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  I tiptoed around Sherman’s bed. Lippy stood on his perch. His feathers had grown back. He was sound asleep, too. Perfect.

  I carefully lifted the sleeping bird off the perch.

  Holding Lippy in both hands, I turned and crept back to the window. The floorboards creaked under my feet. But Sherman didn’t stir.

  Holding the bird gently, I made it to the window. And started to lower myself outside.

  That’s when Lippy woke up. He lifted his head, opened his beak, and squawked at the top of his lungs:

  Sherman’s eyes bugged open, and he sat straight up with a startled cry. “Bernie! What are you doing in here?”

  “I…well…” The Bernie B. brain began to whir. “I…uh…”

  “What are you doing with my parrot?” Sherman cried.

  “I…brought Lippy a midnight snack,” I said. “You know. For old time’s sake. His favorite prunes. He always loves some pitted prunes at midnight.”

  “OUT, Bernie!” Sherman yelled. “And leave my lucky bird alone!”

  “No problem,” I said. I set Lippy down. Then I jumped out the window and took off.

  Behind me, I could hear Lippy squawking away:

  I ran all the way back to my room. Then I picked up a salt shaker and began pouring salt all over myself. Might as well get a head start. I knew I’d be a pretzel by tomorrow afternoon!

  Chapter 20

  FEATHERS FLY

  “Horseback riding is the first competition,” Jennifer Ecch said. “You’re a champion rider, aren’t you, Bernie Babykins?”

  “For sure,” I said. “That horse is awfully tall, isn’t it? Which end do I ride?”

  Jennifer laughed and gave me a slap on the back that sent me stumbling into the horse’s huge butt. “I love your jokes, Honey Chin. Saddle up. Let’s win that trophy.”

  “No problem, Jen. Do you have a ladder or something I could use?”

  She gave me another hard slap that sent me sprawling into the dirt. Ha-ha. Big joke, right?

  There we were at Lake Choking Gas. The lake shimmered like gold in the morning sun. Pine trees dropped their needles onto the sandy shore. It was beautiful—if you held your nose.

  They don’t call it Lake Choking Gas for nothing!

  The list of games had been posted on a tree by Coach Manley Bunz:

  HORSEBACK RIDING

  ARCHERY

  ROWING

  HORSESHOES

  VOLLEYBALL

  BENDING BERNIE INTO A PRETZEL

  I know. That last one wasn’t really on the list. But I knew Jennifer Ecch would probably be adding it soon.

  I turned and watched Sherman and his partner, April-May. They walked their horses out onto the path. They were both petting Lippy for luck.

  They had big grins on their faces. They knew they couldn’t lose.

  Coach Bunz walked over to them, his big belly bouncing in front of him. Coach’s stomach always arrives five or ten seconds before he does.

  My mouth dropped open. Coach Bunz was pointing to the silver I. B. Rotten Trophy. And he was already congratulating Sherman and April-May!

  “This isn’t happening,” I muttered, shaking my head. “This can’t happen to Bernie B.”

  Suddenly, I had an idea.

  I saw Feenman and Crench down the path. They were partners. But I saw that they were off to a bad start. They had strapped the saddles onto their horses’ stomachs, not their backs.

  I called them over. Should I tell them their mistake?

  “Dudes, do me favor,” I said. “Remember when you rubbed all the good luck off Lippy?”

  “It was an accident, Bernie,” Feenman said. “We didn’t mean to do it.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just go over to Sherman and do it again.”

  They stared at me. “Rub Lippy’s feathers off again?” Crench said.

  I nodded. “Beg Sherman to let you touch Lippy for luck. Then rub him bald again.”

  “No problem,” Feenman said. “Maybe it’ll give Crench and me good luck, and we’ll win the Rotten Trophy.”

  I looked at their horses. Saddles on their stomachs. Pitiful.

  “Yeah. Maybe you dudes will get lucky,” I said.

  And maybe I’ll lay an egg at breakfast tomorrow.

  Feenman and Crench turned and trotted down the bridle path to Sherman and April-May. I watched them beg and plead with Sherman to let them touch Lippy.

  Then I watched them pick the bird up—and rub Lippy like crazy.

  Feathers flew. Lippy was bald again. I could see the goose bumps on his yellow skin.

  “Good work, dudes!” I shouted.

  But would it work?

  Would it turn Lippy into a bad-luck bird again?

  Would it turn Sherman into the big loser of the day?

  Chapter 21

  L-O-S-E-R

  The answer to those questions is a very big YES!

  Bad-Luck Lippy instantly became WORST LUCK Lippy!

  With the parrot on his shoulder, poor Sherman didn’t stand a chance. He should have tattooed L-O-S-E-R on his forehead!

  I would never call myself a genius, of course. I’ll leave that to you. But here’s how it went down:

  HORSEBACK RIDING: Jennifer and I won easily after Lippy scared Sherman’s horse and it ran headfirst into a tree. The horse staggered around like it was drunk, and Sherman had to hitch a ride with April-May.

