by R. L. Stine
Rotten School
Battle of the Dum Diddys
R.L. Stine
Illustrations by Trip Park
For Samantha
–TP
Contents
Morning Announcements
1. Here Comes Trouble
2. “I’ll Bite Your Throat!”
3. The End of Rotten School?
4. Good Luck
5. Something Rotten
6. Where Did Everyone Go?
7. Tinkle?
8. Good Memories
9. The Slaughter Begins
10. Battle of the Brains
11. Angel Wants to Kill!
12. The Wungo Wango
13. Death of a Knight
14. Mrs. Twinkler Is Worried
15. “So Real! So Fresh!”
16. No More Bubus
17. Prince Awesome Dude Arrives
18. “Attack! Destroy! Win!”
19. “This School Must Be Closed—Tonight!”
20. The Ugly Duckling
Here’s a Sneak Peek at Book #13
About the Author
Other Books by R.L. Stine
Copyright
About the Publisher
MORNING ANNOUNCEMENTS
Good morning, Rotten Students. This is Headmaster Upchuck, wishing you all a Rotten day. I’d like to get your morning off to a Rotten start by reading today’s Morning Announcements….
First, a reminder to all students. You cannot be a member of the Membership Card Club unless you have a membership card. The only way to get a membership card is to be a member of the club.
Here’s something I would like to clear up once and for all. The Official Rotten School Mascot is not head lice. I don’t know how these rumors get started.
On the same subject, Nurse Hanley would like to remind all first graders that head lice are not edible. A list of proper snacks can be found in the Dining Hall.
Chef Baloney would like to thank the students who complained about the mouse in yesterday’s vegetarian chili. He’d been looking all over for that mouse.
Congratulations to Mr. Boring’s fifth-grade science class for your clever experiments that proved beyond a doubt that bunnies can’t fly.
Chapter 1
HERE COMES TROUBLE
Was I in major trouble?
Does a moose have diarrhea in the woods?
There I was, Bernie Bridges, fourth-grade superstar. Hey, I’m not bragging. Ask anyone.
There I was, sitting with my shoulders hunched and my head down, in Headmaster Upchuck’s office. And I knew the Headmaster didn’t call me in to tell me a funny joke he heard.
And he didn’t call me in to compliment me on the cool triple knot I tied in my blue, green, and puke-yellow Rotten School uniform necktie. (And by the way, no way I can untie it. I’m going to need help later—and maybe scissors—to get out of the thing!)
No, dudes and dudettes. When The Upchuck calls you to his office, it means you’re in bi-i-i-i-i-g trouble.
Here at Rotten School, we call him The Big Man. That’s because he’s only about three feet tall. He’s so short, he has to stand on a ladder to blow his nose!
Ha-ha. Don’t you love jokes like that?
Well, this was no joke. I sat in front of his little toy desk. I think it came from a Barbie playhouse. It was the only desk he could find that was the right size! He was talking on the phone. Every once in a while he’d look up at me and scowl.
I thought hard. What did I do wrong?
I could only think of twenty or thirty things.
Finally he set down the phone. He rubbed his ear. His bald head glowed under the light from his computer screen. He turned to me.
“Bernie…” he said.
I didn’t like the way he said it. I shuddered.
Here comes trouble….
Chapter 2
“I’LL BITE YOUR THROAT!”
“Bernie…” he said again.
I still didn’t like the way he said it.
“You’re looking great, sir,” I said. “Are you growing taller? You look very tall today. Oh. You’re sitting on a phone book, aren’t you? Very clever, sir.”
“Bernie—” he said.
“Mr. Upchuck, I can explain about that Go Fish game,” I said. “We weren’t really playing for money. I know there was a lot of money there. But we were just using it to steady the table. You see, the card table was very wobbly. And we used the money to—”
“Bernie—” he interrupted. His face turned as red as a ruby grapefruit. He actually looks a lot like a grapefruit. With eyes.
“Sir, I swear I didn’t cheat on the eye exam,” I said. “Someone gave me the sheet of paper with the letters on it. But I never read it. Really. I—”
He sighed. “Bernie—” he said.
“You are looking awesome today,” I said. “Is that a shadow on your forehead? No. I think you’re starting to grow eyebrows!”
“Bernie,” he said through gritted teeth. “Shut your piehole.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, giving him a sharp, two-fingered salute. “Anything you say, sir. That’s the Bernie Bridges motto. Anything the Headmaster says is gold. Gold!”
The Headmaster let out a sharp growl. “Say one more word, Bernie, and I’ll bite your throat.”
I laughed. “Funny, sir,” I said. “I love your sense of humor. We all do. It’s what makes you so special to us. You inspire us, sir. You really do. We think a new library should be built in your honor, sir. The Upchuck Library. It has a nice ring to it—doesn’t it?”
“Grrrrrrrrr!”
I’d never heard a sound like that from the Headmaster before.
He roared. Reached out his pudgy hands, ready to strangle me. And leaped over his desk.
