Snarf Attack, Underfoodle, and the Secret of Life Read online

  Mr. Martin took a deep breath and sang: “Oh, the poor little daffodil wilting in the rain . . .”

  The entire class took a deep breath and sang: “La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

  Except me.

  I took a deep breath and sang, “Oh, the poor little daffodil wilting in the rain . . .”

  Everybody howled with laughter.

  Except Mr. Martin.

  “Go explain this to the principal,” he said to me.

  “Why me?” I asked. “I didn’t do anything.”

  He held up a piece of paper. It looked unfortunately familiar.

  When I got to the principal’s office, Orville was already there. I took the seat next to him directly across from the principal’s desk.

  The principal wasn’t looking at us. She was looking at one of our stupid signs and shaking her head. Then she looked at us.

  “Wilbur and Orville,” she said, still shaking her head.

  The principal DOES NOT know the name of every single kid in our school. But I’m embarrassed to admit that she DOES know our names. That’s because we’ve been in her office before.

  It’s also because she’s our mom. Lydia Riot is the name. Everyone calls her Ms. Riot. Except us, of course. We call her Mom.

  “I want to hear what happened in each of your classes,” she said.

  I told the “la, la, la” story. Mom’s eyes rolled. She did not laugh.

  Then it was Orville’s turn. “Well, Mrs. Pensky was giving us a spelling test,” Orville began. “After the first three words, she leaned over to Margaret Lew and whispered: ‘Do I have something on my chin?’ Margaret didn’t answer. She just looked at Mrs. Pensky’s chin. So, Mrs. Pensky gave the next four words. And then she got a handkerchief and wiped off her chin. After the next two words, she dug a mirror out of her purse and looked at herself. We only had one more word to go. But before Mrs. Pensky gave it to us, she shouted: ‘Why is everybody looking at my chin?’ Nobody answered. Everybody just looked at her chin. So, she sent me here.”

  Mom’s eyes rolled again. “And you two actually made money teaching these pranks to your fellow students?”

  “Nineteen dollars and fifty cents,” Orville said.

  Mom whistled. For a principal, she is a good whistler.

  “We want to put it in the bank,” I added.

  “That’s a good place to put money, but you’re not going to put this money there.”

  My heart started to sink. We weren’t going to catch a crook after all.

  Mom held out a coffee can.

  “No thanks,” said Orville. Perhaps he thought Mom was offering him coffee.

  For the third time, Mom’s eyes took a spin. (She really should go to an eye doctor about that.) “Boys, put all the money you earned in the can. You’re returning it.”

  We had to empty our brilliant, rich, jingly, fat pockets.

  I’ve got to tell you that the sound of your coins dropping into somebody else’s coffee can is the saddest thing in the whole world. Much sadder than a rainy old wilting daffodil.

  FIVE

  Who Said

  Errands

  Are Boring?

  Not only did we have to give back the money, but we also had to stay after school and clean the halls.

  When we were done, we went back to the principal’s office. Whenever we have to stay after school, the principal gives us a ride home.

  “I’m starved,” Orville said.

  “Well, put your stomach on hold,” Mom said as she locked the school doors. “We have to stop somewhere on the way home.”

  “Not an errand!” Orville complained.

  We hate errands.

  “I don’t want to hear any complaints.” Mom unlocked the car doors. “We’re stopping at the bank to make a deposit and that’s that.”

  Orville and I looked at each other. That magic word—bank—floated to our ears like a wish come true. We tried to keep the corners of our mouths from jumping up.

  At the bank, there was a long line. “This will only take two minutes,” Mom said.

  That was the most ridiculous exaggeration in the universe. Grown-ups say that an errand will take two minutes, and it really takes two centuries. But for once, Orville and I didn’t care.

  “Where’s the robber, Wilbur?” Orville whispered.

  As I looked around, it dawned on me that there might not be a bank robber here after all. A bank is certainly a good place for a bank robber to be. But what if the crook was at home right now, deciding to rob the bank tomorrow?

  I was about to talk to Orville about this when he grabbed my arm.

  “Don’t look now! I think I see him.”

  A chill raced up my spine.

  Orville raised one eyebrow and nodded in the direction of a man at the front of the line.

  I looked without looking as if I was looking—this is a special Riot Brother skill.

  The man had on a long dark coat with the collar turned up. Pulled low over his shifty eyes was a dark hat. On his hands were black gloves. Gloves to keep his fingerprints from getting all over the place.

  Nervously, the man kept glancing at the tellers and at the security guard who was asleep in a chair by the door.

  Orville was right!

  Riot Brother Rule #3

  If someone says, “Don’t look now!”

  make sure you look.

  “He’s waiting until it’s his turn,” Orville whispered. “Then he’ll go up to the teller and tell her it’s a stickup.”

  We watched breathlessly as the teller on the right gave money to a woman with a furry coat and a nose like a pickle. Pickle Nose put her money in her purse and started to leave.

  “Next!” called the teller.

  The crook started walking toward the teller. As he walked, he put his right hand in his pocket.

  “He’s reaching for his weapon!” Orville whispered.

