by Dan Gutman
Dedication
To Emily Borowicz
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
1. The Ding-Dong Man
2. The Great Escape
3. Ice Cream Is Ice Cream
4. Marshall Law
5. Dried Mush and Cold Gruel
6. Hooray for Mr. Klutz!
7. Mr. Mill
8. Mr. Hill
9. The Big Surprise Ending
About the Author and Illustrator
Back Ads
Copyright
About the Publisher
My name is A.J. and I hate ice cream.
Well, I don’t hate all ice cream. I like normal ice cream, like vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and mint chip. But my friend Billy, who lives around the corner, told me he likes weird ice cream flavors like bacon, garlic, and octopus. What’s up with that? Why would anybody want to eat octopus-flavored ice cream? What dumbhead dreamed up that idea?
You probably think this book has nothing to do with ice cream, but you’re wrong. It has everything to do with ice cream.
You see, it was Friday, and we just pledged the allegiance in Mr. Cooper’s class like we do every morning. That’s when an announcement came over the loudspeaker. It was our principal, Mr. Klutz.
“Good morning, Ella Mentry students,” he announced. “It’s a sunny day today. Lunch will be sloppy joe sandwiches. There are no birthdays today. The big news is that Mrs. Jafee and I are leaving this morning to go to Principal Camp.”
Oh, yeah. Every year, Mr. Klutz and our vice principal, Mrs. Jafee, go hang out in the woods for a few days with a bunch of other principals. Nobody knows why.
“We’re going to learn all kinds of new and creative teaching methods to help you kids learn better,” said Mr. Klutz.
Oh, so that’s why they’re going to Principal Camp. I wondered who would be our principal while Mr. Klutz and Mrs. Jafee were gone.
“While we’re gone,” Mr. Klutz continued, “the acting principal will be Dr. Marshall Carbles, the president of the Board of Education.”
Oh no! Not Dr. Carbles! He’s the meanest man in the history of the world.*
“Have a nice weekend!” announced Mr. Klutz. “I’ll see you when I get back from Principal Camp.”
It was hard to focus on reading and writing and math. I kept thinking about mean Dr. Carbles.
It was also hard to focus on reading and writing and math because it’s reading and writing and math. It would be a lot easier to focus on video games, skateboarding, and football. Too bad we don’t study those things in school.
Finally it was time for recess, the best part of the day. Me and the gang ran out to the playground to play on the monkey bars. That’s when we heard a tinkling sound.
You know the sound I’m talking about?* It’s the greatest sound in the world. It’s the Ding-Dong truck coming down the street! Everybody stopped what they were doing.
“It’s Mr. Will, the Ding-Dong man!” shouted Michael, who never ties his shoes.
“Mr. Will, the Ding-Dong man!” shouted Ryan, who will eat anything, even stuff that isn’t food.
“Mr. Will, the Ding-Dong man!” shouted Alexia, this girl who rides a skateboard all the time.
In case you were wondering, everybody was shouting that it was Mr. Will, the Ding-Dong man.
Mr. Will is the greatest man in the world, because he drives the Ding-Dong truck. It’s a truck filled with ice cream! What could be greater than that? Anybody who has a truck full of ice cream must be great.
Mr. Will probably gets to eat all the ice cream he wants, every day. Wow! That’s my dream job. When I grow up, I’m going to drive an ice cream truck and be a Ding-Dong man.
We ran over to the fence and pressed our faces against it.
“I love ice cream,” said Andrea Young, this annoying girl with curly brown hair.
“Me too,” said Emily, her copycat crybaby friend.
“Everybody loves ice cream,” said Neil, who we call the nude kid even though he wears clothes.
It was true. Who doesn’t love ice cream?
“I can smell the ice cream from here,” I said.
“You can’t smell ice cream, Arlo,” said Andrea, who calls me by my first name because she knows I don’t like it. “Ice cream doesn’t have a smell.”
