When Judy Moody arrived in third grade, her teacher, Mr. Todd, stood by the door, welcoming everyone. "Hello there, Judy."
"Hello, Mr. Toad," said Judy. She cracked herself up.
"Class, please hang your backpacks on the hooks and put your lunches in the cubbies," said Mr. Todd.
Judy Moody looked around the classroom. "Do you have a porcupine named Roger?" Judy asked Mr. Todd.
"No, but we have a turtle named Tucson. Do you like turtles?"
She liked turtles! But she caught herself just in time. "No. I like toads." Judy cracked up again.
"Rocky, your seat is over by the window, and Judy, yours is right up front," said Mr. Todd.
"I knew it," said Judy. She surveyed her new front-row desk. It didn't have an armadillo sticker with her name on it.
Guess Who sat across the aisle from her. Frank Eats-Paste Pearl. He glanced at Judy sideways, then bent his thumb all the way back, touching his wrist. Judy rolled her tongue like a hot dog back at him.
"You like sharks too?" he asked, passing her a small white envelope with her name on it.
Ever since they had danced the Maypole together in kindergarten, this boy would not leave her alone. In first grade, Frank Pearl sent her five valentines. In second grade, he gave her a cupcake on Halloween, on Thanksgiving, and on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Now, on the first day of third grade, he gave her a birthday party invitation. Judy checked the date inside-his birthday was not for three weeks! Even a real shark would not scare him off.
"Can I look inside your desk?" asked Judy. He moved to one side. No sign of paste.
Mr. Todd stood in front of the class. GINO'S EXTRA-CHEESE PIZZA was printed in large letters on the board.
"Are we having extra-cheese pizza for lunch?" Judy asked.
"For Spelling." Mr. Todd held his finger to his lips like it was a secret. "You'll see."
Then he said, "Okay! Third grade! Listen up! We're going to try something
different to kick off the year, as a way of getting to know one another. This year, each of you will make your own Me collage. All about YOU. You can draw or cut out pictures and paste things to your collage that tell the class what makes you YOU."
A Me collage! It sounded fun to Judy, but she didn't say so.
"We don't have to draw a map of our family, then?" asked Jessica Finch.
"I'm passing out a list of ideas for things you might include, like your family. I'm also giving everyone a folder for collecting the things you want to put on your collage. We'll work on these as we have time over the next month. At the end of September, you'll each get a chance to tell the class about YOU."
All through Language Arts and Social Studies, Judy thought about one thing-herself. Judy Moody, star of her own Me collage. Maybe third grade wasn't so bad after all.
"Okay, everybody. Time for Spelling."
"Yuck. Spelling," Judy said under her breath, remembering her bad mood.
"Yuck. Spelling," Frank Pearl agreed. Judy squinched her eyebrows at him.
"Take out a piece of paper and write down five spelling words you can find hidden in the words on the board, GINO'S EXTRA-CHEESE PIZZA."
"Cool Spelling, huh?" said a note passed to Judy by Frank.
"No," she wrote back on her hand, flashing it at him.
Judy took out her brand-new package of Grouchy pencils with mad faces on them. GROUCHY pencils-for completely impossible moods, said the package. Ever see a pencil that looks like it got up on the wrong side of the bed?
Perfect. The new Grouchy pencil helped her think. She found the words TREE, TEXAS, and TAXI hidden in Mr. Todd's spelling on the board. But instead she wrote down 1)NO 2)NO 3)NO 4)NO 5)NO.
"Who would like to tell the class five words they came up with?" asked Mr. Todd.
Judy's hand shot up.
"Judy?"
"NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!" said Judy.
"That's one word. I need four more. Come up and write them on the board."
Judy Moody did not write TREE, TEXAS, and TAXI. Instead she wrote RAT and GNAT.
"How about BRAT?" called Rocky.
"There's no B," said Frank Pearl.
TIGER, wrote Judy.
"One more word," said Mr. Todd.
SPIT, wrote Judy.
"Can you use any of those words in a sentence, Judy?" asked Mr. Todd.
"The tiger spit on the rat and the gnat."
The whole class cracked up. Frank laughed so hard he snorted.
"Are you in a bad mood today?" asked Mr. Todd.
"ROAR," said Judy Moody.
"That's too bad," said Mr. Todd. "I was just about to ask who wants to go
down to the office and pick up the pizza. It's a welcome-back surprise."
"Pizza? Pizza! For real?" The room buzzed with excitement.
Judy Moody wanted to be the one to pick up the pizza. She wanted to be the one to open the box. She wanted to be the one who got to keep the little three-legged plastic table that kept the box top from sticking to the pizza.
"So. Who would like to pick up the pizza today?" asked Mr. Todd.
"Me!" yelled Judy. "Me! Me! Me! Me! Me!" everyone shouted at once, waving their hands like windmills in the air.
Rocky raised his hand without saying a word.
"Rocky, would you like to pick up the pizza?"
"Sure!" said Rocky.
"Luck-y!" Judy said.
JUDY MOODY by Megan McDonald. Copyright (c) 2000 by Megan McDonald. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA.
When Judy got home, she dragged her tote bag upstairs to her room. Thwump, thwump, thwump. She dragged her backpack, her blanket, her pillow, and her sock monkey. And her stuff from the gift shop. She shut the door and climbed up into her secret hideaway (her top bunk).
She, Judy Moody, was supposed to be writing her makeup book report, as in not waiting till the very, very last minute. Instead, she declared freedom from homework.
Then she, Judy Moody, had an idea. A freedom idea. A John Hancock idea. A Declaration of Independence idea.
