by Ellen Potter
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For Ian, Clay, Louisa, Maya, and Sam
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
This Is 100% Not a Lie
Digging in the Treasure Box
Big Chunks
The Greatest Lego Genius Who Ever Lived
Devil Dog
Bubble Blasters
Belly Button Poppers
Jaws of Death
Hee-Hee-Hee
Bob the Goldfish
Free Advice
Boris Saliva
Otis Dooda, Crocodile Wrestler
Lethal Lunch
I’m a Li’l Stinker
Invisibility Vests
Swamp Gas
Diabolical
Alien Eggs
Bzzzzzz!
Agent Shaw
Alien Baby Invasion
Nostril Tricks
Face-Holes
Mighty Mack 500
My Disgusting Family
2 Weird 4 Gunther
Robot Yellow Jackets
The Anti-Alien Patrol
War of the Worlds
Giant Bummer
Dingle-Dork of the Week
About the Authors
Copyright
One thing you should know about me is that I don’t lie. Not very much, anyway. I don’t have anything against lying. It’s just that I’m bad at it. Whenever I tell a lie, I sweat like a pig in a bacon factory. Plus, I start talking like an eighty-year-old man.
The reason I’m telling you this is because you are probably going to think this book is made up. It’s not. It’s all 100% true. The thing is, some weird stuff has happened to me since I moved to New York City this past summer. You might have heard about some of it.
But now there’s more.
If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s the morning of the first day of school. You wake up all tired and wobbly because you’ve been staying up late the whole summer. Then you have to go to the bathroom and brush things that you haven’t brushed for a while and get dressed before you’ve even watched any TV.
It’s unnatural.
That morning, my older brother, Gunther, and I sat slumped at the kitchen table, looking miserable while shoveling cereal into our mouths.
Mom was in a great mood, though.
“Aren’t you guys excited?” she said. “A new school in New York City!”
“No,” we both said at the same time.
But she sure was excited. You know why? Because she was finally going to get rid of us for a few hours. I know that’s true because I saw it in her text message to Dad. Mom and Dad text-message when they want to tell each other things they don’t want us to hear. Then later, when Mom goes to the bathroom, I look at her cell phone and see what’s really going on.
Gunther looked at me over his cereal bowl with this cheesy smile on his face.
“You know what happens to new kids, don’t you?” he said.
“What?” I said. I knew I shouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d never actually been the new kid at a school before.
“The only person who’ll sit next to you is the kid who digs in the treasure box,” Gunther said.
“What does that mean?”
“Digging … in … the … treasure … box.” Gunther demonstrated by pretending to pick his nose.
The funny thing is, I have never seen Gunther actually pick his nose. Since he’s a pretty disgusting guy in general, this always seemed strange to me. I once asked Mom about it.
“Maybe it’s because he has good manners,” she said.
But we both knew that was ridiculous. So she gave me a stern look and said, “Let’s not talk about it, okay? It’s very upsetting to Gunther.”
That’s why I like to bring it up every once in a while.
“Hey, that reminds me, Gunther,” I said, “why don’t you pick your nose? Are you afraid of the boogeyman?”
Gunther threw a Cheerio at me and hit me right in the eyeball. I flicked a spoon of milk at his head. Mom walked back in, took one look at us, and started text-messaging Dad like mad.
I hate to admit it, but Gunther was right!
The lady at the school’s main office told me to go to Room 214. I was one of the first people there, so I grabbed a two-seater desk in the back of the room. I like to be as invisible as possible in class.
A few minutes later all these kids come pouring into the classroom. Nobody sat next to me. I even smiled at a couple of them to encourage them. I got the Stink Eye from those kids. After a while I gave up and just read the stuff that people had written on the desks. Let me tell you, some of it was pretty bad. Parents are always so worried about what kids watch on TV. But if they knew what was written on the classroom desks, they’d never let their kids step inside a school.
I made a mental note to try this argument out on Mom.
Suddenly I heard the chair next to me scrape against the floor and I looked over to see—
You’ll never guess.
I’ll give you a hint.
He’s the most annoying person on the planet.
Not counting Gunther.
That’s right. Boris! Boris who lives on the fourth floor of my apartment building! I couldn’t believe he was in the third grade. He practically looks like a grown man. Seriously, you could carpet a bedroom with all his leg hair.
“Well, if it isn’t Thinny McSkelebones!” Boris said as he sat down next to me.
“Hi, Boris,” I muttered.
“Lucky for you I’m in your class, huh?” he said. “I heard Mrs. West is really strict, so don’t be too chummy with me or she’ll separate us.”
“Good to know,” I said.
If I had to kiss Boris in order to get Mrs. West to move me, I would.
Just then Cat walked in. She lives on the same floor as I do in Tidwell Towers. She spotted us right away and walked to the back of the room. There were two girls sitting at the desk next to ours, but Cat pointed at one of them and said, “Take a hike, sister.”
