Horrid Henry couldn’t believe his ears. Just plain, delicious food? Why, that was exactly what Horrid Henry loved. Plain burgers. Plain pizzas with just cheese and nothing else. No sneaky flabby pieces of eggplant or grisly chunks of red pepper ruining the topping. Plain fries slathered in ketchup. Nothing funny. No strange green stuff. Three cheers to more burgers, more fries, and more pizza!
Horrid Henry could see it now. Obviously, he’d be asked to create the yummy new school menu of plain, delicious food.
Monday: chips, fries, ice cream, cake, burgers
Tuesday: burgers, fries, chips, chocolate
Wednesday: pizza, fries, chips, ice cream
Thursday: chocolate cake
Friday: burgers, pizza, fries, chips, cake, ice cream
(After all, it was the end of the week, and nice to celebrate.) Oh, and fizzywizz drinks every day and chocolate milk. There! A lovely, healthy, plain, nutritious, and delicious menu that everyone would love. Because, let’s face it, at the moment school lunches were horrid. They only served burgers and fries once a week, thought Horrid Henry indignantly. Well, he’d soon sort that out.
In fact, maybe he should be a famous chef when he got older. Chef Henry, the burger wizard. Happy Henry, hamburger hero. He would open a chain of famous restaurants, called, “Henry’s! Where the eatin’ can’t be beaten!” Hmmm, well, he’d have time to improve the name while collecting his millions every week from the restaurant tills as happy customers fought their way inside for the chance to chow down on one of Happy Henry’s bun-tastic burgers. Kids everywhere would beg to eat there, safe in the knowledge that no vegetables would ever contaminate their food. Ahhh! Horrid Henry sighed.
Mr. Nudie Foodie was leaping up and down with excitement. “And you’re all going to help me make the delicious food that will be a joy to eat. Remember, just like the words to my hit song:
It’s not rude
To be a dude
Who loves nude food.
Yee haw.”
“Well, Nudie,” said Mrs. Oddbod. “Uhh, I mean, Mr. Foodie…”
“Just call me Mr. Nudie Foodie,” said Mr. Nudie Foodie. “Now, who wants to be a nudie foodie and join me in the kitchen to make lunch today?”
“Me!” shouted Perfect Peter.
“Me!” shouted Clever Clare.
“I want to be a nudie foodie,” said Jolly Josh.
“I want to be a nudie foodie,” said Tidy Ted.
“I want to be a nudie foodie,” yelled Greedy Graham. “I think.”
“A healthy school is a happy school,” said Mr. Nudie Foodie, beaming. “My motto is: only bad food boos, when you choose yummy food. And at lunchtime today, all your parents will be coming to the cafeteria to sample our scrumptious, yummalicious, fabulicious, and irresistible new food! Olé!”
Horrid Henry looked around the school kitchen. He’d never seen so many pots and pans and vats and cauldrons. So this was where the school glop was made. Well, not anymore. Would they be making giant whopper burgers in the huge frying pans? Or vats and vats of fries in the huge pots? Maybe they’d make pizzas in the gigantic ovens!
The Nudie Foodie stood before Henry’s class. “This is so exciting,” he said, bouncing up and down. “Everyone ready to make some delicious food?”
“Yes!” bellowed Henry’s class.
“Right, then, let’s get cooking,” said Mr. Nudie Foodie.
Horrid Henry stood in front of a cutting board with Weepy William, Dizzy Dave, and Fiery Fiona. Fiery Fiona shoved Henry.
“Stop hogging the cutting board,” she hissed.
Horrid Henry shoved her back, knocking the lumpy bag of ingredients onto the floor.
“Stop hogging it yourself,” he hissed back.
“Wah!” wailed Weepy William. “Henry pushed me.”
Wait. What was rolling all over the floor? It looked like…it couldn’t be…
“Group 1, here’s how to slice a yummy green pepper,” beamed Mr. Nudie Foodie. “And Group 2, you’re in charge of the tomatoes…Group 3, you make the broccoli salad. Group 4 will look after the mushrooms.”
