Dumb Clucks (3 page)

I rolled myself into a tight ball and hugged my knees.

Finally the clucking and pecking stopped. Someone tapped my shoulder.

I slowly let go of my knees and looked up. “Belzer!”

“Hi, Bernie,” he said. He flashed me his crooked smile. “How's it going?”

“Not great,” I said. I sat up with a groan.

Belzer brushed the dirt and grass off my shoulders. “That's nice of you to play with first graders,” he said.

“I love spending time with the little guys,” I said.
I checked out my bruises and bites. “How'd you get rid of them?”

“I told them they could have the Tadpole shirts for free,” he said.

I swallowed hard.

“They grabbed them and ran away as fast as they could,” Belzer said.

“Cute kids,” I said. I gazed around. “And where's my cart?”

“They took that, too,” Belzer replied. “Some of them pushed it, and some of them rode in it.”

“Sounds like fun,” I said. I stood up and let Belzer brush the dirt and grass off my pants.

“I have a message for you, Big B,” Belzer said. “From Headmaster Upchuck. He wants to see you—right away.”

My heart turned to ice. I had to pound my chest with both fists to thaw it out and get it pumping again.

“He probably wants to give me some kind of award,” I told Belzer. “Maybe he wants to name me
Student of the Decade
or something. I'll bet there's a big CASH PRIZE, too.”

“Maybe he wants to toss you out on your butt,” Belzer said.

“Maybe,” I agreed.

Headmaster Upchuck lives in a little white house next to the classroom building. His office is on the first floor.

A sign next to the entrance reads:

But the house is surrounded by an electric barbed-wire fence. The front yard is filled with big poison ivy shrubs. Two snarling guard dogs patrol the fence. And the welcome mat at the front door says:

I could be wrong. But I get the feeling the Headmaster doesn't really want to see us.

Maybe he's shy because of his height. He's only about three feet tall. He could be mistaken for one of the students. Except that he's as bald as a cantaloupe and wears a gray wool suit every day.

And now he wanted to see me. Why was I in trouble? My brain did flips, then flops.

He couldn't know about my secret for getting free Nutty Nutty candy bars by removing the
back
of the candy machine.

He couldn't know about how I wrote the answers to the math test on the lenses of my sunglasses.

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.

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!

“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.

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!”