Punk'd and Skunked (7 page)

I found the Croquet Lawn just past the Rose Garden. The ground was flat, and the grass was cut short. The silver wickets gleamed in the bright sunshine.

No one was here yet. I picked up a wooden mallet and did a few practice swings. “Go easy on them, Bernie,” I told myself. “I'll give them a little lesson in how the game is played. But I won't be mean and run up a big score.”

I leaned forward and swung the mallet hard.

I accidentally smacked it into my ankle. Pain shot up my leg.

I was still hopping on one foot when Feldspar, Alli, and Corky appeared.

“Bernie, are you okay?” Alli asked.

I hopped a few more times, rubbing my ankle. “Just doing my warm-up exercises,” I said. “Gotta be loose for this game—right?”

Alli checked her clipboard. “I have ten minutes and forty-two seconds to play,” she said. “So let's get started.” She picked up a mallet and stepped up to the first pole.

Feldspar flashed me an evil smile. “Bernie, what do you say? How about a dollar a wicket?”

I liked this kid. He was tricky. But I
like
tricky.

I grinned back at him. “I hate taking your money,” I said. “But maybe I can give you a few pointers in this game.”

His grin grew wider. “You don't stand a chance,” he said. “I've been playing croquet since I was a baby. Before I learned to walk, I had to butt the ball with my little baby head.”

Was he
serious
?

“Pigges have been playing this game for two hundred years,” Corky said. “We helped to invent the mallet. Before mallets, no one could figure out how to hit the ball.”

These kids were
tough
when it came to croquet. But I knew I had something on my side—the Bernie Bridges luck. I couldn't lose!

We all shook hands. The bet was on.

Alli was about to swing her mallet. But Corky grabbed her arm. “Let Bernie go first,” he said. “He's our guest.”

Corky set down a bright blue ball for me. Then he backed away quickly.

Everyone backed away. They were giving me plenty of room. I guessed they wanted a good view of a master player. They were staring hard.

I didn't want to disappoint them. I tapped the ball a few times. Then I gave it a hard wallop and—

The blast sent me staggering backward. I felt my
hair
fly up on my head. My arms flew up, and I started flapping them like a bird.

I staggered in circles. The sound of the explosion rang in my ears. And when I finally stopped teetering and tottering and looked down,
my clothes were gone
!

I stood there on the grass in my underpants!

Dizzy, I spun around—and saw the three Prepsters laughing their heads off. They were slapping high fives and touching knuckles. And pointing at the
tatters of my clothes on the grass.

“Ha-ha. Funny,” I choked out. My voice cracked. My knees wobbled. My ears still rang.

“We didn't tell you about Corky's hobby,” Feldspar said. “He likes to blow things up.”

“Nothing personal,” Alli said. “He does it to everyone.”

“Th-that's the LAST thing I'd expect Corky to d-do,” I stammered.

Corky smiled and stuck his little nose in the air. “Pigges have been blowing things up for two hundred years,” he said proudly. “We helped invent dynamite. Before that, people had to shout
BANG
at each other!”

“Well, thanks for the game,” I said. “You guys are real good sports.”

Punk'd and skunked AGAIN!

On the tennis court, kids stopped to stare at me in my underpants. And I heard kids laughing from the Rose Garden.

I turned and started to jog to the dorm—and ran right into Headmaster Snute.

His eyes bulged, his mouth shot open, and he
made a gurgling sound. He dropped his fishing rod and pointed at me. “Aren't you one of those Rotten School kids?” he asked. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Think fast, Bernie. Think fast.

“Uh…well…I'm just working on a
new
invention, sir,” I said. “Testing the elastic on these underpants. Uh…if the elastic holds, I think you'll be amazed at what we can do.”

He stared at me for a long time. “I hope the elastic holds, too,” he said finally. “We don't allow naked butts at Preppy Prep Prep. Read the rule book. It's on page one.”

He picked up his fishing rod. “There's a fish tank in the library,” he said. “I'm going fishing for angel-fish. Ever try to catch one? They put up a good fight.”

“Good luck, sir,” I said. I turned and ran to the dorm. I ignored all the hoots and shouts and laughs from the kids I passed.

Luckily, the elastic on my underpants held……almost until I reached the dorm.

Kids sat in a wide circle on the lawn to watch the Make-a-Great-Invention Contest. White, puffy clouds floated across the sky. Robins twittered in the trees. Butterflies fluttered over the Rose Garden.

