Battle of the Dum Diddys (3 page)

“Okay, huddle up, dudes! Gather around!” I shouted.

The first graders were just coming out for recess. They made a circle around me. I like first graders. They're so cute—and most of them don't cry when I take their money.

“Hurry up, Bernie,” a big kid with bright orange hair and freckles growled. “We only have fifteen minutes for recess.”

“What do you do at recess?” I asked him.

“Kick each other,” he said.

I squinted at him. “You're joking—right?”

He gave me a hard kick in the knee. I guess he
wasn't
joking. I grabbed the kid by his school blazer. “What's your name, dude?”

“Joshua,” he said. “Joshua Bradly Belcher.”

I decided to ignore this clown. Time to get to work.

I held up a stack of tickets. “Listen carefully, dudes!” I shouted. “Only one chance to buy these special tickets. Get your money out. Only a dollar each.”

Several little angels reached into their pockets for their money. That's why I like first graders. Totally adorable.

But the big, redheaded kid raised his paw in the air. “Are they lottery tickets?” he asked. “Is there a prize?”

“No. No prize,” I said. “Okay, who's first? Tell you what. I'll give you a break. Three tickets for two dollars.”

The big kid was blocking the line. “But what kind of tickets are they?” he asked. “What are they good for?”

“They're Good Luck tickets,” I said. “Everyone wants good luck—right? Good Luck tickets for only a dollar!”

The cute little angels waved their money in the air. I started to drool. This was so EASY.

But Joshua Bradly Belcher poked his freckled face up against mine. “How do we know they're
real
Good Luck tickets?” he asked.

“Check 'em out,” I said. I held up a ticket. “It says
GOOD LUCK
right on it.”

The kids all stared at the ticket. They pushed forward. They wanted their tickets.

“Okay, one at a time. One at a time,” I said. I reached for the first dollar. And felt someone squeeze my shoulder.

I looked up—and saw Mrs. Twinkler, the Drama Coach. “Come with me, Bernie,” she said. She tightened her hold on my shoulder and dragged me away.

“Kids—wait right there!” I cried. “Don't anybody move.”

But they'd already started kicking one another.

Mrs. Twinkler pulled me across the lawn to a shady spot under an apple tree.

“Bernie…” she said.

I hated the way she said it.

“I can explain about the Good Luck tickets,” I said. “I was giving them out free. Would you like one?”

She took the ticket from me. “Bernie, you sparkle and shine!” she said.

She talks like that all the time. She's very dramatic. She's always telling us to reach for the stars. But since the stars are about a billion miles away, I don't really get it.

“I was watching you trying to sell those tickets,”
she said. “And I was so
impressed
with you, Bernie.”

Huh? Did she say
impressed
?

“You glow!” she said. “Such energy! Like a blazing star lighting up the solar system!”

“Yes, I know,” I said.

“The way you hold an audience,” she said, “wow, wow, wow.”

“Oh, I get it,” I said. “You want me to star in the school play?”

She flashed me a twinkling smile.

“I
loved
the last school play you did,” I said. “What an awesome show. The kid who played Scooby Doo was terrific. I
really believed
he was Scooby Doo!”

“Thank you, Bernie,” she said, still grinning at me.

“So what part do you have in mind for me?” I asked. “Of course, it's a
starring
part. Right?”

“Forget the school play,” she said. “I have a better idea.”

“A better idea?”

Mrs. Twinkler grabbed both of my shoulders. “I'm going to put you in charge of the annual school pageant,” she said. “You'll be the pageant director.”

“Really? How much does the job pay?” I asked.

“This year the pageant is something really exciting,” she said. “Wow, wow, wow. It's a reenactment of the Battle of Rotten Town from 1650.”

“Wow, wow, wow,” I said. “I'll get busy on that right away, Mrs. T. How much does it pay?”

“This pageant is going to be WONDERFUL!” she cried. “FABULOUS! Oh, my! Did I say GLORIOUS?”

“I'll do my best,” I said. “Does the director get paid?”

“I'll order the costumes,” she said. “I'll have them sent to your room. And I'll get the script to you as soon as I finish it!”