I don’t know why he wanted to attack. I was being so nice to him. But I really think The Big Man wanted to bite my throat.
Luckily, the phone rang.
A very exciting and frightening phone call.
But I can’t tell you everything in one chapter—can I? Keep reading….
Chapter 3
THE END OF ROTTEN SCHOOL?
Headmaster Upchuck slid back into his chair and raised the phone to his ear. “Upchuck here,” he said.
His little hamster eyes narrowed to slits. “Uh-huh,” he muttered as he listened. “Uh-huh.”
He waved me away. “Bernie, go sit out in the hall,” he said. “I’ll get to you in a minute. This is an important call.”
I saluted again and walked out of the office. But I didn’t go sit in the hall. I hunched behind the office door. How else could I listen in on the important phone call?
I wasn’t snooping. I was doing my job. The other guys count on me to know everything that’s going on.
So I held my breath and pressed my ear to the door.
“I see. I see,” The Upchuck kept repeating.
Peeking through the door opening, I could see a worried expression on his face. If he had eyebrows, they’d be all scrunched up.
“The Board of Inspectors is coming?” Upchuck said into the phone. “When? In one week?” He nodded his head. “Yes, I understand. Everything must be running smoothly. Yes. If Rotten School isn’t up to their standards, the school will be shut down.”
I gasped.
Shut down Rotten School? Impossible!
“Do you think we might have more than one week to prepare?” Upchuck asked. “Maybe a year or two?”
He sighed. “I see. Yes, I understand. One week. If the inspectors file a bad report, the school will be closed forever.”
I gasped again. This was kinda serious. I mean, you probably go home after school every day. But our school is a boarding school. That means we live he
re. We can do whatever we want. No parents!
If Rotten School closed, we’d have to move back HOME!
“Buh-buh-Bernie—get in here!” Headmaster Upchuck called.
I was thinking so hard, I didn’t even see him hang up the phone. I stepped back into his office.
He stood beside his desk. His little body trembled and shook. His lips were moving up and down, but no sound came out. I guess he was a little stressed.
“What did you want to see me about, sir?” I asked.
“Buh-buh-buh-buh.” His lips kept moving up and down.
“Yes, sir?”
“Buh-buh-buh-buh-buh.”
“Okay, sir,” I said. “I understand.” I pretended he was speaking words. I mean, the phone call had him totally shook. Why upset the poor guy even more?
He pointed a finger at me. “Buh-buh-buh-buh-buh,” he said. Then his tongue flopped out of his mouth and just hung there.
“Very good, sir,” I said. “Thank you for those words of wisdom. I’ll never forget them.”
“Lamf-lamf-lamf-lamf,” he said. His tongue flopped over his chin.
“Thank you, sir,” I said. I nodded solemnly. “You’re totally right.” I turned and hurried out of his office.
I ran across the campus, all the way back to Rotten House. That’s the dorm where my buddies and I live. It’s actually a rickety, old house.
I ran up the stairs to the third floor. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends the big news.
Feenman and Crench were in the room they share with Belzer, across the hall from mine. Feenman was down on his knees on the floor, painting his dresser mirror red. That’s Feenman’s hobby—painting things red.
Crench was stretched out on the bottom bunk. He had a book over his face, but he wasn’t reading it. He was sound asleep.
I shook him hard and woke him up. “Dudes, you won’t believe this!” I cried. I told them what I’d heard in Upchuck’s office.
Crench shook his head. “Is it for real? The inspectors might shut this school down in one week?”
I nodded.
“They can’t do that!” Feenman cried. “I just painted my dresser mirror red!”
Did that make sense? Not to me. But what do you expect from a dude who paints things red?
“Let’s get serious. You know what this means—don’t you?” I asked.
They stared at me.
I saw tears start to run down Feenman’s cheeks. “It…it means an AWESOME school will be closed,” he sobbed.
“No!” I said. “That’s not what it means. It means we have one week to make as much money as we can!”
I pushed them toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get moving. This could be our last week to cash in!”
Chapter 4
GOOD LUCK
“Okay, huddle up, dudes! Gather around!” I shouted.
The first graders were just coming out for recess. They made a circle around me. I like first graders. They’re so cute—and most of them don’t cry when I take their money.
“Hurry up, Bernie,” a big kid with bright orange hair and freckles growled. “We only have fifteen minutes for recess.”
“What do you do at recess?” I asked him.
“Kick each other,” he said.
I squinted at him. “You’re joking—right?”
He gave me a hard kick in the knee. I guess he wasn’t joking. I grabbed the kid by his school blazer. “What’s your name, dude?”
“Joshua,” he said. “Joshua Bradly Belcher.”
I decided to ignore this clown. Time to get to work.
I held up a stack of tickets. “Listen carefully, dudes!” I shouted. “Only one chance to buy these special tickets. Get your money out. Only a dollar each.”
