Free The Big Blueberry Barf-Off! by R.L. Stine Page A

because his head is flat!
    â€œWhussup, Big B?” Crench asked.
    Feenman reached for a slice of toast. I had to slap his hand away.

    Belzer, Feenman, and Crench are crammed into the tiny room across from me. They insisted that I have my own room. They know I need a lot of space for planning and scheming.
    â€œOkay, guys. Give me the report,” I said. “How are the Bernie Bridges T-shirts selling?”
    Crench shook his head. “They’re not selling, Bernie.”
    â€œHow many have you sold?” I asked. “Twenty? Thirty?”
    â€œNone,” Feenman replied. “N-u-n-n. None.”
    â€œI think you spell none with a y ,” Crench said.
    â€œNever mind the spelling lesson,” I said. “Why aren’t kids buying the Bernie Bridges T-shirts?”
    â€œBecause they’re itchy,” Crench said. “Kids don’t want to pay five dollars for a T-shirt that makes them scratch all day.”
    â€œBut it’s got my picture on it!” I said.
    Crench shook his head again. “Bernie, we told you not to make the T-shirts out of rope. No one wants to wear a rope T-shirt.”
    â€œBut rope is cheaper than cotton,” I said. “I have to make a profit, don’t I?”
    Feenman shrugged. “We couldn’t even sell them to the third graders, Big B. I think you should give up.”
    â€œGive up?” I cried. I jumped to my feet. “Give up?How dare you use those words with me! Do I ever give up for you ?”
    They lowered their heads. “No, Bernie,” they both answered.
    Feenman made another grab for the toast. I jabbed him with my fork.
    â€œI never give up,” I said. “I do everything for you guys. I do the impossible for you guys—don’t I?”
    â€œYes, you do, Big B,” Belzer said. He turned to Feenman and Crench. “Who convinced the cook that a Milky Way bar is a vegetable ?”
    â€œBernie did,” they both answered.
    â€œAnd who convinced Headmaster Upchuck to make Game Boys a required school supply ?” Belzer asked.
    â€œBernie did.”
    â€œWho convinced Mrs. Heinie to give extra credit for putting your name at the top of your test?” Belzer asked.
    â€œBernie did!” Feenman and Crench replied.
    â€œDon’t forget wedgies,” I whispered to Belzer.
    â€œOh, right!” Belzer said. “Who got Coach Bunz to make Giving Wedgies a varsity sport?”

    â€œBernie did,” they answered. “Bernie did!”
    â€œYou’re the best , Big B!” Belzer cried.
    We all cheered and slapped high fives and did the secret Rotten House handshake.
    â€œSo get out there and sell those rope T-shirts,” I said.
    â€œSell, sell, sell!” Feenman and Crench shouted, pumping their fists in the air. And they hurried out the door.

Chapter 3
A C ROWD G ATHERS
    A few minutes later, I put on my school uniform and headed downstairs. I didn’t want to be late for my first class with Mrs. Heinie.
    I stopped in the front hall. From the back of the house I could hear screams and a sharp, stinging sound— slap slap slap .
    Just some guys having fun in the shower room. Slapping one another silly with wet towels.
    The Rotten School is a very old school. And we have a lot of wonderful, old traditions here. Wet-towel smacking is one of our favorites.
    I stepped back and listened….

    â€œOw!”
    â€œGood one, Zuckerman!”

    â€œOw!”
    â€œGood one, Klooper!”
    Hey, I love the sound of snapping towels. Know why? Because I rent out the towels.
    Guys don’t mind paying fifty cents a towel when they know they’re getting a good smack for their money.
    I stepped out the front door and down the steps. Then I started to jog across the Great Lawn to class.
    It was a sunny September day. The grass sparkled. The sky was cloudless and blue.
    My backpack bounced on my back. It was empty.
    Belzer was carrying all of my books