Party Poopers (5 page)

The next morning we had an assembly in the auditorium about the All-Nighter. Every seat was filled. Kids were laughing and talking. Belzer saved me a seat in the third row.

My friend Beast stood up in the aisle. Beast is a good guy, but no one really knows if he's animal or human. In class, Mrs. Heinie keeps him on a leash, which I don't think is fair.

Beast pulled off his school uniform shirt and started playing “America the Beautiful” on his armpit. The dude has armpit hair that goes down to
his waist. So it was pretty gross to look at him.

But
no one
can play armpit like Beast. He plays with so much enthusiasm and skill! He started squeezing out some rap beats with both armpits and had the whole auditorium boogying!

I looked up and saw Mr. and Mrs. Pocketlint walk onto the stage. They both had their hands pressed over their ears. They like classical stuff like Mozart and Beethoven. You could tell they don't care for armpit music.

The Pocketlints are the dorm parents in Nyce House. Mr. Pocketlint has a slender, pink face, a very long, pointed nose, and tiny, blue eyes, very close together. He looks a lot like one of those anteaters you see in cartoons.

His wife has gray hair piled high on her head. She has large, gray eyes and a big, snooty nose that always seems to be sniffing the air.

They waved their arms and shouted for us all to be quiet. It took a long time for everyone to calm down.

Beast took out a hairbrush and started brushing his armpit hair. He did it for a joke. And, of course,
we all went wild, laughing and cheering him on.

But the Pocketlints didn't think armpit brushing was funny. Mr. Pocketlint slipped a dog leash onto Beast and led him out of the auditorium. We all booed and hissed.

A few minutes later everyone finally settled down. Mrs. Pocketlint sniffed the air. Her husband returned and took out a large, white handkerchief and blew his nose into the microphone. It sounded a lot like Beast's armpit music.

“We are the chaperones for the All-Nighter party,” Mrs. P. announced. “That means Sam and I will be watching your every move, making sure you don't have as much fun as you'd like.”

I think that was supposed to be a joke. But nobody laughed.

Mr. P. cleared his throat. “The All-Nighter is a wonderful Rotten School tradition,” he said. “It started fifty years ago. A man named I.M. Pitiful was headmaster then. His wife had the idea for the party. Her name was
Mrs.
I.M. Pitiful.”

“She liked to stay out all night, prowling on her hands and knees in the grass, looking for field mice
and other rodents,” Mrs. Pocketlint said. “I don't think she ate them. I think she just liked to catch them.”

“She wasn't crazy,” Mr. P. said. “It was a hobby. We all have hobbies, right? For example, I like to collect my own toenail clippings. I have two thousand of them in a jar in my room. I give each one a name. Nothing strange about that.”

A hushed silence fell over the auditorium.
Toenail clippings?

“One night Mrs. I.M. Pitiful decided that maybe Rotten School's fourth, fifth, and sixth graders would like to stay out all night hunting rodents, too,” Mrs. P. said. “She decided it would be a girl-ask-boy rodent hunt. And that's how the All-Nighter began.”

“It was a lot of fun,” her husband added. “Because no hands were allowed. You had to use your teeth.”

They both chuckled.

We all stared at them. No one made a sound.

Mr. Pocketlint blew his nose loudly again. Then for a few moments he studied what he had done in his handkerchief. “Of course, we don't have a rodent hunt any longer,” he said. “The All-Nighter has
changed a lot. But it's still a girl-ask-boy party.”

Mrs. Pocketlint held up a long sheet of paper. “We have a list of rules you need to follow at the party,” she said, sniffing the air again. “The list is short, only one hundred and twelve rules, and I'd like to read them to you now.”

That was the signal for us to start talking and laughing, telling jokes, pushing one another, arm wrestling, and fist-fighting. We kept this up until the list of 112 rules had been read. I didn't hear a single rule. I was too busy thinking about how I could prove to Jennifer that I was a total loser, unworthy of her.

And when I saw Mr. and Mrs. Pocketlint wheel a machine onstage, I realized I had my chance.

I saw my archenemy, that spoiled rich kid, Sherman Oaks, strut onto the stage. Sherman is the leader of Nyce House. He is tall and blond and good-looking, in an icky sort of way.

He's so spoiled, he never looks in a mirror. He has someone
else
look in a mirror for him!

