Super Schnoz Boxed Set #1-3 716540

Text copyright © 2013, 2014, 2015 by Gary Urey Illustrations copyright © 2013 by Ethan Long Illustrations copyright © 2014, 2015 by Albert Whitman & Company Illustrations by Keith Frawley Set copyright © 2021 by Albert Whitman & Company First published in the United States of America in 2021 by Albert Whitman & Company

ISBN 978-0-8075-9994-5

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CONTENTS

Super Schnoz and the Gates of Smell Super Schnoz and the Invasion of the Snore Snatchers Super Schnoz and the Booger Blaster Breakdown

Super Schnoz and the Gates of Smell

Gary Urey

Pictures by Ethan Long

Albert Whitman & Company

Chicago, Illinois

To Melissa, Tiana, and Sophie—G.U. For Patrick Byrne—E.L.

Chapter 1

JUST LIKE A DOG

My name is Andy Whiffler and I was born with a humongous honker. I’m talking a nose so big it should have come with a warning label, a schnoz so enormous little people could use it as a sledding hill, a pie sniffer so massive that if someone was walking beside me and I turned my head suddenly to the left, I’d knock them out cold. You get the idea. The weird thing is that everyone else in my family has adorable little button noses. Noses so perfect they’d make a supermodel jealous. There’s a reason why I have a huge beak. When my mom was pregnant with me, the pharmacist mixed up her pre-natal vitamins with a steroid for nasal congestion. The effect was disastrous. The steroid overstimulated a gland in my brain that made my nose grow and keep on growing. And I can never have a nose job because there’s a major artery that connects from my nasal septum to my brain. If I snip off my snout, I’m a goner. Besides the lawsuit money, there’s only one good thing that came from the ordeal—I have an amazing sense of smell. I’m talking super-power worthy. I was around the age of two when I first became aware of this talent. My earliest memory is sitting in the living room when a luscious aroma wafted into my nostrils. Chocolate-chip cookies. My nose told me the smell wasn’t coming from our kitchen. I toddled out the

door in my diaper and walked into the street. Since Mom was asleep on the couch and Dad was at work, no one saw me leave. The sweet scent led me across a main highway, through an auto salvage yard, across a set of busy railroad tracks, and finally to a little white house with yellow curtains. The two-mile journey took me four hours to complete. The screen door was open and I walked inside. There, sitting on the kitchen table, were several dozen freshly baked cookies. When the old lady who lived there found me, cheeks smeared with chocolate and half her cookies gone, she nearly had a heart attack. But not as bad as the heart attack my mom almost had when she woke up and discovered me missing. An Amber Alert quickly went out. The cops found me at the old lady’s house and delivered me back home. But that didn’t stop me. Over the next few weeks, when Mom wasn’t looking, I escaped from our house and headed straight for the house of cookies. Finally, Mom took me to see a doctor. After an MRI, they discovered that my olfactory bulbs had quadrupled in size. That means that my sense of smell is a hundred thousand times more powerful than any human. Just like a dog.

Chapter 2

SCHNOZBERRY

A week after I turned eleven my parents bought a house in Denmark, New Hampshire, which meant a new school. My first day at James F. Durante Elementary, kids stared at the mass of fleshy cartilage in the center of my face. “Can I touch it?” a girl wearing a purple dress asked. A boy with two missing front teeth gently stroked the bridge of my nose. “Is it real? Or is it made of rubber, like on a Halloween mask?” “It’s real,” I answered. “I was born…” Winkler, ape-sized hulk of fifth grade, flicked my right nostril hard with his fingertip. The kid was so big my nose only came up to his chest. Before I could get out another word, Jimmy Winkler, ape-sized hulk of fifth grade, flicked my right nostril hard with his fingertip. The kid was so big my nose only came up to his chest. “Ouch!” I yelped. “That hurt!” “Hey, Honker Face!” Jimmy howled. His two friends, TJ and Mumps, ed in the fun. TJ was tall and skinny with big teeth and braces. He wore a gray sweatshirt that read: Will Fight Scary Monsters for Food. Mumps, on the other hand, looked like a miniature marine with his football jersey, camouflage cargo pants, and crew cut. “No, he’s more like Elephant Face!” TJ said. “Andy the Big-Nosed Reindeer!” chimed Mumps.

