Big Nate Flips Out

by Lincoln Peirce

  giving me the silent

  treatment, it might

  be my only hope.

  When school ends,

  the three of us make

  a beeline for Uncle

  Pedro’s house.

  “Uncle Pedro,” Teddy says, “you remember my

  friends Nate and Dee Dee.”

  “Absolutely,” he says, shaking our hands. He peers

  at me through his Coke-bottle glasses.

  “Yeah, you’re RIGHT!”

  I exclaim. “How’d you

  know that?”

  “Lucky guess,” he says simply. “Come inside.”

  “I was . . . uh . . . wondering if you could make me

  neater,” I say after we sit down.

  So I tell Uncle Pedro all about Francis and the

  camera and everything. Then I wait for him to put

  some crazy hypno-whammy on me. But he just

  reaches behind his back, winks at me, and says . . .

  Huh? Is he serious?

  How’s a CARD TRICK

  going to help?

  “Any card,” he says, nodding at me.

  I don’t get it. I was expecting him to wave a watch

  in my face or something. But I guess I’ve got

  nothing to lose. I slide a card from the deck and

  place it facedown on the table.

  “Interesting,” Uncle Pedro says. “Flip it over

  again.”

  I turn the card facedown.

  “Your card was the seven of spades, correct?”

  “Uh-huh,” I answer.

  “Hey, how’d you do that??” I ask in astonishment.

  “How’d you change it?”

  “Me? YOU’RE the one who flipped the card over.”

  Uncle Pedro shrugs.

  “Then perhaps there

  is no explanation,”

  he says.

  Okay, I get it. It’s a card trick. You’re not SUPPOSED

  to know how it works. Let’s move on.

  “Can we start now?” I ask Uncle Pedro.

  He shoots me a quizzical look. “Start what?”

  “Well,” I say, a little confused. “Aren’t you going to

  hypnotize me?”

  Uncle Pedro smiles.

  “What a rip-off!” I grumble as we leave Uncle

  Pedro’s.

  “You don’t feel any different?” Dee Dee asks.

  “Not a bit,” I snort.

  Teddy frowns. “Since when are you afraid of a

  PUDDLE?”

  “I’m not AFRAID of it, doofus,” I answer.

  “Are you CRAZY, Dee

  Dee?” I shout angrily.

  “YOU JUST RUINED

  MY SHIRT!”

  “No, I just PROVED A POINT!” she says, grinning

  like the village idiot.

  “NEAT? Open your EYES! I’m a MESS, thanks to

  you and your little MUD BALL attack!” I growl.

  “You never cared about clean clothes BEFORE!”

  Teddy exclaims. “I think Dee Dee’s right! You’re

  HYPNOTIZED!”

  “We need to make sure of it!” Dee Dee announces.

  “Let’s do another test!”

  “No more mud balls,” I say quickly.

  Mr. McTeague is a

  total whack job about

  his lawn. No, wait.

  He’s a total whack job,

  PERIOD. What else

  do you call a guy who

  digs crabgrass out of

  his yard with a pair of

  eyebrow tweezers?

  Teddy sweeps his arm across the bright green

  grass. “It’s PERFECT, don’t you think?”

  Maybe I just never looked at Mr. McTeague’s lawn

  all that carefully before. But I am now. And it’s

  definitely got issues.

  “Did you really just say the ACORNS are too

  messy?” Teddy asks in disbelief.

  “I’m just pointing out they could be a bit more

  organized,” I explain.

  Dee Dee’s hopping up and down like a frog on a

  pogo stick. “EUREKA! That PROVES it!!”

  “Wow,” I say as Dee Dee goes skipping away.

  “SOMEBODY’S pretty fired up about this.”

  “Well, aren’t YOU?” Teddy asks.

  And speaking of underwear, I’ve been wearing

  the same pair of tighty-whities since this morning.

  That’s gross.

  Dad’s burning something on the stove when I

  walk through the kitchen door. “Hi, Nate! Want a

  snack? Supper won’t be ready for a while.”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got some work to do in my room.”

  A couple hours later, Dad knocks on my door.

  Dad’s lips start moving, but no sound comes out.

  Either he doesn’t know what to say, or he just won

  a scholarship to mime school.

  “Y-you cleaned your room,” he finally stammers.

  Brilliant observation, Dad. “Yeah,” I tell him.

  “With my hands. Because

  it was messy,” I explain.

  Gotta love these father-son

  chats. They’re so DEEP.

  Downstairs at the supper table, Ellen continues

  the sparkling conversation.

  “Besides an annoying big sister, you mean?” I ask.

  “You’ve got your napkin in your lap for once,”

  she says. “You haven’t spilled anything yet. And

  you’re actually CHEWING your food . . .”

  “ . . . a concept you’re obviously too BRAIN-DEAD

  to understand!”

