Read The Hamster of the Baskervilles for Free Online

like Natalie.
And what's worse, you can't even sell them.

11. Here a Wolf, Were a Wolf
    Since I couldn't think of any way out of it, I headed back to my classroom for a double dose of science. With Science Fair happening tomorrow night, we were spending extra time working on our projects.
    The excitement was so thick you could cut it with a blunt instrument. I half wished someone would use that blunt instrument on my head, to save me from working on our dumb project.
    My group was buzzing. Shirley Chameleon and Tiffany the toad pushed two desks together and started laying out materials. Rynne Tintin hoisted a fresh sack of vegetables.
    Only a miracle could save me from death by boredom.
    It came.
    A sixth-grade hall monitor slouched up to Mr. Ratnose's desk and handed him a note.
    "Chet Gecko," said Mr. Ratnose, "report to the principal's office."
    Sweeter words were never spoken. Better a quick death by bawling out than the slow torture of trying to get a charge from brain-dead vegetables.
    Shirley rolled one eye at me. "What have you done now?"
    "Don't ask," I said.
    "
'Don't ask,'
you don't know, or
'Don't ask,'
I don't want to know?"
    I frowned. "Just
don't ask.
"
    Dames.

    It was a piece of cake to walk up to Principal Zero's office. Knocking on his door was a banana split with fudge on top.
    But walking inside and facing down that massive tomcat was a whole 'nother can of cherries.
    "Come in," a voice rumbled.
    Principal Zero's office smelled of broken dreams and old report cards, of kitty litter and fear. I opened the heavy oak door and stopped cold.
    "You sent for me?" I asked.
    A huge white cat sat behind a desk as heavy as a
cheater's conscience. He offered a smile as clear and innocent as a used car salesman's—only, Principal Zero's grin was crusted with flecks of old tuna fish.
    "Sit down, Chester."
    I hate it when they use my full name.
    The guest chair before his broad black desk creaked as I sat. I didn't know what I'd done wrong, but I'd learned never to bring up my misdeeds before he did.
    Principal Zero stared down at me. I stared back.
    "You're probably wondering why you're here," he said. "It's..."
    I broke. "I was nowhere near there at the time."
    "...a small matter we need your assistance with," he said. "Um, what did you say?"
    "Oh, nothing."
    I replayed his words. Wait a minute—Principal Zero asking for
my
help? That sounded screwier than a cage full of waltzing mice.
    "Go on," I said.
    Mr. Zero smoothed his whiskers. He waved a paw. "Perhaps Ms. LaRue should explain."
    From a shadowy corner of the office strolled Heidi LaRue, a sixth-grade teacher all the kids called "Boom-Boom"—but never to her face, and always in whispers.
    Ms. LaRue was a hefty hedgehog with a prickly
disposition and a glance sharp enough to cut you down to size and trim the hedges, both. Her classroom ran on iron discipline.
    Of all the no-nonsense teachers at Emerson Hicky, she was the no-nonsense-iest—which made her next words even stranger.
    "Earlier this morning," she said, "I saw a werewolf on campus."
    I blinked. Either Popper's friend wasn't the only one seeing monsters, or the cafeteria was putting something funky into the applesauce.
    "Where?" I asked.
    "That's right, a
were
wolf," she said.
    "No,
where
did you see it?"
    "By the, uh, cafeteria, before school," said Ms. LaRue. Her lips shriveled like she'd kissed a moldy prune. "It was ugly and hairy—a great brute."
    "Most of them are," I said.
    Her mouth drew even tighter. Principal Zero coughed a warning.
    "So what was it doing?" I asked.
    Ms. LaRue glared. "It was wolfing about, of course!" She turned to the principal. "Honestly, Mr. Zero, I don't see what help this child can be. This is a matter for the authorities."
    Principal Zero's tail twitched like a worm on a hot plate. Ms. LaRue's quills stood on end. He matched her glare for glare.

    "This is
my
school, Ms. LaRue," he purred menacingly, "and I decide when to call the police."
    This