Never Swipe a Bully's Bear

by Katherine Applegate

  Roscoe Riley Rules #2

  Never Swipe a Bully’s Bear

  Katherine Applegate

  Illustrated by Brian Biggs

  For Jessie and

  her mom and dad

  Contents

  1. Welcome to Time-Out

  2. Something You Should Know Before We Get Started

  3. Something Else You Should Know Before We Get Started

  4. Hamilton

  5. Your Epidermis Is Showing

  6. The Case of the Missing Pig

  7. Pig-Napper!

  8. Bobo

  9. Welcome to the Dirty Clothes Basket

  10. Plum

  11. A Very Unusual Football

  12. Your Proboscis Is Showing Too

  13. Good-Bye from Time-Out

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Welcome to Time-Out

  Welcome to the Official Roscoe Riley Time-out Corner.

  It’s nice to have some company.

  Getting stuck in time-out can be awfully boring.

  Thing is, I got in a teensy bit of trouble. Again.

  Even though I really, truly didn’t mean to.

  You know, it’s hard for a guy like me to keep track of so many rules.

  So I’ve started keeping a list.

  This time I broke rule number 214: Do not kidnap your classmate’s teddy bear.

  And hide him in the dirty clothes basket.

  Who knew?

  You’ve bear-napped before, right?

  Oh.

  Bunny-napped? Pig-napped? Kangaroo-napped?

  Oh.

  Well, looking back, I guess it does seem like a bad idea.

  But maybe you’ll understand better if I tell you the whole story….

  2

  Something You Should Know Before We Get Started

  You are never too old to love a stuffed animal.

  I’ll bet one of your favorite grown-ups has an old teddy bear hidden in a closet.

  And I’ll bet it has a silly name too.

  Like Hugaboo. Or Mr. Tickletoes. Or Poopzilla.

  Why do people always give their stuffed animals such crazy names?

  Search me. I named my stuffed pig Hamilton.

  He is way too cool to be called Poopzilla.

  3

  Something Else You Should Know Before We Get Started

  I don’t care what you’ve heard.

  Hamilton does NOT wear dresses.

  4

  Hamilton

  I wouldn’t be stuck here in time-out if I’d just listened to my big brother.

  And believe me, I hardly ever say that.

  It started the other day. I was packing Hamilton into my backpack.

  So he could go to school with me. Just like always.

  Max saw me. “No pigs allowed at school, Roscoe,” he said.

  I ignored him.

  Because number one, that isn’t a rule. Unless the pig is the real kind.

  And number two, when a little brother ignores a big brother, it drives the big brother crazy.

  Max was eating Cheerios. He threw one at my head. “You’re in first grade now,” he said. “And first graders do NOT take stuffed animals to school.”

  I picked the Cheerio out of my hair.

  Then I ate it.

  That also drives big brothers crazy.

  “Hamilton always comes with me,” I said.

  Mom ran into the kitchen. “Has anyone seen Hazel’s Cinderella toothbrush?”

  Hazel is my little sister. She has a thing about princesses. Also mud.

  “The point is, stuffed animals are for babies,” Max said.

  “Max!” Mom said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Roscoe’s taking that stinkpot Bacon to school,” Max said.

  “That isn’t his name,” I said.

  “Ham,” Max said.

  “Ham-ILTON,” I said.

  “It would be totally embarrassing if anyone sees you with that thing,” Max said. “I’d be humiliated!”

  “You are in fourth grade,” Mom said. “Roscoe’s in first. How is he going to humiliate you?”

  Max shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said, “but you know nothing about the real world. People will talk.”

  “That pig is Roscoe’s best friend,” Mom said. “And as long as it’s okay with his teacher, he may take Bacon—I mean Hamilton—to school.”

  “Besides, nobody knows he’s there,” I pointed out. “’Cause he stays in my backpack. Only Emma and Gus know about him. And Ms. Diz.”

