The Teacher from Heck

  I bent down to help him up. “I can explain, sir,” I said.

  But even the great Bernie B. couldn’t talk his way out of this one.

  And the next day, Headmaster Upchuck had his revenge. Mr. Skruloose, The Teacher from Heck, appeared….

  Chapter 10

  “YOU STUDENTS ARE LUCKY!”

  So, Headmaster Upchuck sent Mrs. Heinie to the girls’ dorm to be their dorm mother instead of ours. And he took her away from us fourth graders and made her a sixth-grade teacher.

  And now Mr. Skruloose stood at the front of our class. He stood stiff as a broom with his big chest ballooning out of his school blazer. “Listen up, soldiers!” he bellowed, so loudly the windows rattled.

  “I taught in the toughest military schools in the country,” he said. “And I’m gonna whip you recruits into shape—if I have to break every one of you!” Skruloose picked up a wooden yardstick and broke it over one knee.

  “STOP STARING AT ME!” Skruloose screamed. “I don’t like to be stared at, soldiers. Eyes straight ahead at all times.”

  I shut my eyes. This is all a dream, I thought. I’m gonna pinch myself, wake up, and Mrs. Heinie will be back.

  I pinched myself. Then I opened my eyes.

  Mr. Skruloose was scowling at me. “Did you just take a nap, soldier? I saw your eyes close.”

  “Uh…no, sir!” I cried.

  This dude can’t be serious, I told myself. He’ll lighten up. I know he will.

  Near the front of the room, I saw Billy the Brain take out his laptop. He set it on his desk and opened it.

  Uh-oh, I thought. Did Billy forget something important about his laptop?

  Billy pressed a key on the laptop. A stream of water shot out and sprayed April-May June in the face. She let out a startled scream and fell off her chair.

  Yes, Billy did forget something. He forgot he turned his laptop into a squirt gun!

  And now Mr. Skruloose stood over him, glaring down at the laptop.

  “It’s a keyboard problem,” Billy said. “I have to call the help line after class.”

  Nice try, Brain.

  “You need all the help you can get, soldier,” Skruloose boomed. “Why don’t you drop down to the floor. Let’s see how many push-ups you can do in an hour.”

  “An hour?” Billy gasped. “Butthat’s sixty minutes!”

  I told you he was a brain.

  With a sigh, Billy started to lower himself to the floor. But he bumped the laptop—and it squirted April-May again.

  She let out another scream.

  Billy settled onto his stomach and tried to do a push-up. I knew he could do maybe one or two in an hour. The dude is a brain, remember—not a jock.

  Mr. Skruloose returned to his desk. “I heard about your Water War,” he snarled, “and it’s all over. Let me repeat that. OVER!”

  He picked up the broken yardstick and cracked it into tiny pieces.

  That sent a shiver down my back. He really liked breaking things.

  This isn’t fair, I thought. How can Skruloose end the Water War? It’s our turn to attack. We haven’t had a chance to get back at Sherman for flooding out our lunch. He can’t let Sherman and Nyce House win!

  “You soldiers will survive my class—if you follow my simple rules,” Mr. Skruloose boomed.

  From his front-row seat, Sherman Oaks waved another hundred-dollar bill in Skruloose’s face. “Maybe this little gift will convince you to skip me,” Sherman said. “I’m way too rich to follow any rules.”

  Skruloose totally ignored Sherman. Once again he began listing his classroom rules:

  “Both feet on the floor at all times, shoes at a forty-five-degree angle. Posture counts for twenty-five percent of your grade. No unnecessary smiling. No licking your lips.”

  Nice.

  “I will be giving you four hours of homework every night, seven nights a week,” Mr. Skruloose announced. “You students are lucky. I used to be strict!”

  Chapter 11

  GASSY HAS TO GO

  After dinner Feenman and Crench slumped into my room. They dropped onto my bed, sighing and shaking their heads.

  “Sherman is bragging to everyone that he won the Water War,” Feenman said. “He’s telling everyone you surrendered.”

  I groaned. “What can I do? Mr. Skruloose said the Water War was over. Do you want me to go argue with him? You saw what he did to that yardstick.”

  “We don’t have time for a Water War, anyway,” Crench said. “We have so much homework.”

  “Four hours of homework every night?” Feenman moaned. “I can’t do it, Bernie. All that reading hurts my eyes.”

  “I can’t think that long,” Crench said. “If I try to think for more than a few minutes, I get a headache.” He pounded his forehead.

