The next time I decide to lie, do me a favor. Tell me I'll have to watch Blue's Clues nonstop for a month.
Better yet, tell me I'll have to listen to Barney the Dinosaur's theme song a million times.
Do whatever it takes to stop me.
Why?
Because I discovered that lying is as much fun as eating cream of spinach soup in the middle of a math test while you've got the chickenpox!
Okay, it's not really that bad.

IT'S WORSE!
(sorry, didn't mean to yell.)

It all started when Splat, the Wonder-dog and I crawled out onto our roof from my bedroom.
There were a bunch of shooting stars that night, and we wanted to see them.
Mom and Dad had said it was too late.
I always try to obey my folks, but there was something about the stars. There was also something about Priscilla banging on my window and threatening to beat me up if I didn't get out of bed.
(Priscilla knows karate, kung fu, Kung Pao Chicken, and all that stuff.)
We've been next-door neighbors ever since we were kids. We've been friends almost as long. (I know she's a girl, but it's great having someone to protect me from all the sixth-grade bullies.)
I can't remember the last time she used our front door. With a giant tree between our houses and her ability to climb trees, why bother?
So there we were, Priscilla, Splat, and me, lying on our backs, staring up at the stars, when . . .

"AUGHHH . . ."
K-Thud

We were joined by a fourth person (whose tree climbing wasn't quite as good as Priscilla's).
At first, I thought it was my older cousin, Wally McDoogle. Wally is always falling out of trees and stuff. If there is such a thing as a walking disaster, it's Wally.
People say Wally and I are nothing alike . . . especially when it comes to athletic ability.
I have some.
He has none.
But it wasn't Wally. It was some lady in a black hat and trench coat.
Luckily, the roof stopped her fall. Unluckily, it might have also stopped her breathing.
"Lady!" I shouted. "Lady, are you all right?"
Her eyes were closed and she groaned.
Oh, and there was one other thing . . . her face was glowing green.

HER FACE WAS GLOWING GREEN!
(Oops, I'm yelling again.
Is this better?)

"Who is she?" Priscilla asked.
There was something about the way the letters B.A.D.D. were written on the back of her coat, on her binoculars, and on her hat, that caused me to make a brilliant guess.
"She might be a B.A.D.D. agent," I said. (I told you it was brilliant.)
Priscilla turned to me. "Those are the bad guys who think you're a secret agent?" she asked.
I nodded.
"So what was she doing?"
"Probably spying on me."
"But why is she glowing green?"
Before we had an answer, the agent . . .

"Ah-chooo!"-ed

into all three of our faces.
"Gross," Priscilla groaned as we all wiped off the wetness. (Some people pass out towels when they spit. This woman should have passed out raincoats.)
But that was just the beginning. Because, suddenly her shoes popped off and flames shot out of her toenails!

FLAMES SHOT OUT OF HER TOENAILS!
(I'm doing it again, aren't I?)

All three of us cried and leaped back as she kept on sneezing.

"Ah-chooo! Ah-chooo! Ah-chooo!"

With every sneeze, the flames shot out farther, until . . .

Ahh . . . K-WhOOShhh . . .

her feet zipped off the roof and disappeared into the night. (And since she was connected to her feet, she also zipped off and disappeared into the night.)
"WOW!" I cried. "Did you see that?"
"Some of it," Priscilla said, still wiping her face.
I turned to Splat who was doing the same with his little paws.
"That was so cool!" I cried.
Little did I know that over the next few days the coolness would send cold shivers down my back.

* * * * *
The next morning I woke up to the gentle screaming of one of my three older sisters . . .
"BERNIE!"

"Ahh . . ." K-WHOOshhh!

"BERNIE DINGLEDORF, COME DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!"
I recognized the screaming. But it was the-

"Ahh . . ." K-WHOOshhh!!

that had me puzzled.
"BERNIE!"
I hopped out of bed and raced downstairs.
Everybody was standing in the living room. Well, not really standing. More like ducking for cover as . . .

"Ahh . . ." K-WHOOshhh!
"Ahh . . ." K-WHOOshhh!

Splat flew back and forth over their heads.
But he was doing more than flying. He was also sneezing.
And, like the B.A.D.D. agent last night, when he sneezed he sprayed.
"Oh, ick!" Sister 1 screamed.
"He's ruining my hair!" Sister 2 wailed.
"What do we do?" Sister 3 cried.
"Grab an umbrella," Dad said quietly. (Dad always speaks quietly-at least compared to my sisters who always screech unquietly.)
"Splat," I shouted, "what are you doing?"
He couldn't answer. He just kept zooming back and forth over our heads. Zooming, sneezing . . . and-of course-spraying.
It was definitely raining doggie drool. In fact, it was so bad that the alarm on my secret agent wrist watch started to sound.

AhoooGaaa . . .
AhoooGaaa . . .

I looked down at it and saw a flashing button that read:

WARNING
Press only if you are
being covered in doggie drool

I reached down and pressed it. Suddenly, a giant energy field wrapped around to protect me. Talk about cool!
But nobody paid attention. They were all too busy staring up at Splat.
"Look at his toenails!" Sister 1 shouted. "They're on fire!"
But they weren't on fire. Not really. I mean flames were shooting out of them, but his claws weren't burning up.
It was like the B.A.D.D. agent last night. Splat's toenails weren't on fire. They'd just become rocket-powered. And each time the power started to die down, he would sneeze and they would fire up again.
Oh, and one other thing. Splat's face. It was also glowing green like the B.A.D.D. agent's!

"Ahh . . ." K-WHOOshhh!

"Bernie," Mom cried. "Do you know what's going on?"
I shook my head. "No, Mom."
"He was fine last night," she said. "But this morning, look at him."

"Ahh . . ." K-WHOOshhh!
"Ahh . . ." K-WHOOshhh!

"Did you do anything last night!" she shouted over the roaring and spraying. "Did you go out when you shouldn't?"
And here it came . . .
The thing I shouldn't do . . .
The thing I didn't want to do . . .
The thing I did do . . .

The Lie

"No, Mom."
It was only two words. But two words that would nearly destroy the world.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes, Mom, I'm sure."
(All right, that was four words. I guess I better be truthful . . . now. Too bad I wasn't truthful, then. . . .)