Judy Moody and the Bucket List

by Megan McDonald

  “Here’s the thing,” said Lash. “Since it’s your first time, we’ll just take a trot around the corral.”

  Judy could not wait to meet Tumbleweed. Would it be an Arabian with a shiny black mane and braided tail? Or a dappled Appaloosa with a white star on its forehead? She could already hear the clip-clop of its hooves and the jingle-jangle of its harness.

  Lash LaRue came out leading a horse by its bridle. Judy could not believe her eyes! This horse was tall! This horse was high up! This horse was . . . old!

  This horse was not an Arabian. This horse was not an Appaloosa. This horse was a dusty brown nag with a saggy middle and gray hair around its eyes and muzzle. The horse’s skin hung loose, and it had two long front teeth.

  Judy’s heart sank like a crashed cartwheel. Plop.

  At least it was a horse. She’d finally get to ride and cross that off her list.

  Lash LaRue helped Judy climb up into the saddle. She put her left foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn, and swung her right leg up and over the old horse.

  Judy was sitting tall in the saddle. The air smelled cleaner up here. The loud racket of the birds faded. She could almost hear the wind roaring in her ears.

  Tumbleweed nickered.

  “Giddy up, horsey!” Judy called. “Yippee-ki-yay! Ride ’em, cowgirl.” But the horse would not budge. Not one clip. Not one clop.

  “Are you sure this horse isn’t dead?” Judy asked.

  “It’s this heat,” said Lash. “This old nag ain’t what she used to be.”

  At last, Tumbleweed trotted a few steps. Stopped. Trotted a few more. Stopped again.

  This horse did not have the spirit of Black Beauty. This horse was not flying with the wind in its mane. This horse was more glue than gallop.

  No way was this the O.K. Corral. Judy had landed smack-dab in the middle of the NOT-O.K. Corral.

  Atop the old nag, Judy started to melt in the heat. The smell of horse plop made her feel queasy. She was too hot to swat away flies.

  Tumbleweed was slower than a snail in molasses. At this pace, Judy could barely keep her eyes open. Halfway around the ring, her head flopped and she nodded off to . . .

  Sleep? Judy’s head jerked back up. Did she really and truly fall asleep in the saddle?

  She raised herself up in the stirrups and stretched to look over at her brother in the next pen. Stink held the reins of the hinny in one hand and waved his cowboy hat around in the other.

  “Yee-haw!” Stink yelled. He boinged and bounced like a rough rider on a mountain trail. He whooped and hollered like a rodeo star at the state fair.

  Wild Bill Hiccup was having the ride of his life, while Calamity Judy was Queen of the Dud Ranch.

  When Judy and Tumbleweed finally made it around the corral two times, Judy dismounted. She ran over to Stink’s corral. “Time to switch, Stink,” she called out. “You get to ride the horse now.”

  “No thanks,” Stink yelled as the hinny shook its head and neighed. “Tamale doesn’t want to stop yet.”

  “But it’s your turn,” said Judy. “It’s only fair that you get a turn on the horse.”

  “I’m good,” said Stink.

  “Stink, I’ll forget about the three dollars and thirty-two cents you owe me if you let me ride that hinny.”

  “Deal,” said Stink.

  In no time, Judy found herself atop the hinny and on top of the world! Judy and Tamale trotted and cantered and galloped like a real cowgirl and her trusty sidekick. They rode like the wind. Poetry in motion!

  What a ride! When she got down, she was dizzy and out of breath.

  “How was it?” asked Whip and Lash.

  “Great!” said Judy. “That half a horse practically gave me whiplash. For real.”

  “Glad to oblige, ma’am,” said Lash, tipping his hat to Judy.

  Just then, Grandma Lou came up and called over the fence. “The stream was too low for kayaking, so I went to the coffee shop.” She held up a cow pie in each hand. Ice cream, that is.

  “Race ya, Stink!” They ran across the paddock to Grandma Lou. Judy told all about Tumbleweed and falling asleep and WhipLash and riding a hiney/hinny. “And that’s the true story of how I came to ride half a horse,” said Judy.

  “Sounds like you had a good time,” said Grandma Lou.

  Drip, drip, drip. Judy licked the ice cream running down her arm. The dude ranch was not/wasn’t a dud ranch after all!

