Now, I've read The Not-So-Great Escape: Three Books in One by Bill Myers more than once, and I must say, I've found plenty of good and positive things to say about it.

For one thing, in The Not-So-Great Escape, the main protagonist Nicholas Martin learns the hard way about obedience and mental pollution after letting his friend Louis talk him into going to see a scary film: Night of the Blood Freaks, Part IV (which happens to be in 3-D). When he mentions it to his mom and then dad, Nick is in for a big disappointment:

Nick started it off by playing it cool and nonchalant, like it was nothing. With any luck, he thought, she'll say yes right off the bat. But this wasn't Nick's lucky day.
"Absolutely not!" she snapped. (p. 26)

"Nicholas wants to go see a movie with Louis," Mom said.
"Sure, why not?" Dad said as he poked his head in the fridge.
Nick held his breath. This was it. It could go either way. If Dad just didn't ask the other question—the one that always came up when they talked about movies. If he just didn't ask . . .
"What's it rated?" Aargh! He asked it! That was it. Nick was dead. He knew it. (p. 27)

"Oh, it's a real classic," Sarah piped up.
Nick glared at her and wondered what the penalty was for murdering your sister. Maybe they'd go easy on him. I mean, who would mind one less big-mouth sister in the world?
She wasn't done, either. In fact, she was grinning. At last her day had meaning: She could go to bed knowing that once again she had ruined Nicholas's entire life.
"Night of the Blood Freaks—Part IV," she told their dad, savoring each word.
Slowly Dad straightened up and looked at Nick over the door of the fridge. Nick tried not to let their eyes meet, but it did no good. He looked at his father pitifully, helplessly. "It's in 3-D," he croaked.
"No way. Absolutely not."
"But, Dad . . ." Nick could feel himself start to get angry.
"Honey," Mom reasoned, "we don't want you filling your mind with that kind of garbage. You know that." (p. 28)

"Well . . ." Nick was stuttering, looking for the right words. "Why am I always the one who can't do anything?" His voice was getting high and shrill, a good sign he was losing control.
"Nicholas . . .," Dad warned.
But it was all coming out now, and there was nothing Nick could do to stop it. "Can't do this, can't do that—"
"One more word out of you, young man—"
"It's not fair," Nicholas shouted over his dad. "Everybody else gets to go out—"
"Nichol—" Mom tried to stop him from getting in any worse hot water, but Nick was too busy shouting to hear.
"Everybody else gets to go, but I have to sit around with a bunch of old—"
"That's it!" Dad's voice was sharp and to the point. It immediately brought Nicholas to a stop. He'd gone too far, and he knew it.
Dad continued firm and even. "We don't talk that way in this home. Now go to your room. You're grounded."
Nicholas couldn't believe his ears. Grounded! How could this have gone so wrong?
He looked at Dad. The man stood solid and firm. Then he looked at his mom. She was also holding her ground.
Nick felt his ears start to burn, his head start to pound. He was so mad he felt like exploding, but what could he do? His dad had spoken. And by the tone in his voice and the look in his eye, Nick knew he meant every word of it.
Nicholas Martin, Mr. I-can-handle-my-folks-no-sweat, was grounded—and there was nothing he could do about it. (p. 28-29)

The boys had plenty of time to walk to the theater. But superheroes never walk. They dash, dart or zip. So Louis made sure they did just that . . . all the way. (p. 57)

Then the movie started.
The slimy, half-rotted mutants weren't so bad to look at. In fact, it was kind of fun to watch the way they hobbled across the lawn. And their slurping, sucking noises were more disgusting than scary. It was when they got into the house . . . and what they did to their first victim . . . well, at first it was kind of interesting. Then it got gross. Then more gross. Then, when you were sure it couldn't get any more gross . . . it did.
Nick glanced at Louis. It was hard to see his friend's expression behind those 3-D glasses. Still, Louis was definitely feeling something. I mean, the kid was munching down popcorn faster than Nick had ever seen him eat in his life.
Now, the Freaks were starting up the stairs of the house—heading up to find the rest of the family. (p. 60)

Back at the theater, the Blood Freaks had found that family and began attacking them . . . one at a time. The sounds were awful . . . lots of screaming and choking and gagging. But the sounds were nothing compared to what you watched. What Nicholas watched. What he couldn't take his eyes from.
As he watched, that volleyball came back into his stomach. Only now it wasn't content to just stay in his stomach. It was trying to jump up his throat and out his mouth. Nicholas tried his best to swallow it . . . but the worse the movie got, the harder it was to keep it down.
Finally everybody was killed off. Well, almost everybody. There was still one little member left. The tiny little sister. She cried; she whimpered; she begged . . . but nothing stopped the Blood Freaks. They did to her what they had done to the others. Only worse. Much worse. Much, much worse. Worse than much worse.
Then, just when Nick thought they had finished—just when he reached for his soda and tried to take a sip from his straw to settle his stomach—the Freaks finished their attack with this sickening slurp that sound just like a soda straw getting the last bit of drink in a cup.
Nick looked at his straw. Suddenly he wasn't so thirsty anymore. (p. 62-63)

