Rotten School #9: Party Poopers

Chapter 1

GO, BERNIE!

The sun was shining. Birds twittered in the apple trees. As I trotted across the sparkling, green lawn, I sang to myself, my new favorite song….

"I love Bernie Bridges,

Bernie is the one who has fun.

Go, Bernie! Go, Bernie!

La-duh-da-duh-da whatever rhymes with Bridges."

Yes, I was making it up as I went along. I always write songs in my head. And they’re usually about one of my favorite people in the whole world—ME.

Come on, dudes—if you were popular and good-looking and smart—who would you sing about?

And today I had a lot to sing about.

For one thing, I love being at Rotten School. You poor thing. You probably have to go home every day after school. But Rotten School is a boarding school. I get to live at school in a dorm with all my friends—and NO PARENTS!

Cool enough for you?

Another reason I was singing: I was on my way to the girls’ dorm to find April-May June. April-May June is the hottest, coolest, dreamiest, drooliest, babe-alicious girl on campus.

She’s my girlfriend. Only she doesn’t know it yet. She doesn’t have a clue that we were meant for each other. But she definitely can’t resist me.

Who can resist Bernie B.?

La-la-la something that rhymes with Bernie…"

Don’t you wish you could write songs off the top of your head like that?

Another reason I was singing? It was almost time for the party of the year. The All-Nighter. One of the great Rotten School traditions. Maybe you guessed from the name—the party goes ALL NIGHT LONG! We don’t go to sleep till the sun comes up.

I knew April-May wanted to spend that special night with only one special person—Bernie B.

So I was trotting across the Great Lawn. I sang to myself and watched the girls come out of their tall, white dorm.

Suddenly I heard a deafening cry behind me:

Huh?

I stopped singing and hit the ground hard.

Chapter 2

DUCK PLOP

I landed on my stomach. My breath shot out in a painful whoosh! With a groan, I spun around and glanced behind me.

I saw my friend Feenman running across the grass. He was hugging a big, brown duck in his arms. The duck was quacking its head off and snapping at Feenman’s ears.

Duck, Bernie! he shouted.

I pushed myself to my feet. I brushed off the knees of my khakis. Feenman, I said, where did you get that duck?

I found it, he said.

The duck honked and chewed off a big hunk of Feenman’s brown hair.

You’d better set it free, I said. It doesn’t like you.

Feenman’s mouth dropped open. "Set it free? But I found it! It’s mine!"

Feenman is not the brightest candle on the cake. If we are talking brains, the duck would win.

Feenman squeezed the duck a little too hard. It dropped a disgusting mess onto his shoes.

Bernie, are you going to the hard-boiled-egg-eating contest Friday? Feenman asked. Are you gonna bet on Beast?

Our friend Beast can eat anything. Last year he ate forty-two hard-boiled eggs before he barfed his guts out.

I made a ton of money betting on the dude.

I don’t have time for the contest, I said. I’ve got to find April-May. I want to go with her to the All-Nighter.

It’s a girl-ask-boy party, Feenman said. If a girl doesn’t ask you, you can’t go!

"April-May is desperate to ask me, I said. She just doesn’t know it yet."

The duck snapped off