Got Cake? (4 page)

My scream sent leaves tumbling from the trees. I saw two birds fall out of the sky and land with two thuds on the grass.

I'll never forget the grin on Jennifer's face. When it came to The Stomp, she knew she
ruled
.

“Why are you screaming?” she cried. “That was a love tap.”

A love tap?

My foot was buried
two feet
in the ground!

I tugged it out. My shoe looked like shredded wheat. I grabbed it with both hands and started hopping in agony.

I glanced up and saw Jennifer with a camera pressed to her face. She snapped picture after picture as I hopped on one foot.

“Look what you did!” I screamed. “My foot is totally FLAT! You gave me a webbed foot! I look like a DUCK!”

She laughed. “Keep hopping, Ducky Lips. I think you can set the school record.”

“Don't call me Ducky Lips!” I screamed.

I couldn't hop anymore. My foot had swelled up to the size of a cantaloupe! I plopped down onto the grass. “What are you doing with that camera?” I cried.

She plopped down beside me. She giggled and grabbed my arm.

“Ducky Lips, you crack me up,” she said. Then she started planting wet, smoochy kisses up and down my arm.

She didn't stop until my arm was limp and soaked as a sponge.

Do you know how embarrassing it is to be in fourth grade and have a girl totally in love with you?

I sighed. “What about the camera?” I asked again.

“The shots of you hopping up and down are going to be
awesome
in the
Rotten Egg
!” she gushed.

“Excuse me?” I said.

She gave my shoulder a gentle slap—so gentle, it knocked me flat on the grass. “Ducky Whiskers, you
know
I'm the new photographer for the yearbook.”

I stared at her until my glasses steamed up. “Huh? You?
You
work for the yearbook?”

She nodded.

I scooted away. She looked like she was going to give me another gentle tap.

“You're the Official Photographer for the
Rotten Egg
?” I asked.

She nodded again.

My mind whirred. I could feel my brain heating up inside my skull as I began to think. My ears started flapping again.

Now I couldn't lose! With Jennifer as
my
Official Photographer,
I couldn't lose!
(Maybe.)

I jumped to my feet. I began to pace back and forth excitedly in front of Jennifer. “You know about the Most Popular Rotten Egg page?” I asked her.

She nodded. “Of course. I'm taking the photo of the winner.”

She leaned forward and started pulling up clumps of grass from the ground with both hands. Then she stuffed them into her mouth and chewed on them.

I squinted down at her. “Why are you doing that?”

She shrugged. “
MMMPH, MMMMPH
. I like to keep busy.”

I told you she's a beast.

“I want to win the Most Popular contest,” I said.

A lopsided grin spread over her face. “You're already Most Popular with
me,
Honey Face.” She grabbed my hand, jerked me back down to the ground, and began planting more smoochy kisses on my arm.

I had to shove her away when she started to chew the buttons off my shirt.

“Jen, listen to me,” I begged. “You want to help me, don't you?”

She giggled. “Of course I'll help you. You're my wubby-wubby—aren't you?”

“Your WHAT?!” I screamed.

Her crooked grin spread all the way to her huge, floppy ears. “My wubby-wubby.”

Oh, puke.

“Jennifer, please!” I begged. “Don't ever say that again. Please—
swear
you'll never say that again.”

She giggled. “How do you want me to help you?”

“I want you to take a bunch of photos of me being popular,” I said. “Follow me around with your camera. And whenever you see me being popular, snap a shot.”

“Okay, Wubby-Wubby,” she said.

“Please—no wubby-wubby!” I pleaded. “If you say it one more time, I'll have no choice. I'll have to leave school.”

“So I take photos of everyone adoring you,” Jennifer said. “Then what?”

“Then you snap a thousand photos of the huge crowd at my birthday party,” I said. “Total proof of how popular I am.”

She squinted at me with her one brown eye and one blue eye. “You're having a birthday party?”

“The biggest party in Rotten School history,” I said. “Then you bring the stack of photos to Leif Blower. Blower will see that I'm the only choice. Piece of cake!”

Jennifer lumbered to her feet. “I'm late for hockey practice,” she said. “Can I bake you a big birthday cake for your party? Please, please, please? Can I bake the cake?”

