The Great Smelling Bee (7 page)

Mr. Buzz Off is our music teacher. Mr. Off works us really hard. He's really proud of the fourth-grade choir, and he wants us to be perfect.

He makes us sing the same song over and over. And he sings right along with us. The funny thing is, Mr. Off is a terrible singer. He can't carry a tune.

It's a school joke to say he sings a little
off
. Ha-ha.

Well, I didn't think Barry was Mr. Off's kind of singer. So I shuffled sideways into the music room, trying to hide Barry behind me.

But Barry didn't stay hidden. He walked out from between my legs.

“Ah, the new student!” Mr. Off said. “Welcome. Don't hide. I'm sure you have a lovely voice.”

Barry had soaked the front of his T-shirt with drool. But he managed to keep his cap on over his ears.

“Let's give you a tryout to see where you should sit,” Mr. Off told Barry.

Uh-oh. My heart started to do flip-flops. A tryout?

“He has a very sore throat, sir,” I said, stepping in front of Barry. “See? He can barely speak.”

Barry let out a soft wheeze.

“Well, let's try singing something simple, then,” Mr. Off said. He lowered his face to Barry. “Do you know the Overture to Beethoven's
Requiem
in D?”

“Yes. That's his favorite, sir,” I said, again trying to block the dog from view. “But his throat…I'm afraid it's strep, sir. He's been coughing all morning.”

“Bernie, give him a chance,” Mr. Off said. “I see he's very shy. But he needs to try out for our choir.”

I'm doomed,
I realized.
I'm busted. It's all over. I'll be out of here and home tomorrow night.

“Barry, let's first try something easy. Just sing along with me,” Mr. Off said. He opened his mouth, shut his eyes, and began belting out a blues song.

He sang at the top of his voice. And his singing was so bad—so
off
—that Barry started to howl.

Barry tilted his head back and howled and howled.

Mr. Off stopped singing. He stared at Barry.

This is the end
, I realized.
My final seconds in this school.

“Very bluesy,” Mr. Off told Barry. “You've got
soul!”

I started to breathe again.

“And you have a lovely tenor voice,” Mr. Off told Barry. “Go sit on the end over there. I'm going to make you
lead
tenor.”

Oh, wow. You
go
, dog!

Barry was a hit. His first morning—and he was our best French student
and
the lead tenor of our choir.

After school I walked Barry back to the dorm. Belzer followed along, carrying my books. I slapped him a high five.

“We've got it made!” I said. “Barry is the perfect Rotten School Student. Am I brilliant or am I just brilliant?”

“You're brilliant, Big B,” Belzer agreed.

A great day. I felt good all evening.

Until Mrs. Heinie came in at nine for the Good Night Handshake.

“Don't forget, guys. Tomorrow is school testing day,” she said. “So get plenty of sleep. Remember? It's a six-hour test.”

She turned and walked away.

I sat shivering in my bed. A six-hour test?

Barry licked my face. The poor guy didn't realize he was about to flunk out of school—and take me with him.

I woke up the next morning, heavy with gloom.

A six-hour test. The entire school was taking the annual Achievement test. No way Barry could pass. No way Barry could
sit
through it.

I stared down at him. The cute guy wagged his stubby tail and grinned at me. I patted his head. Then I pulled his cap over his ears.

I let out a long, sad sigh. “Let's go, boy,” I said. “Time for your first—and last—exam.”

The dining hall was already packed with kids when Barry and I walked in. All the classes were
taking the exam—second graders through eighth graders.

Barry and I took seats at a table near the back. Three teachers were passing out test booklets and pencils. I took Barry's test booklet for him and set it down on his desk.

I started to show him how to mark the little boxes on the answer sheet. But Barry snapped his teeth around the pencil and started chewing.

Hopeless. It was hopeless.

The bell rang. “Okay, Rotten Students,” one of the teachers said, “you may begin your exams. Good luck to you all.”

Yeah, good luck. I was going to need a lot more than good luck this morning. I gazed at Barry. He had a puddle of drool on his test booklet.

I opened it for him, shoved the pencil into his paw, and started his paw moving over the answers. Then I opened my test, lowered my head, and went to work.

The big room grew silent. I answered the questions on three or four pages without looking up. The test was pretty easy.

Down the table, I saw April-May June. She raised
her beautiful head. She sniffed the air with her perfect, turned-up nose. Then she let out a cry. “Ooh—what's that smell?”

Moans and groans and cries spread around the room.

“What STINKS? Something STINKS!”

“Eeeuuu! I can't stand it! What's that smell?”

“Rotten eggs? Dead fish? Burning rubber?”

“Ohhhhhh, help. I'm sick! It's making me SICK!”

Kids had tears running down their faces. Some were choking and gagging. The sound of loud vomiting echoed off the high ceiling.