  “You know what I think?” Dad announces in that

  fake-happy voice he uses whenever he’s trying to

  keep Ellen and me from killing each other.

  “No, thanks,” I say as I put my dishes in the sink

  and head upstairs.

  Later, Dad pokes his head in my room again.

  “I don’t,” I tell him. “I’m just rewriting my class

  notes for social studies.”

  He sits down on my bed, which totally messes up

  the blanket. But whatever. I’ll fix it later.

  “So this isn’t something Mrs. Godfrey TOLD you to

  do?” he asks, as one of his eyebrows heads north.

  “No, I just wanted to make them neater.”

  Dad hands me back my notes. He’s got the weirdest

  expression on his face. It’s like half worried, half

  gassy.

  Hmm. Okay, here’s where things

  get kind of dicey. I’m pretty sure

  Dad wouldn’t be too happy about me getting

  hypnotized, so I can’t tell him why I’ve turned into

  Joe Tidy. And if he finds out a camera disappeared

  from my locker, he’s going to call the school. You

  never want a parent to call the school.

  So I lie.

  Dad gives me The Squint. He probably knows

  there’s more to the story. But what can he do?

  Ground me for being too neat?

  “Can I stay up and draw comics for a while?” I ask.

  He smiles. “I suppose a

  miracle like that buys you

  some drawing time. But

  only half an hour, Nate.

  It’s a school night.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I tell him. Then I jump into a

  brand-new Luke Warm, Private Eye adventure.

  I’m just getting started when . . .

  “What? You said I had a half hour!”

  Dad taps his watch. “That WAS a half hour.”

  “But I haven’t even started DRAWING yet! I barely

  finished measuring all the panels!”

  I flail around for a good answer. “I just . . . I

  wanted all th
e panels to look nice and straight,”

  I say weakly.

  Dad peers down at my notebook. “Well, they

  certainly are nice and straight,” he says.

  The sun’s barely up when I leave for school the

  next morning. I need to get there early . . .

  He doesn’t LOOK very sorry, if you ask me. But I’m

  so happy to see Francis, I don’t even mind getting

  clocked in the face by . . . the “Daily Courier”?

  He doesn’t look at me. He

  won’t even slow down. “I

  need the money,” he says.

  A hot wave of guilt washes over me—even though

  I have nothing to feel guilty about . . .

  I guess I could chase after

  Francis and tell him that. AGAIN. Or I could tell

  him that he doesn’t need to buy the school a new

  camera, that I’LL pay for it if I have to.

  The school’s pretty empty when I get there. And

  you know what? It looks GOOD this early.

  Mrs. Hickson eyes me suspiciously—which makes

  sense, I guess. I’m usually here an hour AFTER

  school, not an hour before, if you get my drift.

  “I want to clean my locker before homeroom,”

  I answer.

  Hickey looks like she might kiss me. (She doesn’t.

  Phew.) “My goodness, Nate, this is WONDERFUL!”

  she gushes. “I assumed you’d LOST all these!”

  “Nope!” I tell her. “I never lose

  stuff! . . .”

  Or at least, I never USED to. But now that I’ve

  been hypnotized, I’m ready to send most of

  what’s in my locker straight to Dump City.

  It takes me almost forty-five minutes. What a

  disgusting job. You wouldn’t believe all the stuff

  that comes out of there.

  And I won’t even get into how it SMELLED. Francis

  was right. I WAS a slob.

  “I’m a SPY!” Dee Dee says, like it’s supposed to be

  obvious. “That’s how we TALK!”

  “Where, at a BIRD SANCTUARY?” I say.

  “No, silly!” She giggles.

  “Here’s a suggestion, 007,” I whisper. “Don’t

  announce to the world who you’re about to spy on.”

  “Got it,” Dee Dee says a little sheepishly.

  Right. I’ll believe it when I see it. Dee Dee’s about

  as low-key as a match in a fireworks factory.

  “Oh, and don’t forget!” she calls over her shoulder.

  My heart sinks. Oh, yeah. The Trivia Slam.

  I guess I should fill you in. The

  Trivia Slam is like the ultimate quiz

  show. The questions can be about ANYTHING,

  and the last team standing wins. It happens every

  year, and it’s HUGE.

  I’m supposed to be on Francis’s team—the

  Factoids—along with Teddy, Dee Dee, and Chad.

  Talk about a trivia powerhouse. As soon as we put

  that group together, we knew we had the goods to

  knock off the defending champs . . .

  But everything’s changed

  now. How can I be on the

  team . . .

  When the bell rings for social studies, I’m

  still thinking about the Trivia Slam—until

  Mrs. Godfrey gets everyone’s attention.

  Translation: Get ready for Mrs. Godfrey to throw

  a conniption fit if she thinks your notebook is

  too sloppy. Or too unorganized. Or too red. On a

  normal day, a notebook check—for me, anyway—

  is a one-way ticket to detention.