She did not even stop to call Rocky and tell him about the Boston Tea Party Ship and the Giant Milk Bottle that sold star-spangled bananas. She did not even stop to call Frank and tell him about Mother Goose's grave and the musical toilet.
That could wait till tomorrow.
But some things could not wait.
Judy gazed in awe at the copy of the Declaration of Independence she'd gotten in Boston. It was on old-timey brown paper with burned edges that looked like tea had been spilled on it. Judy squinted to try to read the fancy-schmancy handwriting.
When in the bones of human events . . . blah blah blah . . . we hold these truths . . . more blah blah . . . alien rights . . . Life, Liberty, and the Purse of Happiness.
She, Judy Moody, would hereby, this day, make the Judy Moody Declaration of Independence. With alien rights and her own Purse of Happiness and everything.
_____________________
JUDY MOODY DECLARES INDEPENDENCE by Megan McDonald. Copyright (c) 2005 by Megan McDonald. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA.
Judy Moody marched into third grade on a plain old Thursday, in a plain old ordinary mood. That was before Judy got stung by the Queen Bee.
Judy sat down at her desk, in the front row next to Frank Pearl.
"Hey, did you see Jessica Finch?" asked Frank in a low voice.
"Yeah, so? I see her every day. She sits catty-cornered behind me."
"She's wearing a crown."
Judy turned to look at Jessica, then whispered to Frank, "Where'd she get that? Burger Barn?"
"I don't know," said Frank. "Ask her. She says it's bejeweled."
"Well, it looks be-dumb, if you ask me," said Judy, though secretly she admired the sparkling ruby-like gems.
"Hey, are those real rubies?" Judy asked Jessica.
"They're costume jewelry," Jessica said.
"Who are you dressing up as? The Queen of England?"
"No, I'm the Queen Bee," said Jessica. "I won the N. V. Spelling Bee on Saturday."
"The envy spelling bee?" Judy asked. Judy didn't envy anybody who had to spell long words into a microphone with a million and one people staring bug-eyed at her. She knew those people were silently yelling FLUB IT UP because they wanted their own kid to win.
"Not envy. N. V. As in Northern Virginia."
"Oh," said Judy. "Is that where you got the crown?"
"It's a tiara," said Jessica. "T-I-A-R-A.
A tiara is a fancy crown like the Queen of England wears. Queen of the Bee has to know tons of definitions."
"What word did you win for?" Judy asked. "Frank wants to know," she added, in case Jessica thought she was interested.
"Artichoke. It's a fourth-grade word."
Artichoke! Judy could barely spell meatloaf! Give me S-C-I-E-N-C-E any day, she thought. Was that the rule? I before E? Or was it E before I?
"I have spelling posters in my room at home," said Jessica. "With all the rules. I even have a glow-in-the dark one."
"That would give me spelling nightmares. I'll take my glow-in-the-dark skeleton poster any day. It shows all two hundred and six bones in the body!"
"Judy," said Mr. Todd. "The back of your head is not nearly as interesting as the front. And so far I've seen more of it today than I'd like."
"Sorry," said Judy, facing front again.
Jessica tapped Judy and passed her a folded page from the newspaper. Right there, SMACK-DAB in the MIDDLE of the newspaper for the whole world to see, was a picture of Jessica Finch. It even said LOCAL GIRL BECOMES QUEEN BEE in big fat headline letters.
"My dad says I got my fifteen minutes of fame," Jessica whispered to the back of Judy's head.
Judy did not turn around. She was green with N-V. Jessica A. Finch, Queen of the Dictionary, Class 3T, was famous! Judy could not help thinking how stupendous it would feel to be able to spell better than meatloaf and be the Queen Bee and wear a tiara. To get her own picture in the paper!
But she, Judy Moody, felt about as famous as a pencil.
As soon as Judy got home from school, she decided to memorize the dictionary. But she got stuck on aardwolf. Three lousy words. Who ever heard of an aardwolf anyway? Silly old termite-eater. It had a pointy little head and beady little eyes and a pinched-up face that looked just like . . .
Jessica A. Finch! Jessica Aardwolf Finch might be famous, but she was also a silly old termite-eater.
Since Jessica had become Queen Bee with the word artichoke, Judy decided to skip the dictionary and spell all the vegetables in the refrigerator instead.
"Do we have any artichokes?" Judy asked her mother, opening the door of the fridge.
"Since when did you start liking artichokes?" asked Mom.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to eat them or anything," said Judy. "It's for Spelling."
"Spelling?" Stink asked.
"Mr. Todd does have some creative ways of teaching Spelling," said Mom.
"Never mind," said Judy, giving up when she saw asparagus. Vegetables were too hard to spell. There had to be a food group that was easier.
At dinner Judy slurped up a noodle and asked, "How do you spell spaghetti?"
"N-O-O-D-L-E," said Stink.
"S-P-A-G-H-E-T-T-I," said Dad.
"Or P-A-S-T-A," said Mom.
"Never mind," said Judy. "Please pass the B-R-E-A-D."
"How was school today?" Mom asked.
"W-E-L-L," Judy said. "Jessica Finch won a T-I-A-R-A in a spelling bee and got her picture in the P-A-P-E-R. Even if she does look like an A-A-R-D-W-O-L-F, aardwolf."
"So that's what all this spelling is about," said Mom.
"You're W-E-I-R-D," Stink told his sister.
"I comes before E, Stink. Except after C. Everybody knows that." What a meat-loaf.
"Actually," said Mom, "your brother's right."
"WHAT?" said Judy. "How can he be right? He broke the rule!"
"Lots of rules have exceptions," said Dad. "Times when you have to break the rule."