“It does too.”
“Does not.”
We went back and forth like that for a while.
“Your face has a smell,” I told Andrea.
“Oh, snap!” said Ryan.
Mr. Will was playing my favorite song, the Ding-Dong ice cream jingle. It goes like this. . . .
Do do do do do do do do do do
do do do do do do do do do do
Or something like that.
Mr. Will plays the Ding-Dong jingle over and over and over, all day long.
“When I was little,” Michael told us, “my parents called the Ding-Dong truck ‘the music truck.’ They said it just drives around all day playing music. They didn’t tell me it had ice cream in it.”
“My parents said that when the music was playing, it meant the Ding-Dong man ran out of ice cream,” said Alexia.
“Parents are weird,” I said. “They’ll do anything to prevent us from eating ice cream.”
Mr. Will parked the Ding-Dong truck on the street across from the playground. So near and yet so far away. He leaned out of the truck and waved to us. He was wearing his white Ding-Dong uniform. I really wanted to go over and get some ice cream, but we’re not allowed to leave the school grounds during recess. It’s not fair!
That’s when the most amazing thing in the history of the world happened.
I’m not going to tell you what it was.
Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. But you have to read the next chapter. So nah-nah-nah boo-boo on you.
Suddenly a bunch of our teachers came running out to the playground. In front of all of them was Dr. Carbles.
“What is that racket?” he shouted.
Racket? I didn’t see a racket anywhere. Our school doesn’t even have tennis courts.
“It’s Mr. Will, the Ding-Dong man,” somebody said.
“Turn off that horrible noise!” hollered Dr. Carbles. He and the teachers were holding their hands over their ears.
Oh, yeah. The Ding-Dong jingle drives grown-ups crazy. Nobody knows why.
“I can’t take it!” shouted Dr. Carbles. “Make that awful music stop!”
It seemed like a good time to start chanting.
“WE WANT ICE CREAM!” I hollered. “WE WANT ICE CREAM!”
I thought the rest of the kids would join in and start chanting with me. But nobody did. I hate when that happens.
“Get that truck out of here!” Dr. Carbles shouted at Mr. Will. “Go peddle your sugary junk food someplace else!”*
Mr. Will stepped out of the Ding-Dong truck and walked slowly toward the fence. Oh, this was going to be good.
“What did you say?” asked Mr. Will.
“Beat it, Ding-Dong man!” shouted Dr. Carbles. “I’ll have you arrested!”
“This is a free country,” Mr. Will shouted right back. “I can go anywhere I want.”
“Turn off that terrible music right now!” shouted Dr. Carbles.
“No!” Mr. Will shouted back.
The two of them were yelling at each other through the fence. It was awesome. Watching grown-ups argue is fun. And we got to see it live and in person.
“Don’t cross me, Ding-Dong man!” shouted Dr. Carbles. “I will make you regret the day you were born! Nobody messes with me. I’m warning you.”
Then he turned around and marched back to school with the other teachers. Mr. Will
went back to the Ding-Dong truck. The excitement was over.
We were going to go play on the monkey bars, but we couldn’t stop staring at the Ding-Dong truck and thinking about what was inside it.
“I haven’t had ice cream in a million hundred years,” I said.
“You had ice cream yesterday, A.J.,” said Michael. “I was over at your house, remember? Your mom made us banana splits.”
“Well, it feels like that was a million hundred years ago,” I said.
“I need ice cream like other people need air,” said Ryan.
“I can almost taste it,” said Alexia.
“If I don’t have ice cream soon, I’m gonna die,” said Neil.
“It’s not fair,” I said. “The ice cream is just sitting right there in the truck, and we can’t have it.”
If only there was some way to sneak out of the playground. I looked at the bottom of the fence. That’s when I got the greatest idea in the history of the world.
“Look,” I said. “We can tunnel our way out!”
Everybody looked at the bottom of the fence. It was a few inches off the ground.
