Fart Squad

  Dedication

  To gassy folks everywhere.

  —S.P.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Excerpt from Fart Squad: Fartasaurus Rex

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  Darren Stonkadopolis was determined to make it to the end of the school year without getting into any more trouble.

  He was the kind of kid who was always running when he should be walking, squirming when he should be sitting, and talking sports when he should be listening in math. His hair was always a mess and his jeans almost instantly wore out. People thought he had a twin because he often seemed to be in two places at once. His mom liked to say that he had “energy to burn,” while his teachers thought he was trouble. He seemed to spend as much time in the principal’s office as in class, and every time Miss Priscilly sent him to see Principal Dingleberry, it brought him closer to spending the summer at Harry Buttz Elementary School’s “special” summer program, which would mean missing out on sports camp with his best friend, Andy.

  So Darren was really trying his best to behave. Even though his stomach was growling. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast—and that was almost three hours ago. . . .

  “Slow down!” Andy called out as they dashed down the stairs ahead of their class. A thick pair of glasses bounced atop his nose. He was smaller and skinnier than Darren even though he was only two days younger than his best friend. “Your lunch isn’t going anywhere!”

  “Except my stomach!” Darren said. He’d worked up an appetite in gym class and couldn’t wait to get back to their classroom, where their lunches were stashed on a shelf in the coat closet. “I’m starving. Stuck-in-the-desert, eat-your-own-leg starving!”

  Darren expected that he and Andy would be the first ones back to the classroom, so he was surprised to find two kids, Bertha and Oscar Scroggy, rummaging around in the coat closet—where they didn’t belong.

  Bertha and Oscar were brother and sister. Everyone called them B.O.—in part because they were inseparable and in part because they were allergic to bathing. Darren recognized their smell before he even saw their faces.

  “Hey!” he challenged them. “What are you doing here?”

  The twins wheeled about as though surprised by the interruption. “None of your business, squirt,” Bertha said with her mouth full. “Get lost.”

  “Yeah,” Oscar snarled. “What she said.”

  The twins were the biggest bullies in school, in more ways than one. They had been held back so many times they were practically teenagers, and they weren’t above using their size advantage to terrorize everybody else. Most kids tried to stay out of their way.

  But Darren didn’t back down. “This is our classroom, not yours.”

  Andy looked at Darren like he was crazy, but stood by his friend. “Um, maybe you took a wrong turn?”

  “Oh, yeah?” Bertha said, ignoring Andy. She and Oscar stomped toward the boys, clenching their fists. “You got a problem with that?”

  Darren realized he might have rushed into things a little too fast . . . again. He felt bad about dragging Andy into this mess as well. One of these days he really needed to learn to control himself. . . .

  He braced for some serious wedgy action—or worse—but was saved by the sound of the rest of their class catching up to them.

  Bertha and Oscar scowled at the interruption. “Ah, this place is for babies anyway,” Bertha muttered. She shoved her way past Darren and Andy and headed out into the hall. “C’mon, bro. We’ve got better places to be.”

  Oscar followed her out the door. “Later, losers.”

  Andy let out a sigh of relief. “Whew, that was a close one. What do you think they were doing here in the first place?”

  “Nothing good,” Darren guessed, but he was too hungry to worry about that now. His stomach was growling so loudly he could barely hear his own thoughts. He hurried over to the coatroom—but all that was there for him was a horrible discovery. “My lunch! It’s missing!”

  “Are you sure?” Andy helped him search the closet, even as the other kids arrived to claim their own lunch boxes and bag lunches. “Maybe you just misplaced it?”

  “No!” Darren insisted. “I put it in the same place every day, right here on the shelf. You know I don’t fool around when it comes to my lunch, especially on a day like today—pickles-and-sauerkraut sandwich—my favorite.”

  “The B.O. twins must have swiped it,” Andy guessed. “Bertha had her mouth full, after all, and Oscar’s pockets were bulging.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past them,” Darren said, but he was too hungry to worry about that now. “Must . . . have . . . food,” he grunted. His legs felt like overcooked spaghetti, and his brain was foggy. “Get me to the cafeteria.”

  The hike to the cafeteria felt a zillion miles long. By the time they got there, most of their friends were already eating. Darren scrounged up some leftovers: an apple slice that was already turning brown, a pizza crust with teeth marks around the edge, and crumbs from the bottom of a crumpled bag of potato chips.

  It wasn’t enough. His body needed to refuel, and there was only one thing left to do.

  “I’m gonna have to buy lunch.”

  Horrified gasps erupted around the table.

  “You can’t be serious!” Andy said. “Everybody knows that cafeteria food is roadkill.”

  “But I’m starving!” Darren insisted as he licked the last crumbs out of the bag of chips. “I’ve got no choice.”

  “Don’t do it, man!” Andy pleaded. “Zero food is better than lunch-lady food!”

  “I don’t have a choice!” Darren said. He picked up a tray and headed for the counter. “Wish me luck. I’m going in!”

  Andy shook his head. “He’s a dead man.”

