by R. L. Stine
I started to say something, but Principal Grunt waved for everyone to be quiet.
Babbling Brooke trotted up to the front of the statue. Brooke had been practicing her garbage cheer for days. She was totally stoked to cheer in front of the whole school. And we were all hoping she didn’t mess up.
“GIVE ME A G!” she shouted.
And everyone shouted back: “G!”
“GIVE ME AN A!” Brooke cried.
“A!”
“GIVE ME AN R!”
“R!”
“GIVE ME AN A!”
“A!”
“GIVE ME A G!”
“G!”
“GIVE ME AN E!”
“E!”
“WHAT DOES THAT SPELL?” Brooke asked.
“Garage!” everyone yelled back.
Oh, wow. Too bad. She left out the B.
Brooke did two cartwheels to finish. The first cartwheel was awesome. In the middle of the second cartwheel . . . she landed on her face.
Two kids helped carry her away as Principal Grunt stepped up to the podium.
That isn’t his real name. We actually don’t know his real name because he only grunts, and no one can understand a word he says. So we just call him Principal Grunt, and he doesn’t seem to mind.
At the podium, Principal Grunt tapped the microphone a few times. Then he brought his face close to it and said:
“Grunt grunt gruntgruntgrunt grunt grunt gruntgrunt. Grunt grunt? Grunt rrrrrunnnt rrrrrunnnt grunt grunt? Yes! Grunt grunt grunt! Agree?”
Everyone mumbled and murmured. We didn’t know how else to answer.
“Grunt grunt rrrrrunnnnt gruntgruntgrunt,” he continued. And then a smile crossed his face as he said: “Grunt grunt garbage gruntgruntgrunt grunt grunt gruntgrunt.”
Principal Grunt held up the first prize trophy. Big and silver, it gleamed under the morning sunlight.
I held my breath. Was it possible? After all, our garbage was the best we’d ever had.
Could we win the trophy this year?
“Grunt grunt!” Principal Grunt shouted. “Grunt grunt grunt. And the grunt winner is . . .”
THIRTY
Everyone grew quiet. The whole school, all 250 of us. We were standing in front of the statue of the Unknown Sanitation Worker. Of course, even though they call us Garbage Pail Kids, we aren’t into garbage. But we are into trophies.
Who doesn’t want a shiny silver trophy to brag about?
We all want to be winners. It doesn’t matter that the contest smelled to high heaven.
And so we all stood there in silence, leaning toward Principal Grunt at the podium. Waiting . . .
“The winner grunt is . . .” he repeated.
But he didn’t get to make his announcement.
Everyone gasped and cried out as a big dog came bounding across the grass. The dog’s ears were flat against its head and its tail wagged furiously as it galloped toward the podium.
Nervous Rex bumped me from behind. “H-hey—isn’t that our dog? How did Pooper get out of the house?”
I shielded my eyes from the sun with one hand so I could see better.
Yes! It was Pooper!
And to prove beyond a doubt that it was our dog, he stopped in front of Principal Grunt, squatted—and began to poop.
Kids laughed and shouted.
Principal Grunt’s face turned red as a tomato and he shook the trophy angrily in the air.
“Pooper is ruining the whole award c-ceremony!” Nervous Rex cried.
I laughed. “I think he’s improving it!”
Rex began to tremble. “If Grunt finds out he’s our dog, he’ll find a way to punish us.”
“Wow! Pooper must have had a big breakfast!” I cried. “Look at him go!”
Two teachers ran out to chase Pooper away. But our dog never moves until he has finished his business.
At the side of the podium, Babbling Brooke began to jump up and down and cheer.
“GO, POOPER!
“GO, POOPER!
“YOU’RE SUPER!
“BETTER GET A SCOOPER!
“GO, POOPER!”
Cranky Frankie shook his head. “She’ll cheer for anything,” he muttered.
“I sure hope she doesn’t try another cartwheel,” Nervous Rex said. “If she falls facedown . . .”
