Dedication

  To Issie Templeton

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1. Extracurricular Activity Week

  2. The Steve Club

  3. Glub, Glub

  4. The Sit on the Couch and Watch TV Club

  5. The Video Game Players Club

  6. The Joker Club

  7. The Toast Club

  8. A Total Waste of Time

  9. Just Say No . . . to Clubs

  10. The Big Surprise Ending

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  TO THE READER:

  This is the first My Weird School book to be written with the help of artificial intelligence (AI).*

  My name is A.J., and I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking about restrooms. I know because that’s what I’m thinking about.

  Why do they call them restrooms? Nobody goes in there to rest. I don’t go to the restroom because I’m tired. I go because I have to pee or poop. They don’t even have a bed or a comfy chair in there. If I want to take a rest, I’ll stay home.

  My point is . . . it was Friday. I was in Miss Banks’s class. She was talking about animals and how they digest food. Why do we have to learn that stuff? I’m never going to feed a moose.

  “Who can tell me what a carnivorous animal eats?” Miss Banks asked.

  Andrea Young, this annoying girl with curly brown hair, raised her hand. Of course.

  “Oooooh! Oooooh! I know!” oohed Andrea. She was waving her hand in the air like she was trying to signal a plane from a desert island.

  Andrea thinks she knows everything. She reads the dictionary for fun. What is her problem? I put my hand up just so Andrea wouldn’t get to answer the question. Miss Banks called on me.

  “A.J., what does a carnivorous animal eat?”

  “Carnivorous animals eat cars,” I replied. “That’s why they’re called car-nivorous.”

  Everybody laughed even though I didn’t say anything funny.

  “That’s wrong, Arlo!” said Andrea, who calls me by my real name because she knows I don’t like it. “Carnivorous animals eat meat.”

  “Very good, Andrea,” said Miss Banks. “And who can tell me what herbivores eat?”

  “Oooooh! Oooooh!” oohed Andrea.

  “Herbivores eat guys named Herb,” I shouted.

  “They do not!” said Andrea. “They eat plants!”

  “That’s right,” said Miss Banks.

  I know what carnivores and herbivores eat. I was just yanking Andrea’s chain. But that’s when the weirdest thing in the history of the world happened. You’ll never believe who walked into the door at that moment.

  Nobody! Why would you walk into a door? You could get a concussion. But you’ll never believe who walked into the doorway.

  It was Mrs. Stoker, the principal of Ella Mentry School! Mrs. Stoker is a joker. When she’s not being our principal, she’s a stand-up comedian.

  “Hey, Fourth Graders,” she said. “Do you know why the man fell into a hole in the ground?”

  “No,” we all replied. “Why did the man fall into a hole in the ground?”

  “Because he couldn’t see that well!” said Mrs. Stoker. “Get it? See that well?”

  We all laughed even though it wasn’t that funny. You should always laugh at the principal’s jokes. That’s the first rule of being a kid.

  “But seriously,” said Mrs. Stoker, “I have some news for you kids.”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t like the sound of that. No news is good news.

  “Now that you’re in fourth grade,” continued Mrs. Stoker, “you get to participate in extracurricular activities!”

  Huh? Extracurricular? That word is way too long.*

  “What does extracurricular mean?” asked Michael, who never ties his shoes.

  “It means we can join clubs,” said Little Miss Know-It-All. Andrea smiled the smile she smiles to let everybody know she knows something nobody else knows.

  Mrs. Stoker told us that first, second, and third graders aren’t allowed to join school clubs because they’re not “mature” enough. That’s grown-up talk for “little kids are dumbheads.”

  “This is Extracurricular Activity Week at Ella Mentry School,” said Mrs. Stoker. “We have lots of after-school clubs you can join blah blah blah blah whatever you’re into blah blah blah blah there are bound to be others who share in your interests blah blah blah blah joining clubs will show colleges someday that you have passions and you’re willing to go out into the world to pursue what you love.”

  Ugh. She said the L word.

