Dumb Clucks Page 2

  He couldn’t know about my all-night, wet towel–snapping contests. And he couldn’t know that I was the one who accidentally dropped water balloons on five teachers.

  So, why was I in trouble with The Upchuck?

  I dug my way under the electric fence. Then I jumped over the poison ivy shrubs. I fed two pounds of raw hamburger to the guard dogs to keep them busy.

  And I stepped up to the front door and rang the bell.

  Chapter 5

  NO STINK BOMB, NO NAUGHTY WORDS

  A few seconds later, I heard someone on the other side of the door undoing the thirty-four locks. Headmaster Upchuck himself pulled open the door.

  “Bernie, my lad. Come in. Come in,” he said cheerfully.

  Uh-oh. That meant I was in major trouble.

  “Sir, I had nothing to do with the stink bomb during the Good Citizenship assembly,” I said. “That was a terrible shame. All those kids throwing up on our guest speaker like that. I hope you catch the person who did that.”

  “Bernie, come into my office,” The Upchuck said, still grinning. “You know my door is always open to all students.”

  He carefully locked all thirty-four locks.

  I followed him into his office. He had a tiny desk and tiny desk chair. It looked like doll furniture.

  “Sir, can I help you tie your necktie?” I asked. “I know you’re not quite tall enough to reach your neck.”

  “No, thank you,” he said.

  “Sir, that wasn’t me who sang the naughty words to our school song,” I said. “I don’t approve of that at all.”

  “Sit down, Bernie,” the Headmaster said. He pointed to a little chair in front of his little desk.

  I lowered myself into it. My knees hit my lips!

  “Sir, I didn’t make those dog barking sounds during the Morning Announcements yesterday,” I said. “I know it sounded like me. But it wasn’t.”

  Upchuck rubbed his bald head till it was as shiny as a bowling ball. “Bernie, you’re not in trouble,” he said.

  “Of course not, sir,” I said. “I try to be a perfect student.”

  “In fact, I have a very big job for you,” he said.

  Uh-oh.

  Now I KNEW I was in major trouble!

  Chapter 6

  UPCHUCK DOES A HAPPY DANCE

  “A job, sir?” I said. “Well, if you’d like me to take over the Headmaster job for a day or two, I’m sure I could do it. But we’d miss you, sir. We’d miss you a lot!”

  He rubbed his head till it glowed like a lightbulb. “No, Bernie. That’s not the job,” he said. “I’m naming you head of the Parents’ Day Committee.”

  I swallowed my gum.

  “Wh-who else is on the committee?” I stammered.

  “Nobody,” Upchuck said. “I’m putting you in charge because you’re the biggest troublemaker on campus.”

  I could feel myself blushing. “You’re too kind, sir.”

  A grin spread over The Upchuck’s shiny face. “See, Bernie? This is your last chance. If you fail at this job, I will pack your bags for you.”

  “Pack my bags, sir?”

  “Yes. And I’ll do cartwheels across the Great Lawn,” he said. “Because I’ll be sending you home for good.

  “YAAAAAAAY!”

  He hopped onto his desk and did a wild dance.

  “Hel-lo! Fail at this job?” I cried. “I don’t think so. I don’t know the meaning of the word fail.”

  He stopped dancing. “Don’t spoil my fun,” he muttered.

  “Sir, what exactly is my job?” I asked.

  He dropped back into his doll chair. “Your job is to make sure everything stays calm and quiet at this school for Parents’ Day. If anything goes wrong—anything at all…”

  “Sir, how could anything go wrong?” I said. “My middle name is Calm and Quiet. I’ll make you proud, sir. Proud you named me chairman.”

  “Bernie, shut up,” Upchuck said.

  “Okay, sir. You got it!” I flashed him a two-finger salute.

  The Headmaster handed me a big shopping bag. “Bernie, these are the Parents’ Day invitations for the parents,” he said. “Angel Goodeboy works in my office three days a week. He already addressed all these invitations.”

  “Goodeboy is a good boy!” I said.

  “I want you to mail them to the parents,” Upchuck continued.

  “No prob, sir,” I said. “I’ll get Belzer right on that.”

  “There’s more to this job,” The Upchuck said. “I think you’ll like this part, Bernie. I need you to raise a lot of money. We need the best snacks and refreshments money can buy.”