  A shadow fell over the room. Mr. Skruloose burst in, breathing hard, pointing at my two buddies. “No slouching on the beds!” he barked. “Sit up. Posture! Posture!”

  Feenman and Crench pulled themselves up straight.

  Skruloose lowered his eyes to their bare feet. “Where are your shoes?” he boomed. “I don’t like to see feet in my dorm.”

  “Mrs. Heinie always let us go b-barefoot,” Crench stammered.

  Mr. Skruloose made a disgusted face. “Mrs. Heinie? Who is Mrs. Heinie? I’m in charge now. And I’ll kick your heinie if I see any bare feet in here again.”

  “Y-yes, sir,” Crench muttered.

  I tried to change the subject. “Sir, we’re just so totally pumped to have you here,” I said. “We know you’re going to do great things here at Rotten House.”

  He frowned at me. “Great things? With a bunch of losers like you?” He shook a big, meaty fist in the air. “But don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll shape you soldiers up. When I’m finished, you won’t recognize yourselves.”

  All three of us made gulping sounds.

  “Stand at attention!” he boomed. “I’m going to do the inspection now!”

  He brushed the three of us out of his way. “I heard about your Water War,” he said. “I’m searching your rooms every night. If I find any squirt guns or water blasters, you will report to Headmaster Upchuck to be sent home.”

  All three of us made gulping sounds again.

  Skruloose pulled out a flashlight, dropped to the floor, and searched under my bed. “What’s this?” he cried.

  Uh-oh. Gassy. My big, fat bulldog.

  Think fast, Bernie. Think fast.

  There are no pets allowed in the Rotten School dorms.

  “Uh…I confess, sir,” I said. “It’s a water balloon.”

  Skruloose kept the flashlight trained on Gassy. “A water balloon?” he boomed. “But…it has a face. And it’s staring back at me. And…PHEW…it stinks!”

  “No, sir,” I said. “It’s a water balloon. Trust me.”

  I reached down and dragged Gassy out to the middle of the floor. “It looks a lot like a dog,” I said, “but it’s not. Go ahead. Squeeze it, sir. You’ll see. It squirts water.”

  “It’s a dog,” Skruloose insisted. “A fat, smelly dog.”

  “Squeeze it,” I said. “You’ll see.”

  Mr. Skruloose bent down. He wrapped his hands around Gassy’s fat belly—and squeezed.

  “Ooh, it stinks! It STINKS!” Feenman and Crench wailed, holding their noses.

  I guess Billy the Brain forgot to fill up Gassy’s water tank.

  “No dogs in the dorm, soldier,” Mr. Skruloose said. He pointed to the door. “Take it outside. The dog has to sleep outside.”

  I gasped. “Outside? He can’t, sir,” I said. “The fresh air gives him a cough.”

  “Outside,” Mr. Skruloose insisted.

  Gassy gazed up at me with those sad, brown eyes. I didn’t want to part with my sweet pet. But I had no choice. I shouted out the door. “Belzer! Belzer, get in here! Take Gassy outside.”

  Belzer hurried in. He threw the fat bulldog over his shoulder and disappeared with him. I could hear Gassy whim
pering all the way down the stairs.

  Or was that Belzer?

  “No more Mr. Nice Guy!” Mr. Skruloose screamed. “I’m going to get tough now!”

  Uh-oh.

  “Now get your shoes, soldiers!” Skruloose yelled. “We’ll have a lesson. You need to polish your shoes for an hour every night. We want those shoes to shine in a dark closet—don’t we?”

  “Yes, sir,” we said.

  We polished our shoes for an hour. Then Mr. Skruloose made us put them in a dark closet to make sure they glowed. Finally he headed down to the second floor to shape up the dudes down there.

  Feenman, Crench, and I slumped to the floor. Sweat poured down our faces. Our trembling hands were black from shoe polish.

  Crench sighed. “He’s gotta go,” he murmured. “We can’t survive this.”

  I sighed, too. “He sent away my poor doggy. At least he didn’t see my parrot.” I pointed to Lippy in his cage on my dresser. “Lippy would never survive outside. He’s too delicate.”

  “GO SUCK A CUTTLEBONE!” the adorable prettyboy cried. “SUCK A CUTTLEBONE—AND CHOKE!”

  He’s so cute.

  Feenman tore at his long, scraggly hair. “Now there’s no way we can win the Water War. Not with Skruloose looking under our beds every night.”

