Judy Moody Declares Independence!

  “Dream on,” said Dad.

  “How about tea?”

  “How about chocolate milk,” said Dad.

  “The Boston Chocolate Milk Party. How UN-Revolutionary.”

  Judy ordered a Ben Franklin (grilled cheese with French fries). In the middle of bite three of her Ben Franklin, she said, “Hey, there’s Tori!”

  “Tori the Tory,” said Stink.

  Tori and her mom came over. While everybody met, Tori showed Judy all the new Bonjour Bunny stuff in her bag.

  “You have all the luck!” said Judy. “I need more allowance. For sure and absolute positive.”

  “Mum gives me two pounds a week,” said Tori.

  “Star-spangled bananas!” said Judy. Tori got pounds of allowance! All Judy got was a few stinky ounces.

  “C’mon,” said Tori. “Let’s collect more Ben Franklin sugar packets.” While the grownups talked and Stink blew bubbles in his un-Revolutionary chocolate milk, Judy and Tori sat at an empty table and spread out all the sugar packets.

  A penny saved is a penny earned.

  Don’t cry over spilled milk.

  Fish and visitors stink after three days.

  “Let’s make up our own!” said Judy. She wrote on the backs of the packets:

  “Crikey! That’s jolly good!” said Tori. She made one up, too:

  Judy taught Tori how to play Concentration with sugar packets. Tori showed Judy how to build a sugar-packet castle. When it came time to go, Judy did not want to leave her new friend.

  “Mom? Dad? Can Tori come back to the hotel with us?” Judy asked.

  “Or can Judy go swimming at our hotel with us?” Tori asked her mom.

  “Can Tori come to Chinatown with us tonight?”

  “Can Judy sleep over at our hotel? We can sleep on the floor like we do in our flat at home.”

  Mom looked at Dad. Dad looked at Mom. “I don’t think so, honey.”

  “AW! Why not?” asked Judy.

  “We’ve only just met Tori,” said Mom.

  “Yes, that’s right, girls,” said Tori’s mom.

  “Please, Mum,” said Tori. “Judy’s ever so fun.”

  “Judy and her family have got their own plans,” said Tori’s mom. “And we have tickets for the Duck Tour later this afternoon.”

  “Besides, we have to get an early start in the morning, Judy. It’s back home to Virginia tomorrow,” Dad said.

  “Please-please-pretty-please with sugar packets on top?” Judy begged. “This is our one and only chance. We might never see each other again ever. Please? It would be brilliant!”

  Mom shook her head no.

  “Not even on account of the Revolution? I’m American and she’s British and it’s really good if we’re friends. We could change history!”

  “We said no, honey,” Dad said.

  “Well,” said Tori’s mom, “it’s been lovely meeting you and your family, Judy. Hasn’t it, Tori?”

  “Crumb cakes!” said Tori. She hung her head. She kicked at a stone.

  “Now, don’t get in a nark,” said Tori’s mom.

  “Who’s going in an ark?” asked Stink.

  “A nark,” said Tori’s mom. “It means a bad mood.”

  “Ohh. My sister has narks ALL the time,” said Stink.

  “Maybe when Tori gets back to London and we get home,” said Mom, “you two can write to each other. Like pen pals!”

  “That would be lovely,” said Tori’s mom. “Wouldn’t it, Tori?” Tori didn’t answer. “Well, we’d better nip off,” said her mother.

  “Here, you can have these,” Tori told Judy. “To remember me by.” She gave Judy her Bonjour Bunny ears.

  Judy gave Tori a whole pack of gum. “You can start your own ABC collection,” said Judy.

  Tori wrote down her address in London. Judy gave Tori her address in Virginia. “We can send each other sugar packets!” Tori whispered. “It’ll be the bee’s knees!”

  Judy did not feel like the bee’s knees.

  She, Judy Moody, was in a nark. Not a good nark. A bad nark.

  Judy was in a nark for four hundred forty-four miles. She was in a nark all the way through Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, and Pennsylvania. (She slept through Maryland.) She was even in a nark through Home of the Presidents, Washington, D.C.

  Judy Moody was in a nark for seven hours and nineteen minutes. A Give-Me-Liberty nark.

  “Mom! Judy won’t play car games with me.”

