Bernie Bridges is horrified when Mrs. Heinie makes him share his room with Angel. She wants Angel's goodness to rub off on Bernie. But wait a minute--when no teachers are watching, Angel is no angel!
The little sneak takes over Bernie's room. He steals away Bernie's friends. He charms Bernie's girlfriend. Everyone loves Angel--even Bernie's pets! There's only one way for Bernie to rule the school again. He's got to get rid of this kid! But how do you get rid of an angel?
About the Author
R.L. Stine has more than 350 million English language books in print, plus international editions in 32 languages, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written other series, including Fear Street, Rotten School, Mostly Ghostly, The Nightmare Room, and Dangerous Girls. R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and his Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Minnie. Visit him online at www.rlstine.com.
Trip Park grew up in Ithaca, New York, and went to college at The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, where he was first drawn to advertising. He then moved to Chicago, later New York, where he joined advertising agencies and worked on kids’ favorites including Cap’n Crunch, Gatorade, Kellogg’s, and Ronald McDonald. His children’s commercials have won numerous awards. But advertising also brought something equally as rewarding. There he got to work with some of his favorite illustrators. Watching these artists create their pieces inspired Trip Park to try his hand at illustrating himself.Trip Park has illustrated a number of children's books including Gopher Up Your Sleeve, written by Tony Johnston, Trout, Trout, Trout! (A Fish Chant) and Ant, Ant, Ant! (An Insect Chant), both written by April Pulley Sayre. He has also developed characters and helped animate commercials for Nickelodeon, The California State Fair, Lego, and many others. When Rotten School came along, the opportunity to translate to the drawing board R.L. Stine’s cast of kids was a wonderful chance to combine his love for children’s illustration with this group of rotten students. His work can be seen at www.tripparkproductions.com.Trip lives in Charlotte, NC with his wife, Laura and four children.
Hometown:New York, New York
Date of Birth:October 8, 1943
Place of Birth:Columbus, Ohio
Education:B.A., Ohio State University, 1965
Read an Excerpt
Rotten School #10: The Rottenest Angel
By R.L. Stine
HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2009
All right reserved.
Chapter One "How You Doin'?"
A beautiful morning at Rotten School. The apple trees shimmered in the morning sunlight. The grass on the Great Lawn still sparkled with dew.
I strolled happily, singing the Rotten School Song to myself:
"Rah, rah, Rotten School!
I'd rather be in Rotten School—
Than not in school!"
It was Saturday, and I—Bernie Bridges—didn't have a care in the world. Did I know that BIG trouble—with a capital BIG—was just minutes away? No with a capital NO.
"Dudes! Wait for Bernie B.!" I shouted. I waved to my three buddies and ran to catch up with them. Feenman and Crench had one of Belzer's shoes. They were tossing it back and forth, playing keep-away. Fun-loving dudes!
"How you doin'?" I asked.
"How you doin'?" Feenman replied.
"How you doin'?" Belzer asked.
"How you doin'?" I said.
"How you doin'?"
"How you doin'?"
We usually do this for at least half an hour. I don't know why we think it's so funny. But it really cracks us up.
"How you doin'?"
"How you doin'?"
Saturday morning is when we go to the Student Center to study. Mainly we study air hockey, pinball, and the new PlayStation games. Wedon't like to mess up our weekends doing homework.
I checked out my three friends. Feenman and Crench are tall and thin and kinda dance when they walk—real loose. Belzer is short and pudgy. He looks like his name—he's definitely a Belzer.
I shook my head. "Yo—you dudes are looking shabby," I said. "What's up with your clothes? They're totally wrinkled—and they don't even fit!"
Feenman sighed. "Bernie, our room is too small," he said. "All three of us are jammed in so tight, we have to take turns breathing!"
"It used to be a broom closet," Belzer said.
"So? What's that got to do with your clothes?" I asked.
"There's no room for a closet. We keep all our stuff in a big pile on the floor," Crench said. "We can't tell whose is whose!"
"Look—I'm wearing Feenman's shirt," Belzer said. The shirt came down to his knees. He raised his arms. "See these armpit stains, Bernie? They're not mine—they're Feenman's!"
"It's so crowded," Feenman said, "we have to sleep standing up!"
"Dudes, I hope you're not complaining," I said. "I hope you're not hinting that I should share my room."
Feenman squinted at me. "Well, Big B, you are all alone in that huge room. . . . "
"you know I need a lot of space," I said. "I need space for plotting and planning and scheming." I put a hand on Feenman's shoulder. "And who do I plot and plan and scheme for? I do it all for you guys, right?"
"Right," Belzer agreed. "Who convinced Nurse Hanley that Skittles are actually vitamin pills? Bernie did."
"That was a good thing," Feenman and Crench muttered.
"And who got Mrs. Heinie to give us extra credit if we don't burp up our breakfast in class?" Belzer asked. "Bernie did."
"That was a good thing, too," Feenman and Crench said.
"I'm always thinking of you guys," I said. "That's why I need the extra space."
And that's what this story is about—my extra space. Because guess what? An hour or two later I walked back to our dorm—Rotten House. I climbed the stairs to my room on the third floor.
And, yo! I stopped in the doorway—and stared at another boy unpacking a suitcase.
He had wavy, blond hair that glowed in the sunlight pouring through my window. He had a round face with big, blue eyes and rosy cheeks. He turned to me and flashed me a warm smile, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Who—who are you?" I stammered.
"I'm Angel Goodeboy," he said.
"No. Really," I said. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my room?"
Excerpted from Rotten School #10: The Rottenest Angel by R.L. Stine Copyright © 2009 by R.L. Stine. Excerpted by permission.
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