The Terrible Two Get Worse

by Mac Barnett

  Niles’s voice was chilly. “I’m thinking.”

  “Well, I’m trying to do something,” Miles said. “Listen, I’m not saying it’s a great prank. I’m not even saying it’s a good prank. But obvious? That’s the whole point! It’s obviously a prank. It’ll reset the Doomsday Clock! Isn’t that what you want?”

  Niles nodded. “Yes.”

  “Me too! And any other time, I’d say sure, let’s cook up some great scheme. But we’ve got to stop Principal Barkin. Think about it. What does it say on that alarm? IN CASE OF EMERGENCY . . . PULL.”

  Niles chewed his thumbnail.

  “So,” said Miles. “Are you in or are you out?”

  “Out,” said Niles.

  “Fine,” said Miles.

  Chapter

  16

  MILES MURPHY PULLED the fire alarm on Monday afternoon. He did it on the way back from the bathroom, when the hallway was empty and nobody was looking. There was a little red lever, and when Miles pulled it, lights flashed, klaxons blasted, and sprinklers sprinkled. Miles smiled and let himself be drenched. Soon the hallway was filled with students—the younger kids walking hand in hand, two by two, the bigger kids moving in clumps. Teachers shouted. Doors swung. Kids laughed. Everybody got soaked. It was wonderful.

  Miles found his class and sidled up to Niles.

  Miles nodded.

  Niles shook his head.

  “THIS is CRAZY!” Stuart said. “IT’S like an INDOOR RAINSTORM!” He held open his mouth to catch some of the water.

  “Gross, Stuart,” said Holly. She sniffed the air. “I don’t smell any smoke.”

  “THAT’S because THIS is a PRANK,” said Stuart. “I can FEEL IT in my BONES.”

  “Somebody’s going to pay,” said Josh. “This is getting my sash all wet.”

  “Well, really it’s my sash,” said Niles. “I made it and—”

  “QUIET! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO STAY QUIET DURING AN EMERGENCY.” Josh shook his head at Niles and wrote something down on the clipboard he was carrying.

  “What are you writing?” Miles asked.

  Josh shook his head at Miles and wrote something else on the clipboard.

  “You can’t even read it,” Miles said, looking over Josh’s shoulder. “The paper’s all wet.”

  Josh underlined something on his clipboard. The pen tore through the sheet and his underline smeared into a big red blot.

  Near the front office, they passed Gus, who was covering the first-graders’ cow with a tarp so the papier-mâché wouldn’t get soggy. “You kids look like you went swimming!” he said, and waved.

  • • •

  On the front lawn students gathered, grouped according to class. It was a gray day, with a breeze that raised goose bumps on Miles’s wet skin and made him feel alive.

  Teachers took roll. All students and staff were present and accounted for, except for one: Principal Barkin.

  They waited.

  The thrill of the interruption dissolved, and boredom crept over the crowd. Teachers stood holding first-aid kits, looking slightly lost. Miss S. led the first-graders in some sort of clapping game.

  “I WISH we had a FRISBEE!” said Stuart. “KNOW what I MEAN?”

  Nobody knew what he meant.

  Then the front doors opened and a man in plaid emerged. It was Principal Barkin, dry as chalk dust beneath a black umbrella.

  Bertrand Barkin strode over to the flagpole. He shook the water from his umbrella and collapsed it. “Children.” He didn’t need a megaphone to make himself heard. Barkin swung the umbrella, pointing its metal tip at the crowd.

  “I will ask only once. Will the student who pulled the fire alarm please step up to the flagpole?”

  “Ooooooooohhhhhh mamamamamamammaaaaaaa,” said Stuart. “Somebody is in TROUBLE.”

  Kids looked around to see whether anyone was stepping forward. Miles scratched behind his ear and faked a yawn.

  “A shame,” Barkin said. “But unsurprising.” He removed a medal from his pocket and dangled it before him. “I was looking forward to handing out this School Citizenship Award.”

  “WHAT?” said Stuart. “An AWARD? For a PRANKSTER?”

  Miles frowned. This was odd. He looked at Niles, who stood still, staring, blinking.

  “Prankster?” Principal Barkin looked at Stuart and smiled. “Oh, no, no. This award is for a hero.”

