I didn’t have a chance to answer. I heard a thundering sound. The ground shook.
I spun around and saw a big creature bounding toward me across the grass. It didn’t take long to realize it was JENNIFER ECCH! And she had her arms outstretched, ready to grab me.
“Run!” Belzer screamed. “Bernie—run!”
Chapter 6
HONEY BUCKET HAS AN IDEA
My shoes pounded the grass as I took off, running full speed across the school grounds. I swerved hard to miss Joe Sweety, one of Sherman’s pals.
“Hey, Bernie—how’d that football taste?” he called. “Next time, put some mustard on it. It’ll go down easier!”
Ha-ha. I lowered my head and kept running.
I could hear Jennifer Ecch’s thundering footsteps close behind me. She was catching up fast. No way I could outrun her.
I call her Nightmare Girl. But that’s just being nice.
Jennifer is big and strong. Someone told me she lifts weights in her sleep! Yes, she’s big and strong and strange. And she’s totally in love with me.
How embarrassing is that?
I could see my dorm up ahead. Safety!
But Jennifer was too fast for me. I felt her hot breath on the back of my neck. Then I felt her powerful arms wrap around my waist.
I let out a helpless cry as she tackled me from behind.
I went down hard. I landed on my face. Then the rest of me hit the grass.
I didn’t see stars. I didn’t see anything. I wondered if I had grass stains on my teeth.
I felt a crushing weight on top of me.
When I opened my eyes, I was sprawled flat on my back and Jennifer was sitting on my chest. “Hi, Bernie,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“Everything’s great,” I gasped. “I’m sure I’ll start breathing again in a day or so.”
She had knitting needles in her hands and a puke-green sweater. “What are you doing?” I choked out. I heard some of my ribs cracking under her weight.
“I’m knitting you a sweater, Sweet Cakes,” Jennifer said.
“Please, please don’t call me Sweet Cakes,” I begged.
“Okay, Honey Bucket.”
I didn’t hear that. Oh, please—tell me I didn’t hear her call me that!
“I’m knitting a sweater for you in Ms. Monella’s Homemaker class,” Jennifer said. She poked me in the side with one of the knitting needles. “I need your help. I need to bring you to class and measure you.”
Yikes. Can you think of anything more embarrassing than that?
I must have blacked out for a moment. Jennifer kept talking and poking me with the needle. But her voice faded out. I couldn’t hear her.
Suddenly, I woke up. And an awesome idea popped into my head. “Jennifer—do it again!” I cried.
She stared down at me with her one blue eye and one brown eye. “Do what, Sweetie Lamb?”
“Tackle me,” I said. “Tackle me again!”
She climbed up and pulled me to my feet. I started to breathe again. It felt good. Breathing is good.
“You want me to tackle you again?” Jennifer asked, scratching her brown bangs with a knitting needle.
I nodded, turned, and took off. I ducked my head into the wind and ran full speed over the grass.
And once again, I heard Jennifer’s thundering hoofbeats close in on me. She tackled me hard from behind, and I hit the grass with a loud “Oooof!”
This time I did see stars.
Moaning, I climbed to my feet. “Do it again,” I said. “Tackle me again.”
This time, I didn’t run in a straight line. I zigged and zagged, cutting from one side to the other. But Jennifer brought me down in a hard tackle that buried me six inches in the dirt.
Now everything hurt. Every part of my body. Even my shirt hurt, and it isn’t part of me!
This is too dangerous, I decided.
“Belzer—get over here!” I shouted.
He came running. “What can I do for you, Big B?”
“Jennifer,” I said. “Tackle Belzer.”
Belzer’s eyes bulged in his pudgy, round face. He gulped—and took off running. But Belzer didn’t stand a chance. He was like a squawking chicken running from a hungry tiger.
Jennifer tackled him easily, pushed him facedown in the dirt, and held him there.
“Again!” I said.
Belzer took off. Jennifer creamed him.
“Again!” I ordered.
