Calling All Birdbrains (5 page)

When I finally finished mopping, my hands were red and swelled up like balloons. I was hot and sweaty and not feeling in tip-top shape.

I trudged up the stairs to my room on the third floor. My good buddy Belzer was waiting for me. He had a big tray in his hands. “I figured you'd be tired, Big B,” he said. “So I brought you a small lunch from the Dining Hall.”

Good kid, Belzer.

I lifted the lid off the tray. Belzer had brought two hamburgers, two plates of fries, a chili dog, a bowl of
coleslaw, two pickles, two slices of pepperoni pizza, a bowl of tomato soup, a turkey club sandwich, a bowl of red and green grapes, and two thick shakes, one chocolate, one strawberry.

“Pretty light,” I said. “But no problem. I'll grab a snack later.”

“I put ketchup on each French fry,” Belzer said. “And I tasted each grape to make sure they were all sweet.”

“You're the man!” I said. I handed Lippy to him. “Put him into his cage and cover it with a heavy blanket. I never want to see him again.”

“Are you sure this is your parrot?” Belzer asked. “He looks like a bald eagle.”

I sighed. “Feenman and Crench rubbed the feathers off his head. And I think they rubbed all the good luck off, too.”

Belzer petted Lippy's bald head. Lippy bit his little finger off.

“The feathers will grow back,” Belzer said when
he finally stopped screaming.

“I can't wait around for feathers to grow,” I said. “Look how much bad luck he already brought me!” I waved my hand—and spilled the thick strawberry shake into my lap.

“See?
See
?” I cried. “And strawberry is my favorite! I can't
take
this!”

Belzer scrunched up his face till it looked like a closed fist. That's how you can tell when he's trying to think.

“Maybe Nurse Hanley knows a way to fix Lippy,” he said.

“Yes!” I cried. I jumped up excitedly—and spilled the rest of the food all over my shoes. “Yes! Nurse Hanley!”

I grabbed the bird around the neck and started to the door. I knew Nurse Hanley could help. Nurse Hanley is a genius!

I mean, when Belzer woke up one morning and couldn't walk, we were all terrified. But it was Nurse Hanley who instantly saw that his shoes were on backward.

And two weeks ago, Feenman cut his knee trying
to walk on the ceiling. Nurse Hanley did a brilliant job of bandaging it. It turned out she bandaged the
wrong leg
. But it didn't matter. By the time she finished, the bleeding had stopped, anyway.

Brilliant!

Her office door was closed. I gave it four or five hard knocks. “Nurse Hanley? Are you in there?”

Then I saw a little handwritten sign next to the door. My glasses were broken. I had to squint to read it:

I couldn't believe it.

More bad luck for me.

I stared at the bald bird in my hands.

What should I do now?

I walked across the Great Lawn, carrying Lippy back to the dorm. As I passed the statue of I. B. Rotten, I saw that spoiled rich kid Sherman Oaks. Why was he surrounded by a big bunch of kids?

As I walked closer, I saw that Sherman was showing off a new bike. “It has a 3-D navigation system,” Sherman told the crowd. “I just pedal, and it steers itself.”

A lot of kids were impressed.

“The bike has six cup holders,” Sherman said. “Is that cool, or what?”

I tried to hurry away, but Sherman spotted me. “Hey, Bernie—another you-know-what tournament tonight?”

“Sorry. Can't do it,” I said. “I promised Mrs. Heinie I'd help her with her knitting.”

No way
I could play cards with Sherman or anyone else. Not with Unlucky Lippy around. I'd lose big-time!

I trotted off, and a few steps later—
more
bad luck.

I ran into Angel Goodeboy.

Angel is blond and blue-eyed and apple-cheeked and sweet looking. He looks like he should have a halo over his head.

With his sweet smile and good manners, Mrs. Heinie, Headmaster Upchuck, and all the grownups think he's a perfect angel.

But I know the truth about Angel. He's NOT an angel—unless you spell Angel like this:
R-A-T
.

“What's up, Angel?” I asked.

He flashed me his dazzling, angelic smile. “I'm so
excited
, Bernie. My favorite cousin, Jolly Goodfellow, is coming to visit.”

Angel's smile faded. He squinted at Lippy. “Oh, my gosh and golly!” he exclaimed. “What happened to your lovely bird?”

I shrugged. “No big deal. He lost a few feathers.”

Angel patted my shoulder and smiled that blinding smile again. “Bernie, you're in luck. I can help repair Lippy.”

