The Heinie Prize (2 page)

It was a hot, sunny day. The green grass gleamed under a clear blue sky. Birds twittered in the rotten apple trees.

My pals Feenman and Crench were walking across the Great Lawn with me. We had our cans of Foamy Root Beer raised high. And we were toasting one another and singing the Official Rotten School Song:

I have to admit it. Those tender words always bring tears to my eyes.

I'm Bernie Bridges, and I love my Rotten School. You probably go home every day after school. But our school is a boarding school, and we live here.

Why do I love it so much?

If
only
I weren't so modest, I'd tell you that I'm the KING here! I'd tell you that it's my PURE GENIUS that makes me the king.

Maybe you've heard other people say this about me. Of course, I'd
never
say it about myself.

“Rah rah Rotten School!”

We sang and slapped our root beer cans together. Feenman, Crench, and I love Foamy Root Beer. You know their slogan—“It's So Foamy, It Stays on Your Face for Hours!”

We tilted the cans to our mouths and took long drinks. Then we wiped the foam off our faces and did the Official Rotten School Burp.

Feenman holds the school record for the Three-Minute Burp. Is he proud of it? Does a weasel have feathers?

Crench is a talented burpsman, too. Every time
our teacher, Mrs. Heinie, turns her back, Crench lets out loud, disgusting belches—until the instant she turns around again.

So far, she hasn't caught him once.

Hey, my guys are
talented
!

“Rah rah Rotten School!”

I turned and saw that Feenman had a devilish look on his face. He shook his root beer can and sprayed foam down the front of Crench's school vest.

“Hey! Why'd you do that?” Crench screamed.

Feenman shrugged. “No reason.”

Crench shook his soda can and shot a spray at Feenman. But Feenman ducked, and I got a Foamy Root Beer shower.

“Whoa—!” I shook my soda and let Crench have it in the face.

In a few seconds all three of us were
soaked
. We were wrestling on the ground, licking the foam off one another.

“Dudes! Stop!” I shouted, wiping root beer foam from my hair.

I saw my archenemy walking toward us. That
spoiled, rich kid, Sherman Oaks. And what was that shiny thing he was carrying?

I jumped to my feet and hurried over to check it out.

And that's when all the fuss about the Heinie Prize began.

Sherman Oaks is tall and blond, has crinkly, blue eyes, and a stuck-up expression. Some guys told me he has a heart tattoo on his butt with the words I'M RICH.

But we don't know for sure. He doesn't shower with the rest of us after gym class. He pays a kid to shower for him.

I wiped foam off my face. My hair was sticky from the root beer, and my sneakers squished as I walked.

“What's Sherman carrying?” Crench asked.

“Looks like some kind of display case from a store,” I said.

“You think he's gonna put his
money
on display?” Feenman asked.

“Hey, dudes,” Sherman greeted us with a smile. He held the glass case in front of him with both hands.

“What's that?” I asked, pointing.

“It's a solid platinum display case,” he said. “My parents paid two thousand dollars for it. They buy me anything I want because they want me to like them.”

“But—what's it for?” I asked.

Sherman grinned. I had to shield my eyes from the bright glow of his teeth. “It's to display the Heinie Prize when I win it,” he said.

I stared at Feenman and Crench. “Huh? The Heinie Prize?”

Sherman nodded. “Mrs. Heinie awards a silver trophy every year to the Most Outstanding Fourth Grader.”

“Sherman, you'd better give me the case,” I said. “Mrs. Heinie is crazy about me! I've probably already won.”

Sherman tilted his perfect nose in the air and sneered at me. “Bernie,” he said, “she doesn't award
the Heinie Prize for being soaked in root beer. To win, you have to be both an outstanding
student
and an outstanding
citizen
.”

Feenman opened his mouth and let out a long Rotten School Burp.

“That was outstanding!” Crench said.

Sherman tilted his nose higher and sneered some more. “When I win the Heinie,” he said, “I'm going to display it in the front hall of the Student Center so everyone will be reminded that I'm not just filthy rich—I'm also fabulous!”

Sherman walked away, humming to himself.

My whole body started to shake. I started to pant like a dog. My teeth rattled. My lips flopped up and down.

Feenman grabbed me by the shoulders. “Bernie—what's wrong?” he cried.

“I…I've gotta win that prize,” I finally choked out. “I can't let Sherman Oaks win. I've gotta win the Heinie. I've gotta be Most Outstanding.”

Feenman and Crench stared at me. “But—how?” they cried.

Our dorm is called Rotten House. It's a run-down old house, but we love it.

My buddies and I chose the third floor. It's perfect for dropping water balloons out the window when kids walk by.

Anything for a laugh—right?