I watched Jennifer tackle Belzer again and again. I decided it was time to stop when Belzer couldn’t remember his own name.
“Good work!” I said, slapping Belzer on the back. “I’m putting you on the team as Tackling Dummy!”
“Hey! Do you mean it?” Belzer cried happily. “Wow! I made the team!”
Belzer wobbled off, staggering in crazy zigzags. He was still dazed. I watched him walk straight into Pooper’s Pond. Some kids had to fish him out.
I turned to Jennifer. “I’m a genius! You are going to turn the Apples into Killers!”
Jennifer closed her blue eye and squinted at me with the brown eye. “But, Honey Bucket—what about my sweater?”
I grinned at her. “Jennifer, when the Apples win the State Championship, I’ll let you knit me TEN sweaters!”
Chapter 7
ADVICE FROM COACH BUNZ
I was excited. I knew I had a secret weapon that would turn our football team into champions. The next afternoon, I hurried to the gym to tell Coach Bunz about it.
I found him at the sink in the locker room. He was dipping silver whistles one by one into the water.
He greeted me with a nod. “I like to wet my whistle.”
Did that make any sense? I don’t think so.
“Preparation,” Coach Bunz said. “That’s the key, Bernie. Always be prepared. Don’t put your underwear on backwards, and keep your whistle wet.”
“I’ll remember that, Coach,” I said. “Words of wisdom.”
“Always give it a hundred and ten percent,” Coach Bunz said. “Know what I’m saying? If you don’t come to play, how do you expect to play?” He dipped another whistle into the sink.
“Good thinking, sir,” I said. “I’m going to write this advice down as soon as I get back to my room. But I want to tell you—”
“Take it one game at a time,” he said. “And focus. Remember to focus.” He took the whistle out of the sink and blew it. It sent up a spray of water.
“Bernie, keep your head down,” he said. “Remember to keep your feet moving and bend your knees.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I’ll pass that along to the guys. But I really want to tell you—”
“What’s your angle, Bernie?” His big belly turned away from the sink. A few seconds later, he turned away from the sink. “I’m very surprised you like to play football.”
“Surprised, sir?”
He nodded. “I know you pay Belzer to go to gym class in your place,” he said.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Belzer goes gladly, sir. I don’t have to pay. Maybe only a few dollars. He wants to be a gym teacher like you. It’s his dream to wear a sweaty sweatshirt and a whistle.”
“Level with me, Bridges,” Coach Bunz said. “Why do you want to play football? Why are you on this team?”
No way I could tell him the truth.
I tried out for the football team because I wanted to grind Sherman Oaks into the mud. What better reason could there be?
There he was, winning soccer game after soccer game. Sherman was so stuck-up now, he had the word SUPERSTAR stenciled on his butt! The cheerleaders were going nuts for him. The whole school was talking about him.
Could Bernie B. stand for that? Of course not.
That’s why I signed up to lead the football team. But I couldn’t tell Coach Bunz that.
“I’m only interested in winning for my school, sir,” I said. “I live for football! Rah rah rah!”
“Good answer,” Coach Bunz said. “But what’s yo
ur angle, Bridges? Don’t you want to sell popcorn and souvenirs and cash in on the team?”
I gasped. “Sell popcorn? Souvenirs? Cash in? Me, sir? That’s not like me at all.”
Good idea, I thought. We’ll get to work on that tonight!
“I want to tell you my new plan, sir,” I started to say.
“Keep your shoulder pads down,” the coach said. “And hold on to the ball. Ball control. Let them know you’ve come to play. But don’t run into the pile. Follow your blocking, Bernie.”
“Okay, sir, but—”
He blew another whistle. It sprayed water in his face.
“These whistles are ruined,” he muttered. “They don’t work at all.” He tossed them in the trash and stomped away.
Chapter 8
A GREAT PEP TALK
Game time Saturday afternoon. I watched the Ben Franklin Prep School Cannibals come piling out of their school bus. They looked big and mean.
