Free Goosebumps Most Wanted - 02 - Son of Slappy by R.L. Stine Page A

slid out the tennis racket. “Nice,” I said. “Is it titanium?”
    The little guy nodded.
    I swung the racket hard and jammed the head deep in the mud.
    “Hey!” The boy let out a cry.
    Then I tugged the bike up from the mud. I raised it over my head in both hands — and heaved it into the street.
    Then I dipped my hands into the mud. I swung around and wiped mud all over the boy’s face.
    He screamed again and twisted away.
    I tossed back my head and uttered a long Slappy laugh.
    The boy started to cry. That made me laugh even harder.
    Then I took off running. My feet slapped the sidewalk as I ran.
    I gasped when I heard a man’s booming shout: “Hey, you! Come back here!”
    I turned my head and saw Mr. Gurewitz, our neighbor.
    He saw me. He saw what I did.
    Now what?

“Come back here!” Gurewitz shouted.
    I turned and ran toward the nearest house. I pushed open the wooden gate and darted along the garage to the backyard.
    I could hear Gurewitz’s heavy footsteps. He was chasing after me. “Come back! Stop! I saw you!”
    I ducked my head under a volleyball net and ran into the next yard. A man was watering his garden with a long hose. He had his back turned and didn’t see me as I crossed to the next house.
    “Stop right there!” Mr. Gurewitz’s shout made the man spin around, and a powerful stream of water sprayed Gurewitz from head to foot.
    Gurewitz cried out in shock. He stopped running.
    I glimpsed him wiping water off his face as I turned and ducked along the side of a house. I made it to the street and kept running.
    No sign of Gurewitz. I guess his cold shower made him give up.
    I started to feel like myself again as I crossed the street onto Stick’s block. Two kids passed by on bikes. Both of them wore blue baseball caps and had iPod buds in their ears. They didn’t turn to look at me.
    I stopped to catch my breath. I felt bad about the little boy with the tennis racket. How could I do such a mean thing?
    Did Mr. Gurewitz recognize me? He only saw me from the back. But he probably knew it was me. That meant he would probably tell my parents.
    And then … I was doomed.
    I tried not to think about it as Stick greeted me at his front door. “Yo, what’s up?”
    “Not much,” I said. I pictured the tennis racket jammed deep in the mud. “I’m feeling okay. Think I can go back to school on Monday.”
    Miles popped up from the living room couch. “What for?” he asked. “You got it made, dude. You get to stay home all day.” He laughed.
    “It’s way boring,” I said. I glimpsed the time display on the cable box on top of the TV. “Hey, let’s get going,” I said. “I’m only allowed to stay an hour or so. My parents are still on my case.”
    “That’s cuz you’re a mental case!” Miles said.
    “Not funny,” Stick said. “That’s not cool, Miles. Jackson isn’t a mental case. He’s a nut case.”
    They both laughed. Stick’s mom walked into the room.
    “What are you guys laughing about?” she asked. “Did someone burp?”
    “Mom, give us a break,” Stick groaned. “We’re a little more sophisticated than that.”
    Miles burped really loud, and we all laughed.
    “You three are going to turn my kitchen into a disaster zone,” she said. “Will I need to hose it down when you’re finished?”
    My heart skipped a beat. I thought of Mr. Gurewitz getting the hose spray in the face.
    “No. We’ll be neat,” Stick told her. “I promise. We’ll clean it up perfectly when we’re done.”
    “First we have to decide what to bake,” Miles said.
    “Your giant cupcake idea was a real loser,” Mrs. Haggerty said.
    “Thanks for the support, Mom.” Stick rolled his eyes.
    “I know,” Miles said, jumping to his feet. “Why not bake regular cupcakes? We could do dozens of them. Maybe make the icing all different colors. Maybe the icing spells out something when they’re on the tray?”
    “Cool,” I said. “Maybe put Y ’s and C ’s on the icing. You know. For