Green pepper? Tomatoes? Broccoli? Mushrooms? What was this muck?
“It’s my yummy, scrummy, super, secret, vege-tastic pasta sauce!” said Mr. Nudie Foodie.
What? What a dirty rotten trick. Where were the fries? Where were the burgers?
And then suddenly Horrid Henry understood Mr. Nudie Foodie’s evil plan. He was going to sneak vegetables onto the school menu. Not just a single vegetable, but loads and loads and loads of vegetables. Enough evil vegetables to kill someone a hundred times over. Boy impaled by killer carrot. Girl chokes to death on deadly broccoli. Boy gags on toxic tomato. Henry could see the headlines now. They’d find him dead in the lunchroom, poisoned by vegetables, his limbs twisted in agony…
Well, no way. No way was this foul fiend going to trick Henry into eating vegetables.
Everyone chopped and stirred and mixed. The evil brew hissed and bubbled. Horrid Henry had never felt so cheated in his life.
Finally, the bell rang.
Mr. Nudie Foodie stood by the exit with an enormous black garbage bag.
“Before you leave, I want you to open your lunch boxes and dump all your junk food in here. No need for that stuff today.”
“Huh?” said Rude Ralph.
“No!” wailed Greedy Graham.
“Yes!” said Mr. Nudie Foodie. “You’ll thank me later.”
Horrid Henry gasped in horror as everyone threw their yummy snacks into the bag as they filed out of the kitchen and ran out for recess. For once Henry was glad his mean, horrible parents never packed anything good in his lunch box.
Was there no end to this evil man’s plots? thought Horrid Henry, stomping past Mr. Nudie Foodie into the hall. First, vegetable pasta sauce, then stealing everyone’s snacks? What a waste. All those treats going straight into the garbage…
“Rescue us, Henry!” squealed the chocolate and chips trapped inside the garbage bag. “Help!”
Horrid Henry didn’t need to be asked twice. He crept down the hall and darted back into the school kitchen.
Snacks, here I come, thought Horrid Henry.
The kitchen was empty. Huge vats of vegetable sauce sat ready to be poured onto pasta. What horrors would Mr. Nudie Foodie try to sneak on the menu tomorrow? And the next day? And the next? Just wait until the parents discovered the sauce was made of vegetables. They’d make the children eat this swill every day.
AAAAARRRRRGGGHHHHH.
And then suddenly Horrid Henry knew what he had to do. He looked longingly at the enormous black garbage bag bulging with chips and chocolate and yummy snacks. Horrid Henry gritted his teeth. Sometimes you had to think ahead. Sometimes you couldn’t be distracted. Not even by doughnuts.
There wasn’t a moment to lose. Any second a teacher or lunch lady could come in and foil him. He had to seize his chance to stop Mr. Nudie Foodie once and for all.
Grabbing whatever was nearest, Horrid Henry emptied a tin of salt into the first vat of sauce. Into the second went a tin of mustard powder. Into the third went a bottle of vinegar. Into the fourth and final one…
Henry looked at the gurgling, bubbling, poisonous, reeking, rancid, toxic sauce. Take that, Nudie Foodie, thought Horrid Henry, reaching for a tub of lard.
“What are you doing, Henry?” rasped a deadly voice.
Henry froze.
“Just looking for my lunch box,” he said, pretending to search behind the cooking pots.
Miss Battle-Axe snarled, flashing her yellow brick teeth. She pointed to the door. Horrid Henry ran out.
Phew. What a lucky escape. Shame he hadn’t completed his mission, but three vats out of four wasn’t bad. Anyway, the fourth pot was sure to be disgusting, even
without extra dollops of lard.
You are dead meat, Mr. Nudie Foodie, thought Horrid Henry.
“Parents, children, prepare yourselves for a taste sensation!” said Mr. Nudie Foodie, ladling out pasta and sauce.
Lazy Linda’s mother took a big forkful. “Mmm, doesn’t this look yummy!” she said.
