The Big Blueberry Barf-Off! (4 page)

Think fast AGAIN, Bernie.

I made my eyes go all wide and innocent. “Do you mean this money in my hand, sir?” I asked.

“Yes, that money in your hand,” Headmaster Upchuck replied.

The Headmaster is short and squat and bald, and he kind of waddles when he walks. He looks a lot like a duck. Some sixth grade kids say he has webbed feet. But you can't believe sixth graders.

I was surprised to see him out on the Great Lawn. The Headmaster has his own little house and office
next to the classroom building. And he seldom leaves it.

“That's a very handsome suit you're wearing, sir,” I said. “I like the stripes. Makes you look at least a foot taller.”

“Bernie, the cash,” he said. “What are you doing with all that money?”

I held the wad of bills tightly in my hand. “This is money I've raised, sir, from all the kids,” I said. “It's to build a statue of
you
, sir. Right next to I. B. Rotten.”

I gave him a quick, two-fingered salute. “You belong here, sir. You've inspired us all so much. We want to put your statue right here.”

“That's nice of you, Bernie,” the Headmaster said. “But I really think—”

Sherman pointed to the wad of bills in my hand. “That's the money I donated, sir,” he said. “I gave Bernie all that money. That's how much you mean to me, sir.”

“Whoa. Wait—” I started to choke.

“I appreciate that, Sherman,” Headmaster Upchuck said, patting Sherman on the shoulder. “That's very generous of you.”

“But—but—” I sputtered.

“I can't accept these donations, boys,” Upchuck said. “Bernie, give Sherman back his money.”

I stared at the fat wad of bills. My Eclipse Money. My hard-earned cash. My hand started to shake. “But, sir, your statue. It will give us all such joy!” I said.

“Right now, Bernie,” Upchuck snapped. “Give Sherman back his money.”

I had no choice.

I handed the cash over to Sherman.

Sherman had a big, evil grin on his face. He knew he was a rat.

A rat who had just won big-time.

He stuffed my money into his sealskin wallet. Then he edged close to Headmaster Upchuck. Sherman slid a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. He pressed it into the Headmaster's hand. “This is for you, sir,” he said. “A little gift from the Oaks family.”

Upchuck stared at the hundred-dollar bill. “Sherman, are you trying to bribe me
again
?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Sherman replied.

“Take it back,” the Headmaster said, stuffing it into Sherman's shirt pocket. “Aren't you boys late for class?”

“Class? Yes, sir,” I said. “But I would gladly miss class to help build that statue of you. Perhaps we should start by having Sherman return that donation to me?”

The Headmaster started to shake. He made a few sharp quacking sounds. “I'm shaking again,” he said. “You always do this to me, Bernie. You always give me the—
quaaack
—shakes. Now get to class!”

“Okay, sir,” I said. I gave him another two-fingered salute. “Lovely to see you, sir. I
do
love that suit. Those big shoulders make you look very strong. I know you'll grow into them in no time!”

“BERNIE! GET TO CLASS!” he screamed.

He started quacking at the top of his lungs and tearing out his hair with both hands. (Only he didn't have any hair.)

“GO AWAY! QUACK! GO AWAY!”

I can take a hint.

I took off, running across the grass to the School House building.

Talk about rotten mornings!

Sherman tricked me out of my money. And he still had the watch.

I needed it.
Needed
it!

I gazed up at the sun, rising golden and bright over the school grounds. It wasn't as bright as that watch.

I had to have it. But how?

How?

That night at dinner, I knew how I would do it. It all came to me in the crunch of a pizza crust….

That evening, I was climbing the stairs to my room in Rotten House. I stopped to straighten the framed portrait of me that I had hung on the second-floor landing.

I heard a soft sound. Squeaky. Sniffling.

Was someone crying?

I don't like crying. I like my guys to be happy, cheerful.

I poked my head into the first room. Three bunk beds were jammed into this room. In one bottom bunk, a kid sat hunched over, his face buried
in his hands. His shoulders heaved up and down. He was definitely crying.

“Chipmunk? What's up?” I asked. I stepped over two weeks of dirty laundry to get to his bed.

My friend Chipmunk raised his head. He had tear stains on his puffy cheeks. His eyes were red and runny.

I guess I don't have to describe Chipmunk to you. You can probably figure out how he got that name.

He was wearing faded jeans, and a gray T-shirt that said
SHY PEOPLE RULE
! in tiny letters. He wiped his runny nose with the front of his T-shirt.

“Chipmunk, get into your school uniform, dude,” I said. “It's almost dinnertime.”

“I can't go to dinner,” Chipmunk said in his whispery mouse voice. “I can't leave the dorm, Bernie. I have to stay in my room for at least two weeks.”

“Excuse me?” I said. “Are you sick?” I jumped back. “You're not contagious—are you?”

Chipmunk lowered his head again. “No. I'm not sick. Look at me. Look at my hair, Bernie. Someone…someone snuck down here last night while I was sleeping—and gave me a haircut.” He let out a sob.

I stared at his head. It looked like a patchy quilt with some of the pieces missing. He had sprouts of hair surrounded by big, bald squares.

