The Big Blueberry Barf-Off! (7 page)

The next night, we waited till midnight. Then we snuck out of the dorm.

Belzer, Feenman and Crench, Chipmunk, Beast, and a bunch of other Rotten House guys followed me to the School House.

It was a cold, windy night. No moon or stars in the sky. I knew I wasn't shaking from the cold. I was shaking with excitement. And my wrist was tingling stronger than ever.

We trotted across the Great Lawn. When we passed the statue of I. B. Rotten, I touched his
bright red nose for good luck.

Sherman and Wes Updood and a gang of other kids were waiting for us at the School House door.

Belzer opened the door for us, and we crept inside. The building was dark except for a few dim ceiling bulbs.

No one said a word as we climbed the stairs to the classroom kitchen. The only sounds were the scampering of mice over the floor and the thud of our shoes on the concrete steps.

I could smell the blueberry pies from the hallway. Yessss!

We pulled open the doors. Clicked on the overhead lights.
And there they were
!

The pies were lined up on a long table against the wall. They were covered in aluminum foil. The room smelled so sweet. I stood in the middle of the room, sniffing with my eyes shut, a big smile on my face.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. Sherman Oaks stood next to me. “Bernie, stop sniffing,” he said. “We have to start the contest. How's your back? Are you ready to start carrying me to class?”

Wes and Beast pulled up a table. Belzer started to pile blueberry pies on top of it.

“Sherman, you know this isn't fair,” I said. “You know I don't stand a chance with Beast. Let me pick someone else for the contest.”

Sherman shook his head. “No way,” he replied. “It's Beast against Wes.”

“I'm begging you,” I said, putting my hands together. “Let
me
eat pies instead of Beast.”

Sherman frowned at me. “Forget it, slave. It's Wes against Beast.” He waved the watch in my face. “If you're a good slave, Bernie, maybe I'll let you touch the watch for a few seconds.”

Then he walked off, laughing.

I chased after him. “Sherman, let's call the contest off,” I said. “Come on, dude. Be fair.”

He shook his head again. “Bernie, it was
your
idea, remember? Stop stalling. Let's see some pie eating.”

Okay. You heard me. I gave Sherman every chance, didn't I?

I was playing fair. I gave him a chance to back out. But now, the watch was mine, all MINE!

I walked over to Beast. He sat behind the table, hunched over the largest blueberry pie. He looked a little weird—even for Beast! He was breathing hard, his eyes bulging. Drool was running down his chin.

“Take it slow at first,” I whispered. “Don't eat
twenty pies in one gulp. Let Wes Updood think he has a chance.”

I turned to the crowd. “Okay, listen everyone!” I shouted. “Let's start the contest. One…two…three…

Wes Updood raised the first pie to his mouth. Sherman and his Nyce House pals cheered him on. “Go, Wes! Go, Wes! You go, Wes! Eat pie! Eat pie! You're the Nyce guy!”

Wes opened his mouth wide and took a big bite.

He made a loud noise as he swallowed. Then he pushed the pie to his face and chomped down hard on his second bite.

What's up with Beast
? I wondered.

Beast stared at the pile of pies. He didn't pick one up. He just stared.

“Beast! Beast! Yo, Beast!” all of my Rotten House buddies cheered.

But Beast ignored the cheers. He just sat there, gazing at the stack of pies.

Wes made disgusting swallowing sounds as he finished his first pie.

The Nyce House crowd was going wild.

Wes grabbed the second pie on his pile. He jammed it into his face.

He was
two pies
ahead of Beast! He was reaching for his third pie—
and Beast just sat there
!

“Time out!” I shouted. “Time out!” My heart was doing flip-flops in my chest.

I ran up to the table. I shook Beast by the shoulders. “Wake up! Wake up!” I cried. “The contest started! What are you doing? Start eating!”

Beast grunted. “I…I have a problem, Bernie.”

“A problem?” I said. “What kind of problem?”

“I'm not hungry,” Beast said.

“That's no problem,” I said. “Don't stuff yourself. Just eat fifteen pies. That should be enough to win.”

