Rotten School
The Teacher from Heck
R.L. Stine
Illustrations by Trip Park
For Liz
–TP
Contents
Map
Morning Announcements
1. Meet Mr. Skruloose
2. The Teacher from Heck
3. What Is a Lettuce?
4. Sweety Wets His Pants
5. Meet the Devastator
6. The Naked Astronaut Wins
7. A Secret Weapon
8. “Good-bye Forever!”
9. The Upchuck Garden
10. “You Students Are Lucky!”
11. Gassy Has to Go
12. Why I Sobbed and Bawled
13. Peanut-Butter Pie
14. Plan B
15. Yummy Tree Bark
16. “Pass the Tree Bark?”
17. Sad News
18. Who Wins the Water War?
About the Author
Other Books by Rotten School Series
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Map
MORNING ANNOUNCEMENTS
Good morning, Rotten Students. This is Headmaster Upchuck. Please remember to make this day a Rotten day in every way. And now I’d like to get the day off to a Rotten start by reading the Morning Announcements….
Students who would like to join the After-School Big Butts Club can try out in the gym after classes today. You know what you have to bring.
Our wonderful cook, Chef Baloney, apologizes for sneezing into the pea soup yesterday. He says he’s going to try really hard not to sneeze into the barley soup today.
Those students who sat in the audience and made frog-croaking noises during the choir concert yesterday—we know who you are, and we don’t think it was funny.
Hammy the Hamster was successfully removed from second grader Chuck Stake’s nose this morning. Chuck is feeling much better, and we’re sure Hammy will be back to his old self in a week or two.
And finally, good news for all third graders. Our janitors tell me that the toilets in the third-grade bathrooms should be fixed in a week or two.
Chapter 1
MEET MR. SKRULOOSE
My name is Bernie Bridges, and you might wonder why I’m running so hard.
Normally I’d take time to enjoy the morning sunshine on the Great Lawn—to smell the sweet trees and flowers, to feel the warm breeze on my handsome face.
But this morning I am running full speed across the Rotten School campus.
I don’t want to be late.
We have a new teacher. He is taking the place of our old teacher, Mrs. Heinie, and I want to be there early to welcome him. And to let him know that, yes, I’m a leader at this school. But I’m a leader who is willing to listen to my teacher once in a while.
In other words, I want to suck up to the new guy before Sherman Oaks and his pals get there.
You see, the Rotten School is a boarding school. We all live here on the campus.
I live with my friends in the coolest dorm—an old house called Rotten House. That rich, spoiled brat, Sherman Oaks, lives in the dorm called Nyce House.
Yuck. Who would want to live in a place called Nyce House? We hate every kid who lives there!
My feet pounded the grass. The School House rose up in front of me. That’s what we call our classroom building.
A few seconds later, I slipped into my fourth-grade class.
Uh-oh. The room was full. Kids were already in their seats. They turned to watch me as I closed the door behind me.
I stared at the new teacher. Whoa! The dude was a monster! Give me a break! He was at least eight feet tall and built like a truck on top of a truck!
His Rotten School blazer stretched tightly across his massive chest. It looked ready to pop its buttons. I could see muscles rippling up and down his arms.
His name was written in chalk behind him.
MR. SKRULOOSE.
Skruloose?
I flashed him my best smile, the one with the adorable dimples. “Welcome, sir,” I said. “I know I speak for everyone when I say how happy we are—”
“SHUT UP!” he boomed, so loudly the windows rattled.
I swallowed my gum. He was kinda rude, don’t you think?
His steel blue eyes narrowed in a hard stare. “You’re in trouble,” he growled.
I glanced all around. “Huh? Are you talking to me? I’m in trouble?”
What was his problem? What did I do?!
Chapter 2
THE TEACHER FROM HECK
He glared at me. “You’re ALMOST late to class.”
“Almost?” I whimpered. “Almost late?”
Was this dude a little weird?
Mr. Skruloose pointed to the floor in front of me. “Soldier, drop down and give me ten,” he ordered.
“Soldier? But my name is Bernie!”
He pointed to the floor. “Drop down and give me ten.”
I blinked. “Ten what?”
“Soldier, give me ten push-ups.”
“I was afraid of that,” I said. I turned to my friend Belzer at the next desk. “Belzer,” I whispered, “drop down and give him ten push-ups for me.”
“No problem,” Belzer said.
Where would I be without good ol’ Belzer?
The kid does everything for me. Brings me breakfast in bed…carries my backpack to class…It took weeks to put Belzer through his obedience-training. But it was worth it.
Belzer hit the floor and began straining to push his chunky body up. “One…uh…one and a half…one and three-quarters…”
“GET UP!” Mr. Skruloose boomed at Belzer. Two of his blazer buttons popped off and flew across the room. He gave me a cold stare. “In my class we do our own push-ups,” he snarled.
I had no choice. I dropped to the floor. “It’s kinda dusty down here, sir,” I said. “Maybe I’d better not do this. Dust always makes me sneeze.”
he roared again. “Give me ten!”
“Could we compromise on three?” I asked.
