aboom! Ka-tang! Ka-pow! Stink Moody was a real-life crime fighter. For a day, that is. Stink and Riley Rottenberger were at Saturday Science Club. They were learning about forensic
science from Mrs. Rottenberger, their teacher and Riley’s mother.
Stink got to use a pocket microscope. Stink got to track footprints. Stink got
to dust for fingerprints. Stink and Riley spent all morning finding clues, adding them up, and solving a mystery.
“We’re out of time for today,” said Mrs. Rottenberger.
“Too bad,” said Riley. “I love puzzles and mysteries.”
“Forensic science is cool,” said Stink. “I liked when we got to spot the difference between photos. And when we compared handwriting in those notes.”
“Next Saturday, everybody, we’re going to explore superhero science,”
said Mrs. Rottenberger. “Could the Flash really run across water? Could
my favorite superhero, Elastigirl, aka Mrs. Incredible, stretch herself to be as tall as the Statue
of Liberty? We’ll have water-drop races and make superhero slime to find out.”
Stink couldn’t believe his not-supersonic ears! Stink was cuckoo for superheroes. “Superhero science!” said Stink. “
Shazam! That sounds even better than crime-fighting science!”
“Thanks,” said Riley. “It was my idea.”
Stink imagined himself in a cape that said stink: superhero superfan.
“What superhero powers you would like to know more about?” asked Mrs. Rottenberger. “X-ray vision? Invisibility? Speed? For next Saturday, choose one superpower that you’d like to explore, and we’ll find out the science behind it.”
All the way home, Stink thought about superheroes and their superpowers. Wonder Woman flew on air currents. Maybe they could measure wind speed. Cool! Superman had X-ray vision.
Spider-Man had his spidey sense. And he could shoot webs from his fingers. Black Panther’s suit could make him invisible, and he could see in the dark. The Flash was super speedy and traveled through time.
Wait! What about Green Lantern’s power ring? Could science explain how it created a force field around him?
When Stink got home, his whole family was cleaning out the garage.
Dad was dusting off old records. Mom was painting an old chair. Judy was making a sign with squeaky markers.
Stink used his super powers of observation and deduction. This could mean . . .
They were moving? Getting a new car? Having a yard sale?
Judy held up her sign. “Check it out, Stink.” yard sale! cool stuff!
“Yard sale!
BAM! I knew it!” said Stink. “Can I sell stuff, too?”
“Maybe you can sell some of the action figures and toys that you don’t play with
anymore, Stink,” Mom said.
“Okay, but not my Batmobile or Green Lantern power ring,” said Stink. “Hey! Maybe I can make enough to get a Black Panther vibranium power-claw bank.”
“A whosie whatsit?” asked Judy. “Stink, you have superheroes on the brain.”
“Yeah, I do!” said Stink. “Because I have to come up with a superhero power to explore next week at Saturday Science Club.”
“Pick Squirrel Girl! She has a rhyming name like me,” said Judy. “Doreen Green. And she has the superpowers of a squirrel. She can jump between trees and chew through wood with her teeth. Or pick the Flash. He can speed-read.”
“How about Black Panther?” said Stink. “He can see in the dark. Or what about Spider-Man’s spidey sense? He senses danger from miles away.”
“I can sense that you’re in danger of not making any money if you don’t get a move on,” said Mom.
Stink ran upstairs lightning-bolt-fast like the Flash. He filled up a laundry basket with stuff he could sell—old tub toys, toe socks, a piggy bank (really a hippo bank), and a genius kit that had not made him a genius.
“Look at all this stuff I can sell,” said Stink. “I’m going to be rolling in it!”
“You’re selling your piggy bank?” Judy asked. “But you love saving money.”
“This is just my one-eared
hippo piggy bank,” Stink told her. “I still have my
gumball-machine piggy bank. But if I sell this one, I can make tons of money and get the Black Panther vibranium power-claw bank. It has flashing lights and sounds and an actual claw reaches out to take your money! It holds six hundred coins, one hundred dollar bills,
and it’s password protected,” said Stink.
“Is the password going to be
power claw?” Judy asked.
GULP! “No,” he said, staring at the ground. “Well, maybe. Okay, yes, but—”
“Stink, maybe you should hang on to that genius kit,” said Judy.
The next day, Grandma Lou came to help with the yard sale. She brought a few things of her own to sell: a cowboy lamp, Christmas candlesticks, and an old canary cage.
“Yard sale time!” said Grandma Lou. “I like the chalk footprints leading people up the sidewalk to your house.”
“Thanks,” said Stink. “That was my idea.”
“Did you put up some signs, too? Signs are important.”
“I made signs using smelly markers,” said Judy. “I put them up on telephone poles at both corners of our street.”
“Sweet
and stinky,” said Stink, “so people can smell their way here.”
“Good. I hope we get some buyers, not just lookie-loos,” said Grandma Lou.
“What are lookie-loos?” Stink asked.
“You know, people who come just to look, but don’t buy anything.”
“For sure someone’s going to want my bouncy ball collection,” said Judy. “And this potholder loom. And my old cash register.”
“Cash register?” asked Stink. “Can I have that?”
“Sure,” said Judy. “That’ll be one dollar.”
“Sold,” said Stink.
“Where’s my dollar, Stink?” Judy asked.
“Um, I don’t have it yet. But I will. I’m going to sell my old yo-yos with missing strings. These are gonna sell like cupcakes.”
“You mean hotcakes,” said Judy.
Stink shrugged. “Then I can pay you back and have enough for my power-claw bank.”
“Never mind. Just pay me two gum-wrapper chains, one wind-up birthday cake, and one mini-eraser.” She took them out of Stink’s laundry basket.
Stink eyeballed some shelves in the garage. “Hey, has anybody come across a shoebox filled with my origami creations? I think I could sell those, too!”
Nobody answered. They were already talking to early-bird customers.
Copyright © 2024 by Megan McDonald; illustrated by Peter H. Reynolds. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
