Big Nate Flips Out
Page 2
“You GOT it!” I exclaim. “Lemme see!”
“Let’s wait ’til we get outside,” Francis whispers.
We step out into the school
yard, and Francis hands
over the camera. It’s in a
leather case, and there’s
a tag on the strap that says
“Property of P.S. 38.” How
fancy can you get?
“You heard what Mrs. Godfrey said, right?”
Francis asks. “About it being expensive?”
“Yes. RELAX, will you?” I tell him. “All I’m going
to do is take a few pictures!”
Great. It’s Randy Betancourt and his band of Merry
Morons. As usual, he’s acting like a total slimeball.
“Give it back,” I growl.
Randy just smirks.
What can we do? If Randy were just one guy, the
three of us could take the camera back. But he’s
NEVER just one guy. And we’re no match for his
whole posse.
“It’s not a PURSE, butthead,” Teddy says.
Randy opens his mouth to speak, but then . . .
Coach John walks by.
He hasn’t seen us yet . . .
but he MIGHT. Randy nods at his buddies, and
they quickly form a wall to block him from Coach
John’s view. So much for the whole teacher-to-
the-rescue thing.
Randy and his posse scatter. I watch in horror
as the leather case soars into the sky. In about
five seconds, that camera’s going to smash into
a million pieces on the pavement—unless it
doesn’t HIT the pavement. I start running.
“Very interesting,” Dad says over my shoulder, and
I almost jump out of my jammies. Doesn’t anybody
ever KNOCK around here?
“The part where I’m wearing tights and flying
through the air is made up,” I tell him.
“Got it.” He chuckles, and sits down on the bed.
Oh, yippee. Looks like Dad’s in one of his tell-me-
everything-about-your-life moods.
“Did Randy really get detention?”
I snort. “Are you kidding?”
“And that’s coming from an authority on the sub-
ject,” Dad says. But not in a mean way. He’s just
busting my chops a little bit.
“So what DID happen?” he asks.
“. . . and it wasn’t like
there was anyplace SOFT
for it to land. So I bombed
across the school yard.
I’ve never run that fast
in my whole LIFE.”
“And did you catch it?” Dad asks.
“I was ABOUT to,” I grumble. “It was going to be
the most amazing catch of all time. Then Kim
Cressly got in my way.”
“Who’s Kim Cressly?”
“Just some girl,” I say quickly. No way I’m telling
Dad that Kim wants me to be her love puppet.
Parents get all weird about that stuff.
“Anyway,” I continue, “while I was trying to . . .
uh . . . get past Kim, guess who came bumbling
along: NICK BLONSKY! And then . . .”
“Let me guess,” Dad says. “Nick caught it.”
I nod in disgust. “Yes, and believe me, that was a
total MIRACLE. He was on my SPOFF flag football
team last fall . . .”
“Well, at least the camera
wasn’t broken,” Dad notes.
“EXACTLY! That’s what I told him! But he STILL
laid this huge LECTURE on me!”
Dad notices the case next to my bed and opens it.
“Wow,” he exclaims. “This IS a nice camera.”
“Uh-huh,” I agree. “And starting tomorrow, I’ll be
using it to shoot some KILLER candids!”
“Well, ‘Killer,’ there’s more to being a yearbook
photographer than playing Gotcha,” he says. “Now
go to sleep. It’s getting late.” He turns to leave.
On the walk to school the next morning, the guys
and I talk strategy.
“Chester fell asleep in there last week, and he was
drooling all over the beanbag chair!” Teddy laughs.
“Now THAT would have made a great candid!”
“If Chester caught you taking his picture,
he’d probably kill you,” Francis points out.
“Right,” Francis says, rolling his eyes. “I forgot
I was talking to a master photographer.”
“What was THAT supposed to mean?” I ask the
guys. “I haven’t even TAKEN any pictures yet!”
Teddy points at the bulletin board. “Uh . . . I think
they were talking about THAT one.”
“That—that’s ME!” I sputter.
“Brilliant observation,” Francis deadpans.
Gina. I should have known.
“You think you’re funny, Gina?” I snap.
“The ‘big idea’ was to
let people know about
Retake Day, genius,”
she says.
“How, by plastering my picture all over the school?”
“Oh, RELAX,” she huffs. “You’re on ONE POSTER.”
She pulls some sheets from under her arm. “I used
plenty of OTHER pictures, too. Look.”
“See?” she says with an innocent little grin.
“A whole BUNCH of us made posters!”