He didn’t answer in words. Just growled.
I took that for a no. I dropped down and started giving him ten.
Skruloose marched back to his desk. Some kids saluted him, and he saluted back.
From down on the floor, I saw Sherman Oaks jump up from his seat in the front row. His parents pay extra so he can always sit in the front row. And they bought him a leopard-skin pillow to put on his chair so his butt doesn’t get tired. I told you Sherman is a spoiled, rich brat.
Sherman walked up to Skruloose and pressed a few hundred-dollar bills into his hand. “Just a welcome present from me and my friends in Nyce House,” Sherman said.
Sherman’s blue eyes twinkled. He handed Mr. Skruloose a shiny, silver pen. “That’s another gift for you. You can use it to write down my name. For when you make the Honor Roll list. It’s Sherman Oaks.”
Mr. Skruloose crinkled up the hundred-dollar bills and shoved them into Sherman’s mouth. “Are you trying to bribe me, soldier?” he boomed.
“MMMMPH-MMMMPH,” Sherman replied.
“You might want to write down my name,” Skruloose said. “My name is Mr. Skruloose. No one from my class ever makes the Honor Roll. I don’t believe in giving good grades.”
Sherman swallowed the hundred-dollar bills with a loud gulp. “You—you can’t do this!” he sputtered. “I’m TOO RICH and too HANDSOME to be treated this way!”
I think that made Skruloose angry. His eyes bulged out of his head, he gritted his teeth, and his face turned the color of a tomato. He waved his meaty fists in the air.
Sherman took the hint. Shaking his head, he slunk back to his seat.
“
NINE…TEN!” I shouted. I climbed into my seat. Actually, I only did two push-ups—but no one was looking.
Skruloose turned to the class. He loosened his school tie. Even his Adam’s apple had muscles!
“Listen up, soldiers. I’m just a farm boy,” he said. “I come from Heck, Indiana. I guess you could call me The Teacher from Heck.”
A few kids snickered at that. I groaned.
“But you’d better not call me that,” Skruloose said. “I don’t allow jokes in my classroom. And here are a few other things that I don’t allow…”
He pulled out a long list and started to read:
“No glancing from side to side. No burping. No yawning. No blinking.
“No pencil-tapping on desks. No eraser-chewing.
“No sneezing. Always breathe through both nostrils.
“Never come almost late to class…”
I shook my head. I suddenly knew how to spell Skruloose…N-U-T-S!
No lie—he really was The Teacher from Heck!
How did this HAPPEN to us?
How did we lose Mrs. Heinie and get the toughest teacher in the world?
Well…it started a few days ago. It was all because of the Water War.
Chapter 3
WHAT IS A LETTUCE?
The Water War was on full blast. It was Rotten House against Nyce House in the wettest squirt-gun war in history. No one was safe. No one was dry!
We all walked around school totally soaked. Water dripped down our faces. Our wet sneakers squeaked on the floors.
Of course our teacher, Mrs. Heinie, didn’t have a clue.
There are NO SQUIRT GUNS ALLOWED at the Rotten School.
So how did we have a squirt-gun war?
We had to be clever. And quick.
Every time Mrs. Heinie turned her back in class, someone got hit full blast in the face.
One day she was standing at the chalkboard making a list. “Now, who can tell me about the tomato?” she asked, squinting at us through her thick glasses. “Is the tomato a fruit or a vegetable?”
“It’s a planet!” Wes Updood called out. “It revolves around the third moon of Vesuvio!”
Wes Updood is the coolest guy in school. But he’s on a planet of his own. Maybe he comes from the Tomato Planet. No one can understand a word he says.
Mrs. Heinie shook her head. “Sorry, Wes, it’s not a planet,” she said. “Can anyone tell me about the tomato? Fruit or vegetable?”
Billy the Brain raised his hand. Billy knows everything.
“Actually,” he said, “the tomato isn’t a fruit or a vegetable. It’s a kind of potato.”
Mrs. Heinie let out a long sigh. She turned to the chalkboard and wrote tomato in the Fruit column.
As soon as she turned her back, we went to work.
I raised my watch, squeezed it, and squirted Sherman Oaks in the face with a spray of water. Wes Updood hiked up his belt buckle, squeezed it, and sprayed my pal Crench in the chest.
Crench pulled out his squirting MP3 player. He aimed a spray of water at Wes—missed—and hit the wall.
Kids laughed and cheered.
At the back of the room, I saw my friend Beast go to work. We call the guy Beast because we don’t know if he’s human or not. He’s very furry for a human. And sometimes he bites if you make him angry.
Mrs. Heinie keeps him on a leash. But he’s a good dude.
Beast picked up a bottle of water and squeezed the water into his mouth. Then he tilted his head up and spit a gusher of water over half the room.
Kids ducked and screamed.
Mrs. Heinie turned around and squinted through her thick glasses. “Is there a problem?” she asked.
“No. No problem,” I said. I was mopping my desk with a towel.
“How about lettuce?” Mrs. Heinie asked. “Come on, class. Is lettuce a fruit or a vegetable?”
