Stink and The Ultimate Thumb-Wrestling Smackdown (5 page)

“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 asked, 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?”