Dumb Clucks (6 page)

It was a sunny afternoon as I walked across the Great Lawn. Apples fell from the apple trees, making a pleasant
splat
. Robins pulled fat worms from the grass and slurped them down.

I didn't care. I couldn't enjoy my walk.

Every step I took, Stupid Chicken and Drastic Duck and Power Pigeon stared out at me. It was like they were
following
me!

That's because kids had plastered their posters on every tree and wall. Someone glued a Stupid Chicken poster on the back of the statue of I.B.
Rotten. Someone pasted Drastic Duck posters on all the toilets in the boys' locker room.

Duck and chicken and pigeon posters everywhere I looked. Hundreds of them!

Why did they make me feel so bad?
Because I didn't sell the posters!

Was I losing my touch?

I was going broke on T-shirts and caps. Why didn't I think of posters?

It was a low moment for Bernie B. And then an apple fell on my head just to make the day perfect.

I was rubbing the juice from my hair when I saw Angel Goodeboy running toward me. He had a big bag in one hand.

“Bernie, oh my gosh and goodness. Can you do me a big favor?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said. “Anything for a pal.” I eyed the bag. “Do you have candy in there that you'd like to share?”

“Gosh, no. I just refilled all these ink markers. I'm late for my after-school Flower Arranging class. Can you take the markers to Mrs. Twinkler in the art room for me?”

FLASH!

That flash was the great Bernie B. having a brilliant idea.

“Yes. No prob,” I said. I took the bag of markers from him. “No prob at all.”

“Oh my gosh. Thanks, Bernie,” Angel said. He rushed off to his class.

Now I had a grin on my face.

I saw Feenman walking across campus. He stopped to shake his head and frown at a Drastic Duck poster. I hurried over to him.

“They shouldn't be allowed to put that creepy duck up,” I said. “Feenman, don't you think he'd look better with a mustache and beard?”

“You got
that
right!” Feenman said. “Wish I had a marker!”

“It's your lucky day,” I said. I pulled a marker from the bag. “Only three dollars.”

Feenman pulled three dollars from his pocket. I
handed him the marker, and he went to work on the poster. In a few seconds, Drastic Duck had a lovely, black beard and mustache.

Across the lawn, I saw April-May in front of a poster of Stupid Chicken. I ran as fast as I could. “They have a lot of
nerve
putting up that poster,” I said. “Wouldn't you just love to add a beard and mustache?”

“And maybe make his eyes crossed,” April-May
said. “Wish I had a marker.”

“Your wish is my command!” I said. I sold her a marker for three dollars.

An hour later, all the markers were sold. My pockets were bulging with dollar bills. And all the posters on campus had beards, mustaches, eyeglasses, and rude words all over them.

A job well done!

But, you know me, dudes. You know that this was just the beginning!

The next day I told Belzer to get down on the ground and gather up as many pigeon feathers as he could. Then I sold the feathers for a dollar each.

I told Drastic Duck fans they were Official Drastic
Duck Feathers. And you can probably guess what I told Stupid Chicken fans.

It was kinda funny. Kids walking around, proudly showing off their pigeon feathers.

“Belzer, I'm all out of feathers,” I said, counting my money. “Find more.”

“But, Bernie,” he whined, “there
aren't
any more. I searched everywhere.”

“Can't you pluck some pigeons?”

“I already did!” he said. “Haven't you seen all the naked birds walking around campus?”

Okay. No prob.

I bought some duck-call whistles. I sold them to Drastic Duck fans for two dollars each.

Then I sold little chicken dolls to the Stupid Chicken fans. Squeeze them and they clucked like
chickens. And I sold birdseed to the Power Pigeon fanatics.

The money rolled in like…like…money.

I knew I could cash in on these cluckers and quackers. Why did I ever doubt the great Bernie B.?

One afternoon I was up in my room, lying in bed, counting the huge wad of bills again and again—just for fun.

Three hundred bucks! Whoa. Even I was impressed. That was enough money for snacks and refreshments for the parents. And PLENTY left over for the Bernie Bridges Private Charity Fund.

I jumped to my feet and did a happy dance, waving the money over my head. Could
anything
be better? Could
anything
ruin this moment?

Yes.

Mrs. Heinie stepped into my room. I could tell she was angry. Her glasses were steamed.

“You're looking beautiful today, Mrs. Heinie,” I said, flashing her my best smile. “Did you have that wart on your cheek removed? Very smooth!”

She glared at me through her steamy glasses. “Bernie, I've received a very bad report about you,”
she said. “Angel Goodeboy told me that you stole the black markers from the art room and sold them to kids for three dollars each.”

 

“Huh?”

 

My mouth dropped open. “Angel Goodeboy? He…he GAVE me the markers!”

Angel was no angel. Angel was a total snitch.

Mrs. Heinie stared at the wad of bills in my hand. “Bernie, stealing is very serious,” she said. “Selling school property is also very serious.”

It looked bad. But I knew I could think my way out of this.

Think fast, Bernie. Think FAST!

“I'm sorry,” Mrs. H. said, shaking her head. “But I have to take you to Headmaster Upchuck and report the whole story.”

The whole story?

He'll toss me out of school with a huge grin on his face. He won't even wait till Parents' Day!

“Wait, Mrs. Heinie,” I said. “You don't understand. Let me explain.”

She crossed her arms and tapped her shoe on the floor. “I'm listening,” she said. “This better be good.”

“It is,” I said. “See this money? Three hundred dollars. It's supposed to be a surprise.”

She tapped her shoe faster. “A surprise?”

