Fart Squad (3 page)

“Speak for yourself,” Walter said.

“I don't think this was just about the lunches,” Darren said, remembering what he'd witnessed in the hall a few minutes before. “I think they were up to something bigger, something involving Harry Buttz. They were snooping around the basement before. . . .”

“But what does that have to do with swiping our lunches?” Tina asked.

Darren had no idea, but he had an uncomfortable feeling, and not just in his stomach.

Nurse Rancid stirred and lifted her head. “Oh my,” she moaned. “What happened?”

Darren still needed a note for Miss Priscilly. He hurried toward the nurse with the notepad, but before he could even hand her the pen, a silent blast of not-so-fresh air knocked her out again. Her head drooped forward onto her chest.

Darren scowled at Tina.

Tina shrugged. “Sorry. It just slipped out.”

“Pardon me, but that's simply not normal,” Walter said.

“That's for sure,” Juan-Carlos agreed.

Just then, Janitor Stan poked his head into the office and saw the nurse slumped on the floor. “Er, what's the matter with her?”

Darren wasn't quite ready to spill the beans, as it were.

“Beats me,” he said. “Maybe she's been working too hard?”

The other kids did not contradict him. Who wanted to be known for having farts nasty enough to flatten the school nurse?

“I see,” Stan said, sounding unconvinced. He looked the kids over and sniffed the air. “Why don't you kids come back another time? I think she just needs a break and a little fresh air. Or, to be more exact,
fresher
air.”

Darren hesitated. “Er, I still need a note—or Miss Priscilly won't let me back into class.”

Stan took the pad and scribbled a note, forging Nurse Rancid's name. He winked at Darren. “Nobody can read her handwriting anyway. Now scoot!”

Darren headed toward the door. He had his note, but he had plenty of questions, too. Something was in the air all right. He just wished he knew what it was.

What was in those burritos anyway?

I
t was recess, and the playground on the roof of the school was filled with kids enjoying the fresh air. Ordinarily Darren would be in the thick of things, trying to burn off all his excess energy, but today he kept to the sidelines, avoiding everybody but Andy. His stomach was still churning, and he was clenching hard against another gas eruption.

“Boy, those burritos really did a number on you,” Andy said sympathetically. “You think you can get through class without farting again?”

“I hope so,” Darren said uncertainly.

He spotted Harry Buttz and the B.O. twins hanging out together across the yard, shunned
by everybody else. This was all their fault, Darren realized. If B.O. hadn't swiped his lunch, he wouldn't have had to eat those darn burritos! He wouldn't have farted in class. And he would be dreaming about sports camp instead of worrying about summer school.

His temper took over, and he stormed across the roof to confront the bullies.

“Wait!” Andy called out, but once Darren got going there was no slowing him down. “Great,” Andy muttered. “Here we go again. . . .”

As Darren got closer to the threesome, he could hear Harry giving his flunkies a hard time. “You're going to have to do better next time,” he scolded. “Four lost lunches wasn't nearly enough to—”

“I knew it!” Darren said, butting in, as Andy ran to keep up. Darren could only guess what Harry meant by “next time,” but the part about the “lost lunches” only confirmed his suspicions.

“You people are nothing but a rotten bunch of lunch thieves!”

“Beat it, Stonkadopolis,” Harry said. “Mind
your own business.”

“Hey!” Bertha said, recognizing Darren and Andy. “These are the dweebs who interrupted us before.”

“Yeah,” Oscar confirmed. “They're the ones who spoiled things, so we couldn't—”

“Shut your trap,” Harry barked, as though Oscar was about to say too much. He scowled at Darren and Andy. “Are you two deaf? Get lost.”

Harry's reaction convinced Darren that the stolen lunches were part of some larger plot.

“What's this all about?” he demanded. “Does it
have something to do with you snooping around the basement?”

“Basement?” Andy asked, completely lost.

Harry's scowl turned into a glare. “If you were smart, you'd stop being so nosy.” He nodded at B.O. “Show these punks what happens to people who ask too many questions.”

“You bet, Number Two,” Bertha said.

“Don't call me that!”

“Sorry,” Oscar said on his sister's behalf.

The twins closed in on Darren and Andy while Harry hung back, content to let B.O. do the dirty work. Darren gulped, realizing that he really hadn't thought this through. He glanced around, but didn't see any teachers watching. Not that it mattered. Thanks to his family connections, Harry got away with a lot at Harry Buttz Elementary.