  Stink wanted to count cows. Stink wanted to play the license plate game. Stink wanted to play Scrabble Junior.

  “Judy,” said Mom. “Play Scrabble with your brother.”

  “It’s baby Scrabble!” said Judy. “I know. Let’s play the silent game. Where you see how long you can go without talking.”

  “Hardee-har-har,” said Stink.

  “I win!” said Judy.

  “Hey, you two,” said Mom.

  “It’s her fault,” said Stink.

  “Judy, you’re not still in a mood about Tori, are you?” asked Mom.

  “You never let me do stuff,” said Judy. “You should hear all the stuff Tori gets to do in England! She has tons of sleepovers. She even has her own phone. And her own bathroom! And she gets pounds of allowance. You think I’m still a baby or something.”

  “Or something,” said Stink.

  “Judy, if you want us to treat you like you’re more grown-up, and if you want a raise in your allowance, then you’ll have to show us that you can be more responsible.”

  “And not always get in a mood about everything,” said Dad.

  “I’ve never even had a sleepover before!” said Judy.

  “Maybe when we get home, you can have a sleepover with Jessica Finch,” said Mom.

  “When cows read,” said Judy. She, Judy Moody, was moving to England. She chewed two pieces of ABC gum, loud as a cow. She blew bubbles. Pop! Pop! Pop-pop-pop!

  “She’s still in a mood!” announced Stink.

  In her mood journal, Judy made up nicknames for Stink all the rest of the way home.

  When Judy got home, she dragged her tote bag upstairs to her room. Thwump, thwump, thwump. She dragged her backpack, her blanket, her pillow, and her sock monkey. And her stuff from the gift shop. She shut the door and climbed up into her secret hideaway (her top bunk).

  She, Judy Moody, was supposed to be writing her makeup book report, as in not waiting till the very, very last minute. Instead, she declared freedom from homework.

  Then she, Judy Moody, had an idea. A freedom idea. A John Hancock idea. A Declaration of Independence idea.

  She did not even stop to call Rocky and tell him about the Boston Tea Party Ship and the Giant Milk Bottle that sold star-spangled bananas. She did not even stop to call Frank and tell him about Mother Goose’s grave and the musical toilet.

  That could wait till tomorrow.

  But some things could not wait.

  Judy gazed in awe at the copy of the Declaration of Independence she’d gotten in Boston. It was on old-timey brown paper with burned edges that looked like tea had been spilled on it. Judy squinted to try to read the fancy-schmancy handwriting.

  When in the bones of human events . . . blah blah blah . . . we hold these truths . . . more blah blah . . . alien rights . . . Life, Liberty, and the Purse of Happiness.

  She, Judy Moody, would hereby, this day, make the Judy Moody Declaration of Independence. With alien rights and her own Purse of Happiness and everything.

  Judy pulled out the paper place mat she had saved from the Milk Street Cafe. The back was brown from chocolate-milk spills. Perfect! At last, Judy Moody knew what Ben Franklin meant when he said Don’t cry over spilled milk.

  The real Declaration of Independence was written with a quill pen. Luckily, she, Judy Moody, just happened to have a genuine-and-for-real quill pen from the gift shop.

  Look out, world! Judy mixed some water into the black powder that came with the pen, dipped the feather pen into the ink, and wrote:


  She signed it in cursive with fancy squiggles, just like Mr. Revolution Himself, First Signer of the Declaration, John Hancock. And she made it big so Dad could see it without his reading glasses, just like they did for King George.

  Judy ran downstairs wearing her tricorn hat. Where was Mouse? Judy found her curled up in the dirty-laundry pile. She jingled her cat like a bell. “Hear ye! Hear ye!” she called. Mom, Dad, and Stink came into the family room.

  “I will now hereby read my very own Judy Moody Declaration of Independence, made hereby on this day, the 4th of Judy. I hereby stand up for these alien rights — stuff like Life, Liberty, and definitely the Purse of Happiness.” Judy cleared her throat. “Did I say hereby?”

  “Only ten hundred times,” said Stink.

  Judy read the list aloud, just like a town crier (not town crybaby). At the end, she took off her tricorn hat and said, “Give me liberty or give me death!”

  “Very funny,” said Dad.