  “For me, sir?” I said. “Oh no. You don’t have to pay me with snacks. I’m happy to do my duty and serve my school and—”

  “Shut up, Bernie,” Upchuck said.

  I gave him another salute.

  “You need to raise money to put out fabulous food for the parents. I really want to impress them.”

  I nodded. “And we should dress all the kids right to make it a very special day. Every single student should wear a Tweenage Mutant Ninja Tadpoles shirt—right, sir? I just happen to have a few…”

  Upchuck jumped to his feet. “Time for you to beat it,” he said.

  He walked me to the door. I could hear the guard dogs growling outside. I wished I’d brought more hamburger meat.

  “Bernie, remember,” Upchuck said, unlocking the thirty-four locks, “I’ll be watching. I want you to get the school calm and quiet right now. And keep it calm and quiet from now till Parents’ Day.”

  “Calm and quiet. No prob,” I said, saluting him again.

  Upchuck shoved me out the door and slammed it behind me.

  As I fought off the dogs, my brain was flipping and flopping.

  Headmaster Upchuck wanted me to fail. He couldn’t wait to pack my bags and send me home.

  But he also gave me an excuse to raise as much money as I could.

  Dollar signs floated in front of my eyes. MANY, MANY dollar signs.

  Hey! There’s gotta be a way to cash in on the Stupid Chicken craze and make lots of money, I told myself. There’s gotta be a way…

  Suddenly I had an idea.

  Chapter 7

  HATCH YOUR OWN

  The next night all my friends sat in front of the TV again. And the cries of “BLUCK-GLUCK-LUCK-BLUCK” rang through Rotten House.

  “Yo! Whussup!” I shouted. “I’ve got what you guys have been waiting for!”

  Headmaster Upchuck wanted me to raise refreshment money. Well, he picked the right dude for the job. I carried my big wooden crate into the room and set it down carefully in front of the TV.

  On the screen, Stupid Chicken was pecking the life out of an evil worm. The worm wore a black cape. That’s how I knew it was evil.

  “Bernie, you’re blocking the TV,” Crench groaned.

  “This is better than TV,” I said. I pulled up the lid of the crate. “You dudes don’t want to sit and watch Stupid Chicken all day. You want to live the adventure, don’t you?”

  “Wow! Awesome!” Feenman cried, pointing at the screen. “Stupid Chicken just pecked Wonder Wormboy in two. And now both worm halves are fighting Stupid Chicken!”

  “Wonder Wormboy?” I said.

  “He’s not really a worm,” Belzer said. “He’s a mutant who has the power to turn himself into a worm.”

  “Good choice,” I said.

  “Know my favorite sandwich?” Beast said. “Worm butter and jelly.”

  Crench stared at him. “Where do you buy worm butter?” he asked.

  Beast chuckled. “You don’t buy it—you MAKE it!” he said. “The hard part is pulling it off the bottom of your shoe.”

  “Dudes! Dudes!” I shouted. “Give me a break here!”

  I reached into the crate and pulled out an egg. I had 144 eggs, and I hoped I could sell them all.

  “Get your money ready,” I said. I held the egg up so they could look at it. “These are special. It�
��s Hatch Your Own Stupid Chicken!”

  That got their attention. They stared at the egg as if they were hypnotized.

  “See this egg?” I said. “There’s a Stupid Chicken inside each one.”

  Nosebleed leaned forward on the couch and squinted at it. “There’s a Stupid Chicken in there? No joke?”

  “Five dollars,” I said. “Five dollars and you can hatch your own.”

  “Bernie, give us a break,” Feenman said. “It’s just an egg. You can’t charge five dollars for an egg.”

  I gasped. “Feenman, you wouldn’t pay five dollars for Stupid Chicken?” I asked. “I thought you were a big fan.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” Billy the Brain asked.

  We call him Brain because he’s the smartest kid in our school. He has a solid C average. And his homework is never more than two weeks late.

  He’s a genius!

  “What’s your question, Brain?” I asked.

  “Do you have any Little Cluck-Clucks in there?”

  “No prob,” I said. I held up another egg. “Here’s one. Hatch Your Own Little Cluck-Cluck. How many do you want, Brain?”