Pooper finally finished. And then trotted away to a standing ovation.
His head was high, and his tail was wagging. I wondered if he knew that everyone was cheering for him.
I could see Principal Grunt at the side of the podium. He was bent over, puking his guts out into the trophy cup.
Coach Swettypants stepped up to the microphone. “Did anyone bring a shovel?” he shouted.
Of course no one brought a shovel. Why would they?
“Well . . . be careful, people!” he said. “Walk around it! Walk around it!”
Good advice.
Swettypants turned and watched Principal Grunt throwing up into the silver trophy. Then he turned back to the microphone. “We’ll get that trophy cleaned later,” he announced. “Don’t worry. It will be as good as new!”
Everyone grew quiet again.
“Principal Grunt has a very sensitive nose,” Coach said. “So he’s a little under the weather right now. That leaves it to me to announce the Smellville Middle School winner of the Garbage of the Year Award.”
Coach held up a small card with the winning name on it. “And the winner is . . .”
THIRTY-ONE
Can you feel the suspense?
“And the winner is . . .” Coach Swettypants shouted into the microphone. “The Perfect Twins—Peter and Patty!”
“Not again!” I moaned.
A few kids clapped as Peter and Patty walked side by side up to the platform.
I had my fingers crossed and held my breath. But they carefully stepped around Pooper’s contribution to the ceremony.
The twins moved behind the podium and slapped about ten or twelve high fives with each other. Then they turned to the crowd with smiles that were actually wider than their faces!
“My perfect sister and I are so happy to bring home the trophy again!” Peter Perfect exclaimed.
“Well, we’ll be happy to bring it home after it’s cleaned,” his sister added.
“We try to be perfect in everything,” Peter said. “Even garbage.”
“You may not know this,” Patty said. “But we gift wrap our garbage before we take it out to the curb and place it in the garbage can. That makes it nicer for our garbage collector.”
“That’s just how perfect we are!” Peter declared. “We care about our garbage.”
“We even donate tons of garbage every year to the homeless!” Patty said. “We know they can’t afford garbage of their own. So we do what we can for them! It’s the least we can do.”
A few kids clapped at that. But not many.
The Perfect twins walked off, trying to keep their big grins from flying off their faces. Those kids sure do like to win.
“We should start saving up our garbage for next year,” Cranky Frankie said to me.
“Good idea,” I said.
Patty and Peter stepped up to us. “Sorry your garbage didn’t win,” Peter said.
“Sorry your trophy is filled with puke,” I replied.
“Your backyard should win a garbage prize,” Patty Perfect said. “You have a mountain of trash back there.”
“We’re just waiting for the garbage cans to get full before we take them out,” I said.
“You don’t have any garbage cans,” she replied. “You just have garbage.”
“How do you know?” I demanded. “Have you been snooping in our backyard?”
Patty Perfect had her nose in the air. “No, but our parents have,” she said.
“Our parents say your backyard is a health hazard,” Parker said. “They say your garbage is three feet deep.”
“They measured it?” I asked.
The twins
both nodded. “Yes, they measured it,” Patty answered. “They are not spies. But they do keep a notebook of information about you and your friends. My parents say you’ve ruined the neighborhood. And they’re going to get you out. They’re going to make the neighborhood perfect.”
“Perfect? Without us?” I cried.
“How else could it be perfect?” Peter said.
Patty sneered at us some more. “Our parents are going to pay you a surprise visit tonight. And when they see you have no parents, they’re going to report you and have you all sent away.”
I swallowed. “They’re paying us a surprise visit?”
“Yes,” Patty said. “They’re going to surprise you at seven o’clock tonight.”
“And when they see you have no mom or dad,” Peter added, “they will report you to . . . whoever you report things to.”
I stared at them with my mouth hanging open. I didn’t know what to say.
A surprise visit tonight at seven. That’s not good. Not good at all. But what could we do?