  Through the open window I could hear Gassy, my poor pet. Out in the cold, dark night all by himself. Whimpering softly. Coughing.

  “We’ve gotta get rid of Skruloose—fast,” I said.

  Feenman grabbed the front of my shirt. “Bernie, do you have a plan?”

  I flashed him a grin. “Does a monkey have chapped lips? Of course I have a plan!”

  Chapter 12

  WHY I SOBBED AND BAWLED

  The next day I started to put my plan into effect.

  I found April-May June in the kitchen of the Home Arts room. She was stacking peanut-butter pies on a shelf. I counted at least a dozen of them.

  Perfect. I needed only one.

  April-May’s mouth dropped open when she saw me, and she gave me a warm greeting. “Beat it, Bernie.”

  She loves to tease me. That’s how I know she likes me.

  “You’re looking hot,” I said.

  “You’re looking not,” she replied.

  Ha-ha. I love a girl with a sense of humor.

  She straightened her blazer over her pleated school skirt.

  “The Rotten School colors look awesome on you,” I said. “They match your eyes.”

  She stared at me. “Huh? Green, yellow, and purple?”

  I saw Ms. Sally Monella, the Cooking teacher, watching us from across the room. “I need one of those peanut-butter pies,” I whispered to April-May.

  “And I need a second nose,” April-May replied. She turned away from me and started stacking pies again.

  “No. Really,” I said. “It’s not for me, April-May. I swear.”

  “You’re right, Bernie,” she said. “They’re not for you.”

  “Just one!” I pleaded.

  Ms. Monella walked over to us. “Bernie, how y’all doing?” she asked. She’s tall and young and pretty, and she’s from the South.

  “I’m doing fine,” I said, my eyes on the peanut-butter pies. Then I remembered something about Ms. Monella. She’s a sucker for any kid who cries.

  She’s totally tenderhearted. She can’t say no to anyone who bawls and sobs.

  “Well, what y’all doin’ here?” Ms. Monella asked.

  “I—I—I—” I pretended to stutter. Then I burst into tears and sobbed and bawled as loudly as I could. I covered my face with both hands and let my whole body shake.

  “Bernie? Bernie? What’s wrong?” Ms. Monella cried.

  I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Those p-peanut-butter pies,” I said in a shaky voice. “They smell just like the pies my mother used to bake….”

  “They do?” Ms. Monella said. “How nice to have such sweet memories.”

  I let a few more tears run down my cheeks.

  April-May was watching me carefully. “He’s faking,” she told Ms. Monella.

  But Ms. Monella didn’t hear her. She reached up and pulled a peanut-butter pie down from the shelf. “Here ya go, Bernie,” she said softly. “Y’all enjoy this, ya hear?”

  “Thank you, thank you,” I said in a trembling whisper. I grabbed the pie and ran out of the room.

  Time for Part Two of my brilliant plan.

  I met Feenman, Crench, and Belzer in my dorm room. “Success!” I cried. “I got the pie.”

  Feenman had a fork in each hand. That’s one of his big talents. He eats with both hands at once. “Let’s DIG IN!” he shouted.

  “Back! Back!” I had to shove them all back. “It’s not for you.”

  All three of them groaned. “You got a peanut-butter pie? And you’re not gonna share it?”

  “I’m not going to eat it, either,” I said. “Back! Get BACK!” I gave Feenman a hard push. He was drooling on the pie.

  “Who’s it for?” Crench asked.

  “Mr. Skruloose,” I said.

  Crench blinked. “Huh? You’re giving him a pie?”

  “That’s my brilliant plan,” I said. “We’re going to make him feel welcome, dudes. We’re gonna charm him.”

  Feenman rolled his eyes. “Whoa. That’s supposed to be brilliant?” he muttered.

  “Listen,” I said. “No one can resist the Bernie Bridges charm. You know that. Once he gets a taste of the old charm, he’ll soften up. He’ll turn into a good guy. A pussycat!”

  All three of them squinted at me.

  “Have faith, dudes!” I said. “Have FAITH. Have I ever let you down before?”

  “Never!” Belzer shouted. “Never!”

  “Right! Now let’s go find Skruloose,” I said. “This is going to be awesome.” I held the pie in front of me and led the way down the stairs.

  Chapter 13

  PEANUT-BUTTER PIE

  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. “Bu
t 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.”

  Chapter 14

  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?”