“You two got lucky before,” Bertha said, “but not this time.”

Oscar cracked his knuckles. “'Bout time you got what's coming to you.”

“Hang on!” Andy took off his glasses and looked around for a safe place to put them. “I don't think I want to see this anyway.”

Darren figured they were goners, unless . . .

He spun around and let loose with a volcanic fart that blasted the twins off their feet. They tumbled backward, gasping and choking at the stench. Their eyebrows were singed from the heat of the
eruption. A few feet back, Harry's jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

“The burritos,” he realized. “They must be even gassier than anyone thought possible!”

Darren grabbed Andy by the arm and dragged him away.

“Later, losers!” he said as Andy put his glasses back on. He looked around in confusion. “What happened?”

Darren just grinned.

Maybe there
were
advantages to having the hottest farts in school.

D
arren still needed to get back in Miss Priscilly's good graces, or kiss sports camp good-bye. “Is there any way I can earn some extra credit?” he asked.

“The town's one-hundredth birthday is coming up,” the teacher said. “So why don't you write up a report on the history of Buttzville?”

Darren knew he had to get an
A
on the report. At this point, he needed all the extra credit he could get to stay out of summer school. During study hall, he and Andy headed straight for the school library. Darren was grateful for his friend's help. Andy got much better grades than Darren did, probably because he
could actually sit still and study sometimes!

They took every book on the history of Buttzville off the shelf. Most of them were covered with dust, no doubt because no one ever read any of them. But there was one that seemed less dusty than the others:
The Buttz Family Chronicles.

Andy cracked it open and started reading. Darren peered over his shoulder.

Herein lies a true account of the Family Buttz,
the book began,
and the terrible curse that hath long afflicted them. . . .

“Curse?” Darren said. “That sounds interesting.”

“I'll say,” Andy agreed. “Listen to this. . . .”

According to the book, the Buttzes had always been cursed with a never-ending butt itch. The curse had been passed down from generation to generation, all the way back to the old country. The Buttzes were doomed to scratch themselves forever until one of Harry's ancestors, an alchemist named Scabious Buttz, found a cure for their condition by—

The rest of the pages about the curse had been ripped out. When the book picked up again, the Buttzes were busily founding the town and making their fortune. Nothing more was written about the curse.

“What the—” Darren objected. “Where's the rest of it?”

“Gone,” Andy said.

Darren was puzzled. If Scabious had found a
cure, why was Harry Buttz still scratching? Darren couldn't help wondering if this had something to do with why B.O. had stolen those sandwiches—and whatever it was Harry was up to “next time.”

Darren checked to see if there was another copy of the book on the shelves, but no such luck. Frustrated, he went up to the librarian's desk. “Excuse me,” he asked. “Can you tell me who checked out this book last? It appears to be damaged.”

The librarian checked her records. “Harry Buttz the Second checked it out just a few weeks ago.”

“Is that so?” Darren said. “I should have known.”

Now Darren had to find out what was on the missing pages.

But how?

T
he next day found Darren stuck at a school assembly and not very happy about it. He was not a big fan of school assemblies. It was too much sitting around on the bleachers in the gym, and the Harry Buttz Elementary School gym almost smelled worse than farts. It stank of chlorine so bad it made Darren's eyes water. Some genius had had the brilliant idea to build a retractable floor and put the school pool right underneath it. Assemblies were the worst. And this one was the worst of the worst—a boring presentation on the history of the town, complete with a slide show and speeches!

“Generations ago, this was just worthless
swampland,” Principal Dingleberry said into a microphone down on the floor of the gym. “But from the stagnant depths of a polluted marsh rose Harry Buttz Elementary School. Mr. Buttz could not be with us today, but his illustrious family is represented by our own Harry Buttz, or, as his friends call him, ‘Number Two'!”

Harry gave the principal a dirty look. She knew how much he hated to be called that. He stood beside her, squirming awkwardly, hands tucked deeply into his pants pockets.

“Bet you a week's allowance,” Darren whispered to Andy,
“that Harry can't get through this assembly without scratching his butt.”

“Forget it,” Andy said. “I'm not dumb enough to take that bet.”

Sure enough, within moments Harry was reaching around and scratching himself onstage. Snickers and giggles rippled through the audience.

