When a young teen discovers a top-secret parenting manual, it's kids versus grown-ups in this kooky, illustrated middle grade thriller with nonstop, seat-of-your-pants action that will delight fans of Jarrett Lerner and Stuart Gibbs. When a tween boy [Codename: Furious Popcorn] picks up what he thinks is a cookbook and finds a diabolical parenting manual, his world turns upside down. The Ultimate Guide to Hacking Your Kids was written by an organization called F.A.R.T. (Families Against Rotten Teens), a secret society of grizzled parents whose origins date back to antiquity.FP is determined to get to the bottom of this, but when he begins investigating F.A.R.T., the manual goes missing, his parents deny knowing anything about any kind of book, andāmaybe strangest of allākids at school start listening to their parents and teachers. What kid would ever do that?F.A.R.T. proves to be more than just some gassy acronym and parental rules and regulations when FP and the Only Onlys, his best friends since preschool, discover F.A.R.T.'s grand plan: a brain modem that can turn kids into well-behaved zombies!This wacky crew has no choice but to find out who's behind the nefarious organization and save young people the world over from total F.A.R.T. domination!
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Yes, you can access F.A.R.T. by Peter Bakalian in PDF and/or ePUB format. We have over one million books available in our catalogue for you to explore.
The guys who run amusement parks wonāt tell you this, but all the really good rides have a secret exit just before you get on them. Itās true. They call it a āChicken Hatch,ā and itās for people who lose their nerve at the last minute.
Me, I think itās wrong to call people āchickenā because they donāt want to vompedo their lunch on some roller coaster. Thatās why Iām offering you a chance to exit this diary right now.
Iām serious. Iāve kept this journal in case something should happen to me, but the detours and trapdoors that follow could easily scramble your eggs. But before you leave, consider this: F.A.R.T.wants you to take this exit.
Yes, you heard that rightāF.A.R.T. They want you to laugh at their ridiculous name and go back to eating your cornflakes because youāre not supposed to know anything about them. Not you or your friends or any kids anywhere.
Now, if youāre still with me, ask yourself this question:
ARE YOUR PARENTS SUDDENLY SMARTER?
I mean a lot smarter. Do they always find your hiding places for junk food, like the Pringles can you disguised as a fire extinguisher or the cake frosting you use for toothpaste? Have they recently discovered that youāve rigged the thermometer in the medicine chest to read 10,000 degrees when you want a sick day, or put Meow Mix on your veggies so your cat will eat them?
How about you? Has a change come over you at school? Do you high-five your teacher when she pulls a pop quiz, remind substitute teachers that homework is due, or tell fellow students, You only hurt yourself when you forge a bathroom pass? Sound familiar?
And riddle yourself this: When your parents go to a PTO meeting, where do they really go? IS there a PTO? Have you ever been to a meeting? Of course not.
Like you, I ignored these warning signs until I stumbled onto the truth. It was a bizarre truth that made sense of it all, but none of my so-called friends could believe it. If you must know, they laughed at me. The fools!
What I needed were people who could grasp the incredible. People I could trust. And I needed them now.
That was when I called THE ONLY ONLYS.
DIARY 2THE ONLY ONLYS
I had never used a pay phone before, and it took me forever to find one, but I couldnāt trust my cell anymore. Nor should you. After I dialed the number, CRABAPPLE (not her real name, though it should be) answered on the first ring.
āSpeak.ā
āItās POPCORN,ā I said.
āIt is? What number are you calling from?ā
āThatās not important. I need a meeting with the Only Onlys today.ā
I could hear her typing. She was always typing.
āNo, not today,ā she replied.
āWhat do you mean no?ā
ā āNo.ā Itās in the dictionary after āgoodbye.ā Goodbye, Popcorn.ā
āHold it! This is serious. Iām serious.ā
āYou? Serious? Iām on a deadline for a Big Story thatāll get me into Journalism Camp. Thatās serious. Tell you what, let me switch you to voice mail, and you canāā
āVoice mail? Who do you think you areātech support? Youāre about to miss THE biggest news story of your life.ā
The typing stopped.
āWhat Big Story?ā
āIāll tell you at the meeting.ā
āAt least give me a hint.ā
āF.A.R.T.ā
āGross! When are you going to grow up? Goodbye, Popcorn, and I mean it.ā
āWait! Isnāt this what the Only Onlys are aboutācoming when one of us calls?ā
āDonāt tell me what the Only Onlys are about!ā she snapped. āI came up with the name.ā
āThen come up with a meeting place. Someplace secret. Like one of those empty houses that your mom is selling. This is your last chance.ā
The line went quiet for what seemed like two years. Had I gone too far with that āBig Storyā stuff? Had she hung up? Was I being watched? Do all pay phones smell like feet?
She came back with an address and told me to use the rear entrance.
āCan the other Only Onlys make it?ā I asked.
āAPRICOT adores you, and BANANA (also not their real names) has no life. Theyāll be there. Popcorn, this had better be good.ā
āIt isnāt.ā
āExcellent,ā she said, and hung up.
I guess good reporters love bad news.
I skateboarded down dead-end streets and dark alleys to make sure I wasnāt followed. When I got to Crabappleās meeting place, I found a run-down store for rent with an old sign tacked on to the back door: SQUID KIDS PRESCHOOL.
Yikes! No wonder the address seemed familiar. This was my old preschool, or what was left of it. I remembered my first day there: an only child dropped into a cauldron of KIDSāall kinds of kidsācriers, liars, biters, bullies, screamers, and even a kid who could pass gas to the tune of āBananaphoneā! Had he learned other songs since then? I wondered.
I opened the door slowly as if there was still a riot going on inside, but instead I saw Crabapple sitting in the same corner that had once corralled the Reading Rodeo, her favorite hangout as a child. (The rest of us slackers preferred Crayon Canyon.) Typing on her laptop and dressed in her private-school blazer, starched collar, and black tie, she looked like a person who fires other people. People like me, for example.
āOf all the places to meet, why did you choose Squid Kids?ā I asked.
DIARY CODE NAME: Crabapple
Reporter at Pollywolly Prep School newspaperā¦ Voted Most Likely to Disagreeā¦ āI donāt like being right. I just am.ā Spelling Bee Beastmasterā¦ āYou donāt plug it in. Itās a book, dummy.ā Goal: Journalism Camp, change the world with THE BIG STORY.
She didnāt look up. I wasnāt worthy of a glance. āI forgot it was here,ā she said, āuntil I saw that stupid sign.ā
āRemember when Apricot painted those screaming kids on it?ā I asked.
She nodded. āIt was an improvement. I mean, itās not even a squid. Itās an octopus with six arms. Idiots.ā She shut her laptop so hard it must have voided its warranty, and then she aimed her laser...