  “THIS is SO WEIRD,” Stuart said. “KNOW what I MEAN?”

  Everyone knew what he meant.

  “Stuart, let’s embrace this teachable moment,” said Principal Barkin. “Pulling the fire alarm is a prank—and a rather crude prank at that—only when there is no fire.”

  “BUT there WASN’T a FIRE!”

  Bertrand Barkin looked perplexed. “Of course there was, Stuart,” he said. “There was a fire. Luckily, it was contained. The only thing lost was that wonderful papier-mâché mascot the first-graders made for our entrance. Burnt to a crisp. Most unfortunate.”

  Miles’s throat tightened. “But we just saw that cow. That cow was fine.”

  “All right, students,” Principal Barkin said. “Back to class. Today’s a school day, after all.”

  He turned and slowly walked back toward the building. When he reached the first step, he paused and removed a small box from his pocket. He turned it over in his fingers once or twice, then replaced it.

  No way, thought Miles.

  He must have seen that wrong.

  “Are those MATCHES?” Stuart said.

  “Man alive,” said Miles.

  When the kids went back to class, they walked by the charred remains of the Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy bovine. The burnt cow was still there at the end of the day, mostly just a pile of ash next to a sign that said:

  Chapter

  17

  AFTER THE FIRE, Bertrand Barkin got a new nickname. The students of Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy were divided into two groups. Most thought Barkin had heroically extinguished the blaze single-handedly. Some believed (but couldn’t prove) that he set the fire himself. It didn’t matter what side you were on: Now pretty much everyone called Barkin “Principal Invincible.”

  “Don’t call him that,” said Holly.

  She was sitting behind a table of cakes. Cupcakes, carrot cakes, coffee cakes and tea cakes, pound cakes, Bundt cakes, crumb cakes and sponge cakes, angel food cakes, devil’s food cakes, strawberry shortcakes and pineapple upside-down cakes. Red velvet. Tres leches. Whoopie pies. It was a bake sale.

  To Holly’s right was a metal cash box. To her left was an open book of poetry, one that was not assigned schoolwork. She read from the book when the bake sale was slow.

  Stuart was at the front of the line. Scotty was right behind him, impatiently eyeing the flan. Miles and Niles were off to the table’s side, hanging out near Holly, which was something they often did at lunch. When things got busy, they offered help Holly didn’t need. Otherwise they sat there while she read.

  “Don’t call him WHAT?” said Stuart.

  “Principal Invincible.”

  “But EVERYONE calls him that.”

  “I don’t,” said Holly.

  “Neither do I,” said Niles.

  “Me neither,” said Miles.

  “Why NOT?” said Stuart. “It RHYMES!”

  Holly shook her head. “Nobody is invincible.”

  “What if he IS, though?” Stuart said. “Like ONCE, I played this VIDEO GAME, and you had to fight this ONE BOSS, and he was INVINCIBLE. What if Principal Barkin is like THAT?”

  “What video game?” Miles asked.

  “Oh MAN,” said Stuart. “I can’t REMEMBER. But the BOSS was SO scary. It was this GIANT SPIDER, and it was covered in ARMOR, and your ARROWS couldn’t PIERCE the armor, and it released TINY SPIDERS from its MOUTH. It was NUTSO!”

  Miles bit into a madeleine. “Did the spider have eyes?”

  “It had SO many EYES!”

  “Did the eyes flash?” />
  “YEAH! Right before it SPAT the TINY SPIDERS!”

  “You have to shoot the eyes when they flash.”

  “OH.” Stuart pounded his forehead. “I didn’t even TRY that.”

  “See,” said Holly. “Nobody’s invincible.”

  “I GUESS.”

  “Stuart’s right, though,” Niles said. “I am surprised Principal Barkin hasn’t canceled the dance.”

  Holly shut her book, allowing Niles to glimpse the cover. Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson.

  “Think about it, guys,” said Holly. “This dance is a tradition. Barkin’s great-grandfather held the first dance in 1894, and there’s been one every year since.”

  Miles and Niles nodded.

  Holly grinned. “Everyone has a weakness. And what’s Barkin’s weakness? Tradition. Family honor. All that. So I’m going to exploit that weakness, and this school’s going to get to do something fun.”

