Stink and the Incredible Super-Galactic Jawbreaker (6 page)

“They’re not my soccer uniform,” said Webster. “But how would you know? I got them for my birthday.”

Webster sure was being a grump. Stink did not know why. He hunkered down inside his sleeping bag and stuck his nose in a pop-up book of animal skeletons. He propped his head up on Fang, his six-foot-long stuffed-animal snake. He popped a FREE fireball in his mouth.

“Want one?” he asked Webster.

“You’re not allowed to eat candy in school,” said Webster. He turned the other way and stuck his nose in a book.

“Stink? Webster? Did you hear?” asked Sophie of the Elves. “We’re having a Pajama Parade. We get to walk through all the halls. And we get to go to a special assembly in the library, where Mrs. Mack will tell stories from around the world. And she wears hats and plays drums. And I get to sit by you guys.”

“Who cares?” said Webster.

“What’s wrong with him?” Stink asked Sophie. Sophie just shrugged.

WOW! PAJAMA PARADE! ASSEMBLY! Assemblies in the library were the best! Stink could not wait to hear stories from around the world (with hats and drums).

Mrs. D.’s second-grade class paraded past the office and even down the fifth-grade hall. In the library, Stink sat beside Sophie of the Elves. Webster was right behind Stink. Mrs. D. pointed for Webster to sit down in the space right next to Stink.

“I’m not sitting by him,” said Webster.

“Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill,” said Mrs. D.

Webster sat down.

Mrs. Mack, the librarian, held up two fingers. “Let’s show what good listeners we are at the Virginia Dare School,” said Mrs. Mack.

“And remember,” said Mrs. D., “let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”

Stink couldn’t stand being ignored. Especially by his best friend. As soon as Mrs. Mack started to tell a story, Stink tapped Webster on the shoulder when he wasn’t looking, just for fun.

“Hey!” said Webster. Stink pretended to be listening to the story. Webster tapped Stink on the shoulder, then pretended his hands were in his lap. Stink tapped him back. Webster tapped him back harder. “Ow!” said Stink.

“Stink!” whispered Mrs. D. She pointed to Stink and Webster to settle down and keep quiet.

“You guys are in trouble!” whispered Sophie of the Elves.

“Now,” said Mrs. Mack, “we’re going to turn down the lights and travel to deepest Africa. I hope you like scary stories!”

The lights went out. Stink glowed like a night-light! Mrs. D. would sure see him now if he tapped Webster again. Stink pulled both of his arms all the way inside his pajama shirt, just to be safe. He did not want his tapping fingers to get him into any more trouble.

Drumbeats filled the air. Mrs. Mack made her voice low and whispery. The folktale was all about The Bad One, this spooky voice coming from inside a cave. The voice sounded so big and bad he was scaring the pants off all the other animals in the rain forest. At the end, The Bad One turned out to be nothing but a centipede. Phew! A South African red-legged centipede!

Stink knew all about centipedes. “Once, in the Toad Pee Club with my sister,” he told Webster, “we tried to set a record for the longest human centipede.”

“So?” said Webster.

Stink forgot all about paying attention. Something was wrong with Webster. He tried to make up a centipede joke to tell Webster.

“What goes ninety-nine clunk?” Stink asked Webster. “Or thirty-three clunk? Or sixty-seven clunk?” Webster ignored him. “A centipede with a broken leg!” Stink cracked up. He flashed his fireball-red tongue at Webster. Webster did not even crack a smile.

Mrs. Mack was asking, “How many legs does a centipede have?” Stink knew the answer. He went to raise his hand, but his arms were still inside his pajama shirt.

“One hundred!” said a first grader in the front row.

Stink knew one hundred was not the whole answer. He just had to raise his hand. He tried to raise an elbow from inside his shirt.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Something had happened to Stink’s pajama top. It shrink-shrank-shrunk! Stink wiggled and wriggled and tried to worm his way out of the shirt. Help! Where were the armholes? It was still dark. He couldn’t see a thing. His shirt was all twisted. His arms were all caught. His elbows poked inside his shirt like a punching bag, but he couldn’t find his way out.

Help! Stink was stuck inside his pajama top!

“The name
centipede
means ‘one hundred feet.’ That’s why we think all centipedes have a hundred legs,” said Mrs. Mack.

Stink was still wrestling with his pajamas. The top went up over his head. Stink lost his head! He wrestled some more. Finally! He poked his arm out!

“Ow!” he heard Webster cry. “Hey, you sucker-punched me!” He shoved Stink into Sophie of the Elves.

“Hey!” said Stink. “I was only—”

“Boys!” said Mrs. D. “Come with me.”

First the shirt. Then hitting Webster. Double trouble!

All the lights were on now. The room was suddenly somebody-got-in-trouble quiet. Webster had his head down and looked like he was going to cry. Everybody stared at the boys as they followed Mrs. Dempster out into the hallway.

“Okay, you two. What’s this fighting all about? I thought you were the best of friends.”

“Stink started it,” said Webster. “I was just sitting there, and he punched me for no reason.”

“I didn’t mean to hit him! Honest!” said Stink. “It’s all my pajamas’ fault. I got stuck inside my shirt! Cross my heart. No lie. I was just trying to raise my hand to say that most centipedes have fifteen pairs of legs. But some have up to 177 pairs, and if a leg gets cut off, it grows back, and some centipedes even glow in the dark.”

“So it was an accident?” asked Mrs. Dempster.

“Yes!” said Stink.

“Can you say you’re sorry, Stink?”

“Sorry, Webster,” said Stink. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

“Webster?” said Mrs. Dempster. “Are you okay now? Do you need to go see the nurse?”

“Whatever,” said Webster.

“Boy,” Stink said. “I never knew pajamas could get a person into so much trouble!” But Webster was already walking down the hall toward the nurse’s office. His back was mad. Even his hair was mad.

Stink felt lousy. Worse than a NOT-one-hundred-legged centipede. He dragged himself home from school, down the street, up the sidewalk, and in the front door.

Dad was home early. “How was Pajama Day?” he asked Stink.

“Terrible,” said Stink. “I had one of those terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, just-like-that-kids’-book yuck days.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Mom, coming into the room.