Stink and the World's Worst Super-Stinky Sneakers

by Megan McDonald

  Stink E. Moody, Judge and Junior Sniffer, had found a real winner. A way-official, want-to-barf, gag-me-with-a-spoon winner.

  “Geez, Louise,” said the lady judge when she came to Number Thirteen. “Jump back, Jack. I think I’m going to pass out.”

  “This one’s a Humpty of a Dumpty,” Professor Smeller agreed.

  “Rotten eggs,” said the lady judge.

  “Burnt hair,” said Steve.

  “Cat pee,” said Stink. “And dead worms.”

  “He’s got the nose, all right,” said the professor. “Not many noses would pick up on that dead worm smell.”

  “Worse than rancid roadkill,” said the lady.

  “Worse than C4H9SeH!” said Steve.

  “What’s that?” asked Stink.

  “Skunk spray,” Steve told him. Stink cracked up.

  Stink knew for sure now. These sneakers would be outlawed in outer space. These skunks were a number ten on a scale of zero to four. All the king’s horses and all the bad smells could not outsmell the Numero Uno, All-Time World’s Stinkiest Sneakers, Putrid Pair Number Thirteen.

  Stink wrote down his final score. He turned in his clipboard. All the votes were counted.

  At last it was time. Time to announce the Grand Prize Winner of the All-Time, World’s Worst, Super-Stinky Sneaker Contest.

  Professor Steve stepped up to the microphone. “Attention! May I have your attention, please?”

  Everybody gathered around. All ears were listening. Not even a dog barked.

  “We are pleased to announce the winners of the Tenth Annual All-Time, World’s Worst, Super-Stinky Sneaker Contest. It was a close call. All sneakers in the contest were truly worthy. Truly smelly. We have two runners-up. Number Six and Number Thirty-seven, please step up to the podium.”

  “Number Six,” he said, holding out a red ribbon. “These puppies smell worse than dog breath. Congratulations. Now get them outta here.”

  “Number Thirty-seven,” said Steve, handing over another red ribbon, “your stinkers make a pile of garbage smell sweet. Congratulations.”

  Everybody clapped and cheered. Stink could hardly wait to hear whose sneakers would take the grand prize — the Golden Clothespin.

  “Now, the moment we’ve been waiting for. There’s one pair of sneakers that all three judges gave a top score of 4+++. The Grand Prize Winner of the Golden Clothespin Award is . . . da-da-da-DA! Number Thirteen. Who has number thirteen? Please come up front to the judges’ podium and claim your prizes.”

  “Thirteen? Did he just say thirteen? That’s me!” yelled Sophie of the Elves. She rushed up to the podium. “I can’t believe it! I really won?” she asked. “Stink, how’d you know it was me?”

  “I didn’t!” said Stink. “Honest! I never smelled those sneakers before in my life!”

  “They won fair and square,” said Steve. “We smelled everything from dead worms to skunk spray on those sneakers.”

  “Way to go, Sophie,” said Webster.

  “Step right up here, young lady,” said Professor Smeller. “For having the world’s all-time smelliest sneakers, I award you this trophy of the Golden Clothespin, one gift certificate for a new pair of sweet-smelling sneakers, and last but not least, one FREE trip for two to the Odor-Munchers Air Freshener factory.”

  “Thank you!” said Sophie, holding up her trophy. Tons of people were clapping and yelling “Woo-hoo!” A guy from the newspaper was even snapping pictures.

  “Tell us,” said Steve the Smeller, “what’s your secret, Sophie? What makes your sneakers so smelly?”

  “Simple,” said Sophie. “No socks. And when my parents make me take a bath, I hang my feet over the edge of the tub and don’t wash them. Ever.”

  “P.U.,” said Professor Smeller. “Congratulations, young lady! Your shoes will be entered into the Hall of Fumes at the community center, where hopefully they can be seen but not smelled by all.”

  “Can I have your autograph?” Sophie asked.

  “Sure,” said Steve.

  “Me, too!” said Stink. “Can you sign my shoe?”

  Professor Steve Smells-a-Lot signed Stink’s smelly sneaker. From one Master Sniffer to another, Steve wrote.

  “I’ll never ever wash these shoes now!” said Stink.

  After the contest, Sophie of the Elves and Webster came back to Stink’s house for pizza. Sophie passed the shiny Golden Clothespin trophy around for everybody to see.

  “Are you sure you’re not mad about the contest?” Sophie asked Stink. “I know how much you wanted to win and get the Golden Clothespin trophy and everything.”

  “That was before,” said Stink. “Before I knew my friend was going to take me to the air freshener factory. Hint, hint.” Sophie giggled.

  “And before I got to meet Professor Smeller in person and be a Junior Sniffer for a day. He told me I have The Nose. What could be better than that? And I got something even smellier than a Golden Clothespin trophy.”

  “What?” asked Sophie.

  “Spill it,” said Webster.

  “I can’t spill it,” said Stink. “Never, ever, ever!” He held out the vial around his neck. “In this vial is something even more vile than stinky perfume. Stinkier than C4H9SeH, skunk spray. Smelliest of all smells.” Stink waved the open vial in front of their nostrils.

  “P.U.!” Webster ran for the window. Sophie’s eyes watered.

  “Behold! Genuine and for-real eau de corpse flower. Professor Smelly went to Washington, D.C., before coming to judge the contest. And he smelled a real corpse flower named Mr. Stinky. And he got to take scientific samples. In this jar is one drop of super-stinky essence of corpse flower. No lie.”

  “You mean you’re really going to wear that vile vial?” asked Webster.

  “Always,” said Stink.

  “Now we’re going to have to call you Super Stink,” said Sophie of the Elves.

  “Then I’ll have to call you Sophie of the Smells!”

  “Hey, no fair,” said Webster. “You’re Super Stink, and she’s Sophie of the Smells. I want a smelly name, too.”

  “Hmm. Webster. How about . . . The Smellster?” said Stink.

  “Perfect!” said The Smellster.

  “Now all your friends are smelly, Stink,” said Judy.

  “How’d you get the name Stink, anyway?” asked Sophie of the Smells.

  “HER,” said Stink, pointing to Judy.

  “I’ll tell it! I’ll tell it!” Judy said. “See, when Stink was a baby, Dad started calling him Peanut. I was jealous, because Dad had always called me Peanut. So I tried to think up a new name. Then one day, Dad was changing Stink’s dirty diaper . . .”

  “Eee-yew!” said Webster, pinching his nose.

  “If you want to be a Master Sniffer, you have to be able to smell dirty diapers,” said Stink. “Professor Steve said so.”

  “Okay, Professor Smells-Himself-a-Lot,” said Judy. “Anyway, it was really stinky. So I started singing this song I learned in preschool.”

  “Don’t sing it!” said Stink, covering his ears.

  “Sing it!” said Webster and Sophie.

  “It sounds like ‘Old McDonald Had a Farm.’

  Sophie of the Smells and The Smellster joined in on the last verse. Sophie sprayed soda on Stink from laughing. Webster was clutching his stomach and rolling on the floor.

  “Ever since then, we called him Stinky Poo,” said Judy.

  “Then one day, it got shortened to just plain Stink,” said Stink.

  “And now, Super Stink,” said Sophie and Webster.

  Super Stink couldn’t help smiling. Today had given him a brand-new smellosophy of life.

  That night, as Stink drifted off to sleep, visions of corpse flowers danced in his head. Rumpel-STINK-skin, Stink “The Nose” Moody, Way-Official Junior Sniffer, was on his way!

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