  “SORT OF fun,” said Stuart.

  “What?” said Holly.

  “I MEAN, nobody LOVES the dance.”

  The Student-Parent Dinner-Dance was typically the least popular event hosted by the student council. That’s because it was a dance, with parents. Also the dinner was bad. (It was always the same: soft spaghetti.) But it wasn’t true that nobody loved the dance. The parents loved it.

  “Why are you still here, Stuart?”

  “Can I get my MONEY back? This CUPCAKE is really DRY.”

  “Hey, I made that cupcake!” Miles said.

  Stuart looked at Miles. “Well, it’s DRY.”

  “No refunds,” said Holly. “You can exchange it for anything in this section.”

  Stuart grabbed a streusel and left.

  “What does he know?” Holly said.

  “Totally!” said Miles. “Like Stuart’s suddenly Doctor Cupcake, and we’re supposed to just trust him on how dry stuff is? No thank you.”

  “I meant about the dance,” said Holly.

  For Holly, throwing the dance had become enormously important. It was the only extracurricular event left on the school calendar. The Student-Parent Dinner-Dance was an affront to power, a glimmer in the dark, an arrow in the spider’s eye.

  Josh, clad in a khaki cap and Niles’s sash, cut the line.

  “Hey,” said Scotty. “No cuts!”

  Josh pointed at the sash. “School Helper. I don’t have to follow the rules.”

  “Actually,” said Niles, “the School Helper’s job is to make sure the rules are always followed, and it’s important to lead by example, so you should probably—”

  “Shut up, nimbus,” said Josh. “I’m not here to talk to you. Or this nimbus. Or this nimbus. I’m not here to talk. I’m here to pick up this money.” Josh reached for the cash box.

  Holly slammed down the lid and left her hand on top of it.

  “What?” she asked.

  “The money, nimbus.”

  “This is a student council fund-raiser. Which means this is student council money. And you’re not on the student council.”

  “I’m commandeering the cash, nimbus. This money is being redirected to the School Helper Fund.”

  “But, Josh,” said Niles, “School Helper is a volunteer position, and doing the job doesn’t really cost any money, so—”

  “Nimbus,” said Josh, “the only reason I’m not handing you a detention right now is professional courtesy for a former School Helper.”

  “But School Helpers can’t hand out detentions,” said Niles.

  “Now they can.” Josh pulled out a pack of pink slips from his pocket. He fanned through them. “Boom.”

  Niles frowned.

  “Anyways,” said Josh, “I told you. I’m not here to talk. I should be helping the school. So, Holly, if you’ll please hand over the money—”

  “Not going to happen.”

  Josh grabbed the handle. So did Holly.

  “Well,” said Josh, “I guess we should take this matter to the principal, who is also my grandfather.”

  “I guess we should,” said Holly.

  With her free hand, Holly put up a sign that said BAKE SALE CLOSED—BACK SOON.

  Holly and Josh marched down to Barkin’s office, carrying the cash box between them.

  “Darn,” said Scotty. “I really wanted some flan.”

  • • •

  Holly and Josh stood in front of Principal Barkin’s desk. They’d each finished telling their side of the story.

  “Josh,” said Principal Barkin, “please leave.”

  Josh stood up and reached for the cash box.

  “Leave the box, Josh,” said Principal Barkin.

  “But, Grandfather—”

  Principal Barkin winced.

  Josh tried again. “But, Principal Barkin—”

  “You are dismissed.”

  Holly smirked at Josh while he made his exit.

  Barkin reclined. He scratched his mustache. He smiled. “Holly,” he said. “I’m glad you came to my office.”

  “Me too,” said Holly. “And thank you, sir. I know Josh is your grandson, but that was ridiculous. He can’t just go around taking student council money.”

  “Why, of course he can.”

  “What?”

  “Of course he can. And I’m glad he did. Holly, it’s my understanding that last year, on a technicality, you defeated my grandson in the race for school president. Am I correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course I am. I respect that, Holly. I always respect a power grab.”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it a—”

  “But you grabbed power from the wrong person. You grabbed power from a Barkin.”

  Principal Barkin leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk.