  The next part seemed as though it was happening in slow motion. I remember glancing at poor Pickle Nose, wishing that she would walk a little faster so she wouldn’t be in the way. I remember thinking: well, at least she’s very skinny. If he shoots in her direction, he’ll probably miss.

  “Do something,” Orville hissed.

  The man was pulling a small black weapon out of his pocket.

  I couldn’t just stand there like a green bean. I had to take action. “Stop!” I yelled. “Thief!”

  The customers gasped. The tellers screamed. Pickle Nose dropped her purse. The security guard fell out of his chair. And the crook froze with his hands up.

  Except he wasn’t holding a weapon. He was holding his checkbook. He wasn’t a crook.

  The bank was completely silent. Although I wasn’t looking at my mom, I could tell that she was glaring at me. I didn’t know what to do.

  Then Pickle Nose picked up her purse, clutched it to her chest, and staggered toward the security guard. Everybody gasped.

  “She’s having a heart attack,” Orville cried. “We scared her to death!”

  She opened her purse and pulled out money. She slapped it into the hand of the security guard. “FINE!” she shouted angrily. “I’ll confess! The teller gave me five hundred dollar bills instead of five dollar bills.” She turned and glared at me. “How did you know, kid?”

  I looked at Orville. He grinned and sang, “La, la!”

  SIX

  Funderwear

  Everybody wanted to shake our hands. Except Pickle Nose.

  The bank manager didn’t give us a trophy, a medal, or a mountain of money. But the customers in the line let us cut to the front. And the teller gave us lollipops.

  “Let’s save them,” Orville said. “We can spray paint them gold and put them in our Riot Brothers’ Trophy Case.”

  “Not too shabby,” I replied. “But we don’t have a Riot Brothers’ Trophy Case.”

  Orville ate his.

  Two centuries later, we finally made it home. It was six o’clock.

  “We have three hours
until bedtime,” Orville said. “What should we do, Wilbur?”

  “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” Mom replied, even though her name isn’t Wilbur. “We’re going to have a nice evening. We’re going to eat dinner. Then you two are going to wash the dishes nicely and do your homework nicely.”

  I looked at Orville. Orville looked at me.

  “Who wants to have a nice evening?” I asked.

  “We’re not green beans!” Orville said.

  “We’re the Riot Brothers! We want our evenings to crackle with comedy, drip with danger, and explode with excitement.”

  Mom gave us a look. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  We didn’t want Mom to have a heart attack. So, we ate dinner, washed the dishes, and did our homework.

  “Bedtime,” Mom announced as we closed our books.

  “I’m not at all tired,” Orville said.

  “I’m never tired,” I said.

  It’s true. There is something about bedtime that makes me very awake.

  “Let’s play Underfoodle!” Orville whispered.

  We ran upstairs.

  Underfoodle is a game Orville invented when he was in kindergarten. We still play it because for a kindergartner Orville was very good at inventing games. It must run in the family. Here’s how you play.

  In exactly thirty seconds, you see how many underpants you can get on your head. At the same time, you try to pull underpants off your brother’s head. At the end, whoever has the most underwear on his head wins.

  “Go!” Orville shouted.

  “One, two, three . . .” We pulled out our dresser drawers. Socks and underwear and arms flew. I put on five before Orville tackled me and pulled two off.

  “You fink!” I screamed and yanked off two of his seven.

  He scooped up everything in his underwear drawer and jumped on his bed. “It’s snowing!” he yelled and threw socks and underwear in the air. Before I could get him, he put three more on.

  “Diaper head!” I said.

  Orville laughed so hard he snorted.

  I tackled him and he screamed.

  “What’s going on up there?” Mom’s voice drifted up the stairs.

  “BZZZ!” Orville shouted. “Time’s up!”

  We looked at the heaps of underwear on our heads and fell on the floor laughing.

  “Wait!” I sat up. A saying was coming to me. I like to make up sayings. Someday I plan to write them all down in a book that will inspire millions of people everywhere.

  Orville straightened the underwear hat on his head and took a sip of water from the glass by his bed.

  I cleared my throat. I said, “All you need is a butt to put underpants on your butt, but it takes a brain to put underpants on your head.”

  “Good one!” Orville said, with his mouth full of water. And then he snarfed.

  The End

  ONE

  You Never

  Know

  Here’s what I, Wilbur Riot, was doing when the surprise came in the mail. I was playing The Naked Mole-Rat Game with my brother, Orville.

  I invented this game when Orville and I were at a fancy restaurant where the food didn’t even look like food. The only thing we liked were the crackers that come in little packages. So I made up this game.

  “Orville,” I said. “Let’s see if we can eat our crackers in exactly forty-one bites.”

  “Okay, Wilbur!”

  For a third grader, my brother is sometimes actually reasonable.

  We nibbled and counted. And the more we nibbled, the more we cracked up. Orville kept looking cross-eyed so he could see his cracker. And when we got to the end, we were practically gnawing on our fingers.

  “You look like a naked mole rat!” I said with a mouth full of cracker crumbs.

  Orville laughed and blew his crumbs all over the fancy tablecloth.

  This is how the Naked Mole-Rat Game was born.