“Sure,” I said. “The bigger the better.”

She grinned. She had clumps of grass stuck in her teeth. “Thank you! Thank you! I'm going to bake the biggest birthday cake in history!”

She started to trot toward the hockey field. Then she suddenly turned and yelled at the top of her lungs: “Bye, Wubby-Wubby!”

I saw April-May and Leif across the grass. They HEARD her! They started to laugh. Other kids started laughing, too.

Oh, wow. I felt my face turn red. Laughter rang in my ears. I slumped to the ground. And I started pulling up clumps of grass and stuffing them into my mouth.

Hey
—not bad!

So far, the birthday party was just a brilliant idea. Now I had to get people working on it.

I knew I couldn't give the party for myself. How
lame
would that be?

Other kids had to throw the party for me.

You probably go home every day after school. But I can't. Rotten School is a boarding school. That means we all live at school.

My buddies and I live in a dorm called Rotten House. Actually, it's a run-down, beat-up old house with creaking floors, rattling windows, an inch of
dust everywhere, and strange, furry bugs crawling up and down the walls.

We
love
it.

We can do whatever we want. No parents! And Mrs. Heinie, our dorm mother, is totally nearsighted. She can't see a thing we do.

How great is that?

I have a big room all to myself on the third floor. My friends Feenman, Crench, and Belzer are squeezed into the tiny room across the hall.

They don't mind. They know a popular guy like me needs plenty of room to practice being popular.

That night, I crossed the hall into Feenman, Crench, and Belzer's room. I stopped at the door—and gasped in surprise.

Crench's face and hair were gleaming bright red. He was standing totally still while Feenman slid a fat paintbrush up and down his jeans and T-shirt.

Painting him red.

I stepped into the room. Feenman's hobby is painting things red. He likes to paint kids' computer screens red when they're not looking. One night he sneaked into the School House and painted all the
windows in Mrs. Heinie's classroom red.

“Yo, Bernie,” Feenman greeted me with a smile. “How does he look?”

“He looks red,” I said. “Why are you doing this to him?”

“For Halloween,” Feenman answered. “Cool, huh?”

“But—but—” I sputtered. “Feenman, Halloween is five months away!”

“No problem,” he replied. “I used waterproof paint. No way it'll ever wash off.”

Crench grinned at me through the thick, red globs of paint oozing down his head. “Scary, huh?”

“Scary,” I said. “What are you supposed to be?”

“A dude who is red,” he said.

I should have known.

Time to get the ball rolling. Time to put the party idea in their heads…

I dropped down onto the edge of their bunk bed. “You know, it's hard to keep a secret around here,” I said.

Feenman bent down to paint Crench's sneakers. “Secret, Bernie?”

“Yeah. I heard your secret,” I said. “I know you guys are planning a big surprise party for my birthday.”

“We
are
?” they both replied.

Feenman carefully painted Crench's socks.

“Yeah, the secret got out,” I said. “But listen, guys. Keep the party small, okay? I don't want kids to think I'm stuck-up. Just invite everyone in the whole school. And maybe a few hundred kids from other schools.”

“No problem, Bernie,” Feenman said.

“Yeah, no problem,” Crench repeated. He scratched his head. Now his hand was smeared with red paint. “When did you say your birthday was?”

I laughed. “Don't tease me,” I said. “I
know
you know the answer to that. I know you guys have been planning this party for weeks.”

“Yeah. Right,” Feenman said. He turned Crench around and started painting his butt red.

“Catch you later,” I said. “Remember—make it a small party. Just invite everyone you can think of.”

I stepped out into the hall, but I didn't go into my room. I pressed myself against the wall and eavesdropped on them.

“Did you know it was Bernie's birthday?” I heard Crench say.

“No,” Feenman answered. “Think we should give him some kind of party?”

“I dunno,” Crench replied. “Maybe.”

Okay!
I thought.
Well done, Bernie. That's a start.

I tiptoed back to my room.

I'd put the idea into their heads.

I could already hear the whole school singing “Happy Birthday” to me.

Will that impress Leif Blower?

Does a duck swim backward in the spring?