  “You have to understand, Holly. When a Barkin has been a student at this school, he has been class president. That is a tradition, a tradition of power. It’s a tradition you broke with your power grab. And although I respect a power grab, that doesn’t mean I like it. And I certainly don’t like the grabber. Am I being clear?”

  “Yes and no,” said Holly.

  Barkin sneered. “You have a smart mouth, Holly Rash. And I don’t like that, either. But let me give you a little lesson in power. Josh can take the student council’s money whenever he wants to.”

  “That’s stealing.”

  “No, that’s commandeering. Do you know the difference between commandeering and stealing? When the powerless take, it’s stealing. When the powerful take, it’s commandeering.”

  “But I’m the class president,” Holly said.

  “Yes. And Josh is the School Helper.”

  “But that’s just some dumb job Niles made up a few years ago.”

  “That may be so. But I’ve reorganized the power chart. Do you know what a power chart is, Holly? It’s a diagram that describes the flow of power through a school. Here is the power chart when School Helper was, as you say, just some dumb job.”

  Principal Barkin drew on a legal pad.

  Barkin tore off the page and started again. “But look at this!”

  “But you can’t just redraw a chart and change the way the whole school works,” Holly said.

  “Of course I can,” said Principal Barkin. “Who is at the top of both charts?”

  Holly sighed.

  “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Holly. Who is at the top?”

  “The principal.”

  “That’s right. The principal. All power at this school flows from the principal, including the power to draw power charts. And now that School Helper is such a powerful position, we’ve needed to create a School Helper Fund, which will allow Josh to better enforce school rules. We’re in something of a state of emergency here, Holly, in case you haven’t noticed. Before I came, rules were being broken willy-nilly. It was havoc. And I must restore order. That takes money.”

  “But these are funds for the Student-Parent Dinner-Dance.”

  Barkin leaned farther forward. He was more
than halfway across his desk.

  “Yes,” he said. “The Student-Parent Dinner-Dance. A silly tradition, and one that has outlived its usefulness. I would have canceled it, but parents love it. And in a time of emergency, I can’t spend all day fielding phone calls from angry parents telling me how to run my school. Parents do not run a school. The principal runs a school. Unfortunately, many parents don’t understand that, and these are people to whom I loathe speaking. And so I thank you, Holly.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. The cancellation of this year’s dinner-dance is not on my hands. It’s on yours.”

  Holly took a few steps back.

  “How does this sound?” said Barkin, leaning forward even more. “I’m afraid that the student council failed to raise the funds necessary to hold the dance. Sad, really. And with budget cuts, blah, blah, blah. You get the idea. Now, please take this cash box to the cafeteria and hand it over to my grandson. You are dismissed.”

  By the time Holly returned to the bake sale table, a long line had formed. Josh was plumping himself up at the front, shining one of his medals with his shirtsleeve.

  “Hello, Holly,” he said.

  She handed over the box. “Here.”

  “Thank you, Madam President,” said Josh. He got behind the table and took down the poster Holly had made the night before. “Now,” he said, “who wants some cake? Proceeds help me help the school.”

  Scotty stepped up and selected a flan.

  “Scotty,” said Holly, “don’t. That money’s just going to go to Josh.”

  Scotty shrugged. “I’ll pay whoever has the flan.”

  Holly slumped against the wall.

  “What happened in there?” Niles asked.

  Holly said, “Principal Invincible canceled the dance.”

  Chapter

  18

  THE COUNT ON OLD MAN BARKIN’S sign grew higher: 50, then 60, then 70. The Terrible Two took tests. They passed quizzes. They read about the gold rush and metonymy and complementary angles. When the covers on their textbooks tore, they made new ones by cutting up brown paper grocery bags. They watched a movie version of Romeo and Juliet, but Mr. Gebott fast-forwarded through a bunch of it. They had indoor recess for two consecutive weeks. They found patterns in the bubbles they filled out on answer sheets (the reading section of the state test had five Es in a row). They gave valentines to every kid in their homeroom, even though Niles wanted to send only one and Miles would have rather not sent any. They wore green on St. Patrick’s Day but still got pinched by Josh Barkin. The Terrible Two did all these things. What they did not do was prank.