"No fair!" Judy slumped down in her chair. She was not going to become famous by spelling, that was for sure. The three strings of spaghetti left on her plate made the shape of a mean face. Judy made a mean face back.
Dad took a bite out of his garlic bread and asked Judy, "You're not in one of your famous moods again, are you?"
JUDY MOODY GETS FAMOUS! by Megan McDonald. Copyright (2001) by Megan McDonald. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA.
Math-i-tude
When Judy Moody got to school on Monday, she had a new teacher. Her new teacher was called a sub (not the sandwich). Her new teacher was called Mrs. Grossman. Exactly three things were wrong with that. (1) Mrs. Grossman was NOT gross. (2) Mrs. Grossman was NOT a man. (3) Mrs. Grossman was NOT Mr. Todd.
Judy was the first to raise her hand. "Where’s Mr. Todd?"
"I'm sure Mr. Todd told everyone on Friday that he was going to a special teacher conference."
"I wasn't here Friday," said Judy.
"He's going to learn to be a better teacher," said Jessica Finch.
"But Mr. Todd's already a great teacher," said Judy.
"Maybe he's getting a special teacher award," said Rocky.
"Where did he go?" Judy asked. "And when will he be back?"
The others joined in. "Are you going to read us Catwings? Mr. Todd always reads us Catwings. And Catwings Return."
"Are you going to take us on field trips? Mr. Todd always takes us on field trips."
"Are we still Class 3T? Or are we Class 3G now?"
"Mr. Todd is in Bologna, Italy," said Mrs. Grossman.
SHEESH. Life was no fair. Judy liked baloney (the sandwich). Judy liked Italy. She even knew a special dance from Italy—the tarantella. Mr. Todd was probably in the Land of Baloney right now, dancing like a tarantula, while they were stuck in the Land of Multiplication, learning boring old times tables.
She, Judy Moody, did not like third grade, Class 3T-that-was-now-3G, without Mr. Todd.
Judy Moody's new teacher came from New England. She did not talk like Mr. Todd. She talked funny, with a lot of extra r's. Judy Moody's new teacher did not wear cool glasses like Mr. Todd. She wore glasses
hanging from a chain around her neck. She did not even smell like Mr. Todd. She smelled like she took a bath in P.U. perfume.
Judy Moody's new teacher put up a tent in the back of the room with a sign that said ATTITUDE TENT. Judy wondered what attitude they had to be in to get to go camping.
And . . . Judy Moody's new teacher was cuckoo for candy. She gave out candy for good behavior to everybody (minus Judy, because she was in a mood). She even gave out candy for the right answers in math. Pretty soon, the whole class was going to have math cavities. Except for Judy.
Today, Mrs. Grossman was talking about measure. Quarts and gallons and barrels and hogsheads. She tried to make it sound like math was a barrel of fun. But Judy, for one, did not give a pig's ear about
hogsheads.
Mrs. Grossman wore ten gallons of perfume. Mrs. Grossman gave out twenty hogsheads of candy.
Instead of listening, Judy played with her watch. Her brand-new, fancy-dancy, robin's-egg-blue, glow-in-the-dark Ask-a-Question Watch 5000, complete with predict-the-future answers and screen saver.
Blah, blah, blah, said Mrs. Grossman. Rounding numbers up, rounding numbers down. Judy estimated that rounding did not make math one bit easier.
Judy pressed some buttons. A nightlight blinked. A dual-time button gave the time in TWO countries so a person did not have to wear two different watches.
Scribble, scribble. Mrs. Grossman scratched on the board for a math-ternity.
Judy pressed the big green questionmark button.
Rare! It was just like the Magic 8 Ball. Ask the watch a question, press the glow-in-the-dark green button, and it gave you mystery answers.
Is Mrs. Grossman cuckoo for math?
YOU BET.
Is Mrs. Grossman ever going to give me candy?
CAN'T TELL.
Am I going to college someday?
LOOKS GOOD.
Is Mr. Todd ever coming back?
HAZY.
"Judy? Did you hear the question?"
Judy did not hear the question. So Judy did not know the answer.
Was it 77? 88? 99? Gallons? Bathtubs? Barrels? Pigs' heads?
Judy blurted the only answer that sprang to mind.
"Hazy!" she called out.
_______
JUDY MOODY GOES TO COLLEGE by Megan McDonald. Copyright © 2008 by Megan McDonald. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Somerville, MA.
Judy went to find the librarian.
"What did you get?" Frank asked when she came back.
"Predict Your Head Off!" said Judy. "It’s all about people who predicted stuff about the future. Lynn helped me find it. She’s the cool librarian with the fork-and-pie earrings. Not the mad-face librarian."
"Hey! It’s a Big Head book. I love those. How come they draw the people with such big heads, anyway?" Frank asked.
"Maybe it’s to hold all those big ideas about the future. Look, see?" said Judy, pointing to her book. "These people predicted earthquakes and fires and babies being born."
"Nobody can predict the future," said Frank. "Can they?"
"Ya-huh!" said Judy. "It says right here. Books don’t lie."
"Let me see," said Frank.
"See? Jeane Dixon, Famous American Fortuneteller. She was some lady in Washington, D.C., who stared into her eggs one morning and predicted that President Kennedy would be shot. And she predicted an earthquake in Alaska."
"It also says she predicted that Martians would come to Earth and take away teenagers. I wish that would happen to my big sister."
"If only Stink were a teenager," said Judy.
"Look! It says here that that Jeane Dixon lady saw stuff in whipped cream!" said Frank.
"I’ve seen stuff in whipped cream, too," said Judy. "Lots of times."