My mouth dropped open. “Repair him? How?”

“My parents keep birds at home,” Angel said. “They have twenty lovebirds. Oh, my gosh. Sometimes the cooing keeps me up all night.”

“That's too bad,” I said.

“All the Goodeboys love birds,” Angel said. “My cousin Bigboy Goodeboy keeps parakeets in his pockets.”

“Thanks for sharing that with me,” I said.

“Anyway,” Angel continued, “I have a very special jar of bird powder in my dorm room. I was going to bring it to my parents as a gift.”

I stared at him. “Bird powder? What does it do?”

“Oh, my gosh and golly. It makes feathers grow
back instantly,” Angel said. “I'll go get it for you, Bernie.”

Angel trotted off toward his dorm. “I hate to see a bird with a bald spot,” he said. “We don't want that poor thing to catch cold.”

I stood there and watched him run all the way. “What an angel that dude is,” I told myself. “Maybe I got him all wrong.”

I carried Lippy back to my room. “In a few minutes, you're going to be beautiful,” I said. “And you'll be my lucky bird again.”

He plopped some green gunk onto my shirt.

I laughed.

I set Lippy down onto his perch by the window. A few minutes later, Feenman and Crench shuffled in. Huge wads of pink bubble gum made their cheeks bulge.

Crench blew a big bubble and popped it with his
finger. The gum exploded over his face and stuck to his cheeks, his forehead, and his hair. It didn't seem to bother him. He just left it there.

Feenman handed me a small yellow jar. “Angel said to give this to you, Big B. What is it?”

I kissed the jar. “This is precious. Precious!” I said. “It's feather-growing powder. For Lippy.”

Crench made a grab for the jar. “Better try some on Feenman first,” he said. “You know. A test.”

“You're already a
featherbrain
!” Feenman said.

“Give it a rest,” I said. “This is serious. You want bad luck for the rest of your life? We've gotta fix this bird.”

I walked over to Lippy and opened the jar. I rubbed some of the yellow powder onto my fingers.

Feenman and Crench grew silent. The only sound in the room was the snapping and popping of their bubble gum.

Carefully…

Carefully…I started to rub the powder onto Lippy's bald head.

Would it work?

A sneeze exploded from my mouth and nose.

Powder flew up from the jar in a yellow cloud.

I sneezed again. A loud, wet, powerful sneeze.

“Oh,
no
!” I let out a cry as I realized I'd SNEEZED so hard, I sneezed some of Lippy's feathers right off him!

I sneezed again. Again.

Feenman sneezed.

Crench sneezed.

Feathers flew. Powder flew.

LIPPY sneezed!

Belzer stumbled into the room. “Yo. What's up?”

Belzer sneezed so hard, his pants fell down. He reached for his pants—and sneezed again.

I sneezed some more. Sneezed so hard, I couldn't breathe.

Lippy sneezed. More feathers went flying.

I turned away from him—and saw someone standing in the doorway watching us.

Angel Goodeboy.

He raised his hands to his round, pink cheeks. His blue eyes went wide. “Oh, my gosh and golly,” he said.

A grin spread over his angelic face. “Did I make a little mistake?” he asked. “Did I
accidentally
give you the jar of
sneezing powder
I got from a joke Web site?”

He pressed his hands to his cheeks. “Oh, my gosh and golly. My bad. My bad! How could I make such a horrid mistake?”

He turned and hurried away. I heard him laughing all the way down the stairs.

That proved it once and for all. Angel was no angel.

I sneezed again—and watched the rest of Lippy's feathers go sailing into the air. I looked up. It was
raining feathers
in the room!

“Unnnh…unnnnh…” Feenman wiped the snot off his face with Crench's shirtsleeve. “Bernie—that bird…he's totally BALD!”

Crench picked up Lippy and used him as a handkerchief.

“Put him down,” I muttered. “He's had a bad enough day, hasn't he? Why does he have to wipe your nose?”

I frowned at the limp, scrawny, naked bird and shook my head sadly. “You're bad luck,” I said. “Bad-Luck Lippy. You have to go. Or else I'll never have good luck again.”

Feenman and Crench both gasped. “He'll have to go? Do you mean it, Bernie?” Crench asked. “You're gonna get rid of him?”

I nodded. I had tears in my eyes. My stomach felt as tight as a knot. “We have no choice,” I whispered. “My poor pet parrot—he has to go.”

But…where?