Fart Squad

To gassy folks everywhere.

—S.P.

D
arren 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. . . .”

“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.