by Mac Barnett
“Well,” said Miles. He nervously fiddled with the plastic bag in his pocket.
Josh shoved his way into the line and the conversation. “What are you nimbuses talking about?”
“Your dad,” Holly said.
“That nimbus?” said Josh.
“He’s your DAD,” said Stuart.
“Whatever. Everyone says I take after my grandfather.”
“Who’s everyone?” Miles asked.
“My grandfather.”
Bertrand Barkin perched on the stage, sipping his coffee, watching the kids pass below him.
Miles nodded at Niles.
It was time.
Niles broke from the line and climbed up onto the stage.
“Hello, Principal Barkin!” Niles smiled cheerfully and held out his hand. “Welcome to Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy! Or more accurately, welcome back!”
Bertrand Barkin switched the mug from his right hand to his left and gave Niles a joyless handshake. “And you are?”
“Niles Sparks!” said Niles Sparks. “I wanted to give you this apple,” he said, removing a Red Delicious from his jacket pocket and thrusting it toward Barkin’s left hand.
Barkin switched the coffee mug again and took the apple.
“On the first day of school, I like to give an apple to everyone on the faculty and staff, but you weren’t here then! So, happy your first day of school.”
Niles extended his hand again. Bertrand Barkin, both hands full, was briefly flustered, then set his coffee down on the edge of the stage so he could shake Niles’s hand.
(This was precisely the moment Miles was passing by.)
“If you’re anything like your son,” Niles said, looking Barkin in the eye, “I know you’ll be a terrific principal.”
Barkin snorted. “I am nothing like my son.”
Niles shrugged nervously. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be a terrific principal nevertheless.”
“Yes.” Barkin bent over and retrieved his coffee. “Thank you. You are dismissed.”
Niles, grinning uncomfortably, backed up and hopped off the stage. He hustled over to rejoin his class.
Miles was saving him a seat. “That looked intense,” Miles said.
“It was like shaking hands with a lizard. How’d it go?”
“The eagle is in the nest,” Miles said.
“The cow is in the barn,” said Niles.
“The cat is in the litter box,” said Miles.
What they meant was this: The hot pepper was in the coffee mug. Barkin’s beverage was now off the charts, in terms of SHUs.
Bertrand Barkin approached the podium.
He set his mug down next to the microphone.
Miles and Niles settled into their chairs.
“Good morning, children,” said Principal Barkin. “I am your new principal. My name is Principal Barkin. And let me begin by saying that Pajama Day is canceled.”
A discontented murmur ran through the auditorium.
Holly looked around at the faces of her fellow students. She stood up.
“But, Principal Barkin,” she said. “The last Principal Barkin—”
Barkin slammed his fist onto the podium. “SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE INTERRUPTED.”
He pointed a long finger at Holly Rash. “YOU. YOU WILL REPORT TO MY OFFICE IMMEDIATELY AFTER THIS ASSEMBLY. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
“Yes, but—”
“SIT DOWN.”
Stunned, Holly got back in her seat.
“Tomorrow is not Pajama Day. It is not Rodeo Day. It is not Ugly Sweater Day. Tomorrow is, however, a very special theme day. Would you like to know what day tomorrow is?”
The room was silent.
“Tomorrow is School Day. And here is what you do on School Day: You put on clothes that conform to our dress code, you arrive to this campus on time, and you learn. And here is the good news: Today is also School Day. And so is next Monday. In fact, there are 120 School Days remaining this year, and all of them will be the same. You will learn facts, you will learn figures, you will be quizzed, and you will be tested. We will proceed thusly until June, at which point I do not care what you do. Wear a cowboy hat, wear a hideous sweater. That’s what summer is for.”
“WHY would we wear A SWEATER in SUMMER?” Stuart whispered to Scotty.
“YOU. IN THE THIRD ROW. YOU WILL REPORT TO MY OFFICE AS WELL.”