  “Who? Darren?” Bootsie Brown arrived on the scene, sticking her nose in. Bootsie was the biggest snoop in school. She could smell another kid in trouble from two classrooms away. Her eyes zeroed in on Darren. “Okay, this I have to see!”

  His friend’s warnings rang in his ears as Darren got in the lunch line. To his horror, by the time he got his tray, all that was left was the infamous Five-Bean Burritos, the most dreaded of all the school lunches. A few of the specials, like the spaghetti or meat loaf, were at least semi-edible, but nobody in their right mind ever ate the burritos. Terrifying tales were told of what had happened to the last poor soul who had eaten them.

  He eyed the burritos nervously. They looked as greasy and unappetizing as ever. Maybe even a little more so. But what could he do? Darren had run out of options. The horror stories had to just be rumors. How bad could they really be?

  He piled a stack of greasy burritos onto his tray and carried them back to the table. A crowd of kids, including the B.O. twins, gathered around to watch.

  “Bet you some nerd’s lunch money that he throws up,” Bertha said.

  “You’re on, sis,” Oscar said, chortling. His breath smelled suspiciously of pickles and sauerkraut, but Darren had more immediate concerns at the moment.

  More kids joined the bet. The smart money was on some serious puking . . . or worse.

  “You know, the last kid who ate those had the runs for a month,” Bootsie said. “It’s true. I heard it from my cousin, who heard about it from a kid who knew a kid who used to go to this school. . . .”

&nbs
p; “Nah,” Andy insisted. “I heard that a kid barfed so much that they had to bring in fire hoses to clean up the cafeteria afterward!”

  Darren turned and gave the B.O. twins a dirty look. If anything like that went wrong, he’d have them to blame.

  “Here goes nothing,” he said.

  The crowd gasped in amazement as he wolfed down the burritos in record time. They were crunchier than he had expected, with an odd flavor he couldn’t place. So he doused them with Tabasco sauce and cleaned off his whole plate. There was absolutely no puking involved. Lunch money exchanged hands.

  “I don’t believe it,” Bootsie said.

  “Me either,” Andy said. “You must have been really hungry!”

  Darren spotted a few other worried-looking kids daring to eat today’s “special.” He wondered if their lunches had gone missing, too. He was gobbling down the last burrito when the bell rang. He patted his stomach, feeling full at last.

  But then on the way back to his homeroom, he felt an uncomfortable pressure start to build. By the time he was back at his desk, an embarrassing eruption seemed inevitable. Half-digested burritos churned angrily, filling his gut with toxic gas. He clenched his butt to hold it in, but the pressure kept building.

  This was bad. Darren squirmed uncomfortably, hoping nobody would notice.

  Fat chance.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Bootsie asked, loud enough for everyone to hear. Her hand shot up. “Miss Priscilly, Miss Priscilly, I think something’s wrong with Dar—”

  Darren gave her the evil eye.

  The teacher, Miss Priscilly, glanced at him. “Are you all right, Darren?”

  Miss Priscilly wasn’t bad as teachers went, but she had one notable pet peeve. The young ladies and gentlemen of her classroom were expected to take control of their bodily functions or face the consequences. Mistakes were generally not allowed. Not long ago, a fellow classmate made the mistake of sneezing into his palm rather than into the crook of his elbow and wound up in the principal’s office every recess for a week. Darren could only imagine where a burrito blooper from below the belt would land someone—especially if that someone was him.

  “Uh-huh,” he fibbed, barely able to sit still. He was clenching hard enough to turn coal into diamonds, but the volcanic eruption kept building inside him. His bloated stomach felt like it was about to burst. A chewed-up mess of burritos, Tabasco sauce, and soda boiled and bubbled in his belly. He knew he couldn’t hold the fart in much longer.

  Bootsie watched him like a hawk. Her nose twitched, anticipating trouble.

  Darren had to think quickly or he was a goner. He was way past the point of asking for a bathroom pass. There was no telling what could happen on the long walk from his desk to the classroom door.

  Then he had an idea.

  Why not try to redirect the fart? Burps were rude, too, but probably not as smelly and embarrassing as a fart. He placed a hand over his mouth and tried to swallow backward.

  But the burp came out louder than he expected. Heads turned in his direction.

  “Miss Priscilly!” Bootsie piped up again.

  That was hardly necessary.

  “Darren!” the offended teacher said. “Kindly control yourself.”

  “I’m trying,” he insisted, “but—”

  A few desks away, Andy groaned and buried his face in his hands.

  “Try harder,” Miss Priscilly said sternly.

  But the pressure was already building up inside Darren again—and heading down below this time. Before Darren could even try to burp again, he let loose with a fart that caught the entire classroom by surprise.

  To be clear, this wasn’t just any fart. This was the Fart to End All Farts. A blatt so rude the map of the world crashed to the floor. The explosive force of the fart knocked Darren right out of his chair and landed him on the floor at the front of the class.

