The Terrible Two Get Worse

by Mac Barnett

  “Because something has been bothering me.”

  “But I’m your friend,” said Miles. “I could have helped you.”

  “Sometimes I need to be away from everybody,” said Niles, “so I can walk around inside my brain. Besides, you already did help me. The thing that’s been bothering me is a question you already asked me. A big question.”

  “What question?”

  “I’ll get to that later. Now it’s my turn to ask questions. Miles, why did our April Fools’ Day prank fail?”

  “Because you threw up?”

  “No! No. It failed before that.”

  “It failed because Stuart opened the window.”

  “But why did he open the window?”

  “Because Ms. Knox told him to.”

  “And why did she tell him to?”

  “Because the school smelled disgusting.”

  “So didn’t we succeed? Wasn’t that our goal: to make the school smell disgusting?”

  “No,” said Miles. “Our goal was to make everybody go nuts. They should have started laughing. There should have been a riot. But they just sat there and did their worksheets.”

  “So,” said Niles, “what could we have done better?”

  Miles thought for a long time. He was disappointed with his answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think we could have done anything better.”

  “I agree,” said Niles. “It was perfect.”

  “So why did it fail?” Miles asked.

  “It wasn’t the smell that made me throw up. It was what Holly said. Did you hear her? She said, ‘People don’t prank at this school anymore.’”

  Miles nodded. “And there was a prank under everyone’s noses. Literally.”

  “Miles,” said Niles. “We prank at that school.”

  Niles opened the door to the prank lab. He picked up a piece of chalk.

  “But if there’s no reaction,” said Miles, “there’s no prank.”

  “Precisely. And if there are no pranks, there are no pranksters. And if there are no pranksters, you’re just the new kid and I’m a weirdo in a sash.”

  “You don’t even have the sash anymore.”

  Niles nodded grimly. “Well, I for one don’t intend to go back to being just a weirdo. I’m a prankster.”

  “So what do we do?” Miles asked.

  “Why didn’t people react to our prank?”

  “Because Old Man Barkin convinced them pranks don’t happen.”

  “And why is Old Man Barkin our principal?”

  “Because Original Barkin got fired.”

  “And why did he get fired?”

  The Terrible Two looked at each other.

  “Because of our prank,” said Miles.

  “Yes,” said Niles. “Principal Barkin got fired because of our prank.”

  “But you said we couldn’t have known Old Man Barkin was a skunk!” said Miles. “We couldn’t have known he’d use our pranks to fire his own son! You said it wasn’t our fault.”

  “Yeah,” said Niles. “But I was wrong. It is our fault. We couldn’t have known all that. But we know all that now. Miles, last November, when we heard Old Man Barkin yell at Principal Barkin on speakerphone, you asked me a question. A very big question. I didn’t want to think about it then and I don’t really want to think about it now. But I have been. You asked, ‘Should we feel bad for Principal Barkin?’ And the answer is, I feel terrible.”

  “Me too,” said Miles.

  “I feel like when you tell a joke about someone, and then it turns out they’re right behind you. Only worse. Much worse. We didn’t mean to, but I think our prank ruined Principal Barkin’s life. And, Miles, we took an oath. An oath to never destroy.”

  “So what are you saying?” Miles asked.

  “We need to fix this. We need to come up with a way to prank Old Man Barkin and get Original Barkin his job back. We need to put back together what we destroyed.”

  “So be it,” said Miles.

  “So be it,” said Niles.

  “But, Niles, here’s another very big question. How do we prank Old Man Barkin?”

  Niles smiled. “Turns out we answered that question months ago and didn’t even know it.”

  He pointed to an empty list on the wall:

  Miles frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  “What’s Old Man Barkin’s greatest weakness?” Niles asked.

  Miles shrugged. “He doesn’t have any.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly?”

  “Exactly. His greatest weakness is that he doesn’t have any weaknesses.”