It was easy to see how psyched they were for the game. They were biting one another!
A grin spread over my handsome face. No problem, I told myself. I have a secret weapon. They may arrive here as Cannibals, but they’re going home as Clowns!
In the locker room, my teammates were getting suited up for the game. Crench was trying to pull his shoulder pads up over his legs.
“What’s wrong with you?” I demanded. The poor guy was so scared, he was trembling.
“Bernie, did you see their team?” he asked, grabbing my arm. “These guys are tough, Bernie. They’re in fourth grade, right? But they’ve all got mustaches!”
“No problem,” I said.
“Look at their warm-up exercises,” Feenman said. “They throw each other over the goalposts!”
“No problem,” I said.
“Hey, look who’s in the locker room,” Crench said, pointing. “It’s Headmaster Upchuck!”
“Problem,” I said.
Headmaster Upchuck never visits our locker room. He doesn’t like kids. He thinks we smell bad. And we make him tense. So he usually hides all day in his office.
He’s a very short, little man. He’s shorter than a lot of the fourth graders.
His head is bald and kinda shaped like a football. No matter what is happening, he always wears the same baggy gray suit. We think it’s glued on.
What did he want?
Our cleats clanked on the floor as we all lined up to greet him. “You’re looking good, sir,” I said cheerfully. “That gray color really looks good on you. It matches your skin.”
He started to tremble. He always shakes a lot when he sees me coming. “Bernie, please—” he said.
“I like that suit,” I said. “You know, I’ve seen that suit on TV!”
“Really?” the Headmaster said.
“It was on a ventriloquist’s dummy,” I said. “But it looks much better on you, sir!”
“Bernie, step back and let the Headmaster speak,” Coach Bunz said. He bumped me out of the way with his stomach.
Coach Bunz turned to my teammates. “The Headmaster has made a special surprise visit to our locker room to speak to you boys,” he said. He slid his hands under the Headmaster’s armpits and lifted him off the floor so we could all see him.
“That won’t be necessary,” Upchuck said. “Put me down.”
Back on the floor, Upchuck cleared his throat loudly. “I’ve come to give you Fighting Apples a pep talk!” he said in his high, shrill voice.
“I know that you players have greatness hidden somewhere deep inside you!” Upchuck said. “I’m so proud of you boys. You may play like pitiful losers. But I know that deep inside…you’re uh…something something. Yada yada yada.”
He stopped. We stared at him in silence, waiting for him to continue the pep talk.
“That’s it,” Upchuck said. “That’s my pep talk. Go out there, boys, and do your best not to embarrass the school like total jerks!”
“Great pep talk!” Coach Bunz said. “Let’s hear it for Headmaster Upchuck!”
We all cheered and clapped.
The Headmaster turned to Coach Bunz. “Who is the captain of this team?” he asked.
“Bernie Bridges,” Coach Bunz replied.
The Headmaster’s face went white as flour. His lips trembled. “Oh. Forget the whole thing!” he cried.
He turned and stomped out of the locker room. His tiny shoes didn’t make a sound.
I guess Headmaster Upchuck didn’t have any faith in me. But I didn’t care.
I knew that everyone was in for a BIG surprise.
Chapter 9
THE SECRET WEAPON
The first half of our game against the Ben Franklin Cannibals was a tremendous victory for my team. We were only losing 45 to 6.
Feenman and Crench dropped about thirty passes—even with their helmets turned the right way. “What’s wrong with my passes?” I asked them.
“Bernie,” Feenman said, “you keep hitting me in the hands!”
And our best running back—Mason Dixon—ran the wrong way twice and scored two touchdowns for the other team.
“Good game, guys! Good game!” I shouted as they carried me off the field on their shoulders for halftime.
I wasn’t worried. I knew my secret weapon was ready to go.
When the second half started, I brought her out.
You should have heard the shouts and cries of disbelief as Jennifer Ecch came trotting onto the field, her helmet perched on her head. Her big cleats kicked up clouds of dust as she ran.