  On the way back from the dude ranch, Judy, Stink, and Grandma Lou drove past the public library. “Hey, look,” said Judy. “They have a giant thermometer like my Antarctica one.” At the top it said: SUPPORT YOUR LIBRARY: GO FOR THE GOAL. The red almost reached the top.

  “Pretty soon you’ll be able to cross that off your list, Grandma Lou,” said Judy.

  As soon as they reached Grandma Lou’s house, Judy erased Ride a horse from her kick-the-bucket list and wrote Ride a hinny. Then she happily crossed it off.

  She held the list up for Grandma Lou to see. “Did you cross anything off your bucket list this week?”

  “I did finish War and Peace last night,” said Grandma Lou.

  “Hey! You forgot to cross it off!” said Judy.

  “I must have used invisible ink,” said Grandma Lou, winking. “Now, you kids go play in the rumpus room until we’re ready for spaghetti.”

  “Let the wild rumpus start!” Stink called, racing Judy downstairs to the basement. Pugsy pounded down the stairs after them. “So what’s next on your basket list?” he asked.

  “Bucket list, Stink,” said Judy.

  He pointed to Face a fear. “Ooh, let’s do this one.” He grabbed some scrap paper. “I’ll make a list of stuff you’re scared of.”

  • Zombies

  • Bloody Mary, Vampire Squid

  • Blob movies

  “That’s stuff you’re scared of, Stink. Here, let me have it.” Judy wrote:

  • Bees

  • Tsunamis

  • Blood

  • Getting hypnotized

  • Sun burning out

  Stink added Ghost in the junk room to the bottom of her list.

  Judy’s eyes darted over to the door of the junk room. “For your information, Stink, I’m not afraid of the junk room.”

  “Ya-huh,” said Stink. “Remember last time we were here? You went into the junk room to find Park and Shop, that old board game?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “You said you saw a ghost! You ran screaming out of there and we had to push the Ping-Pong table up against the door.”

  “Okay, okay! So I’m afraid of the junk room! But I’m never-not-ever going in there, so you can forget it.”

  Stink went down the list. “Bees?”

  Judy shivered. “They sting!”

  “Tsunamis?”

  “How am I going to face a tsunami, Stink?”

  “Um, you stand in the bathtub and I make really big waves?”

  “I’m not afraid of a bathtub tsunami, Stink.”

  “Blood?” Stink asked. “Wait. How are you going to be a doctor if you’re afraid of blood?”

  Judy shrugged. “That’s why I have to face my fear, Stink.”

  “Don’t look at me. I’m not doing any bleeding, that’s for sure. Next.”

  “Hypnotized. I’m afraid of being hypnotized against my will.”

  “For real?”

  “It’s your fault, Stink. You’re always watching that toad with the googly eyes on the computer.”

  “Hypnotoad? You’re afraid of a cartoon?”

  “Whenever anybody stares into his cuckoo-crazy eyes, they go bonkers and have to do whatever he commands.”

  “I’ve got it! I’ll hypnotize you. Then you’ll have faced a fear and you can cross it off your list.”

  “I guess. While you’re at it, Stink, can you make me good at contractions? And maybe cartwheels, too?”

  Stink ran upstairs and came back with Toady. “Meet HypnoToady!”

  “No way!” s
aid Judy, holding her arm out like a stop sign. “Not the toad!”

  “What’s the matter?” Stink teased. “Are you scared?”

  “Yes!” Judy held Pugsy close.

  Stink held Toady out in front of Judy. “Ju-dy. Look into my eyes,” Stink said. “I’m HypnoToady. You are getting sleepy.”

  Judy blinked once, twice. “Am I hypnotized yet?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” said Stink. “Your eyes are getting heavy.”

  “Pugsy’s eyes are getting heavy,” said Judy. “I think he’s hypnotized!”

  “Your head feels like a bowling ball,” Stink continued. “Your eyelids are melting down your face.”

  “Gross!” Judy wriggled like a caterpillar. It was hard to look at Toady.

  “Stare into my eyes,” said Stink-as-HypnoToady. “Take a deep breath.” Stink was getting sleepy now. He shook himself awake. “Pretend you are walking into a room full of jawbreakers.”

  Judy perked up. “Jawbreakers?”

  “No talking,” said Stink. “Take five deep breaths. Pretend you are going down stairs, lots and lots of stairs, and walk into a room full of mood pillows.”

  Judy did feel a little sleepy.

