The Terrible Two Go Wild

by Mac Barnett

“YOU SAY YOU PREFER THE WAY VELCRO SHOES LOOK, BUT I THINK YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO TIE YOUR SHOES, JACKSON,” he yelled at Jackson, who really did just prefer the look of Velcro.

  “Sir, I do so know how to tie my—” Jackson said before landing hard in the water.

  “YOU LOOK DUMB WHEN YOU RUN, DARIUS,” he yelled at Darius.

  “I pronate, sir,” Darius said. Right before camp, his mom had bought him some orthotics, custom inserts that Darius put in his shoes. The orthotics were supposed to make it so Darius’s knees didn’t knock together when he ran, but so far they just made his knees hurt.

  “Pronate this,” said Josh, who didn’t know what pronate meant. He lifted Darius above his head and turned around in a circle, which was the signature move of General Anxiety, Josh’s favorite professional wrestler.

  Darius was also a big General Anxiety fan, so he knew what was coming next: Josh was going to throw him into the lake, face-first.

  And that is exactly what Josh did.

  Josh brought a special fury to his responsibilities that evening. He was in a foul mood. His yelling was extra insulting, his throwing extra hard. To the cadets bobbing in the water, today’s swimming exercises felt personal.

  They wondered if Josh was angry with them. The truth was, Josh was angry with himself. Miles and Niles had eluded his grasp. Those nimbuses had embarrassed him. He’d failed in front of Mudflap and Splinters. After telling his lackeys he’d avenge the theft of their flag, he’d ended up stuck in a tree. He had waited up there for over an hour that morning, until finally Mudflap and Splinters had found him. Were they amused to find their leader perched on a branch like a turkey—not a turkey vulture, which was a scary bird, but a turkey-turkey, which is a silly bird that sometimes flies into trees and then forgets how to fly down? Yes, they might have been amused. There was definitely a sort of amused gleam in their eyes when Josh ordered them back to camp to get help.

  They had returned accompanied by the supreme commander, who brought a ladder with him. (The supreme commander was what everyone called the man who ran Yawnee Valley Yelling and Push-Ups Camp. His real name was Tim.) Had Mudflap and Splinters chortled when Josh climbed down the ladder? It was hard to say. They had been standing behind his back, and Josh was focused on clambering down the rungs with dignity. But he had definitely heard some noises that sounded like chortling. Josh could tell you who had not chortled, though: the supreme commander. The supreme commander had not been in a chortling mood. No, he had been in a yelling mood, and he’d yelled at Josh for more than thirty mikes, right there in front of Mudflap and Splinters. It had been humiliating.

  For the last week, Josh had been observing his lackeys closely for signs of mutiny. He looked for gleams. He listened for chortles. Having become accustomed to the adoration of his underlings, Josh could not bear losing their respect. They certainly would have respected Josh if they could see him now, tossing all these kids into the lake. But they couldn’t see him, because they hadn’t shown up for swimming, possibly because they no longer respected him. A spotty attendance record was a definite sign of mutiny.

  Darius pulled himself up onto the dock.

  Josh pushed him back in the water.

  “Aw man,” cried Darius.

  Would it have been any comfort to Darius if he’d known the reason Josh insulted them so personally, and tossed them in the water so brutally, had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with Josh: his fear, his embarrassment, his self-doubt?

  Not at all. Darius’s nose was full of water and his knees hurt.

  Josh should have never promised revenge. He should have just let those nimbuses take his dumb flag. Mudflap was right: They could have made another dumb flag! But now that he had chosen a path, he could not change direction. He was a leader. He had chosen the revenge path, and he would continue on that path, even if the way had grown tough. Even if there were very clear signs that read turn back, this is a bad path. Even if there were roots and vines and stinging plants along the path, Josh Barkin would keep walking forward. In fact, he would run down that path, metaphorically, which in this metaphor meant that he would have even bigger revenge against the Terrible Two. Once he found them. If he found them. How would he find them?

  “Major Barkin! Major Barkin!”

  Two familiar and identical voices came from behind Josh. He turned to see Mudflap and Splinters running along the shore, toward the dock. Josh drew himself up to his full height and stood where he was. Let them come to him.

  “Major Barkin!”

  “You’re late.”

  “But sir!”

  “LATE.”

  “Sir. We found one of them. The blond one. And we know where we can find him again.”

  They’d been out on RECON! Not planning a mutiny—following his orders, searching for his enemies. They loved him. They feared him. They respected him.

  Josh smiled.