That's
not
Mrs. Heinie's slogan. She is our dorm mother, so she has to be serious. She spends her time snooping and spying on us, making sure we
don't
do anything for a laugh.

I climbed the creaky stairs to my room and found Mrs. H. stretched out on the floor beside my bed. “Mrs. Heinie? Are you okay?” I cried.

She rolled over to face me. “I'm doing an under-the-bed inspection in every room,” she said. “You'd be surprised at the things I find under beds.”

“Really? Like what?”

“Well, on the second floor, I found a
boy
under his bed. He'd been there for three days.”

“That's my friend Chipmunk,” I said. “You know how shy he is. He doesn't like to come out.”

She rolled over and pulled out a carton from under my bed. Inside was my secret stash of Nutty Nutty candy bars. I planned to sell them to the second graders for a dollar each.

“Aha!” she cried. “What have we here? Trying to hide something from me?”

“Yes,” I said. “I am.” I grabbed the carton from her hands. “Please, Mrs. H.—it's your birthday present. Please don't spoil the surprise.”

She squinted at me through her thick eyeglasses. “My birthday present?” She shook the box. “Sounds like candy bars to me,” she said.

She has an
awesome
ear!

I slid the box back under the bed. Then I helped her to her feet. “It's actually a
thank-you
present,” I
said. I flashed her my best, dimpled smile. The dimples in my cheeks always KILL!

“Thank you?” she said. “For what?”

I kept the awesome smile aimed at her. “I know I'm going to win the Heinie Prize,” I said. “I just want to tell you how honored I am.”

“You're joking, right?” she replied. She started for the door.

“No, wait. I want to show you something,” I said. I pulled her to the window. “See this windowsill, Mrs. H.? That's where the prize trophy will go.”

She rolled her eyes. “Dream on.”

“Do you think you could lend the Heinie trophy to me now?” I asked. “I want to get used to having it in my room.”

She stuck her finger down her throat and made a gagging sound.

“Is that a hint?” I said. “Are you trying to tell me I really
am
number one?”

“Bye, Bernie.” She lumbered from the room, shaking her head.

I patted the windowsill. I pictured the silver trophy glowing in the sunlight with my name engraved on
the front. Maybe one day I'd invite Sherman Oaks up for a quick glance at it.

“Yo, Big B!” A voice interrupted my daydream.

I spun around. “Belzer—what do you want?” I asked.

“I finished your homework, Bernie,” Belzer said. He set a stack of workbooks and binders down on my desk.

Belzer does my homework for me every night. He's a good kid. He knows I need time to plot and scheme for my guys here in Rotten House.
No way
I can fit homework into my busy schedule.

Belzer is a chubby, dumpy, schlumpy guy with floppy, red hair and a face full of freckles. He flashed me a crooked smile.

“I fed your parrot,” Belzer said.

I turned to smile at Lippy, my beautiful green and red parrot, on his perch beside my bed.

“I'll beak your eye out!”
he squawked.

“Ha-ha!” I laughed. “Isn't he cute? Who taught him to say those adorable things? Was it me?”

“Beak me!”
Lippy cried.

I shook my head. “He is the sweetest bird,” I said. “Belzer, did you walk my dog?”

My fat bulldog, Gassy, was sprawled on my bed, snoring away as usual.

“Yes, I gave him a good walk,” Belzer said. “You know, he has bad stomach problems. He stinks, Bernie. He really stinks.”

“Always walk in front of him,” I said. “Don't ever walk
behind
him.” I glanced toward my closet. “Hey,
my laundry bag is full,” I said. “Guess I'll go do my laundry.”

Belzer blocked my path. “No, please, Big B,” he said. “You know how much I
love
doing your laundry. Please—let
me
do it!”

“Well…if you insist,” I said. I shoved the bulging laundry bag into his arms.

Belzer is a good kid. It took a long time to train him. But it was worth it.

“Don't starch the shirts,” I said. “I want everything soft.
Soft
!”

“You got it,” Belzer said. He staggered to the door.

And Feenman stepped into the doorway. “You got a letter, Belzer,” Feenman said.

Belzer reached for the envelope and dropped the laundry bag on Feenman's foot. Feenman stumbled over it and fell to the floor. Gassy lowered his head from the bed and started to lick Feenman's hair.

Lippy squawked.

Belzer studied the envelope, moving his lips as he read. “Weird!” he said. “It's from my parents!”

Belzer's parents never write to him. The only letters he ever gets are from The Bald Man's Hair Club. No one knows
how
he got on their mailing list.

“Go ahead. Open it up,” I said. “It might be important.”

“Maybe they sent me money!” Belzer said.

“If they did,” I replied, “you can pay me what you owe me for letting you do my laundry.”

Belzer started to tear open the envelope. Little did I know that the letter would change my life FOREVER!