Judy Moody and the NOT Bummer Summer

  So my thrill point count is nada, zip, zero, zilch, thanks mostly to SpongeFrank SquareBottom! Please, please, PUH-LEASE think up some more dares for me because summer is more than half over and I’m gonna be a no-point, dare-doing loser!

  About a week later, Judy was pulling a torn and dirty wedding dress on over her shorts when the doorbell rang. “Judy! Frank’s here!” called Aunt Opal. “Or should I say Frankenstein’s here?”

  Judy gave one last tug to the beehive fright wig on her head. “Coming!” She grabbed her backpack and raced downstairs.

  “Hey, Judy! Ready for the Evil Creature Double Feature?”

  “I love your square head,” said Judy. “Are those real bolts in your neck?”

  “Who are YOU?” asked Stink.

  “Bride of Frankenstein. Who else?” said Judy.

  “And I’m Frankenstein!” said Frank proudly.

  “Of corpse you are!” Stink cracked himself up. “Oo-oh. Frank and Ju-dy, sit-ting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

  Frank turned beet red as Judy clamped a hand over Stink’s mouth. “Take it back or I’ll feed you to Jaws,” said Judy.

  “G-N-I-S-S-I-K.” Stink shot out of the room.

  When Judy and Frank got to the movie theater that night, the sign said, A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S SCREAM SUMMER FESTIVAL! Creepy music piped over the loudspeakers. They handed their money to a vampire-faced ticket seller with blood-dripping fangs.

  “I vant to take your money! Mu-wha, ha, ha!”

  “Since when do vampires wear ski jackets?” Judy asked. “It’s summer.”

  “Since it’s freezing in here! The air conditioner went psycho.”

  Judy looked at Frank. Frank looked at Judy. “Did he say ‘freezing’? As in cold?” she asked.

  “MR. TODD!”

  Once inside, they raced around the lobby, searching here, there, and everywhere. No Mr. Todd.

  “I’ll check the boys’ bathroom,” said Frank. He burst through the door. Judy busted in after him.

  “Hey! GET OUT! No girls allowed!” Frank pushed Judy out the door.

  She waited. “Well? Is he in there? Did you find him?”

  “Nope. Just Count Dracula and a mutant lobster,” Frank said. “I give up. Mr. Todd’s probably training penguins at the North Pole or something.”

  “Or something,” said Judy.

  Judy and Frank got buckets of popcorn and headed up the stairs. The small theater was packed with popcorn-throwing, candy-chewing vampires and zombies. Judy and Frank sat in the front row, dead center.

  “Remember, this is a double feature. So no being a wimpburger, Frank. We have to stay till the very end if we want to get points.”

  “Don’t look at me. You’re the one who’ll be screaming your pants off as soon as the lights go out.”

  Judy glanced at her mood ring. Amber. Amber was for Nervous, Tense.

  Just then, the lights went out. A bloodcurdling scream filled the room. On the screen, a pack of zombies staggered toward a woman. Her party dress got snagged in a car door. She let out a spine-chilling scream.

  Frank grabbed Judy’s arm. “Alone, bad. Friend, good,” he said in a Frankenstein voice. He chewed his popcorn extra-fast.

  “GRRrrrrrrrr,” the zombies moaned and groaned.

  “AHHHHH!” the woman screamed again.

  A zombie’s eye fell out and rolled down the street.

  “Holy eyeball!” yelled Frank.

  “Good thing he’s dead already,” said Judy.

  “SHHH!” said a zombie cheerleader behind them.

  “It’s true. The dead are among us,” said a spooky voice. “They’re taking over the town of Pittsylvania. Lock your doors. Bolt your windows.”

  Zombies marched through town, punching through walls and knocking down doors. One zombie ate something that looked like a human leg.

  Frank gasped, spraying Judy with soda. “I, um, just remembered . . . I forgot to feed my goldfish.” He stood up to go, spilling soda everywhere.

  Judy pulled him back. “Sit. Down. Don’t get all Franken-scared on me now. This is our absolute last chance to earn thrill points!”

  A zombie staggered. His milky eyes and blood-streaked face filled the screen. “I COME FOR DINNER. I COME FOR YOU-U-U-U-U!”

  “AGhhhh!” Frank screamed. He jumped over Judy’s legs, toppling her bucket of popcorn. “I’m outta here.”

  Judy grabbed his shirt. “You are so NOT leaving, Frankenstein!” Frank pulled away and RIPPPPP! She had half the shirt in her hands.