  ARCHERY: Sherman was about to let his arrow go at the target. Lippy let out a deafening squawk. Sherman’s arm jumped. And he shot his arrow into Coach Bunz’s butt. Bernie and Jennifer win again.

  ROWING: Just as Sherman and April-May were nearing the finish line, Worst Luck Lippy fell out of the boat. Sherman dove into the lake to save him. April-May had to drag them both out of Lake Choking Gas—stinking to high heaven. By that time, Jennifer and Bernie B. had won the race.

  HORSESHOES: Sherman and April-May were winning—until Worst Luck Lippy dug his claws into Sherman’s shoulder. Sherman clonked himself in the head with a horseshoe and had to go lie down under a tree. Another big victory for Bernie and The Ecch.

  VOLLEYBALL: Sherman got his head stuck in the net. Yes, the bad-luck parrot struck again. It took Nurse Hanley an hour to untangle it. Sherman had net marks all over his face! Bernie and Jen won again, just to make it a perfect day.

  “YAAAAAAY!” Jennifer went totally nuts. She lifted me off the ground and ran around the lake, holding me over her head like a prize fish and cheering her head off. “We won! We won the trophy!”

  The Ecch really loves trophies.

  She made three laps around the lake, tossing me into the air and catching me as she ran. Then everyone gathered in a circle around Coach Bunz. It was time for Coach to award the trophy.

  Snarling like a dog, Sherman stormed up to me. He shoved Lippy into my face. “Take this squawker back!” Sherman shouted. “He’s yours. He’s totally bad luck. He even broke my new phone!”

  “Yessss!” I cried. I pumped my fists into the air. Then I gently placed Lippy on my shoulder.

  I had my beautiful pet back. And I helped Jennifer win her precious trophy.

  Could life be any sweeter?

  How long would the good times last?

  About thirty seconds.

  Chapter 22

  FLAT BERNIE

  “The Rotten Trophy is not about winning,” Coach Bunz boomed. “And it’s not about losing. It’s all about tradition. The tradition of…of winning and losing.”

  He took a deep breath. His stomach inflated like a blimp. He continued his speech. “On this beautiful morning—or is it afternoon? Let me check my watch. It’s…”

  “Just hand over the trophy!” Jennifer snapped.

  “Oh. Okay,” Coach Bunz said. He picked up the gleaming silver cup and handed it to me.

  I turned and started to carry it over to Jennifer.

  That’s when Lippy climbed onto my head. I felt something warm and gloppy plop onto my forehead. It oozed down over
my eyes and…

  …I tripped!

  I stumbled and fell.

  And guess where I landed. You got it. On the trophy.

  I heard a loud

  At first, I thought it was my bones!

  But no. Wiping bird glop off my face, I pulled myself up. And squinted down at the trophy beneath me.

  Flat. I’d crushed it flat.

  I turned and saw The Ecch shaking her big fist at me. “You RUINED it! You RUINED my trophy!”

  I took off running. Running for my life.

  “Stop! STOP, you trophy wrecker!” Jennifer screamed. She thundered after me, shaking her big fist like a club. “How does the name Flat Bernie sound to you?”

  Not good.

  I ran as hard as I could. And as I ran, the bad-news parrot squawked all the way:

  About the Author

  R.L. Stine graduated from Rotten School with a solid D+ average, which put him at the top of his class. He says that his favorite activities at school were Scratching Body Parts and Making Armpit Noises.

  In sixth grade, R.L. won the school Athletic Award for his performance in the Wedgie Championships. Unfortunately, after the tournament, his underpants had to be surgically removed.

  R.L. was very popular in school. He could tell this because kids always clapped and cheered whenever he left the room. One of his teachers remembers him fondly: “R.L. was a hard worker. He was so proud of himself when he learned to wave bye-bye with both hands.”

  After graduation, R.L. became well known for writing scary book series such as The Nightmare Room, Fear Street, Goosebumps, and Mostly Ghostly, and a short story collection called Beware!

  Today, R.L. lives in a cage in New York City, where he is busy writing stories about his school days. Says he: “I wish everyone could be a Rotten Student.”

  For more information about R.L. Stine, go to www.rottenschool.com and www.rlstine.com

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  ROTTEN SCHOOL

  Series:

  #1. The Big Blueberry Barf-Off!

  #2. The Great Smelling Bee

  #3. The Good, the Bad and the Very Slimy

  #4. Lose, Team, Lose!

  #5. Shake, Rattle, & Hurl!

  #6. The Heinie Prize

  #7. Dudes, The School Is Haunted!

  #8. The Teacher from Heck

  #9. Party Poopers

  #10. The Rottenest Angel

  #11. Punk’d and Skunked

  #12. Battle of the Dum Diddys

  #13. Got Cake?

  #14. Night of the Creepy Things

  Credits

  Cover art by Trip Park

  Cover design by mjcdesign.com

  Cover © 2007 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.

  Copyright

  ROTTEN SCHOOL #15: CALLING ALL BIRDBRAINS. Copyright © 2007 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C. Cover copyright © 2007 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Adobe Digital Edition March 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-190683-1

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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