Party Poopers by R.L. Stine

Chapter 2
D UCK P LOP
    I landed on my stomach. My breath shot out in a painful whoosh! With a groan, I spun around and glanced behind me.
    I saw my friend Feenman running across the grass. He was hugging a big, brown duck in his arms. The duck was quacking its head off and snapping at Feenman’s ears.
    â€œDuck, Bernie!” he shouted.
    I pushed myself to my feet. I brushed off theknees of my khakis. “Feenman,” I said, “where did you get that duck?”
    â€œI found it,” he said.
    The duck honked and chewed off a big hunk of Feenman’s brown hair.
    â€œYou’d better set it free,” I said. “It doesn’t like you.”
    Feenman’s mouth dropped open. “Set it free? But I found it! It’s mine!”
    Feenman is not the brightest candle on the cake. If we are talking brains, the duck would win.
    Feenman squeezed the duck a little too hard. It dropped a disgusting mess onto his shoes.
    â€œBernie, are you going to the hard-boiled-egg-eating contest Friday?” Feenman asked. “Are you gonna bet on Beast?”
    Our friend Beast can eat anything. Last year he ate forty-two hard-boiled eggs before he barfed his guts out.
    I made a ton of money betting on the dude.
    â€œI don’t have time for the contest,” I said. “I’ve got to find April-May. I want to go with her to the All-Nighter.”

    â€œIt’s a girl-ask-boy party,” Feenman said. “If a girl doesn’t ask you, you can’t go!”
    â€œApril-May is desperate to ask me,” I said. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
    The duck snapped off another hunk of Feenman’s hair. “Did you hear what they are planning?” he asked. “A huge barbeque. A soccer game on R.U. Dumm Field—boys against girls. Then a three-legged race across Pooper’s Pond. And a treasure hunt in the dark for BIG prizes.”
    I rubbed my hands together. “I gotta get to that party,” I said. “I have a special reason. I’ll show you why.”
    I saw my buddy Belzer staggering under the two huge cartons he was carrying for me. You don’t expect Bernie B. to carry two fifty-pound cartons, do you?
    â€œBelzer—come over here!” I shouted.
    He stumbled forward. “Hunh-hunh-hunh.” He was gasping for breath. “Hunh-hunh.” Sweat poured off his pudgy face.
    â€œOkay. You can set ’em down for a minute,” I said.
    Belzer lowered the cartons. Then he fell face-down onto the grass in a dead faint.
    â€œFeenman, put down the duck,” I said. “Check this out.”
    He hugged the duck tighter. “Maybe we can cook it,” he said.
    â€œFeenman, we’re kids—remember? Kids don’t cook duck.”
    He nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. I don’t wanna eat duck, anyway. All those feathers would get stuck in my teeth.”
    â€œDrop it,” I said. “Before it drops another pile of plop onto your shoes.”
    Oops. Too late.
    Feenman finally opened his arms and set the duck free. It tore across the grass, flapping and squawking.
    â€œFeenman, come over here,” I said. I tugged open one of the cartons. “This is why I’ve gotta get to the All-Nighter. Check this out….”

Chapter 3
M Y B IGGEST F AULT
    Feenman squinted into the open carton. “What are those, Big B?”
    I pulled out one of the shiny, red objects. “Pocket flashlights,” I said. “Two hundred pocket flashlights.”
    He stared at the one in my hand. “For seeing into your pocket?”
    I rolled my eyes. “No, Feenman. They’re for cheating at the treasure hunt. It’s gonna be pitch black at night, right? Well…every kid at the party will want one.”
    Feenman pulled a flashlight from the box and studied it. “For finding the hidden treasure?”
    â€œYou got it,” I said. “I’m gonna sell them cheap. Only a dollar each.