“It’s about time this school served proper food,” said Moody Margaret’s mom, shoveling an enormous spoonful into her mouth.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Tidy Ted’s dad, scooping up pasta.
“BLECCCCHHHHH!” spluttered Margaret’s mother, spitting it out all over Aerobic Al’s dad. Her face was purple. “That’s disgusting! My Maggie Moo-Moo won’t be touching a drop of that!”
“What are you trying to do, poison people?!” screamed Aerobic Al’s Dad. His face was green.
“I’m not eating this muck!” shouted Clever Clare’s mom. “And Clare certainly isn’t.”
“But…but…” gasped Mr. Nudie Foodie. “This sauce is my speciality, it’s delicious, it’s—” he took a mouthful.
“Uggghhhh,” he said, spewing it all over Mrs. Oddbod. “It is disgusting.”
Wow, thought Horrid Henry. Wow. Could the sauce really be so bad? He had to try it. Would he get the salty, the mustardy, the vinegary, or just the plain disgusting vegetably?
Henry picked up a tiny forkful of pasta, put it in his mouth and swallowed.
He was still breathing. He was still alive. Everyone at his table was slurping up the food and beaming. Everyone at the other tables was coughing and choking and spitting…
Horrid Henry took another teeny tiny taste.
The sauce was…delicious. It was much nicer than the regular glop they served at lunchtime with pasta. It was a million billion times nicer. And he had just…he had just…
“Is this some kind of joke?” gasped Mrs. Oddbod, gagging. “Mr. Nudie Foodie, you are toast! Leave here at once!”
Mr. Nudie Foodie slunk off.
“NOOOOO!” screamed Horrid Henry. “It’s yummy! Don’t go!”
Everyone stared at Horrid Henry.
“Weird,” said Rude Ralph.
Horrid Henry grabbed the top secret candy tin he kept hidden under his bed. It was jam-packed with all his favorites: Big Boppers. Nose Pickers. Dirt Balls. Hot Snot. Gooey Chewies. Scrunchy Munchies.
Yummy!!!
Mmmm boy! Horrid Henry’s mouth watered as he prized off the lid. Which to have first? A Dirt Ball? Or a Gooey Chewy? Actually, he’d just scoff it all. It had been ages since he’d…
Huh?
Where were all his chocolates? Where were all his candy? Who’d swiped them? Had Margaret invaded his room? Had Peter sneaked in? How dare—Oh. Horrid Henry suddenly remembered. He’d eaten them all.
Rats.
Rats.
Triple rats.
Well, he’d just have to go and buy more. He was sure to have tons of pocket money left.
Chocolate, here I come, thought Horrid Henry, heaving his bones and dashing over to his skeleton bank.
He shook it. Then he shook it again.
There wasn’t even a rattle.
How could he have no money and no candy? It was so unfair! Just last night Peter had been boasting about having $7.48 in his piggy bank. And loads of candy left over from Halloween. Horrid Henry scowled. Why did Peter always have money? Why did he, Henry, never have money?
Money was totally wasted on Peter. What was the point of Peter having money since he never spent it? Come to think of it, what was the point of Peter having candy since he never ate them?
There was a shuffling, scuttling noise, then Perfect Peter dribbled into Henry’s bedroom carrying all his soft toys.
“Get out of my room, worm!” bellowed Horrid Henry, holding his nose. “You’re stinking it up.”
“I am not,” said Peter.
“Are too, smelly pants.”
“I do not have smelly pants,” said Peter.
“Do too, woofy, poofy, stinky pants.”
Peter opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Henry, will you play with me?” said Peter.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No!”
“Pretty please?”
“No!!”
“But we could play school with all my cuddly toys,” said Peter. “Or have a tea party with them…”
“For the last time, NOOOOOOO!” screamed Horrid Henry.
“You never play with me,” said Perfect Peter.
“That’s ’cause you’re a toad-faced diaper wibble bibble,” said Horrid Henry. “Now go away and leave me alone.”
“Mom! Henry’s calling me names again!” screamed Peter. “He called me wibble bibble.”
“Henry! Don’t be horrid!” shouted Mom.
