Big Nate Flips Out

by Lincoln Peirce

  “You might as well have,” Teddy growls.

  Dee Dee jumps in. “Guys, GUYS!”

  “That’s just what I saw the other day!” Dee Dee

  whispers excitedly. “Randy’s showing off the

  CAMERA he stole from your locker, Nate!”

  Teddy frowns. “How do you know?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t, exactly.”

  “What’s she talking about?” Teddy whispers.

  I shrug. “Who knows? I try not to spend any time

  inside Dee Dee’s head.”

  “Good point.” Teddy snickers. “That’s a weird

  neighborhood.”

  We watch as Dee Dee strolls casually over to

  Randy and his posse. Then . . .

  She hits the floor like a sack of potatoes. Randy

  drops something. But it’s not the camera.

  I hear him angrily whisper to his friends as he

  stoops to the floor.

  “Pick WHAT up? What ARE those?” Teddy asks.

  “Beats me,” I answer as Dee Dee climbs shakily to

  her feet.

  “Well, go faint somewhere ELSE,” Randy snarls.

  Dee Dee wobbles away from Randy and his gang

  like a leaky balloon, then finds Teddy and me

  around the corner.

  “What HAPPENED over there?” we both ask.

  It’s a Gag Me card. Those

  aren’t allowed at P.S. 38. If

  you get busted with them,

  you’re in big trouble.

  “Well, that explains why

  Randy looked like he

  was hiding something,”

  Teddy says.

  I nod sadly. “Yeah. But it wasn’t the camera.”

  “I’m beginning to think Randy’s too STUPID to

  steal a camera.” Dee Dee frowns. “Maybe someone

  ELSE took it.”

  Teddy heaves a sigh. “Maybe. But WHO?”

  The bell rings. Time for homeroom.

  “Let’s talk more about it later, during our free

  period,” Dee Dee suggests.

  I shake my head. “It’ll have to wait ’til lunch.”

  Which turns out to be as exciting as Mr. Galvin’s

  rock collection. All you do is walk up and down

  the corridors. I feel like those old people who do

  laps around the mall.

  It’s Nick. But for a second, I almost don’t recognize

  him. He’s walking really fast, and he’s all hunched

  over. I take another look, and . . . HEY!!

  Or does he? He’s too far away for me to tell for

  sure. But he’s got SOMETHING tucked under his

  arm. And it sure LOOKS like the camera.

  I take off after him.

  You’re not supposed to

  run in the hallways—

  ESPECIALLY if you’re

  a hall monitor. But this

  is an emergency. I kick

  it into overdrive and round the corner. Then . . .

  What idiot put a DESK here? I scramble off the

  floor, ready to crank up my Nick chase again.

  He’s already way ahead of me.

  I can’t waste another second.

  Then I look around.

  The old me wouldn’t have worried about a few

  papers on the floor. I would have sprinted after

  Nick like a crazed bloodhound. If I’m going to get

  that stupid camera back, that’s what I should do.

  But I can’t.

  I start picking up all the sheets and stacking them

  on the desk. Not because I want to. Because I

  HAVE to. Being hypnotized leaves me no choice.

  The lunch bell rings. The hallway fills up with

  people. Whatever chance I had to catch Nick red-

  handed is long gone.

  What a mess.

  “I just had a chance to solve the camera mystery,

  and I BLEW it . . .”

  I tell Teddy and Dee Dee

  about seeing Nick with

  the camera and how he

  got away.

  Teddy rolls his eyes. “Funny how you never

  mentioned that, Sherlock.”

  “I can’t take this anymore,” I say miserably.

  “Sorry, dude.” Teddy shakes his head. “Uncle

  Pedro’s visiting my grandparents in Mexico. He’ll

  be back in a week.”

  “I’ve heard that sometimes a DRAMATIC EVENT

  can snap a person out of a hypnotic trance!”

  “What kind of dramatic event?”

  Dee Dee sighs. “I don’t know.”

  Okay, NOW we’re talking. Cheez Doodles make

  everything better. And I’m STARVING. I didn’t eat

  breakfast this morning because I was obsessing

  about my hair, remember? I reach into the bag.

  “What’s the matter?” Teddy asks.

  “I got orange powder all over my hands.”

  He makes a tell-me-something-I-didn’t-know face.

  “Well, DUH!”

  “And so MESSY,” I say, pushing the bag away.

  Teddy’s jaw drops.

  Dee Dee gasps.

  I know. And now they DISGUST

  me. I lay my head on the table

  (after wiping it off with Teddy’s

  napkin) and try to pull myself together. Francis

  hates me. None of my hobbies are fun anymore. And

  I can’t even eat my favorite food in the whole world.

  I look across the cafetorium, and I feel like

  throwing up. This is my fault. I spilled the beans

  about Francis’s middle name. I might as well

  have painted a bull’s-eye

  on his back.