  “Um, I’m pretty sure that’s his greatest strength.”

  “It’s both. He’s made everybody think he’s invincible. All we have to do is prove that he’s not, and the whole thing will come crashing down on his head.”

  “OK,” said Miles. “But how?”

  Niles took a sprig of parsley from behind his ear and chewed on it. “We’re going to need help.”

  Chapter

  22

  THE TERRIBLE TWO arrived at the home of Barry Barkin ten minutes later. They stashed their bikes in a hedge and rang the doorbell.

  “You sure about this?” Miles asked.

  “No,” said Niles.

  Josh Barkin answered the door.

  “What do you two nimbuses want?”

  “We need to talk to your dad,” said Niles.

  Josh narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “None of your business,” said Miles.

  Josh shut the door in their faces.

  Niles rang the doorbell again.

  “Go away, nimbuses.”

  One more time.

  Mrs. Barkin answered the door.

  “Now, what is going on out here?” she asked.

  “You must be Mrs. Barkin!” said Niles. “I recognize you from the pretty picture Principal Barkin used to keep on his desk. We’re two of your husband’s favorite students.”

  “Well, then you must be Niles Sparks!” said Mrs. Barkin. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She turned to Miles. “And you are?”

  “Miles Murphy,” said Miles.

  “Oh.” Her smile faltered. “Yes. Well, I’ve heard a bit about you too.”

  Niles stepped in quickly. “We’d love to have a word with Mr. Barkin.”

  “Oh! Well, I’m sure he’d be delighted to see you both, especially you, Niles, but I’m afraid Barry isn’t here right now. He’s at the quarry, testing out his new hang glider.”

  “His what?” Miles asked.

  “His hang glider. Barry’s latest project. It’s all projects with that man these days, projects, projects, projects. Suddenly it’s hang gliding. He built it himself.”

  “He did?” asked Miles and Niles at the same time.

  “Yes, named it and everything.”

  Miles and Niles exchanged a look.

  They had to get over to the quarry.

  The sun was low and purple in the west when the boys arrived at the quarry. At the top of a hill, Niles spotted the silhouette of a figure with strange, batlike wings.

  “Barkin,” he said.

  They pedaled up switchbacks and rode hard along a path that ran along the quarry’s edge. To their right, the hill had been carved out—the gentle upslope ended abruptly in a sheer cliff that ran down into blackness. As they approached their former principal, they could see his hot breath in the evening air. He was strapped into the great contraption, fumbling with some buckles.

  “CONFOUND YOU, YOU CLAPTRAP WHIRLIGIG,” Barkin said, apparently to the hang glider.

  The wind gusted, picking up dust and leaves and whipping them into little whirlwinds.

  “Principal Barkin!” Miles shouted.

  It seemed Barkin couldn’t hear them. Satisfied with whatever last-minute adjustments he was making, he stepped to the edge of the quarry. He completed a series of energetic deep knee bends, then straightened.

  Niles rang his bike’s bell.


  Barkin cocked his head.

  “Principal Barkin!” Miles and Niles shouted together.

  He turned toward them and raised a gloved hand to his eyes.

  “BOYS!” said Barkin.

  The boys braked, ditched their bikes, and ran up to the man.

  “Principal Barkin!” said Niles.

  “Now, now,” said Barkin. “I’m not your principal any longer. Call me Barry.”

  “Barry,” said Miles, “we need—”

  “Miles Murphy, the invitation to call me Barry was extended to Niles. You may call me Mr. Barkin.”

  “Mr. Barkin,” said Miles, “we need—”

  Barkin frowned. “That didn’t sound right either. Miles, why don’t you go ahead and call me Former Principal Barkin.”

  “Former Principal Barkin,” said Miles, “we need—”

  “Niles!” said Barkin. “Where’s your sash?”

  “Josh is the School Helper now,” said Niles.

  “Josh Barkin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Things are a lot different now.”