“I’m not being horrid, Peter’s annoying me!” yelled Henry.
“Henry’s annoying me!” yelled Peter.
“Make him stop!” screamed Henry and Peter.
Mom ran into the room.
“Boys. If you can’t play nicely then leave each other alone,” said Mom.
“Henry won’t play with me,” wailed Peter. “He never plays with me.”
“Henry! Why can’t you play with your brother?” said Mom. “When I was little, Ruby and I played beautifully together all the time.”
Horrid Henry scowled.
“Because he’s a wormy worm,” said Henry.
“Mom! Henry just called me a wormy worm,” wailed Peter.
“Don’t call your brother names,” said Mom.
“Peter only wants to play stupid baby games,” said Henry.
“I do not,” said Peter.
“If you’re not going to play together then you can do your chores,” said Mom.
“I did mine,” said Peter. “I fed Fluffy, cleaned out the litter tray, and tidied my room.”
Mom beamed. “Peter, you are the best boy in the world.”
Horrid Henry scowled. He’d been far too busy reading his comics to empty the wastepaper baskets and tidy his room. He stuck out his tongue at Peter behind Mom’s back.
“Henry’s making horrible faces at me,” said Peter.
“Henry, please be nice for once and play with Peter,” said Mom. She sighed and left the room.
Henry glared at Peter.
Peter glared at Henry.
Horrid Henry was about to push Peter out the door when suddenly he had a brilliant, spectacular idea. It was so brilliant and so spectacular that Horrid Henry couldn’t believe he was still standing in his bedroom and hadn’t blasted off into outer space trailing clouds of glory. Why had he never thought of this before? It was magnificent. It was genius. One day he would start Henry’s Genius Shop, where people would pay a million dollars to buy his super fantastic ideas. But until then…
“Okay, Peter, I’ll play with you,” said Horrid Henry. He smiled sweetly.
Perfect Peter could hardly believe his ears.
“You’ll…play with me?” said Perfect Peter.
“Sure,” said Horrid Henry.
“What do you want to play?” asked Peter cautiously. The last time Peter could remember Henry playing with him they’d played Cannibals and Dinner. Peter had had to be dinner…
“Let’s play Robot and Mad Professor,” said Henry.
“Okay,” said Perfect Peter. Wow. That sounded a lot more exciting than his usual favorite game—writing lists of vegetables or having ladybug tea parties with his stuffed toys. He’d probably have to be the robot, and do what Henry said, but it would be worth it to play such a fun game.
“I’ll be the robot,” said Horrid Henry.
Peter’s jaw dropped.
“Go on,” said Henry. “You’re the mad professor. Tell me what to do.”
Wow. Henry was even letting him be the mad professor! Maybe he’d been wrong about Henry…maybe Henry had been struck by lightning and changed into a nice brother…
“Robot,” ordered Perfect Peter. “March around the room.”
Horrid Henry didn’t budge.
“Robot!” said Peter. “I order you to march.”
“Pro—fes—sor! I—need—twenty-five cents—to—move,” said Henry in a robotic voice. “Twenty-five cents. Twenty-five cents. Twenty-five cents.”
“Twenty-five cents?” asked Peter.
“That’s the rules of Robot and Mad Professor,” said Henry, shrugging.
“Okay, Henry,” said Peter, rummaging in his bank. He handed Henry twenty-five cents.
Yes! thought Horrid Henry.
Horrid Henry took a few stiff steps, then slowed down and stopped.
“More,” said robotic Henry. “More. My batteries have run down. More.”
Perfect Peter handed over another twenty-five cents.
Henry lurched around for a few more steps, crashed into the wall and collapsed on the floor.
“I need candy to get up,” said the robot. “Bring me candy. Systems overload. Candy. Candy. Candy.”
Perfect Peter dropped two pieces of candy into Henry’s hand. Henry twitched his foot.
“More,” said the robot. “Lots more.”
Perfect Peter dropped four more pieces of candy. Henry jerked up into a sitting position.
Horrid Henry and the Zombie Vampire Page 2
