Wayside School Is Falling Down (13 page)

Jason had to stand on a chair on his tiptoes. He held the bowl at the very bottom as he tried to nudge it over the edge of the closet.

Allison turned around to watch. She didn’t want to miss this!

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Chapter 20, 21 & 22

Eric, Eric, and Eric

Mr. Kidswatter’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker. “MRS. JEWLS, SEND ERIC TO MY OFFICE, AT ONCE!” He sounded mad.

Mrs. Jewls was confused. “When did we get a loudspeaker?” she asked.

“Louis put it in yesterday,” said Jenny.

Mrs. Jewls was still confused. There were three Erics in her class. She didn’t know which one Mr. Kidswatter meant.

Eric Fry was fat, but not short.

Eric Bacon was short, but not fat.

Eric Ovens was short and fat.

Mrs. Jewls chose the biggest Eric. “Eric Fry, Mr. Kidswatter wants to see you.”

Eric Fry trembled as he slowly stood up.

The other two Erics smiled.

The principal’s office was on the first floor. It’s not fair, Eric thought as he headed down to his doom. Anytime any Eric does something wrong, I’m the one who gets in trouble.

He stood in front of the principal’s door. His heart beat very fast. He took a couple of breaths, then knocked lightly.

“Enter!” boomed Mr. Kidswatter.

Eric turned the doorknob. He took one step inside, then stood with his back against the wall, as far away from Mr. Kidswatter as he could get.

Mr. Kidswatter sat behind an enormous desk. He wore mirrored sunglasses so Eric couldn’t tell where he was looking. “Sit down, Eric,” he said.

Eric moved to the small metal chair in front of the desk. A bare light bulb hung above his head.

Mr. Kidswatter cracked his knuckles. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way,” he said. “It’s your choice.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Eric. “I didn’t do anything.”

“So it’s the hard way, is it?” asked Mr. Kidswatter. “Very well. You’ll talk. One way or another, you’ll tell me everything I want to know.”

“But—”

Mr. Kidswatter pounded his fist on his desk. “When was the last time you sharpened your pencil?”

Eric tried to remember, but he was too nervous to think. “Um, wait, let me think,” he stammered. “We had a spelling test on Friday, but I borrowed—”

“Where were you yesterday afternoon, at a quarter past twelve?” asked Mr. Kidswatter.

“Yesterday?” asked Eric. “I was here, at Wayside School. I remember I ate lunch and then I played kickball.”

Mr. Kidswatter smiled. “Do you kick with your left foot?” he asked.

“No, I’m right-footed,” said Eric Fry.

“Hmph!” grumbled Mr. Kidswatter. “Have you ever gotten your hair cut at Charley’s Barber Shop?”

“Yes,” said Eric. “Two weeks ago.”

“Aha!” said Mr. Kidswatter. “So you admit it! Do you know what a Mugworm Griblick is?”

Eric Fry turned pale. “No, please!” he begged. “I didn’t do it! I’m innocent! You’ve got the wrong Eric. There are two other Erics in my class.”

Mr. Kidswatter scowled. “So that’s the way you’re going to play it, is it? Well, that’s fine with me. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

He flicked on the microphone. “MRS. JEWLS! SEND ME ANOTHER ERIC!”

Twenty-nine floors above them, Mrs. Jewls looked at the two remaining Erics.

“Okay, Eric Ovens,” she said.

Eric Ovens shivered. His eyes filled with tears.

Why me? he asked himself over and over again as he walked down the stairs. It’s my parents’ fault! Why did they have to name me Eric? Why couldn’t they name me Osgood?

He tapped on the door to the principal’s office.

“Come in!” bellowed Mr. Kidswatter.

Eric Ovens gulped, then walked inside. He sat in the little chair in front of Mr. Kidswatter’s enormous desk.

Eric Fry was nowhere to be seen.

“Wh-what ha-happened to Eric Fry?” he asked.