I have to admit I had butterflies, too. In my stomach. Yes, I know. Bernie B. never gets stressed. But let me tell you, I was a little nervous today.

I had a big clump of dust in my backpack. Next to me were the Poly-Wannacracker dudes with the plastic bubble-blowing machine. Then the PPP guys with the radio-controlled paper airplane. Down at
the end stood the Baked Potato Chips kids with their amazing human-breath elevator.

How could I win with a hunk of dust? Even Bernie the Great was stressed to the max.

Alli Katz and Corky Pigge came by. They both wished me good luck. Corky winked at me for some reason, and flashed me a thumbs-up. What was
that
about?

Mr. Snute stepped up to the microphone. “Before I introduce the judges,” he said, “I want to show you all something.” He held up a wooden plaque. I could see a small fish shellacked onto the front of the plaque.

“Here is the goldfish I caught last week,” he announced. “Biggest goldfish I ever nabbed—almost two inches long! This one is going up in my living room!”

He set the plaque down carefully. Then he turned back to the microphone. “We have four wonderful inventions competing for the five-thousand-dollar prize,” he announced.

I pulled the dust clump from my backpack and smoothed it out. Would it work this time? Did I have a winner here?

“I'd like to introduce the judges,” Mr. Snute said. “First of all—”

Those were the only words he got out.

A deafening roar dropped me to the ground. The earth shook. A thick cloud of white smoke covered everyone.

Coughing and choking, still on my hands and knees, I opened my eyes and gazed at the sky. It was RAINING INVENTIONS!

The elevator had broken into a hundred pieces. I saw the paper airplane wings fly off in different directions. Plastic bubbles floated down. The bubble maker came crashing down next to me with a deafening
CRUNCH!

Kids ducked and covered their heads.

Whoa. My brain began to spin. The other three inventions had been
blown to bits
.

I glanced at my fist and saw that my dust clump hadn't been harmed.

Yes! YES!! Brilliant move, Bernie! Good news!

You
can't
blow up DUST!!

Corky Pigge stood at the back of the crowd, laughing his Pigge head off. He gave me the thumbs-up sign. That dude really does like to blow up things. Weird.

Mr. Snute was talking with the judges, waving his arms, shaking his head. After a few minutes he stepped back to the microphone.

“Settle down, people,” he shouted. “I don't want anyone to worry. My fish plaque is perfectly okay. Not a scratch.”

He held up the goldfish plaque so we could all see that it was not harmed. Then he continued: “I'm sorry to say, after that unexpected explosion, we have only one invention left. The Instant Dust from Rotten School. It's a horrible, stupid invention. But we have no choice. Rotten School wins the prize!”

My buddies and I were the only ones who cheered. What a bunch of sore losers!

But we didn't care. We hooted and hollered, slapped knuckles, and did the secret Rotten House handshake. Then we went outside and took a few victory laps around the track.

Victory is sweet. SWEET!

The four of us returned to Rotten School as winners. WINNERS! What a beautiful word! Almost as beautiful as one other word—BERNIE.

Headmaster Upchuck met us at the front gate as our bus pulled up. He gave us a warm greeting: “I'm really sorry to see you boys back,” he said.

I waved the winning check in front of me. “We won, sir!” I cried. “We won five thousand dollars.”

He snatched the check out of my hand. “Thank you, Bernie. I'm going to put this to good use.”

“Huh?” I gasped. “Y-you mean…we don't get to
keep
it?”

“Of course not,” Upchuck said. “The money goes to improve the school.” He tucked the check into his jacket pocket. “I think I know a
good
improvement for the school. A flat-screen TV for my den.”

“But—but—but—” I sputtered.

Headmaster Upchuck studied us. “I hope your stay at Preppy Prep Prep improved you boys,” he said.

“Oh, yes, sir,” I replied. “It taught us a lot. We're going to be very different now. In fact, I'm starting a croquet team. I hope you'll come watch us play.”

Upchuck smiled. “Yes. Croquet. That's more like it, Bernie.”

I pulled a bright blue croquet ball from my backpack. “Check it out, sir. A special ball we brought back.”

“Hand me that mallet,” the Headmaster said. “Let me try it out. Croquet was my sport in college.”

“No, wait, sir—” I said. “Please—no—”

Too late.

Upchuck set the ball down. He swung the mallet.
He slammed the ball. And guess what? It DIDN'T explode!

For nearly two seconds.

Then…

I like a story with a surprise ending—don't
you
?