  “That boy never tells me anything,” said Barkin.

  “Former Principal Barkin,” said Miles, “we need to talk to you.”

  Barkin checked a digital watch. “Can it wait until after I’ve completed my first flight? Civil twilight’s in twenty-five minutes.”

  Up close, the hang glider appeared dangerously shabby. Niles wasn’t sure what a glider was supposed to look like, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t this:

  “I’m worried that’s not safe,” Miles said.

  “The Spirit of Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy? I built her myself! She soars! Or she will soar, I’m fairly sure. She’ll soar around on the wind and take me into that wild blue yonder.”

  He pointed to the blackness below.

  “That wild black yonder.” Barkin pulled on his mustache. “I was really hoping to take off before now, while the yonder was still blue, but I had to make some last-minute adjustments. The poles on the wings kept coming loose.”

  “That’s what I mean, Former Principal Barkin. I’m not sure that’s good.”

  Barkin scoffed. “Miles Murphy, did you become a hang glider expert since I left school? Did Ms. Shandy add a hang gliding element to her unit on the Mayans?”

  “No.”

  “Of course she didn’t! Because Ms. Shandy is a fine social studies teacher, and hang gliding is completely irrelevant to Mayan history! How is Ms. Shandy, by the way?”

  “She’s good,” said Miles.

  “Good. That’s good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miles Murphy, I will prepare for takeoff, confident, because I have been studying hang glider making for the past two weeks and you have not.”

  “I don’t think it’s good that the poles came loose either,” said Niles.

  “No?” Barkin’s face became plaintive. “No, I suppose it’s not.”

  He sat down gingerly. Another pole came loose and the wing tore.

  He removed a notebook from his fanny pack and crossed something out. “Looks like I’m lousy at hang gliders too.”

  “What’s that?” Niles asked.

  “It’s my project list. I’ve been trying my hand at hobbies since I left school, but I’m terrible at everything. Terrible at soapmaking, terrible at jigsaw puzzles, terrible at stand-up comedy. Terrible at close-up magic and sewing and lapidary.”

  “Lapidary?”

  “The art of cutting gemstones. I’m terrible at it. The only thing I ever enjoyed was being a principal, and I was terrible at that too.”

  “You were a great principal!” said Miles.

  “Thank you, Miles. That means a lot, even coming from you. But I was terrible. I couldn’t even suss out the scoundrel who was committing all those pranks at our school.”

  “That’s actually why we’re here.” Niles took a big breath. “Barry, it was us.”

  Chapter

  23

  SO LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT.” Barry Barkin was still strapped into his glider, pacing anxiously and awkwardly in the underbrush. “You come and tell me that you are both pranksters, which is no surprise when it comes to you, Miles Murphy, but is a considerable surprise in regards to you, Niles Sparks, and while I am still reeling from the news, you invite me to join this secret society you’ve set up, the Terrible Twos?”

  “The Terrible Two,” said Niles.

  “The Terrible Twos is what you call toddlers,” said Miles.

  “Right. The Terrible Two,” said Barkin. “It’s a little confusing.”

  “It’s not really confusing,” said Miles.

  “Well, it is,” said Barkin. “If I’m going to join this little group, and I seriously doubt that I am, we’re going to have to do something about that name. May I suggest”—Barkin paused for effect—“the Terrible Threes!”

  “You mean the Terrible Three,” said Niles.

  “Right. Yes. The Terrible Three!”

  “We’re not changing our name,” said Miles.

  “But there’d be three of us!”

  “It would just be for one prank,” said Miles. “We need you to help us get your dad.”

  “That’s my other problem with this group,” said Barkin. “Does it have to be a pranking society? Wouldn’t it be better if it were, say, a community service organization?”

  “No,” said Miles.

  “I sort of think of pranking as a community service,” said Niles.

  “HA!” Barkin didn’t say “HA!” as much as the “HA!” exploded out from deep inside him. He then collected himself and tapped his mustache. “That’s very interesting.”

