Judy Moody and the NOT Bummer Summer

by Megan McDonald

  “Okay, okay!” As Judy ran for her seat, Frank hurried up and stuffed his face with one last bite of everything. Munch! Crunch! Slurp!

  “FRANK!”

  Frank dumped the rest of his stuff and jumped into the lead car beside Judy. CLANK. A bar came down, locking them into their seat.

  “This is it!” Judy said.

  “Thrill points here we come!” Frank yelled.

  With a loud whirrr, the train of cars lurched forward, inching up the track.

  “Hands up!” Judy told Frank. “Every second counts!”

  Frank lifted his hands. He started to look a little woozy.

  “I’m not so sure about this,” he told Judy.

  “Too late now,” Judy yelled. The car slowed as it reached the tippy-top of the first big hill. “Because here we goooooOOOOOOO!”

  Wheee! The coaster zoomed down the hill at lightning speed. Just before hitting the ground, it shot back up in the air, twisting and turning in a sickening somersault of spirals.

  “Ahhhhhhh!” Judy screamed.

  “AAAHHHHHHHHH!” Frank screamed louder, clutching his stomach.

  Judy’s hair whooshed straight up in the air. She laughed and turned to Frank. Her smile disappeared in a blink. Frank’s face looked like a cartoon. It had turned green — as green as Shrek. Greener than the Hulk!

  “No no no no NO! Frank Pearl, don’t you . . . DAREEEEEEEEEE!”

  All of a sudden, Frank gagged, then BLUCK! He spewed a spurting stream of chunky blue upchuck. Before you could say Scream Monster, she, Judy Moody, was covered in blue.

  The Scream Monster had just become . . . the Puke Monster.

  Judy slogged up the sidewalk to the front door. The screen door was locked. The TV blasted news about more local Bigfoot sightings. “Reporting live from the Fur and Fangs parking lot, this is Jess Higginbottom Clark, WH20.”

  Ding ding ding ding ding! Judy pressed the doorbell with her elbow. “Stink, I can see you in there watching TV. Open the door!”

  Stink dragged himself away from the TV. “Did you hear that? That was Herb and Rose Birnbaum, from my Bigfoot club. They saw him! They really —”

  He flipped the latch and opened the door. His mouth dropped open. Judy was wearing a giant, frothy, pink prom dress. She held a hunk of the dress in one hand and a messy-looking plastic bag in the other.

  “Judy!” Opal called from the kitchen. “Did you have fun?”

  “She went to the PROM with Frank Pearl!” said Stink. He turned to Judy. “What’s with the weirdo dress? Did you go to the prom with Frank Pearl?” Stink teased. “Ooh! I thought you were going to Scaredevil Island.”

  “Knock it off, Stinkbug. I’m. NOT. In. The. Mood.”

  “Oof. What’s in the bag? Dead skunks? P.U.-ee!” He pinched his nose. “Smells worse than elephant poop.”

  “You smell worse than elephant poop.” Judy pushed past him.

  “Wait! What happened? For real?”

  “Don’t ask. Seriously. DON’T ASK!”

  “Where’s Judy?” Opal asked, coming down the hall.

  “Don’t ask,” said Stink.

  “What’s that smell?” Opal said, sniffing the air.

  “Double don’t ask,” said Stink.

  Minutes later, just as Judy slid down into the bubbles in the bathtub, there was a knock on the door.

  “Stink, I told you not to ask!” she yelled through the door.

  “I’m not asking. I’m TELLING. I mean, I’m just saying — you got a postcard from Rocky.”

  Judy perked up. “That’s different. Why didn’t you say so? What’s it say? Can you read it?”

  “Sure.” Stink cleared his throat. He started to read in a fake deep voice. “‘Dear Judy. How are you? I am fi —’”

  “Knock it off, Stinkerbell. Just read it like a normal person.”

  “You don’t want me to sound like Rocky?”

  “I don’t want you to sound like Darth Vader trapped in a vacuum cleaner.”

  “Okay, okay. ‘Dear Judy. How are you? I am fine. Guess what? I just learned how to saw someone in half!’”

  Judy sat up, splashing water everywhere. “No fair! I want to saw someone in half. Like Frank Pukehead Pearl.”

  Stink kept reading. “‘It was super way cool! We even get to be in a real circus — you have to come, okay? August seventh. JSYK (Just So You Know). I’m up to thirty-seven thrill points! How many do you have?’”

  Judy sank farther and farther into the suds. “I’d like to saw YOU in half, Rocky Zang.”