  Frank ran up the aisle. Judy tore after him, catching up to him just outside the theater.

  “You are dead, Frank Pearl!”

  “No. Zombies are dead. I’m going home!”

  Judy threw up her hands. “Great. Just great. Rocky and Amy are having the Funnest Summer Ever and I’m stuck with Frankenscreamer!”

  “Hey!” said Frank.

  “Rocky and Amy wouldn’t bail after two seconds of Zombie! Rocky and Amy wouldn’t knock me off a tightrope! Rocky and Amy wouldn’t puke all over me!”

  Frank glared at Judy. “Look who’s talking! All your stupid points and dares and charts — they suck the fun out of everything. You’re nothing but one big wet . . . FUN SPONGE!” Frank stomped off down the street.

  “Fun sponge?” Judy yelled after him. “Rocky and Amy wouldn’t call me a fun sponge!”

  Frank kept walking. He didn’t look back. Judy cupped her hands to yell at him.

  “Well, if I’m a fun sponge, then you, you’re a big fat fun . . . MOP!”

  Frank turned a corner and disappeared. Judy kicked at the sidewalk. She turned back toward the theater.

  “Hold on there, Bridezilla. Where’s your ticket?” said the ticket taker.

  “Inside. In my backpack. Honest! I already paid! Ask the vampire.” Judy pointed to the ticket booth, but it was empty. No vampire.

  “Sorry. No ticket, no movie,” said the ticket taker.

  Judy spun on her heel and stomped away. She kicked a leaf. She kicked a stick. She kicked a rock all the way home. “Fun. Sponge. My. Elbow!” The rock tumbled down the street and stopped in front of her house.

  “What the . . . ?”

  In the middle of the front yard, a mountain of junk — tuna-fish cans, burlap bags, old carpet remnants, chicken wire, ropes, and pipes — had been made into a giant statue. BIGFOOT!

  Aunt Opal was on a ladder, smearing plaster on Bigfoot’s face. Stink was working on his two large feet. Aunt Opal waved.

  “What. Is. THAT?” Judy asked.

  “It’s Bigfoot, of course,” said Aunt Opal. “I guess I really am a ‘gorilla’ artist now.”

  “Wanna help?” Stink asked, grinning.

  Judy trudged toward the front door. “I’d LOVE to. Only I can’t because I’m going to spend the rest of this bummer summer in my room! I mean it this time.”

  “Look out. She’s in a mood,” Stink said to Aunt Opal.

  “Am not!” She ran up the steps, letting the screen door slam behind her. Judy stepped on a postcard. She peeled it off her shoe. The postcard had a picture of Rocky making a lion jump through a hoop. It said,

  85 thrill points!

  “ROAR!” Judy ran up the stairs and flung herself onto her bed. She couldn’t help noticing that her mood ring had turned dark blue. For Unhappy, Mad.

  Tingalinga, ding! Ding! Ding! Late the next morning, Judy woke up to the jangling of the ice-cream truck. She covered her head with a pillow.

  “Hey, Judy!” called Aunt Opal. “It’s the ice-cream truck! Judyyyyyyy . . . !”

  A few minutes later, Aunt Opal, with a grape Popsicle in hand, tapped lightly on Judy’s door.

  “Come back when school starts!” Judy called.

  Opal pushed the door open a crack. “Sorry, but this’ll be melted by then.”

  Judy didn’t budge.

  “You don’t REALLY want to spend the rest of the summer in your room, do you?” Opal gently lifted the pillow off Judy’s head.
r />   “Why not? My summer is totally wrecked. For sure and absolute positive,” Judy griped. “But I will take the Popsicle. Don’t tell Mom.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Ye-ah! Frank Pearl, my used-to-be-second-best-friend-but-now-he’s-my-first-worst-enemy, called me a FUN SPONGE.”

  Aunt Opal couldn’t help laughing a little. “That sounds BAD. Are you a fun sponge?”

  Judy slurped her Popsicle. “No way! HE’S the sponge. It’s HIS fault I can’t get any thrill points!”

  “Righhhht. Thrill Points.”

  “Well, they’re important. You can’t have a NOT bummer summer without them.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Duh. That’s like the Number-One Rule of summer,” Aunt Opal agreed. “So, we just need to get you more thrill points. We still haven’t put hats on those lions!”

  SLURP, SLURP, SLURP.

  “The hats got all ruined, remember?”

  “Well, let’s think of something else.”

  “But I’ve already thought of everything. For sure and absolute positive.”

