Read Online Fear the Barfitron by M. D. Payne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: M. D. Payne
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acid.
“To start”—Mr. Stewart spoke louder now, comically pointing a crooked finger in the air—“I will ask Chris to come up and assist me.”
Mr. Stewart locked eyes with me, and raised his bushy eyebrows. I felt my cheeks turn red. Apparently the teachers had been talking in the break room.
Mr. Stewart was testing me.
“Mr. Stewart,” I squeaked, “I’m not really feeling up to it today.”
“Yeah, his
fleegerlosen
is a bit low,” I heard Gordon mutter from the back of the classroom.
“Come on up!” Mr. Stewart yelled like a game-show host.
I hated going up in front of class even on my best day. And today was not my best day. I was still shaken. My hands were sweaty, and my mouth was dry. I looked at Shane for support. He gave me a feeble thumbs-up and a smile.
The room spun as I headed up to Mr. Stewart’s lab. He awaited me with a crooked grin. I turned around behind the lab and could see everyone staring at me.
“Now, Chris,” Mr. Stewart began, “can you please open that large flask in front of you and tell me what it smells like?” I pulled the flask toward me and yanked at the stopper. My hands were still sore from pulling on the candlestick. I struggled with the stopper until I let out a little grunt. The class giggled.
Mr. Stewart motioned to me to pass him the flask. “Let me try. It’s been in the lab all summer, and the stopper may have melted slightly on to the flask.”
I held up my hand and said, “No, I’ve got it!”
I didn’t want to give Mr. Stewart anything but an amazing performance. I didn’t want to give him any reason to talk to the other teachers or call me up here again. I twisted and pulled with all my might, and finally the stopper came out, but the flask slipped out of my sweaty hand.
“Oh no!” Mr. Stewart yelled.
Mr. Stewart lunged to grab the flask, but hecouldn’t reach it. The entire class watched in horror as it slowly slid to the edge of the lab station, slipped off, and crashed onto the floor. A huge puddle of acid and glass slowly oozed past the first row of lab stations. Students lifted up their feet and stared down with wide eyes. When it didn’t explode or start melting student’s faces, we all breathed a sigh of relief, only to smell…
“Barf!” said a few students at once, and then, “EWWWWWW!”
The room smelled disgusting. It was the most powerful smell any of us had ever experienced. Overwhelming. Eye-watering. BARFY. Kids in the back started scooting out of their seats while holding their noses.
“WAIT!” Mr. Stewart cried. “It’s fine. Remain calm. It’s a very weak solution. Try not to think of vomit. Relax and think about Parmesan cheese. That stuff is filled with butyric acid.”
Ben, upon hearing that any food was filled with vomit acid, barfed over his lab and onto the stool I had just exited. Shane jumped to avoid the splash.
All the kids ran, leaving a trail of butyric acid and barf down the hallway.
I stood there dumbfounded, until Mr. Stewart tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around slowly, ready for a huge scolding. Instead, I was surprised tosee he already had an old army surplus gas mask on. He handed me one as well. “Let’s clean this up,” he said.
I put on the mask…
…and promptly puked all over the inside.
I had made it through rotting old monsters and deadly booby traps. It was
school
that finally made me barf.
We spent all night and the next day trying to figure out how to enter DO NOT ENTER.
Creating a diversion with fireworks in the front yard. Or holding a Jazzercise class. Or having a cooking class with garlic as the main ingredient. Finally, Shane came up with the best, but by far, craziest idea.
Friday afternoon we jumped on our bikes and powered up the road to Raven Hill. As we approached the retirement home, the flapping of our karate uniforms in the wind was the only sound that could be heard. When we arrived, not even the ravens seemed to be around.
The plan was simple. We
“To start”—Mr. Stewart spoke louder now, comically pointing a crooked finger in the air—“I will ask Chris to come up and assist me.”
Mr. Stewart locked eyes with me, and raised his bushy eyebrows. I felt my cheeks turn red. Apparently the teachers had been talking in the break room.
Mr. Stewart was testing me.
“Mr. Stewart,” I squeaked, “I’m not really feeling up to it today.”
“Yeah, his
fleegerlosen
is a bit low,” I heard Gordon mutter from the back of the classroom.
“Come on up!” Mr. Stewart yelled like a game-show host.
I hated going up in front of class even on my best day. And today was not my best day. I was still shaken. My hands were sweaty, and my mouth was dry. I looked at Shane for support. He gave me a feeble thumbs-up and a smile.
The room spun as I headed up to Mr. Stewart’s lab. He awaited me with a crooked grin. I turned around behind the lab and could see everyone staring at me.
“Now, Chris,” Mr. Stewart began, “can you please open that large flask in front of you and tell me what it smells like?” I pulled the flask toward me and yanked at the stopper. My hands were still sore from pulling on the candlestick. I struggled with the stopper until I let out a little grunt. The class giggled.
Mr. Stewart motioned to me to pass him the flask. “Let me try. It’s been in the lab all summer, and the stopper may have melted slightly on to the flask.”
I held up my hand and said, “No, I’ve got it!”
I didn’t want to give Mr. Stewart anything but an amazing performance. I didn’t want to give him any reason to talk to the other teachers or call me up here again. I twisted and pulled with all my might, and finally the stopper came out, but the flask slipped out of my sweaty hand.
“Oh no!” Mr. Stewart yelled.
Mr. Stewart lunged to grab the flask, but hecouldn’t reach it. The entire class watched in horror as it slowly slid to the edge of the lab station, slipped off, and crashed onto the floor. A huge puddle of acid and glass slowly oozed past the first row of lab stations. Students lifted up their feet and stared down with wide eyes. When it didn’t explode or start melting student’s faces, we all breathed a sigh of relief, only to smell…
“Barf!” said a few students at once, and then, “EWWWWWW!”
The room smelled disgusting. It was the most powerful smell any of us had ever experienced. Overwhelming. Eye-watering. BARFY. Kids in the back started scooting out of their seats while holding their noses.
“WAIT!” Mr. Stewart cried. “It’s fine. Remain calm. It’s a very weak solution. Try not to think of vomit. Relax and think about Parmesan cheese. That stuff is filled with butyric acid.”
Ben, upon hearing that any food was filled with vomit acid, barfed over his lab and onto the stool I had just exited. Shane jumped to avoid the splash.
All the kids ran, leaving a trail of butyric acid and barf down the hallway.
I stood there dumbfounded, until Mr. Stewart tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around slowly, ready for a huge scolding. Instead, I was surprised tosee he already had an old army surplus gas mask on. He handed me one as well. “Let’s clean this up,” he said.
I put on the mask…
…and promptly puked all over the inside.
I had made it through rotting old monsters and deadly booby traps. It was
school
that finally made me barf.
We spent all night and the next day trying to figure out how to enter DO NOT ENTER.
Creating a diversion with fireworks in the front yard. Or holding a Jazzercise class. Or having a cooking class with garlic as the main ingredient. Finally, Shane came up with the best, but by far, craziest idea.
Friday afternoon we jumped on our bikes and powered up the road to Raven Hill. As we approached the retirement home, the flapping of our karate uniforms in the wind was the only sound that could be heard. When we arrived, not even the ravens seemed to be around.
The plan was simple. We
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