  “Lemme SEE that!” Beast roared. He jumped up from his spot on the floor and tromped over to me.

  “Gimme that!” He grabbed the egg from my hand. “Is there really a Stupid Chicken inside this thing?”

  He shook it hard, like a salt shaker. Then he crushed the shell in his fist.

  I watched the thick, yellow yolk run down his hand.

  “HAW HAW HAW!” Beast tossed back his head and HAWed. “I killed Stupid Chicken! HAW HAW HAW!”

  He HAWed for another minute or two. We’re all afraid to stop him when he starts HAWing.

  When Beast finally stopped, Nosebleed shook his head. “It’s not funny to joke about Stupid Chicken,” he said. “Look. You gave me a nosebleed.”

  Beast jammed the crushed egg—shell and all—into his mouth. “Check it out. I’m eating Stupid Chicken! HAW HAW HAW!”

  Yolk ran down his chin. He made slurping and crunching noises until he swallowed it.

  “Not funny!” Nosebleed cried. He grabbed an egg from the crate and shouted, “STUPID CHICKEN TAKES NO PRISONERS!”

  And he smashed the egg on top of Beast’s head.

  CRAAAAAACK! SMUSSSSSSH!

  Beast looked stunned for a moment. He wiped egg yolk from his forehead. Then he reached into the crate and grabbed three eggs at once.

  With an animal growl, he heaved them at Nosebleed.

  And missed.

  CRAAAAAACK! SMUSSSSSSH!

  CRAAAAAACK! SMUSSSSSSH!

  CRAAAAAACK! SMUSSSSSSH!

  He hit Chipmunk, Feenman, and Crench instead.

  “No WAY!” Feenman cried, pulling egg yolk from his hair.

  All three of them dove for my egg crate.

  They came up blucking and throwing.

  BLUCK-LUCK-GLUCK!

  CRAAAAAACK! SMUSSSSSSH!

  CRAAAAAACK! SMUSSSSSSH!

  This had to stop! I tried to pull the eggs away.

  But Beast jammed his big shoe into the crate to hold it down.

  Then he heaved eggs across the room as fast as he could throw them.

  CRAAAAAACK! SMUSSSSSSH!

  CRAAAAAACK! SMUSSSSSSH!

  Eggs dripped down the walls. Yellow yolk oozed down the TV screen. Broken shells crackled under our shoes. Our clothes were soaked and sticky.

  The battle didn’t end until all my eggs were gone.

  And that’s when Mrs. Heinie walked into the room.

  Mrs. Heinie is our dorm mother. One of her main jobs is to keep us from egging each other.

  “Oh no! Oh no!” she cried, gazing around the sticky, drippy room through her thick eyeglasses. “Oh no! Oh no!” She pressed her hands against her cheeks. “Oh no! Oh no!”

  I knew she would blame me.

  As a member of the Fourth Grader Hall of Fame, I always get blamed when something interesting happens.

  “Oh no! Oh no!” she cried.

  “I can explain, Mrs. Heinie,” I said.

  She crossed her arms in front of her and squinted at me. “Explain?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You see, we wanted to cook you a surprise breakfast. Scrambled eggs.”

  “And…what happened?” Mrs. Heinie asked.

  “We forgot we didn’t have a pan!”

  Chapter 8

  LIKE PICKING YOUR NOSE

  Did Mrs. H. believe my story?

  Hel-lo. If she had, would I be scrubbing the walls and mopping the floors like this?

  Is this a job for a Hall of Famer? I don’t think so.

  Things were not going well. I was losing money fast. I had spent fifteen dollars for the smashed eggs.

  Wasted. All wasted.

  I had to beg Mrs. Heinie not to tell Headmaster Upchuck about the egg fight. I was supposed to keep things calm and quiet. So far, I was a failure at that, too.

  I needed to start raising money right away. I needed the money for the Parents’ Day refreshments.

  And for a private charity I call the Bernie Bridges Private Charity Fund.

  I needed some new ideas. I needed to talk to someone brainy.

  And who could be brainier than Billy the Brain?

  Billy is so smart, he does crossword puzzles without even looking at the clues! He’s so smart, he can tell whether it’s day or night just by checking the position of the sun.

