by David Lubar
“Right, the lab,” Abigail said. “It was really stupid of you to let yourself get splashed like that. You deserved what happened.”
“Stupid? Hey, I didn’t do anything except stand there! It was Mookie who tripped and splashed me. Don’t call me stupid. Your uncle is stupid. It’s all his fault. He’s—” I stopped my ranting when I noticed that Abigail was smiling. Then she sniffed. I sniffed, too.
“Phew,” I said.
“Hypothesis proved,” she said. “Anger makes you stinkier. Probably other strong emotions would, too.”
“Hey, you’re like the Incredible Hulk,” Mookie said. “Except you’re the Incredible Skunk. Or the Incredible Stink. Wait—even better. The Incredible Stunk. Cool. You’re finally a superhero. But stink-on-demand is kind of my specialty, so you’re going to have to make me your sidekick.”
“Sure. Whatever.” I sat down and slumped my head. “This is getting worse and worse.” Not only did I stink—I couldn’t even get angry about it.
“No, it’s not worse. It’s better,” Abigail said. “It means that, at some level, your body is functioning. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on, but if anger causes a change in you, you have some sort of metabolism. You’re a bit more alive than we thought. I need to call Dr. Cushing right away. This is definitely encouraging.”
“Will it help keep me from stinking?” I asked.
“At this point, I really don’t know,” Abigail said. She pulled out her cell phone and called Dr. Cushing. I listened while she talked, but as usual, didn’t have much of a clue what they were talking about.
After Abigail and Mookie left, I made a decision. While I waited for someone to find a real cure for my stinkiness, I’d at least try out the quick fix Professor Quirlian offered.
That night, when I met up with Mr. Murphy, I told him my decision. “That’s the spirit,” he said. “Take advantage of what we have to offer. BUM looks out for its own. You won’t be sorry.”
He led me right down to the lab.
“Let’s do it,” I told Professor Quirlian.
“Super!” he said. “Come. All ready.” He scurried to the other end of the lab and pointed to a door. “In there.”
I opened the door. There was a tile wall like they had in the shower room at the YMCA. I saw a nozzle on the wall and, just past it, some sort of vent.
“Stand, close your eyes, turn slowly, count to twenty,” Professor Quirlian said. “Then again, at the vent.”
He closed the door. I stood there for a moment and talked to myself. “Okay. There’s nothing here that can explode. It should be fine. It won’t stop me from rotting, but at least it will keep me from stinking.”
I took off my clothes, walked over to the nozzle, and closed my eyes. I heard a hiss like water was spraying on me. I turned and started counting. When I reached twenty, I made sure my back was to the nozzle and opened my eyes. I looked at my right hand. It was almost impossible to see the coating. If I looked hard, I could just catch a tiny shimmer.
I walked over to the vent. Air shot out. I turned and counted.
After I put my clothes on, Professor Quirlian came back in.
“Perfect!” he said.
“Thanks.” I sniffed my hand. Nothing. Not even any kind of plastic smell. “This is great.”
He reached out and patted my shoulder. “Trust science.”
“I’ll try.”
I headed out of the room and left the lab. I’m wrapped in plastic. I sort of felt like a piece of meat in the supermarket display case. I hoped I hadn’t made a bad decision.
I had another problem to deal with. Tomorrow was Friday. Which meant gym class—and the football game. I was pretty sure I’d figured out a way to keep from getting smashed by Ridley, but I wasn’t looking forward to trying it.
16
Shredded Threads
When I left my house the next morning, I walked over to Spanky and held out my hand. He sniffed it once, then looked up at me like he was hoping for something else.
“Sorry,” I said. “You’ll have to find another dead kid to sniff.”
This was good. If a dog couldn’t smell me, I was definitely not going to stink around humans.
“I have great news,” I said when I got to school.
“Not as great as mine,” Mookie said.
“Of course not. It never is,” I said. “What’s your news?”
