Young Scrooge by R. L. Stine Read Free Book Online Page B

top of my right sneaker.
    â€œWhooooa.” I let out a howl of pain.
    â€œ That’s funny!” Prescott exclaimed. He slammed his heel down hard again on the same spot.
    â€œI see … what … you’re doing,” I choked out as pain shot up my leg, up my entire body. “You’re … giving me … a dance lesson.”
    The pain was unbearable. I shut my eyes and started to dance.

 
    13
    Mr. Dulwich was tall and skinny as a spaghetti noodle. He had straight black hair parted in the middle of his head. And he wore round eyeglasses perched on the end of his long nose.
    His shirt collar was stiff and stuck out like wings. It wasn’t even attached to his starched white shirt. A black string tie hung down from his neck. His suit was black. The jacket was tight against his waist, and the pants were baggy.
    I’m not the one dressed like a clown , I thought. Put a red nose on Mr. Dulwich and he could perform in any circus.
    He greeted me with a short hello. Then, with a wave of his hand, he sent me to an empty desk-chair at the back of the room. I had to squeeze into it. The chair was pretty small.
    I turned and saw the blond girl from the hall sitting next to me. She had awesome blue-gray eyes and a few freckles on her cheeks. She didn’t say hello or anything. She was busy arranging black pencils in a wooden pencil box.
    â€œHey,” I said. “How’s it going?”
    She finally looked at me. “How’s what going?” she asked.
    I flashed her my best smile. “How you doing?”
    â€œHow am I doing what ?” she demanded.
    â€œJust saying hi,” I said. “What’s your name?”
    She tossed back her hair. “Emily-Ann. May I ask a question? Why are you wearing such funny clothes?”
    â€œBecause I come from the future,” I said.
    She laughed and turned back to her pencil box.
    â€œWe have a new student, class,” Mr. Dulwich announced. He stood at the front of the room, leaning on an enormous globe of the world. “Stand up and introduce yourself,” he said, motioning to me with both hands.
    It took a struggle to climb up from the little desk-chair. “I … I’m Rick Scroogeman,” I said.
    â€œRick Stoogeman ,” I heard a boy in the front row say. I recognized him. Prescott.
    Most everyone laughed. Then they began to chant. “Stoogeman! Stoogeman! Stoogeman!”
    Dulwich raised both hands to get them quiet. “And where do you come from, Rick?” he asked.
    â€œRockford,” I said. “It’s a little town in Illinois.”
    He squinted at me. “Indian country? You come to us from Indian country?”
    â€œThat’s why he’s wearing moccasins!” Benjamin chimed in.
    â€œHe’s an Indian from the Stoogeman tribe!” Prescott declared.
    And they started to chant again. “Stoogeman! Stoogeman! Stoogeman!”
    How annoying is that?
    Next to me, Emily-Ann was chanting louder than anyone and laughing. Enjoying it too much.
    On an impulse, I grabbed the back of her hair and gave it a tug. You know. Playful. Not too hard.
    Her eyes went wide in surprise. Then she opened the lid to her desk, pulled out a small black bottle, and emptied it over my head.
    It didn’t take me long to realize it was black ink. It oozed down my hair and down both sides of my face.
    That stopped the chanting. Everyone turned to stare.
    Mr. Dulwich came striding down the aisle and stopped in front of Emily-Ann’s desk. “That is no way to greet a new student,” he scolded her.
    â€œBut it was an accident!” she cried. “My hand slipped, sir.”
    A lot of kids laughed.
    I felt like a total jerk, sitting there with black ink running down my hair and face. But I was impressed with Emily-Ann. She was a good liar, maybe as good as me.
    â€œMr. Scroogeman, you will find some towels in the housekeeping cupboard,” Dulwich said.