I am a Genius of Unspeakable Evil and I Want to be Your Class Read Free

else they’d end up feeling tired, weak, and thirsty. Even if they don’t know, they know it, they know it. Experience has trained them. The little reptile brains inside their heads tell them, “Leave this one alone.” So they do.
     
    Two forces make this possible:
    1. LAZOPRIL : A chemical I invented with my first home chemistry set. 11 It completely saps the hostility from anyone exposed to it and makes them feel like doing nothing more violent than taking a nap. Side effects include sudden intense flatulence (what scientists call farts) and roughly a three-month delay in the onset of puberty. That is to say—every time you’re dosed, you put off your growth spurt by three months. I used to mix this stuff up without wearing gloves, which probably explains why my private parts are still as bare as a freshly plucked chicken.
    2. PISTOL, BARDOLPH, AND NYM : My bodyguards. Not their real names, of course; these are code names I picked from a Shakespeare play I used to like.
    It’s their job to shoot a mini-dart full of Lazopril into the neck of anyone who tries to mess with me. They do other chores for me as well—like slipping the doctored pack of cigarettes into Moorhead’s pocket, or printing up photographs from the two thousand hidden cameras I have scattered around the school 12 and putting them in my locker. I give them orders through the transmitter implanted in my lower jaw. I just say I want something to happen and it happens . It’s like magic but much more expensive.
     
    Obviously, there’s more than three of them. There’s a Pistol, Bardolph, and Nym who guard me when I’m at school; then there’s a Pistol, Bardolph, and Nym who guard me after school. An entirely different trio is on duty when I sleep at night.
     
    One of my corporations does all the hiring. I don’t even know which of the people who surround me are my bodyguards; it’s safer that way. If I’m attacked, I don’t want to tip off my assailant by looking around for my bodyguards—which I would invariably do if I knew who my bodyguards were.
     
    I do have my suspicions, however. One of my protectors is probably the heavily muscled Chinese exchange student who happens to be in all my classes. Nobody knows his name, he doesn’t seem to speak English, and he shaves twice a day. And I’m curious about the new librarian who has a Marine Corps tattoo on her ankle.
    They don’t know I’m their employer. They just know that someone is paying them—and paying them very well—to protect the good-looking, slightly pudgy child at Gale Sayers Middle School and to do whatever he asks.
     
    They’re the only reason I can walk unmolested through the school hallways, among the throngs of thimble-brains and savages who call themselves my classmates. They’re the reason no one even looks at me as I open my locker, even though—not three feet away—a gang of boys is giving Barry Huss, the shortest boy in school, 13 an atomic wedgie.
     
    And these are the creatures my loving father, dear old Daddy, wants me to be friends with. Daddy wants me to be popular. To play team sports with these dimwits. To invite them over for sleepovers.
     
    I’d rather have a sleepover with a flea-filled rabbit carcass.

Chapter 3:
    I AM INCONVENIENCED
    They say that men inherit their brains from their mothers. This is false. My mother is a shapeless, witless mass of mousy hair, belly fat, and boobs. Don’t get me wrong, I am very fond of her. (Do I love her? Am I capable of love? A question even I can’t answer.) She is very useful for making grilled-cheese sandwiches and tucking me into bed. I like to make her smile, and I try to do that a lot.
     
    Does that detract from my evil? No. Even Vlad the Impaler had a mother. My fondness for “Mom” (she likes to be called that) serves as a nice counterpoint to the general rottenness of my character. 14
     
    I’m heading home on the school bus now, which means Mom is currently in the kitchen making me a grilled