"Like what?"
"Like chocolate sprinkles," Judy said, and they both cracked up.
"Hey, look at this," said Judy. "This book can help us with our spelling test. For real."
"No way."
"Way! See this guy?"
"The bald guy with the bow tie?"
"Yep. It says that he lived right here in Virginia. They called him the Sleeping Prophet. When he was our age, like a hundred years ago, he got into trouble in school for being a bad speller. One night he fell asleep with his spelling book under his head. When he woke up, he knew every word in the book. RARE!"
"I’m still going to study," said Frank.
"Not me!" said Judy, wiggling into her coat.
"What are you going to do?" asked Frank.
"I’m going to go home and sleep," said Judy.
When Judy got home, Stink was at the door.
"I don’t have to study for my spelling test," she said, and gave him a big fat hug.
"What’s that for?" asked Stink.
"That’s for just because."
"Just because why?"
"Just because tomorrow I am going to know tons and tons of words, like woodbine."
"Wood what?"
"It’s a creepy vine. It wraps around trees."
"So go find a tree to hug," said Stink.
Instead, Judy went to find the dictionary. The fattest dictionary in the Moody house. She took it from her mom’s office and lugged it up to her room. She did not open it up. She did not look inside. She put the big red dictionary under her pillow. Then she got into her cozy bowling-ball pajamas. She pretended the bowling balls were crystal balls. When she brushed her teeth, she thought she saw a letter in her toothpaste spit. D for Dictionary.
Judy climbed under the covers and leaned back on her pillow. Youch! Too hard. She got two more pillows. At last, she was ready to dream.
Even before she fell asleep, she dreamed of being Queen of the Spelling Bee, just like Jessica Finch was one time for the whole state of Virginia. She dreamed of Mr. Todd’s smiling face when he passed back the tests. Most of all, she dreamed of getting 110% — zero-wrong-plus-extra-credit — on her spelling test.
She could hardly wait for school tomorrow. For once, she, Judy Moody, not Jessica (Flunk) Finch, would get a Thomas Jefferson tricorn-hat sticker for Great Job, Good Thinking.
JUDY MOODY PREDICTS THE FUTURE by Megan McDonald. Copyright (c) 2003 by Megan McDonald. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA.
A Mr. Rubbish Mood
It was still dark out when Judy woke up early the next morning. She found her flashlight and notebook. Then she tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen and started to save the world.
She hoped she could save the world before breakfast. Judy wondered if other people making the world a better place had to do it quietly, and in the dark, so their parents would not wake up.
She, Judy Moody, was in a Mr. Rubbish Mood. Mr. Rubbish was the Good Garbage Gremlin in Stink's comic book, who built his house out of French-fry cartons and pop bottles. He recycled everything, even lollipop sticks. And he never used anything from the rain forest.
Hmm...things that came from the rain forest. That would be a good place to start. Rubber came from the rain forest. And chocolate and spices and things like perfume. Even chewing gum.
Judy collected stuff from around the house and piled it on the kitchen table. Chocolate bars, brownie mix, vanilla ice cream. Her dad's coffee beans. The rubber toilet plunger. Gum from Stink's gumball machine. Her mom's lipstick from the bottom of her purse. She was so busy saving the rain forest that she didn't hear her family come into the kitchen.
"What in the world...?" Mom said.
"Judy, why are you in the dark?" Dad asked, turning on the lights.
"Hey, my gumball machine!" Stink said.
Judy held out her arms to block the way. "We're not going to use this stuff anymore. It's all from the rain forest," she told them.
"Says who?" asked Stink.
"Says Mr. Rubbish. And Mr. Todd. They cut down way too many trees to grow coffee and give us makeup and chewing gum. Mr. Todd says the earth is our home. We have to take action to save it. We don't need all this stuff."
"I need gum!" yelled Stink. "Give me back my gum!"
"Stink! Don't yell. Haven't you ever heard of noise pollution?"
"Is my coffee in there?" Dad asked, rubbing his hair.
"Judy? Is that ice cream? It's dripping all over the table!" Mom carried the leaky carton over to the sink.
"ZZZZ-ZZZZZ!" Judy made the sound of a chain saw cutting down trees.
"She's batty," Stink said.
Dad put the brownie mix back in the cupboard. Mom took the toilet plunger off the kitchen table and headed for the bathroom.
Time for Plan B. Project R.E.C.Y.C.L.E. She, Judy Moody, would show her family just how much they hurt the planet. Every time someone threw something away, she would write it down. She got her notebook and looked in the trash can. She wrote down: 1 orange juice can, 1 inside of peanut butter jar lid, 1 plastic bread bag, 4 broken egg shells, smelly yucky wet coffee grouns, 3 paper muffin holders, 2 smooshed Scarlett O'Cherry juice boxes (and straws!), 1/2 bowl of oatmeal.
"Stink! You shouldn't throw gooey old oatmeal in the trash!" Judy said.
"Dad! Tell her to quit spying on me!"
"I'm a garbage detective!" said Judy. "Garbologist to you. Mr. Todd sais if you want to learn what to recycle, you have to get to know your garbage."
"Here," said Stink, sticking something wet and mushy under Judy's nose. "Get to know my apple core."
"Hardee har har," said Judy. "Hasn't anybody in this family ever heard of the Three R's?"
"The Three R's?" asked Dad.
"Re-use. Re-cycle."
"What's the third one?" asked Stink.
"Re-fuse to talk to little brothers until they quit throwing stuff away."
"Mom! I'm not going to stop throwing stuff away just because Judy's having a trash attack."
"Look at all this stuff we throw away!" Judy said. "Did you konw that one person throws away more than eight pounds of garbage a day?"