  “This is great!” said Andrea. “Joining clubs is going to help me get into Harvard someday.”

  “But the most important thing is to have fun!” said Mrs. Stoker. “Blah blah blah blah sign-up sheet tomorrow blah blah blah blah . . .”

  She went on and on, but we got the idea.

  “I’m gonna join the Football Club,” said Michael.

  “I’m gonna join the Gourmet Club,” said Ryan, who will eat anything, even stuff that isn’t food.

  “I’m gonna join the Pokémon Card Club,” said Neil, who we call the nude kid even though he wears clothes.

  “I’m gonna join the Extreme Sports Club,” said Alexia, this girl who rides a skateboard all the time.

  “I’m gonna join the Future Lawyers of America Club,” said Andrea.

  “Me too,” said Emily, who always does everything Andrea does.

  “Great!” said Mrs. Stoker. “You kids are going to have so much fun!”

  Fun? Every time a grown-up tells me something is going to be fun, it’s never fun. It’s just a way for grown-ups to teach us more stuff. It’s bad enough that we have to learn so much stuff in school. Then we have to learn even more stuff after school too. No fair!

  I’m onto their tricks, though. There was no way these extracurricular activities were going to be fun.

  At dismissal on Monday, we had to Pringle up and march to the gym. Alexia was the line leader. Emily was the door holder. There was a big banner on the wall of the gym that said SIGN UP FOR EXTRACURRICULAR ACTIVITIES! A skinny lady I had never seen before was standing behind a table. Mrs. Stoker introduced her.

  “This is Mrs. Marge,” she told us. “She’s in charge of the extracurricular activities program here at Ella Mentry School.”

  “Welcome, Fourth Graders!” said Mrs. Marge. “Joining clubs will give you the opportunity to explore your interests blah blah blah blah learn new things blah blah blah blah connect with others who have similar hobbies blah blah blah blah express your creativity blah blah blah blah get involved blah blah blah blah . . .”

  What a snoozefest! There were a bunch of clipboards on the table, and each one was for a different club we could join. I looked over the list of clubs—the Math Club, the Chess Club, the Computer Club, the Drama Club, the Book Club . . .

  Book club? Ugh. No way I was going to join that club! Books are boring. I don’t even know why you’re reading this one.

  All those clubs sounded boring to me. But that’s when I saw a club that seemed really interesting—the Steve Club.

  “What’s the Steve Club?” I asked Mrs. Marge.

  “It’s a club for people named Steve,” she replied.

  WHAT?!

  I figured she was just making a joke. A club for people named Steve?* I don’t know anybody named Steve. I think there’s only one kid in the whole school named Steve.

  I decided that it would be hilarious to join a club for people named Steve. So I picked up the pen that was attached to the clipboard.

  “What’s your name?” asked Mrs. Marge.

  “A.J.,” I replied.

  “Why do you want to be in the Steve Club, A.J.?” she asked.

  “I always liked the name Steve,” I told her. “My parents almost named me Steve.”

  “I see,” said Mrs. Marge. “Well, Ella Mentry School is all about acceptance and inclusion. Ordinarily, the Steve Club is made up of kids named Steve. But it wouldn’t be fair if we only let certain people join certain clubs. So we’ll make an exception in your case. Congratulations, A.J. You are officially a member of the Steve Club.”

  “YAY!” I shouted, which is also “YAY” backward. I signed the clipboard.

  Ryan heard what was going on and walked over.

  “Hey, did you join a club?” he asked me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I just joined the Steve Club.”

  “That sounds cool,” said Ryan. “Can I join too?”

  “You have to ask Mrs. Marge,” I told him. “She gave me special permission even though my name isn’t Steve.”

  Ryan looked up at Mrs. Marge. “I’d like to join the Steve Club,” he said.

  “What’s your name?” she asked him.

  “Ryan,” said Ryan.

  “Is your middle name Steve?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you want to join the Steve Club, Ryan?” asked Mrs. Marge.

