sofa.
“Tons,” lied Henry.
“I’ve read five,” said Perfect Peter proudly. “More than anyone in my class.”
“Goody for you,” said Henry.
“You’re just jealous,” said Peter.
“As if I’d ever be jealous of you, worm,” sneered Henry. He wandered over to the sofa. “So what are you reading?”
“The Happy Nappy,” said Peter.
The Happy Nappy! Trust Peter to read a stupid book like that.
“What’s it about?” asked Henry, snorting.
“It’s great,” said Peter. “It’s all about this diaper—” Then he stopped. “Wait, I’m not telling you. You just want to find out so you can use it in the competition. Well, you’re too late. Tomorrow is the last day.”
Horrid Henry felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart. This couldn’t be. Tomorrow! How had tomorrow sneaked up so fast?
“What!” shrieked Henry. “The competition ends—tomorrow?”
“Yes,” said Peter. “You should have started reading sooner. After all, why put off till tomorrow what you can do today?”
“Shut up!” said Horrid Henry. He looked around wildly. What to do, what to do. He had to read something, anything—fast.
“Gimme that!” snarled Henry, snatching Peter’s book. Frantically, he started to read:
“I’m unhappy, pappy,” said the snappy nappy. “A happy nappy is a clappy—”
Perfect Peter snatched back his book.
“No!” screamed Peter, holding on tightly. “It’s mine.”
Henry lunged.
“Mine!”
“Mine!”
Riii—iippp.
“MOOOOMMMM!” screamed Peter. “Henry tore my book!”
Mom and Dad ran into the room.
“You’re fighting—over a book?” said Mom. She sat down in a chair.
“I’m speechless,” said Mom.
“Well, I’m not,” said Dad. “Henry! Go to your room!”
“Fine!” screamed Horrid Henry.
Horrid Henry prowled up and down his bedroom. He had to think of something. Fast.
Aha! The room was full of books. He’d just copy down lots of titles. Phew. Easy-peasy.
And then suddenly Horrid Henry remembered. He had to write a book report for every book he read. Rats. Miss Battle-Axe knew tons and tons of books. She was sure to know the plot of Jack the Kangaroo or The Adventures of Terry the Towel.
Well, he’d just have to borrow Peter’s list.
Horrid Henry sneaked into Peter’s bedroom. There was Peter’s competition entry, in the center of Peter’s immaculate desk. Henry read it.
Of course Peter would have the boring and horrible Mouse Goes to Town. Could he live with the shame of having baby books like The Happy Nappy and Mouse Goes to Town on his competition entry?
For a day at a theme park, anything.
Quickly, Henry copied Peter’s list and book reports. Whoopee! Now he had five books. Wheel of Death here I come, thought Horrid Henry.
Then Henry had to face the terrible truth. Peter’s books wouldn’t be enough to win. He’d heard Clever Clare had seventeen. If only he didn’t have to write those book reports. Why, oh why, did Miss Battle-Axe have to know every book ever written?
And then suddenly Henry had a brilliant, spectacular idea. It was so brilliant, and so simple, that Horrid Henry was amazed. Of course there were books that Miss Battle-Axe didn’t know. Books that hadn’t been written—yet.
Horrid Henry grabbed his list.
“Mouse Goes to Town. The thrilling adventures of a mouse in town. He meets a dog, a cat, and a duck.”
Why should that poor mouse just go to town? Quickly Henry began to scribble.
“Mouse Goes to the Country. The thrilling adventures of a mouse in the country. He meets—”
Henry paused. What sort of things did you meet in the country? Henry had no idea.
Aha. Henry wrote quickly. “He meets a sheep and a werewolf.”
“Mouse Goes Around the World. Mouse discovers that the world is round.”
“ Mouse Goes to the Bathroom. The thrilling adventures of one mouse and his potty.”
Now, perhaps, something a little different. How about A Boy and his Pig. What could that book be
“Tons,” lied Henry.
