Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing Read Online Free

Dribble until suppertime. Nobody ever worries about me the way they worry about Fudge. If I decided not to eat they’d probably never even notice!
    That night during dinner Fudge hid under the kitchen table. He said, “I’m a doggie. Woof . . . woof . . . woof!”
    It was hard to eat with him under the table pulling on my legs. I waited for my father to say something. But he didn’t.
    Finally my mother jumped up. “I know,” she said. “If Fudgie’s a doggie he wants to eat on the floor! Right?”
    If you ask me Fudge never even thought about that. But he liked the idea a lot. He barked and nodded his head. So my mother fixed his plate and put it under the table. Then she reached down and petted him, like he was a real dog.
    My father said, “Aren’t we carrying this a little too far?”
    My mother didn’t answer.
    Fudge ate two bites of his dinner.
    My mother was satisfied.
    After a week of having him eat under the table I felt like we really did have a family dog. I thought how great it would be if we could trade in Fudge for a nice cocker spaniel. That would solve all my problems. I’d walk him and feed him and play with him. He could even sleep on the edge of my bed at night. But of course that was wishful thinking. My brother is here to stay. And there’s nothing much I can do about it.
    Grandma came over with a million ideas about getting Fudge to eat. She tricked him by making milk shakes in the blender. When Fudge wasn’t looking she threw in an egg. Then she told him if he drank it all up there would be a surprise in the bottom of the glass. The first time he believed her. He finished his milk shake. But all he saw was an empty glass. There wasn’t any surprise! Fudge got so mad he threw the glass down. It smashed into little pieces. After that Grandma left.
    The next day my mother dragged Fudge to Dr. Cone’s office. He told her to leave him alone. That Fudge would eat when he got hungry.
    I reminded my mother that I’d told her the same thing—and for free! But I guess my mother didn’t believe either one of us because she took Fudge to see three more doctors. None of them could find a thing wrong with my brother. One doctor even suggested that my mother cook Fudge his favorite foods.
    So that night my mother broiled lamb chops just for Fudge. The rest of us ate stew. She served him the two little lamb chops on his plate under the table. Just the smell of them was enough to make my stomach growl. I thought it was mean of my mother to make them for Fudge and not me.
    Fudge looked at his lamb chops for a few minutes. Then he pushed his plate away. “No!” he said. “No chops!”
    â€œFudgie . . . you’ll starve!” my mother cried. “You
must
eat!”
    â€œNo chops! Corn Flakes,” Fudge said. “Want Corn Flakes!”
    My mother ran to get the cereal for Fudge. “You can eat the chops if you want them, Peter,” she told me.
    I reached down and helped myself to the lamb chops. My mother handed Fudge his bowl of cereal. But he didn’t eat it. He sat at my feet and looked up at me. He watched me eat his chops.
    â€œEat your cereal!”
my father said.
    â€œNO! NO EAT CEREAL!” Fudge yelled.
    My father was really mad. His face turned bright red. He said, “Fudge, you will eat that cereal or you will wear it!”
    This was turning out to be fun after all
, I thought. And the lamb chops were really tasty. I dipped the bone in some Ketchup and chewed away.
    Fudge messed around with his cereal for a minute. Then he looked at my father and said, “NO EAT . . . NO EAT . . . NO EAT!”
    My father wiped his mouth with his napkin, pushed back his chair, and got up from the table. He picked up the bowl of cereal in one hand, and Fudge in the other. He carried them both into the bathroom. I went along,