  “I want to be in a club with A.J.,” he replied.

  “Hmmm,” said Mrs. Marge. “Our school doesn’t discriminate against people just because they aren’t named Steve. So, welcome to the Steve Club, Ryan.”

  “YAY!” Ryan and I shouted.

  Michael and Neil came over to see what all the fuss was about. We told them that we signed up for the Steve Club.

  “No fair!” said Michael.
“I want to be in the Steve Club.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said Neil.

  “What are your names?” asked Mrs. Marge.

  “Michael,” said Michael.

  “Neil,” said Neil.

  “Why do you boys want to join the Steve Club?” she asked them.

  “Because A.J. and Ryan are in it,” said Neil.

  Mrs. Marge let out a sigh and said Michael and Neil could join the Steve Club.

  “YAY!” we all shouted, high-fiving each other.

  “Can girls be in the Steve Club?” asked Alexia.

  Mrs. Marge looked at Alexia.

  “It wouldn’t be fair to say that girls can’t join a certain club,” she told Alexia, “or that boys can’t join a certain club. So, yes, you can join the Steve Club.”

  “YAY!” we all shouted.

  A few other kids saw that the Steve Club was really popular, and they signed up too. The sign-up sheet was full of names that weren’t Steve.

  I looked over the clipboards for some of the other clubs. That’s when the weirdest thing in the history of the world happened. Some fifth grader came over to the table.

  “I’d like to join the Steve Club,” he said.

  “What’s your name?” asked Mrs. Marge.

  “Steve,” the kid replied.

  “I’m sorry, Steve,” said Mrs. Marge. “The Steve Club is full. We can’t accept any new members at this time. I wish you had been here a little earlier.”

  “No fair!” said Steve.

  Something tells me that extracurricular activities are going to be weird.

  Just about everybody in my class signed up for the Swimming Club. Of course! Swimming is fun, and we never get the chance to swim during school hours. So after school on Tuesday, we all went home to change into bathing suits.* Then our parents dropped us off at the local swim club.

  When we got there, you’ll never believe who was waiting for us in the parking lot.

  It was Mrs. Marge!

  “I didn’t know you were in charge of the Swimming Club, Mrs. Marge,” I said to her.

  “I’m not,” she replied. “This is the Underwater Hockey Club.”

  “The WHAT?!”

  “The Underwater Hockey Club,” she repeated.

  “I thought this was the Swimming Club,” said Emily.

  “Oh, there will be lots of swimming,” said Mrs. Marge, “while you play hockey.”

  I figured she had to be kidding this time. But Mrs. Marge wasn’t smiling. She walked us over to the pool and gave each of us a hockey stick. I looked in the pool. Under the water at each end was a goal.

  “We’re actually going to play hockey?” asked Michael. “Underwater?”

  “Yes!” said Mrs. Marge. “Why else would it be called the Underwater Hockey Club?”

  Mrs. Marge explained to us that a regular hockey game moves very fast, and a lot of kids can’t keep up. She also said that regular hockey can be dangerous because the players are always bumping into each other and falling down on the hard ice. Playing hockey underwater is much slower and safer, she told us.

  It made sense, I guess. Hockey is cool. Maybe underwater hockey would be cool too.

  “I’m scared,” said Emily, who’s scared of everything.

  “Don’t worry, Emily,” said Andrea, “I’ve got this. Last year, I took a class after school in underwater hockey.”

  Of course. Andrea takes classes in everything after school. If they gave a class on how to stand on your head, Andrea would take that class so she could get better at it.

  “Let’s see,” said Mrs. Marge. “How can we divide you kids into two teams?”

  “Girls against boys!” shouted Andrea.

  “Yeah!” all the boys shouted.

  “Okay,” said Mrs. Marge. “Two on two. Ryan and A.J. will be on one team. Andrea and Emily will be on the other team.”

  “What about the rest of us?” complained Michael. “I want to play underwater hockey too.”

  “You’ll get your turn,” said Mrs. Marge. “Be patient. Okay, the first four kids into the pool!”