  Then he tossed them both in the lake.

  Over on land, a man with a buzz cut watched Josh toss Mudflap and Splinters off the dock. This man was the supreme commander. (Tim.) He held a clipboard, and the clipboard held a piece of paper. The paper said COUNSELOR EVALUATION: JOSH BARKIN. There were several categories: “YELLING,” “PUSH-UPS,” “PUT-DOWNS,” “PUSHING AROUND,” “TOSSING,” and “GENERAL AGGRESSION.” The supreme com mander marked Josh “REALLY GREAT” in each category. (“REALLY GREAT” was the second-best category, right under “SUPREME.”) He gave Josh a POWER RATING of 9 out of 10, which is the highest power rating he was willing to give. (Anything higher could be a threat to his own supremacy.) There was no doubt about it: Josh Barkin had real leadership potential. And the kid had only improved after the berating Tim had given him earlier that day, when he’d gotten stuck in that tree. Tim believed that sometimes a kid needed to get yelled at for a little while. It was a big part of why he had started Yawnee Valley Yelling and Push-Ups Camp. (The other part was Tim’s belief that sometimes a kid needed to do a bunch of push-ups.) Tim felt a good berating built character. (What kind of character it built was something Tim didn’t think too much about. Because of course you and I know that there is such a thing as a violent character. A nasty character. A bad character.) Although he had never served in the military, Tim had seen a lot of army movies (and some navy movies as well), so he started a boot camp. Tim felt proud watching Josh yell and push. He felt he had been instrumental in developing Josh’s character. Tim was a grown man who loved his job, which was to yell at children, and to teach them to yell at each other. What a world, what a world.

  Chapter

  20

  Three days later, Principal Barkin opened the front door of the Manzanita Cabin and was surprised to find a giant rock at his feet.

  He frowned.

  “I don’t remember any of this,” he said.

  The “this” Principal Barkin referred to was the rock, which really was quite large, but also the message on the rock.

  The rock was sitting there outside the cabin, right in his front yard. Well, “yard” wasn’t quite the right word. Out here in nature, the whole world was his yard! Or at least the part of the world delineated as Yawnee Valley Regional Park and Outdoor Recreational Area. But this was on the grassy bit beside his cabin, a slice of nature for which Principal Barkin felt especially responsible. Which made Principal Barkin wonder: Should he turn this rock over?

  He unzipped his Principal Pack, which most people call a fanny pack, but Principal Barkin called a Principal Pack, even in the summer, and pulled out a pencil and paper.

  Principal Barkin chewed on his pencil eraser. There was no doubt about it: This was a stumper. He would think about his options on his morning hike. The fresh air and solitude would help him come to a careful decision.

  Principal Barkin set off on the trail.

  Then he turned around and came right back to the rock.

  “CONFOUND YOU, ROCK!” he shouted at the rock.

  On the one hand, this was almost definitely a prank. Those tw
o rogues, Miles and Niles, were running loose in these woods, pranking willy-nilly. Principal Barkin had a good idea of what it felt like to be pranked by Niles Sparks and Miles Murphy, the sickening sensation of the world very slowly, then very suddenly, turning upside down. He felt it in his stomach, like riding on a roller coaster.

  On the other hand, what was under that rock????????

  It was very strange. Very interesting. Exciting, even. Which is why it must be a prank! An ordinary day suddenly taking a left turn into absurdity. Cars parked on top of steps. Flowers spelling out rude nonsense. Rocks talking. Well, not talking, exactly. But sort of talking. “Turn me over.” “Turn ME over.” Who would be so audacious as to speak for a rock? I mean, really! Who would be so bizarre? A pair of pranksters like Miles and Niles, that’s who!

  Yes! It was definitely a prank.

  Principal Barkin set off on the trail again.

  Then he turned around and came right back to the rock. Again.

  Even if it was a prank (and it was almost certainly a prank), WHAT WAS UNDER THAT ROCK????????

  Principal Barkin was curious. I mean, how could he not be curious? Of course, curiosity killed the cat. But Principal Barkin was not a cat. Principal Barkin was a principal.

  What would his father, Former Principal Bertrand Barkin, say? He would say something like, “UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU FALL VICTIM TO A PRANK, BARRY! REPORT THOSE TWO VANDALS TO THE AUTHORITIES AT ONCE! THEN LEAVE THE FOREST, WHICH IS A RIDICULOUS PLACE TO BE, AND GO SOMEPLACE YOU BELONG, LIKE A SUMMER TEACHER TRAINING IN-SERVICE. IT IS WHAT I WOULD DO. IT IS WHAT YOUR BROTHER, BOB BARKIN, WHOM I HAVE ALWAYS LIKED BETTER, WOULD DO, IF HE WERE A PRINCIPAL AND NOT A SUCCESSFUL DAIRY FARMER. STOP STANDING THERE BY THE ROCK! YOU ARE BEING FRIVOLOUS. GIVE JOSH AND SHARON MY LOVE.”

  What would his son, Future Principal Josh Barkin, say? That was harder for Principal Barkin to predict, but it would probably involve calling him a nimbus.

  For the last time, Principal Barkin set off on the trail.

  And for the last time, he turned around and came back to the rock.

  Because:

  Even if it was a prank,

  what was under that rock????????

  And also:

  Even if it was a prank,

  was it really so bad to get pranked?

  He would turn the rock over.

  “OK, MILES AND NILES!” Principal Barkin shouted to the trees all around him. “I KNOW YOU ARE PROBABLY WATCHING ME, AND PRANKING ME. WHAT I DO NEXT, I DO IN FULL KNOWLEDGE OF WHAT IS PROBABLY GOING ON RIGHT NOW.

  “JUST SO YOU KNOW,” he added.

  “OK,” he said. “I’M GOING TO TURN OVER THE ROCK.”

  The rock was really heavy.

  But Principal Barkin, having decided to turn over the rock, and now having announced his intentions, was determined.

  He tried to pry the rock loose with his walking stick,

  which snapped.

  “GOOD-BYE, STICK!” said Principal Barkin. “THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE!”

  Principal Barkin tried every which way to turn over that rock.

  Until finally he found a way that worked.

  “HERE WE GO!” said Principal Barkin. “GENTLY NOW! GENTLY! AHA! HA HA HA! AH!”

  The rock tipped over and turned upside down.

  “Oh,” said Principal Barkin.

  “Oh boy,” he added.

  The other side of the rock also had a message.

  “AH!” Principal Barkin shouted. “HA HA!” (He actually shouted “HA HA!”)

  Principal Barkin smiled.

  Then he stopped smiling.

  He flushed.

  Principal Barkin’s face turned the shade of a late-summer plum.

  It was one thing to be pranked.

  But if Principal Barkin turned this rock back over, wouldn’t he become a prankster?

  This was cause for fretting. And so Principal Barkin began to fret.

  “Two roads are diverging in a . . . green wood,” said Principal Barkin, approximately quoting a beloved American poem.

  “And one is the path I have traveled my whole life,” he continued, taking some artistic liberties with the poem.

  “And then there is another path, a pranking path, and that is a pretty major difference,” he said, really butchering the poem at this point.

  A pranking principal. Who could imagine such a thing? Sure, Principal Barkin had participated in one prank, a prank on his father, a prank that made him chuckle even now, when he thought about it. But he had not been a principal at the time—he’d been on an involuntary, indefinite leave of absence. But of course that prank had led to his reinstatement to his proper place as principal, and so this was a whole different matter. A pranking principal. It was silly. No. It was beyond silly. It was absolutely ridiculous.

  However, it did have a nice ring to it. Pranking principal. Both words beginning with the same letter. Just like the Terrible Two! He could have his own secret club, a rival secret club, the Pranking Principals! Although who else would join? Certainly not his father, who would probably say something like, “ ‘PRANKING PRINCIPAL’ IS AN INHERENT CONTRADICTION, LIKE ‘LAZY SUNDAY’ OR ‘INNOCENT JOKE.’ I AM AGHAST THAT YOU WOULD EVEN CONSIDER TURNING THAT ROCK OVER, BARRY. THIS SITUATION IS EXACTLY WHY I TOLD YOU TO NEVER GO TO THE WOODS, AS WELL AS SEVERAL OTHER REASONS. YOU DISAPPOINT ME, UNLIKE YOUR BROTHER, BOB, WHO IS SERIOUS IN ALL THAT HE DOES, INCLUDING HIS BUSINESS MILKING COWS AND SELLING THAT MILK TO GROCERY STORES. HE WOULD HAVE MADE A VERY FINE PRINCIPAL. BUT YOU, BARRY? WHAT SORT OF BARKIN ARE YOU?”

  Thinking of his father made Principal Barkin turn an even darker purple, the shade of the blackberries that grew in the brambles by Miles and Niles’s little green glade. And like an overripe blackberry, Principal Barkin looked like he might just burst.

  He burst out laughing instead.