“My mom won two tickets to a cruise. It’s a Midnight Mystery Adventure Cruise for tomorrow night. She can’t go, because she gets seasick. And Dad isn’t supposed to leave the state. So she said I can go and take a friend.”
“I have to keep available for a BUM mission tomorrow night.” I didn’t feel bad about that. A free cruise might sound pretty awesome, but nothing that Mookie’s mom wins ever turns out to be as good as it sounds. Mookie’s flashing sneakers reminded me of that.
“I love mysteries and adventure,” Abigail said. “Besides, Mars and Jupiter will be in alignment. It would be amazing to see it from out on the ocean. I’ll bring my binoculars.”
“Great,” Mookie said. “My mom asked my cousin to drive us there. It’s just over at the docks in Perth Amboy.”
“What’s your news?” Abigail asked.
I told her about the coating Professor Quirlian had put on me. “It doesn’t seem to be a problem. Do you see any danger?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “No. Nothing immediate. If it contains the smell, that would be good. Except . . .”
“Except what? Am I going to explode?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s just, odors are produced by gases. You don’t want to let too much build up.”
“I’ll say.” Mookie grinned at us. “That’s why I always let the gas out before the pressure builds up.”
“Don’t get too angry, and you should be fine,” Abigail said. “It’s probably best to avoid any strong emotion—anger, fear. Speaking of fear, have you figured out what you’re going to do about gym class?”
“Yeah. I know exactly what to do. I can’t tell my mom I’m sick, but I can tell Mr. Lomux. I’ll just get sick right at the start of gym class.”
“He’s not going to like it,” Mookie said. “He still thinks you’re some sort of champion.”
“I’ll deal with it,” I said. I figured he wouldn’t take the news well. That was actually okay. If I disappointed Mr. Lomux, he might stop paying so much attention to me. Attention is the last thing a dead kid wants. I guess that’s another reason I liked being a spy. I could do my work in the shadows.
About five minutes after school started, there was an announcement over the loudspeaker from Mr. Tardis, the Borloff principal. It was just two sentences long.
“All classes to the cafetorium. Now.”
“Whoa, he doesn’t sound happy,” I said. Usually, Mr. Tardis gave students an inspiring quote in the morning, about smiling or helping others.
“I wonder what I did this time,” Mookie said.
We followed our teachers down the hall.
After we’d all wedged into the cafetorium, Mr. Tardis walked up to the microphone. “Something despicable has happened,” he said. “Something worse than anything I’ve ever seen in my thirty-year career in education.”
I looked at Mookie. He looked back, shrugged, and said, “For once, I don’t think it’s something I did.”
“Probably not,” I said. Mookie got in a lot of trouble, but it was never really bad stuff.
Principal Tardis walked to the very edge of the stage. “Mrs. Matheson and her wonderful kindergarten children were looking forward to marching in the parade. Their parents were looking forward to watching the parade. I know our eighth-grade guests were looking forward to their special role this year. And then a terrible person had to do this.”
He held up something. I couldn’t tell what it was. It looked like a torn fishing net.
“This,” Principal Tardis said, “was once a wonderful animal costume, lovingly made by the parents of one of ou
r sweet, innocent kindergartners. But her costume, along with every single other one, was destroyed last night by vandals.”
“I knew this was going to end badly,” Abigail said.
I remembered she’d said that when Mrs. Matheson first told us about the festival.
Principal Tardis stopped talking and stared out at us. I heard a snicker from behind me. A small one, but it was definitely a snicker. I looked back. Ridley was there, several rows away, fighting to keep a grin off his face.
So that’s what this was about. Ridley, and maybe some of his friends, had trashed the costumes because they didn’t want to stand there with little kids dressed as forest animals. I wanted to get up and shout in his face. I wanted to point at him and say, He did it! He’s the one.
But I didn’t have any proof. Even so, it definitely stank that he’d done this. I might be rotting. My skin might be starting to stink. But I was nowhere near as rotten as Ridley Mullasco.
