Battle of the Dum Diddys (5 page)

 

Was I desperate?

Does a bear eat baby birds for dessert?

Only two more days of school, and I wasn't making a dime. And everyone in school was acting crazy and talking some weird language.

I was so desperate, I walked over to the boys' dorm we all hate and despise—Nyce House. Maybe the guys were acting normal there.

As I stepped up the front steps, my legs started to wobble, my tongue fell out over my chin, and my head started to shake, rattle, and roll.

I told you—we Rotten House dudes
hate
Nyce House. Would YOU like to live in a place called NYCE House?

Of course not.

I rolled my tongue back into my mouth. Then I opened the front door and walked into the entry hall.

It was clean and neat and bright. Lovely paintings of forests and ocean waves were on the walls. Soft music played. Guys were sitting on leather chairs and couches, reading textbooks silently.

Disgusting, right?

Coming toward me I saw my archenemy—that spoiled rich kid Sherman Oaks. Sherman is so rich, he pays a kid to take a shower for him every morning.

He flashed his perfect smile at me. His blond hair glowed under the bright dorm lights. His dark eyes popped out like two raisins in a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

“Yo, Bernie,” he said. “I know why you're here.”

I stared at the jagged chunk of decayed wood dangling from a chain around his neck. “Sherman, what's that? One of your baby teeth?”

He chuckled. He held up the wood chunk.

“It's a piece of the
Titanic
,” he said. “You know.
That big ship that sank? Divers brought it up from the ocean bottom. This little hunk of it cost ten thousand dollars. My parents send me expensive presents to show me how much they care.”

“Nice,” I said.

“I know why you're here,” he said again. “You've come to see the Wungo Wango.”

I blinked a few times. “Sherman, who or
what
is the Wungo Wango?” I asked.

He tapped the front of his silk shirt. “
I'm
the Wungo Wango,” he said.

“And I'm Batman,” I said. “Sherman, go lie down. You must be running a high fever. I'll get Nurse Hanley.”

“Stop joking, Bernie,” he said. “You know I'm the Wungo Wango. You came here for a Wungo Bungo card—right?”

“Well…I came here to get up a card game,” I said.

He stuck out his hand. “The Wungo Bungo card costs five dollars. You can pay the Wungo Wango.”

If I chewed gum, I would have swallowed it.

“
I'm
going to pay
you
five dollars?” I cried.

He nodded. “Five dollars. Pay up. Everyone else
in school already has a card. When you have your card, you get your access number. It lets you enter the Kingdom of Wungo Bungo.”

I slapped my own face. Was I dreaming this?

I slapped Sherman's face. He was real. I was awake. It all suddenly became clear to me.

“Is that what all the kids in school are talking about? Did they all pay you five dollars to play this game?” I asked.

“You'll enter as a Dum Diddy Drone,” he said. “If you are skillful, you can work your way up to Dum Diddy Dum Dum Diddy Plebe.”

Me? A
plebe
?

“Uh…couldn't I be a Wungo Wango, too?” I asked.

Sherman tossed back his head and laughed for two or three minutes. I could see the gold fillings in his teeth. His initials were carved into each one.

“Bernie, since you're so totally pitiful, I'll give you a free tour,” he said.

“You're going to take me to the kingdom?” I shook my head in disbelief.

He nodded solemnly. “Follow the Wungo Wango,” he said.

Sherman led me to his room. He had a zebra skin bedspread. The bed was bigger than my
room
. I spotted a bubbling Jacuzzi next to a small lap pool.

A poster of a huge dollar bill hung on one wall. Another poster on his closet door was a giant photo of Donald Trump. Sherman's desk glowed so brightly, I had to shield my eyes.

“It's solid gold,” he said. “I just love the way gold feels—don't you?”

I started across the room.

“Bernie, take off your shoes,” he said. “The
floorboards are a rare ebony from Madagascar, taken from the tusks of an extinct root hog.”

I shook my head. “Sherman, why do you have all this stuff?”

He shrugged. “I want it to feel like home.”

We sat down in front of his computer. He had a flat-screen monitor the size of an SUV. He leaned over the keyboard and started to type in a bunch of numbers.

