The Teacher from Heck (6 page)

We found Mr. Skruloose downstairs in the Commons Room. That's our living room, with a couch and big armchairs, game tables, a fridge with snacks, and a big TV. A place to hang out when we're not doing our
four hours
of homework.

Skruloose was talking to some second graders. He was telling them his rules for how to relax. “Take deep breaths. Keep your legs marching in a fast tempo. Chest out. Back straight…”

The second graders looked tense. They ran away as soon as my buddies and I entered the room.

Mr. Skruloose turned to us. “Finished your homework already, soldiers? Maybe I should start giving more!”

Time to turn on the charm. I held the pie up to Mr. Skruloose. “We baked this for you with our own hands, sir,” I said. “It's our Welcome to Rotten House gift. Just our way of showing how much we care.”

Skruloose blinked a couple of times. He stared at the pie. His neck muscles rippled. “That's very nice of you soldiers,” he said.

“See? It's working!” I whispered to my buddies. “I
told
you!”

Mr. Skruloose took one of Feenman's forks. He dipped it into the pie, pulled out a big hunk, and shoved it into his mouth.

“Enjoy it, sir,” I said. “We worked hard on it because we all like you so much.”

Skruloose took another forkful, then another. He made loud chewing noises and gulped when he swallowed.

“Not bad, soldiers,” he said. “Mmm. Not bad. What kind of pie is this?”

“It's peanut-butter pie, sir,” I said. “We crushed the peanuts ourselves. Nothing is too good for you, sir!”

Mr. Skruloose let out a hoarse cry. Then he spit a glob of pie across the room.

“Is anything the matter, sir?” I asked.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO
KILL
ME? I'M ALLERGIC TO PEANUTS!” he screamed. “If I eat only
one tiny peanut,
my head swells up like a balloon, my skin peels off, and my eyes start twirling in my head.”

He stuck a finger down his throat and made gross gagging sounds.

“Perhaps we made a bad choice, sir,” I said. “But it's the
thought
that counts—right? Our hearts were in the right place.”

He let out an angry scream. I don't think my charm was working.

“All three of you—” he shouted. “Thirty laps around the house while I run to the nurse and have my stomach pumped!”

He ran out the front door screaming.

I turned to my buddies. “Okay, okay,” I said. “Plan B.”

But I didn't have a Plan B.

I thought about it all day. We couldn't charm Skruloose. We
had
to get rid of him. But
how
?

I was still thinking about it after dinner in my room while Belzer massaged my toes. See, sometimes when I think
too
hard, I get toe cramps. Luckily, Belzer is around to do his magic-fingers trick and loosen up my toe muscles.

Good kid, Belzer.

He was down on the floor, concentrating on my little piggies. “Belzer, what's that T-shirt you're
wearing?” I asked. “Let me see it.”

He raised himself so I could read the front of the shirt.

PLEASE SLAP MY FACE “Belzer, that's a loser shirt,” I said.

He blinked. “You think so?”

“It's totally gross,” I said. “Where did you get it?”

“It was a birthday present,” he replied. “From my grandma.”

“Cover it up,” I said. “I'm trying to think. There's
gotta
be a way to get rid of Skruloose.”

Belzer went to work on the little baby toes. “Gentle! Gentle!” I said. “They're attached to my feet, you know!”

“I have an idea,” Belzer said. “Mrs. Heinie quit because she got flattened by a water balloon—right?”

“Right,” I said.

“So why don't we drop one on Skruloose?” Belzer said. “Then he'll quit, too.”

I patted him on the head. “Belzer, I warned you, remember? Your brain is not quite ripe enough for thinking. Maybe in a year or two. Until then you should rest it, okay?”

“Okay, Bernie,” he said. “How do the toes feel?”

I wiggled them. “Like new,” I said. “Thank you! You can put on my shoes and socks now.”

The toes felt so good, I went for a walk around the campus. Sometimes walking helps me think.

It was a clear, warm night. As I crossed the little bridge over the water, the moonlight reflected like silver in Pooper's Pond.

And in the light, I recognized two figures on the other side of the pond. They were walking near R.U. Dumm Field, our football field.

Mr. Skruloose. And my half-human friend Beast.

Why were
they
hanging out together? I slid behind a tree where I could watch them.

Beast was crouched down on all fours. Not unusual. Sometimes he walks like that for days.

Mr. Skruloose had a hand on Beast's shoulder. Suddenly, he shouted, “Go get him, soldier! GO!”

Beast let out a low growl. Then he took off, running on all fours—chasing a squirrel!

“Go! Go, soldier! Go!” Mr. Skruloose cheered him on.

Beast growled and grunted as he rumbled over
the grass. The poor squirrel didn't stand a chance.

“YES!” Mr. Skruloose pumped his fists in the air when Beast caught the squirrel in his teeth. “Yes! Yes! VICTORY!”