Sherman had a big, toothy grin on his face as he stepped up to the machine. The machine had a flat-screen monitor, a big speaker, and a microphone resting on its top.

“Dudes, you probably
know what this is,” Sherman said. “But, of course, you're not filthy rich like me, so you can't afford one!”

Mrs. Pocketlint sniffed the air. “Just tell them what it is, Sherman,” she said.

“It's a video karaoke machine!” Sherman announced. “We're gonna use it for the All-Nighter.”

Everyone went nuts. Who doesn't love video karaoke? Sherman Oaks was a hero!

“My parents bought this for me,” Sherman announced. “They like to spoil me rotten because then they don't have to spend any time with me!”

Kids started to scream and shout.

“Do we have a volunteer?” Mrs. Pocketlint shouted.

I jumped to my feet. Perfect! This was my big chance! My chance to look like a total loser in front of Jennifer!

Don't think it's easy for the great Bernie B. to act like a klutz and a loser. I've been a winner all my life, but now I had to act, act,
act
.

I made my way up the stairs to the stage—and stumbled and tripped just to make myself look like a jerk. I flashed Sherman a grin as I stepped up to his machine.

“Ooh, can I try it, Sherman?” I asked, pretending to tremble and shake. “I've never done anything like this before,” I said. “Is it hard to do?”

“Go, Bernie!” a girl in the audience shouted.

Who was it? I hoped it wasn't Jennifer.

“Go, Bernie! Go, Bernie!” some other kids started to chant.

I picked up the microphone. “Could you show me how it works?” I asked Sherman. “I'm not a good singer, but perhaps…”

Sherman grinned. “Anyone can do it, Bernie—even you.” He turned to the machine and clicked a few dials and buttons.

I pretended to be totally confused. “Do I press this button right here?” I pushed a red button, and a deafening squeal came out of the box.

“No! Don't push that one!” Sherman cried.

“You mean
this
one?” I said. I pushed it again. Another high squeal that made everyone cover their ears.

“Don't touch anything,” Sherman said.

“Then how is he going to learn?” Mrs. Pocketlint asked.

“Yes, how am I going to learn?” I said. “Do I turn this?” I reached into an opening on the side of the video screen. “Hey—my hand is stuck!” I cried.

I pretended I couldn't get my hand out. I twisted
and pulled. I pushed the red button again and made the machine squeal.

“Don't touch that!”
Sherman cried. He was starting to get steamed.

I heard kids laughing. Some kids still chanted, “Go, Bernie! Go, Bernie!” But now they were being funny. They didn't mean it.

Jennifer, I hope you're watching,
I thought.
I hope you see what a klutz I am. I hope you're deciding right
now that you can do better than me!

“Where do I find the songs?” I asked Sherman. “It's so confusing. Do I look in here?”

And I stuck my head into the space between the video screen and the control box.

“Not there! No! Don't do that!” Sherman screamed.

Kids were laughing and hooting.

“My head is stuck!” I cried. “Help me! I can't get my head out!”

Sherman grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a hard tug.

My head popped out—and the whole karaoke machine fell over and crashed to the floor.
Tinkle tinkle
. Glass flew everywhere. The video screen shattered into a million pieces.

“Oops,” I said. “Did I do that?”

I tiptoed off the stage. Kids were muttering and booing and hissing. I looked like a total jerk. But it was for a good cause.

I waited outside the auditorium with my fingers crossed. This
had
to work.

Kids started streaming out. The assembly was
over. I saw April-May hurry over to Jennifer. I crept up behind them to listen.

“Do you see what a loser Bernie is?” April-May said. “See what a total klutz and jerk he is?”

Yes, yes, YES!
You go, girl!

But Jennifer shook her head. “Just because Bernie isn't mechanical doesn't mean he's a loser,” she said.

Huh?

“I think Bernie did that for ME,” Jennifer told April-May. “He knows I
hate
karaoke!”

I let out a long sigh. My body suddenly felt too heavy to stand. I sank to the ground.

Defeated again. Jennifer just wouldn't give up on me.

What could I do to lose The Ecch?

I needed another idea.

I shut my eyes and thought hard. I thought till sweat poured down my face, and my whole body shook.

Yes! Another idea.

Bernie B.
never
runs out of ideas!

I know what will work
, I decided.
I'll totally gross her out….