“And there he goes . . . ,” Andy said, grinning.

“Just like in that history book,” Darren whispered, remembering what they'd read about the Buttz family curse. “I still wish I knew what those missing pages said. . . . For my report, of course.”

“You know, I've been thinking about that,” Andy said. “We might be able to find the answer on the Internet. If you want, we can search for it this weekend.” He paused to sniff the air. “Hey, who farted?”

“Don't look at me,” Darren insisted. His stomach was still rumbling like a restless volcano, but he didn't
think
that fart came from him. Glancing around, he spotted Walter Turnip sitting a few rows behind them in the bleachers. Looking rounder
than ever, Walter was holding onto the bench with both hands to keep from lifting off into the air!

Uh-oh,
Darren thought.

He scanned the gym until he located Tina and Juan-Carlos, who had also noticed Walter's predicament. This wasn't good. If Walter got caught floating around, the whole school—heck, maybe even the whole world—would find out just how freaky their farts had become. They exchanged looks, realizing that something had to be done. Just the fear of being exposed as an uncontrollable explosive farter agitated Darren's stomach. He guessed that the others were
having the same reaction. They had to clear the gym before Walter floated away.

Darren had an idea, but it was going to take teamwork.

He took out his phone and furtively texted the others:

ON THE COUNT OF THREE . . .

The farty foursome nodded at one another.

“One . . .” Darren mouthed, raising his index finger. “Two . . .” then his middle finger. “Three . . .” and his ring finger. . . .

And then they all let one rip simultaneously.

Suddenly, the entire gym reeked like the world's biggest fart. The disgusting odor was everywhere, making it impossible to tell where the fart had come from. Gagging and holding their noses, everyone dashed for the exits.

“This assembly is over!” the principal shouted. “Please exit in an orderly fashion!” Then she dropped her microphone and ran screaming out of the gym.

Andy was halfway to the door before he noticed that Darren wasn't following him.

“What are you waiting for?” he called. “We gotta get out of here. This place stinks, big time!”

“Don't worry about me!” Darren shouted. “I'm right behind you!”

He felt bad about lying to his best friend, but this wasn't his secret to share.

The gasping crowd carried Andy away, and
within minutes the gym was deserted except for Darren and his flatulent accomplices.

And just in time!

Superinflated, Walter lost his grip on the bleachers and shot up toward the ceiling. Random farts sent him jetting about in the air like a leaky balloon. High above the floor, he bounced off the walls and ceiling.

“Your assistance, please!” he hollered. “I can't get down!”

Darren and the others stared up at him, unsure what to do.

“Do we try to lasso him?” Juan-Carlos asked.

“I don't think I can throw that high,” Darren said. “Maybe he'll run out of gas?”

Walter doubted it. “Not the way my stomach is still churning.”

“Ditto,” Tina confirmed.
“And all this excitement is just making it worse!”

Then, as if things weren't bad enough, Bootsie barged back into the gym, snooping as usual. “Hey! What's going on in here?”

“Er, nothing,” Darren said. “Why do you ask?”

Bootsie looked around suspiciously. She hadn't spotted Walter overhead yet, but it was only a matter of time. Her nose twitched, sniffing for trouble.

“I heard somebody shouting,” she insisted.

Tina came up beside her. Bootsie's nose twitched again—and she passed out on the floor.

“Bet you didn't hear that,” Tina said, smirking.

“Thanks!” Darren said. He dragged Bootsie out of the way. “But we still need to get Walter down before anybody else shows up.” He shouted up at the floating kid. “Try to propel yourself by pointing your butt at the ceiling!”

“But I'll crash and crack my head open,” Walter yelped.

“Not if we open the pool!” Darren said. There was a full-sized swimming pool under the floor of the gym. The floors just needed to be retracted. “Juan-Carlos! Find the controls!”

“Already on it!” Juan-Carlos said. “Time for a water landing!”

A sign above the controls read
DO NOT TOUCH
! Juan-Carlos ignored it.

He flicked the switch. Hidden motors hummed as the gym floor split down the middle,
revealing the bright blue waters of the pool.

“C'mon, Walter!” Darren shouted. “You can do it! Just point your butt in the right direction!”

Walter rolled in the air, high above them. He tried to orient himself.

“Very well,” he said nervously. “Wish me luck!”

Then a supersonic fart sent him rocketing down toward the pool.

Splashdown!