At last the nightmare was over. The credits ended, and the final words on the screen were:
"Coming soon to a blood bank near you . . . Blood Feast of the Blood Freaks, Part V."
The kids in the audience broke into cheers. Nick couldn't believe it. He glanced around. Everybody looked as sick and pale as he felt. They were wiped out too—but they were still cheering and clapping. It was like they could hardly wait to get grossed out all over again.
"Great flick, huh?" Louis beamed.
Nick tried to smile, but he wasn't too successful. Louis saw it, and for a second his grin also faded. For a second Nick could see what his friend was really thinking. Louis wasn't feeling so fit either. It lasted only a second, though.
"Hey, Louis," one of the kids from behind poked him in the back. "Wasn't that great the way they got that last kid?"
"Yeah." Louis was grinning again. "Or the way they . . ."
Nick didn't hear the rest of the conversation. Louis joined his friends and headed up the aisle. Nick just shook his head. No one would admit how frightened or scared they were. It was almost like they were trying too hard to prove they had had a good time.
But Nicholas couldn't fake it. He felt terrible. What had he done? And more important, why had he done it? His folks were right. The show was awful. It was worse than awful. It was garbage. First-rate, triple A garbage—with a lot of blood thrown in to wash it down. (p. 65-66)

As punishment for sneaking out to see the movie, Nick has to do various chores around the house. Thankfully, he decides he's through with watching movies similar to the one he saw.

Then, there's Do the Bright Thing, which is a play on the phrase "Do the right thing" and is about making decisions, as Nick and his older sister Sarah find out the hard way.

Speaking of sides, on the other side of town, Nick's big sister, Sarah, was making a decision of her own. It was Saturday, so there was only place she could be: the mall. Just as surely as water runs downhill, as surely as little brothers are a pain in the neck, as surely as teachers never ask the questions you study for on tests . . . if it was Saturday morning, Sarah was at the mall. It was like a tradition.
This particular morning was more than a tradition; it was a celebration! After weeks of baby-sitting and saving, Sarah finally slapped her hard-earned cash down on the counter and bought the pair of white jeans she had been eyeing for months.
These weren't just any ol' pair of white jeans. These were the primo, to-the-max, super-great-looking (complete with a sparkly, hand-painted rainbow) pair of white jeans.
"Wow!" Tina, her best friend, called as Sarah stepped out of the dressing room.
"Whew!" Bonnie, her second-best friend, exclaimed.
"You don't think they're too much?" Sarah asked.
"No way. Do you think they have a pair in my size?" Bonnie wondered.
Sarah threw her a look. This was pretty typical. Whenever Sarah found something that was perfect and just for herself, Bonnie would always do her best to try to copy it. But that was Bonnie—kinda pushy, often bossy, and always, always, used to getting her own way. Luckily for Sarah, there wasn't a pair of jeans even close to Bonnie's size.
After Sarah had tried the pants on, and after her friends made the appropriate oohs and ahs, it didn't take much coaxing to convince her to keep wearing them. So, for the rest of the morning, no matter where they went, Sarah couldn't help feeling that everyone was watching her. She knew it probably wasn't true, but there was always the hope that she was wrong! (p. 90-91)

After Sarah lies about going to her friend Bonnie Putnam's house and disobeys about going to the stock car race where her friend Tina's cousin Jason is, Bonnie gets hurt when she's sent flying through the air because of the green car's rear fender and ends up in the hospital (while diagnosed with a concussion and a fractured left leg), where she's kept overnight for observation before being released Sunday afternoon. Sarah visits her on Monday after school.

Yes, that could've been her in that bed. OK, so her parents set up some tough rules. Sometimes they seemed impossibly strict. But they had their reasons . . . like making sure she didn't end up like Bonnie.
Sarah sighed. So the rules had a reason for being there. Now all she had to do was think up the right punishment for not following them . . . (p. 140)

Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Martin decide Sarah will have to come up with her own discipline. When Sarah sees it like an adult, things aren't so easy for her. Finally, Mr. and Mrs. Martin reveal Sarah's idea of being grounded until Christmas vacation (which Mr. Martin says is more than two months away) is a lot tougher compared to what they had mind for Sarah's punishment:

Sarah's heart was starting to race. This was getting to be too good to be true. It was like some fairy tale with an and-they-lived-happily-ever-after ending. "So you mean," she asked excitedly, "that my making the decision was enough? Now I'm off the hook! No punish—"
"Not quite, young lady," Dad interrupted.
Sarah frowned. Well, so much for fairy-tale endings.
"I think, though, that being grounded for four weeks should be enough," Dad finished.
"And no telephone privileges," Mom threw in.
Sarah's heart sank a little, but not much. I mean, let's face it, four weeks is a far cry from two and a half months. (p. 143-144)

Finally, I highly recommend this book to those who remember the McGee and Me! series, and I give it five stars (although ten stars would be even better). 😎📚👍🏻