Pirates of Underwhere Read Free Page B

“Darryl…”
    Darryl threw it back to Melvin. “ I don’t have it.”
    These mental giants probably would’ve kept up their game all through recess, if not for the custodian.
    â€œHey, Prang!” called Mr. Wheener. “And uh, you.” He pointed at Darryl. “Come here.”
    Darryl dropped the ball like it had burned his fingers.
    â€œWe wasn’t doing nothing,” said Melvin. (Honestly. So few bullies speak proper English.)
    Zeke grinned.
    Melvin stabbed a thick finger at him. “Not one word, shrimp!”
    As they approached the janitor, Hector said, “Wow, Wheener to the rescue!”
    â€œIt’s pronounced Vee ner,” I said.
    â€œ Vhat ever.” Hector snickered.
    â€œI’m sorry I ever made fun of him,” said Zeke. “Mr. Wheener’s actually punishing them.”
    The custodian talked to the bullies. We were too far away to overhear. But after they spoke for a minute, all three looked over at Zeke. Then Mr. Wheener smiled and patted Melvin’s shoulder.
    The janitor and bullies shook hands. Then they went their separate ways.
    â€œDoesn’t look like punishment to me,” Hector said.
    Â 
    After recess, the school held a surprise assembly. Everyone gathered on the grass before a portable stage. Because our class arrived late, we ended up way over on the side, where a tall speaker system blocked my view.
    â€œâ€¦to thank our new friend,” the principal, Ms. Johnson, was saying. “From the goodness of his heart, he’s buying us a new computer lab full of top-notch equipment.”
    I perked up. New computers? This would put me one step closer to my goal of being the world’s first female computer genius and all-around billionaire.
    â€œHe’ll be telling your parents about his big plans at this week’s town meeting,” said Ms. Johnson, “but right now, please give him a warm welcome. Boys and girls, let’s hear it for Bobby Bob Moxenboxer!”
    Why do grown-ups always expect us to cheer for someone we don’t know?
    My classmates gave the kind of polite applause you’d expect. A man in a huge cowboy hat took the mike. He was short and wore an electric blue suit.
    â€œMah dear friends,” said Mr. Moxenboxer. “Bobby Bob feels pleased as punch to be able to help you darlin’ little ankle biters.”
    Zeke leaned across Heather. “Hey, isn’t this the guy from the TV?”
    â€œI can’t tell,” I said, craning for a better look. “But he sounds the same.”
    â€œBobby Bob’s as tickled as an armadillo in saw grass,” the cowboy said. “These danged computers will help create the workers of tomorrow today.”
    He said a few other things. Possibly boring things. My classmates gossiped, and I confess I started daydreaming about making the Mathletes team.
    But then Mr. Moxenboxer said somethingthat grabbed everybody’s attention.
    â€œâ€¦So ol’ Bobby Bob has got a li’l ol’ giftie for you.”
    The blue-suited cowboy reached into a sack and flung a fistful of gold coins at us. Kids screamed and fought to catch the money.
    Someone even pulled my hair—the nerve! (I suspected Melvin.)
    Ms. Johnson stepped forward. “Um, I’m not sure this is appropriate—”
    Bobby Bob scooped up another handful of gold and flung it at the teachers sitting in folding chairs. They almost trampled each other going after the coins.
    The principal’s protest died out. I smoothed my hair.
    Then I got a good look at our visitor, and my mouth fell open. He was short, he was moonfaced…
    â€œUm, Zeke, who does Bobby Bob remind you of?”
    â€œI dunno, Santa Claus?” he said.
    â€œLook closer, genius,” I said. “How many grown-ups are shorter than you?”
    He looked. And then he gaped.
    â€œThe UnderLord!” we said together.
    Grabbing the money bag in both hands, the