“HOW the HECK did he HEAR ME?” Stuart said. (Principal Barkin heard him because Stuart was not great at whispering.)
“Now.” Principal Barkin picked up his coffee mug. “We will talk about pranking.”
Miles and Niles sat up straight.
“I am here in large part due to my predecessor’s permissive attitude toward pranking. Let me tell you this: Although I may be related to your former principal, in that I am his father, I WILL NOT PERMIT PRANKS. School is about order. Humans have spent centuries classifying and codifying, organizing the world’s information into a coherent system, and it is our job as educators to inscribe this system into your minds. We do not have time for pajamas, or pep rallies, or interruptions. We certainly do not have time for chaos.”
He raised the mug to his mouth. It hovered before his lips, inches from his face.
“WE DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR PRANKS.”
Bertrand Barkin drank deeply.
The Terrible Two leaned forward.
“OK,” Niles whispered. (It was a good whisper.)
The principal’s head snapped up.
His eyes widened.
Then he lifted his mug and took another sip. A long, slow sip. Bertrand Barkin looked out at the crowd as he sipped his coffee, and when he was done, he gave a satisfied sigh, right into the microphone.
“What?” whispered Miles.
Principal Barkin wore a thin smile.
“And so,” said Principal Barkin, “there will be no pranks. Starting today, Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy is now a prank-free environment. This is something in which we will all take pride. It is something we will celebrate. It is something we will commemorate. Gus!”
Gus wheeled out a large object covered by a blanket.
“Today this sign will be hung in the front hall of Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy, right next to that ridiculous and misshapen cow.”
Miss S., the first-grade teacher, frowned.
Bertrand Barkin whipped off the blanket.
“At the end of the day, I look forward to turning over number one. Furthermore, I fully expect we will continue turning over numbers, every day, until the end of the year.
“Now, children, you should know that I am not a man allergic to fun. When we make it to the last day of school without a single prank, that sign will reach 119. And to celebrate our good behavior, our reformation, we will have a treat: Sammy the Safety Lobster will present an assembly on summer safety.”
There was a lot of grumbling.
“SILENCE!”
The grumbling stopped.
“You are dismissed,” said Bertrand Barkin.
The teachers, who looked almost as shocked as the students, stood up and signaled to their classes to rise. As everyone was leaving the auditorium, Principal Barkin leaned over to Gus. Barkin spoke softly, but he made sure the microphone picked up his voice.
“Gus,” he said, “we need to do something about those flowers out front.”
“But it’s illegal to pick a field violet, sir.”
“I didn’t say anything about picking. Put a tarp over them. Block out the sun. Let them die.”
Chapter
11
YOU PUT THE PEPPER IN, right?” Niles asked.
“Yes! Of course I put the pepper in.”
“I know you did. I know you did.”
Miles and Niles were walking across the front lawn with the rest of the class. A quick look over at the marquee revealed that the Pajama Day announcement had already been taken down. In its place:
“That was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” Miles said.
Niles just shook his head.
“He knew, right?” Miles said. “There’s no way he wouldn’t have tasted it. I mean, he knew.”
“Yeah, he knew.”
“I mean, he would have seen the pepper at the bottom of the mug.”
“He knew.”
“Man alive.” Miles shuddered.
Holly caught up with them. “What’s wrong? You guys look like you’re the ones who got in trouble.”
“Holly, be careful what you say in that office,” Miles said. “That guy’s a maniac.”
Holly shrugged. “I’ll survive,” she said. “Honestly, I’m more upset about Sammy the Safety Lobster. That guy came in kindergarten. Not a great performer.”
“WAIT, are you talking about SAMMY?” asked Stuart. “THAT DUDE is HILARIOUS.”
Holly sighed.
They crossed through the school’s front door. Gus was there, moving the cow to make room for the new sign. He gave the kids a shrug and a sympathetic smile.
“Hey, where’d Niles go?” Holly asked.
“He—” Miles looked around. “I don’t know.”