Beast let the squirrel go. He never knew what to do with them after he caught them. He turned to Skruloose with a big grin on his face. He still had some fur caught in his teeth.

Skruloose patted him on the back.

He LIKES Beast!
I realized.

That started the Bernie B. brain buzzing. I was thinking hard—so hard, I started to sweat. In a flash I had Plan B.

Why does Mr. Skruloose like Beast? Because he's fierce. Ferocious. Because he's gung ho, a
good soldier
.

What if we
all
act gung ho? What if we
all
act like soldiers?

Then Mr. Skruloose will
like
us. And he'll stop being so strict. He'll lighten up and stop being The Teacher from Heck.

Sure, it was a crazy idea. But it was definitely worth a try….

I started Plan B the next night. I gathered all the guys in the Study Hall downstairs. The chairs were covered in cobwebs. Most of us had never
seen
the Study Hall.

“What are we doing here, Bernie?” Feenman asked.

“Wait. Just wait,” I said, watching the door. I waited until Mr. Skruloose was nearby.

“Okay, soldiers, listen up!” I shouted. “We're doing our math homework. Crench—multiplication tables. Go!”

“Uh…okay,” Crench muttered. “I—”

“You forgot to salute,” I said. “Next time you forget…thirty push-ups!”

Crench saluted.

“Go. Start multiplying, soldier!” I barked.

“Well…uh…four times four is eleven. Four times five is twelve. Four—”

“Did you forget something, soldier?” I cried. “Did you forget to say
sir
?”

“Sorry, sir,” Crench said. He saluted again.

I peered into the hall and saw that Mr. Skruloose had a big smile on his face. He was totally
into
it! He liked it!

“Feenman, go! Multiply!” I ordered.

“Yes, sir!” Feenman gave me a long salute. “Four times six is twenty. Four times seven—”

“It's okay. You can stop,” I said. “Skruloose is gone.”

We all breathed long sighs of relief.

“Bernie, this is crazy,” Feenman said. “We're not soldiers. We're kids. We can't act like soldiers all the time.”

“Yes, we can—when Skruloose is watching,” I said. “You should have seen the smile on his face. He was
eating it up
!”

“But it hurts my head to salute so much,” Feenman said.

“Try doing it more softly,” I told him. “And don't use your fist next time. Just use two fingers.”

“I'll try that,” Feenman said, rubbing his forehead.

I saw Mr. Skruloose return. “Okay, soldiers!” I shouted. “Attention! Stand at attention. We meet at the front door tomorrow morning at 0800 hours, and we—”

“What does that mean? 0800?” Belzer asked. “I can't find that on my watch, Bernie.”

“Eight o'clock, soldier!” I said. “We'll march to class. I want everyone in a perfect single file. That will be all!”

Everyone saluted. Feenman punched himself in the head again. He just couldn't get it.

Mr. Skruloose flashed me a thumbs-up as I headed to the front stairs.

Bernie, you're a genius!
I told myself. If only my arm was long enough to pat myself on the back!

 

The next morning I gathered all the Rotten House dudes in a straight line at 0800 hours, and I marched them across the Great Lawn to class.

“Left, right! Left, right!” I called out. “Feenman, stand up straight! Chipmunk, stop staring at the ground.”

“But, Bernie,” Chipmunk whined, “the sun's in my eyes!”

I saw Skruloose hurrying toward us. “Move, soldiers!” I commanded. “Left, right! Left, right! Double speed! March!”

“Halt!” I cried. They stopped, tripping and stumbling over one another.

I turned to Mr. Skruloose. “Just trying to shape them up, sir,” I said. “We want you to be proud of us.”

Skruloose rubbed his chin. “Hmm. You've given me a great idea, soldier,” he said.

I saluted him again. “
All
of your ideas are great, sir,” I said. “That's why we guys want to be just like you.”

Mr. Skruloose nodded. “Well, since you like the military way so much,” he said, “you and your guys can form a drill team.”

My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me? A
what
?”

“A drill team,” Skruloose said. “You'll learn to
march together. Right face. Left face. Forward. Back. You'll love it.”

He slapped me on the back. “Everyone up before the sun every morning. Onto the practice field. Two hours of drills every morning before breakfast.”

I choked. “Before breakfast? But, sir, I have breakfast in bed every morning. It's the most important meal of the day, you know.”

Mr. Skruloose didn't hear me. He slapped me on the back again. “Yes. A drill team. Two hours of marching across the field every morning. Thanks for the great idea, Bridges.”

“Please don't thank me, sir,” I muttered.

“And you've given me another idea,” he said.

Uh-oh.

“I'm putting your whole dorm on a special tree-bark diet,” Skruloose said. “Tree bark three times a day. To toughen you up!”

He marched away.

I turned to my friends. “I know, I know,” I said. “Plan C.”