Stink 6 and The Ultimate Thumb-Wrestling Smackdown

“Then why did you say war?”

  “It rhymes with four,” said Stink.

  “S’more rhymes with four,” said Sophie. “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb s’more!”

  The S’more Showdown began. Stink thumb-wrestled with all his might, but Sophie pinned him flat for three counts in no time. He was a s’more, all right. A smushed-flat marshmallow.

  “Go again,” said Stink. Stink bit his tongue. Stink tried not to think of s’mores.

  Class 2D forgot all about the Yack Buster Deluxe 6XM.

  “Smash her down, Shark!” yelled the boys.

  “Watch out for the Marshmallow-izer!” said the girls.

  Sophie took Stink down again. “Just call me Sophie of the Thumbs.”

  “Best out of three?” Stink asked.

  Nobody was doing math. Nobody was counting fake money. The room got loud. The room got louder.

  “Get the butter — you’re toast!” yelled the boys.

  “Prepare to die, Shark Hammersmash!” the girls yelled back.

  The Yack Buster’s yellow light came on, blazing bright as the sun. Nobody noticed. The Yack Buster’s red light came on. Nobody stopped.

  Woo-oo-woo! The Yack Buster’s siren went off, louder than a smoke alarm. Louder than a fire truck. “Make it stop!” Stink yelled. “Before we get in mucho trouble!”

  Stink raced over to the Yack Buster. He could not find the off button.

  Woo-oo-woo! Woo-oo-woo! Stink threw the reading quilt over it.

  Mrs. D. rushed into the room. “What in the world?” She ran to her desk, grabbed the remote, and pushed buttons. Ahh. Quiet.

  Mrs. D. put her hands on her hips. Mrs. D. made her serious teacher face. Mrs. D. said I’m-not-happy words.

  “Somebody must have dropped a math book,” said Webster.

  “Or knocked over the wastebasket,” said Skunk.

  Heather Strong pointed at Stink. “Stink Moody was thumb-wrestling!”

  Before you could say Ultimate After-School Thmackdown, Stink was out in the hall with Mrs. D. Tomorrow, Stink would not be thumb-wrestling at school. Stink would be picking up litter on the playground at recess. And he had to take a not-happy note home to his parents.

  A note from the teacher was worse than a U on his report card. A note from the teacher was UN-satisfactory! A note from the teacher meant only one thing: IN BIG TROUBLE.

  “Did Mom and Dad read the note? Are you in trouble?” Judy asked Stink.

  “I won’t be seeing my allowance till I’m a teenager,” said Stink. “AND I have to think up a new sport.”

  Stink ran up to his room. “This is not the end of Shark Hammersmash,” he whispered to his thumb mask.

  No fair! Stink was pencil-snapping mad. He slammed his hand fist-down on his desk. Yikes. He snapped a pencil right in half.

  Stink did not know his own strength! Stink had the stamina to snap more pencils. Suddenly, Stink felt like punching stuff. Stink felt like kicking stuff. Stink felt like chopping stuff with his bare hands. Stink had a new strategy — he, Stink E. Moody, would be the new karate kid!

  So what if he did not have a karate uniform? He pulled on his blue bathrobe. He wrapped the belt around his waist (twice) and tied it in a knot. Presto! Stink was already a blue belt.

  Ka-pow! Stink threw a vertical punch. Kee-yah! Trading cards went flying off the mirror. Ka-poom! He kicked his sand-dollar collection off the shelf. Stink pulled back his elbow and wham! He knocked out the Hulk, Iron Man, Wolverine, Sabretooth, and all four of the Fantastic Four.

  Stink karate-kicked the air. Ha-cha! His cardboard guitar fell off the wall. Yee-ah! His lava lamp almost tipped over. Youch. One kick to the wall, and he ripped his original Star Wars poster and his Super Reading Award certificate.

  There just wasn’t enough room for a super high-flying ultra-death-defying karate kick. Stink ran across the hall to Judy’s room. He stuck one leg out and gave a super-duper, mile-high-flying foot jab way up in the air. BANZAI!

  Uh-oh. Something fell and crashed to the floor. E-I-E-I-O! Judy’s trophy! Her Giraffe Award — the third-grade prize she’d won for sticking her neck out for others — had just become the Headless Giraffe Award.

  Stink duck-taped it back together. Good as new! Almost. He hid the now-wobbly, bobble-headed Giraffe Award behind some piles of Nancy Drew books.