  Ms. Diz is my teacher. And Emma and Gus are my best buddies.

  Max made a pig-snort sound.

  I snorted back. Twice.

  Let me tell you, dealing with big brothers is an art.

  “I’m bringing Hamilton,” I said. “And that’s that.”

  The thing is, I’ve had Hamilton forever.

  My Great-aunt Hilda sent him to me on my first birthday.

  She has a pig farm in North Carolina.

  Great-aunt Hilda says pigs are very intelligent and lovable.

  Sort of like snorting dogs.

  I can’t sleep without Hamilton.

  When I was little, he kept away monsters and fire-breathing dragons.

  When I got bigger, he kept away black widow spiders and grizzly bears.

  He is my guard pig.

  “Guys!” Dad called. “Hustle! It’s almost time for the bus!”

  Max ran to get his backpack. Mom ran to find Hazel’s toothbrush.

  I sat in the kitchen and stared at Hamilton.

  I put him on the counter.

  What if Max was right?

  I was getting awfully old.

  I mean, I had a loose tooth. That’s WAY old.

  Hamilton looked worried, like he might start to cry.

  I could see this was very hard for him.

  “Okay, buddy, you can come,” I said.

  I smushed Hamilton into the very bottom of my backpack.

  I left the zipper open a little. So he could breathe.

  Max was crazy. Nobody would bug me about Hamilton.

  Because nobody knew about him. Except Ms. Diz and Emma and Gus.

  I peeked into my backpack.

  “Hamilton,” I said. “You can come to school with me forever. Even when I’m a fourth grader.”

  5

  Your Epidermis Is Showing

  When I got to school, I went straight to the cubbies by our classroom.

  While I hung up my backpack, I checked to make sure no one was nearby.

  Good. The coast was clear.

  I whispered to Hamilton through the zipper hole. “See you, buddy.”

  I heard someone behind me. So I zipped up my backpack really quick.

  My pal Gus ran up. His cubby is right next to mine.

  Gus’s cubby sign looks like this:

  GUS CARR

  My cubby sign looks like this:

  ROSCOE RILEY

  I have smaller letters on account of my name is longer.

  We headed into the classroom. Emma ran over to join us.

  Wyatt zoomed past us, pretending to be a jet.

  “Hey, Gus,” he yelled. “Your epidermis is showing.”

  Gus looked worried.

  “Epidermis just means skin, Gus,” I told him. “That is the oldest joke on the planet.”

  I know this because I have a big brother.

  Max is useful for some things.

  Wyatt zoomed back again.

  “Hey, Roscoe,” he said, “your proboscis is showing.”

  That was a new one. Even Max had never said it.

  I che
cked for boogers. I checked my zipper. I checked every other embarrassing thing I could think of.

  Emma made an I-don’t-know-what-Wyatt’s-talking-about face. And she knows lots of big words.

  Wyatt laughed a loud, meanish laugh.

  My dad says every classroom has a bully.

  In Ms. Diz’s class, his name is Wyatt.

  Dad says when somebody like Wyatt teases you, a good answer is “So what?”

  They never quite know what to say to that one.

  This also works on little sisters and big brothers.

  Feel free to borrow “So what?” anytime you need it.

  “I see Roscoe’s proboscis!” Wyatt yelled.

  “So what?” I said.

  Wyatt stopped zooming. He scrunched up his face.

  “I’ll bet you don’t even know what that is,” he said at last.

  “Do so,” I said.

  “What is it then?” he said.

  “Just zip it, Wyatt,” said Emma.

  That’s a fancy way of saying BE QUIET.

  Emma has a way with words.

  Suddenly I remembered that I’d zipped up poor Hamilton. How would he breathe without an air hole?

  “I’ll be right back,” I said.

  I ran to the cubbies in the hall. No one was there.

  I unzipped my backpack. So Hamilton could have some nice, fresh air.

  I reached in to move him around. So he could be more comfortable.

  “Now you look comfy,” I said.