And you know what? The girl did.
Cat weighs about as much as a paper bag, but she’s very scary.
“Good news,” Cat said to us. “Mrs. West was attacked by a duck over the summer and she broke her hip. We’re going to have a new teacher.”
“Yes!” Boris pounded his fists on the desk.
I snorted. “A duck? Really?”
“Don’t laugh, man,” Boris said, his eyes wide. “Ducks are the most dangerous form of poultry.”
Suddenly, the whole class got quiet. A man had walked into the room. He was a young guy with longish brown hair and he was wearing round glasses.
“Hey, Room 214, what’s sizzling? I’m your new teacher this year. My name is Mr. Koslowski. But because I like you, you can call me Mr. K.”
Boris’s hand shot up in the air.
“Yes?” Mr. K said to Boris.
“You can call me Big Chunks,” Boris told him.
“Will do, Big Chunks,” Mr. K said.
I couldn’t believe what a sucker this guy was!
Boris’s hand shot up again.
“Yes, Big Chunks?” Mr. K said.
“You can call him Little Chunks,” Boris said, pointing to me.
I started shaking my head and mouthing, No, no!
“Hmm.” Mr. K looked at me and tipped his head to one side. “He looks more like a Captain Mayhem to
me.”
“I think I like this guy,” I whispered to Boris.
But he wasn’t paying attention.
He was too busy digging in his treasure box.
At recess there were three different games of tag going on. Boris insisted I play this game called Killer Octopus Tag. I think Boris made the game up, because it was totally ridiculous. The person who was It had to walk around the playground in slow motion with their arms waving, saying, “Uhhhhh, Uhhhhh…” while everyone else ran away.
“Otis is It!” Boris called.
But every time I started to run, Boris yelled, “Octopuses can’t run!”
It got boring really quickly, so I quit and I walked off to find another game. A bunch of girls were playing Pony Tag, where they all had to gallop around, shake their heads, and make snorting noises. That didn’t seem too great, either. The other tag game was Ninja Tag. Cat was playing that one. As far as I could tell, the object of Ninja Tag was to kick as many people as you could.
But I’m not really the violent type.
I’m more like the sissy type.
Plus, when I kick I look like a stork that’s being electrocuted.
Instead, I just went on the monkey bars and hung upside down. I love hanging upside down. I could do it for hours.
I was just hanging there, watching this kid named Trevor McBride lick a smooshed Starburst on the bottom of his sneaker. Suddenly, this other boy walked up to me. He had the biggest ears I’ve ever seen. It looked like he had two bagels glued to the sides of his head.
“You’re the Lego nerd,” he said.
“Who told you that?” I asked him.
The kid shrugged. “I hear things.”
With ears like that, I bet you do, I thought.
I didn’t say it out loud though. I don’t like it when people make fun of my skinniness. So I just made fun of him in my head.
“If you know what’s good for you, don’t mess with Sid Frackas,” the kid said.
“Who’s Sid Frackas?” I asked.
The kid stuck one finger in the air and said, “He’s the greatest Lego genius who ever lived!”
I looked at him for a moment. Then I asked, “By any chance, are you Sid Frackas?”
The kid frowned at me. “Maybe I am and maybe I ain’t.” Then he started to walk away.
“Okay, bye, Sid Frackas!” I called after him.
He didn’t answer.
“Nice chatting with you, Sid old boy!” I called.
His ears turned very red.
The recess bell rang and on the way back into the classroom, Cat said, “Why were you talking to Sid Frackas?”
“You know him?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said. “He lives in our building. Also he’s the greatest Lego genius who ever lived.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t too thrilled about that.
Because I always thought I was the greatest Lego genius who ever lived.
On the way home Mom asked me the same old question she always asks.
“So what did you do at school?”
“I don’t remember,” I told her.
The thing is, after I’m finished with school, all my memories of the day leak out of my brain. I honestly can’t remember a single thing that happened. Like people who have been in a traumatic accident.
Mom was walking this Boston terrier named Diablo, which is Spanish for “devil.” Let me tell you, that dog lived up to his name. His owners enrolled him in Mom’s dog school, Horrible Hounds Academy, because he tries to bite anything that comes near his mouth. And you know what my mom does? She bites him back. No kidding. She flips him over and bites his throat.
While growling.
In public.
We had to stop about twelve times on the way home so Mom could bite Diablo.
When she wasn’t biting Diablo, though, she kept grilling me about what I did in school.
Finally, I said to her, “What did YOU do all day?”
She got all guilty looking and said,
When we went into the lobby of our apartment building, I fished around in my pocket, then pulled out a stick of gum and tossed it into a jack-o’-lantern bucket sitting by a potted plant. I could see Potted Plant Guy staring out at me from behind the leaves. He’s this kid who sits in a potted plant in the lobby. If you don’t put something in Potted Plant Guy’s pail when you walk into the building, he puts a curse on you. Seriously, you don’t want to mess with that crazy kid.