“A GIRL? A girl can’t play!” one of the Cannibals shouted.
“Is this a joke?” another Cannibal cried.
“Get her off the field! NO GIRLS!”
The Cannibals were going nuts. I knew why they were upset. Jennifer was bigger than anyone on the field. Bigger and wider and stronger.
She and I had practiced a Mean Face expression. We’d practiced it in front of a mirror for hours. I told her she had to use the Mean Face. It was part of the game.
Now she turned and gave the Cannibals the Mean Face. Brown eye up, blue eye down, teeth bared in a nasty, furious dog snarl.
Scary!
It scared me—and I knew she was on my side! And now I could see the looks of fear in the eyes of the Cannibals.
And I knew what they were thinking: Her HEAD was bigger than the football!
“No girls! No girls! No girls!” they all started to chant.
“Give her a chance! Give her a chance! Give her a chance!” I started a cheer with my team.
On the sidelines, I saw Coach Bunz shaking his head. This was a surprise to him, too.
Jennifer snarled at the other team. “Where do I stand, Honey Cakes?” she asked.
“Don’t call me Honey Cakes!” I screamed. “You don’t say the words ‘Honey Cakes’ on a football field.”
The whistle blew. The game was starting. The Cannibals had the ball.
“Here. Stand over here.” I tugged Jennifer into place.
She hugged me. “This is so exciting!” she cried.
I could hear a lot of guys laughing at me.
“No hugging,” I said, pushing her back. “I told you to read the rule book. No hugging. It says that on page four.”
The linemen locked into place. The play was about to begin.
“Jennifer, face the front!” I shouted. “You’re looking the wrong way.”
“Sorry, Honey Breath. I was looking at you.”
Oh, wow. Maybe this was a big mistake. I crossed all my fingers.
“Get ready,” I told her. “You’re the middle linebacker.”
She blinked. “What does that mean?”
“Tackle anything that moves!” I cried.
Chapter 10
ATTACK OF THE ECCH
The play started. The Cannibal runner came crashing toward us.
I started to move—and Jennifer tackled ME!
I hit the ground hard. She landed on top of me. The Cannibal runner shot right past us.
r /> “How did I do?” Jennifer asked, pulling me to my feet.
I groaned. “You got it wrong!” I cried. “The other team! You tackle someone from the other team!”
“Why didn’t you say so?” She gave me a shove that sent me toppling into Crench.
“Your girlfriend has some problems with the rules,” Crench said.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I said. “And she’s going to be an awesome football player.”
“Sweet Cakes, tell me where to stand again!” Jennifer shouted, loud enough for everyone on the field to hear.
I lined her up. “Now remember,” I said. “Tackle someone from the other team.”
“I get it.” She leaned forward and pawed the ground, eager for the play to start.
Another running play. The Cannibal fullback came bursting toward us with his helmet lowered.
“YAAAAAII!” Jennifer let out a terrifying battle cry. Then she tackled him. She tackled him so hard, she buried him two feet in the ground.
The two officials signaled frantically to the coaches. They came running onto the field carrying shovels. And they dug the Cannibal runner out of the ground.
“Was that good?” Jennifer asked.
“Not bad,” I said.
The next Cannibal play was a pass play. The receiver caught the ball. But Jennifer was there. She tackled him so hard, we could all hear his teeth rattle.
The ball fell loose. Jennifer picked it up and turned to me. “Which way do I go?”
I pointed.
She took off. She ran right over several players and both officials. She left big footprints on their backs! She ran for a touchdown—and kept running.
“Stop! Stop!” We all ran after her. “Jennifer—stop!”
She was halfway across the Great Lawn, almost to Pooper’s Pond. What did she plan to do? Slam-dunk the ball in the water?
Feenman and Crench pulled her back on the field.
“Jennifer—you scored a touchdown!” I told her.
She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and grinned. “I’m starting to like this game,” she said.