“You’re right!” said Neil. “Let’s dig a tunnel! A.J., you’re a genius!”
I should get the Nobel Prize for that idea. That’s a prize they give out to people who don’t have bells.
“I don’t know,” said Andrea. “Digging a tunnel sounds dangerous, Arlo.”
“Danger is my middle name,” I replied.*
“I’m scared,” said Emily, who’s scared of everything.
“What if you get caught?” asked Andrea. “You could get in big trouble, Arlo.”
“Trouble is my other middle name,” I said. “Come on, guys, start digging.”
Everybody got down on their hands and knees and started digging out the dirt under the fence.
“Hurry up,” said Ryan. “Dr. Carbles could come back out here any second.”
After a million hundred minutes, we dug out enough dirt so I could fit under the fence.
“Okay, wish me luck,” I said as I started to slide under.
“Wait a minute,” Michael said. “Do you have any money?”
Oh, yeah. Ice cream costs money.
Everybody emptied their pockets. Neil had four pennies. Michael had two quarters. Alexia had a quarter and some dimes. Ryan had some Life Savers. They gave it all to me.
“I don’t feel good about this, Arlo,” Andrea said.
“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” I told her.
“It was nice knowing you, A.J.,” said Alexia. She put her hand on my shoulder. I thought she might cry.
“If I don’t make it back alive,” I told her, “you can have my skateboard, Alexia.”
Ryan and Michael pulled up the bottom of the fence a little so I could fit under it.
“I’m going in, guys,” I said.
“If you don’t make it back, Arlo,” said Andrea, “I will always remember you.”
“Oooooh!” Ryan said. “Andrea said she’ll always remember A.J. They must be in love!”
“When are you gonna get married?” asked Michael.
If those guys weren’t my best friends, I would hate them.
I slid under the fence and climbed out the other side. I was free!
I ran over to the Ding-Dong truck and pulled the coins out of my pocket.
“I need ice cream!” I shouted to Mr. Will. “Fast!”
“Well, you came to the right place, A.J.,” he replied. “What can I get for you?”
“I’m in a hurry,” I said. “I’ll just have an ice cream cone.”
“Great!” said Mr. Will. “Chocolate or vanilla?”
“Chocolate.”
“Soft serve or hard ice cream?” asked Mr. Will.
“Soft.”
“Wafer, waffle, or sugar cone?” asked Mr. Will.
“Wafer,” I told him. “Can we move this along?”
“Dipped or undipped?” asked Mr. Will.
“Undipped.”
“Sprinkles?” asked Mr. Will.
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?” asked Mr. Will.
“Rainbow. Either way. I don’t care.”
“There’s just one problem, A.J.,” said Mr. Will.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“I don’t have any ice cream cones today.”
WHAT?!
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“You didn’t ask,” said Mr. Will.
On the other side of the fence, the gang was shouting for me to hurry up. I looked at the little pictures of ice cream on the side of the Ding-Dong truck.
“Okay,” I told Mr. Will. “I’ll have a crushed cherry sundae.”
“Sorry. I’m all out of those,” he replied.
“How about a lemon berry slushie float?” I asked Mr. Will.
“Just sold the last one.”
“Popsicle? Fudgsicle? Creamsicle? Dreamsicle?” I asked Mr. Will.
“Out of stock.”
“Milk shake? Ice cream sandwich? Banana boat?”
“Nope.”
“Turbo Rocket? Choco Taco? Dip-n-roll?” I asked Mr. Will.
“Not today. Sorry.”
I wasn’t getting anywhere. Time was running out. Recess would be over soon.
“Well, what kind of ice cream do you have?” I asked Mr. Will.
“Let me see . . . ,” he said, looking into the freezer. “How about an octopus Push-Up pop?”
“Octopus?” I said. “Ugh!”
“It’s not octopus flavored,” said Mr. Will. “It just looks like an octopus.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll take anything. Ice cream is ice cream.”