  Blub, blub.

  “And I haven’t forgotten you, Frank Pearl.”

  Blub.

  “Are you done scrubbing off Frank Pearl prom cooties yet? Because I’m going to an emergency Bigfoot meeting. Wanna come? It starts in fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds.”

  “Stink, you have Bigfoot on the brain.”

  “Okay. But don’t be asking for my autograph when I capture Bigfoot and get all famous!”

  Judy stared at her thrill-point chart. It was already the middle of July, and her chart looked Baresville. As in half naked. No frills. No thrills. She picked up a strawberry-scented smelly marker. “Ten points for riding the Scream Monster, Mouse. Minus five for blue throw-up and five for the prom dress equals —”

  Mouse meowed. “You’re right, Mouse. A big fat doughnut.” Judy was tracing and retracing a zero in the total points column when KA-BOOM — she heard a huge crash. She flew down the stairs and skidded to a stop just inside the living room.

  “What happened? Did the roof fall in or something?”

  “I just dropped this.” Aunt Opal held up a shiny garbage-can lid as if it was an Egyptian treasure. “I can’t decide if this is a shield, a hat, or a chariot wheel.”

  “Um, I hate to tell you, but I think it’s the lid to the garbage.”

  “Well, sure, but what is it really? I mean, what does it want to become?”

  “Maybe it wants to grow up and become a Dumpster.” Judy cracked herself up. She went over to a giant trunk full of art supplies. “What’s IN here, anyway?”

  “It’s my traveling art studio,” Opal told Judy. “With all my tools and supplies, I can make anything from mobiles to murals.”

  “You’re an artist?”

  Opal chose a hunk of fabric, Goliath Glue, ribbons, and a hammer, and dropped them onto the couch beside the lid. “A guerrilla artist, actually.”

  “Gorilla? As in monkey?”

  Opal shook her head. “As in secret. Under the radar. A guerrilla artist makes art out of everything and puts it everywhere.”

  “Cool beans. But why?”

  Aunt Opal smiled. “It’s fun. And creative. And daring. See, here’s what I’m thinking. . . .” Opal whispered to Judy. A big grin spread over Judy’s face.

  For the next hour, Judy cut, glued, and painted paper insects. Aunt Opal hammered, twisted, shaped, and shined her garbage-can lid.

  “It’s way cool making such a mess!” said Judy.

  “That’s what art is all about,” said Opal.

  Judy swirled a huge glob of Goliath Glue onto the garbage lid with her hand, then stuck a butterfly, dragonfly, and her favorite insect, the northeast beach tiger beetle, onto the lid.

  “Ta-da!” Leaning on the table with one hand, she struck a pose, showing off her hat. Boing! Bugs sprang up and down on metal Slinkies.

  “Fantastic! I TOLD you it was a hat.” Opal held up her own hat, which was decked out with pottery shards, ribbons, colored glass, and sparkly gems.

  “Now all we have to do is sneak over to the library and put these on the library lions. But it has to be late at night, after dark, so nobody sees.”

  “That’s ten thrill points, for sure!” Judy said.

  The door banged and Stink burst into the room, excited. “Guess what! Zeke gave me homework. I have to look for Bigfoot scat!” He proudly held up tongs, plastic bags, and a small shovel.

  “Are you sure he wasn’t telling YOU to scat?”
Judy joked.

  “Zeke says you have to sniff for a really bad smell, which I’m super good at by the way, and look for dark stuff that looks like potting soil on flat rocks. Then you poke it to see if it has any leaves or berries in it. Which is why you never leave home without —”

  Tingalinga, ding! Ding! Ding! “Ice-cream truck!” Stink dropped his stuff like a hot potato and zoomed out the door. Aunt Opal ran after him.

  “Wait for me!” Judy started to run, but the whole table came with her. Help! Her hand was stuck fast to the table! She pulled. She pulled harder. “Hey! Somebody! My hand! It’s stuck! I’M GOLIATH-GLUED TO THE TABLE!”

  Aunt Opal rushed back in. “What! You’re kidding, right?” Judy tried again to pry her hand off, but all it did was lift the table. Opal dashed into the kitchen.

  “STINKER! BUY ME AN ICE CREAM!” Judy yelled out the front door.

  Opal came back with olive oil, mayo, and a spatula.

  “This is no time to make a sandwich,” said Judy.

  “Trust me,” said Opal. She poured olive oil and glopped mayonnaise all over Judy’s hand. Stink came back, slurping a rainbow-colored Popsicle.

  “Where’s mine?”