I nodded. “For Headmaster Upchuck. It's a birthday surprise from all of us guys. He's always wanted his own Venus Flytrap garden in front of his house, right? Well, we raised enough money for fifty Flytraps. He'll be so happy. But it's a secret. We don't want to spoil the surprise.”

Was she buying it?

She stared at me, tapping her shoe.

“That's a wonderful surprise, Bernie,” she said finally. “Tell you what, I'll take the money and buy the Flytraps for you. You've worked hard. Let
me
do the rest.”

“But—but—”

She grabbed the wad of bills from my hand and stuffed it into her pocket. Then she turned and hurried down the stairs.

I stared at the empty doorway, breathing hard. Was she
really
going to use my hard-earned money to
buy Flytraps for The Upchuck? Or was she going to buy herself another tattoo?

It didn't matter. I was back where I started. Totally broke. No money for refreshments. No money for my Private Charity Fund.

Was it too late to start over?

CLUUUUCK CLUUCK!

HONNNNK HONNNNK HONNNK!

The superhero battle raged. No one could stop it now.

In the Dining Hall at lunch, the honking and clucking and cooing made the plates shake on the tables. The sounds echoed off the walls and ceiling of the huge room.

Most kids had to hold their ears while they honked their duck calls or made their chickens cluck or cooed like a loud pigeon.

At a corner table, a group of girls sang the Power Pigeon song at the top of their lungs. I couldn't hear them. The honking and clucking drowned them out.

Everyone was having a great time—until Headmaster Upchuck poked his bald head in. He stormed into the room, red-faced, covering his ears.

I wasn't honking or clucking or chanting or quacking or singing. But, of course, he blamed me!

“Bernie, what's all the
racket
?” he shouted.

I gave him my innocent, wide-eyed look. “Racket, sir? I didn't hear anything.”

“You don't hear that
awful noise
?” he boomed.

“I think it's just us digesting our lunch,” I said.

The Upchuck shook his fist. “I warned you, Bernie,” he growled. “Your job was to keep this school calm and quiet to get everyone ready for Parents' Day. Shall I buy your bus ticket home?”

“Home, sir?” I said. “I don't understand.”

“All this clucking and quacking!” the Headmaster said. “I don't call this calm and quiet.”

He took my arm. “You failed, Bernie. Come on. Let's get you packed.”

Think fast, Bernie. Think fast!

“We're just excited, sir,” I said. “We're totally
psyched
about our overnight on an actual farm.”

His mouth dropped open. “Overnight? On a farm?” He shook his head. “How come no one ever tells me about these things?”

He walked off muttering to himself.

“Overnight?” Belzer asked. “Bernie, we're going on an overnight to a farm?”

“Of
course
not!” I said. “I made that up. Why would we go on an overnight to a farm?”

 

FLASH!

 

There it was. Another brilliant idea.

That night I called the local farm and ordered one hundred live chickens. I didn't buy them. I just borrowed them.

Why did I borrow a hundred chickens?

What were they for?

Where did I plan to put them?

Questions, questions. Easy-to-answer questions—
if
you have a brilliant brain for scheming and plotting.

And do you know anyone who schemes and plots as well as Bernie B.?

What were my assignments from Headmaster
Upchuck? Keep the school calm and quiet for a week. And raise a ton of money for Parents' Day refreshments.

Well…the best way to keep the school calm and quiet was to put an
end
to the chicken-duck-pigeon war. And maybe someone—namely ME—could put an end to the war
and
make a lot of money at the same time.

That's where the chickens came in.

Are you following me so far?

Well, I called a Rotten House dorm meeting to clue my friends in.

The guys all made their way into the Commons Room, our living room. It took only ten or fifteen minutes for them to fight over who got the couch. Feenman and Crench stood against the wall, making each other flinch.

Mrs. Heinie was out hanging with the motorcycle gang she rides with every week. So the coast was clear for planning and scheming.

“Dudes, we're gonna end the war,” I started.

“Stupid Chicken rules!” Beast declared. He tore off a wooden chair arm and began chewing big
chunks out of it. “Stupid Chicken RULES!”

“The Duck is YUCK! The Duck is YUCK!” They all began to chant. “The Duck is YUCK! The Duck is YUCK!”

After an hour or so, they began to get tired of the chant. So I started again.

“Do you know the Nyce House dudes are having a big dance party?” I asked.

They stared at me.

“No. You don't know about it,” I said. “Because none of us are invited. It's in the gym on Friday night. They have a dj and everything. Sherman and his pals invited girls from the Girls' Dorm. But we're not allowed in!”

Feenman rolled his eyes. “Like we would go to their stupid party anyway,” he muttered. “Hang out with those dudes, you get cooties.”

“You get rabies!” Crench said.

“No. You get Booblonic Plague,” Billy the Brain said.

“Excuse me?” I said. “What's Booblonic Plague?”

“It's like a disease,” Billy said. “It's way dangerous. It rots your booblonic.”

“I had it once,” Beast said. “Made my hair itch like crazy!”

“Listen, I've got more to tell you guys,” I said. “Can you guess the theme of the Nyce House party? It's Drastic Duck.”

“The Duck is YUCK! The Duck is YUCK!”

They started chanting again. I had to wait another hour for them to get worn out.

“I think it's time to put an end to Drastic Duck and the whole war,” I said finally. “I promised Headmaster Upchuck calm and quiet. And we're gonna get calm and quiet—by starting the biggest, noisiest riot in school history!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Billy the Brain said. He flashed me a thumbs-up.

“I've ordered a hundred live chickens,” I said. “Listen up, dudes. Here's what we're going to do with them….”