  Me and Ryan and Andrea and Emily jumped into the pool. It was too deep to stand, so we had to tread water.

  “Are you coming in, Mrs. Marge?” asked Andrea.

  “No, I don’t like to get wet,” Mrs. Marge replied. “I’m going to drop the puck in the middle of the pool. The object of the game is to move the puck to the other end and score a goal on your opponents. Ready . . . Set . . .”

  Mrs. Marge blew her whistle and dropped the puck into the water. We all started yelling and screaming and hooting and hollering and freaking out.

  “Get it!”

  “I don’t see it!”

  “Where is it?”

  “Hold your breath!”

  “Ow! You hit me with your stick!”

  “I did not!”

  “Help!”

  “Pass the puck!”

  “I can’t! I lost my stick!”

  “I have water up my nose!”

  “I can’t swim!”

  “I can’t breathe!”

  “I’m drowning!”

  “Glub, glub!” glubbed Emily. People who are drowning always say “glub, glub.” Nobody knows why.

  Underwater hockey turned out to be no fun at all. Bubbles were everywhere. I couldn’t see. I thought I was gonna die.

  It was ridorkulous. I wanted to run away to Antarctica and go live with the penguins. Penguins don’t have to play hockey underwater.

  We played for about five minutes. Andrea scored the only goal. Of course! Then Mrs. Marge blew her whistle and told us to get out of the pool. We were all panting, even though we weren’t wearing pants.

  “Okay,” Mrs. Marge said as we climbed out of the pool. “Michael, you’ve been very patient. Now you can have your turn to play.”

  “I changed my mind,” he said. “I don’t want to play underwater hockey after all.”

  See, I told you extracurricular activities were no fun.

  I signed up for the Sit on the Couch and Watch TV Club because I like to sit on the couch and watch TV. The first meeting of the club was in the art room, so I went over there as soon as school let out on Wednesday. When I walked in the door, guess who was standing there.

  You don’t have to guess. It was Mrs. Marge.

  “You’re in charge of this club too?” I asked her.

  “Of course,” replied Mrs. Marge. “I’m in charge of all the clubs!

  Hmmm. That’s a little weird. I guess that’s why the book is called Mrs. Marge Is in Charge!

  I was the first kid there. I looked around the art room. There was no couch, and there was no TV.

  “Where’s the couch?” I asked. “Where’s the TV?”

  “Oh, we don’t need a couch or a TV,” said Mrs. Marge. “This is the Zombie Hunters Club.”

  WHAT?!

  “I thought this was the Sit on the Couch and Watch TV Club,” I said.

  “Oh, sorry,” replied Mrs. Marge. “Not enough students signed up to be in the Sit on the Couch and Watch TV Club. So I started the Zombie Hunters Club instead.”

  “But I was hoping to sit on a couch and watch TV,” I told her.

  “Why would anyone want to sit on a couch and watch TV when they could hunt for zombies?” she asked.

  I couldn’t argue with that. Hunting for zombies did sound like fun.

  One by one, some other kids came into the room looking for their clubs that had been canceled because not enough kids signed up for them.

  “Okay, everybody,” Mrs. Marge said excitedly. “Let’s go hunting for zombies!”

  We followed her down the hallway outside the art room. We turned left at the corner. Then we turned right at the next corner.

  “What’s a zombie, anyway?” Ryan whispered to me.

  “A zombie is a dead person who gets brought back to life,” I whispered to him.

  “I’m scared,” said Emily. Of course.

  “Zombies aren’t real,” Andrea assured Emily.

  “They are too,” I said.

  “Are not,” said Andrea.

  “R2-D2,” I told her.

  “Shhhhh!” said Mrs. Marge. “The zombies might hear you.”

  We walked a million hundred miles all over the school looking for zombies.

  “Don’t zombies eat people?” whispered Michael.

  “Yeah, sometimes they eat the living,” I whispered to him. “I saw that in a horror movie once.”