101 Ways to Bug Your Friends and Enemies Read Online Free

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    â€œWhat’s your hurry, Cull?” Scarecrow was saying. “I thought you were still on island time.”
    Another swoooop. The ball rocketed into the beak of a plastic toucan.
    â€œBless my Froot Loops,” Scarecrow shouted. “A birdie!”
    The team hooted and crowed.
    Cullen the Bear shrugged. Pecs, triceps, and abs rippled. Man, even his earlobes had muscles.
    â€œIt’s your okole ,” he said. “But I stay pau with dis game of jungle ball.”
    Jungle ball!
    Goldie sucked a gasp. Ace swallowed a yawn.
    â€œShee will let zem ’ave eet now, oui?” Pierre asked.
    â€œDefinitely oui,” I said, and waited.
    But Hayley didn’t. She just stood there, eyes wide, glazed.
    Glazed with . . . what? I’d seen that expression before—but on whom and why? Was it apprehension? Fear? Had Hayley finally met her match?
    A strange force surged inside my chest. I felt powerful. Invincible. I knew what I must do.
    Protect Hayley. Protect Gadabout.
    My feet sloshed across the swamp. My hands karate-chopped vines. I stalked toward Scarecrow and Cullen and glared up, up, up into their faces, and said, “Um . . . cut it out, you guys, okay?”
    Scarecrow and his three look-alikes examined me—up and down and up again. Then they burst out laughing.
    â€œWhat if we don’t cut it out ?” Scarecrow taunted. “You gonna fight us, Little Big Nose?”
    â€œYeah.” I snatched a putter from the nearest crony and brandished it.
    â€œYeah?” His putter clashed sword-like against mine with a hard clank .
    I lashed my arm the opposite way. So did he. Club met club again. And again. Clash, clank. Clash, clank.
    â€œDon’t!” Hayley cried.
    â€œOooo!” Goldie squealed, scribbling into her notepad. “Do!”
    Ace intoned, “Stephen. Use your brain .”
    Yikes! He was right. ( Clash. Clank .) What was I doing? I was no swashbuckler. No musketeer. Plus, there were five of these guys. Seven, actually, because Cullen counted as three.
    â€œOn second thought”—the putter went limp in my hands—“I don’t care to fight after all.”
    â€œDidn’t think so.” With the toe of his club, Scarecrow beeped my sore schnoz. The pressure made it tickle.
    And tingle.
    And itch.
    â€œAH- CHOOO !”
    Scarecrow eyed the string of goo dangling from his putter. With a sneer of disgust, he scraped it off on the grass. “You’re all nose, kid,” he said. “No guts. No glory. Just—snot.”
    The team laughed again. Not Cullen. He stood twirling his club, watching me. Waiting. Waiting for what?
    Scarecrow teed up again, aiming for—
    NoOhNoOhNo. Not Pisa! One whack and it would belly flop for sure . . .
    I had to distract him. Stop him.
    But how ?
    Not with “swords.” Not even with boogers . . .
    â€œExcuse me, Mr. Golf Guy!” I hollered. “Is that the best you can do?”
    He glanced at Pisa. Glanced at the ball. “Whaddya mean?”
    â€œIf you’re going to insult my body parts, why not do it with style. Wit. Intelligence . Oh, I forgot! Those are the exact qualities you’re lacking.”
    â€œOoooOOOOOoooo!” his team chorused.
    Cullen smothered a grin.
    Scarecrow straightened, face red. He pointed his club at me. “Now look here, you little snot—”
    â€œThere you go again.” I shook my head. “Wasting a great opportunity.”
    â€œYou could do better, punk?”
    â€œAbsolutely!”
    â€œProve it.”
    â€œCertainly! Here’s what you could’ve said about my nose.”
    I mused a moment. Stroked my chin. Began to circle him slowly and said:
    â€œSuperstitious : If I walk under it, am I cursed with seven years bad luck?
    â€œCountrified : I grew one o’ them zucchini back in ’86. Won first prize at the county fair!
    â€œDescriptive : It’s a cave! A cavern! Studded