“Pickle Sniffles!” Jimmy screeched. “The Vacuum!” All three of them fell on the hallway floor, laughing like wild hyenas. Over the next few weeks, Jimmy, Mumps, and TJ called me every name in the book. I was Pinocchio one day, Booger Beak the next. Finally, all the nicknames gave way to just one. Schnoz—short for Schnozberry.

It’s from a line in that old Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory movie. The scene when everyone is licking the wall paper. On the day before Thanksgiving break, every kid in class was excited about Turkey Day and couldn’t focus on schoolwork. So our teacher, Mrs. Field, put on the Willy Wonka DVD for the afternoon. She left the room to make copies, but nobody goofed off because we were so into the movie. When Willy shouted “The schnozberries taste like schnozberries!” I made the mistake of asking the question, “What are schnozberries?” The class roared with laughter. Jimmy jumped out of his seat, towering over me. “They’re boogers, Booger Boy! Nostril turds, snotrockets, slimy junk dripping from your face trunk!” “You have the biggest schnoz ever,” TJ said. “You should know all about schnozberries.” Mumps raised his fist in the air, shouting, “Schnozberry! Schnozberry! Schnozberry!” The rest of the class ed in the chant. I wanted to jump out of my seat and run home. As the mantra grew louder, I looked around the room. One girl, Vivian Ramirez, wasn’t saying a word. She just sat there quietly with her shaggy black hair, staring right at me.

Chapter 3

THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF AROMAS

Most of the kids I know like collecting things. At my last school, a guy named Tyler had over three hundred of his boogers smeared inside a scrapbook. A thirdgrade girl got her picture in the school newsletter because she saved apes. Not for real, she just clipped pictures of gorillas from nature magazines and taped them on her bedroom wall. A middle schooler from my old neighborhood melted plastic army men in the microwave then molded them into mutant space avengers. He had over sixty-seven sculptures lining his trophy shelf. As for me, I collect smells. It doesn’t matter if they’re stinky, sweet, bitter, rancid, or savory—I love them all! Inside my brain is a detailed catalog of over 967 smells. I add more every day. It’s like a scent dictionary, everything from foot fungus to fallen leaves, earwax to ears of corn, road kill to raspberries, morning breath to marshmallows. So when Mrs. Field assigned us to do a five-minute oral report in front of the class on any topic, naturally, I picked the wonderful world of aromas. When the day came, I was totally ready. Mrs. Field called kids in alphabetical order. Since my last name begins with W, I was at the end—right after Vivian Ramirez’s presentation on the twisted-wing parasite, Rory Simon’s poem about his new collie puppy, and TJ Tedesco’s PowerPoint of his summer vacation to Mount Rushmore. “The sculptures are huge,” TJ said. “In fact, Schnoz’s nose and the one carved on Abraham Lincoln’s face are about the same size!” The whole class laughed out loud. I slowly sunk into my seat. If my beak weren’t so big, I would have slid under my desk and hid for the rest of the day.

“Speaking of Andy,” Mrs. Field said. “What is your topic?” “Smells,” I said.