"We recycle all our glass and cans," said Mom.
"And newspapers," Dad said.
"But what about this?" said Judy, picking up a plastic bag out of the trash. This bread bag could be a purse! Or carry a library book!"
"What's so great about eggshells?" asked Stink. "And smelly old ground-up coffee?"
"You can use them to feed plants. Or make compost." Just then, something caught her eye. A pile of Popsicle sticks? Judy pulled it out. "Hey! My Laura Ingalls Wilder log cabin I made in second grade!"
"It looks like a glue museum to me," said Stink.
"I'm sorry, Judy," Mom said. "I should have asked first, but we can't save everything, honey."
"Recycle it! said Stink. "You could use it for kindling, to start a fire! Or break it down into toothpicks."
"Not funny, Stink."
"Judy, you're not even ready for school yet. Let's talk about this later," said Dad. "It's time to get dressed."
It was no use. Nobody listened to her. Judy trudged upstairs, feeling like a sloth without a tree. . . .
Her family sure knew how to ruin a perfectly good Mr. Rubbish mood. She put on her jeans and her Spotted Owl T-shirt. And to save water, she did not brush her teeth.
She compled downstairs in a mad-at-your-whole-family mood.
"Here's your lunch," said Mom.
"Mom! It's in a paper bag!"
"What's wrong with that?" Stink asked.
"Don't you get it?" said Judy. "They cut down trees to make paper bags. Trees give shade. They help control global warming. We would die without trees. They make oxygen and help take dust and stuff out of the air."
"Dust!" said Mom. "Let's talk about cleaniing your room if we're going to talk about dust."
"Mo-om!" How was she supposed to do important things like save trees if she couldn't even save her FAMILY tree?
JUDY MOODY SAVES THE WORLD by Megan McDonald. Copyright (c) 2002 by Megan McDonald. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA.
"It was a dark and stormy night. Rain slashed the window. Lightning flashed and thunder crashed. Spooky shadows like giant teeth danced across the walls.
Tick-tock, tick-tock went the old clock, thumping like a scary heartbeat. Quiet as a ghost, she climbed the dark, dark stairs. In her bare feet, she tiptoed down the dark, dark hallway to the dark, dark door. She tapped one, two, three times, signaling in Morse code. Just then, the door creaked open.
KNOCK-KNOCK."
"AAHHH!" screamed Judy from under the covers of her top bunk bed. She let go of the Mood Libs tablet she'd been writing in. It sailed through the air, bonking Stink on the noggin.
"Ouch!" yelled Stink, rubbing his head. "Watch the brains! You're gonna give me an egg on my head."
"You already are an egghead, Stink," Judy teased.
"Well, you didn't have to throw the book at me."
"At least it wasn't the encyclopedia. That's what you get for scaring the pants off me while I was writing a spooky Mood Libs story."
"Why are you under the covers? It's the middle of the day."
"Nancy Drew says a person should never be afraid of the dark. So I was practicing."
"Why do you have a flashlight?"
"A good detective always keeps a flashlight under her pillow."
"Does Nancy Drew do that?"
"Hel-lo! Haven't you read THE MESSAGE IN THE HOLLOW OAK?"
"I'm not a Nancy Drew cuckoo-head like some people!"
"Can I help it if I'm trying to read all fifty-six original Nancy Drew classics?"
Stink waved the Mood Libs book at her. "Does Nancy Drew throw stuff at her brother, too?"
"Nancy Drew doesn't have a brother. But if she did, I'm sure she'd throw stuff if he scared the jeepers out of her."
"Jeepers?"
"That's Nancy Drew talk, Stink. Get a clue."
"Do Nancy Drew mysteries have any stuff that blows up? Good mysteries have stuff that blows up. Like boats or cakes or maybe exploding motorcycles?"
"No, Stink. Nancy Drew mysteries have old clocks and hidden diaries and squeaky steps and stuff."
"Oh," said Stink. He did not sound one teeny bit scared. He sounded a teeny bit bored.
"But Nancy Drew mysteries do have stuff like exploding oranges and flaming rockets and spooky old mansions. Lots of mansions. And they are all haunted, and one time Nancy Drew almost gets crushed when the ceiling falls on her. Another time she's chased by a phantom horse. She even gets strangled by a giant python. No lie."
"Exploding pythons are cool," said Stink, getting mixed up. "Can I look at one of your Nancy Drews?"
"Over there." Judy pointed to a pile of stuff on her desk. "Under my sock monkey."
Stink lifted up the sock monkey. "Under your sock monkey is a pillow."
"Under the pillow," Judy told him. Stink lifted the pillow.
"Under your pillow is nothing but a big fat dictionary."
"Under the dictionary."
Stink lifted up the dictionary. "It's a mystery just trying to find your Nancy Drew book." Under the dictionary was Nancy Drew book #43: THE MYSTERY OF THE 99 STEPS. "Why's it under all this stuff?"
"Well, um . . . don't laugh, but-"
"Ha! Ju-dy is scare-dy!" Stink chimed. "You hid it under here because it's scary. You're scared of a Nancy Drew nightmare!"
"Can I help it if I have an overachieving imagination?" asked Judy. "I double-dare you to read it. In the dark."
Stink shivered.
"See, Nancy's friend has this weird dream about these creepy ninety-nine steps, so Nancy goes to France to try to find them and solve the mystery of her friend's dream. It's spine-chilling. Says so right on the back. Books don't lie, Stink."
"Maybe you'll have a bad dream from reading the book. Then I can go to France to solve the mystery of your bad dream. . .and see the Eiffel Tower."
