Punk'd and Skunked (5 page)

Headmaster Snute was a kindly looking old dude. He was dressed in the school uniform—white polo shirt and khaki shorts. And he had a beat-up, straw fishing hat on his head.

He didn't see us enter his office because he was leaning over a fish tank on his desk.

He held a small fishing pole in one hand. The line dangled into the fish tank. Suddenly he snapped it back with a cry: “Gotcha, you sea devil!”

He stared at the empty hook—then saw us. He smiled. “Ever go fishing for wild guppy?” he asked.

“You have to outsmart them. The wild guppy is one of your faster fish.”

I flashed him my best smile. “My dad is a sportsman like you, sir,” I said. “He loves to fish, too. But he usually goes
outside
to fish.”

Snute squinted at me. “Outside? You can fish
outside
? Are you sure?”

He gazed down at his crowded little fish tank. “I keep it well stocked with goldfish,” he said. He licked his lips. “Mighty tasty!”

“These are the contest winners from Rotten School,” Alli said. “You wanted to see them?”

“We didn't
do
anything!” Feenman cried. “Really. You can't blame us! We just got here!”

The headmaster chuckled. “I wanted to welcome you all to Preppy Prep Prep. Jump in. The water is fine!”

He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a stack of disks. “These DVDs are for you,” he said. “They have information about our school. You don't want to dive into the water till you know how to swim—right?”

“There's a DVD player in every room,” Corky
Pigge said. “And a flat-screen, plasma TV. My family paid for them all.”

“Cool!” Crench said. “Are we supposed to take them home when we leave?”

Snute frowned at him.

“He's joking, sir!” I said. “We joke a lot at Rotten School. It's one of our traditions.”

“Interesting,” Snute said. “We've never tried jokes here. Hmmm…think they might make a splash?”

“Would you like to hear a joke, sir?” I asked. “A grizzly bear and a chicken go into a restaurant, and—”

“I don't think so,” he said. “You boys will find it different here. This is a much bigger pond than you're used to. Be careful not to swim against the current. And watch out for bottom-feeders.”

“Bernie,” Feenman whispered. “What is he
talking
about?”

I shrugged. “Beats me.”

“Don't clam up, boys,” Snute said. “The world is your oyster—if you don't make waves.”

“Totally right, sir,” I said. “We're looking forward to the Make-a-Great-Invention Contest.”

He dropped his fishing line into the tank. “The guppies just aren't biting today,” he muttered. “But I'm not complaining. PPP is such a wealthy school, I have three assistants who do all my work. Leaves me plenty of time for fishing.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Alli said, shuffling through the pages on her clipboard. “But these guys are one minute and forty-five seconds behind schedule. We have to hurry up and—”

Before she could finish, a chubby, red-haired boy came running into the office. He shoved a fat envelope at the Headmaster. “Here's the money I collected, Mr. Snute,” he said.

Snute took the envelope and set it down on his desk. “Good work, Feldspar.”

“Hi. I'm Feldspar Pyrite,” the boy said. “Are you in fourth grade? I skipped fourth grade. Everyone in my family always skips fourth grade. We're wacky that way.”

He turned back to the headmaster. “This is the money I collected for the Bow Tie Fund. To buy bow ties for the poor. Don't thank me, sir. You know how deeply I care about getting bow ties for the poor. I
start to cry every time I think about it.” He brushed away a tear.

Was this guy for REAL?

I couldn't resist. I picked up the money envelope. It weighed a
ton
!

Alli checked her stopwatch. “We're late for afternoon tea,” she said. “Let's go, guys.”

Headmaster Snute waved good-bye. “Don't just flop around. Throw a wide net, boys,” he said, “and see what you catch.”

We started for the door.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” the headmaster called.

“Oh, yes. Sorry,” I said. I pulled the money envelope out from under my shirt and handed it back to him.

“But I don't
like
tea,” Belzer complained. “Yuck. It tastes like…tea.”

“Just pretend to drink it,” I said. “We want to make friends—right? You can spit it on the floor when no one is looking.”

Back at Rotten School, guys always spit their dinner onto the floor when no one's looking. The food is totally gross. Even the
flies
don't go near it.

We followed Alli and Corky to the terrace of Crumpet Hall. We sat down at a table with a white tablecloth and little china plates. Feldspar Pyrite
pulled out a chair and sat down with us.

“Afternoon tea is an old school tradition started by the Pigges,” Corky said. “Pigges have been cupping for centuries.”

Cupping
?

“We only have ten minutes and forty-two seconds,” Alli said, checking her clipboard. “Then I have to check you into your rooms.”

Feldspar tossed back his head and sneezed. “Bad allergies,” he said. He wiped his nose with a five-dollar bill.

My tongue rolled out, and I started to pant.

A tall waiter in a white uniform brought a pot of tea and a tray of little sandwiches.

Feenman grabbed a bunch of sandwiches before the waiter set the tray down. “Hey—these sandwiches don't have crusts!” he cried.

“We don't like crusts on our sandwiches,” Corky said, his stubby nose raised in the air. “Too crusty.”

He grabbed the teapot. “I'll pour,” he said. “Pigges always pour the tea.”

Alli stared at her watch. “Eat fast,” she said. “I have a list of fourteen more things to do this hour.

After that, I get
really
busy!”

Feenman pawed through all the sandwiches. “Isn't there any salami?”