  “Very clever,” said Mom.

  “No way do you get to stay up later than me,” said Stink.

  “So you agree?” Judy asked Mom and Dad. “I should get all these freedoms? And a bunch more allowance?”

  “We didn’t say that,” said Dad.

  “We’ll think it over, honey,” said Mom.

  “Think it over?” said Judy. Thinking it over was worse than maybe. Thinking it over meant only one thing — N-O.

  Then Dad started talking like a sugar packet. “Freedom doesn’t come without a price, you know,” he told Judy.

  “Dad’s right,” said Mom. “If you want more freedom, you’re going to have to earn it — show us you can be more responsible.”

  Judy looked over her list. “Can I at least have Alien Right Number One? If I didn’t have to brush my hair every day, I’d have more time to be responsible.”

  “Nice try,” said Dad.

  Parents! Mom and Dad were just like King George, making up Bad Laws all the time.

  “You guys always tell me it’s good to stand up for stuff. Speak up for yourself and everything.” Judy held up her Declaration. “That’s what I just did. But I’m not even one teeny bit more free. That really stinks on ice!”

  “Tell you what.” Mom looked over the list. “You can have your own washcloth.” Dad started to laugh but turned it into a cough.

  “Tori has her own phone AND her own bathroom. And pounds of allowance. She can buy all the Bonjour Bunny stuff she wants, without even asking. And she drinks tea. And wakes herself up with her own alarm clock. And she has sleepovers in her flat that’s not a tire.”

  “We’re not talking about Tori,” said Mom. “We’re talking about you.”

  Crumb cakes! She, Judy Moody, did not have any new freedoms at all. Not one single alien right from her list. All she had was a lousy washcloth.

  “ROAR!” said Judy.

  “If you don’t want the washcloth, I’ll take it,” said Stink.

  Judy went to bed her same old un-free self. But the next morning, she decided Mom and Dad and the world would see a brand-new Judy Moody. A free and independent Judy. A more responsible Judy. Even on a school day.

  Judy started by getting out of bed (without an alarm clock) before her mom had to shake her awake.

  Next, she brushed her teeth without complaining. Mom had set out a new blue washcloth — a plain old boring blue washcloth, but it was just for her. Judy wrote Bonjour Bunny on it, and made the capital Bs into funny bunny ears.

  Then Judy did something she had not done for three days. She brushed her hair (and put on her Bonjour Bunny headband from Tori). A responsible person did not have bird’s-nest hair.

  Then Judy did something she had not done for three weeks. She made her bed. A grown-up, independent person did not have a bed that looked like a yard sale.

  On the bus, Judy told Rocky about the star-spangled bananas at the Giant Milk Bottle and the Sugar Packet Girl named Tori and about throwing tea off the Tea Party Ship. She could not wait to tell her teacher and her whole class.

  “What are you going to tell your class about Boston?” she asked Stink.

  “The musical toilet,” said Stink. “What else?”

  When Judy got to school, she told Mr. Todd and the whole class all about Boston. “We went on the Freedom Trail and it was so NOT boring, and it’s okay I missed my spelling test because I learned stuff there, too, like about Mr. Ben Famous Franklin and Paul Revere and —”

  “Judy! Take a breath!” said Mr. Todd. “We’re glad to have you back.”

  Judy showed them her Paul Revere’s Ride flip book and explained all about tea and taxes to the class.

  “My mom drinks tea, and she’s not a traitor,” said Rocky.

  “I went to Boston once to visit my grandpa,” said Jessica Finch.

  “Sounds like you had quite an educational trip, Judy,” said Mr. Todd. “Thanks for sharing with us. Maybe I’ll read your book aloud in our reading circle today. First, let’s take out our math facts from yesterday.”

  Judy multiplied 28 × 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 until she thought her eyes would pop. At last, Mr. Todd announced it was reading-circle time.

  “Today I’ll be reading a poem Judy brought to share with us from her trip to Boston, called Paul Revere’s Ride. This poem tells a story.”

  “I saw his house and his real wallpaper and his false teeth and everything!” said Judy.

  “This was my favorite poem when I was a boy,” Mr. Todd continued. “In school, we had to memorize it and recite it by heart. It’s by a man named Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The poem tells about three men and their famous midnight ride during the American Revolution. One of those men was Paul Revere.”