  “I thought you were coming out. How was I supposed to know you glued yourself to a table? Want some?” Stink asked, holding out his Popsicle.

  “An ABS Popsicle? Already-Been-Slobbered? Forget it.”

  “This won’t take much longer. I promise,” said Aunt Opal.

  “Famous last words,” Judy said. Forty-seven tries later, she slumped over.

  “Well, we’ve tried warm water, a chisel, hand soap, laundry soap, dish soap, and Goo-B-Gone.”

  Aunt Opal jiggled Judy’s arm. Judy wiggled one, two, three fingers.

  “Almost, almost . . . there!” Aunt Opal cried.

  At last, Judy’s hand flew up off the table.

  “Free at last! In just under”— Stink checked the clock —“one hour and forty-seven minutes!”

  “I had no idea that glue was so strong,” said Opal. “How’s your hand?”

  “Better, now that there’s no table stuck to it. I’m going to need some Band-Aids for sure. But my mood ring’s in a bad mood. I think it’s gonna be stuck on black forever. Ugh. This. Was the worst day. Of my life.”

  “Worse than the time I got to dress up as a human flag and go to the White House?” Stink asked. “And you had to go to school and dress up as a cavity?” Judy chased Stink around the table with the Goliath Glue bottle.

  “Sorry, Judy,” Aunt Opal said. “I’ll make it up to you. Anything you want.”

  Judy looked at her. “Really? You mean it? Anything?”

  Aunt Opal nodded. Judy slid the newspaper over. “While I was stuck, I saw this ad in the paper. Next Saturday, there’s a Cemetery Creep ’n’ Crawl after dark. Can we go?”

  “Is it worth thrill points?” Aunt Opal asked.

  “A midnight zombie walk? Through a graveyard? Did I say midnight?”

  “Then totally. AbsoLUTEly.”

  Judy could hardly wait for the Creep ’n’ Crawl! At last, it was Saturday. Aunt Opal was — slap-dash — making sandwiches and jamming them into plastic bags. Wearing rubber gloves, Stink was cramming scat samples into plastic bags. Judy sat in the corner, tapping out a one-handed e-mail with the UN-Band-Aided, NOT Goliath-Glued hand.

  “So. We’ll leave in a few minutes and eat our picnic at the cemetery, okay?” said Aunt Opal.

  “RARE! Extra thrill points for eating with skeletons! I need ’em because — guess what? — Amy just went swimming with a shark!”

  “Lemme see, lemme see, lemme see!” said Stink, throwing his scat bags on the counter.

  Judy angled the computer so he could take a look. Stink read aloud.

  “‘Dear Judy Most Moody, Yesterday, I did the most sick-awesomest thing — I SWAM with a SHARK! That’s like twenty thrill points, at LEAST!’”

  Stink whistled. “Whoa! You’re gonna lose this race SO bad. Hey, look. Your ring is GREEN! Green with ENVY!”

  Judy looked down at her mood ring. Sure enough, it was pulsing green.

  “Time to go!” Opal grabbed the picnic basket. Judy and Stink followed her.

  “Your ring is green like POND SCUM! Green like BOOGERS!”

  “Stink, you’re a super-galactic booger.” Judy and Stink stopped at the car. “Hey, Aunt Opal! Where are you going?” Judy called.

  “To the cemetery! Aren’t we walking?” Judy and Stink burst out laughing.

  “No way. It’s a million miles from here. We have to take Humphrey.”

  “Who’s Humphrey?”

  “That’s what Dad calls our car. He says it looks like a Humphrey.”

  Aunt Opal smiled. “Your dad used to have a bike named Humphrey. Hey, I know! Let’s ride bikes!”

  Stink shook his head. “Not allowed. Not after dark.”

  Aunt Opal chewed her lip. “Bummer. Okay, then — here we go, I guess.”

  Judy and Stink buckled up in the backseat. Opal put the car in gear, turned to look out the back, and lurched forward. She slammed on the brakes.

  “Hey! Watch out!” Judy yelled.

  “Um, you do know how to drive, right?” Stink asked.

  “Of course! I drove across the Horn of Africa . . . about ten years ago.” She shifted the car into reverse this time, then hit the gas. The car swerved wildly into the street, screeching and jerking to a stop.

  “You call that driving?” Stink yelled.

  “Sorry. No worries. It’s all coming back to me.”

  “Watch out! You’re gonna hit the —”

  Humphrey bumped up onto the sidewalk.

  “— mailbox.”

  “Holy . . . crap!” shouted Aunt Opal.