  But today’s not a normal day.

  Mrs. Godfrey’s eyes look ready to pop out of their

  sockets as she flips through my notebook, staring

  at page after perfect page.

  Five minutes with Uncle Pedro, that’s what. But I

  just shrug my shoulders. “I decided I wanted to be

  neater, that’s all,” I say. Honest enough.

  An A DOUBLE plus?? Holy COW!!

  Isn’t she charming? And so FRIENDLY, too.

  “There’s no mystery, Gina: I’ve cleaned up my act.”

  This is killing her.

  “Does it LOOK like I’m

  faking?” I ask. “Get used

  to the new me, Gina.

  Neatness is now my way of life.”

  HA! That’s me one, Gina zero. And you want to

  know the best part? The rest of the day goes

  EXACTLY THE SAME WAY!

  In English, Ms.

  Clarke gives me

  extra credit for

  my “phenomenal”

  penmanship. In

  math, Mr. Staples

  tells everybody

  my homework is

  the “Mona Lisa of

  bar graphs.”

  Even Old Fossil Face is impressed.

  Not too shabby, right? As I head for my locker

  after class, I realize something: I didn’t get yelled

  at today. Not even ONCE. Who knew it was this

  easy to make teachers happy?

  Looks like Dee Dee’s still in not-so-secret agent

  mode. “What’s up?” I ask as I turn the corner.

  “The pigeon has almost landed!” she whispers.

  Not THIS again. “Try it in English, Dee Dee,” I tell

  her. “I can’t speak Spy.”

  “That DOES sound kind of suspicious,” I admit,

  amazed that Dee Dee actually turned up some

  useful information.

  “I’ll continue my investigation tomorrow,” she says.

  That’s good. The “bride of Dracula” look might

  not work two days in a row.

  My stomach drops off a

  cliff. “You know what?

  I’m going to skip the

  Trivia Slam, Dee Dee.

  You guys will do fine

  without me.”

  “SURE, he does!” Dee Dee

  chirps a little too quickly.

  “Oh, yeah?” I mutter. “Did

  you ask him?”

  She gets a little fidgety. “I . . . I’ve talked to him

  about it a couple times, yes,” she answers.

  “Well? What did he say? In his EXACT WORDS.”

  “Uh . . .” Dee Dee mumbles nervously. “He said

  that . . . that he didn’t care if you came or not.”

  “Francis didn’t say you COULDN’T come! He just

  said that . . . um . . .”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and start home.

  They really WILL do fine without me. The Factoids,

  I mean. They can beat anybody, as long as they’ve

  got Francis. He’s always been a trivia geek.

  I come to the edge of the Little Woods. If I go to

  the left and stay on the sidewalk, I’ll be home

  in ten minutes. But if I go to the right, there’s a

  shortcut through the woods that leads straight to

  my street. It’s a little muddy sometimes, but it’s

  fast.

  I go to the left.

  I’m starting to hate being neat.

  Everything takes so LONG. Like right now, for

  example. I’m getting ready for school picture

  Retake Day . . .

  Pretty ridiculous, right? NOBODY spends that

  long on his hair.

  But I can’t help it.

  Whatever Uncle Pedro

  did when he hypnotized

  me is working TOO well.

  Sure, there are some upsides to being a neatnik.

  Like my GRADES. All of a sudden, I’m getting A’s

  in EVERYTHING.

  Plus, I’m not spe
nding my afternoons in detention.

  I haven’t seen Mrs. Czerwicki for a WEEK.

  But look, I didn’t get

  hypnotized to be Joe

  Honor Roll. I did it to

  patch things up with

  Francis. Which isn’t

  working out so hot.

  And that’s not all. Turning into Mr. Clean is

  ruining all my hobbies. I can’t play soccer with the

  guys because—don’t laugh—I’m worried about

  getting grass stains on my pants.

  Oh, and want to read the latest edition of “Luke

  Warm, Private Eye”? Well, you CAN’T. I ripped it

  into a zillion pieces . . .

  Huh? What does HE want? I’m used to Principal

  Nichols looking for me, but not with a SMILE on

  his face. It’s a little creepy.

  Okay, now it’s a LOT creepy. Remember who ELSE

  is a hall monitor? Nick Blonsky. Need I say more?

  “Oh, I DISAGREE, Nate!”

  he continues. “Thanks to

  the recent change in your

  behavior . . .”

  A BADGE? Why not just stamp “LOSER” on my

  forehead? It’s pretty much the same thing.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Teddy chuckles and tugs on my tie.

  He’ll WRINKLE it? LISTEN to me. I sound like a

  complete dorkwagon.

  “Just don’t TOUCH it,” Teddy warns Dee Dee. “You

  might ruin Nate’s swanky OUTFIT!”

  “I never said that,” I snap.