“You don't get me,” he said. “I'm not hungry. Sherman bet me I couldn't eat fifty cheeseburgers at
dinner. I won the bet. I ate fifty-four cheeseburgers. Now I'm feeling kinda stuffed.”

“
Sherman
bet you?” I cried. “Where is he? I'll kill him! He's a cheater! A total cheater!”

Beast let out a huge burp that sent my glasses flying off my face. He had terrible cheeseburger breath.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. Sherman stood beside me. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Uh…yes,” I said. “These pies are not the right size. They have an eight-inch diameter.
The Pie-Eating Rule Book
says that all pies must have a
twelve
-inch
diameter. We'll have to hold the contest some other time.”

Sherman shook his head. “Bernie, you want out because you know you don't stand a chance.”

Beast rubbed his bulging stomach. “I have a stomachache,” he moaned.

I couldn't believe it. All that scheming. All that planning and thinking. And now I was going to lose.

From now on, the only time I'd ever see Sherman's watch was when I carried him to class in the morning.

But I had no choice. No way I could back out now.

I was defeated. Doomed.

“Okay.” I sighed. “Let's keep going.”

Suddenly, an idea flashed into my mind. “Beast, start eating, dude,” I whispered. “If you eat twenty pies, I'll buy you a Snickers bar for dessert.”

Beast raised his head. Snickers bars are his favorite. “Can I have two?” he asked.

“Two,” I said. “Just eat. Eat, eat, eat.”

The contest started again.

Beast grabbed up three pies at once and shoved them into his face. They disappeared in seconds. His
face was covered in purple. Blueberries dripped from his hair and down his shirt.

He grabbed two more pies and shoved them into his open mouth.

Grunting, smacking his lips, Beast finished the first stack of pies. Belzer ran over, carrying another stack.

Beast opened his mouth in a powerful blueberry burp that knocked two kids over and peeled some of the wallpaper off the wall. Then he dug into the second stack, slurping and grunting as he ate.

Blueberries poured down his shirt, his pants, into his shoes. His whole face was stained purple. The juice puddled around the table. He shoved pie after pie into his mouth—and didn't bother to swallow!

“Oh, no. Oh, no.” Sherman was slapping himself on the head. “Oh, no. Oh, no. He did it to me again. Bernie did it to me again!”

Sherman slapped himself again and again.

Sherman knew he was a loser. He knew the watch was mine.

Score one more victory for the good guys and Bernie B!

Wes Updood kept trying. He picked up his third pie. He started to shove it into his mouth. But he suddenly stopped.

The pie fell from his hand. He stood up. His face was bright purple. His eyes bulged.

“Ohhhh.” He let out a groan. He grabbed his stomach with both hands. He opened his mouth—and barfed blueberry gunk all over the table.

Wes heaved again and again, sending up waves of blueberry pie.

Some of the Nyce House kids were standing too close. Wes spewed a gusher of blueberry barf all over them.

Kids ducked and ran for cover.

The Rotten House guys kept on cheering, “Beast! Beast! Beast!” Because he wouldn't stop.

Beast just kept shoving pies down his throat. He didn't stop until all twenty-five pies were gone.

Sherman slapped himself in the head a few more times. “Bernie did it to me again. He did it to me again!” he kept repeating.

With a long, sad sigh, he slid the watch off his wrist and handed it to me. Then he bowed his head and slunk away.

Mine! Mine!

I held the watch up. I let my friends touch it.

Wes Updood was bent over double. He was groaning and moaning. He was covered from head to foot in blueberry barf.

Two of his friends started to carry him from the room.

“Beast! Beast! Beast!” the cheers continued.

Beast stood up to take a bow—and fell facedown into the pile of blueberry barf on the floor. He didn't move.

I slid the watch onto my wrist. It fit perfectly. I liked the feel of gold against my skin.

“Good work, dudes—” I started. But I stopped when I heard footsteps.

Footsteps?

Yes. Echoing out in the hall.

Rapid footsteps, moving closer.

We all froze as the door swung open. “Ms. Monella!” I cried. “What are
you
doing here?”