Battle of the Dum Diddys by R.L. Stine Read Free Book Online

surrender!”
    â€œYou win!”
    The boys’ cries couldn’t stop the battle. Act Two of the pageant was about to begin! And it was going to be a slaughter .
    â€œBelzer, quick!” I said, pulling him aside. “Go get the Nutty Nutty Bars.”
    He squinted at me. “Bernie, you’re still trying to cash in? You’re gonna sell candy bars during the battle?”
    â€œNo way,” I said. “I need something to eat while I watch you fight!”

LIGHTING UP THE DIMPLES
    I hurried down the empty hall and stopped at a door at the end. I read the words on the window: ROTTEN EGG .
    That’s the name of our school yearbook. The Rotten Egg . How did it get that name? Who knows? Maybe they just couldn’t think of a better one.
    I pushed open the door and looked around for the editor. He’s a tall, skinny, redheaded sixth grader named Leif Blower.
    Blower is really into the yearbook. He has a tiny silver egg stuck through one earlobe. And he wearsa green-and-yellow cap that says: ASK ME ABOUT ROTTEN EGGS .
    â€œYo, Blower! What’s up?” I knew he had to be there. He never went to class. He just stayed in the Rotten Egg office all day and worked on the yearbook.
    Blower had his face buried in a stack of photos on the table in front of him.
    He kept shaking his head. “I can’t decide,” he said. “Bernie, maybe you can help me.”
    I hurried across the room. “What’s the problem?”
    He held up three photos. I squinted at them. I saw a window with gray curtains.
    â€œWhich photo of Headmaster Upchuck do you like best?” Blower asked.
    I squinted at them again. “I don’t see Headmaster Upchuck,” I said. “I just see a window.”
    He frowned. “That’s the problem. Upchuck is too short. His head didn’t come up to the camera lens. I only got the window behind his desk.”
    â€œMaybe you should have lowered the camera a little,” I said.
    Blower scratched his red hair. “Maybe.”
    I took the photos from his hands and set themdown on the table. “Can we talk?” I said. “I know you’ve been thinking about my yearbook photo. I’m here to help. I’d like a blue sky in the background. With just a few puffy clouds. Think you can handle that?”
    Blower didn’t answer. He stared blankly at me.
    â€œI need backlighting,” I said. “You know. To capture the silky glow of my hair. I’m not sure which is my best side. You’ll have to shoot me from both sides. Then we can decide later—okay?”
    He stared at me blankly.
    â€œOr maybe we should do a straight face shot,” I said. “I mean, we need to show off both of my dimples. Everyone says I have killer dimples. Shall we work out special lighting for that? Perhaps a light for each dimple?”
    He blinked several times. “Sorry, Bernie,” he said. “I didn’t hear a word you said.”
    â€œBut my photo—” I started.
    He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve got something much more important to think about, Bernie.”
    More important than my yearbook picture?
    What could that be ?

“ACK. ACK. ACK.”
    Blower picked up a bottle from the table and took a long drink from it. He made a face. “This root beer tastes funny.”
    â€œIt isn’t root beer,” I told him. I took the bottle and read the label. “India Black Ink.”
    â€œACK. ACK. ACK.” Blower grabbed his throat and started hacking and coughing and sputtering.
    â€œYou should probably see the nurse,” I said. “You’re gonna scare people with that black tongue.”
    â€œACK. ACK. ACK.”
    I picked up the root beer bottle—next to thebottle of ink—and took a slurp. “But before you go,” I said, “can we talk about my photo?”
    â€œACK. ACK. ACK.”
    He “ ack ed” for another five or six minutes. Then he