“Or an elf,” said Sophie of the Elves.
“Nah-uh. That’s a spiderweb. Owls do not live in spiderwebs. Neither do elves.”
Stink could not wait to show his teacher. “Mrs. D., guess what I found on your dollar bill. A spider.”
His teacher took out a magnifying glass and peered at the thing behind the number one on the dollar bill. “That does look a little like a spider,” said Mrs. D. “I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it before.”
“Me either,” said Stink.
“Are spiders a new interest, Stink? No more solar system? Shakespeare? Slime?”
“Brand new. A few days ago, I had arachnophobia. But I’m over it.”
“Arachnids are interesting,” said Mrs. D. “They’ve been around for more than five hundred million years.”
Stink shivered. But it was not the fearful shiver of an arachnophobe. It was the shiver of excitement that came with learning a new scientific fact.
For the rest of the school day, Stink could not stop thinking about Lula. Had anybody seen his sign? Did somebody come to get the lost spider? What if he never saw Lula again? Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
Stink splashed his way home from the bus and barged inside the front door. “Is Lula still here? Did anybody—”
“She’s still here,” said Mom. “You’re dripping! Boots, Stink.”
Stink yanked off his boots and his slicker. “So nobody came? She doesn’t belong to anybody?”
“Stink, remember what we talked about,” said Mom.
“But it’s raining out. Can’t we give my sign some more time? Lula’s helping me to get over my arachnophobia.”
“Our bathroom has serious spider cooties now,” said Judy. “This morning I found a tarantula hair in my toothbrush. No lie.”
Stink’s eyes got wide. “Uh-huh,” said Judy. “That means Lula got out and was wandering around in there—all over the bathroom.”
Gulp!
“I think the rest of us are starting to catch arachnophobia,” said Mom. “Put your boots back on, Stink. Dad said he’ll take you to the pet shop.”
When Stink got to Fur & Fangs, he looked for Mrs. Birdwistle. She was the owner of the world’s best pet store and expert rescuer of one hundred and one guinea pigs.
Mrs. Birdwistle would know just-exactly-for-sure what to do about Lula. Stink found her feeding the Chinese water dragon in the reptile section.
“Stink! My favorite guinea-pig rescuer!” said Mrs. Birdwistle. “What brings you to Fur & Fangs? Do you need some dried crickets for Toady?”
“I found this in my backyard,” said Stink, holding up the critter case. “It’s a South American pink-toe tarantula and might be named Lula.”
“Who’s a naughty girl?” Mrs. Birdwistle said to the tarantula. “We should call you Houdini because you’re such an escape artist.”
“So . . . you know her?” Stink asked, rocking on his tiptoes.
“The owner comes in every day, hoping somebody might find her pet tarantula. This is your lucky day, Stink Moody. She’s here right now.”
“Here?” asked Stink. “Now?”
“How about that,” said Dad.
“She’s in back with the red-knee tarantula,” said Mrs. Birdwistle. “You are going to make somebody very happy today.”
“Go ahead, Stink,” said Dad. “I’ll be right here looking at the parrots.”
Stink carried Lula down the aisle past the ball python and the fancy corn snake. Past the black mollies and gold dust mollies. Past the fantail guppies and neon tetras. Past the emperor scorpion and the Costa Rican zebra tarantula.
A girl came running up to him. “My tarantula!” she shouted. “You found her! You found her! You’re a lifesaver!”
Stink looked at the smiley girl with curly hair. “Wait a second. Don’t I know you? You visit your dad sometimes in our neighborhood.”
The girl held out her hand to shake. “Izzy Azumi, F.D.O. Future Dog Owner.”
“Stink Moody, O.S.H. Official Spider Handler.” Stink held out the critter case. “Here’s Lula. I bet you’ve been missing her.”
“I missed her so much! But her name’s Kiki. She’s named after a Hawaiian superhero I like to draw. Kiki the Superbad wears a magic lei and springs off of her supersonic surfboard to fight one-eyed monsters. Her robot dog is always at her side.”
“Kiki’s a cool name,” said Stink.
“I can’t believe you found her!” said Izzy.
“It wasn’t easy,” said Stink. “She almost got recycled!”
“Yikes,” said Izzy. “Don’t tell my dad. See, Kiki’s my practice pet.”
“Your practice pet?” asked Stink.
“My dad promised I could get a dog at his house. But first he said I had to show him I could take care of a pet.”
Dad came over and stood behind Stink.
“Everything was going great until I took Kiki out for a walk the other day. After her walk I put her back in the tank, but I must not have closed the lid tight and she got away. She’s been missing for more than three days.”