My mom tossed a fruit roll into his pail. She doesn’t actually believe the curse thing. She just does it because she thinks he’s adorable.
He’s about as adorable as a sharp stick in your eye.
We took the elevator up to the thirty-fifth floor. We live on the very top floor of Tidwell Towers, which is pretty cool. But my favorite thing about it is that my best friend, Perry Hooper, lives on the thirty-fifth floor, too.
When we got off the elevator, I spotted a big cardboard box right outside Perry’s apartment door. Knowing the Hoopers, there was something interesting in it. And possibly dangerous.
So of course I had to go investigate.
“Mom, can I go to the Hoopers’?” I asked.
At that moment the elevator door opened and the old lady who lives next door to us stepped out. Diablo made a lunge for her, and Mom answered me while she was biting Diablo, so it came out sounding like
Which I just assumed was yes.
“Hey, Otis,” Mr. Hooper said as he opened the door. When he saw the big box, he clapped his hands.
“Woo-hoo!! It came! Perry, it came!!” he cried.
We lugged the box inside. It was really heavy and whatever was inside was clattering around.
Perry swatted me on the back to say hi. And guess who else was there?
That’s right.
Boris.
He was sprawled out on their couch, eating a pickle smeared with cream cheese. He eats disgusting stuff like that. But if you say it’s disgusting or make a face, he gets all upset and says you are making fun of his family’s heritage, even though no one has any idea what his family heritage is. So I tried not to look at the pickle with cream cheese as we opened the box.
Inside the first box there was another box. Someone had written BOY STUFF on top of it. Mr. Hooper smiled and rubbed his hands together.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Something for The Big Green Party Machine,” Perry said.
That’s Mr. Hooper’s green school bus. He fills it with games and things, then brings it to kids’ birthday parties. Only his games are always pretty cruddy. Or busted. Or lethal.
“I have a big party coming up,” Mr. Hooper said. “Thirty boys are going to be there. I saw this box of Boy Stuff online and thought it would be perfect.”
Then we opened the box marked BOY STUFF.
There were plastic swords, bows and arrows with water balloons for tips, something called a Toilet Paper Launcher, and a whole lot of other things that I couldn’t identify.
Mr. Hooper pulled out a plastic baggie full of little green buttons. He took out a piece of paper from inside the baggie, read it, and smiled.
“What are they?” I asked.
“Belly Button Poppers.”
“Cool! Let’s try them!” Perry said.
I wasn’t so sure. Putting a popper in my belly button sounded like a bad idea. Plus, I’m sort of sensitive about my belly button because it’s really deep. Gunther used to stuff frozen peas in it when I was younger.
Mr. Hooper read the instructions: “‘Peel off sticky back. Insert Belly Button Popper in belly button. In one to two minutes, you will feel it begin to vibrate. Lift up your shirt. The Belly Button Popper will shoot out of your belly button.’”
Perry took one of the Belly Button Poppers, peeled off the back, lifted his shirt up, and stuck the popper in his belly button. We all stared at his belly button for one to two minutes.
Nothing happened.
Boris tried it, too. His belly button was
so hairy that he had a hard time sticking the green thing into it.
Yecch.
We waited a few minutes, but nothing happened to his popper, either.
“I guess they don’t work,” I said, relieved.
“Or maybe our belly buttons are no good. Let’s try yours.”
So I had to stick that thing in my belly button, and everyone stared at it while we waited for the popper to shoot out. I kept expecting Boris to say something about my weird belly button, but I guess when your own belly button is full of hair, everyone else’s seems pretty normal.
Anyway, nothing happened.
“They’re probably heat activated,” Mr. Hooper said. “Try leaving them in and see what happens.”
That didn’t thrill me, but Perry, Boris, and I left them in while we all looked through the box and pulled out some water guns.
Only they weren’t actual water guns.
“They’re Bubble Blasters,” Mr. Hooper said excitedly.
Perry, Boris, and I groaned.
“Soap bubbles, Dad? Really?” Perry said. “That’s kind of lame.”
“Not soap bubbles,” Mr. Hooper said. “Gum bubbles.”
He examined the instructions taped to one of the Bubble Blasters.
“‘First,’” he read, “‘put on protective Bubble Blaster jacket.’” He shrugged his shoulders. “That seems silly. Let’s skip that part.”
Uh-oh, I thought.
Then he tossed us each a block of gum the size of a cell phone.
“Start chewing, boys!” he said.
My gum tasted like banana. Weird, but not bad. We all chewed and chewed and chewed until our mouths were stuffed full of giant slimy balls.
“Okay,” Mr. Hooper said, handing us each a blaster. “Load ’em up.”
I crammed the gum into this hole in the back of the blaster. Boris was examining his gum, which had bits of green and white things in it.