He looked in my direction, grinned, pointed at me, and made a snapping motion with his fists, like he was breaking a stick. I shook my head, pointed back, and made the same motion. Somehow, I was going to break him.
The principal held up another mangled piece of cloth. This one was black with a white stripe. “Someone has broken a lot of little hearts.”
“Man, this makes me angry,” I said.
“No,” Abigail said. “You can’t let that happen.”
“It’s okay. I’m sealed in. Nobody will smell anything.” I held up my hand and sniffed my fingers.
“Uh-oh . . . ,” Abigail said.
“What?”
She pointed to the back of my hand. “You’re getting blisters.”
I looked. There were tiny bubbles in the coating. “How come?”
“Gas from the bacteria,” she said. “Nothing to worry about right now. It doesn’t look like much of a buildup.”
She was right. The blisters were no bigger than pinheads. It wouldn’t be a problem. I turned my thoughts back to imagining horrible things happening to Ridley.
17
Instinct
When it was time for gym, I walked over to Mr. Lomux and said, “I feel sick.” I clutched my stomach and tried to look like I was about to die. That’s actually not all that hard when you’re already dead. Just to make it more believable, I added, “I just came from lunch. I think the tuna fish was bad.”
“Tough it out,” he said.
“I’m really not feeling good,” I said.
Mr. Scotus walked over. “What’s the problem?”
“He says he’s sick,” Mr. Lomux said.
“Wimp!” Mr. Scotus shouted, getting right in my face. “Trying to weasel out of an honest game. You aren’t sick. I’ll tell you who’s sick. Me. Because little losers like you make me sick!”
He kept shouting at me. I backed away, feeling really glad I didn’t need to breathe. I had a feeling his breath would make bad tuna seem like perfume. He moved closer and kept shouting.
“Pathetic little whiner!” He seemed just as likely as Ridley to start breaking me into pieces. I couldn’t believe they let people like him work around kids all day.
I tried to move away, but I’d backed into the wall. Something weird was happening. My whole body felt like it was being squeezed. I don’t feel pain, but I can feel pressure. I glanced down at my hands. The plastic was puffing up. My fingers looked like they belonged to a cartoon character.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Mr. Scotus shouted.
I tried to keep my eyes aimed in his direction. But I could feel the plastic inflating all around me. I risked a glance at my chest. It was swelling.
“You,” he said, poking me in the chest.
“—aren’t—” He poked me again.
“—getting—”
Poke.
“—out—”
Poke.
“—of—”
Poke.
I guess the next word would have been gym. Or maybe class. I’ll never know. Instead of a word, I heard a loud pop, followed by a hiss. He’d broken the plastic and released all the stink that had built up under the coating.
But both Mr. Lomux and Mr. Scotus gasped—I guess because of what they’d sniffed. Gasping was a mistake. That gave them an even bigger whiff, filling their noses and lungs with rotten air.
Their bodies jerked. Oh, man—I’d seen that before, and knew what was coming. I was about to get splattered. That was fine. It would get me out of gym. But they both spun away from me as they hurled. Too bad for them—they spun right toward each other.
They looked like those rotating lawn sprinklers that throw a curved stream of water. Each of them hit the other with an impressive spray. They both staggered back, then fell to the ground.
Wow. I looked down at my shirt. It was spotless. I hadn’t gotten a drop on me. I guess someone called the nurse. She came and almost threw up when she saw what was there. But she got under control quickly and started to lead them off. By the time the Borloff gym teacher showed up to take over the class, it was too late to play football.
Ridley walked up to me. “Monday,” he said. He pointed at me, and then Mookie. “Both of you.” He made that snapping motion again. I decided this wasn’t a good time for a smart comment. He was already frustrated. If I pushed him, he’d start a fight, no matter what the principal had threatened. So I kept my mouth shut.
“Skunk!” Abigail shouted when I met up with her after school.