“So your dad won’t let you get a dog if you lost your practice pet?”
Izzy nodded. “A minute ago, F.D.O. almost stood for Failed Dog Owner. But maybe now my dad will let me. Thanks for finding her.”
“Stink took good care of her,” said Dad.
“I hope she’s okay,” said Stink. “She didn’t eat today. And she keeps turning over on her back.”
“Let’s ask Mrs. Birdwistle to take a look,” said Dad.
Izzy carried her tarantula over to Mrs. B. “Kiki’s not moving,” said Izzy. “And Stink says she turns over on her back. Do you think she’s okay?”
“I noticed she has a bald spot, too,” said Dad.
Mrs. Birdwistle peered at the tarantula. “I think Stink found her just in time,” said Mrs. B. “Don’t worry. Kiki’s fine. She’s just getting ready to molt.”
“She’s going to shed her skin?” asked Stink. “Cool!” Izzy’s eyes grew wide.
Mrs. Birdwistle told Izzy how to take care of Kiki while she was molting.
Before Stink could say exoskeleton, it was time to say goodbye.
Goodbye to Lula, the lost-and-found South American pink-toe tarantula with the superbad superhero name of Kiki.
When Stink got home, he was quiet. As quiet as a trapdoor spider waiting to catch a beetle. He slumped like a lump on the couch. Stink was down in the dumps.
“What’s wrong with you, Stinkerbell?” Judy asked. Stink shrugged and dragged himself upstairs.
“Could he be missing that spider?” Mom asked.
“Maybe he has the opposite of arachnophobia,” said Judy. “No-spider-itis.”
Upstairs in his room, Stink put on his spider ring. He turned his Spiderman sleeping bag right side out. He rescued his Big Head Book of Spiders from inside his Shark Attack game. He freed his spider plant from the back of the closet.
He sang “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider” to Toady. Even that did not cheer him up.
Stink took a bath. He read one whole chapter of Charlotte’s Web. But it just wasn’t as much fun without Lula, aka Kiki the Superbad.
“Stink,” called Judy up the stairs. “Come see what Mom and I did. It will cheer you up.” Judy wiggled her toes. “We painted our toenails pink!”
“Actually, mine are called Ballet Slipper Beauty,” said Mom, holding out a foot.
“Mine are called This Little Pinky, whatever that means,” said Judy. “It’s to remind you of the pink-toe tarantula. In case you feel sad or something.”
“Thanks,” said Stink. “That’s funny.”
“I could paint your nails, Stink.” Judy held up a bottle of nail polish. “How about Cherry Berry Bubble Gum? Or Flipped-Out Flamingo?”
“I’m good,” said Stink.
“We could play double spider solitaire,” said Mom.
“Or I could teach you how to dance the tarantella,” said Judy. “It’s a step-hop dance fr
om Italy that makes you look like you’ve been bitten by a spider.”
“Thanks, but I have origami to fold.” He folded a rainbow spider. He folded a two-headed spider. He folded a whole spider family until it was time for dinner.
The next morning, Stink hurried outside. He looked in the tall weeds and all around the yard and up in the old oak tree. But he did not find one creature. Not a house spider. Not a cricket. Not one worm.
Stink stuck his head in the recycling bin. He turned over a tuna-fish can. Not one single escaped South American pink-toe tarantula. Not even a zebra tarantula. Or a plain old curly-hair tarantula. BOR-ing!
When Stink popped up out of the bin, there she was, right smack-dab in the middle of his backyard!
Not Kiki the Tarantula, but Izzy Azumi herself. And she was turning a cartwheel. She looked like she had eight legs!
“Did you bring Kiki over?” Stink asked.
“Hi, Stink,” said Izzy. “Your dad told me you were out here.”
“Did you?” Stink asked again.
“Sorry. I can’t move her or take her outside for a week. Because she molted!” Izzy held up a plastic bag. “I brought you something.”
The something had eight legs. The something had an inside-out middle. The something had no head. But the something looked just like a tarantula.
The something was a skeleton. An exoskeleton of a tarantula. Lula, aka Kiki, had shed her skin!
“Freaky-deaky,” said Stink. “Wait till I show the Web Man. That’s my friend Webster. This is the coolest thing ever. Are you sure I can keep it?”
“I’m sure. It’s to thank you for taking care of Kiki.”
“This is even better than my dried-up baby belly button that Judy took to school for Share and Tell.” Izzy scrunched her nose. Stink cracked up.