Several little angels reached into their pockets for their money. That’s why I like first graders. Totally adorable.
But the big, redheaded kid raised his paw in the air. “Are they lottery tickets?” he asked. “Is there a prize?”
“No. No prize,” I said. “Okay, who’s first? Tell you what. I’ll give you a break. Three tickets for two dollars.”
The big kid was blocking the line. “But what kind of tickets are they?” he asked. “What are they good for?”
“They’re Good Luck tickets,” I said. “Everyone wants good luck—right? Good Luck tickets for only a dollar!”
The cute little angels waved their money in the air. I started to drool. This was so EASY.
But Joshua Bradly Belcher poked his freckled face up against mine. “How do we know they’re real Good Luck tickets?” he asked.
“Check ’em out,” I said. I held up a ticket. “It says GOOD LUCK right on it.”
The kids all stared at the ticket. They pushed forward. They wanted their tickets.
“Okay, one at a time. One at a time,” I said. I reached for the first dollar. And felt someone squeeze my shoulder.
I looked up—and saw Mrs. Twinkler, the Drama Coach. “Come with me, Bernie,” she said. She tightened her hold on my shoulder and dragged me away.
“Kids—wait right there!” I cried. “Don’t anybody move.”
But they’d already started kicking one another.
Mrs. Twinkler pulled me across the lawn to a shady spot under an apple tree.
“Bernie…” she said.
I hated the way she said it.
“I can explain about the Good Luck tickets,” I said. “I was giving them out free. Would you like one?”
She took the ticket from me. “Bernie, you sparkle and shine!” she said.
She talks like that all the time. She’s very dramatic. She’s always telling us to reach for the stars. But since the stars are about a billion miles away, I don’t really get it.
“I was watching you trying to sell those tickets,” she said. “And I was so impressed with you, Bernie.”
Huh? Did she say impressed?
“You glow!” she said. “Such energy! Like a blazing star lighting up the solar system!”
“Yes, I know,” I said.
“The way you hold an audience,” she said, “wow, wow, wow.”
“Oh, I get it,” I said. “You want me to star in the school play?”
She flashed me a twinkling smile.
“I loved the last school play you did,” I said. “What an awesome show. The kid who played Scooby Doo was terrific. I really believed he was Scooby Doo!”
“Thank you, Bernie,” she said, still grinning at me.
“So what part do you have in mind for me?” I asked. “Of course, it’s a starring part. Right?”
“Forget the school play,” she said. “I have a better idea.”
“A better idea?”
Mrs. Twinkler grabbed both of my shoulders. “I’m going to put you in charge of the annual school pageant,” she said. “You’ll be the pageant director.”
“Really? How much does the job pay?” I asked.
“This year the pageant is something really exciting,” she said. “Wow, wow, wow. It’s a reenactment of the Battle of Rotten Town from 1650.”
“Wow, wow, wow,” I said. “I’ll get busy on that right away, Mrs. T. How much does it pay?”
“This pageant is going to be WONDERFUL!” she cried. “FABULOUS! Oh, my! Did I say GLORIOUS?”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “Does the director get paid?”
“I’ll order the costumes,” she said. “I’ll have them sent to your room. And I’ll get the script to you as soon as I finish it!”
She slapped me on the back. “Sparkle and shine!” she cried. “This is so exciting! Wow, wow, wow!”
“You can count on me,” I said. I watched her twinkle off to the School House.
When I turned around, Feenman and Crench were standing right behind me. “What did Mrs. Twinkler want?” Crench asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Some kind of pageant or something. Forget about it. No time for that. Get those Good Luck tickets out. We’ve got to sell, sell, SELL!�
�
Only six days to cash in before our school is shut down. And wouldn’t you know it?
Things started to get really weird….
Chapter 5
SOMETHING ROTTEN
Yes, weird. I noticed it at dinner.
That night in the Dining Hall it was Left over Leftover Leftovers Night. That’s a very special night. It means Chef Baloney serves the most popular food left over from a week ago.
My friend Beast had a huge bowl of food piled up in front of him. He was bellowing, “Kill! Kill! Kill!” and stabbing it over and over with his knife.
Beast is a little strange. He always kills his food before he eats it. You should see what he does to two fried eggs!
With a loud battle cry Beast pushed his head deep into his food bowl and started to chew.
I leaned across the table to my Rotten House buddies. “Okay, bet time,” I said. “When Beast finishes his dinner, how many pieces of food will be stuck to his face?”
This wasn’t a new bet. We do it about once a week. Last week Beast had a lettuce leaf stuck to his forehead and a meatball jammed in one ear. That paid off forty dollars to the lucky winner—me!
“Hurry, dudes,” I said. “He’s getting to the bottom of the bowl. Get your bets in.”
The guys just sat there. No one bet.
Beast finished his meal and opened his mouth in a deafening burp—that sent disgusting, wet food chunks flying across the room. Then he started biting off hunks of his bowl. “Fiber,” he said, grinning happily.
