boat way out there, how its spinnaker is puffing out front?”
Stanley laughed. The spinnaker looked like an open umbrella lying on its side.
“See over there,” Mr. Jones went on, “between the committee boat, with the judges on it, and the red buoy? That’s the starting line. The race ends back there too. First boat to cross that line wins!”
He cast off the mooring line, and the mainsail filled. Lovebug headed out to join the other boats.
Mr. Jones pointed. “There! That’s Jasper Green’s boat, Windswept. He’s the one I want especially to beat!”
“Why? Are you mad at him?” Stanley asked.
“He was very rude to me once. But never mind. Let’s just make sure we win!”
Behind the start line, they found themselves beside Windswept. Jasper Green gave a friendly wave, but Ralph Jones ignored him.
“You’re always in a bad mood with me, Ralph,” Mr. Green said. “Why? I don’t—Here we go!”
A pistol shot had signaled the start of the race. Lovebug and Windswept and the other racers glided across the start line behind the motor-powered committee boat, which led them along a course marked by buoys with bright green streamers.
Stanley sat back, enjoying himself. The sun was bright, the breeze fresh against his face, the sky clear and blue, the water a beautiful slate color. There were boats on both sides of them, boats ahead, boats behind. How pretty they were, their white sails making cheerful crackling sounds as they billowed in the wind!
Along the shore, people waved from the porches of houses, their voices carrying faintly on the wind. “Way to go! … Looking good, sailors! … Looking flat, one of them!” Stanley waved back, knowing that the teasing was kindly meant.
Lovebug passed other boats, but there were many more still ahead. And now they were almost abreast of Windswept.
Stanley saw that Jasper Green had hoisted his spinnaker, and that other boats had too.
“I’ve got you beat, Ralph!” Jasper Green shouted.
“We’ll just round this point, Stanley! Then—Now!” exclaimed Ralph Jones. “Let’s show Jasper what running before the wind really means!”
He attached his spinnaker to a halyard and ran it up the mast. Who-o-oosh! The spinnaker billowed out, and Stanley felt Lovebug surge forward, as if pushed by an invisible hand.
“Here we go!” shouted Ralph Jones.
They passed five more boats, three more, then Windswept! They were ahead of everyone now, and the finish line lay ahead!
“We’re going to win!” Stanley shouted.
“Yes!” Ralph Jones shouted back. “Just wait till Jasper—”
R-i-i-i-i-p!
The sound came from above. Looking up, they saw that the top of the spinnaker had torn.
R-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-p!
The rip streaked downward, and now the spinnaker, torn all the way down, flapped uselessly in the wind. Lovebug slowed.
“Drat!” Mr. Jones did his best with the mainsail. “Drat, drat, drat!”
Windswept came up behind them. “Tough luck!” called Jasper Green. “Ha, ha!”
“Drat!” Mr. Jones sighed. “Nothing we can do, Stanley. Unless—This may be crazy, but … Stanley, perhaps you could be our spinnaker?”
“What?” Stanley shouted. “How?”
“Good question,” said Mr. Jones. “Let’s see. … First, go take hold of the mast. That’s it. Now maybe—”
“Excuse me,” Stanley said. “But did you ever do this before?”
“Stanley, nobody ever did this before.” Mr. Jones took a deep breath. “Okay. Now twist around to face forward, and grab the mast behind you above your head!”
Stanley did as he was told, planting his feet on the sides of the boat to hold him in place. The wind pressed him from behind, driving Lovebug toward the finish line.
“Yes! Chest forward! Butt back!” shouted Mr. Jones. “Best spinnaker I ever had!” In a moment they had passed Windswept, and Stanley could not help laughing at the surprise on Jasper Green’s face.
And then they were across the finish line! Lovebug had won!
Back in the clubhouse, Jasper Green would not admit that he had lost. A flat person used as a sail? He had never seen that before, he said, and went to the race committee office to complain. But he returned shortly to report that Lovebug had indeed won. The committee had advised him, he said, that there was no rule against a crew member allowing the wind to blow against him.
“Great sailing, Ralph!” he said. “I thought it was my race, I really did!”
“Thank you, Jasper,” Mr. Jones said, but Stanley noticed that he did not smile.
Jasper Green noticed too. “Ralph, you’re still mad at me,” he said. “But why?”
“You spilled coffee on my white pants, Jasper,” said Ralph Jones. “And you just laughed when I jumped up.”
“What?” Jasper Green s
eemed greatly surprised. “I don’t remember—Where? When?”
“We were having lunch,” said Mr. Jones. “At the old Vandercook Hotel.”
“The Vandercook? It closed down twenty years ago!” Mr. Green slapped his forehead. “I do remember! That lunch was twenty years ago, Ralph!”
“Twenty-one, actually.”
“All right, all right!” said Mr. Green. “I apologize, for heaven’s sake!”
Ralph Jones smiled warmly. “Perfectly all right, Jasper,” he said. “Don’t give it another thought.”
4
Back to School
Stanley was pleased that his classmates, who still remembered his previous flatness, made no great fuss about it now. Mostly they expressed only cheerful interest. “Feeling okay, Stan?” they said, and “Lookin’ sharp, man! Sharp, see? Get the joke?” Only mean Emma Weeks was unpleasant. “Huh! Mr. Show-off again!” Emma said one day, but Stanley pretended not to hear.
He had been back at school for a week when a newspaper, learning of this unusually shaped student, sent a photographer to investigate. He found Stanley watching a practice on the soccer field.
“Flash Tobin,” he said. “From the Daily Sentinel. You’re the flat kid, right?”
Stanley thought he must be joking. “How did you know?” he said, joking back.
“How did I—” The photographer laughed. “Oh, I get it! Can I take your picture, kid? Right here by the goal posts?”
Stanley nodded, and Flash Tobin took his picture. “I heard there was a flat kid here before,” he said. “Helped catch sneak thieves at the Famous Museum of Art. But that kid, I heard he got round again.”
“It was me,” Stanley told him.
“You go back and forth, huh?” The photographer was impressed. “Okay, get round now. I’d like a shot of that too.”
