CHAPTER 1 “I’m singin’ in the rain . . .” George Brown was surprised to hear his teacher, Mrs. Kelly, suddenly start singing in front of the class.
“I’m singin’ and dancin’ in the rain . . .”
The next thing George knew, Mrs. Kelly was dancing. Which wasn’t nearly as surprising. Mrs. Kelly loved to dance. She did it all the time.
George looked up as Mrs. Kelly twirled past his desk. There were huge stains forming under her pits. Boy, his teacher could really sweat.
Mrs. Kelly made her way back up to the front of the room. Then she looked out at the class and tried to catch her breath.
“I bet you’re wondering why I’m singing to you about rain,” Mrs. Kelly said between huffs and puffs.
George had been wondering that. He’d also been wondering when his teacher would stop singing. Her voice really was awful.
“I’m singing about rain because our new science unit is wild weather,” Mrs. Kelly continued. “And the first kind of storm we’re studying is a hurricane.”
George sat up in his seat. That sounded kind of interesting.
“A hurricane is a tropical storm that has really strong winds and heavy rain,” Mrs. Kelly continued. “We rate them on a scale of one to five, depending on how hard the wind is blowing.”
Max raised his hand. “Is a hurricane the same thing as a tornado?” he asked.
“No,” Mrs. Kelly told him. “A tornado is actually a spinning tube of air that—”
Mrs. Kelly was busy talking about the difference between a tornado and a hurricane, but George wasn’t actually listening anymore. He was too busy paying attention to the big storm that was brewing in the bottom of his belly.
There were bubbles in there. Hundreds of them. And not just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill stomach bubbles. These were magical super burp bubbles.
There would be trouble if those bubbles broke loose. There was always trouble when the magical super burp came around.
George’s bubble trouble had started right after his family moved to Beaver Brook. George’s dad was in the army, and his family moved around a lot. Which meant George had been the new kid in school lots of times. So he understood that first days could be rotten. But this first day was the rottenest.
At his old school, George was the class clown. But George had promised himself that things were going to be different this time. No more pranks. No more making funny faces behind teachers’ backs.
Sadly, nobody notices a new, unfunny kid. George felt like he was invisible. Everyone ignored him. Well, everyone except Louie Farley, who for some reason had hated George from the start.
That night, George’s parents took him out to Ernie’s Ice Cream Emporium to cheer him up. While they were sitting outside and George was finishing his root beer float, a shooting star flashed across the sky. So George made a wish.
I want to make kids laugh—but not get into trouble.
Unfortunately, the star was gone before George could finish the wish. So only half came true—the first half.
A minute later, George had a funny feeling in his belly. It was like there were hundreds of tiny bubbles bouncing around in there. The bubbles ping-ponged their way into his chest and bing-bonged their way up into his throat. And then . . .
George let out a big burp. A huge burp. A SUPER burp!
The super burp was loud, and it was magic.
Suddenly George lost control of his arms and legs. It was like they had minds of their own. His hands grabbed straws and stuck them up his nose like a walrus. His feet jumped up on the table and started dancing the hokey pokey. Everyone at Ernie’s started laughing—except George’s parents, who were covered in the ice cream he’d kicked over while he was dancing.
After that night, the burp came back over and over again. And every time it did, it made a mess of things.
That was why George couldn’t let that burp burst out of him now. Not while Mrs. Kelly was trying to explain the difference between a hurricane and a tornado.
But the bubbles were strong. Already they had cling-clanged their way past his kidneys and ping-ponged their way onto his pancreas.
The bubbles slipped and slid up his spine. They tickled at his tonsils.
George shut his mouth tight. He had to keep the bubbles inside. The bubbles threaded their way up George’s throat. They tap-danced on his tongue. And then . . .
George let out a giant burp. A super burp. A burp so loud and so strong it could be categorized as a catastrophic, category-five burp!
“George!” Mrs. Kelly said, surprised. “What do you say?”
George wanted to say, “Excuse me.” But George wasn’t in charge anymore. The burp was. And what the burp wanted to say was, “It’s a twister!”
The next thing George knew, he was leaping out of his seat. His hips were twisting around and around.
Everyone in the class stared. An evil smile formed on Louie Farley’s face.
“That weirdo freak is gonna get it now,” Louie told his pals Mike and Max. “No way Mrs. Kelly is letting George get away with twisting around in the middle of science.”
Mrs. Kelly stared at George.
George stared at Mrs. Kelly.
And then . . .
Mrs. Kelly’s hips started twisting, too.
“You’re right, George,” Mrs. Kelly told him. “A tornado is called a twister. And this dance is called the twist.”
Louie’s smile turned upside down. He couldn’t believe George wasn’t in trouble.
Neither could George.
The next thing George knew, Mrs. Kelly was twisting her way down the aisle right toward him. She grabbed George’s hand.
“Come on, let’s do the twist,” she sang as she twisted her hips.
George’s face turned beet red. He didn’t want to be dancing with his teacher. He didn’t want to be holding her sweaty, sticky hand.
But the burp didn’t mind. It just kept twisting.
George twisted up.
He twisted down.
He twisted all around. And then . . .
Pop! Suddenly something burst in the bottom of George’s belly. It felt like someone had stuck a pin in a balloon down there. All the air rushed out of him.
The magical super burp was gone.
But George was still there. Doing the twist. And holding Mrs. Kelly’s sweaty hand.
Everyone was staring at him.
A couple of kids were laughing. Louie was laughing the hardest.
George groaned. He was never going to live this down. Ever.
Copyright © 2017 by Nancy Krulik; Illustrated by Aaron Blecha. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