“I’ll ask the questions!” barked Mr. Kidswatter. “But don’t worry, Eric,” he said gently. “You have nothing to fear. So long as you tell the truth.” He cracked his knuckles.

Eric Ovens was very scared. Mrs. Jewls always said that there was more than one answer to every question. He hoped he gave Mr. Kidswatter the right ones.

“Did you have a spelling test last Friday?” Mr. Kidswatter asked.

“Yes,” said Eric Ovens. “How did you know that?”

“I have my ways,” Mr. Kidswatter said slyly, behind his mirrored glasses. “When was the last time you sharpened your pencil?”

“This morning,” said Eric Ovens. “Maurecia accidentally stepped on it and—”

“Did you play kickball yesterday at a quarter after twelve?”

“No, I played tetherball.”

“Right- or left-handed?”

“Right.”

Mr. Kidswatter tossed a stapler at him.

Eric caught it with his right hand.

Mr. Kidswatter scowled. “Okay, Eric, tell me this. Have you ever gotten your hair cut at Charley’s Barber Shop?”

“No, but I will. I’ll go right now if you want.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” shouted Mr. Kidswatter. “Have you ever heard of a Mugworm Griblick?”

Eric Ovens screamed.

Upstairs, Mrs. Jewls heard Mr. Kidswatter’s voice resound over the loudspeaker. “MRS. JEWLS, SEND ME THE LAST ERIC!”

“On my way!” said Eric Bacon. He hopped out of his chair and bounced down the stairs.

He didn’t bother knocking on Mr. Kidswatter’s door. He just walked right in. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

There was no sign of Eric Ovens.

“Have a seat,” said Mr. Kidswatter. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure thing,” said Eric Bacon. He sat in the little chair. He leaned back with his hands behind his head and his feet up on Mr. Kidswatter’s desk.

He looked at himself in Mr. Kidswatter’s mirrored glasses, took a comb out of his back pocket, and combed his hair. His hair was very neat and trim. He had gotten it cut yesterday, at 12:15, at Charley’s Barber Shop.

Mr. Kidswatter cracked his knuckles. “When’s the last time you sharpened your pencil?” he asked.

“November eleventh,” Eric Bacon answered right away. “It was three minutes before five o’clock in the afternoon. I remember because my watch stopped.”

“Where were you yesterday at twelve-fifteen?”

“I was in the garden, having tea.”

“Did Maurecia step on somebody’s pencil this morning?” asked Mr. Kidswatter.

“Yes.”

“Whose?”

“She stepped on everybody’s pencil,” said Eric Bacon.

“Are you left-handed or right-footed?” demanded Mr. Kidswatter.

“I write with my left foot, and I kick with my right hand,” replied Eric Bacon.

Mr. Kidswatter scowled. “Have you ever gotten your hair cut at Charley’s Barber Shop?”

“No, I never get my hair cut,” said Eric Bacon. “I’m bald. This is a wig.”

Mr. Kidswatter took off his glasses and glared at him. “Do the words ‘Mugworm Griblick’ mean anything to you?”

Eric Bacon shook his head. “I can look it up in the dictionary if you want.”

Mr. Kidswatter shook his head. “I tried that,” he said. “It’s not there.” He rubbed his chin. “Okay, boys, you can come out now.”

Eric Ovens and Eric Fry crawled out from under the desk.

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Mr. Kidswatter looked at each Eric. “One of you is lying,” he said. “I don’t know who it is, but I’ll find out. And when I do, whoever it is will be very sorry. Now I’ll give you one last chance to come clean.”

Eric Fry trembled.

Eric Ovens shivered.

“C’mon, let’s blow this Popsicle stand,” said Eric Bacon. He walked out of the room. The other two Erics followed.

Mr. Kidswatter rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at the white card on top of his desk. On one side it said:

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CHARLEY’S BARBER SHOP

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Under that, in blue ink, it said:

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Eric, Tuesday, 12:15

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He turned the card over. On the other side, a left-handed handed person had written with a sharp pencil: