Horrid Henry's Underpants

by Francesca Simon

  But how? Horrid Henry looked around wildly. It was impossible to miss Gobble and Go. You could see that neon sign for miles.

  “It was right here,” said Horrid Henry.

  But Gobble and Go was gone.

  A new restaurant squatted in its place.

  “The Virtuous Veggie,” read the sign. “The all new vegetable restaurant!”

  Horrid Henry gazed in horror at the menu posted outside.

  “Yummy!” said Perfect Peter.

  “Look, Henry,” said Mom. “It’s serving all your new favorite vegetables.”

  Horrid Henry opened his mouth to protest. Then he closed it. He knew when he was beaten.

  2

  HORRID HENRY’S UNDERPANTS

  A late birthday present! Whoopee! Just when you thought you’d got all your loot, more treasure arrives.

  Horrid Henry shook the small thin package. It was light. Very light. Maybe it was—oh, please let it be—MONEY! Of course it was money. What else could it be? There was so much stuff he needed: a Mutant Max lunchbox, a Rapper Zapper Blaster, and, of course, the new Terminator Gladiator game he kept seeing advertized on TV. Mom and Dad were so mean and horrible, they wouldn’t buy it for him. But he could buy whatever he liked with his own money. So there. Ha ha ha ha ha. Wouldn’t Ralph be green with envy when he swaggered into school with a Mutant Max lunchbox? And no way would he even let Peter touch his Rapper Zapper Blaster.

  So how much money had he been sent? Maybe enough for him to buy everything! Horrid Henry tore off the wrapping paper.

  AAAAARRRRGGGHHHHH! Great-Aunt Greta had done it again.

  Great-Aunt Greta thought he was a girl. Great-Aunt Greta had been told ten billion times that his name was Henry, not Henrietta, and that he wasn’t four years old. But every year Peter would get $10, or a football, or a computer game, and he would get a Walkie-Talkie-Teasy-Weasy-Burpy-Slurpy Doll. Or a Princess Pamper Parlor. Or Baby Poopie Pants. And now this.

  Horrid Henry picked up the birthday card. Maybe there was money inside. He opened it.

  Dear Henny,

  You must be such a big girl now,so I know you’d love a pair of big girl underpants.I’ll bet pink is your favorite color.

  Love,Great-Aunt Greta

  Horrid Henry stared in horror at the frilly pink lacy underpants, decorated with glittery hearts and bows. This was the worst present he had ever received. Worse than socks. Worse than handkerchiefs. Even worse than a book.

  Bleccch! Ick! Yuck! Horrid Henry chucked the hideous underpants in the garbage where they belonged.

  Ding dong.

  Oh no! Rude Ralph was here to play. If he saw those underpants Henry would never hear the end of it. His name would be mud forever.

  Clump clump clump.

  Ralph was stomping up the stairs to his bedroom. Henry snatched the terrible underpants from the garbage and looked around his room wildly for a hiding place. Under the pillow? What if they had a pillow fight? Under the bed? What if they played hide and seek? Quickly Henry stuffed them in the back of his underpants drawer. I’ll get rid of them the moment Ralph leaves, he thought.

  “Mercy, Your Majesty, mercy!”

  King Henry the Horrible looked down at his sniveling brother. “Off with his head!” he ordered.

  “Henry! Henry! Henry!” cheered his grateful subjects.

  “HENRY!”

  King Henry the Horrible woke up. His Medusa mother was looming above him.

  “You’ve overslept!” shrieked Mom. “School starts in five minutes! Get dressed! Quick! Quick!” She pulled the blanket off Henry.

  “Wha—wha?” mumbled Henry.

  Dad raced into the room.

  “Hurry!” shouted Dad. “We’re late!” He yanked Henry out of bed.

  Henry stumbled around his dark bedroom. Half-asleep, he reached inside his underwear drawer, grabbed a pair, then picked up some clothes off the floor and flung everything on. Then he, Dad, and Peter ran all the way to school.

  “Margaret! Stop pulling Susan’s hair!”

  “Ralph! Sit down!”

  “Linda! Sit up!”

  “Henry! Pay attention!” barked Miss Battle-Axe. “I am about to explain long division. I will only explain it once. You take a great big number, like 374, and then divide it—”

  Horrid Henry was not paying attention. He was tired. He was crabby. And for some reason his underpants were itchy.

  These underpants feel horrible, he thought. And so tight. What’s wrong with them?

  Horrid Henry sneaked a peek.

  And then Horrid Henry saw what underpants he had on. Not his Driller Cannibal underpants. Not his Marvin the Maniac ones either. Not even his old Gross-Out ones, with the holes and the droopy elastic.

  He, Horrid Henry, was wearing frilly pink lacy girls’ underpants covered in glittery hearts and bows. He’d completely forgotten he’d stuffed them into his underpants drawer last month so Ralph wouldn’t see them. And now, oh horror of horrors, he was wearing them.

  Maybe it’s a nightmare, thought Horrid Henry hopefully. He pinched his arm. Ouch! Then, just to be sure, he pinched William.

  “Waaaaah!” wailed Weepy William.

  “Stop weeping, William!” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Now, what number do I need—”

  It was not a nightmare. He was still in school, still wearing pink underpants.

  What to do, what to do?

  Don’t panic, thought Horrid Henry. He took a deep breath. Don’t panic. After all, no one will know. His pants weren’t see-through or anything.

  Wait. What pants was he wearing? Were there any holes in them? Quickly Horrid Henry twisted round to check his bottom.

  Phew. There were no holes. What luck he hadn’t put on his old jeans with the big rip but a new pair.

  He was safe.

  “Henry! What’s the answer?” said Miss Battle-Axe.

  “Pants,” said Horrid Henry before he could stop himself.

  The class burst out laughing.

  “Pants!” screeched Rude Ralph.

  “Pants!” screeched Dizzy Dave.

  “Henry. Stand up,” ordered Miss Battle-Axe.

  Henry stood. His heart was pounding.

  Slip!

  Aaaarrrghhh! The lacy ruffle of his pink underpants was showing! His new pants were too big. Mom always bought him clothes that were way too big so he’d grow into them. These were the falling-down ones he’d tried on yesterday. Henry gripped his pants tight and yanked them up.

  “What did you say?” said Miss Battle-Axe slowly.

  “Ants,” said Horrid Henry.

  “Ants?” said Miss Battle-Axe.

  “Yeah,” said Henry quickly. “I was just thinking about how many ants you could divide by—by that number you said,” he added.

  Miss Battle-Axe glared at him.

  “I’ve got my eye on you, Henry,” she snapped. “Now sit down and pay attention.”

  Henry sat. All he had to do was tuck in his T-shirt. That would keep his pants up. He’d look stupid but for once Henry didn’t care.

  Just so long as no one ever knew about his pink lacy underpants.

  And then Henry’s blood turned to ice. What was the latest craze on the playground? Depantsing. Who’d started it? Horrid Henry. Yesterday he’d chased Dizzy

  Dave and pulled down his pants. The day before he’d done the same thing to Rude Ralph. Just this morning he’d depantsed Tough Toby on the way into class.

  They’d all be trying to depants him now.

  I have to get another pair of underpants, thought Henry desperately.

  Miss Battle-Axe passed around the math worksheets. Quickly Horrid Henry scribbled down: 3, 7, 41, 174, without reading any questions. He didn’t have time for long division.

  Where could he find some other underpants? He could pretend to be sick and get sent home from school. But he’d already tried that twice this week. Wait. Wait. He was brilliant. He was a genius. What about the Lost and Found? Someone, some time, must have lost som
e underpants.

  DING! DING!

  Before the playtime bell had finished ringing Horrid Henry was out of his seat and racing down the hall, holding tight to his pants. He checked carefully to make sure no one was watching, then ducked into the Lost and Found. He’d hide here until he found some underpants.

  The Lost and Found was stuffed with clothes. He rummaged through the mountains of lost shoes, socks, jackets, pants, shirts, coats, lunchboxes, hats, and gloves. I’m amazed anyone leaves school wearing anything, thought Horrid

  Henry, tossing another sweatshirt over his shoulder.

  Then—hurray! Underpants. A pair of blue underpants. What a wonderful sight.

  Horrid Henry pulled the underpants from the pile. Oh no. They were the teeniest, tiniest pair he’d ever seen. Some toddler must have lost them.

