Horrid Henry and the Soccer Fiend (6 page)

She glowered at Ralph. “Pushing and shoving! Bad sportsmanship!” Her eyes swept over the class.

Horrid Henry sank lower in his seat.

Oops.

“And don’t get me started about the offsides penalties,” she snapped.

Horrid Henry sank even lower.

“There was only one person who deserves to be MVP,” she continued. “One person who observed the rules of the beautiful game. One person who has nothing to be ashamed of today.”

Horrid Henry’s heart leapt.
He
certainly had nothing to be ashamed of. “… One person who can truly be proud of his or her performance …”

Horrid Henry beamed with pride.

“And that person is—”

“Me!” screamed Moody Margaret. “Me!” screamed Aerobic Al.

“Me!” screamed Horrid Henry.

“—the referee,” said Miss Battle-Axe.

What?

Miss Battle-Axe…
MVP?

Miss Battle-Axe…
a soccer fiend?

“IT’s NOT FAIR!” screamed the class.

“IT’s NOT FAIR!” screamed Horrid Henry.

Horrid Henry stood in his bedroom up to his knees in clothes. The long sleeve stripy T-shirt came to his elbow. His pants stopped halfway down his legs. Henry sucked in his tummy as hard as he could. Still the zipper wouldn’t zip.

“Nothing fits!” he screamed, yanking off the shirt and hurling it across the room. “And my shoes hurt.”

“All right, Henry, calm down,” said Mom. “You’ve grown. We’ll go out this afternoon and get you some new clothes and shoes.”

“NOOOOOOO!” shrieked Henry. “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Horrid Henry hated shopping.

Correction: Horrid Henry loved shopping. He loved shopping for gigantic TVs, computer games, comics, toys, and candy. Yet for some reason Horrid Henry’s parents never wanted to go shopping for good stuff. Oh no. They shopped for vacuum bags. Toothpaste. Spinach. Socks. Why oh why did he have such horrible parents? When he was grown up he’d never set foot in a supermarket. He’d only shop for TVs, computer games, and chocolate.

But shopping for clothes was even worse than heaving his heavy bones around the Happy Shopper Supermarket. Nothing was more boring than being dragged around miles and miles and miles of shops, filled with disgusting clothes only a mutant would ever want to wear, and then standing in a little room while Mom made you try on icky scratchy things you wouldn’t be seen dead in if they were the last pair of pants on earth. It was horrible enough getting dressed once a day without doing it fifty times. Just thinking about trying on shirt after shirt after shirt made Horrid Henry want to scream.

“I’m not going shopping!” he howled, kicking the pile of clothes as viciously as he could. “And you can’t make me.”

“What’s all this yelling?” demanded Dad.

“Henry needs new pants,” said Mom grimly.

Dad went pale.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Mom. “Take a look at him.”

Dad looked at Henry. Henry scowled.

“They’re a
little
small, but not
that
bad,” said Dad.

“I can’t breathe in these pants!” shrieked Henry.

“That’s why we’re going shopping,” said Mom. “And
I’ll
take him.” Last time Dad had taken Henry shopping for socks and came back instead with three Hairy Hellhound CDs and a jumbo pack of Day-Glo slime.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Dad had said when Mom told him off.

“But why do
I
have to go?” said Henry. “I don’t want to waste my precious time shopping.”

“What about
my
precious time?” said Mom.

Henry scowled. Parents didn’t have precious time. They were there to serve their children. New pants should just magically appear, like clean clothes and packed lunches.

Mom’s face brightened. “Wait, I have an idea,” she beamed. She rushed out and came back with a large plastic bag. “Here,” she said, pulling out a pair of bright red pants, “try these on.”

Henry looked at them suspiciously.

“Where are they from?”

“Aunt Ruby dropped off some of Steve’s old clothes a few weeks ago. I’m sure we’ll find something that fits you.”

Horrid Henry stared at Mom. Had she gone gaga? Was she actually suggesting that he should wear his horrible cousin’s moldy old shirts and smelly pants? Just imagine, putting his arms into the same stinky sleeves that Stuckup Steve had slimed? Uggh!

“NO WAY!” screamed Henry, shuddering. “I’m not wearing Steve’s smelly old clothes. I’d catch rabies.”

“They’re practically brand new,” said Mom.

“I don’t care,” said Henry.

“But Henry,” said Perfect Peter. “I always wear
your
hand-me-downs.”

“So?” snarled Henry.

“I don’t mind wearing hand-medowns,” said Perfect Peter. “It saves so much money. You shouldn’t be so selfish, Henry.”

“Quite right, Peter,” said Mom, smiling. “At least
one
of my sons thinks about others.”

Horrid Henry pounced. He was a vampire sampling his supper.

“AAIIIEEEEEE!” squealed Peter.

“Stop that, Henry!” screamed Mom.

“Leave your brother alone!” screamed Dad.

Horrid Henry glared at Peter.

“Peter is a worm, Peter is a toad,” jeered Henry.

“Mom!” wailed Peter. “Henry said I was a worm. And a toad.”

“Don’t be horrid, Henry,” said Dad. “Or no TV for a week. You have three choices. Wear Steve’s old clothes. Wear your old clothes. Go shopping for new ones today.”

“Do we
have
to go today?” moaned Henry.

“Fine,” said Mom. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to go tomorrow,” wailed Henry. “My weekend will be ruined.”

Mom glared at Henry.

“Then we’ll go right now this minute.”

“NO!” screamed Horrid Henry.

“YES!” screamed Mom.

* * *

Several hours later, Mom and Henry walked into Mellow Mall. Mom already looked like she’d been crossing the Sahara desert without water for days. Serves her right for bringing me here, thought Horrid Henry, scowling, as he scuffed his feet.

“Can’t we go to Shop ’n’ Drop?” whined Henry. “Graham says they’ve got a win your weight in chocolate competition.”

“No,” said Mom, dragging Henry into Zippy’s Department Store. “We’re here to get you some new pants and shoes. Now hurry up, we don’t have all day.”