  “I am HypnoToady. Soon you will be under my spell. You will do as I say. You will not be afraid. Repeat after me. ‘I will not be afraid.’”

  “I will not be afraid,” said Judy.

  “HypnoToady says ‘Stand up,’” said Stink.

  Judy stood up!

  “HypnoToady says ‘Do five jumping jacks,’” Stink commanded.

  Judy jumped up and scissored her arms five times. Stink’s eyes almost bugged out of his head.

  “HypnoToady says ‘Act like a zombie,’” commanded Stink.

  Judy stuck her arms out in front of her. She walked stiffly around the room, moaning and groaning, muttering, “Brains. Me want brains.”

  “It’s working,” said Stink, in a voice barely above a whisper. “It’s really working!” Suddenly, Stink had an idea. A brilliant, for-real, face-your-fears idea.

  “Walk over to the junk room,” he said. Judy zombie-walked to the junk room.

  “HypnoToady commands you — put your hand on the doorknob,” said Stink. Something was not right. Judy did not put her hand on the doorknob. Something was wrong. The spell was wearing off!

  “HypnoToady commands you — open the door,” Stink tried.

  Judy’s hand reached for the doorknob. Was her hand shaking? She opened the door a crack. A gust of cold air whooshed out. The junk room was dark.

  “HypnoToady commands you — enter the junk room!”

  Judy could not/couldn’t stand it for one more second. “No way, no how. Forget it. Nuh-uh. I’m SO not going in there, Stinkerbell.”

  “Wait. I thought you were . . . but . . . aren’t you . . . hypnotized?”

  “Not even. Did you really think . . . ?” Judy cracked up. “I was so faking.”

  Just then, they heard a strange noise coming from inside the junk room.

  Aieee! A moaning? A groaning? A sighing? A crying? Stink gave Judy a push — right into the junk room!

  “Hey!” Judy blinked, trying to see in the dark. She felt along the wall for a light switch, but couldn’t find one.

  Judy took a deep breath. She took one step into the junk room. And another. A crack of milky light shone through a cobwebby window. Under that window, huddled in the corner, was a shapeless white . . .

  “GHOST!” Judy screamed. “Run for your life!” She ran out of the room and up the stairs, Stink and Pugsy at her heels. Grandma Lou looked at their white-as-a-sheet faces. “You two look like you’ve just seen a ghost!”

  “That’s because we d-d-did!” said Stink, sputtering and trying to spit out the words.

  “I did,” said Judy. “There’s a g-g-ghost in your junk room, Grandma Lou. No lie!”

  Grandma Lou let out a breath. “So Otis must be back.”

  Judy looked at Stink. Stink looked at Judy. “Otis?” they said at the same time.

  “My ghost. He prefers to be called the Virginia Beach Strangler, but I call him Otis. Comes back to the junk room every year. He likes to hang out by the water heater where it’s warm.”

  Stink’s eyes grew as big as jumbo gumballs.

  “You’re just faking us out, right, Grandma Lou?” Judy asked. “Like the time we pranked you and pretended a ghost named Bob was in my room?”

  “I’ll never tell,” said Grandma Lou with a twinkle in her eye.

  Whether or not it was Otis, Judy had seen something in the junk room. “C’mon, Stink,” said Judy, dragging him back downstairs.

  “You’re not really going back in there, are you?” Stink asked.

  “I have to face my fear sometime. Otherwise I’ll never finish my bucket list. And I have to finish it before the fourth grade.”

  Outside the junk room, Judy grabbed a tennis racket. She raised the racket and stepped inside. She took one tiny step, then another. AAGH! Something touched her hair! Something tickled her ear. A long finger reached out and wrapped itself around her neck.

  “Help!” Judy screamed. “It’s Otis! He got me!” She pulled at the tentacle around her neck and . . .

  Click! The light came on! Otis the ghost, aka the Virginia Beach Strangler, was just the old pull-cord for the light.

  The dim bulb cast spooky shadows on the wall.

  “You can come in now, Stink.”

  Stink tiptoed in and grabbed hold of Judy’s hand. She did not push it away.

  They saw board games and beach chairs and basketballs. Rolled-up rugs and ropes and Christmas wreaths. The water heater gurgled and burbled. Wind whistled through a duct-taped window.

  “There he is!” cried Stink.

  Judy whipped around, dropping the tennis racket on the floor. “There who is?”