  The fart was loud and gross. A sulfurous stink, strong enough to make your eyes water, filled the whole classroom. Students gagged and covered their mouths and noses. Others tried to hold their breaths. Bootsie pinched her nose shut and looked at Darren in complete disgust. Darren scrambled back to his seat—and found it hot to the touch. His eyes bulged as he saw that the plastic seat had melted. And Miss Priscilly was so furious her face turned ten shades of crimson.

  “Ooooooooooooooooout!” she ordered.

  “But—” He tried to explain that it wasn’t his fault, really. “The burritos—”

  “Mr. Stonkadopolis, what you eat is your business, as long as I don’t have to see it, smell it, or think about it. But now you’ve made it my business, and the principal’s business as well.”

  “I swear, it wasn’t on purpose . . . !”

  “Fine. Then go see the nurse . . . and don’t come back without a note confirming that your digestive difficulties are under control,” she said. “Quickly. Before you go off again!”

  Darren hurried out of the classroom, his butt burning. So much for staying out of trouble!

  And the worst part was, he felt an even bigger fart coming on. . . .

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I’ve told you before,” the janitor said, “stay out of the basement.”

  As Darren trudged toward the nurse’s office, clutching his bloated stomach, he spotted a disturbance in the hall. Janitor Stan, who had been cleaning up at the school for as long as anyone could remember, was escorting Harry Buttz II and the B.O. twins out the basement door.

  “You can’t talk to me like that,” Harry protested. “Don’t you know who I am?”

  Harry was the grandson of the school’s namesake, a wealthy factory owner whose family had founded Buttzville generations ago. He had an expensive haircut, designer clothes, and, as usual, a hand down the back of his pants, furiously scratching at an itch that never seemed to go away, no matter what he tried. Despite his family name and all the campaign goodies he’d given away, he’d lost the last student body election because nobody would shake his hand.

  “You tell him, Number Two!” Bertha said. She and Oscar hung out with Harry, mostly because he was rich and had all the newest computer games.

  “Don’t call me that!” Harry barked.

  “Look, you three,” Stan said. “I don’t care what a big cheese Harry’s dad is. The basement is off-limits. Don’t let me catch you snooping around there again.”

  “This is all your fault,” Harry muttered to B.O. as the scratchy, smelly trio slunk away. “If you two could just follow simple directions . . .”

  “Don’t blame us,” Bertha protested. “It’s not our fault we were interrupted by a couple of nosy brats.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder, giving Darren the evil eye. Her hulking twin did likewise.

  First the lunches, now this, Darren thought. Those three are certainly keeping busy today.

  But before he could follow that thought through, he let another one rip. A thunderous fart echoed down the hall and polluted the air. There was no way Stan could miss it.

  “Whoa!” the janitor exclaimed. “What was that?”

  “Just some bad burritos,” Darren explained.

  “The lunchroom special?” Stan guessed. “Let me guess, Miss Priscilly sent you to the nurse’s office, right?”

  Nothing got past the eagle-eyed janitor, who always knew more about what was happening at the school than the principal and teachers. He knew which kids were friends, why certain kids weren’t speaking to one another, what had become of any “misplaced” school supplies, and who exactly had toilet-papered the principal’s car that one time. He had also covered for Darren in the past, like when all the biology class frogs had somehow gotten loose. (It was an accident. Really!)

  “Something like that,” Darren admitted. He tried to change the subject. “What was all that with Number Two and his goon squad?”

  “No big deal,” Stan said. “Just caught them poking around where they didn’t belong . . . again. But don’t let me slow you down. Run along now,” he said,
batting away the contaminated air in front of him. “Go see what the nurse can do for that unruly gut of yours.”

  Darren knew the way to the infirmary by heart, thanks to the many scrapes and sprains he had picked up playing too hard. When he got there, he found Nurse Rancid occupied with another patient: a tiny dark-haired girl in a pretty pink dress. She looked like a little princess. All that was missing was the tiara.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Miss Priscilly sent me. . . .”

  “Just take a seat,” the nurse replied. “I’ll be with you in a sec.”

  But before Darren sat down, a foul smell filled the office. It was strong enough to make Darren hold his nose, but the effect on Nurse Rancid was even more impressive. “Oh my!” she gasped before collapsing onto the floor. She was out cold. This was not good. Darren needed a note from her if he wanted to get back to class, but as long as Nurse Rancid was passed out she wasn’t going to be doing any writing of any kind.

  Yikes, Darren thought. Did I do that?

  He was pretty sure he hadn’t farted this time, which left only one other suspect.

  “Did you do that?” he asked the girl.

  “Do what?” she asked innocently.

  Darren furiously fanned Nurse Rancid in the hopes of reviving her. “You know . . . ,” he said. “Fart.”

  “Did you hear a fart?” she asked.

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Then I must not have,” she said.

  “Or maybe your farts are just silent but deadly.”

  Just then, Nurse Rancid stirred. Darren ran to her desk to get a pen and notepad before she passed out again. Sure the nurse hadn’t yet examined him, but maybe she’d be out of it enough not to realize. Because all he really needed to satisfy Miss Priscilly was a signed note.

  But as soon as the nurse opened her eyes, an awful, pungent smell flooded the room and knocked her out cold again.