  He ran downstairs to tell Mom and Dad all about his new sport. Mom said karate was right up Stink’s alley. Dad went online and signed him up for a class!

  Stink could not wait to get started. In the living room, he karate-chopped the encyclopedia. Youch! In the kitchen, he karate-chopped spaghetti, pretzel sticks, and a box of cereal. Mood Flakes flew across the floor. In the TV room, he spied Judy’s lost-and-found pencil collection sitting on a shelf. Perfect!

  U-na-gi! With each karate chop, another pencil went zinging through the air. Smiley-face pencils, Student-of-the-Week pencils, Virginia Dare School pencils.

  “Stink!” Judy yelled at her pencil-snapping, cuckoo-head brother.

  “So what? These are just loser pencils you found on the floor at school.”

  “I’m collecting them. To show the principal how many pencils are wasted.”

  Stink held up his hand. “Don’t talk to me. Talk to The Hand. This bad boy is a human chopping machine. It can’t stop. It has to chop.”

  “Here. You can chop my Attitude Is Everything pencil. But that’s all.”

  Stink raised his hand. Mouse dashed under the couch. Stink karate-chopped the pencil. Now it said TUDE IS EVERYTHING.

  “Fear The Hand.” The Hand sliced the air. “You’d better be way nice to me now. I’ll be able to grab you by the hair and flip you upside-down.”

  “Ha. I don’t think so.”

  “It’s ka-rah-tay. My new sport. By next week, this bad boy will be chopping through cement blocks.” Chop-chop-chop-chop-chop. “Just call me Chopzilla.”

  Chopzilla karate-chopped a couch pillow. Feathers went flying. The room became a whirling, swirling snowstorm of white feathers. Snow-globe city!

  Mouse streaked through the snowstorm and out of the room.

  “Pff.” Judy tried to talk, but only a feather came out. “Mom’s gonna freak. It looks like you wrestled the Abominable Snowman. I’m going to my room.”

  “Don’t go upstairs!” Stink yelled, following her up the steps.

  “Stink? What did you do?” Judy looked all around her room. “Why do you keep staring at my Nancy Drew books?” She rushed over to the shelf. “STINK! You broke my Giraffe Award? This is one-of-a-kind!”

  “Please don’t be mad. I’ll glue all the loser pencils back together, and I’ll help pick up pencils after school for the rest of the year.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? For real?”

  “Okay. You can help me pick up pencils after school.”

  “I will. I swear. Itchy kata’s honor. I’ll help. Every day. Except Tuesdays and Thursdays and every other Friday, because that’s karate.”

  “Welcome to Empty Hand Academy,” said a girl with a yin-yang headband. “I’m Izzy. I’m an orange belt, so I help new kids.”

  Stink breathed it all in. One whole wall was a mirror. Black-and-orange training mats covered the floor. Foam-covered punching bags stood guard in the corner. On the wall were the words: RESPECT. CONFIDENCE. FOCUS. SELF-DEFENSE. BETTER GRADES.

  “Take off your shoes,” said Izzy. Stink kicked off his smelly sneakers. He stepped onto the mat in his sock feet. His feet went flying.

  Izzy laughed. “You just learned your first move: the Flying Butt Fall.”

  “I see our new student is off to a flying start,” joked a guy with shaggy hair and a black belt. Stink picked himself up.

  “Stink Moody,” said Izzy, “this is our teacher, Mr. Albion. We call him Sensei Dan.”

  Sensei Dan bowed to Stink. “Hello. Welcome. Take off your socks, Stink Moody. In karate, we have more control in bare feet.”

  “Who’s that?” Stink aske
d, pointing to a life-size cardboard action figure of a guy doing karate.

  “That’s the Venerable Yuuto Kashiwagi,” Izzy answered. “He’s a world-famous karate champ. We call him Dragon Master.”

  “Warm-ups, everybody,” Mr. Albion called. Kids walked around the edges of the mat.

  “I am only I,” said Sensei Dan.

  “I am only I,” the class repeated.

  “I walk in my own footsteps.”

  “I walk in my own footsteps,” said the class.

  Next, they sat on the floor and did push-ups, crunches, and stretches. Then they crossed their legs, closed their eyes, and focused on a calming image.

