Free The Mystery of Mr. Nice by Bruce Hale Page A

He clapped a hand over his mouth.

    My lip twitched into a semi-smirk. I couldn't help it.
    "You think that's funny?" said Mr. Ratnose.
    "No, I think it's art," I said.
    My public agreed. I could tell because smothered laughter was turning their faces as purple as a grape-stomper's socks.
    Mr. Ratnose frowned. His ears quivered. "Well, I think it's awful," he said, grabbing my drawing. "It shows a lack of respect."
    Everybody's an art critic.
    Mr. Ratnose scribbled on his pink pad. He tore off the sheet and thrust it at me. Then he ripped my sketch in half.
    Ouch.
That hurt. But every great artist suffers insults in his time. I knew that future art lovers would recognize my genius.
    "Chet Gecko," said Mr. Ratnose, "go straight to the principal's office, and take this—this
thing.
" He pointed at my mangled artwork. "Mr. Zero will deal with you!"
    He stalked back to the front of the room, hairless tail dragging behind him.
    I sighed and got up to go. An artist's life is not an easy one. That's why I usually stick with detecting. People might make fun of my detective work, but they can't tear it up.

    As I walked down the aisle, a bird's voice chirped, "Mr. Ratnose, Chet's not taking the drawing with him."
    I glanced over at her. Cassandra the Stool Pigeon. It figured.
    I went back and picked up my drawing, then trudged out the door and down the hall.
    Some days are like that. They begin with a punch to the gut or a mud pie in the kisser. You figure when a day starts like that, things can't get much worse.
    But then, somehow or other, they do.

2. Ground Zero
    Visiting Principal Zero's office is about as much fun as going to a hungry shark's birthday party. You never know whether you're a guest or the dessert.

    Principal Zero and I had tangled in the past. He was the fattest of fat cats with the meanest of tempers. Big Fat Zero, the kids called him—but never to his face.
    Principal Zero was the kind of guy who would stuff your mouth full of tardy slips, then paddle your behind for mumbling. He liked art about as much as Mr. Ratnose did.
    I was doomed.
    As I approached the principal's office, my heart beat like a hyperactive octopus with a drum set. I wasn't nervous, exactly. I just liked having some skin left on my tuckus.

    His secretary, a crow named Maggie with a voice like sandpaper, sat polishing her beak at her desk. I stopped to talk.
    "Hey, brown eyes," I said. "How's tricks?"
    "Stuff the sweet talk," she said. "You're in trouble, or you wouldn't be here."
    "Right as rain," I said. Can't fool a secretary. "Is your boss in?"
    Maggie ruffled her feathers. "Just your luck; he is."
    I looked around the waiting room. Strange. Where a line of smart alecks usually sat waiting for justice, empty chairs greeted me.
    Principal Zero must have his punishment on speed dial,
I thought.
    "Go right in," said Maggie.
    That crazy octopus in my chest played another drum solo. This time, he did a rim shot on my stomach.
    I took a deep breath and stepped inside. Behind a broad black desk sat Principal Zero, the source of all discipline at Emerson Hicky Elementary. I knew I was about to get mine.
    Principal Zero's claws flexed, and his tail twitched. His wide smile was as full of poison as a cobra's toothbrush. "Yes?" he said.

    I laid my pink slip and torn drawing side by side on his desk. He looked from one to the other. I studied the desktop.

    "Nice artwork, Mr.... Gecko," he said.
    I looked up again.
    Principal Zero was giving himself a dignified tongue bath. "It has a wonderful sense of color, and the style is quite—how should I put this?—quite mature," he said.
    I blinked. He was serious.
    "Lovely use of dark and light," said Principal Zero. He picked up the pink slip. "Now, what seems to be the problem?"
    "Well, Mr. Ratnose didn't ... um ... like my drawing."
    "How strange," he said. "Perhaps his taste in art is not so refined. I'd love a piece like this for my collection. Could you bear to part with it?"
    That's