  “You said crap! Crap’s a swear!” Stink gasped.

  “Crap is not a swear. Is there a map in this car? I have NO idea where I’m going.”

  Stink and Judy looked at each other with dread. Judy rustled around on the floor and found a map.

  “Can you get a ticket for driving too slow?” Stink asked.

  Aunt Opal hit the gas again. The map went flying — right out the window.

  After driving around and around for what felt like hours, Judy pointed to the rusty old Ferris wheel at a boarded-up amusement park. “Hey, we already passed this place like three times,” Judy said.

  Splutter, splutter, splunk. Aunt Opal drifted into the cracked and grassy parking lot. “Uh-oh. We are Out. Of. Gas.”

  “Not to mention . . . Way. Super. Lost,” said Stink.

  Judy looked around. “Are we still even in Virginia?”

  “Of course we’re in Virginia. See that sign?” A dusty old sign dangled from a single chain: LARKSPUR PIER. VIRGINIA’S #1 TOURIST ATTRACTION.

  “Can we eat? I’m starving,” said Stink.

  “I’m Judy,” said Judy. “Pleased to meet you, Starving.”

  “Hardee-har-har,” said Stink.

  Flap! Down came the beach blanket onto a rickety, three-legged picnic table. Judy and Stink squished into a giant cup from the old teacup ride.

  “Look at that,” said Opal. “We’re eating in the Fun Zone!”

  “You mean the UN-Zone,” said Judy. “It’s missing a letter.”

  “This has gotta be worth some thrill points,” said Opal, too cheerily.

  “Not as much as a cemetery Creep ’n’ Crawl.”

  Aunt Opal opened the picnic basket. “I know. Sorry ’bout that. Let’s see, baloney for you . . . and turkey for Stink.”

  “But no mayo, right?” said Stink. “Mayo is gross-o.”

  Judy pulled out her sandwich and raised it to her mouth. JUST as she was about to chomp down, she sniffed her sandwich. “Something smells weird.”

  Stink took a whiff of his sandwich. “Mine smells funny, too. Almost like —”

  Her teeth touched the bread. She was about to take a bite, when —

  “SCAT!” Stink swatted the sandwich out of Judy’s hand. He flipped
it over. Stink jumped up and pointed. “Oogley-boogley, ugh, ugh, ugh!

  Judy stared at something brown and squishy on the bottom of her sandwich. “What IS that?”

  “It’s scat! As in doo-doo! Dung! Manure! POOP!” He showed her his sandwich, smeared with brown goo.

  Judy and Stink hopped up and leaped as far away as they could, falling off their giant teacup and screaming “AGHHHHH!”

  Aunt Opal slammed the basket cover on the rest of the bags. “Crap!”

  “That too,” Stink said, smiling.

  A week later, Judy took her new postcard from Rocky up to her room. She taped it to Jaws, next to her laptop.

  HAPPY NATIONAL HOT DOG DAY!

  (If you get this on July 23.) I’m up to

  60 POINTS!

  –The Rock Man

  Judy turned on her computer and started typing an e-mail.

  Dear Rocky,

  Sorry I haven’t written in soooo long. You won’t believe all the stuff that’s happened in the last couple of weeks. Have you ever been on a poop picnic? I have and it STINKS on ice! Hardee-har-har.

  Judy heard loud laughter coming from Stink’s room. “Be quiet, you guys! I can’t hear myself write!” She popped her head into Stink’s room. He was giving Aunt Opal a driving lesson on his race-car bed. “So the main thing is, you hold your hands on the steering wheel at ten and two, like a clock.”

  “You guys are driving me crazy,” said Judy. “Can’t you play a quiet game like Sign Language or something?”

  “Or something,” said Stink. He hopped up and shut the door.

  Judy went back to her letter.

  We canNOT find Mr. Todd anywhere! Frank and I looked — at the mall, at the park, at Speedy Market. We even found a guy with a GOT MUSIC cap just like Mr. Todd’s, but he turned out to be A STATUE!

  Amy has a bazillion Borneo points. Get this: I’m almost out of dares and I still don’t have ONE SINGLE thrill point! No lie! I tried to ride an elephant at the zoo. But Aunt Opal wrecked the car on the way there and we got hauled away by a tow truck. Zero thrill points. One night last week we tried to sneak out after dark and do gorilla art. (Long story.) Bad idea. Rained out. Then there was the surfing lesson with Frank at the beach. Really, really bad idea. I ended up kissing a dead jellyfish! Bluck!