  I knocked on his door and stepped inside. I saw Billy standing on his head in the middle of the room. “Whoa. Why are you doing that?” I asked.

  “Doing what?” he asked.

  “Standing on your head,” I said.

  “It’s an ancient thing,” Billy replied. “People used to do it before they figured out they were upside-down.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “But why are you doing it now?”

  “I don’t remember,” he said. “Help me to my feet, okay?”

  I helped Billy to his feet. “Can I pick your brain?” I asked.

  He stared at me. “You mean like picking your nose?”

  “No. I didn’t mean that. I need some ideas,” I said.

  Billy slapped me a high five. “You came to the right guy,” he said. “I have an average of 235 ideas a day. Not counting weekends.”

  “Awesome,” I said. I dropped down on the edge of his bed. “I need to raise a lot of money. Do you have any good ideas?”

  He started to think. He shut his eyes and rubbed his chin. Then he opened his eyes and rubbed his chin. Then he tugged his hair and rolled his eyes while rubbing his chin.

  “I’ve got it!” he cried. “Why don’t you bring Stupid Chicken to Rotten School? Kids would pay a LOT to see Stupid Chicken in person. Bernie, you could probably get ten dollars a ticket!”

  My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

  Billy slapped me on the back. “You could do it, Bernie. Make a few phone calls. Find Stupid Chicken’s agent. I’ll bet you could make a deal to bring Stupid Chicken here.”

  “I…I…I…” I was speechless. I stood there with my mouth open, going, “I…I…I…”

  Finally I put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Billy,” I said softly, “I have very bad news for you.”

  Billy turned to me. “Bad news?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Listen to me. Stupid Chicken isn’t real. Stupid Chicken is a cartoon.”

  Billy blinked several times. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  I took his arm and led him to a chair. Then I quickly left the room. He was panting hard, and his face was as white as a sheep. I could see he was badly shaken. I knew he had to be alone.

  I closed the door and stepped out into the hall.

  Maybe Billy needs a new nickname, I thought.

  How about Billy the Stupid Idiot?

  But I couldn’t worry about Billy. I had to start raising the big bucks. And I didn’t have much time.

  Downstairs, I could hear the guys BLUCK BLUCKing away.

  Ba
ck in my room, I picked up the phone and made the call that would start me on my way to being RICH.

  “Send me three dozen Stupid Chicken shirts,” I said. “And three dozen Stupid Chicken caps.”

  Bernie B. knows a craze when he sees one. I knew I could cash in on this chicken craze. How could I lose?

  Chapter 9

  CHICKEN ON ICE

  A few nights later, I called a dorm meeting in my room. The guys came trooping in, punching each other, making each other flinch.

  “Can I sit on a chair?” Nosebleed asked. “Sitting on the floor gives me a nosebleed.”

  “Just sit close,” I said, “because you’ll want to see what I’ve got.”

  I had the Stupid Chicken shirts and caps piled up on my bed. The shirts were a beautiful egg-yolk yellow. They had Stupid Chicken’s face on them, with his Buffalo Wings of Steel. And the words: I’M WITH STUPID CHICKEN in bright red.

  The caps were egg shell color. With the words: YOU’VE GOT PLUCK, LITTLE CLUCK-CLUCK on the front in yellow.

  Could they be any more awesome?

  “Line up, dudes,” I said. “Special tonight. Only five dollars for a shirt. And four dollars for a cap. The caps are made of real sturdy cardboard. None of that fake stuff. Sorry, but I can only sell five per customer!”

  They didn’t move. I gazed around the room at their blank faces.

  “Do you all speak English?” I said. “Didn’t you hear me? I’ve got your favorite here. Check these out. Shirts and caps. Get your money out and line up, guys. Don’t push. There’s enough for everyone.”

  Nothing.

  They stared at me.

  Nosebleed wiped his nose. Beast was eating the foam rubber out of my bed pillow. Feenman and Crench were snapping fingers in each other’s faces, making each other flinch.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “You drive a hard bargain. Okay. I’ll give you a deal. You can buy a shirt and a cap together for only twelve dollars. How about it?”

  I knew they couldn’t add five and four. In arithmetic class, most of them hadn’t started addition yet. Billy the Brain was trying to figure it out on his fingers.