  Stink opened his eyes. Stink did not feel calm. All he could think about was karate-kicking — hi-ya — and punching — ka-pow — and chop-o-matic chopping. Where were all the boards for chopping? Ai-ee!

  “Let’s try not to make sound effects during the calming meditation,” said Sensei Dan.

  Stink turned beet-red.

  “Let your mind be a pool of water. A pond without ripples.”

  Stink tried to pretend he was a pond. But how was being a pond going to help him with karate? Or thumb-wrestling? He told himself a joke instead. What do you call a pig that does karate? A pork chopper. Hardee-har-har.

  “Silence, please,” said Mr. Albion. Stink turned beet-redder.

  When they were done being pools of water, Sensei Dan showed Stink some hand positions.

  “Remember, Stink: karate means empty hand.” The only empty hand Stink cared about was the one for chopping bricks.

  Next came a lot of standing around: horse stance, ready stance, cat stance. Standing was BOR-ing. Standing was not kicking or punching or breaking stuff.

  When Stink had to bow to Izzy, he head-butted her. When Stink had to bend like the willow, he fell over into a box of balls. And when Stink had to stand on one leg, a kid they called Rooster Raymond said, “Dude. You look like a praying mantis.”

  At last, out came the punching bags! Wham, slam, bam! Stink Moody, aka Shark Hammersmash, was the Ultimate High-Flying, Punch-Bagging, Thumb-Wrestling Machine! On his way over to the Slammer, Stink tripped and tumbled into a forward roll.

  “Hey, Ballerina Butt,” Rooster hissed under his breath. “Dance class is next door.”

  “Mr. Raymond.” Sensei Dan pointed to a word over the mirror: RESPECT. “Don’t make me remind you again.”

  Sensei Dan handed Stink a jump rope. “Mr. Moody, how about if you step off the mat and do some work with the jump rope instead?”

  Jump rope! You’ve gotta be kidding! But Stink knew he had to respect the jump rope. At least until class was over.

  When they were done, Stink asked, “Um, Mr. Albion — I mean Sensei — I mean Dan, um, I was wondering, um, when is the karate chopping?”

  “Karate isn’t just about the body, Mr. Moody. It’s about the mind, too.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Many of my students have been practicing a long time.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Karate is a discipline. A mindset. It doesn’t just happen in a day.”

  “Uh-huh.” Stink had his mind set on karate-chopping. Stink had his mind set on becoming the ultimate thumb-wrestling champ.

  “Tell you what. Step onto the mat, and I’ll walk you through a side kick.”

  “Really? Thweet! I mean, sweet!”

  “Stand on the blade of one foot. Bring your knee up and kick it out.” Shoom! Sensei Dan’s left leg shot out, lightning fast.

  “Maximum strike force!” yelled Stink. He punched the air, one-two.

  “Now you try. Ready? Kick!”

  Stink stood on one leg. Stink wobbled like a Weeble. Stink bent his knee and kicked! He spun around on one leg like a jewelry-box ballerina. His flying kick went flying. Bam! His left leg hit the cardboard Dragon Master right smack in the jaw. The Venerable Yuuto Kashiwagi crumpled to the ground. Stink landed on his butt. Again.

  “Stink? Are you okay?”

  “Are you kidding?” Stink asked. “Ka-rah-tay rocks!” New Guy Stink E. Moody, Ballerina Butt Boy, had just kicked the Dragon Master’s butt!

  Stink got bitten by a bug. Not a bedbug. The karate bug! He practiced kicks while Sophie did cartwheels. He practiced stances when he wasn’t thumb-wrestling Webster. He practiced punches, even in the bathtub.

  Stink planned to punch and kick his way to a yellow belt in just a few more weeks. And to celebrate, he was going to have a pizza party. An ultimate thumb-wrestling smackdown pizza party, that is.

  Stink drank protein shakes. He ate energy bars. He dipped apple slices in peanut butter. Body and brain food.

  When Sophie and Webster came over, Stink was pacing up and down the hall with library books on his head. He tried to memorize the karate Yellow Belt Creed. “I am only I. I come to you with only karate. Here are my empty hands, blah, blah, blah.”

  “How come you never want to do stuff anymore?” Webster asked.

  “Karate on the brain,” said Sophie.

  “Karate in the body,” said Stink. The books tumbled to the ground.

  “All I know is, you were way more fun before you became a sports freak.”