“All right. Well, later gator.” She tucked in her shirt. “Stuart, time to talk to Barkin.”
“Aw MAN.”
They headed down the hall toward the principal’s office.
But Niles Sparks had beaten them there.
“You again.” Bertrand Barkin leaned back in his chair.
“Me again!” said Niles. He walked back behind the desk and stood next to the principal.
Principal Barkin frowned. “Why are you on my side of the desk? Moreover, why are you here?”
“Ah!” Niles said. “I should have explained before the assembly. I’m the School Helper! You can tell because I’m wearing this sash. It says SCHOOL HELPER.”
“I can read,” said Principal Barkin. “And yet I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He looked at his watch. “What is this all about? I have students waiting outside to be disciplined.”
“Excellent!” said Niles. “In that case, I’ll be brief. The School Helper is a position I created, to help the school run well.”
“And why,” said Principal Barkin, “would I need help running the school?”
“Even Zeus had Hermes!”
Barkin scowled.
“Zeus,” said Niles, “the Greek god.”
“I’m familiar with Zeus,” said Principal Barkin.
“Well, Hermes was—”
“I’m familiar with Hermes.”
“Well, you’re Zeus! And I’m Hermes! I can be your eyes and ears in the school. And your hands and feet too! You know, watching to make sure rules are followed. Listening for whispers of pranks. Enforcing your will.”
“What about hands and feet?”
“Sorry?” said Niles.
“You said you’d be my hands and feet.”
“Enforcing. That’s hands.”
“And feet?”
“Well.” Niles’s smiled faltered. “Walking. In places where you’re not.”
Barkin just stared.
“Think of me as a miniature Principal Barkin!” he said.
“It’s a good idea,” said Principal Barkin.
Niles exhaled. He’d been worried for a second. Now he’d have access to Old Man Barkin’s office, his plans, his schemes—
“Give me that sash,” said Principal Barkin.
“What?”
“Your sash. I’m relieving you of your position.”
“But you just said it was a good idea!”
“It is. That doesn’t mean I want you to be my School Helper. I’ll be frank, Niles. I don’t know you. I certainly don’t trust you. And I don’t think I like you.”
“But—”
“Your sash.”
Niles removed his sash. “But I made this myself.”
Barkin took it. “And a fine job you did too. It should go well with Josh’s eyes. They’re Barkin brown.”
“Josh?”
“Josh Barkin. My grandson. And new School Helper.”
“You can’t—”
“You’re dismissed. Please send Holly Rash in.”
Principal Barkin took a bite of the apple Niles had given him that morning. The apple was crisp, and the bite was loud.
Chapter
12
MILES AND NILES were in the prank lab. It was the following Sunday, and they were in the middle of an urgent planning session. The walls were covered in sketches, diagrams, and lists—a list of possible pranks (this list was long), a list of great pizza toppings (this list was even longer), a list of Old Man Barkin’s weaknesses (there was nothing on this list).
“The problem with the pepper”—Miles had his mouth full of jelly beans—“is that Barkin knows we pranked him, but nobody else does.”
“Right,” said Niles. He was lying on the floor with his legs up so far against the wall that he was almost upside down.
“I mean, does he eat a lot of spicy foods? Or, and this is a scary thought, has he, like, trained his mouth to handle heat? Like, is he making himself prank-proof?”
“Maybe it’s just mind over body,” Niles said.
“It’s tough,” said Miles. “I mean, let’s say we replace one of his power speeches with blank pieces of paper . . . Wouldn’t work. He’d just make up some amazing speech on the spot. And nobody would ever know.”
“Yeah,” said Niles.
“Or we put a tack on his chair. Well, nope. I mean, he probably has spent his whole life developing super-strong butt muscles that repel sharp objects. He’d just sit there and smile.”
“If you prank someone and nobody knows it, is it even a prank?” Niles asked.