Once again, Gassy was showing off his main talent.

And now the stampede was on.

Groaning and crying and holding their noses, kids pushed out the door. Test booklets flew to the floor as kids leaped up and fled from the Dining Hall.

In seconds, the big room was empty.

I couldn't stand the smell, either. I closed my test booklet and ran out the door. “Well,” I told myself, “that went well, didn't it!”

The next morning, Barry and I took our seats near the back of the class. I saw right away that Mrs. Heinie had a serious look on her face.

The bell rang. Mrs. Heinie raised her hands to get everyone quiet. “People. People, may I have your attention? Headmaster Upchuck will be here in a moment to talk about yesterday's exam.”

Uh-oh.

The exam really had turned into a SMELLING Bee! And it was all my fault. Mine and Barry's, I mean.

I started practicing my good-bye speech.

Next to me, Barry started panting really loudly. Then, before I could stop him, he jumped down from his chair. I made a grab for him, but he got away.

The dog's cap flew off, and he went running to Mrs. Heinie at the front of the class. “Barry—come back!” I called. “No—please!”

Too late.

Barry jumped up on Mrs. Heinie and wrapped his front paws around her leg.

“Get off me!” Mrs. Heinie screamed. She started twisting and kicking. Her glasses went flying.

Sherman jumped up from his seat. “He's a DOG!” Sherman cried. “He's not a boy. He's a DOG!”

“Get him OFF me!” Mrs. Heinie shrieked.

I flew to the front of the class and tried to pull Gassy off Mrs. Heinie's leg. That's when Headmaster Upchuck entered the room.

He let out a loud gasp. “What is going
on
here?” he demanded.

I pulled Gassy off Mrs. Heinie's leg and held the panting cutie tightly in both hands.

“You're looking very sharp today, sir,” I said to Headmaster Upchuck. “Now, what movie star do you remind me of? Is it Tom Cruise? I love that button-down shirt. They have such nice bargains in the kids' department, don't they!”

The headmaster ignored me. He stared at Gassy. “That's a dog,” he said. “What is a dog doing in the classroom?”

“It's Bernie's!” Sherman cried.

Mrs. Heinie rubbed her leg. “The new student is a dog, Headmaster Upchuck. Barry A. Bone is a dog!”

The Headmaster thought about it for a moment. Then a big smile spread over his face. “Pets are not allowed in school,” he said. “That means I get to kick Bernie Bridges out. I get to send Bernie Bridges home!”

He started to laugh. He tossed back his head and laughed till tears ran down his face. He did a little dance, his tiny shoes tapping the floor. “This is the happiest day of my life!” Headmaster Upchuck cried.

“But this isn't my dog!” I cried. “I can prove it!”

The Headmaster's smile vanished. “Not your dog?
Then whose is it?”

“I'll let you know in five minutes,” I said.

He scowled at me.

“Just give me five minutes, sir,” I said.

He nodded. “Okay. Five minutes. Your
last
five minutes in this school! I'll say good-bye to you in my office!” He turned and walked out.

Feenman hurried over to me. “Bernie, what are you doing?” he asked.

“I just thought of the grand prize for the raffle,” I told him. “It's Gassy! The winner gets Gassy.”

“But, Bernie—” Feenman started.

“Don't you see?” I said, putting my hand over his mouth. “The winner will own Gassy. That means Gassy won't be
my
pet any longer. So I won't get kicked out of school.”

“How can you give Gassy away?” Feenman asked. “You
love
that dog.”

“It'll all blow over,” I said. “Don't worry. I'll get him back.”

I ran to the front of the class. “Okay, everyone—get out your raffle tickets!” I said. “I'm going to draw the winning ticket now.”

I pulled the stubs from my backpack. Kids were pulling out their raffle tickets. Sherman was searching his backpack, looking for his tickets.

“Check your number, everyone,” I shouted. “The winner gets a beautiful bulldog! A bulldog of your very own!”

I picked the winning ticket stub. “Here is the grand prize winner,” I said. “It's ticket number 32489. Who has it? Check your tickets. Who wins the dog? Who has number 32489?”

Silence. No one answered.

“Dudes, come on,” I said, checking my watch. “Who has the winning ticket?”

“Bernie—check your pocket,” Belzer whispered.

My pocket? Oh, right.

I pulled out the ten tickets that had fallen out of Sherman's backpack. Now they were mine. And there it was right on top—ticket number 32489.

I stared at the ticket. I gulped. I blinked. “I—I won the dog,” I stammered. “
I'm
the…(sob)…lucky winner!”

The kids began to boo and hiss. They thought the raffle was a cheat.

Mrs. Heinie came running up to me. “Then the dog is yours, after all,” she said. She grabbed my arm. “Come with me, Bernie. I'm very sorry. But rules are rules. We'll all miss you here at the Rotten School.”