“I’ve read five,” said Perfect Peter proudly. “More than anyone in my class.”
“Goody for you,” said Henry.
“You’re just jealous,” said Peter.
“As if I’d ever be jealous of you, worm,” sneered Henry. He wandered over to the sofa. “So what are you reading?”
“The Happy Nappy,” said Peter.
The Happy Nappy! Trust Peter to read a stupid book like that.
“What’s it about?” asked Henry, snorting.
“It’s great,” said Peter. “It’s all about this diaper—” Then he stopped. “Wait, I’m not telling you. You just want to find out so you can use it in the competition. Well, you’re too late. Tomorrow is the last day.”
Horrid Henry felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart. This couldn’t be. Tomorrow! How had tomorrow sneaked up so fast?
“What!” shrieked Henry. “The competition ends—tomorrow?”
“Yes,” said Peter. “You should have started reading sooner. After all, why put off till tomorrow what you can do today?”
“Shut up!” said Horrid Henry. He looked around wildly. What to do, what to do. He had to read something, anything—fast.
“Gimme that!” snarled Henry, snatching Peter’s book. Frantically, he started to read:
“I’m unhappy, pappy,” said the snappy nappy. “A happy nappy is a clappy—”
Perfect Peter snatched back his book.
“No!” screamed Peter, holding on tightly. “It’s mine.”
Henry lunged.
“Mine!”
“Mine!”
Riii—iippp.
“MOOOOMMMM!” screamed Peter. “Henry tore my book!”
Mom and Dad ran into the room.
“You’re fighting—over a book?” said Mom. She sat down in a chair.
“I’m speechless,” said Mom.
“Well, I’m not,” said Dad. “Henry! Go to your room!”
“Fine!” screamed Horrid Henry.
Horrid Henry prowled up and down his bedroom. He had to think of something. Fast.
Aha! The room was full of books. He’d just copy down lots of titles. Phew. Easy-peasy.
And then suddenly Horrid Henry remembered. He had to write a book report for every book he read. Rats. Miss Battle-Axe knew tons and tons of books. She was sure to know the plot of Jack the Kangaroo or The Adventures of Terry the Towel.
Well, he’d just have to borrow Peter’s list.
Horrid Henry sneaked into Peter’s bedroom. There was Peter’s competition entry, in the center of Peter’s immaculate desk. Henry read it.
Of course Peter would have the boring and horrible Mouse Goes to Town. Could he live with the shame of having baby books like The Happy Nappy and Mouse Goes to Town on his competition entry?
For a day at a theme park, anything.
Quickly, Henry copied Peter’s list and book reports. Whoopee! Now he had five books. Wheel of Death here I come, thought Horrid Henry.
Then Henry had to face the terrible truth. Peter’s books wouldn’t be enough to win. He’d heard Clever Clare had seventeen. If only he didn’t have to write those book reports. Why, oh why, did Miss Battle-Axe have to know every book ever written?
And then suddenly Henry had a brilliant, spectacular idea. It was so brilliant, and so simple, that Horrid Henry was amazed. Of course there were books that Miss Battle-Axe didn’t know. Books that hadn’t been written—yet.
Horrid Henry grabbed his list.
“Mouse Goes to Town. The thrilling adventures of a mouse in town. He meets a dog, a cat, and a duck.”
Why should that poor mouse just go to town? Quickly Henry began to scribble.
“Mouse Goes to the Country. The thrilling adventures of a mouse in the country. He meets—”
Henry paused. What sort of things did you meet in the country? Henry had no idea.
Aha. Henry wrote quickly. “He meets a sheep and a werewolf.”
“Mouse Goes Around the World. Mouse discovers that the world is round.”
“ Mouse Goes to the Bathroom. The thrilling adventures of one mouse and his potty.”
Now, perhaps, something a little different. How about A Boy and his Pig. What could that book be
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