Miles squinted at Niles. “You should probably stop lying like that. I think the blood’s all rushing to your head.”
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” said Niles.
“What?”
“Well, then my brain would be getting more blood. More nutrients and oxygen.”
“Fine.” Miles was pacing. “What does your well-fed brain think we should do next?”
Niles just lay there, legs up.
“Niles,” said Miles.
“Niles.”
“Niles!”
“What?”
“What are you thinking about?”
“That sign.”
“What sign?”
This sign:
On Thursday, after school, he’d watched Principal Barkin flip a bold black “1” down, covering up the rightmost zero. The pepper prank, a prank Niles was quite proud of, had been obliterated from Yawnee Valley history.
“The sign in the hall. The prank sign.”
“OK, well, I’m trying to talk about Principal Barkin.”
“The sign is Principal Barkin.”
Part of being friends with Niles Sparks was sometimes having no idea what he was talking about.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s not just a sign. It’s an instrument of power. A Doomsday Clock. Every time he flips over a number, the closer we get to eschaton.
“Eschaton?”
“Armageddon. Catastrophe. The end. Barkin wins. We lose.”
Niles was making an odd expression—his eyes were unfocused while he chewed at his lip. Miles stared at his friend. He’d never seen Niles make this face before this last week, and now it was happening all the time. When had it started? When Old Man Barkin had taken Niles’s sash? After Barkin swallowed the pepper coffee? Or even earlier, in the library, after Barry Barkin had been fired?
“Niles,” said Miles. “Listen. If what you’re saying is true, then maybe we don’t need to prank Principal Barkin to beat Principal Barkin. We just need to stop the sign. Right?”
Niles’s eyes snapped back into focus. “Right.”
“So let’s do something we know we’re good at,” said Miles. “My friend, I believe we’ve been looking at the wrong Barkin.”
Niles flipped his fee
t over his head and turned to face Miles.
Miles smiled. “Let’s prank Josh.”
Chapter
13
PRANKING JOSH BARKIN was practically an official pastime for the Terrible Two. Miles and Niles had it down to an art form. And today’s exercise would be particularly elegant. Did you know you can pull a beautiful prank using only items from a sack lunch?
It was late autumn. The day was clear and cold. Miles and Niles, bundled up in coats, ate lunch on a bench far from the other kids. Miles gave Niles his apple bar and Niles gave Miles his fruit snacks, as usual. Unusually, they did not split Miles’s Twinkie. They ate fast, packed up, and snuck into the locker room.
The locker room was cold—the locker room was always cold—and it smelled of chlorine, mildew, and the cologne some older boys used. The floor was gray. The lockers were gray. The lights were off and the whole room was gray.
The thick rubber mats on the ground dampened the noise from the Terrible Two’s footsteps. The only sound was the dripping of a leaky showerhead. Here was locker #667, which belonged to Josh Barkin.
“All right,” said Miles, running his hand against the cool metal. “Open it up.”
Niles removed an empty soda can from his lunch bag, and Miles handed him a pair of scissors.
“Are you sure this works?” Miles asked.
Niles didn’t answer. He sheared off the can’s top and bottom, slit its side, and unfurled the aluminum on the ground. Working quickly, he cut out the shape of an M.
Then he folded the top half of the M down over itself.
And he folded the outside legs of the M up.
Niles held up the shim.
“Here it is,” he said.
“It looks like underwear,” said Miles.
“Like robot underwear,” said Niles.
“Really skimpy robot underwear,” said Miles.
They laughed for a few seconds before the mission continued.
Niles curved the shim around the U-shaped shackle of Josh’s combination lock. He forced the metal down into the mechanism, wiggled it around a little, and—click—the lock popped open.
“Ha, ha!” Miles said. (He actually said, “Ha, ha!”)
Miles grimaced and pushed Josh’s gym clothes aside. Beneath a pair of ratty gray shorts was the prize they’d been seeking: a pair of blue sneakers with non-marking soles.