Billy the Brain raised his hand again. “Lettuce is actually an animal,” he said. “That’s because it has a head.”
Sometimes I wonder about Billy the Brain. Maybe he needs a new nickname. Like Billy the Idiot.
Mrs. Heinie took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. I pulled out my squirting pencil and gave Sherman a shot in the face.
Billy the Brain made all our secret squirting things. Thanks to him, just about everything we own squirts water!
Mrs. Heinie sighed and put her glasses back on. “People, the lettuce is not an animal,” she said. “Does anyone—”
She stopped. She walked over to Billy the Brain, who sat at the end of the second row. She had her eyes on the laptop on Billy’s desk.
Uh-oh.
Chapter 4
SWEETY WETS HIS PANTS
“You brought your laptop,” Mrs. Heinie said. “Good. Let’s look up lettuce and see what it says.”
She reached for the laptop.
“No. Please—” Billy said. But he wasn’t fast enough.
Mrs. Heinie leaned down. She started to type—and the laptop blasted her in the face with cold water!
Water splashed her glasses, ran down her cheeks, and drenched her sweater. She staggered back until she hit the wall. “What’s going on here?” she shrieked.
Billy shrugged. “I’ve been having problems with my laptop,” he said. “Why does it keep doing that?”
At lunch in the Dining Hall, Billy the Brain leaned over the table and whispered to me. “I have a new idea for a squirting weapon,” he said. “Can you get me a lettuce?”
A squirting lettuce? Yeah, it sounds kinda dumb. But you can see the dude is always thinking, thinking, thinking!
Sherman and his Nyce House geeks were winning the Water War. My guys were dripping wet from morning to night. We needed to be clever. We needed some new ideas.
I took a bite of my salami sandwich. A shadow fell over the table. I looked up to see Joe Sweety hulking over me.
We call him The Big >Sweety. But not to his face. Joe is the biggest, meanest kid at Rotten School. He lives in Nyce House and is Sherman Oaks’s good buddy.
Is Joe tough? Well, once I saw him punch out a tree because it wouldn’t get out of his way.
“What’s up, Sweety?” I said. “Had enough water battles? Did you come over to surrender?”
He didn’t say anything. He just leaned over our table.
“HEY—!”
We all screamed as a powerful stream of water came shooting out of his nose. Both nostrils!
He soaked Feenman’s pizza slice and my salami sandwich. Then he stood up, dried his nose with a tissue, and started to walk back to the Nyce House table.
“Hey, Sweety—that was awesome! How’d you do that?” Billy called.
Sweety turned around. He had a big grin on his meaty face. “You losers should surrender,” he said. “Sherman’s parents bought us high-tech squirting weapons.”
“What kind of weapons?” I asked.
“We’ve got digital squirters,” Sweety bragged. “Our noses are hooked up to hidden water tanks. You guys can’t win!”
He tilted his head back. Water shot out of his nose and sprayed our table again.
“Ooh, we’re scared. We’re scared,” I said, pretending to shake and quake. “You’ve got us shaking.” I burst out laughing.
“Just wait. You won’t be laughing when you’re swimming for your lives!” The Big Sweety shouted.
What did he mean by that?
I took off my glasses, squeezed them—and shot water at Joe Sweety. I hit him in the front of his pants—in a very embarrassing place.
He looked down. Saw his wet pants. Shook a huge fist at me. And went running from the Dining Hall.
“Way to go, Big B!” Feenman and Crench both slapped me on the back.
But I didn’t feel like celebrating. We were losing the war—big-time. How could we win against digital nose-squirters?
And I couldn’t stop thinking about Joe Sweety’s words…
“You won’t be laughing when you’re swimming for your lives….”
What were those Nyce House dudes planning?
Chapter 5
MEET THE DEVASTATOR
It didn’t take long to find out what Nyce House had planned.
After lunch I took a walk across the Great Lawn. Your school probably doesn’t have a Great Lawn. It’s a big green space with trees and a pond—like a small park in the middle of the campus.
I held my breath as I walked past smelly Pooper’s Pond. (No one knows how it got that name.)
I turned and saw Sherman Oaks. He was scurrying across the grass with a large, gray tank bouncing on his back.
I jogged over to him. The thing on his back looked like a giant vacuum cleaner. He was groaning and moaning. It must have been heavy.
“Yo, Sherman!” I called. “What’s up with the vacuum cleaner? Are you going to vacuum your money?”
He flashed me his shiny, sixty-five-toothed grin. I had to shield my eyes. Sherman is so rich, he has a guy come to his room to brighten his teeth once a week.
“You might as well surrender, Bernie,” he said. “You and your Rotten House buddies have already lost the Water War.” He snickered. “Hee-hee-hee.”
I hate dudes who snicker—don’t you?
“Sherman, have you been out in the sun too long?” I said. “Something has burned out your brain. There’s no way you can win!”
“Hee-hee-hee.” More snickering. “Bernie, see this thing on my back?”
“Very ugly,” I said. “You should see a doctor and have it removed before it grows even bigger.”