  And then Principal Barkin set to turning the rock back over.

  (The rock was still really heavy.)

  “There,” he said, and patted the rock on what would have been its head, if rocks had heads, which of course they don’t.

  The rock was back just the way it had been before.

  But Principal Barkin felt like a different principal.

  Chapter

  21

  “Wow,” said Niles, watching his principal pat the rock into place. “I kind of didn’t think he would actually do it.”

  Miles agreed. “I thought maybe we were going to break his brain.”

  They were standing in a thick grove a few yards from the Manzanita Cabin, obscured by greenery from a principal’s peering eyes. Miles and Niles exchanged a secret high five, the Roman numeral high five, or high two.

  Then they presented themselves to their principal and gave him a high five (just a regular high five).

  Principal Barkin was delighted to see them.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t the Terrible Two.”

  “The Terrible Two,” said Miles.

  “I said that,” said Principal Barkin.

  Miles replayed it in his brain. “Oh. So you did. Wow.”

  “Well, boys,” said Principal Barkin, “it looks like I’ve joined your club.”

  “We’re not doing the Terrible Three thing,” said Miles.

  “Oh. No. I meant the larger club. The worldwide confederation of pranksters.”

  “The International Order of Disorder,” said Niles.

  “Oh. Is that what it’s called? Neat. In any case, I am of your ilk. Who knows what adventures are in store for us?” He checked his watch. “For example, it is half past eleven, so I can still go on my morning hike. Would you care to join me?”

  “Um,” said Miles. “No thank you.”

  “I see,” said Principal Barkin. “Well. I could always make it an afternoon hike, if you would care to join me for a morning hot chocolate?”

  Miles did like hot chocolate. And Principal Barkin did seem like he needed the company.

  “Sure!” sai
d Miles.

  Niles checked his own watch.

  “Actually,” he said, “I can’t. But you two have fun.”

  Miles gave Niles a look like, Dude. Are you kidding me?

  Niles gave Miles a look like, Sorry! I have to go.

  Miles gave Niles a look like, You’re just going to leave me here with Principal Barkin?

  Meanwhile, Principal Barkin was also giving Niles a look, one like, You’re just going to leave me here with Miles Murphy? But Niles didn’t know Principal Barkin well enough to interpret his looks.

  Niles said good-bye. Miles and Principal Barkin watched him go.

  “Well, Miles,” said Principal Barkin, “the good news is the cabin only has two mugs, so now you won’t have to drink out of a cereal bowl.”

  Chapter

  22

  Principal Barkin emptied two packets of hot chocolate mix into the mugs and poured hot water from a kettle. Miles fished a dehydrated marshmallow out of his mug, so he could crunch on it before it got soft.

  “So,” said Principal Barkin.

  “So,” said Miles.

  They each took a sip.

  “Ooh. Hot!” said Principal Barkin.

  “Yeah,” said Miles.

  Principal Barkin blew on his hot chocolate.

  So did Miles.

  Miles was reminded of the many other times he’d sat across from Principal Barkin—usually in Principal Barkin’s office, in a low chair on the wrong side of Principal Barkin’s desk, while Principal Barkin turned purple and shouted at him. This was different. It was almost . . . pleasant.

  (Only almost, though.)

  Principal Barkin was reminded of the many times he’d sat at this same table, in this same cabin, with a completely different kid: his son, Josh Barkin. He and Josh would sit drinking the same hot chocolate (different packets, of course, but from the same giant box that had been in the cabin’s pantry for years), listening to the same birds chirping (different individual birds, presumably, but probably from the same general assortment of species—Principal Barkin didn’t know much about birds), while inside the cabin Josh sat silently—just as Miles sat silently right now. This silence, though, Miles’s silence, was a different kind of silence. Josh’s silence was more of a sullen silence, or some times an exasperated silence. Often it was a disappointed silence, very much like the silence that accompanied the withering paternal glances of Barry Barkin’s father, Former Principal Bertrand Barkin. (There was no doubt about it: The boy resembled his grandfather. Remarkable what skips a generation.) Josh’s silence was like a force field, inside of which Josh slouched and sighed (silently). The silence that had descended on the table he shared with Miles was different. For one thing, Miles was not rolling his eyes or staring at the knots in the cabin’s wood walls. Miles was looking at him, smiling. This silence was a chasm across which Miles was reaching. Principal Barkin got the sense that Miles would prefer this silence be broken—and that it was Principal Barkin’s job to break it. And so break it he would! Principal Barkin cast about for some suitable topic of conversation.