Horrid Henry's Underpants (3 page)

“A fly landed on my cabbage!” shrieked Henry. He swatted the air with his hands.

“Where?” said Mom.

“There!” said Henry. He leapt out of his seat. “Now it’s on the fridge!”

“Buzz,” said Henry under his breath.

“I don’t see any fly,” said Dad.

“Up there!” said Henry, pointing to the ceiling.

Mom looked up.

Dad looked up.

Peter looked up.

Henry dumped a handful of cabbage in the garbage. Then he sat back down at the table.

“Rats,” said Henry. “I can’t eat the rest of my cabbage now, can I? Not after a filthy, horrible, disgusting fly has walked all over it, spreading germs and dirt and poo and—”

“All right, all right,” said Dad. “Leave the rest.”

I am a genius, thought Horrid Henry, smirking. Only one more battle until— Vegetable Victory!

Day 5. Sprouts.

Mom ate her sprouts.

Dad ate his sprouts.

Peter ate his sprouts.

Henry glared at his sprouts. Of all the miserable, rotten vegetables ever invented, sprouts were the worst. So bitter. So stomach-churning. So…green.

But how to get rid of them? There was Peter’s head, a tempting target. A very tempting target. Henry’s sproutflicking fingers itched. No, thought Horrid Henry. I can’t blow it when I’m so close.

Should he throw them on the floor? Spit them in his napkin?

Or—Horrid Henry beamed.

There was a little drawer in the table in front of Henry’s chair. A perfect, brussels sprout-sized drawer.

Henry eased it open. What could be simpler than stuffing a sprout or two inside while pretending to eat?

Soon the drawer was full. Henry’s plate was empty.

“Look Mom! Look Dad!” screeched Henry. “All gone!” Which was true, he thought gleefully.

“Good job, Henry,” said Dad.

“Good job, Henry,” said Peter.

“We’ll take you to Gobble and Go tomorrow,” said Mom.

“Yippee!” screamed Horrid Henry.

Mom, Dad, Henry, and Peter walked up the street.

Mom, Dad, Henry, and Peter walked down the street.

Where was Gobble and Go, with its flashing neon sign, blaring music, and purple walls? They must have walked past it.

But how? Horrid Henry looked around wildly. It was impossible to miss Gobble and Go. You could see that neon sign for miles.

“It was right here,” said Horrid Henry.

But Gobble and Go was gone.

A new restaurant squatted in its place.

“The Virtuous Veggie,” read the sign. “The all new vegetable restaurant!”

Horrid Henry gazed in horror at the menu posted outside.

“Yummy!” said Perfect Peter.

“Look, Henry,” said Mom. “It’s serving all your new favorite vegetables.”

Horrid Henry opened his mouth to protest. Then he closed it. He knew when he was beaten.

A late birthday present! Whoopee! Just when you thought you’d got all your loot, more treasure arrives.

Horrid Henry shook the small thin package. It was light. Very light. Maybe it was—oh, please let it be—MONEY! Of course it was money. What else could it be? There was so much stuff he needed: a Mutant Max lunchbox, a Rapper Zapper Blaster, and, of course, the new Terminator Gladiator game he kept seeing advertized on TV. Mom and Dad were so mean and horrible, they wouldn’t buy it for him. But he could buy whatever he liked with his own money. So there. Ha ha ha ha ha. Wouldn’t Ralph be green with envy when he swaggered into school with a Mutant Max lunchbox? And no way would he even let Peter touch his Rapper Zapper Blaster.

So how much money had he been sent? Maybe enough for him to buy everything! Horrid Henry tore off the wrapping paper.

AAAAARRRRGGGHHHHH! Great-Aunt Greta had done it again.

Great-Aunt Greta thought he was a girl. Great-Aunt Greta had been told ten billion times that his name was Henry, not Henrietta, and that he wasn’t four years old. But every year Peter would get $10, or a football, or a computer game, and he would get a Walkie-Talkie-Teasy-Weasy-Burpy-Slurpy Doll. Or a Princess Pamper Parlor. Or Baby Poopie Pants. And now this.

Horrid Henry picked up the birthday card. Maybe there was money inside. He opened it.

Horrid Henry stared in horror at the frilly pink lacy underpants, decorated with glittery hearts and bows. This was the worst present he had ever received. Worse than socks. Worse than handkerchiefs. Even worse than a book.

Bleccch! Ick! Yuck! Horrid Henry chucked the hideous underpants in the garbage where they belonged.

Ding dong.

Oh no! Rude Ralph was here to play. If he saw those underpants Henry would never hear the end of it. His name would be mud forever.

Clump clump clump.

Ralph was stomping up the stairs to his bedroom. Henry snatched the terrible underpants from the garbage and looked around his room wildly for a hiding place. Under the pillow? What if they had a pillow fight? Under the bed? What if they played hide and seek? Quickly Henry stuffed them in the back of his underpants drawer. I’ll get rid of them the moment Ralph leaves, he thought.

“Mercy, Your Majesty, mercy!”

King Henry the Horrible looked down at his sniveling brother. “Off with his head!” he ordered.

“Henry! Henry! Henry!” cheered his grateful subjects.

“HENRY!”

King Henry the Horrible woke up. His Medusa mother was looming above him.

“You’ve overslept!” shrieked Mom. “School starts in five minutes! Get dressed! Quick! Quick!” She pulled the blanket off Henry.

“Wha—wha?” mumbled Henry.

Dad raced into the room.

“Hurry!” shouted Dad. “We’re late!” He yanked Henry out of bed.

Henry stumbled around his dark bedroom. Half-asleep, he reached inside his underwear drawer, grabbed a pair, then picked up some clothes off the floor and flung everything on. Then he, Dad, and Peter ran all the way to school.

“Margaret! Stop pulling Susan’s hair!”

“Ralph! Sit down!”

“Linda! Sit up!”

“Henry! Pay attention!” barked Miss Battle-Axe. “I am about to explain long division. I will only explain it once. You take a great big number, like 374, and then divide it—”

Horrid Henry was not paying attention. He was tired. He was crabby. And for some reason his underpants were itchy.

These underpants feel horrible, he thought. And so tight. What’s wrong with them?

Horrid Henry sneaked a peek.