The class cracked up again, this time louder than before. The teacher shot a stern glare that quieted everyone down. “Interesting,” she said. “We’re ready when you are.” I took a deep breath, tilted my head back, and pointed at the two colossal caverns that were my nostrils. “Everything starts here,” I said. “Right up your nose.” “Schnoz’s nose holes are so big I could drive my bike through them.” I heard Jimmy’s voice whisper. “Gross,” said TJ. “You’d probably drown in all the snot.” “Our nose is not only built to smell,” I continued, “but to moisten the air we breathe.” I plucked out a nose hair and held it up for the class. It was over three inches long. “The hairs in our nostrils filter dust and pollen and junk. Last summer, a barn swallow flew up my nose. It was trying to build a nest. The bird got trapped by my hairs and I was able to pick it out.” “And everyone thought my twisted-wing parasite was disgusting,” Vivian muttered. “A living bird up your nose is way nastier.” I ignored her comment, reached into my backpack, and pulled out ten small vitamin bottles. “Inside each bottle is a different smell,” I said. “ in art class last week when we worked on collages using different materials? Well, I have made a smell collage.” Mrs. Field’s face twisted into question mark. “What may I ask are in those bottles?” “Scents representing a whole palette of aromas,” I said. “It works like this.” I dipped each of my ten fingers inside a different bottle and fanned them in front of my face. “On my left hand are the following odors: dirty socks, dog saliva, strawberry Pop Tart, rotting mussel shells, and bacon drippings. On my right hand is toenail fungus, black licorice, boiled cabbage…”

Mrs. Field’s face turned three shades of green. Two girls in the front row started gagging and the other kids covered their noses. Jimmy, Mumps, and TJ were in the back row sniggering. My nostrils deflated. I couldn’t even share my love of smells without people laughing at me.

Chapter 4

G AND T

You’ve heard the old saying: big nose equals big brain. It’s true. I’m wicked smart. The teachers at my old school hated to see me move. I pretty much single-handedly skyrocketed the class average on every standardized test we took. My fourth grade teacher, Mr. Horn, won the Massachusetts teacher of the year—all because of me. So I wasn’t surprised when Mrs. Field recommended me for the Gifted and Talented program in math and reading. The kids in G and T got to leave the classroom every day for an hour after lunch for specialized, advanced instruction. “Andy, Sam, Vivian, Nicole, Julia,” Mrs. Field announced, “you may walk quietly to Ms. Thurston’s room.” As we filed out the door, Mrs. Field stopped us. “Oops,” she said. “Wait, children, I forgot another student. TJ Tedesco, you’re excused as well.” I couldn’t believe my ears! Did she really say TJ Tedesco? One of Jimmy’s hairy-knuckled goons was actually in G and T. With his crew cut and camouflage pants, the kid looked like he’d just gotten out of juvenile detention. I watched nervously as TJ got up, slapped his friends a high-five, and then ed us in the hall. “Ever hear of a moa?” TJ asked me. I shook my head, my nostrils flapping like elephant ears. “It’s a huge flightless bird that used to live in New Zealand. It’s supposed to be

extinct, but I have a theory. Maybe it hasn’t disappeared at all. It’s alive and well and living up your schnozzle!” TJ reached out to tweak my nose. I ducked and he accidently grabbed Vivian by the hair. “Knock it off!” Vivian yelled. Principal Cyrano rounded the corner. “Lower your voice, Vivian,” he said. “You know the rules—quiet in the halls.” Vivian’s lips pursed; her light brown face turned raspberry red. “Sorry,” she mumbled and kept walking. Ms. Thurston’s room was right off the library. There were four long tables, shelves of books, computer stations, and a big window looking out onto the teachers’ parking lot. “Welcome to Gifted and Talented, everyone,” Ms. Thurston said. She had short brown hair, a tiny nose, and bright green eyes. “Hello, Ms. Thurston,” everyone said in unison. “You must be Andy, our new student.” Ms. Thurston held out her hand. “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand. “What do you want me to do?” “You’re going to TJ and Vivian for a math worksheet. Let me get the other kids started with their reading assignments.” I sat down next to TJ and Vivian and opened my notebook. I tensed up my nostrils in case TJ tried to grab my nose again. Vivian rolled up the sleeves of her black sweater and whispered to me, “It’s hard to believe, but after me, and now maybe you, TJ’s the smartest kid in school. He’s a whiz with computers.” She turned away and started working on her math problem. “You must really love black,” I said, trying to continue the conversation. “It’s the only color you ever wear.”