  “Who are you talking to, Riley?” someone asked.

  I smushed Hamilton down and spun around.

  Wyatt!

  “Nobody,” I said. “I mean, I was just talking to myself.”

  Wyatt took a step closer. “What’s in there, anyway?”

  I could feel my face getting red. I hate that.

  It’s like your epidermis is tattling on you.

  “I saw something,” said Wyatt. “Is that a stuffed pig? Because stuffed animals are for loser babies.”

  “It’s not a stuffed animal!” I cried. “It’s a…a lunch bag.”

  “You talk to your lunch?” Wyatt asked.

  “Only when it’s bologna,” I said.

  Which I thought was a pretty good answer.

  I walked back into class.

  Wyatt was shaking his head.

  And staring at my backpack.

  6

  The Case of the Missing Pig

  That night, after I brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas, I went down to the kitchen.

  I grabbed my backpack off the counter. I reached inside to pull out Hamilton. But there was an empty space where Hamilton was supposed to be.

  WHERE WAS HAMILTON????

  I yelled. “HE’S GONE! HAMILTON IS GONE!!!”

  Mom and Dad ran in. “Roscoe,” Mom said, “what’s wrong, honey?”

  “HAMILTON IS MISSING I KNOW HE WAS IN HERE AND NOW HE IS GONE WHERE COULD HE BE???!!!” I screamed. “HAMILTON IS LOST!!!!”

  I am not always calm in a crisis.

  Not when it’s about my pig.

  “Can you think where you might have left him?” Mom asked.

  “If I knew where I’d left him, then he wouldn’t be lost!” I cried.

  “Did you take Hamilton out for show-and-tell?” Dad asked.

  “No way,” I said. “Max said I would humiliate him if people knew I brought Hamilton to school.”

  “So nobody saw you with the pig?” Max asked.

  “Well,” I said, “Wyatt saw me talking to him.”

  “I didn’t know you spoke Pig,” Max said.

  I didn’t answer. On account of I was ignoring Max.

  “Wyatt is a real pain,” I reminded Dad.

  “Want me to talk to him?” Max said. “I could threaten to lock him in the boys’ room.”

  “Max!” Mom said. “Don’t even think such a thing!”

  “A minute ago you were teasing Roscoe,” said Dad. “And now you’re trying to protect him?”

  Max made his shoulders go up and down. “It’s my job, Dad. I’m his big brother.”

  We looked everywhere for Hamilton.

  Under the couch. In the laundry room. In the toy chest. In the garage.

  I even checked the bathtub.

  Everybody tried to find Hamilton. Even our dog, Goofy.

  He could tell we were looking for something.

  So he brought us a slobbery tennis ball. A dirty sock. And a Lincoln Log he’d chewed on.

  But no Hamilton.

  Finally, Mom said, “I’m afraid we have to call it quits for tonight. Hamilton will show up, honey. He’s just a very good hider.”

  We headed upstairs. I climbed into bed.

  “My bed feels funny without Hamilton,” I said.

  Mom tucked the covers around me. “We’ll find him, sweetheart,” she said. “But for tonight, what could we do to make it easier to sleep?”

  I stared at the ceiling. I have a mobile hanging there. It glows in the dark.

  It’s all the planets. Except Pluto. Which Goofy ate.

  I guess that’s okay. Since the science guys decided Pluto’s not really a planet.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” I said. “I can’t sleep without Hamilton. Period. End of story. No more discussion.”

  Mom says that a lot.

  You can pick up some really useful sayings from adults.

  Hazel came into my room.

  She was wearing her Pretty Prancing Pony pajamas. With footies.

  “Sweetie, you’re supposed to be asleep,” Mom said.

  “I brought something for Roscoe,”

  Hazel said. She held up one of her Barbie dolls.

  The doll was wearing an astronaut helmet.

  And a white doctor coat.

  And purple sparkle high heels.