  Just then, a loud voice bounced in through the window. “Testing, testing . . .”

  Judy and Aunt Opal looked at each other. They scrambled over to the window. A NewsBeat van was parked at the curb. A lady announcer stood in front of the Bigfoot sculpture, interviewing Stink.

  “And your name is . . . ?”

  “James Moody. But everyone calls me Stink,” Stink said, beaming.

  “So, Stink, Bigfoot fever is sweeping the county with twenty-seven recent sightings nearby. Is that what inspired you to build a statue of Bigfoot?”

  “Stink’s on TV!” Judy screeched.

  “Last one downstairs is a fuzzy pickle!” said Opal. They pounded down the stairs and out the door.

  “People say Bigfoot isn’t real. How do you answer that, Stink Moody?”

  “He is too real. And I’m gonna catch him!”

  “If you do catch him, Mr. Stink Moody, you’ll be the most famous kid in —”

  Judy jumped in front of the camera, sticking her arm around Stink. She grinned a big, wide, purple-Popsicle grin. “Don’t forget me! I’m a Bigfooter, too!”

  “You are?” Stink asked, stunned.

  “It’s Judy Moody, with a J. And a U-D-Y,” Judy told the newscaster.

  “Yes, uh-huh. Good luck, kids! We’ll check in with you later! This is Jess Higginbottom Clark, WH20, live for NewsBeat.”

  “Hey, you two just might be on TV,” Opal told them. “We’ll have to watch the news tonight.”

  Stink turned to Judy. “Since when are you a Bigfooter?”

  “Since one minute ago. I just had the biggest brainstorm ever. Catching Bigfoot’s worth like a million thrill points. Summer’s almost over, Stink. This is my absolute last chance to get points. If we catch Bigfoot, I might even win the race!”

  “Huh?” said Stink.

  “Never mind,” said Judy. “Just. Tell. Me. Everything!”

  Judy and Stink sat in the Cave in the back of Fur & Fangs, waiting for the Bigfoot Believers meeting to begin. “One more thing,” Stink told Judy. “Dogs always howl whenever they see Bigfoot. Page forty-two.”

  Just then, Zeke banged a gavel down on the table.

  “Okay, Bigfooters. The Tuesday night meeting is officially called to order.” Zeke turned to a retired couple. They were both wearing BOWLING FOR BIGFOOT T-shirts and had cameras around their necks.

  “Rose and Herb?”

  “Present.”

  “Stink?”

  “Present.”

  “New member?”

  “Judy Moody. Present.”

  Judy whispered to Stink. “Where is everybody?”

  “What do you mean? This is it. This is our club.”

  “Weirdness,” said Judy.

  “Rose? Do you have a report?” Zeke asked.

  Rose stood and opened a large flowered flip pad. “Three new sightings! It’s the most we’ve gotten in one week.”

  “Excellent!” said Zeke. “Give me the coordinates.”

  “One woman saw Bigfoot taking laundry off her line at fifty-seven Ashberry Road, about a mile east of the mall. Someone else saw something large and furry at the dump.” Zeke stuck pins in a map as she called out the locations. “The third SWEARS he saw Bigfoot last night at the corner of Croaker and Jefferson.”

  Judy gasped. Stink jumped to his feet, toppling his chair. “CROAKER and JEFFERSON? That’s where we live!” Stink shouted. Herb snapped a picture.

  “Whoa! You two could conduct an all-night surveillance!” said Zeke. “Are you up for it?”

  “You mean like a stakeout?” Stink asked. “With a tent and binoculars and emergency sirens and whistles and stuff?” Zeke nodded.

  Judy and Stink high-fived each other. “Yes! All right! Thrill-o-RAMA!”

  “Excellent. Herb and Rose? You’re in charge of equipment.”

  Herb saluted smartly. “We’ve got all the right stuff out in the van.”

  Judy and Stink followed Herb and Rose out to their van in the parking lot.

  “Do we get to use night-vision goggles?” Stink asked.

  “Yes, sirree,” said Herb. He opened the back of the van. “Camouflage netting, night-vision goggles, camcorder, whistles, thermos for coffee. . . .”

  “Herb! They don’t drink coffee,” Rose chided.

  “We did one time when we were waiting for Santa,” Judy reported. “It was blucky.” She stuck out her tongue.

  “Okay, then,” said Zeke. “Looks like you’re all set.” He hopped onto a black Vespa and put on his helmet, ready to leave. Vroom! “Good luck, little dude. You, too, Moody girl! Call me if you see anything. Day or night.”