"The Eiffel Tower is so beside the point, Stink. But you just gave me a genius idea. I'm going to solve a mystery. A real-life, Nancy-Drew, scare-your-pants-off mystery. For sure and absolute positive."
"What's the mystery?"
"I don't know yet. I have to find one first."
"Do you have to go to France to find it?"
"Stink, you don't have to leave the country to find a mystery. There could be one right in your own backyard."
Stink looked out the window into the yard. "All I see out there is your purple jump rope, a pink-and-white soccer ball, your bike with the flat tire, and the blue tent we use for the Toad Pee Club. The only mystery is why Mom and Dad don't make you pick up your stuff."
"Ha, ha. Very funny. A mystery is out there, Stink. Maybe not in the backyard exactly. But it could be right under our noses. All we have to do is pay attention."
Just like that, she, Judy Moody, went looking for a mystery.
PLIP! Judy Moody woke up. Drip, drip, drip went rain on the roof. Blip, blip, blip went drops on the window. Not again! It had been raining for seven days straight.
Bor-ing!
She, Judy Moody, was sick and tired of rain.
Judy put her head under the pillow. If only she was sick. Being sick was the greatest. You got to stay home and drink pop for breakfast and eat toast cut in special strips and watch TV in your room. You got to read Cherry Ames, Student Nurse, mysteries all day. And you got to eat yummy cherry cough drops. Hey! Maybe Cherry Ames was named after a cough drop!
Judy took out her mom’s old Cherry Ames book and popped a cough drop in her mouth anyway.
"Get up, Lazybones!" said Stink, knocking on her door.
"Can’t," said Judy. "Too much rain."
"What?"
"Never mind. Just go to school without me."
"Mom, Judy’s skipping school!" Stink yelled.
Mom came into Judy’s room. "Judy, honey. What’s wrong?"
"I’m sick. Of rain," she whispered to Mouse.
"Sick? What’s wrong? What hurts?" asked Mom.
"My head, for one thing. From all that noisy rain."
"You have a headache?"
"Yes. And a sore throat. And a fever. And a stiff neck."
"That’s from sleeping with the dictionary under your pillow," said Stink. "To ace your spelling test."
"Is not."
"Is too!"
"See, look. My tongue’s all red." Judy stuck out her Cherry-Ames-cough-drop tongue at Stink.
Mom felt Judy’s head. "You don’t seem to have a fever."
"Faker," said Stink.
"Come back in five minutes," said Judy. "I’ll have a fever by then."
"Faker, faker, faker," said Stink.
If only she had measles. Or chicken pox. Or . . . MUMPS! Mumps gave you a headache. Mumps gave you a stiff neck and a sore throat. Mumps made your cheeks stick out like Humpty Dumpty. Judy pushed the cough drop into her cheek and made it stick out, Humpty-Dumpty style.
"Mumps!" said Dr. Judy. "I think I have the mumps! For real!"
"Mumps!" said Stink. "No way. You got a shot for that. A no-mumps shot. We both did. Didn’t we, Mom?"
"Yes," said Mom. "Stink’s right."
"Maybe one mump got through."
"Sounds like somebody doesn’t want to go to school today," said Mom.
"Can I? Can I stay home, Mom? I promise I’ll be sick. All day."
"Let’s take your temperature," said Mom. She took the thermometer out of the case.
"Cat hair?" said Mom. "Is this cat hair on the thermometer?"
"She’s always making Mouse stick out her tongue and taking the cat’s temperature," said Stink.
Mom shook her head and went to wash off the thermometer. When she came back, she took Judy’s temperature. "It’s 98.6," said Mom. "Normal!"
"Faker, fakey, not-sick, big fat faker," said Stink.
"At least my temperature’s normal," said Judy. "Even if my brother isn’t."
"Better get dressed," said Mom. "Don’t want to be late."
"Stink? You’re a rat fink. Stink Rat-Fink Moody. That’s what I’ll call you from now on."
"Well, you’ll have to call me it at school ’cause you don’t get to stay home."
Judy stuck out her cherry-red, no-mumps tongue at Stink.
She was down in the dumps. She had a bad case of the grumps. The no-mumps Moody Monday blues. She, Judy Moody, felt like Mumpty Dumpty! Mumpty Dumpty without a temperature, that is.
CHAPTER ONE
The girl had a notebook and a clipboard. The girl wore a blue plaid skirt like a school uniform, and not one but TWO watches. The girl had a pencil behind her ear. The girl looked very noticeable in her blue-green glasses.
The girl came over to Judy Moody's lunch table and plopped herself down right beside Judy's friends Rocky and Frank.
She, NOT Judy Moody, looked like she was in a reporter mood.
Who was this important-looking, glasses-wearing girl, anyway? Judy wondered.
"Amy Namey, Girl Reporter," said the girl. "What's the scoop?"
"Um . . . Screamin' Mimi's chocolate mud?" asked Judy.
"Not the ice-cream kind of scoop," said the girl. "The story kind of scoop. I'm a reporter," she said. "Like Nellie Bly, Daredevil Reporter."
She, Judy Moody, could not believe her ears.
Frank asked, "Is that like Elizabeth Blackwell, First Woman Doctor?"
Judy leaned in closer.
"Check!" said the girl. She wrote something on her clipboard. "I'm from Ms. Valentine's class, 3V. Can I ask you a few questions? For my newspaper?"
"You have your own paper?" asked Frank Pearl.
"Sure!" said the girl. Just then, Super-Important Girl Reporter held out a ketchup-bottle microphone.
"What's your favorite school lunch?" she asked. "Quesadilla pizza, popcorn chicken, or French toast sticks?"