“That's my access code,” he explained. The bright colors on the huge monitor made Sherman's face glow blue and yellow. His eyes flashed with excitement.

“Here we are in Wungo Bungo,” he said. “It's nighttime in the kingdom. See the two moons in the sky?”

I squinted at the screen. “Yeah. Two moons,” I said. “Cool.”

What was the big deal?

“The force of the two warring moons has divided the kingdom,” Sherman said. “The war has lasted three milagoniums.”

“Is that long?” I asked.

He nodded. He slid his mouse around. The colors rolled across his face. A low wooden building came into view. I could see black horses inside. I could hear them neighing softly.

“This is the stable of Wuu-Wuu,” Sherman said.

“Wow, wow,” I whispered.

He slid the mouse, and we moved closer to the stable. “The Knighty Knight Knights keep their horses here.”

I pointed. “Who's that guy with the bucket?”

“He's Pippy the Pitiful. He's a Knighty Not Knight. He doesn't have enough weapon points to be a knight. That's why he's watering the horses.”

“How does he get weapon points?” I asked.

“First he has to earn costume points,” Sherman said. He moved the mouse. “See? He has chest armor, but he isn't wearing any pants.”

We moved closer. Sherman was right. I could see the dude's naked butt.

“First costume points, then weapon points, then power points,” Sherman explained. “He gets paid two bubus for watering the horses. In two weeks, he'll have enough bubus to buy pants.”

“Hope he doesn't catch cold,” I said.

Sherman gasped. “I saw something move at the side of the stable,” he said. “The Dum Diddys may be planning a sneak attack.”

He began sliding the mouse around frantically, clicking on bushes and trees. “Here is my best knight,” he said. “Sir Sherman.”

I stared at the powerful-looking knight in shining armor who stepped onto the screen. “You named him after
you
?”

“He IS me!” Sherman said. “Now, watch. I'm going to move him so he can scout around for Dum Diddys.”

“Let me try it,” I said. I grabbed the mouse from Sherman. “You left-click like this, right? And hold it down?” I started to move Sir Sherman toward the woods.

“Careful!” Sherman cried. “Sir Sherman is my best knight. Watch out! Don't let anything happen to him!”

“No problem,” I said. I slid the mouse and moved the knight in front of the stable. “I'm so new at this,” I said. “This is fun! Am I doing it right, Sherman?”

I pretended I didn't know how to slide the mouse.

“Careful!” Sherman cried. “Let me do it, Bernie. Sir Sherman is too valuable to risk.”

I moved the big knight toward the stone well in front of the stable.

“Look out!” Sherman cried. “Careful! Careful! Move him away from the well!”

He tried to grab the mouse. But I held on tightly.

And I dropped Sir Sherman into the well.

I heard a loud splash. Water crashed up over the sides of the well. Then silence.

“Uh-oh,” I said, pressing my hands to my cheeks. “Did I do something bad?”

Sherman's mouth dropped open as he stared at the well. “Sir Sh-Sherman?” he stammered. “My best knight? You
d-d-drowned
him!”

“I'm just not good at this kind of game,” I said. “Guess I'd better stick to cards.”

“Sir Sherman?” Sherman muttered, staring at the well on the giant screen. “Sir Sherman? Gone forever?” He began pounding his head on the gold desk.

 

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

 

Probably a good time to leave.

I climbed to my feet. “Thanks for the test run,” I said.

 

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

 

He just kept smacking his head on the desk. “Looks like a whole bunch of fun,” I said. “Bye!”

At lunch the next day, I had no appetite. I could barely eat my three cheeseburgers, two plates of mac and cheese, four pizza slices, and a few pretzels.

I sat with all my buddies at the Rotten House table in a corner. At the other end of the table, Beast was making everyone sick by sucking down a long, purple worm he found on the floor. He made gross, slurping noises before he started to chew it.

I closed my eyes. I had to shut out the world and THINK.

Sherman collected five dollars from every kid in
school. They were all
desperate
to play the Dum Diddy game. What could I do to cash in, too?