  “Otis!” cried Stink, pointing to a shapeless white lump in the corner.

  Judy let go of Stink’s hand. She inched forward, one step at a time. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding like a drum, ba-dum, ba-dum. “Face my fear, face my fear, face my fear,” she whispered to herself.

  There, in the deepest, darkest corner of the junk room, huddled Otis, the ghost! And Otis was . . . a dusty old white sheet?

  The dusty old white sheet was draped over something bumpy and lumpy. Judy reached down and yanked off the sheet. The lumpy bump was not Otis. The lumpy bump was not a ghost. It was a glittery, shiny, silvery . . . drum set!

  Beneath the sheet was a snare drum, a bass drum, and a tom-tom, plus a hi-hat and cymbals. The bass drum said TOM TURKEY AND THE ELECTRIC DRUMSTICKS.

  “Here’s your ghost, Stink!” said Judy.

  “The ghost is Dad’s old drum set?” Stink asked.

  Judy cracked up. “Say hi to Otis.” She slid in behind the bass drum and sat down on the small stool. She blew dust off the top of the snare drum.

  Judy lined up her feet on the kick pedals.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, until she heard the heartbeat of a rhythm in her head.

  She opened her eyes and picked up the drumsticks.

  Ba-da-da-dum-dum-dum-de-dum. Pshhhh! Ride that cymbal!

  The very next weekend, Judy tried one more time to turn a cartwheel down the front hall. Yipes! Her pants fell down. She tried again. Crash! She knocked over the coat tree.

  “Judy! Take it outside!” Dad called.

  Judy went outside and tumbled in the grass. She ended up in a tangle of arms and legs like a pretzel.

  Grandma Lou beeped and pulled up in her yellow Mini. Judy ran over to the window. “Want to know the secret to a cartwheel?” Grandma Lou asked. “You have to let your mind go. Take it from the 1959 YMCA Newcomer Gymnast of the Year.”

  “You were?” Just then, Judy noticed that the car was filled to the gills with heaps of stuff covered in old sheets.

  “Did you bring Otis the ghost with you or something?” Judy asked.

  “Wait and see,” said Grandma Lou. Mom, Dad, a
nd Stink came out into the driveway. Grandma Lou opened the hatchback. “Ta-da!”

  “Dad’s old drum set? For me?” Judy asked.

  “Your dad and I talked it over. These are yours now, Jelly Bean. Keep marching to the beat of your own drum.”

  Dad handed her a brand-new pair of drumsticks. “Tom Turkey and the Electric Drumsticks must live on.”

  “You can be Tammy Turkey,” said Stink.

  Judy cracked up. “Wow! Thanks!” She hugged her dad.

  “This’ll be fun,” said Dad. “I’m rusty, but I can teach you a few things. Maybe a paradiddle and a drumroll and —”

  “Can I be a drum bum, too?” Stink asked. Mom and Dad set the drums in the driveway, and Judy beat out a rhythm with Dad to his old favorite — the Mashed Potato. Stink crashed the cymbal.

  Half the neighborhood came out when they heard the racket. Rocky and Frank tapped on their knees like bongos. Grandma Lou and Mrs. Soso danced the Mashed Potato. Even Izzy Azumi, Future Dog Owner, grooved to the beat along with her father and brother. Dad took off on the snare, playing several licks in a row.

  “Tom Turkey lives!” yelled Stink.

  “We’re heating up the whole neighborhood with these tubs and pies!” said Judy. “That’s hepcat talk for drums and cymbals.”

  Plip. Plip, plip. Plop. Oh, no! Judy started to feel drops.

  “I hate to end this jam session,” said Mom, “but it’s starting to rain. Let’s get all you drum bums inside.”

  After they got the drums into the garage, Judy said to Grandma Lou, “Let’s compare our kick-the-bucket lists.”

  She snuggled up next to her bucket-list buddy on the couch. Just the two of them. Judy crossed off Learn a musical instrument. “Look how many cross-offs I have! Have you crossed anything off your list lately?”

  “I finally learned to dance the rumba,” said Grandma Lou. “And I’m taking a sign language class.” She showed Judy the sign for bucket list. She showed Judy the signs for Grandma Lou, Judy, and I love you.

  “I have an idea,” said Judy. “The house across the street from you has a bouncy castle. Maybe you could ask them if you can camp out there. That way, you could cross off Sleep in a castle.”