She slapped me on the back. “Sparkle and shine!” she cried. “This is so exciting! Wow, wow, wow!”

“You can count on me,” I said. I watched her twinkle off to the School House.

When I turned around, Feenman and Crench were standing right behind me. “What did Mrs. Twinkler want?” Crench asked.

I shrugged. “I don't know. Some kind of pageant or something. Forget about it. No time for that. Get
those Good Luck tickets out. We've got to sell, sell, SELL!”

Only six days to cash in before our school is shut down. And wouldn't you know it?

Things started to get really weird….

Yes, weird. I noticed it at dinner.

That night in the Dining Hall it was Left over Leftover Leftovers Night. That's a very special night. It means Chef Baloney serves the most popular food left over from a week ago.

My friend Beast had a huge bowl of food piled up in front of him. He was bellowing, “Kill! Kill! Kill!” and stabbing it over and over with his knife.

Beast is a little strange. He always kills his food before he eats it. You should see what he does to two fried eggs!

With a loud battle cry Beast pushed his head deep into his food bowl and started to chew.

I leaned across the table to my Rotten House buddies. “Okay, bet time,” I said. “When Beast finishes his dinner, how many pieces of food will be stuck to his face?”

This wasn't a new bet. We do it about once a week. Last week Beast had a lettuce leaf stuck to his forehead and a meatball jammed in one ear. That
paid off forty dollars to the lucky winner—
me
!

“Hurry, dudes,” I said. “He's getting to the bottom of the bowl. Get your bets in.”

The guys just sat there. No one bet.

Beast finished his meal and opened his mouth in a deafening burp—
that sent disgusting, wet food chunks flying across the room. Then he started biting off hunks of his bowl. “Fiber,” he said, grinning happily.

“URRRRRRRRP!”

“Guys, what's wrong with you?” I cried. “His face is
covered
in food! Someone could've won big-time!”

They sat staring at me dreamily, as if they were on another planet.

That was my first clue that something was rotten at Rotten School. But…what was it?

After dinner I hurried over to Feenman and Crench. “Okay, dudes,” I said. “This way to the Go Fish tournament. Did you tell everyone to meet behind the Student Center?”

“Not tonight, Bernie,” Feenman said. “We can't.”

“It's just five dollars to play,” I said. “Didn't you spread the word? We only have six more days till the school shuts down.”

“Sorry, Big B,” Crench said. “We can't play Go Fish. You already won all our money. And we're kinda busy tonight.”

Busy?

I squinted at them. “You guys are
busy
tonight? Doing what? Cleaning out your noses?”

They both laughed. “I did that at dinner,” Feenman said. Then they hurried away.

As I walked back to the dorm, I didn't see a single kid.

Where
was
everyone?

 

The next day was just as strange.

At lunch in the Dining Hall, I stood up and made an announcement. I knew my big bulldog, Gassy, was the only dog on campus. A lot of other kids missed their dogs.

“Who wants to walk Gassy?” I asked. “Only two dollars, and you can pretend he's yours and walk him as long as you want.”

No hands went up.

“I know he stinks,” I said. “But he's all we've got. You can walk
in front
of him, and it doesn't smell too bad!”

No hands. No dog walkers.

I was striking out big-time.

After classes that afternoon, I carried my big bag of Nutty Nutty candy bars onto the Great Lawn. I sell them for a dollar each, and kids usually gobble them up. That's because they're Nutty Nutty Nutty-tritious.

But again, no one was around. Where had they all vanished to?

Finally I saw Beast loping across the grass. On all fours!

Beast likes to chase squirrels. He never catches them. He says he just likes to scare them to death.

“Beast, how about a salami-eating contest?” I said. “You against Joe Sweety. Everyone will want to bet on that one.”

My guy always wins salami-eating contests. Because Beast is the only kid in school who can eat them
whole
! Last time, he ate ten whole salamis without even unwrapping them.

The dude is
awesome
—right?

Beast lowered his head and barfed up a disgusting glob of chewed-up grass. “Don't know why I keep eating grass,” he said. “I guess for the taste.”

“Beast, what about the salami-eating contest?” I asked.