“For your information, black isn’t a color. It’s a way of life.” Vivian opened a black notebook, ripped out a page to use as scratch paper, and completely ignored me. The math worksheet Ms. Thurston gave us was on proportional ratios. The questions were hard, but I breezed through the problems pretty fast. So did Vivian. TJ was having a rougher time. There were twenty-five questions on the page and he was only on number twelve. TJ glanced at my completed paper. “How’d you finish so fast?” “It’s easy,” I said. “Want me to show you?” “Sure.” After a few minutes, TJ had the ratios down. He was a quick learner. On our way back to Mrs. Field’s class, TJ spun around to face me. I quickly held up my hands to protect my snout. “Thanks for clearing up that ratio stuff,” he said. “Anytime,” I said. “Are you going to take a swing at my nose again?” “No. But if I take up boxing and need your honker as a punching bag, I’ll let you know.” TJ laughed and walked into the room. I let out a sigh of relief and followed him.

Chapter 5

THE HAMSTER TWIST

It didn’t take long for my nose to earn some respect. Right before lunch one day, Mrs. Field gave us a bathroom break. I was in one of the toilet stalls when Jimmy, TJ, and Mumps strolled in to take a leak. I quickly locked the stall door. The last time they caught me here alone, Jimmy threw a lasso made of shoestrings around my nose and led me around like a wild horse. I peeked through the crack in the door and watched them. Jimmy reached into his pocket and pulled out a live hamster. “Meet Dumpster,” Jimmy said. “He’s the meanest assault hamster in the whole world.” “You can’t have a pet in school,” Mumps said. “You’ll get in serious trouble.” “No one’s going to find out.” “Doesn’t look mean to me,” TJ said. “I know how to handle them. I watch the Hamster Whisperer every Thursday night on the Rodent Channel.” He reached out to stroke Dumpster’s fuzzy head and the rodent attacked, tiny sharp teeth lashing into TJ’s fingertip. “EEEOOOWWW!” TJ screamed. “That thing’s a menace to society!” Jimmy pressed a finger to his lips. “Pipe down. The whole school can hear you.” While TJ ran his finger under cold water, my nostrils gathered up a scent. It was black coffee, spearmint Lifesavers, garlic bagel with cream cheese, a hint of ripe

body odor—Principal Cyrano. I could smell his bad breath and underarm stink from across town. The strength of the aroma meant the principal was heading straight for the boys’ bathroom. I had two choices: stay hidden in the toilet stall and let Principal Cyrano bust Jimmy or let the guys know he was coming. After all they had put me through, part of me wanted to watch them squirm. But the other part didn’t like to watch people get in trouble. “Principal Cyrano is coming,” I said, bursting out of the stall. “He must’ve heard TJ’s scream.” “How do you know, Schnoz?” Jimmy asked. “I can smell him. Better put Dumpster away.” “Don’t tell me what to do. The little guy needs some air.” Principal Cyrano’s funky smell grew stronger, so powerful I could taste it. I smacked Jimmy’s arm with my nose. Dumpster fell from his hand onto the floor. “What did you do that for?” Jimmy yelled. Before Dumpster could scurry away, I grabbed the rodent and shoved him into my front pocket. The bathroom door swung open and Principal Cyrano appeared. “What’s going on in here?” he asked. “Uh nothing,” Jimmy said. “Just going to the bathroom before lunch,” Mumps added. Dumpster was on the move. He wriggled through a hole in my pocket and scurried down my pant leg. His sharp little claws tickled my skin. I squirmed, twitched, and convulsed, trying to keep from busting up. Principal Cyrano looked at me, raised one eyebrow.

“Andy, is there something wrong with you?” “He’s practicing a new dance we learned in gym class,” Jimmy said, coming to my rescue. “It’s called the Hamster Twist. Let’s show him.” All the guys in the bathroom started bopping around like wild chimps. Except for TJ, who was still running his hand under the tap, moaning over the hamster bite. “That’s enough, boys,” Principal Cyrano ordered. “Get to lunch. Now.” When the coast was clear, I plucked Dumpster from my pants and handed him back to Jimmy. “Schnoz, you’re all right,” Jimmy said. “I owe you one.” Inside, I beamed. Finally, my nose was good for something other than making people laugh.