After a minute or two my brain was sizzling. Smoke poured out of my ears.

Think….
Think
….

Just when an idea started to form, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I opened my eyes. I blinked a few times. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Twinkler,” I said. “You're looking good. I love that green ribbon in your hair.”

“It's not a ribbon,” she said. “Some kid spit lettuce at me.”

She held on to my shoulder. “Bernie, we need to have a serious talk.”

Uh-oh.

“Bernie, I'm worried about the pageant,” Mrs. Twinkler said.

I blinked. “Pageant?”

Beast let out a roaring burp. It lasted at least a minute and made a large brown stain on the table-top.

“Don't pay any attention to him,” I told Mrs. T. “He usually eats on the floor, but someone stole his food dish.”

“Bernie, I hope you're not letting me down. The pageant is going to thrill our students and teachers.
It'll get raves. Raves! You'll be shining stars! But…have you been rehearsing?” she asked.

Rehearsing?

“Of course,” I said. “We rehearse day and night, Mrs. Twinkler.”

“Then how come I haven't been invited to any rehearsals?”

Think fast, Bernie
….

“We want it to be perfect before you see it,” I said. “We're working so hard. We're desperate to make you proud of us.”

“Do the costumes fit?” she asked.

“Perfectly,” I said.

I wasn't lying. They fit the trunk perfectly. Too bad I'd never opened the trunk….

“And what about the sets?” Mrs. T. asked. “Who is building the sets?”

Think fast again, Bernie
….

“Uh…we're not using sets,” I said. “We're…uh…going to do the pageant outdoors. You know. Out on the grass. To make the battle more real.”

She smiled. “Nice idea! That's
fresh
!” she said. She clapped me hard on the back. “Fresh! Very
fresh! I can see you put a
lot
of thought into this.”

“Oh, yes. A lot,” I said.

Down the table, Beast lapped up a bowl of split-pea soup, then made it come out his nose. When Crench turned to laugh at Beast, Feenman swiped all the French fries off Crench's plate. He stuffed them into his pants pocket to eat later.

Mrs. T. pulled another lettuce leaf from her hair. “Are you really rehearsing?” she asked.

“We're rehearsing right now,” I said. “See? We're not really eating lunch. We're practicing the big dinner scene. That's where the battle started in 1650.”

She rubbed her forehead. “I…I don't remember that.”

“Yes,” I said, “this is the opening scene. Watch how the battle starts.”

Crench turned to Feenman. “Hey—you jerk! You stole my French fries!”

“Prove it,” Feenman replied.

Crench shoved his hand into Feenman's pocket and pulled out some fries. “You're a total jerk!” he shouted.

I grinned at Mrs. Twinkler. “I wrote that line,” I said. “It works—right?”

Crench grabbed Feenman, and they started wrestling on the table, grunting and growling, punching each other, rolling over everyone's lunch.

“That's how the Battle of Rotten Town started,” I told Mrs. T. “I did some more research.”

She clapped her hands together. “So real! They look like they're really fighting!”

“Practice,” I said. “Practice and hard work.”

“So fresh!” she exclaimed. “Fresh and delightful!”

Feenman tugged a fistful of French fries from his pocket and shoved them into his mouth. He and Crench rolled onto the floor with a
thud
and kept fighting.

“Wonderful work!” Mrs. T. exclaimed. “Good acting. But are you sure that's how the Battle of Rotten Town started?”

“Yes, I Googled it,” I said. “It started over a pants pocket stuffed with French fries.”

She clapped me on the back again. “Keep up the good work, Bernie,” she said. “Sparkle and shine! Sparkle and shine!”

I watched her hurry away.

“What was
that
about?” Billy the Brain asked.

“No big deal,” I said. “Forget about it. Some play or something that's never gonna happen.”

Billy nodded. He finished his last fish stick. He always has fish for lunch. He says it's brain food. He jumped up onto the table and started to sing:

To my horror, all of my buddies jumped up onto the table to sing along with him. Except for Feenman and Crench. They were still rolling around on the floor, wrestling over the French fries.

And that's what gave me my awesome idea. The idea that changed everything for Bernie B….