  “That’s the lot,” said Herb, handing over one last flashlight. “Remember, if you need backup, this van is at your service.”

  “August sixth, 8:13 p.m. The trap is set . . . and the Bigfoot stakeout has officially begun. This is Stink Moody, reporting live from the Moody backyard.”

  “Stink!” said Judy. “Say that we hung up thirty-eight peanut butter jars for Bigfoot bait. And that you’re pretending to be a berry bush.”

  Stink panned the camera over to Judy, who was staggering around, wearing the night-vision goggles. “Hey! You look like Owl Girl or something!”

  Judy tripped and stumbled. “These don’t work. I can’t see a thing!”

  “That’s because it’s not all-the-way dark yet, Owl Girl.”

  Aunt Opal came outside, holding a baby monitor. “Aunt Opal! Wave to the camera!” Stink called.

  Aunt Opal waved. “Stink, you make a berry nice bush.”

  “Hardee-har-har,” said Stink.

  “Okay, kids. Let’s go over our plans. You two will stay in the tent.”

  “Check,” said Stink.

  “If you see or hear ANYthing, call me immediately on the walkie-talkie.”

  “Check,” said Stink.

  “Hey, that’s Stink’s old baby monitor!” Judy said.

  “Whatev. Now, what’s our secret signal?”

  Stink held the button on the monitor. “Code red! Code red!” he yelled.

  “Perfect. The minute I hear that, I’ll be down in a flash to help.”

  “Your mood ring’s orange!” said Stink. “That means you’re scared.”

  “Nah-uh,” said Judy. “But, Aunt Opal, what happens if you fall asleep and Bigfoot attacks us and we’re half-eaten before you get downstairs?”

  Stink scoffed. “He won’t attack us. I’ve been practicing Bigfoot sign language.” Stink placed his hand over his heart. “This means ‘I am your friend.’”

  Judy rubbed her stomach. “This means ‘Your head was delicious.’”

  “Nobody’s going to get eaten,” said Aunt Opal. “Now, remember our vow.” Aunt Opal, Judy, and Stink crossed their hearts and fist-bumped.

  “We will NOT. Fall. ASLEEP!” they said all together.

  A half hour later, the house was dark. The tent was dark. Judy and Stink
were sprawled on top of their sleeping bags, fast asleep.

  All of a sudden, the rattle of a garbage can startled Judy awake. She, Judy Moody, heard creepy sounds. A cat screeched. Gravel crunched.

  She tried to nudge Stink awake. “Stink! Wake up! Something’s out there!

  “ZZZZZzzz!” Stink rolled over on his side.

  “Code red. CODE RED!” Judy whispered into the baby monitor. She pressed the button to listen. But all she could hear was Aunt Opal snoring!

  Judy grabbed a large butterfly net and unzipped the tent. She poked her head out of the tent flap and looked through her night-vision goggles. Spooky! The world was neon green and dark black. Sure enough, moving across the lawn was an oddly shaped, fuzzy, glow-in-the-dark creature.

  “Holy macaroni! It’s . . . it’s him! Code Bigfoot! CODE BIGFOOT!”

  The fuzzy, green, luminous creature approached the tree, bumping into one peanut butter jar after another. “Hey! Ow! Ow! Ow!”

  Judy leaped into action. Racing to the tree, she lunged forward and SWOOSH! She slammed the butterfly net down over the creature’s head!

  “GOTCHA!”

  “Aghhhhhhh!” All of a sudden, the hammock came down out of the tree, knocking Judy and the creature to the ground.

  “Ahhhhhhh!” Judy yelled. The creature yelled, too.

  “Bigfoot!” Stink called. Stink charged out of the tent, flashlight in one hand, monitor in the other. “CODE RED! CODE RED! CODE RED!” he called, rushing over to the tree in his bunny slippers.

  Trapped under the net, beneath the tree, was a thrashing, kicking, yelling, two-headed monster. Stink flipped on the flashlight, grabbed a corner of the hammock, and yanked it back.

  “Hey! Get off me!” said the monster.

  Judy yanked off the night goggles. “Fraannnk?”

  “Juuudy?”

  “Bigfoot?” said Stink.

  “What are you doing here, Frank?”

  “I, um, my dad took me back to the theater to pick up our backpacks, and I saw the house was dark, so I thought I’d just drop it off in your tent or something so you’d find it, only I bumped into a jar and then you hair-netted me!”