  Rats, thought Horrid Henry. Well, no way was he wearing his horrible pink underpants a second longer. He’d just have to trade underpants with someone. And Horrid Henry had the perfect someone in mind.

  Henry found Peter in the playground playing tag with Tidy Ted.

  “I need to talk to you in private,” said Henry. “It’s urgent.”

  “What about?” said Peter cautiously.

  “It’s top secret,” said Henry. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dave and Toby sneaking toward him.

  Top secret! Henry never shared top secret secrets with Peter.

  “Quick!” yelped Henry. “There’s no time to lose!”

  He ducked into the boys’ bathroom. Peter followed.

  “Peter, I’m worried about you,” said Horrid Henry. He tried to look concerned.

  “I’m fine,” said Peter.

  “No you’re not,” said Henry. “I’ve heard bad things about you.”

  “What bad things?” said Peter anxiously. Not—not that he had run across the carpet in class?

  “Embarrassing rumors,” said Horrid Henry. “But if I don’t tell you, who will? After all,” he said, putting his arm around Peter’s shoulder, “it’s my job to look after you. Big brothers should look out for little ones.”

  Perfect Peter could not believe his ears.

  “Oh, Henry,” said Peter. “I’ve always wanted a brother who looked out for me.”

  “That’s me,” said Henry. “Now listen. I’ve heard you wear baby underpants.”

  “I do not,” said Peter. “Look!” And

  he showed Henry his Daffy and her Dancing Daisies underpants.

  Horrid Henry’s heart went cold. Daffy and her Dancing Daisies! Ugh. Yuck. Gross. But even Daffy would be a million billion times better than pink underpants with lace ruffles.

  “Daffy Daisy are the most babyish underpants you could wear,” said Henry. “Worse than wearing a diaper. Everyone will tease you.”

  Peter’s lip trembled. He hated being teased.

  “What can I do?” he asked.

  Henry pretended to think. “Look. I’ll do you a big favor. I’ll swap my underpants for yours. That way I’ll get teased, not you.”

  “Thank you, Henry,” said Peter. “You’re the best brother in the world.” Then he stopped.

  “Wait a minute,” he said suspiciously, “let’s see your underpants.” “Why?” said Henry.

  “Because,” said Peter, “how do I know you’ve even got underpants to swap?”

  Horrid Henry was outraged.

  “Of course I’ve got underpants,” said Henry.

  “Then show me,” said Peter.

  Horrid Henry was trapped.

  “OK,” he said, giving Peter a quick flash of pink lace.

  Perfect Peter stared at Henry’s underpants.

  “Those are your underpants?” he said.

  “Sure,” said Horrid Henry. “These are big boy underpants.”

  “But they’re pink,” said Peter.

  “All big boys wear pink,” said Henry.

  “But they have lace on them,” said Peter.

  “All big boys’ pants have lace,” said Henry.

  “But they have hearts and bows,” said Peter.

  “Of course they do, they’re big boy underpants,” said Horrid Henry. “You wouldn’t know because you only wear baby underpants.”

  Peter hesitated.

  “But…but…they look like—girls’ underpants,” said Peter.

  Henry snorted. “Girls’ underpants! Do you think I’d ever wear girls’ underpants? These are what all the big kids are wearing. You’ll be the coolest kid in class in these.”

  Perfect Peter backed away.

  “No I won’t,” said Peter.

  “Yes you will,” said Henry.

  “I don’t want to wear your smelly underpants,” said Peter.

  “They’re not smelly,” said Henry. “They’re brand new. Now give me your underpants.”

  “NO!” screamed Peter.

  “YES!” screamed Henry. “Give me your underpants!”

  “What’s going on in here?” came a voice of steel. It was the principal, Mrs. Oddbod.

  “Nothing,” said Henry.

  “There’s no hanging around the bathroom at playtime,” said Mrs. Oddbod. “Out of here, both of you.”

  Peter ran out the door.

  Now what do I do, thought Horrid Henry.

  Henry ducked into a stall and hid the pink underpants on the ledge above the third toilet. No way was he putting those underpants back on. Better Henry No Underpants than Henry Pink Underpants.