  But, Wilbur, what does any of this have to do with the mail, you ask?

  Well, Orville and I were playing the Naked Mole-Rat Game at the breakfast table on a cold Saturday in February. We were using toast instead of crackers. Orville had picked the number ninety-nine. We were on bite ninety-seven of ninety-nine and our cheeks hurt from laughing so hard. Then . . . Thwaap! A bundle of mail dropped through the slot.

  At first, we didn’t pay any attention to the mail. We were busy gobbling crumbs off our fingertips. “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine!” I said.

  “I won!” Orville yelled.

  “No, I won!”

  “I won!”

  “I won!”

  “I won!”

  Our mom lowered the newspaper she was reading and stared at us for some reason.

  “You both won!” she said, as if that made any sense.

  “Go get the mail,” I said to Orville. “Maybe there’s something good in it for us.”

  Orville ran to the front door, picked up the mail, and ran back to the table.

  “Must you run everywhere?” Mom asked.

  “Riot Brother Rule Number Four,” I recited. “Run, do not walk, whenever possible.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Orville whipped through the mail, handing me each letter after he looked at it.

  Here’s what was in the mail.

  1. No birthday invitations

  2. No coupons for free ice cream

  3. No gift packages from forgotten relatives

  4. No postcard from the President of the United States

  5. No ransom note from a kidnapper

  6. No offer to . . .

  “Wait!” I said. I felt a saying coming on. Sayings come to me naturally because, for a fifth grader, I am very wise.

  Orville sat down and listened politely.

  I cleared my throat. “Life is like the mail,” I said. “You can’t count on something exciting to come through the slot.”

  “Good one, Wilbur,” Orville said, hopping back up. “What do we do now?”

  “Riot Brother Rule Number One: Make something exciting happen every day.”

  “How about we write ourselves a letter?”

  “Not too shabby,” I said. “But it wouldn’t be a surprise. For something to be truly exciting, it has to be a surprise.”

  It was hard to think because our mom was being very noisy. She has a habit of talking.

  “Here’s a letter for old Mr. Hally,” she said. “He died over twelve years ago!”

  We weren’t even going to ask who Mr. Hally was, but she kept talking. “Mr. Hally was the man who owned the house before us.” She laughed. “This place was like a museum when we bought it, stuff piled from floor to ceiling. He was a crazy old squirrel.”

  As she talked, my brain-gears were spinning. “Orville,” I whispered. “What if old Mr. Hally left a treasure hidden somewhere in the house?”

  Orville’s eyes got huge. “Like bags of candy?”

  “Well, I was thinking more about gold or jewels.”

  “And what if we find it?”

  “That’s what we’re going to do today!” I whispered. “We’re going to find a hidden treasure!”

  “Bingo bongo!” Orville jumped up. Then he sat down. “But if we know we’re going to find a hidden treasure, how can it be a surprise?”

  For a moment, Orville had me. Then it came to me: “The surprise is that we don’t know where it’s hidden.”

  “Right!” said Orville. “Let’s do it!”

  TWO

  Have You Ever

  Tried Picking Up

  1,000 Paper

  Clips?

  “Let’s start in the basement!” We jumped up and ran to the basement door.

  “Stop!” Mom yelled. “It’s family cleanup time.”

  Our bodies froze on the top step. “NO!” we groaned.

  “Wilbur vacuums. Orville dusts. Start in the den. Don’t forget to pick up anything off the floor before you vacuum.”

  “But we have something important
to do!” I yelled back.

  “Clean up before you do it,” she said.

  Clean before? That didn’t make any sense. “You’re cruel!” I yelled.

  “No, I’m not,” she replied. “I’m Mom.” She actually laughed.

  Orville and I got all the cleaning junk and met in the den. “We have to hurry,” I said.

  Orville picked a penny off the floor. “See a penny, pick it up. All day long you’ll have good luck.” He put it in his pocket and looked at the mess. “I wish we were lucky enough to have one machine that could do all the work.”

  “I’ve got it!” I said. “Why don’t we invent an attachment to the vacuum that picks up stuff off the floor and another attachment that dusts furniture? We’ll finish our work three times faster.”

  “What will we call it?”

  “Excellent question!”

  We made a list.

  “I vote for Super Swift Stuff Lifter, Wilbur.”

  “Excellent choice,” I said. It happened to be my idea.

  We ran around the house collecting useful things.

  “Are you cleaning?” Mom asked as we whizzed past her.

  “YES!” we said.

  Here is what we collected.

  USEFUL THINGS

  1. Rubber bands

  2. Masking tape

  3. A hanger

  4. A rake

  First, we closed the door. Inventors do not need grown-ups looking in on them when they are inventing.

  We bent the hanger to look like an arm and stuck a dust cloth on the hand. We attached this to one side of the vacuum with rubber bands. While pushing the vacuum, the arm would swing to the side and dust passing furniture.

  Then we attached the rake to the front of the vacuum with masking tape. The rake would push items on the floor to keep them from getting sucked up in the vacuum.

  “Turn it on, Orville!” I said when we were ready.

  There was a knock on the door. “I haven’t been hearing any vacuuming. You’d better be cleaning!”