“Ha, ha, very funny,” I said. “I thought you’d be the last person to insult me.”
“No, I mean that’s our temporary solution,” she said. “Remember the place my mom and I were staying before we moved to our new house?”
“Sure,” I said. “The Comfy Craven Motel and Bait Shop. What about it?”
“I used to go for a walk every night. I’m pretty sure I saw a skunk in the field behind the place.”
“So?” I wasn’t sure I liked where this was going.
“So we get you sprayed,” she said. “The odor will cover anything. By the time the stink fades away, I’m sure we’ll have a permanent solution. And the smell won’t even really be on your skin, since you’re still coated with that plastic. You can actually peel it off if you want to.”
“And meanwhile, I’ll smell like a skunk?”
Abigail nodded. “But that’s perfect. It won’t bother you, since you don’t need to breathe.”
“And it will be kind of cool,” Mookie said. “I mean, you hear about it happening, and you see it in the movies. But I don’t know any kid who’s ever actually been sprayed by a skunk. You’d be the first in our school. They might even put your picture on the wall.”
“I think I’ve had enough firsts,” I said.
“If you stink badly enough,” Abigail said, “your parents might let you stay home from school on Monday. So, no football.”
“No football . . .” That sounded good. And no rotting smell. Maybe it would be sort of cool to get skunked. Mookie was right. I’d heard about it happening, and seen it in the movies, but didn’t know anyone who’d actually been sprayed. “Okay. I’ll try it.”
So we headed to the field behind the motel.
“Skunks generally avoid people,” Abigail said when we got there. “And they won’t use their spray unless they feel really threatened. So, Nathan, you stand in the middle of the field. Mookie and I will walk around the edge. The skunk will run away from us. When it gets near you, just jump up and down, wave your arms, and shout at it. That should scare it into spraying you.”
“You’re sure about this?” I asked.
Abigail gave me a confident smile. “What could go wrong?”
When had I heard that before? But it was usually from Mookie, not Abigail, so I wasn’t worried.
I headed toward the middle of the field. “Let’s split up,” Abigail told Mookie. “That way, we can cover twice as much of the perimeter at the same time.”
She walked to the other side of the fie
ld, then waved at Mookie. They started walking along the edge of the field. I waited. At one point, Abigail froze. Then she pointed at the ground. I saw something running toward me through the tall grass. It was black with two white stripes. No mistake. I was about to get skunked.
Here goes.
When the skunk got close, I jumped up, came down facing right at it, waved my arms, and screamed, “Bugga bugga! Whoooo! Yahhhh! Yibba-yibba-yibba!”
The skunk didn’t even slow down. It ran between my legs and kept going—right toward Mookie. When it got close to him, it finally stopped. Mookie stared at the skunk. The skunk stared at Mookie. Mookie let out a fart I could hear all the way over in the middle of the field. For once, he was outgunned. The skunk turned and fired a shot of spray.
It hit Mookie right in the chest.
“Gaahhhhhh!” Mookie spun away from the skunk and ran toward the motel.
Abigail and I followed him.
“I guess it didn’t think I was alive,” I said.
“What?” Abigail asked.
“Animals don’t react to me like I’m living,” I said.
“And you just decided to mention this?”
I could still hear screams from the other side of the motel. They were followed by a large splash.
“Yeah. I suppose I should have told you earlier.”
“It’s not your fault,” Abigail said. “I should have realized there might be a problem. Now that I know about it, it does make sense.”
We’d reached the motel pool, which was closed but still had water in it. Green water loaded with bugs and leaves. Mookie had jumped in and was thrashing around like an injured rhino.
“How long will he stink?” I asked.
“All his life,” Abigail said, “unless he changes his eating habits.”
“I mean, from the skunk.”
“Couple days,” Abigail said. “Maybe a week.”
“He’s used to it,” I said.
Abigail took a bottle of lotion from her purse and rubbed some on her hands. “Better him than me,” she said.
“I guess so.”