“That’s DIFFERENT! You used my REAL school
portrait! THOSE are FAKE!” I shout. “You were
trying to look dorky ON PURPOSE!”
“Yes.” She smirks . . .
Behind me, Teddy
snickers. Remind me
to noogie him later.
“Take it down if you want.” Gina shrugs. “But if
you’re so INSECURE that you can’t poke fun at
yourself . . .”
“I can poke fun at myself just fine,” I mutter.
“I just don’t like when SHE does the poking.”
“So what are you gonna do?” Teddy asks.
I open my backpack and pull out the camera.
“I have an idea. It’s still a little fuzzy . . .”
“Skippy has $20. He buys four bags of tortilla
chips to bring to Pepper’s party. Each bag costs
$2.60. Sales tax is 5 percent. How much money
does Skippy have left?”
I hate problems like this. Plus, what’s up with
these stupid NAMES? “Pepper” sounds more like
a HORSE than a person. And the only Skippy I’ve
ever known was that labradoodle that used to
poop every day in Francis’s mom’s garden.
Uh-oh. I feel a yawn coming
on. And that’s never a good
idea during math.
First, Mr. Staples gets a little squirrelly if you look
even a tiny bit bored.
And second, your best friend might almost KILL
you by choosing exactly the wrong moment to
toss you a note.
“Nate!” Mr. Staples jumps up from his desk. “Are
you all right?”
I quickly spit out the note and stuff it into my
pocket. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I tell him.
“Why don’t you go drink some water,” he suggests.
Not a bad idea. I’ll get a two-minute break from
Skippy and Pepper, AND I’ll get to read this note
that I halfway choked on.
I step into the hallway and fish the note from my
pocket. It’s a little moist. But readable.
Hmmph. Not so ho
t, that’s how. My target isn’t
cooperating.
“O.C.” stands for Operation Candid. It’s my plan to
get even with Gina for that little stunt she pulled.
She wants to put a goofy-looking picture of me on
a poster? Fine.
There’s just one minor problem: I don’t HAVE a
goofy-looking picture of Gina. And I can’t seem
to GET one, either, because . . . well, this will
explain why.
See what I mean? Gina just doesn’t do goofy things.
I always knew she was obnoxious. But until now,
I didn’t realize how BORING she is.
Hey, now THAT’S friendly. I come right back at
him. “What are YOU doing here?”
He puffs out his chest.
Sounds about right. Hall monitors are dorks.
“You’re SUPPOSED to be in class.” A spray of Nick
spit flies everywhere. “I could REPORT you.”
I brush past him and stalk back into the math
room, slamming the door behind me. Whoops.
That was kind of loud.
“If you’re feeling better, Nate, please resume your
work,” Mr. Staples says.
“What’s the matter?” Teddy whispers as I flop
back into my seat. “Your EARS!”
I roll my eyes and
wave him off. There’s
no need to tell him
what a weasel Nick
is. He already knows.
EVERYBODY does.
I slog through the
rest of math—in case
you were wondering,
Skippy has exactly $9.08 left—and then, just as
the bell rings at the end of the period, things start
looking up for Operation Candid.
“Did you hear that, guys?” I exclaim as we file out
of class. “Here’s my big chance!”
Teddy looks confused. “To jump rope?”
“She’s about as graceful as a rock in a blender!” I
continue. “I bet I can get some GREAT shots of her
looking like a total DOOFUS!”
“What’s the matter?” Francis asks.
“Nothing, nothing,” I answer, my throat
tightening. “It’s just that . . .”
“The CAMERA?” Teddy says in disbelief.
“It’s here somewhere,”
I assure him as my
heart starts pounding
through my chest.
But it’s NOT here
somewhere. With my palms turning sweaty,
I paw through the pile again. And again. I’m in
full panic mode now.
Then I hear Francis behind me.
“What?” I ask. My voice sounds faraway.
“You lost the camera,” Francis says.
“No, I didn’t, I just—”
He nods his head. “Yes, you did, Nate. Just admit
it. You lost the camera . . .”
“I DID NOT lose it!”
I protest. “I’m . . .”
“Oh? Then WHERE IS
IT?” he snaps.
“I . . . it’s . . .” I stammer.
“You can’t answer!” Francis says, his voice rising.
“You have NO IDEA where it is!”
I can feel my ears starting to burn. Francis isn’t
being fair. It’s not like I left the camera lying on the
GROUND somewhere. It was in my locker. I KNOW
it was!
“No, you WEREN’T!” Francis explodes. “This is so
TYPICAL, Nate! You always screw up, and then
I’M the one who has to FIX everything!”