  “I can’t stop now. I’m almost a yellow belt.” Stink picked up his yellow belt list. “I know all my stances and a bunch of punches, and I have my side kick down. Plus I learned to respect the jump rope. If I can just learn the Yellow Belt Creed, and —”

  “Harry the Dirty Dog?” Sophie asked, picking up the books. “Clifford the Big Red Dog? Go Dog Go?”

  “What’s with all the baby books?” asked Webster.

  “I thought you flunked gym, not reading,” said Sophie.

  “I’m going to read to a dog!” said Stink. “At the library. To get my yellow belt, I have to do three hours of community service.”

  “A dog in the library?” asked Sophie.

  “They bring in dogs that are learning to be Seeing Eye dogs, you know, to help blind people. But first the dog has to get used to people and kids and stuff.”

  “That’s so bow-wow!” said Webster. “Can we come?”

  Stink and his friends made a beeline for the library. “Is the reading dog here yet?”

  “Any minute,” said Lynn, the librarian.

  At last! The dog that liked to read trotted into the library. Moose. He was a German shepherd with humongous ears and a pink tongue longer than a hot dog. Slurp! Moose licked Stink’s whole face.

  “Don’t worry if you feel like an ice-cream cone,” said Maggie, his trainer. “That’s his way of getting to know you.” In no time, the dog had turned Stink into a human Popsicle. “Okay. I want Moose to get used to being around kids without me, so I’ll be in the coffee shop out front.”

  Stink read a book about the big red dog at Halloween. Moose barked. “Maybe he’s afraid of ghosts,” said Webster.

  Stink read the one where the big red dog takes a bath. Moose yawned. “Maybe he doesn’t like taking baths,” said Sophie.

  “I think that might be true,” said Stink, pinching his nose.

  Stink read the one about the big red dog and his first snow. Moose pricked up his ears. Stink turned the page. Stink turned another page. Moose rested his head on his paws.

  “He likes it!” said Stink as Moose put his paw up on the book.

  Sophie and Webster laughed. “Look! He’s trying to turn the page!”

  Stink chose a book about dog and cat best friends. Moose grabbed the book and took off.

  “Moose!” Stink called. “Come back here. Dogs can’t read!” Stink chased after Moose. Webster and Sophie chased after Stink. Librarian Lynn chased after Webster and Sophie. They ran up and down rows of books. They chased Moose past mysteries, through cookbooks, to the corner where the U-Knitted Nations was having its Book Club meeting. Moose got all tangled up in a ball of blue yarn. But did that stop him? No!

  Rrrip! Moose leaped over the legs of a guy reading the paper. Slurp! He almost tipped over the table with the fish tan
k. Crash! He knocked over a cart of kids’ books.

  “Horsey!” said a toddler, pointing.

  Moose ran past her, heading straight for the front door.

  “Stop! Moose!” Stink yelled. Moose ran right through the book detector. Ree! Ree! Ree! A siren louder than the Yack Buster went off. Moose stopped and turned.

  “Be a good boy,” Stink coaxed. “Give me back the library book.”

  Moose raced past Stink, almost knocking him over. He jumped into the book return bin — Sproing! Moose plopped down on a mountain of books.

  “You just wanted to return your library book on time, huh, boy?”

  “Arf!” said Moose. Stink reached for the book in Moose’s mouth. “Arf, arf, arf, arf, arf!”

  Stink remembered the willow. He made himself into a calm pool of water. He held out his empty hand toward Moose.

  Moose dropped the book at last. By the time Maggie came back, Moose had leaped into Stink’s lap, licking his face. “Who’s a reading dog? You are. Yes, you are,” said Stink. “You should get your own Super Reading Award.”

  “And you should get an A+ in Community Service,” said Maggie.

  Moose lifted a paw in the air.

  “Look! He’s practicing karate,” said Stink. “He already knows horse stance!”

  “Moose stance!” said Sophie, and they all cracked up.

  Saturday! Today was the day Stink would earn his yellow belt in karate!

  By the time Stink got to Empty Hand Academy, he had jumping beans in his belly. He took in an ocean of deep breaths. He made himself still like a pool of water.

  Judy, Mom, and Dad sat in back. Stink faced the mirror. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the yellow beltest of us all? Stink smiled. Stop smiling! Focus! Concentrate! Stink did not even tell himself a joke. He stood with three other kids and made his mind blank as a piece of paper.