Chapter 6

COMIC BOOK CLUB

The halls were buzzing the first week of December. Not because of the Christmas vacation, but because we could sign up for winter afterschool clubs. Outside the front office was a big table filled with registration forms for all the different activities. For the kindergartners and first graders there was Play Dough Club, karate, Reading Club, and Lego Construction Club. The second and third graders got to pick from Drama Club, origami, dance, Gym Games, and Science Club. Fourth and fifth graders chose from Magic Club, Technology Club, Knitting Club, Choir, Fitness Club, or Comic Book Club. Before school I hovered around the table, waiting my turn to . The line was huge. My bus was late, so I ended up in the very back. I really wanted to be in Magic Club. A rumor was going around that learned how to yank a rabbit out of a hat. With my massive honker, I could hide a rabbit in each nostril and blow everyone’s mind! By the time I made it to the table, all but two clubs were full: Knitting Club and Comic Book Club. My heart sank. I wasn’t into knitting or comics. Still, I grabbed a Comic Book Club registration and took it home for my mom to sign. The following Monday after school was the first day of clubs. Comic Book Club met once a week in Mr. Colby’s room. He was a third-grade teacher and coached the junior varsity basketball team at the high school. When I tramped into the room, only three other kids were there—Jimmy, TJ, and Mumps. “Well, if ain’t Schnoz,” Jimmy said, leaning back in his chair, dirty sneakers propped on the desk.

“I hope you like comics,” TJ said to me. “We take this club very serious.” “Super serious,” Mumps added. The guys had stopped teasing me as much after the hamster incident. Sure, they still called me Schnoz—everyone did—and occasionally Booger Beak, but it wasn’t in a mean way like before. We weren’t exactly friends or anything, but I was definitely no longer their enemy. Mr. Colby walked into the room and welcomed us to Comic Book Club. He explained that we’d be reading comics, talking about comics, and writing and drawing our own comics. He pulled out a box from underneath his desk. “I brought these old comics from when I was a kid.” We rummaged through the box. It was filled with comics I had never heard of before—Archie, Jughead, Betty and Veronica, Richie Rich, Chip ’n’ Dale. From the looks on the other guys’ faces, they hadn’t heard of them either. Have fun with these comics,” Mr. Colby said. “Richie Rich was my all-time favorite.” While Jimmy, TJ, and Mumps huddled in the back, I spent the rest of Comic Book Club reading some of Mr. Colby’s comics. He was right. Richie Rich was really good. “Forget this wimpy stuff,” I heard Jimmy say. “The next time we meet, I want to read about real superheroes.” A minute later, Mr. Colby dismissed us. I had no idea what Jimmy meant by real superheroes, but the possibilities made my nostrils flare.

Chapter 7

SUPER SCHNOZ

The next time Comic Book Club met, we had a new member—Vivian Ramirez. She was wearing all black as usual. “What are you doing here?” Jimmy asked. “Shouldn’t you be in the Vampire Lovers Club?” “Or knitting,” Mumps added. “Ha-ha, very funny,” Vivian said. “For your information, I love comics. I wasn’t here on the first day was because I had a dentist appointment.” Mr. Colby walked into the room. He was carrying another big cardboard box. “Vivian!” Mr. Colby said enthusiastically. “I was hoping you’d show up. You’re so talented in art. I can’t wait to see what comics you come up with.” “Hello, Mr. Colby,” Vivian replied. I was starting to notice that all the teachers loved her, from Mrs. Field to Ms. Thurston and now Mr. Colby. Spread out on a table next Mr. Colby’s desk were drawing pads, colored pencils, and the stack of Archie and Richie Rich comics. He instructed us to grab a pad and pencils. “Your comic books are only limited by your imaginations,” Mr. Colby said. “I want you to think about the story first. Plan it out frame by frame, then start drawing.” “What’s in the box?” Jimmy asked. “Well, I started thinking. Although I enjoyed comics like Archie and Richie Rich