  At lunchtime Horrid Henry dodged Graham. He dodged Toby by the climbing frame. During last play Dave almost caught him by the water fountain but Henry was too quick. Ralph chased him into class but Henry got to his seat just in time. He’d done it! Only forty-five minutes to go until home time. There’d be no depantsing after school with parents around. Henry couldn’t believe it. He was safe at last.

  He stuck out his tongue at Ralph.

  “Nah nah ne nah ne,” he jeered.

  Miss Battle-Axe clapped her claws.

  “Time to change for P.E.” said Miss Battle-Axe.

  P.E.! It couldn’t be—not a P.E. day.

  “And I don’t care if aliens stole your P.E. uniform, Henry,” said Miss Battle-Axe, glaring at him. “No excuses.”

  That’s what she thought. He had the perfect excuse. Even a teacher as mean and horrible as Miss Battle-Axe would not force a boy to do P.E. without underpants.

  Horrid Henry went up to Miss Battle-Axe and whispered in her ear.

  “Forgot your underpants, eh?” barked Miss Battle-Axe loudly.

  Henry blushed scarlet. When he was king he’d make Miss Battle-Axe walk around town every day wearing underpants on her head.

  “Well, Henry, today is your lucky day,” said Miss Battle-Axe, pulling something pink and lacy out of her pocket. “I found these in the boys’ bathroom.”

  “Take them away!” screamed Horrid Henry.

  3

  HORRID HENRY’S SICK DAY

  Cough! Cough!

  Sneeze! Sneeze!

  “Are you all right, Peter?” asked Mom.

  Peter coughed, choked, and spluttered.

  “I’m OK,” he gasped.

  “Are you sure?” said Dad. “You don’t look very well.”

  “It’s nothing,” said Perfect Peter, coughing.

  Mom felt Peter’s sweaty brow.

  “You’ve got a temperature,” said Mom. “I think you’d better stay home from school today.”

  “But I don’t want to miss school,” said Peter.

  “Go back to bed,” said Mom.

  “But I want to go to school,” wailed Peter. “I’m sure I’ll be—” Peter’s pale, sweaty face turned green. He dashed up the stairs to the bathroom. Mom ran after him.

  Blecccccccchhhh. The horrible sound of vomiting filled the house.

  Horrid Henry stopped eating his toast. Peter, stay at home? Peter, miss school? Peter, lying around watching TV while he, Henry, had to suffer a long hard day with Miss Battle-Axe?

  No way! He was sick,
too. Hadn’t he coughed twice this morning? And he had definitely sneezed last night. Now that he thought about it, he could feel those flu germs invading. Yup, there they were, marching down his throat.

  Stomp, stomp, stomp marched the germs. Mercy! shrieked his throat. Ha ha ha gloated the germs.

  Horrid Henry thought about those spelling words he hadn’t learned. The map he hadn’t finished coloring. The book report he hadn’t done.

  Oww. His throat hurt.

  Oooh. His tummy hurt.

  Eeek. His head hurt.

  Yippee! He was sick!

  So what would it be?

  Math or Mutant Max?

  Reading or relaxing?

  Commas or comics?

  Tests or TV?

  Hmmm, thought Horrid Henry. Hard choice.

  Cough. Cough.

  Dad continued reading the paper.

  COUGH! COUGH! COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!

  “Are you all right, Henry?” asked Dad, without looking up.

  “No!” gasped Henry. “I’m sick, too. I can’t go to school.”

  Slowly Dad put down his newspaper.

  “You don’t look ill, Henry,” said Dad.

  “But I am,” whimpered Horrid Henry. He clutched his throat. “My throat really hurts,” he moaned. Then he added a few coughs, just in case.

  “I feel weak,” he groaned. “Everything aches.”

  Dad sighed.

  “All right, you can stay home,” he said.

  Yes! thought Horrid Henry. He was amazed. It usually took much more moaning and groaning before his mean, horrible parents decided he was sick enough to miss a day of school.

  “But no playing on the computer,” said Dad. “If you’re sick, you have to lie down.” Horrid Henry was outraged.

  “But it makes me feel better to play on the computer,” he protested.

  “If you’re well enough to play on the computer, you’re well enough to go to school,” said Dad.

  Rats.

  Oh well, thought Horrid Henry. He’d get his blanket, lie on the sofa and watch lots of TV instead. Then Mom would