  Barkin tramped around some more in the scrub.

  “Boys, I just don’t know. Maybe Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy is better off without me. Let’s face it—my father is a far better principal than I ever was.”

  Niles shook his head. “Your dad is an awful principal. He’s taken the joy out of school.”

  Barkin looked sorrowful. “But school should be a place of joy!”

  “Exactly,” said Miles. “And it was when you were principal.”

  Barkin beamed. “In what ways did I make school joyful, Miles Murphy?”

  “Well,” said Miles. “Um. You always turned purple when we pulled pranks.”

  Niles shot Miles a stunned glance.

  “Excuse me?” said Barkin.

  “Yeah!” said Niles. “Whenever something would go wrong, you always got angry and turned purple.”

  Barkin was starting to go a little purple right now.

  “Because you cared so much,” Miles said.

  “Ah!” said Barkin. “I see what you mean now, Miles, even though you phrased it in a characteristically clunky manner. I did care. I do care.”

  “Your dad doesn’t care at all,” said Niles. “He only cares about power.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” said Barkin. “And I only mostly care about power.”

  “We have to get you your job back,” said Niles. “It’s our fault you lost it. We’re sorry.”

  “Really sorry,” said Miles.

  Barkin gave Miles and Niles a truly warm smile. “It’s not your fault, boys. It’s my father’s. But prank him? A pranking principal . . .”

  “Former principal,” said Miles.

  “Think of it as a project!” said Niles.

  “But I’m terrible at all my projects,” said Barkin.

  “Well,” said Miles, “what if you’re great at being Terrible?”

  “The Terrible Twos,” Barkin mused.

  “Two,” said Miles.

  “The Terrible Two,” Barkin mused.

  He considered the proposition.

  “All right, I’m in.”

  Niles smiled. “Raise your left hand.”

  • • •

  Once Barkin was sworn in, the Terrible Two (known to some, at least temporarily, as the Terrible Three) got down to business.
>
  “Does your dad have any weaknesses?” Miles asked.

  “None!” said Barkin proudly.

  “Please,” said Niles. “There must be something.”

  “Nope!” said Barkin. “He is the very model of principal power!”

  “You’re thinking like a principal,” said Miles. “You need to think like a prankster.”

  Barkin wrinkled his nose and screwed his eyes shut.

  “This is very difficult!” he said.

  “Think!” said Niles.

  “ARRGHGHGHGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Barkin’s cry echoed through the quarry. He opened his eyes and gave the boys a sheepish look. “There is . . . something,” he said.

  “Yeah?” said Miles.

  “It’s explosive,” said Barkin.

  “That’s good,” said Niles.

  “It’s a secret,” said Barkin. “A family secret. Except my father never told it to me, and I am his family. It’s something I only learned once I became principal and gained access to my father’s permanent record.”

  Miles and Niles leaned forward.

  “My father,” said Barkin, “does not have a perfect attendance record.”

  Miles rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that—”

  Barkin continued, his voice hushed. “His record was almost perfect. But as my father always says, there is no such thing as ‘almost perfect.’ On his very last day at Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy, he was . . . he was . . . I don’t think I should say.”

  “What?” said Niles.

  “He was pantsed. By another student. A ruffian named Nick Vella, who for many years ran the sporting goods store in town. In retrospect, it’s clear now why we drove all the way to Lakeville for sneakers, which of course was far out of our way and—”

  “Wait,” said Niles. “You’re saying somebody pantsed your dad.”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Barkin. “Apparently he was so mortified he went home early. And he skipped the graduation ceremony. The school had to mail him his diploma.”

  “That’s why the belt and suspenders!” said Miles.

  “I think we can work with this,” said Niles. “Principal Barkin, how often do you go over to your parents’ house?”

  Principal Barkin’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, this is terrible,” he said. “Oh, this is wonderful.”