back when I was a kid, they weren’t the most popular. I most of my friends liking the ones about superheroes. I still had money left in the budget and got a good deal at Sonic’s Used Comics downtown.” Mr. Colby dumped the contents of the box onto the table. Vivian, Jimmy, Mumps, and TJ gushed at what was inside. Dozens of old comic books— Batman, Spider-Man, Fantastic Four, Flash, Thor, X-Men, Captain America, Silver Surfer, and a bunch of others I had never heard of before. I could tell by their tattered covers and low price that they were ancient. Some of them were as cheap as twenty-five cents! “These are great, Mr. Colby,” Vivian said. “Awesome!” Mumps said. “Thanks.” “All of my favorites,” TJ said. “The golden age of comics. When men had real superpowers—full body elasticity, super strength, mind control, vaporizing beams.” “And don’t forget about the superheroines,” Vivian said. “Wonder Woman, Super Girl, She-Hulk, and the Invisible Woman could kick some serious butt.” Mr. Colby smiled. “You can work alone or in teams. Understand?” We nodded. “Good. I’ll be at my desk if you need me.” Mr. Colby sat down, grabbed a Richie Rich comic, and started reading. Vivian started sketching on her pad right away. Jimmy, Mumps, and TJ grabbed a stack of Fantastic Four comics and went back to their desks. I browsed through the collection, trying to find one I liked. One called Generation X caught my attention. “Generation X is a spin-off of the X-Men published by Marvel way back in the nineties,” Vivian said. “It’s about a gang of mutant teenagers.” “Wow,” Jimmy said to Vivian. “You really know a lot about comics.” “I’ll show you my collection someday,” she said. “I even have an old Barbie Batgirl doll still in its box. It’s worth almost a hundred dollars.”

While Vivian and Jimmy discussed the value of comic book memorabilia, I picked up a few issues of Generation X and went back to my desk. Before long, I found a character named Skin I could identify with. He possessed an extra six feet of skin that could stretch. Because of the extra skin, he looked like a melted crayon and people made fun of him. Kind of like me and my nose. I picked up a pencil and started doodling. I thought the art wasn’t very good, but my idea for a comic was genius. It would be about me and my nose, fighting crime and saving the world from the forces of evil. The first sketch was of a kid that looked like me with a huge nose. He wore a cape, a mask, pointy boots, and tights. When I finished the sketch, I tried to think of a name for my superhero—Nose Boy, the Head Honker, the Mighty Mucus Maker, the Schnozinator. None of them sounded quite right. I scooted from my desk and walked to the pencil sharpener at the front of the room. That’s when Jimmy sat up and checked out my drawing. “This is great!” he said. “TJ, Mumps, check it out.” TJ and Mumps wandered over and howled with laughter. “A superhero with a huge nose,” Jimmy said. “It looks just like Schnoz.” “Give that back,” I said, slightly miffed. I had just started drawing and wasn’t ready to share it with anyone. “Schnoz, you have to let me work on this with you,” Mumps said. “It’s a great idea.” “Way better than the one we’re working on,” TJ said. “I want to help too.” “Me three,” Jimmy said. “We’ll call the comic…Super Schnoz!”

Chapter 8

JANNA, THE SORCERESS OF ALTHORIA

The guys and I spent the entire nine weeks of Comic Book Club drawing Super Schnoz. Since Vivian knew so much about comics and was such a good artist, we asked her to help us. She refused and worked on her own comic. We divided the Super Schnoz comic duties. Jimmy and I came up with the story. TJ and Mumps were the artists. The first part of Super Schnoz was about his origin. I suggested the true story of my nose; the doctor mixing up my mom’s prenatal vitamins with a steroid for nasal congestion, but the guys said it wasn’t dramatic enough. We came up with a tale of how when Michael Mitchell (the future Super Schnoz) was a fetus, his nuclear scientist father accidently exposed him to toxic waste. The nuclear rearranged his molecules and caused Schnoz’s nose to grow. Super Schnoz also has the power of flight and fire. He can fly around and shoot nuclear-fueled, boogery flames from his nose. Super Schnoz learns from a mysterious old man who owns a crystal shop that the evil Doctor Diabolical is responsible for Schnoz’s parents’ death over a decade ago. Super Schnoz is rabid for revenge. Doctor Diabolical kidnaps the president’s wife and threatens to kill her if the U.S. government doesn’t pay a ransom of fifty billion dollars. He destroys the Empire State Building, the subway system, and most of lower Manhattan. His minions ravage the city, looting and impaling innocent victims on street signs. The president calls on Super Schnoz to rescue his wife and destroy the doctor. After an epic showdown in Central Park, Super Schnoz kills the doctor and his minions with a blast from his atomic nose. The president’s wife is safe and Super Schnoz becomes a national hero. “I love it!” Mr. Colby exclaimed when he finished reading. “The drawings and story are excellent. I especially like how you named Doctor Diabolical’s second-