  The blood starts pounding

  in my head. The lunchtime

  noises fade away, until all I

  can hear is Randy’s voice and his stupid laugh as

  he aims another kick at Francis’s butt. I stand up.

  Then I flip out.

  Okay, true confessions time: I’ve never been in

  a real fight before. So jumping on Randy like a

  rabid wolverine might not have been one of my

  better ideas. But it goes pretty well at first. In fact,

  I might actually be WINNING when . . .

  “He ATTACKED me!” Randy whimpers, switching

  to victim mode in a millisecond.

  Mrs. Czerwicki nods grimly. “I saw it.”

  “Not ALL of it,” comes a familiar voice.

  Mrs. C. looks surprised. “This really doesn’t

  concern you, um . . . er . . .”

  “Francis,” he says helpfully.

  “Yes, well, thank you for your input, Francis . . .”

  Great. Nothing like a little quality time with the

  Big Guy. I won’t bore you with the details. Basically,

  he yells at me. Nonstop. For about a half hour.

  “Hey,” says Francis.

  “Oh. Uh . . . hey,” I answer, trying to sound casual.

  He nods toward the principal’s office. “What did

  he say?”

  “Just what I KNEW he’d say,” I snort.

  Francis shakes his head. “That’s so bogus.”

  I shrug. “I guess I DID sort of ambush him. But he

  deserved it.”

  “Uh-huh. Probably the

  stupidest thing I’ve ever

  done.”

  “Why? I mean, it WORKED,

  obviously.”

  “Yeah, I’m neater than YOU are now,” I tell him.

  “That’s unbelievable!” Francis exclaims.

  “Considering what it USED to look like, it’s . . .”

  But I’ve stopped listening.

  My eyes are locked on

  a leather case tucked

&n
bsp; alongside the textbooks

  on the top shelf.

  I examine the case. It’s definitely the same camera,

  right down to the “Property of P.S. 38” tag.

  Francis is flabbergasted. “Wha—? How did . . . ?

  Nate, what’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on: NICK thinks

  he’s being FUNNY.”

  “Nick BLONSKY?” Francis asks in surprise.

  “What are you two doing out of class?” He smirks,

  flashing his hall monitor badge.

  “Oh, nothing,” I reply angrily.

  He shrugs, pretending to

  be confused. “If I STOLE

  it, then how can YOU be

  holding it RIGHT NOW?”

  “Because you put it back. During third period.

  I saw you with it.”

  Another smirk. “Maybe you did, and maybe you

  didn’t,” he says in a singsong voice.

  “Because it was HILARIOUS,” Nick answers. “That

  FIGHT you two had when you realized the camera

  was gone was PRICELESS!”

  What a twerp. I’m about two seconds away from

  my SECOND fight of the day. “You’re a riot,” I snarl

  through gritted teeth.

  “We could report you to Principal Nichols for this,”

  Francis adds.

  “Dee Dee Holloway, super spy, at your service!”

  she says, taking a bow.

  The tiniest look of uncertainty creeps across

  Nick’s face. “Super spy?”

  Dee Dee smiles slyly. “You guys were having such

  an interesting conversation . . .”

  Nick turns pale. He backs away from us, slowly at

  first. Then he breaks into a run.

  I could hug Dee Dee. I don’t, of course. But I

  COULD. “Dee Dee,” I tell her gratefully, “that

  was . . . AWESOME!”

  “Yup! The pigeon has landed!” she says, beaming.

  Then she grabs me and Francis. “But HERE’S

  what’s REALLY awesome!”

  Well, if I didn’t hug Dee Dee, I’m sure not going to

  KISS Francis. I stick out my hand. And so does he,

  at the exact same moment.

  “I shouldn’t have accused you of losing the

  camera,” Francis says. “That was lame.”

  “And I shouldn’t have told the whole school your

  middle name,” I admit. “That was lamer.”

  “This is FABULOUS!” Dee Dee squeals.

  Then, with a gasp, Dee Dee turns me loose. “Nate!

  There’s FOOD on your shirt!”

  Makes sense. An hour ago, I was rolling around on

  the cafetorium floor with Randy. “So?” I ask her.

  Suddenly it dawns on me what she’s getting at.

  Dee Dee’s bouncing around like her hair’s on fire.

  “Remember what I said? That a dramatic event

  might snap you out of it?”

  I fling open my locker—my disgustingly neat

  locker—and grab a pencil and paper.

  “If I can draw something without worrying how

  PERFECT it is, then we’ll know I’m not hypnotized

  anymore!”

  I go as fast as I can. No rulers. No erasing. And by

  the time I’m finished, I can tell I’m myself again.

  Because this definitely isn’t perfect.

  But it might be the most awesome drawing I’ve

  ever made.

  Nick’s not in school the next day. But we don’t find

  out why until Francis, Teddy, and I walk into the

  Chronicle meeting after classes are over.