THIRTY-TWO
After school, we had a meeting to decide how to get ready for the surprise visit by Mr. and Mrs. Perfect. Once they see we have no mother or father tonight, we are doomed.
As I explained to everyone what would happen to us, I could feel the anger and fear building up inside me. I gripped my head in both hands. It felt like I could explode at any minute.
“I—I feel sick,” Nervous Rex stammered. He turned to Wacky Jackie and stuck out his wrist. “Would you take my pulse? I think it’s beating too f-fast.”
Jackie wrapped her fingers around Rex’s wrist and counted silently to herself. “You don’t have a pulse,” she said finally.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Rex cried. “I was worried that I did!”
“I’m so upset, I feel sick, too,” Luke Puke said, and pressed a hand over his mouth. “ULLLLLLP.” He then jumped up and went running to the bathroom.
“He’s no help in an emergency,” Cranky Frankie said.
Babbling Brooke leaped up from her seat on the couch. “I have an idea. What if I do a cheer for the Perfects? It might put them in a really good mood and make them forget why they came here.”
She bent down low, then jumped into the air.
“GO, PERFECTS! GO, PERFECTS!
“UH . . . UH . . .”
Brooke turned to me. “What rhymes with perfect?”
“Maybe we should forget that idea,” I said. “You know, Brooke, doing a cheer won’t solve every problem.”
She squinted at me. “It won’t?”
“I have an idea,” Wacky Jackie said. “It’s simple. We run to the store, and we buy an apron.”
“An apron?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yea, we buy an apron that says WORLD’S BEST MOM on it. And we leave it in the kitchen.”
“Brilliant! Brilliant!” a shrill voice rasped. It was Ptooey behind us on his parrot perch. “Brilliant for a bird brain!”
“You shut up!” Wacky Jackie shouted.
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“Stop!” I screamed, holding the sides of my head. “We don’t have time for arguments.”
“Bird seed for brains!” Ptooey squawked.
“You shut up!” Wacky Jackie shouted.
“No, you shut up!”
“Hold on, everyone!” Handy Sandy spoke up. She came walking into the room, carrying something between her hands. “Who is the handy one here, guys? That’s right, you’re looking at her!”
Sandy grinned and held up the object she was carrying. “No worries. Problem solved!”
THIRTY-THREE
We all jumped up and gathered around Handy Sandy.
“Stand back!” she cried. “I’m dangerous!”
I pointed to the thing she was carrying. “What is that?”
“It’s a welcome mat,” she said, raising it in front of her.
We all scratched our heads. None of us had ever seen one before. “What does it do?” Wacky Jackie asked.
“You put it outside your front door,” Sandy explained. “People step on it and wipe their feet before they come into the house.”
“Why?” Rob Slob asked.
I shook my head. “How does that solve our Perfect problem, Sandy?”
She grinned. “Easy.” She stretched out the brown, fuzzy mat. It said WELCOME in black letters in the center.
“It looks like a normal welcome mat,” she said. “But I’ve improved it. I put a bear trap inside.”
I squinted at it. “A bear trap?”
Sandy nodded. “Let’s say Mr. and Mrs. Perfect come up to the door. Mr. Perfect steps on the welcome mat—and it snaps! The trap slams shut around his ankle, and he falls to the ground screaming.”
“Sounds good to me,” Cranky Frankie said.
“Imagine Parker Perfect on the ground screaming his head off,” Sandy continued. “And they’re trying to pull the trap open, but they can’t. So Penny Perfect calls 911. An ambulance arrives and takes them both away.”
“I like it,” Cranky Frankie said. “Simple but painful.”
“And they never find out that we don’t have any parents,” Brooke said.
“Bird seed for brains!” Ptooey squawked.
“You shut up!” Wacky Jackie shouted.
“No, you shut up!”
I scratched my head. “Sandy, you tried the electric doorbell shock trick on them—remember? And it didn’t work at all.”