  Judy raised her hand. “And one was a doctor!” she told the class.

  “Shh!” said Jessica Finch.

  Mr. Todd lowered his voice to a whisper. Class 3T got super quiet.

  “‘Listen, my children, and you shall hear

  Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere. . . .’”

  The poem told all about how Paul Revere rode on horseback through the night to warn each farm and town that the British were coming.

  Judy raised her hand again. “Mr. Todd, Mr. Todd! I saw Ye Olde Church where they hung the lanterns! For real! You know how it says, ‘One if by land, two if by sea’? Paul Revere said to light one lantern if the British were sneaking in by land, two if they were coming across the water.”

  “Did that guy really ride his horse and do all that stuff?” asked Jessica Finch. “Because I never even heard about it the whole time I was in Boston.”

  “It’s true,” said Mr. Todd. “Paul Revere warned two very important people, Sam Adams and John Hancock, to flee. But before he could warn everybody, he was stopped by the British and his horse was taken.”

  “But the doctor escaped and warned everybody!” said Judy.

  “That’s right,” said Mr. Todd. “You know, there’s also a girl who had a famous ride just like Paul Revere. Her name was Sybil Ludington.”

  Star-spangled bananas! A Girl Paul Revere! Judy Moody could not believe her Bonjour Bunny ears.

  “They don’t often tell about her in the history books,” said Mr. Todd, “but we have a book about her in our classroom library.”

  “Huzzah!” said Judy Moody.

  “Huh?” asked Frank.

  “It’s Revolutionary for YIPPEE!” Judy said.

  She, Judy Moody, was the luckiest kid in Class 3T. Mr. Todd let her take the Girl Paul Revere book home. Judy read it to Rocky on the bus. She read it to Mouse the cat. She read it to Jaws the Venus flytrap.

  Sybil Ludington lived in New York, and her dad needed someone to ride a horse through the dark, scary forest to warn everybody that the British were burning down a nearby town. Sybil was brave and told her dad she could do it. She stayed up late past midnight and rode off into the dark all by herself. Sybil Ludington sure was grown-up and responsible. She showed tons of independence.

  Judy would be just like Sy
bil Ludington. Responsible. Independent. All she had to do was prove it to Mom and Dad. There was only one problem.

  She, Judy Moodington, did not have a horse.

  And she would never in a million years be allowed to stay up past midnight.

  Crumb cakes! She’d just have to be responsible right here in her very own house, 117 Croaker Road. Starting N-O-W.

  Judy went from room to room all over the upstairs. She picked stuff up, put stuff away, hid stuff in the closet. Downstairs, she picked up one cat-hair fur ball, two giant lint balls, her basketball, Stink’s soccer ball, and Mouse’s jingle ball.

  Being responsible sure made a person hungry.

  Judy stopped to eat some peanut butter with a spoon (not her finger!) out of the jar. She stopped to feed Mouse (not peanut butter) and empty out the litter box (P.U!). She stopped to do some homework (without one single peanut-butter fingerprint!).

  Mom and Dad were always bugging her to be nice to Stink, so she went up to his room to be nice. She looked on his desk. She looked under his bed.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Stink.

  “I’m looking for something nice to say,” said Judy. “I like that ant farm poster on your wall.”

  “You gave it to me,” said Stink.

  “Well, um . . . your hair looks good.”

  “Did you put something in my hair?” Stink shook his head. “Eeww, get it out!”

  “Stink! Nothing’s in your hair. Not even a spider.”

  Stink plucked at his hair like a dog with fleas.

  “I said not even! I was just trying to be nice.”

  Judy never knew independent people had to be so nice. And so clean. But wouldn’t Mom and Dad be surprised when they saw all the stuff she could do on her own? Without anybody telling her she had to. She, Judy Moody, would be Independent-with-a-capital-I. Just like Sybil Ludington. For sure and absolute positive.

  Judy traced her feet onto red construction paper. Snip, snip, snip! She made a trail of red footprints all through the house. Not a messy, drop-your-stuff-everywhere trail. An independent, show-how-responsible-you-are trail. She even made signs for each stop along the way, just like the real Freedom Trail.