Stink and the World's Worst Super-Stinky Sneakers by Megan McDonald Page B

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.
    “You could be a circus freak!” said Judy. “Like that guy with the seven-and-a-half-inch-long nose!”

    “No, I mean like a professional smeller.”
    “I thought you wanted to be president of your own candy store.”
    “That was before
The Nose,
” said Stink.
    “What happened to being an inventor?” asked Mom.
    “I can still invent stuff. Like an alarm clock that wakes you up
with a smell.
”
    “There’s no such job as a Smeller, is there, Mom?” Judy asked.
    “I don’t really know,” said Mom. “Maybe you could work for a perfume company. Or you could test smells for new products.”
    “I have a smell test,” said Judy. “Cover your eyes with a blindfold, and I’ll find smelly stuff and see if you can guess what it is. It’s called . . . the Way-Official Moody Stink-a-Thon.”
    “Easy!” said Stink. The two kids ran upstairs. Judy got a bandanna and tied it nice and snug over Stink’s eyes. She held the end of a pencil under his nose.
    “Rubbery. Smells like a pencil. . . . Eraser!” said Stink.
    “Aw!” Judy picked up a marker from Stink’s desk.
    Sniff, sniff.
“Smelly marker. Red.”
    “You peeked!” said Judy.
    “Did not!”
    “Did too! Nobody can smell colors. Not even Mr. Nose-It-All.”
    “Yah-huh. It’s watermelon flavored.”
    Judy held up a bubble gum comic. Stink sniffed several times. He thought. He sniffed again. “Bubble gum.”
    “WRONG!” said Judy. “Bubble gum
comic.
”
    “No fair!” said Stink.
    Judy went and got her Venus flytrap. Stink sniffed the air once. Twice. “Jaws!” he said, grinning.
    “How did you know?” asked Judy. “Venus flytraps don’t smell.”
    “They do if they’ve been eating raw hamburger. And dead flies.”
    “Hold on. Wait right there.” Judy ran downstairs and came back with more stuff to smell. One by one she held them up to Stink’s nose.
    “Pepper!” said Stink. “Ah-choo!” he sneezed. “Dad’s coffee.
Bluck!
Lemon. Stinky cheese. Week-old pizza.”

       “WOW!” said Judy. “You even got the week-old pizza. I know you’re peeking.”
    “No way! I swear on Toady,” said Stink.
    “This time I’m REALLY going to stump you. Ready?”
    “Ready,” said Stink, sticking his nose up in the air. Judy held out the secret, smelly, Stink-stumping odorific object.
    “P.U.!” said Stink. “It’s worse than smelly sneakers. Worse than dirty socks. Worse than a skunk. It smells like one-hundred-year-old barf.”
    “Wrong!” said Judy.
    “Is it two-hundred-year-old buffalo dung?”
    “Nope.”
    “Is it a stinky baby diaper?”
    “N-O!”
    “Is it —
sniff, sniff, sniff
— eggs? One-thousand-year-old rotten eggs?”
    “Rumpelstiltskin!” said Judy. “How’d you guess it was stinky old eggs?”
    “You mean I guessed it? For real?” Stink yanked off his blindfold. Lumpy clumps of something disgusting were in Mouse’s cat food dish.

       “It
is
rotten eggs,” said Judy. “Beef-and-scrambled-eggs cat food. Mouse won’t eat the egg part.”
    “Just call me Rumpel-STINK-skin,” said Stink, cracking himself up. Judy cracked up, too.
    “So, did I pass the smell test?”
    “With flying colors!” said Judy. “You truly live up to the