Free The Rottenest Angel by R.L. Stine

Chapter 1
“H OW Y OU D OIN ’?”
    A beautiful morning at Rotten School. The apple trees shimmered in the morning sunlight. The grass on the Great Lawn still sparkled with dew.
    I strolled happily, singing the Rotten School Song to myself:
    â€œRah, rah, Rotten School!
    I’d rather be in Rotten School—
    Than NOT in school!”
    It was Saturday, and I—Bernie Bridges—didn’thave a care in the world. Did I know that BIG trouble—with a capital BIG—was just minutes away? No with a capital NO.
    â€œDudes! Wait for Bernie B.!” I shouted. I waved to my three buddies and ran to catch up with them. Feenman and Crench had one of Belzer’s shoes. They were tossing it back and forth, playing keep-away. Fun-loving dudes!
    â€œHow you doin’?” I asked.
    â€œHow YOU doin’?” Feenman replied.
    â€œHow YOU doin’?” Belzer asked.
    â€œHow you doin’?” I said.
    â€œHow YOU doin’?”
    â€œHow YOU doin’?”
    We usually do this for at least half an hour. I don’t know why we think it’s so funny. But it really cracks us up.
    â€œHow you doin’?”
    â€œHow YOU doin’?”
    Saturday morning is when we go to the Student Center to study. Mainly we study air hockey, pinball, and the new PlayStation games. We don’t like to mess up our weekends doing homework.
    I checked out my three friends. Feenman and Crench are tall and thin and kinda dance when they walk—real loose. Belzer is short and pudgy. He looks like his name—he’s definitely a Belzer .
    I shook my head. “Yo—you dudes are looking shabby,” I said. “What’s up with your clothes? They’re totally wrinkled—and they don’t even fit!”
    Feenman sighed. “Bernie, our room is too small,” he said. “All three of us are jammed in so tight, we have to take turns breathing!”
    â€œIt used to be a broom closet,” Belzer said.
    â€œSo? What’s that got to do with your clothes?” I asked.
    â€œThere’s no room for a closet. We keep all our stuff in a big pile on the floor,” Crench said. “We can’t tell whose is whose!”
    â€œLook—I’m wearing Feenman’s shirt,” Belzer said. The shirt came down to his knees. He raised his arms. “See these armpit stains, Bernie? They’re not mine—they’re Feenman’s!”
    â€œIt’s so crowded,” Feenman said, “we have to sleep standing up!”
    â€œDudes, I hope you’re not complaining,” I said. “Ihope you’re not hinting that I should share my room.”

    Feenman squinted at me. “Well, Big B, you ARE all alone in that huge room….”
    â€œYou know I need a lot of space,” I said. “I need space for plotting and planning and scheming.” I put a hand on Feenman’s shoulder. “And who do I plot and plan and scheme for? I do it all for you guys, right?”
    â€œRight,” Belzer agreed. “Who convinced Nurse Hanley that Skittles are actually vitamin pills? Bernie did.”
    â€œThat was a good thing,” Feenman and Crench muttered.
    â€œAnd who got Mrs. Heinie to give us extra credit if we don’t burp up our breakfast in class?” Belzer asked. “Bernie did.”
    â€œThat was a good thing, too,” Feenman and Crench said.
    â€œI’m always thinking of you guys,” I said. “That’s why I need the extra space.”
    And that’s what this story is about—my extra space. Because guess what? An hour or two later Iwalked back to our dorm—Rotten House. I climbed the stairs to my room on the third floor.
    And, yo! I stopped in the doorway—and stared at another boy unpacking a suitcase.
    He had wavy, blond hair that glowed in the sunlight pouring through my window. He had a round face with big, blue eyes and rosy cheeks. He turned to me and