“That will be seventy-nine cents,” said Mr. Will.
I’m good at math. I pulled out three quarters and four pennies and gave him the coins. He handed me the octopus Push-Up pop. I started running back to the fence.
But I couldn’t resist. I had to take a bite of the Push-Up pop first. I stopped for a second and ripped off the wrapper. The Push-Up pop was a beautiful thing, with red and blue swirls. I was about to take my first bite.
That’s when the weirdest thing in the history of the world happened. Suddenly I heard a loud siren and whistles behind me.
“Hands up!” a voice shouted through a bullhorn. “We’ve got you surrounded!”
I put my hands in the air.
“Drop the Push-Up pop and nobody gets hurt!” the voice shouted.
I turned around. It was Dr. Carbles!
I’ve seen enough movies in my life to know that when somebody tells you to drop what you have in your hand, you should always say, “Who’s gonna make me?”
“Who’s gonna make me?” I asked.
“I am!” shouted Dr. Carbles.
I’ve seen enough movies in my life to know that when somebody says they’re going to make you, you should always say, “You and what army?”
“You and what army?” I asked.
“Me and this army,” shouted Dr. Carbles.
At that moment, a bunch of big goons in military uniforms came around the corner. They looked mean, and they had some angry, barking dogs with them.
I’ve seen enough movies in my life to know that when an army actually shows up, you should always shout, “You’ll never take me alive!” And then you should make a run for it.
“You’ll never take me alive!” I shouted. And then I made a run for it.
I was heading for the hole under the fence.
“Get him, boys!” shouted Dr. Carbles. “Release the dogs!”
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. I had to think fast.
“Run for your life, A.J.!” shouted Neil.
Everybody was yelling and screaming and shrieking and hooting and hollering and freaking out as I ran back to the fence.
Dr. Carbles’s goons and their dogs chased me. They grabbed me just before I got back to the hole we du
g.
“Up against the fence, A.J.!” shouted Dr. Carbles. “Step away from the Push-Up pop.”
“Okay! Okay! I give up!”
You probably think Dr. Carbles locked me in a torture chamber and pulled my eyelashes out one at a time and set my toenails on fire. Well, he didn’t do any of those things. He just made me write this a hundred times in my notebook. . . .
I will not sneak under the fence and go get ice cream from the Ding-Dong truck. I will not sneak under the fence and go get ice cream from the Ding-Dong truck. . . .
Bummer in the summer! It took me all weekend to finish. My hand hurt! It was the worst weekend of my life. I wanted to go to Antarctica and live with the penguins.
When I got to school on Monday morning, something was different. There was barbed wire across the top of the playground fence. At each corner of the school, there was a guard tower. The guard towers had security cameras and searchlights on them. Mean-looking goons in uniforms were patrolling the playground with attack dogs.
“This is bad,” said Ryan when I saw him on the front steps.
“It looks like Dr. Carbles is turning our school into a prison,” said Neil.
“How do you think he got those guard towers over the weekend?” asked Michael.
“He must have gone to Rent-A-Guard Tower,” I guessed. “You can rent anything.”
“I hope Mr. Klutz and Mrs. Jafee come back from Principal Camp soon,” said Alexia.
We went inside the school and walked a million hundred miles to Mr. Cooper’s class. He didn’t look happy and excited like he usually does. He just sat at his desk staring off into space. That’s when the morning announcements came over the loudspeaker. It was the voice of Dr. Carbles.
“It will be cloudy and depressing today,” he announced. “Lunch will be dried mush. There are no birthdays today, or ever again. Birthdays are for losers.”
WHAT?!
“Boooooooooooooo!” everybody started shouting.
“There will be no sneaking over to the Ding-Dong truck during recess,” continued Dr. Carbles. “From now on, recess is canceled. Recess is for losers.”
WHAT?!
“Boooooooo!”