  “Hold it,” I say. “Nick gets to stay home from

  school? For a whole WEEK?”

  That’s WAY better than what I got. Principal Nichols

  gave me three days of detention for fighting with

  Randy. Then he called my dad. Guess what they

  talked about?

  Ugh. Gina and her stinkin’ gavel. Couldn’t we start

  the meeting with something a little mellower?

  Like a foghorn?

  “I’ve been working on some of these page layouts,”

  Gina announces as we gather around the table.

  “The group shots look really good . . .”

  “What are you trying to PULL, Gina?” Teddy

  demands angrily. “You only used pictures of

  YOURSELF and your snobby FRIENDS!”

  “And besides, NATE was supposed to supply the

  candids!” Francis chimes in.

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Gina,” says a voice

  from behind us.

  YES! Hickey to the rescue! Gina turns fire-engine

  red, then corkscrews her face into a phony smile.

  “All right,” she says, turning to Francis. “What do

  YOU want to do?”

  Mrs. Hickson nods. “I think that’s a fair solution.

  But, Nate, we DO have a deadline, so . . .”

  “No problem!” I say immediately. “I should get

  PLENTY of good candids TOMORROW . . .”

  The next morning as we walk to school, I realize

  two things: (1) it’s great to be friends with Francis

  again, and (2) he’s driving me completely insane.

  “Nate’s right,” Teddy says. “You’re going to fry

  your brain before the Trivia Slam even STARTS.”

  Francis takes a deep breath. “I know, I know.”

  They COULD. But I still think we’ll smuck ’em.

  The cafetorium’s already mobbed when we get

  there. “I wonder who Gina will get to replace

  Nick,” Teddy says as we squeeze through the door.

  We don’t have to wait long to find out.

  Wait, did he say “whom”? That’s SO Francis. Even

  when he’s trash-talking, he uses good grammar.

  Teddy’s mouth gapes open. “Is he SERIOUS? Why

  would Gina put an idiot like RANDY on her team?”

  “Randy’s no Einstein, but he knows a TON of

  sports and movie trivia,” Francis explains. “Gina’s

  team didn’t have anybody like that before.”

  Well . . . MAYBE. But there’s

  no time to worry about it now.

  Ms. Clarke is asking for quiet

  and explaining the rules.

  “You all know the format,” she says. “During

  the preliminary rounds, you may consult your

  teammates before answering each question. But

  during the FINAL round . . .”

  Shut up? THAT’S the best snappy comeback I’ve

  got? Definitely not up to my usual standards.

  I must be nervous.

  “You heard Ms. Clarke, Factoids!” Dee Dee says as

  she reaches into her book bag.

  Leave it to Dee Dee to bring costumes into this.

  But whatever. If wearing dorky hats is going to

  help us take down Gina’s Geniuses, I’m all for it.

  “The first question is for Amanda’s Pony Posse,”

  Ms. Clarke announces.

  Pretty easy, right? That’s how the Trivia Slam

  works. The early rounds are ALWAYS a cakewalk.

  But as the game goes on, the questions get harder.

  And the candids get better and better!

  Teams start dropping

  like flies. Tricia’s Tater

  Tots don’t know the

  capital of Luxembourg.

  (Trick question. It’s . . .

  Luxembourg.) Artur’s

  Antelopes can’t name

  the only vegetable that’s

  also a flower. (Broccoli.

  Yuck.)

  Eventually—just like ev
eryone knew it would—

  it comes down to two teams.

  “Okay, guys, here’s where all our practicing pays

  off!” Dee Dee whispers. “Try to relax.”

  RELAX? I can’t relax when we’re going toe to

  toe with Gina and Randy. You think they’re

  obnoxious NOW? If they beat us, we’ll never hear

  the end of it.

  “Nice job, Chad!” I whisper as he steps down from

  the stage. He looks a little wobbly. The pressure’s

  getting to everybody. And you know what they

  say about pressure: It breaks stuff. So who’s going

  to crack first?

  “Randy,” Ms. Clarke says, “you’re up.”

  Rats. A sports question. This’ll be a no-brainer.

  Randy grins confidently.

  The blood drains from his face. “W-wait a minute.

  CHESS? Chess isn’t a SPORT!”

  “It’s recognized as a sport by the International

  Olympic Committee,” Ms. Clarke states matter-of-

  factly. “Answer the question, please.”

  But Randy’s not

  a chess player.

  He’s more of a

  tic-tac-toe guy.

  Remember, you can’t ask your teammates for help

  in the final round. Randy’s got to sink or swim

  on his own. And I’ve got a feeling . . .

  Ms. Clarke shakes her head. “I’m sorry. The

  answer is sixteen. Eight per side.”

  Gina looks ready to wring Randy’s neck, I’m

  snapping pictures as fast as I can, and Dee Dee’s