"French toast is breakfast," said Judy.
"Pizza!" screamed Rocky and Frank at the same time.
"Check!" said the girl. She checked the paper on her clipboard.
"I pack my lunch," said Judy.
"How many times a week should the cafeteria have pizza?" she asked.
"Three," said Frank.
"Five!" said Rocky. "Every day! With extra cheese!"
"Check!" said the girl.
Who was this list-checking, clipboard-carrying Pizza Reporter, anyway? And why were Rocky and Frank, Judy's best-ever friends, talking to her?
"You can't really get us pizza every day for lunch," said Judy.
"Why not?" asked the girl. "My mom knows the lunch ladies. Besides, it's a free country."
"Hey! That's what you always say!" Frank said to Judy.
"Do not!"
"Do too!" said Rocky and Frank at the same time.
"Question Number Three," said the girl. "What else would you like to change about Virginia Dare School?" . . .
"No Pizza Reporters bugging us at lunchtime," said Judy. The girl stopped writing. The girl did not say "Check!"
In spite of herself, Judy got caught up in the moment. "Okay. I have an idea! For real!" said Judy. "Chew gum in school!" . . .
"I could work on my ABC gum collection at school," said Judy. "Start one under my desk. Not just at home on the lamp by my bed."
Girl Reporter was writing again.
"ABC stands for Already Been Chewed," said Judy.
"I know that," said the girl. "I collect gum too. I've been to the world's best-ever collection of ABC gum. The biggest in the world."
"Huh?" asked Judy.
"Sure!" said the girl. "Bubblegum Alley. It's in California."
"I went to Boston," said Judy.
"I saw it on summer vacation. You walk down this alley between two buildings and there's a Wall of Gum on each side. Chewed-up gum that people stuck there. Some even made pictures and stuff out of gum. I chewed five black gumballs from the machine they have there and added it to the wall."
"No way!" said Rocky.
"Way!" said the girl. "It's like a Gum Hall of Fame. Or a Gum Wall of Fame." The girl cracked herself up. . . .
"I have a picture of me standing in front of it," said the girl. "It was in my last issue of the paper. See?" She pulled out a page from the back of the clipboard.
"Whoa!" said Rocky. "Weird. Look at all that chewed-up gum!"
"Wow," said Frank. "You really were there!"
"I had my picture in the real newspaper once," said Judy.
"Yeah, your elbow," said Rocky. Frank and Rocky cracked up.
"Thanks for your ideas," said the girl. . . .
"Do real reporters wear pencils in their ears?" asked Frank.
"Check!" said the girl. She looked at both of her watches. "Later, alligators!" she called, tucking the pencil behind her ear.
"Wow!" said Frank. "That girl is just like you, Judy!"
"Nah-uh," said Judy.
"Yah-huh!" said Rocky and Frank together.
"You're like twins or something," said Frank.
"Two of a kind," said Rocky.
"Name one thing the same," said Judy.
"Amy Namey. Judy Moody. Her name rhymes. Your name rhymes. Same-same!" said Frank.
"So? She has long, not-messy hair and dimples. And she wears glasses," said Judy. "I don't wear glasses."
"She dresses up like Some Lady, First Woman Reporter," said Rocky.
"I only dressed up like Elizabeth Blackwell, First Woman Doctor, once."
"And she collects ABC gum and likes getting her picture in the paper," said Frank. . . .
"And she says weird stuff, like 'check,' all the time," Rocky added.
"I do not say weird stuff all the time," Judy protested.
"It's like they took a machine and made a copy," said Rocky.
"Maybe she's your clone!" said Frank.
"ROAR!" said Judy.
She, Judy Moody, liked being one of a kind. An original. Her mom said she was unique. Her dad said she was an individual. Mr. Todd said she was in a class by herself (even though there were twenty other kids in Class 3T!).
Being unique made Judy feel special. That's the way it is, was, and always would be. Should be.
Until now. Until Amy Namey, Gum-Chewing Girl Reporter, moved in.Now she felt like a NOT-one-of-a-kind, machine-made copy. A two-of-a-kind, un-original, boring old not-stand-alone clone.
______
The bell rang, and Mrs. Dempster passed out spelling words. Three of the new words were shrink, shrank, shrunk. At lunch, the dessert was strawberry shortcake. And in Reading, Mrs. Dempster read everybody a book called THE SHRINKING OF TREEHORN.
The book was all about a boy who plays games and reads cereal boxes and gets shorter and shorter. He keeps shrinking and shrinking. Then, just when he becomes a normal size again, he turns green!
"Any comments?" Mrs. Dempster asked when the story was over.
Stink raised his hand. "Is that a true story?"
Mrs. D. laughed. "I'm afraid not," she said. "It's fantasy."
"Fantasy's my favorite!" said Sophie of the Elves. "Especially hobbits and elves."
"Are you sure it's fantasy?" asked Stink. "Because that kid is a lot like me. Because I'm . . . I'm . . ." Stink could not make himself say shrinking.
"Because you both turned another color?" asked Webster.
"Um, because I like to read everything on the cereal box, too," said Stink.
"Okay," said Mrs. Dempster. "Let's see. Who's going to carry the milk from the cafeteria today?" Stink was barely paying attention. He never got asked to carry the milk.
"How about Mr. James Moody?" asked Mrs. Dempster.
"Me?" asked Stink. He sat up taller. "I get to carry the milk?"
Stink walked down the second-grade hallway. It looked longer than usual. And wider. He took the stairs down to the cafeteria. Were there always this many stairs? His legs felt shorter. Like they shrink, shrank, shrunk.