“At least they left you two ears,” I said. “Did you ever meet One-Ear Schmidt? He transferred to another school after his haircut last year.”

Chipmunk let out a long, sad sigh. “I just have to stay in my room till it grows out,” he said.

“Turn around,” I said. “Let's see who did this to you.”

Chipmunk turned so I could see the back of his head.

“I knew it!” I cried. “It was one of those creeps from Nyce House! He carved a big N on the back of your head.”

“He did?” Chipmunk covered his face with his hands again. “An
N
on the back of my head?”

“Sherman Oaks is behind this,” I said. “Do you believe it? Jerks from Nyce House sneaking into our dorm and giving my guys haircuts while they sleep?”

I slapped Chipmunk on the back. “One more reason to pay them back—right? Leave it to Bernie. I'll show these jerks they can't carve letters in our hair!”

Chipmunk shook his head. “I don't care about that,” he said. “I'm ruined, Bernie. Ruined.”

“No way,” I said. “Chipmunk, are you kidding me? Hel-lo. This is an awesome new look for you.”

He squinted at me. “Huh?”

“It's totally punk,” I said. I picked up a paper clip from the floor. “Here. Put this on one ear. Awesome. The punk look is perfect for you.
Everyone
will be imitating it. You'll see. Guys will
beg
you to tell them how you did it.”

Chipmunk's eyes brightened. “You really think so?”

“Of course I do.” I slapped him on the back. “Now, get dressed for dinner. People are waiting in the Dining Hall to see your new look.”

He jumped to his feet. “Okay, Bernie.” He had a smile on his face. But then the smile fell.
“Bernie…what about the
N
?” he asked.

I stopped at the door. “You're from Nebraska, right?” I asked.

“Yeah. Omaha.”

“Well, okay!” I said. “No problem, dude. Tell everyone the
N
stands for Nebraska. Then just watch—in a few days, the other guys will
all
be cutting their state initials into their heads. No kidding.”

“Thanks, Bernie,” Chipmunk said. He had a big grin on his face. “
N
for Nebraska. Thanks a lot!” He flashed me a thumbs-up.

I turned and climbed the stairs to my room. I had a smile on my face, too.

I'd just saved another life.

All in a day's work for Bernie B.

A short while later, I stepped into the Dining Hall. I saw Sherman Oaks standing at the first table. He was showing off his watch to a group of third graders.

He was shouting over the roar of loud voices and the clatter of plates and silverware. “This is Function 32,” he said. “It's a first-aid kit. Function 33—a powerful halogen flashlight.” He beamed the blinding bright light into a kid's face. The poor kid fell off his chair.

Sherman laughed. “Function 34. It's a portable shower.”

The third graders were ignoring their food and gaping in total awe at the watch.

My watch. I knew Sherman would soon be handing it over to me. I just needed a plan….

The third graders were begging Sherman to shine the light into their eyes, too. But Sherman spoke into the watch: “Later, dudes.”

His voice boomed over the table. Function 35—
It was also a loudspeaker.

He walked off with his friend Wes Updood. I watched them go to the Nyce House table against the far wall. Sherman started showing off the forty-two functions to Wes and some of his other Nyce House buddies.

With a sigh, I stepped up to the food line.

I picked up a tray and some silverware. Then I saw a crowd of kids down the line. They weren't getting food. They were watching somebody.

Did someone
else
have an awesome watch?

“Hey, what's up?” I pushed through the crowd—and saw my friend Beast at the pizza table.

Yes, that's what everyone calls him. Even his parents call him Beast.

I think it's because…well…he's a
beast
! No one is sure if he's totally human or not. I mean, he walks on all fours some of the time. And he has bristly black hair up and down his arms and his back.

Mrs. Heinie is very tense when Beast is in class. She keeps him on a leash.

I really don't think that's fair. Yes, he growls a lot and chases squirrels on the Great Lawn. And we're not sure what he does after he catches them, but
Beast is a good guy.

The guys in Rotten House all like Beast. He has a bottom bunk in a room on the first floor. But he likes to sleep on the floor.

So, there was Beast at the pizza table. He didn't have a dinner plate or a tray. He picked up an entire pepperoni pizza from the table. Holding it in both hands, he raised it to his face. And shoved the entire pie into his open mouth.

Kids cheered and clapped.

Gulp gulp gulp.
Beast swallowed the pie whole. He didn't even chew it!

Kids cheered and clapped some more. A fifth grader slapped him on the back, and Beast let out a disgusting, loud burp that blew back the kid's hair and turned his shirt brown.

Beast swung back to the pizza table. Only one pie left. A huge pizza loaded down with sausages and peppers.

Beast raised the pizza over his head. Then he folded it in half, lowered the whole pie into his open mouth, and swallowed. It made a gross, wet squishing sound as it went down his throat.

Beast smiled. He rubbed his bulging stomach. Then he let out another roaring burp that peeled some of the paint off the wall.

“Ooh, gross,” a girl said, making a face. “It isn't funny. It's disgusting.”

Yes. Maybe she was right.

But I didn't care. I had a big grin on my face.

Because I knew.

I suddenly knew how I was going to take that watch from Sherman.