Izzy turned another cartwheel. Judy came outside. “Hi, Izzy Azumi! Remember me? Judy Moody? You taught me how to do a cartwheel one time. Watch.” Judy put her hands down flat, kicked her feet in the air and . . . fell on her rear.
“She looks like a Brazilian wandering spider doing a threat dance,” said Stink. “Am I right?” Izzy nodded.
“Did you know the goliath tarantula can eat a hummingbird?” asked Stink.
“Jumping spiders can jump more than fifty times their body length,” said Izzy.
Izzy told Stink all about Kiki molting. And Stink taught Izzy how to sing “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider” in Spanish.
“I liked it better when you were afraid of spiders,” said Judy.
Izzy stayed for dinner. “Did you know there are so many spiders in the world that they could eat all the humans on Earth in one year?” asked Stink.
“Is that true?” asked Judy.
“No lie,” said Stink. “Spiders could eat all of us and still be hungry.”
“The entire spider population on Earth weighs twenty-five million tons,” said Izzy.
“Yeah, that’s almost four hundred seventy-eight Titanics,” said Stink.
“Kids,” said Mom, “can we have one spider-free meal?”
“That means no exoskeletons on the table while we eat,” said Dad.
“For the next twenty minutes,” said Judy, “this is officially a Spider-Free Zone.”
Stink munched on a taco shell. He checked the clock. The big hand hardly seemed to move. Nineteen more minutes to go. “Did you know Izzy has letters after her name? Izzy Azumi, F.D.O.”
“Future Dog Owner,” said Izzy.
“Do you think you’ll get a dog anytime soon?” Judy asked.
“I hope so. Now that Stink rescued my spi—oops, I mean, pet.”
Stink checked the clock again. “Do you think that clock is broken?”
“It works,” said Mom.
“It works,” said Dad.
“For now,” said Stink, “you can be Izzy Azumi, P.T.T.O. Pink-Toe Tarantula Owner!” Izzy beamed, showing off a missing tooth.
Judy shot Stink a sourball look. “What?” said Stink. “I didn’t say spider. I said tarantula.”
“Same-same,” said Judy.
“I only said spider to tell you I didn’t say spider,” Stink explained.
“You said it two more times!” Izzy giggled.
“Twenty minutes feels like three hours,” said Stink.
“It’s hard to believe a few days ago this kid was terrified of spiders,” said Dad.
Mom nodded. “Now he can’t go twenty minutes without talking spiders.”
“Time’s up!” said Stink, bouncing in his chair. “I can’t wait until March fourteenth!”
“Me too!” said Izzy.
“March fourteenth?” said Dad. “National Pi Day?”
“National Bake-a-Pie Day?” asked Mom. “Or is it National Potato Chip Day?”
Judy flipped pages on the wall calendar to March 14. “National Genius Day? Ask a Question Day? Nothing about spiders here. Oh, wait—”
“National Save a Spider Day!” Izzy squealed.
“On March fourteenth, Izzy Azumi and I are going to save a spider.”
“Maybe it will be a dark-footed ant spider,” said Izzy. “A tricky spider that looks like an ant!”
“Maybe it will be a spider species that hasn’t even been discovered yet!”
Just then, Izzy’s dad tooted the horn out front. It was time for her to go.
“Say hi to Kiki for me,” said Stink. “Remember to read her a bedtime story. And don’t forget to sing ‘The Itsy-Bitsy Spider’ to her.”
“Come see Kiki next week.” Izzy waved goodbye. “Remember, Stink, you are always within three feet of a spider.”
Stink sat in the dark, under the Red Spider Nebula at the center of the Milky Way. He felt a shiver. Not a shiver of fear. Not a shiver of cold. A shiver of wonder at the Earth. A shiver of awe at the universe, with its many creatures.
Suddenly Stink felt a little less alone. After all, there were about twenty-one quadrillion spiders in the world. Spiders were all around.
Freaky-deaky!
is the author of the popular Judy Moody and Stink series. She says, “Once, while I was visiting a class, the kids chanted, ‘Stink! Stink! Stink!’ as I entered the room. In that moment, I knew that Stink had to have a series all his own.” Megan McDonald lives in California.
is the illustrator of all the Judy Moody and Stink books. He says, “Stink reminds me of myself growing up: dealing with a sister prone to teasing and bossing around—and having to get creative in order to stand tall beside her.” Peter H. Reynolds lives in Massachusetts.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2020 by Megan McDonald
Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Peter H. Reynolds
Stink® is a registered trademark of Candlewick Press, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First electronic edition 2020
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending
The illustrations in this book were created digitally.
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Stink and the Hairy Scary Spider Page 3