“Too busy,” he grunted.

I stared at him. “Too busy? Why is everyone telling me they're too busy?”

He didn't answer. He dropped back onto all fours and loped away.

I turned in a circle, gazing at the empty campus.

What's going
on
here? I wondered.

Where
is
everyone?

The next afternoon, I was walking across the Great Lawn, muttering to myself. “This school will be closed in four days. How am I supposed to cash in if everyone is hiding from me?”

“Bernie, who are you talking to?” someone asked.

I looked up to see Mrs. Twinkler staring at me. She was carrying a big, ugly, straw mask on a stick. The mask stared at me, too.

“Talking to myself,” I muttered. “I talk to myself a lot. No one understands me better than I do.”

Mrs. Twinkler nodded. “I see.”

I pointed to the scowling mask. “What's that?”

“It's my nephew's head,” she said, shaking it up and down.

“How did he lose it?” I asked. “Haircut too close?”

She laughed her twinkling laugh. “Hilarious. Wow, wow, wow. You're just a
riot
! My nephew
made
this head. I thought maybe you could use it in the pageant.”

“The
what
?” I asked.

She laughed again. “Very funny. Where do you get that sense of humor? Don't ever lose it, Bernie. Remember, a laugh is as good as a tomato. Anytime.”

“Excuse me?” I suddenly remembered I was supposed to be doing some kind of pageant.

“Have you chosen your cast members?” Mrs. Twinkler asked.

“Of course,” I said. “I think you'll be pleased, Mrs. Twinkler. I have the
best
actors in school. They're acting their hearts out already, and we don't even have a script!”

The mask stared at me as if it knew I was lying.

“And how are the costumes I sent to you?” she asked.

“Way cool,” I said. “Totally perfect. The kids all wanted to wear them to class. But I said they had to wait. I want everything to be a total secret. A big surprise—even to
me
.”

“Well, I'm glad you started work,” Mrs. Twinkler
said. “Reach for the stars, Bernie. But keep your socks clean.”

“Uh…right,” I said. “We're all totally
psyched
, Mrs. T. We can't
wait
to do the pageant. What's it about again? I think I forgot.”

The mask frowned at me. I could swear it stuck out its tongue.

“The Battle of Rotten Town,” Mrs. Twinkler said. She squinted at me. “Are you sure you're working on this?”

“Of course,” I said. “It's just that I forget things when I'm this excited. We're
all
so majorly excited,” I said.

I saw my buddy Belzer slumping across the grass. Belzer is probably the most uncool dude at Rotten School. But he's a good kid. For one thing, he brings me breakfast in bed every morning. Then he carries my books to class.

He's not really a slave. He just likes to do everything I ask.

I grabbed Belzer by the shoulders and heaved his pudgy body up to Mrs. Twinkler. “Here's one of our soldiers,” I said. I clapped him hard on the back.

A little
too
hard. He fell to his knees.

“Excellent fall, Belzer,” I said. I turned to Mrs. T. “See how he's practicing? The dude is a real actor. He's gonna be terrific.”

Belzer blinked five or six times. He always blinks when he's thinking hard. “Practicing? Practicing
what
, Bernie?”

I slapped my hand over his mouth.

“Did you ever hear such enthusiasm?” I asked her. “He's gonna steal the show!”

“Show?” Belzer mumbled behind my hand. “Is there gonna be a show? Will they have popcorn?”

“Ha-ha.” I tossed back my head and laughed. “What a joker! You're gonna be proud of him, Mrs. T.!”

She flashed us her sparkling grin. “I'm proud of
both
of you,” she said. “Twinkle and shine, boys. Remember—always twinkle and shine!”

She walked off, shaking her nephew's head.

“Did she say
tinkle
?” Belzer asked, blinking hard.

I pulled Belzer up from his knees. “I don't think so,” I said. I brushed Belzer off.

“What kind of show was she talking about?” he asked.

“Some kind of dumb pageant,” I said. “Don't worry about it. It'll never happen. The school will probably be shut down by then.”

I had more important things to think about. I hurried to see my buddies, Feenman and Crench. The clock was ticking. I needed their help.