  “Her name is Janelle,” Hazel said.

  She lay Janelle on my pillow.

  It felt all wrong to see that sparkly astronaut doctor lying on Hamilton’s favorite spot.

  “You can borrow her,” said Hazel. “Since you losted Hamilton.”

  “I didn’t lose him!” I shouted. My voice was pretty grouchy. “He disappeared!”

  “Roscoe, Hazel is just trying to help,” Mom said.

  I felt a little bad. Especially because Janelle is Hazel’s favorite Barbie.

  “Thanks, Hazel,” I said. “You’re a good sister.” I picked up Janelle. Even though I really didn’t want to.

  She had pointy little hands.

  Hamilton had nice soft piggy paws.

  “Remember that Janelle likes to sleep with her high heels on,” Hazel said.

  She sounded a little worried.

  “You know what?” I said. “I think Janelle would miss you.” I handed Janelle back to Hazel. “She probably wouldn’t be able to sleep. But thanks, Hazel.”

  Hazel grinned. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Janelle is very picky.”

  Mom kissed the top of my head. “Sleep tight, Pumpkin. Hamilton will turn up, I’m sure of it.”

  After they left, I stared up at my glow-in-the-dark planets.

  There was a big, empty spot next to me.

  Right where Hamilton was supposed to be.

  He snores a little, but that’s okay.

  Because all pigs do.

  The planets swirled softly over my head.

  Usually Hamilton and I loved to watch them.

  But tonight all I could think about was Pluto.

  The missing planet.

  7

  Pig-Napper!

  “Roscoe, you look terrible,” said Emma the next morning at school.

  “REALLY terrible,” Gus agreed.

  “I had bad dreams all night,” I said. “I dreamed I was a giant pig. And I got locked in a suitcase. And sent to Alaska.”

  “Alaska, huh?” Emma said.

  “I think it was Alaska. ’Cause there were polar bears and giraffes.”

  I felt my eyes getting wettish.

/>   Which is not okay when you are an official first grader.

  “I can’t find Hamilton,” I said. “I brought him to school yesterday just like always. And when I got home, he was vanished!”

  “Wow,” said Gus. “Pig-napping is a serious crime.”

  “Pig-napping?” I cried. “You mean someone stole him?”

  “We don’t know if he was pig-napped,” Emma pointed out. “Maybe Roscoe left him somewhere. Did you take him to the boys’ room?”

  When you have a big problem, it is nice to have a good thinker like Emma around.

  I shook my head.

  “The lunchroom?” Emma asked.

  I shook my head harder.

  “Did you show him to anyone?” Emma asked.

  I thought for a second. “Just Wyatt. I didn’t mean for him to see us. But he did. Hamilton was in my backpack. I was just saying a quickie hi.”

  We all looked over at Wyatt. He was in the activity center making a magnet building.

  He saw us looking at him. He pulled on his nose to make a pig face.

  “Wyatt isn’t my favorite person,” Emma said. “He isn’t even my tenth favorite person.”

  “Maybe Wyatt knows what happened to Hamilton,” Gus said.

  I thought about that. Wyatt was a meanie.

  And he’d seen me with Hamilton.

  And now Hamilton was missing.

  “You don’t think…Wyatt’s a pignapper, do you?” I whispered.

  “Wyatt? Why would Wyatt pig-nap Hamilton?” Gus asked. “I was thinking maybe Mr. McGeely took him.”

  “Mr. McGeely?” I repeated. “You mean the janitor? You think Mr. McGeely put Hamilton IN THE TRASH?”

  “No offense, Roscoe,” Gus said. “But Hamilton is kind of, well, old.”

  “And he smells a little…funny,” Emma added.

  “My Great-aunt Hilda is old and smells funny, and I love her,” I said.

  Emma smiled. “You’re a good guy, Roscoe.”

  “You know what I’m going to do?” I said. “I’m going to march right over there. And I’m going to ask Wyatt if he took my pig.”