Belzer took a sip of tea, gurgled it around in his mouth, then tried to spit it on the ground. But he missed and spit it all over Crench.

Crench let out a cry. He grabbed a cheese sandwich and smushed it into Belzer's face. Feenman squeezed a fat glob of tuna salad into Crench's shirt pocket.

Feldspar leaned across the table to me. “Like to play croquet?” he asked.

My buddies started to hoot and laugh. But I shut them up fast.

“Croquet is our favorite sport,” I said. “We're on the croquet team at Rotten School. We can't get enough of it…the smell of the fresh-cut grass…the
thwack
of a mallet…thrilling!”

“Maybe we could play a few rounds,” Feldspar said.

“We'd love to,” I said.

“Maybe a dollar a wicket?” Feldspar whispered. “You know. A little bet to make it more fun?”

I gasped. “Huh? Gamble?” I said. “Oh, no. We're not here to bet on games. We have to concentrate on winning the contest.”

“How about we make it
five
dollars a wicket?” Feldspar said.

Oh, wow. I didn't want to bet on croquet. I had my eye on the five-thousand-dollar contest prize. But…I couldn't pass up a bet.

“Well…maybe,” I said.

Feldspar reached into his shorts pocket and pulled out a deck of cards. “Here's another game you might like,” he said. “It's called poker. Ever play?”

I shook my head. “Poker? No. I've only seen it on TV.”

It was a white lie. I really didn't want to get into a card game. It was gonna take all my brainpower to think up a new invention.

“I'll teach it to you,” Feldspar said, shuffling the deck like a pro. “Alli and Corky can play, too. Just a fun game.”

“I think I can fit it in between eight and eight-twelve,” Alli said.

“Maybe we'll play for a few nickels,” Feldspar
said. “Or maybe dollars. Just for fun. Meet me in the game room tonight.”

This guy Feldspar Pyrite reminded me of someone I liked—ME!

He hurried away. Alli and Corky went to talk to some friends.

I turned to my buddies. They were pouring tea onto each other's heads. “Cool it,” I whispered. “Did you hear what I told him? I told him we never played cards before.”

“Know why I told him that?” I said. “Because we don't have time for cards. We've got five thousand dollars to win. Start thinking about an invention,
guys. Have you ever heard of an
emergency
? This is it!”

They didn't hear a word I said. They were too busy pouring hot tea on each other and screaming their heads off.

Motor scooters whizzed past us as Alli led the way to Pigge House, our dorm. Kids flew kites. Kids sun-bathed on blankets on the lawn. A group of serious-looking dudes crept by silently, holding binoculars up to their eyes.

“Are they
spies
?” Feenman asked Alli.

She laughed. “No. They're bird-watchers. There's a rumor that a blue-bottomed, fat-breasted wren is on campus.”

She smiled at Feenman. “Are you into birds?”

Feenman thought about it. “Well…I eat fried
chicken,” he said. “Does that count?”

We stopped in front of a bunch of kids who were working hard, building something very tall. It looked kinda like a
house
.

“What's up with that?” I asked a tall, skinny guy, who was working hard in a T-shirt and shorts. “You building a new dorm?”

He stopped hammering. “Yo.

We're the contest winners from
Baked Potato Chips Middle School. This is our project for the Make-a-Great-Invention Contest,” he said. He mopped his forehead with one hand.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It's pretty simple,” he said. “Inside is a new kind of elevator. This is a small one, but one day we hope skyscrapers will have them. It's powered by human breath.”

“Wow!”

“Amazing!”

“Unbelievable!”

My three buddies went nuts.

“Yeah, I thought of doing that,” I said. “But it's a little too simple for us. We need more of a challenge.”

We walked on. Crench hurried to catch up to me. “Big B, we're in major trouble,” he said. “They're building an awesome elevator. And we don't have one idea.”

“Don't worry about it,” I said. “We'll think of something.”

I could picture that five-thousand-dollar prize. And my buddies and me hanging out at MTV-6.

We
had
to think of something fabulous!

At the edge of the lawn, we came to another group of hardworking kids. They were working on a
contraption with a big metal loop at the top. Three guys were making a fan for it. Other kids worked on an electronic control.

An awesome-looking girl smiled at me. She had dark eyes and long, dark hair and was wearing tennis shorts and a white polo shirt.

“That's my friend Nicki,” Alli said. “Nicki Toros. She goes to Poly-Wannacracker Academy.”

“I've
heard
of that school,” I said.

“Can you guess what our invention is?” Nicki asked.

“Does it receive radio messages from Mars?” I asked.

“It's the world's best bubble-blowing machine,” she said.

“Awesome!” Feenman said. “I blew bubbles for my social studies project.”

She stared at him. “You're joking, right? What grade did you get?”

“An F,” Feenman said. “But it was my best project all year.”

“How does the bubble machine work?” Crench asked, scratching his hair.

“You pour the liquid in here,” Nicki said. She pointed to a jar on the back. “Then the fan blows the bubbles into the air. They're as big as beach balls. They're made of plastic. They last for
weeks
.”

“Not bad,” I told her. “You'll probably come in second—after us.”

Her dark eyes flashed. “Why? What's your project?”

I raised a finger to my lips. “
Ssshhh!
Lots of kids here would like to
steal
our idea. I wish I could give you a clue. But our project is too exciting to talk about. We don't even talk about it to
each other
!”

“What school do you go to?” she asked.

“Rotten School,” I said.

“Figures,” she said.