“That’s because I forgot to turn it on. And it was electric,” she explained. “This is a simple metal trap. There’s nothing to plug in or turn on. It can’t fail.”
I frowned. “Hmmm, are you sure?”
“I’ll show you,” Sandy said, and spread the mat out on the floor. “Are you watching?”
She stepped onto the mat with her right foot.
SNAAAP!
“OWWWWWWWWWW!”
The trap snapped shut around her ankle.
Sandy dropped to the floor and grabbed her ankle, howling her head off in pain.
“Bird seed for brains!” Ptooey squawked.
“You shut up!” Wacky Jackie shouted.
“No, you shut up!”
Sandy thrashed around on the floor, tugging at the mat wrapped around her ankle.
“OWWWWWWWW!”
She uttered another howl—
—when the doorbell rang.
We all gasped. The room grew silent except for Sandy’s cries and howls.
“Is it Parker and Penny Perfect?” I asked. “Did they come early?”
“OWWWWWWW!”
Rolling on the floor in agony, Sandy uttered another shrill howl.
I had to step over her to get to the front door.
When I pulled it open—I stared at a woman wearing a dress with biker boots. She had spiky purple hair and squinty eyes. Leaning on a wooden cane, she scowled at me.
“Don’t just stand there, ferret face. Aren’t you going to let me in?” she barked. “I’m your mother.”
THIRTY-FOUR
I gasped and nearly swallowed my tongue. I could feel my heart start to flutter in my chest. “You—you’re my real mother?” I choked out.
“Of course not, you dum-diddy!” she exclaimed.
She raised her cane and shoved me aside with it. Then she stepped into the living room, her tiny eyes darting from side to side.
“Hey, donkey brains, say hi to your ma!” she shouted.
Everyone just stared at her.
Pooper made a whimpering sound. He usually races to greet every visitor. But he stayed in his corner, his big brown eyes watching the woman carefully.
“Awwk.” Behind us, Ptooey raised one leg. “Come over
here, Ma. I got a present for you!”
The woman turned to the birdcage. “A parrot! I love parrots. I like them slow-cooked with fingerling potatoes. They taste just like chicken! Ha ha ha!”
Ptooey lowered his leg and got very silent.
The woman puckered her red-lipsticky lips and made a sound like SMACK SMACK SMACK. “Who wants a big kiss from Mama?”
Before anyone could reply, Brainy Janey came walking through the front door, lugging a large suitcase. “Brainy Janey to the rescue!” she declared. “I got us a mom.”
“Don’t applaud . . . just throw money!” the woman cried. Then she cackled at her own joke.
She motioned to her suitcase. “Just take that to my bedroom. I’ll make myself at home.”
Janey dragged the bulging suitcase to the back.
“You’re staying?” I blurted out.
“I’m staying—and so is my friend!” she rasped, raising the cane above her head. “Meet my friend—the Enforcer!”
“But—” I started.
She swung the cane hard and smacked me in the back with it.
WHAAAAPPPPP!
Howling in pain, I staggered halfway across the room.
Then she turned to Luke Puke on the couch. “Hey, cluck-cluck—get your feet off the coffee table.”
“That’s not a coffee table,” Luke said. “It’s Junkfood John.”
John lifted his head. “Nice to meet you,” he said without getting up.
She sniffed the air. “What’s that disgusting odor? Do you keep rotting meat in here?”
“No . . . it’s Rob Slob,” Wacky Jackie said.
“Well, tell him to take a bath!”
“Nooo!” everyone shouted.
“A bath just makes him smell much worse!” Jackie explained.
The woman turned to Rob, who was wiping his runny nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “You sleep in the garage from now on!” she said.
“But . . . we don’t have a garage!” Rob protested.
“Then pretend!” she cried.
Janey walked back into the room and put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “We have our mom. We’re all set for the Perfects. After tonight, they won’t bother us again.”
“You can call me Mama!” the woman rasped. “Or Ma or Mom. Just don’t call me late for supper! Ha ha ha!”