________________________
STINK: THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING KID by Megan McDonald. Copyright (c) 2005 by Megan McDonald. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA.
Shake!
Rattle!
Squeal!
Stink could hardly see as he carried a Leaning Tower of Cereal Boxes up to Webster's front door. "Ding-dong," he called out.
"Whoa!" said Webster. "C'mon in. Sophie's here, too. This is going to be the most fun ever."
"How many cereal boxes did you collect?" Sophie asked.
"Umpteen," said Stink.
"All I brought was Cheerful O's," said Sophie of the Elves. "My dad says they're heart healthy."
"Carrying all these boxes is notheart healthy," said the out-of-breath Stink. "Why couldn't we just use sugar cubes?"
"Stink, we're building the Great Wall of China! Do you know how long it would take to build a wall out of teeny-tiny cubes?"
"Well, it took hundreds of years in real life," said Stink.
"Ours is only going to take one day," said Webster.
Just then, Stink's giant stack of cereal boxes crashed to the ground.
"Somebody sure likes Mood Flakes!" said Webster.
"My sister, Judy," said Stink. "They change color when you pour milk on them."
"Weird!" said Webster.
"Interesting," said Sophie.
Stink pulled two shiny silver-gray rolls of tape out of his back pockets. "I brought super-sticky duck tape!"
"In our family, we call it goose tape," said Sophie.
Stink and Webster cracked up. The three friends lined up the cereal boxes in the backyard and goose-taped them together. "The Great Wall of Goose Tape!" said Stink. "Did you guys know that you can see the Great Wall from outer space?" He wondered if any aliens or martians would be able to see the Great Wall of Cereal Boxes when it was done.
"The real Great Wall is more than two thousand miles long," said
Webster.
"We have about a thousand miles to go," said Sophie.
Webster stood up. His arm was stuck to Sophie. Sophie's shoe was stuck to Stink. Stink's shirt was stuck to Webster's sleeve.
"Oh, no!" said Sophie. "We're stuck to each other."
"Don't worry," said Stink. "Friends should stick together."
When they finally got unstuck, Stink looked at the Great Wall. He
could not believe his eyes. The Great Wall was moving. The Great Wall was shaking. The Great Wall was quaking.
"Look!" he said, pointing.
"Why is it moving?" asked Webster.
"Maybe it's the wind," said Sophie.
"Does the wind go wee, wee, wee,wee, wee?" asked Stink.
All three of them heard the squeaking sound now. Wee, wee, wee,
wee, wee. "There it is again!" said Stink.
"Something's inside the Great Wall!"
"Sounds like a baby bird," said Sophie.
"Or a creepy rat," said Webster.
Stink and his friends crawled on hands and knees through the grass. Stink peered into an empty box of Mood Flakes at one end. A furry hair ball with dark brown eyes, a wet pink nose, and twitchy whiskers peered back at him. "All I found is . . . a guinea pig!" said Stink.
"I found one, too!" said Sophie.
"I found one, three!" said Webster.
Every day, Stink ate a little more and a little more of his jawbreaker. He ate it in bed first thing in the morning before he brushed his teeth. He ate it at recess in between playing H-O-R-S-E with his super-duper best friend, Webster. He ate it on the bus and all the way home from school.
He gave a lick to Mouse the cat. He gave a lick to Toady the toad. He even tried giving a lick to Jaws the Venus flytrap.
Stink's jawbreaker went from super-galactic to just plain galactic. From golf-ball size to Super-Ball size.
"Are you still eating that thing?" asked Judy. Stink stuck out his tongue.
"Well, you look like a skink," said Judy. She pointed to his blue tongue.
Shloop! went Stink.
Stink ate his not-super-galactic jawbreaker for one whole week. He ate it when it tasted like chalk. He ate it when it tasted like grapefruit. He ate it through the fiery core to the sweet, sugary center. He ate it down to a marble. A teeny-tiny pea.
Then, in one single bite, one not-jaw-breaking crunch, it was G-O-N-E, gone.
Stink was down in the dumps. He moped around the house for one whole day and a night. He stomped up the stairs. He stomped down. He drew comics. Ka-POW! He did not play with Toady once. He did not do his homework. He went outside and bounced Judy's basketball 117 times.
"Somebody got up on the WRONG side of the bed," said Judy. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were in a MOOD."
"I can have moods too, you know." Stink kept counting. "One hundred eighteen, one hundred nineteen . . ."
"Is it because your jawbreaker's all gone?" asked Judy.
"It's because that jawbreaker lied. They should call it World's Biggest UN-jawbreaker. I ate and ate that thing for one whole week, and it did not break my jaw. Not once. It didn't even make my mouth one teeny-weeny bit bigger.
________
STINK AND THE INCREDIBLE SUPER-GALACTIC JAWBREAKER by Megan McDonald, illustrated by Peter H. Reynolds. Text copyright (c) 2006 by Megan McDonald. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA
"At the museum, kids were calling me The Nose," said Stink, tapping his right nostril. "I found out today that I can smell stuff really, really great, better than anybody in my whole class. Sophie says I smell better than a dog."
"I should hope so!" said Mom. Mom and Judy cracked up.
"Woof!" said Stink.
"And here I thought you just had a nose for trouble," said Mom.
"Laugh all you want," said Stink. "But this nose could make me
famous."
"My elbow’s famous," said Judy, holding up the elbow that once
starred in a picture in the newspaper.
"No, I mean it. When I grow up, I’m going to do something great
with this nose," said Stink. "You can’t waste a nose like this." He
admired himself in the mirror, turning his head from left to right and
studying The Nose, his best feature.