Now I’m mad. “Well, we can’t all be PERFECT like
YOU, can we?” I say bitterly.
“I never SAID I was perfect!” he yells.
It’s like getting punched in the face. Francis has
called me a loser before. But not like this. Not
like he really MEANS it. I can feel my answer
rising in my throat. Before I even know what I’m
saying, before I can stop myself, I open my big,
fat mouth.
Silence. For the
first time, I notice
the crowd. Half
the school’s been
listening. And they
just heard me break the promise I made to Francis
in third grade.
I told them his secret.
A few people laugh along with Randy. Other kids
seem stunned. Francis looks pale. He opens his
mouth for a second, then closes it. He shakes his
head. Then he turns away.
I catch up to him. He
doesn’t stop walking.
“H-hey,” I stutter.
“I shouldn’t have . . . I didn’t . . .” My voice trails
off. I can barely talk.
I start again. “Francis,” I say, forcing the words
out. “I . . . I made a mistake.”
He doesn’t even look at me. “So did I,” he says.
Yeah, that IS it! Why didn’t I think of it BEFORE?
Dee Dee flops down next to me.
“I just figured out who stole that camera from my
locker!” I tell her.
Then Dee Dee starts
nodding like a dash-
board bobblehead.
“It sounds like the
sort of mondo jerko
thing he’d do. . . .
. . . But how can you prove it?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Maybe just by following
him around. Spying on him.”
I’m about to tell Dee Dee that the whole point of
being a spy is NOT to be noticed, when . . .
We walk in silence—which NEVER happens when
Dee Dee’s around—but after a few minutes, she
can’t resist saying something.
Just hearing Francis’s name makes my stomach
hurt. I don’t really want to go there, but Dee Dee’s
going to keep asking until I spill my guts. So why
not? Maybe I’ll feel better.
Dee Dee waggles her finger at me. “Never say
never, Nate! Sure, Francis is upset NOW . . .”
“Except it’s about more than just the camera,”
I remind her.
“Yes, I know, the whole ‘Butthurst’ thing,” Dee Dee
says, waving her hand impatiently.
“Like what?”
“Like mine,” she answers. “It’s Dorcas.”
I snicker. “Sorry. I’m picturing a gazelle named
Dorcas.”
Good ol’ Teddy. At least HE’s not mad at me.
He claps his hands once, then rubs them together.
“So!” he says. “What are we gonna do?”
“About what?” I ask.
“About YOU AND FRANCIS, fool!” he answers.
I hadn’t really thought of that. It’s probably no fun
for Teddy to be stuck in the middle.
Teddy nods. “Just a couple minutes ago. He was
on his way to tell Mrs. Godfrey about the camera.”
There’s no mistaking Mrs. Godfrey’s voice. It
sounds like a head-on collision between a foghorn
and a chain saw. Teddy, Dee Dee, and I sneak down
the hall toward her classroom to listen in.
Francis isn’t easy to hear. “I . . . um . . . can’t
remember. I must have . . . misplaced it.”
There’s a pause, then Mrs. Godfrey’s voice booms
again. “This doesn’t sound like you, Francis. Are
you sure YOU lost the camera? . . .”
I brace myself. Here it comes. Here’s where
Francis tells her the whole story.
> “He didn’t rat you out!” Teddy whispers. “What
a PAL!”
“Yeah,” I mumble, feeling worse than ever.
Mrs. Godfrey gives a long sigh. I can practically
smell her onion breath from here.
I wince. Hearing that from a teacher will cut
Francis to the bone.
“You have detention for one week,” Mrs. Godfrey
continues. “And if the camera doesn’t turn up
during that time, you will pay the school the cost
of replacing it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Francis says quietly.
“You may go,” she tells him.
“Guess he’s still mad at you,” Teddy says sadly.
“Poor Francis!” Dee Dee cries.
“I’m going to do more than
that,” I mutter.
Teddy looks baffled. “What do you mean?”
“Francis said it yesterday: I always screw up, and
then he has to fix everything.”
“People can’t just change by snapping their
fingers,” Teddy scoffs.
Dee Dee’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.
“Not unless they’re HYPNOTIZED!”
All three of us speak at once.
Teddy’s uncle Pedro is . . . well, it’s hard to describe
him. He’s sort of an inventor-magician-handyman-
mad scientist sort of guy.
Oh, yeah. And he hypnotizes people.
No, I’ve never been
hypnotized. But with
the camera missing
in action and Francis