in-command after me. Great job, boys. Good teamwork.” Vivian’s comic blew us all away. Her artwork was amazing. It was full-color and looked like she had just bought it from a store. The title was the Unicorn Avenger starring Janna, the Sorceress of Althoria. It was page after page of Janna riding a magical-winged unicorn and fighting the evil Bloborg and his army of zombie gargoyles. The three main gargoyles—Klutzo, Mutzo, and Butzo—looked a lot like Jimmy, TJ, and Mumps. “I’m speechless, Vivian,” Mr. Colby said. “Your work is stunning. Isn’t it, boys?” We nodded. “How did you come up with such an awesome story?” Jimmy asked. Vivian shrugged. “Don’t know. It just popped into my head.” “You’re a real artist,” TJ said. “Maybe you can work for Marvel or DC when you get older.” Mr. Colby packed up his comic books. “You all are real artists,” he said. “I think all four of you have a real future in the superhero biz.” “Maybe we can do a comic together,” Jimmy suggested. “We can team up Super Schnoz and Janna.” “It’s just like that old issue of Batman when he teams up with Wonder Woman to find out who kidnapped Robin,” Mumps added. “I’d love to,” Vivian said. “But I don’t think you could afford my fee. I’m pretty expensive.” We all laughed and helped pack things up. “Hey, Schnoz,” Jimmy said. “My birthday’s next weekend and I’m having a party. Want to come?” “Okay,” I said, trying to sound as chill as possible. But inside I was exploding with joy.

We had had so much fun together creating Super Schnoz, so I guess the invitation meant we were friends. And I hadn’t had a real friend since I moved to New Hampshire.

Chapter 9

HOMER BY A NOSE

Jimmy’s birthday was on the seventeenth, St. Patrick’s Day. It was a pretty warm day for March. The snow was almost melted and tulip bulbs were popping out of the ground. When my mom dropped me off in front of Jimmy’s house, I saw a familiar face sitting on the porch of a house directly across the street. It was Vivian, dressed in all black. “What are you doing?” I asked her. “Sitting on my porch,” she said. “What does it look like?” “I didn’t know you and Jimmy were neighbors. Are you coming to his party?” “Can’t. I have a guitar lesson. I’m a bass player.” She stood up, zipped up her black windbreaker, and went into the house. I bounded up the cement steps to Jimmy’s front door. Since I was holding his present with both hands, I rang the bell with the tip of my nose. Jimmy’s mom answered the door. When she saw me standing there, her eyes grew as wide as paper plates. She just stared at my nose, like the gigantic appendage in the middle of my face was hypnotizing her or something. “You must be…uh…Schn…I mean…Andy,” she said. I nodded my nose and she invited me inside. Mumps and TJ were already there.

“Schnoz!” they yelled in unison. Since baseball season was just around the corner, we went outside and played a couple games of wiffle ball. Jimmy and I played against TJ and Mumps. They beat us ten to one the first game because my giant nose kept mes my swing. I struck out every time. The next game was more of the same, until Jimmy came up with an idea. “Schnoz, they’re killing us by five runs and it’s only the third inning,” Jimmy said. “Ditch the bat and use your nose.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “Use your nose as a bat. You might do better.” I shrugged my shoulders and said okay. Jimmy had smacked a double into the weeds behind his house. It was my turn to hit. Mumps and TJ busted up laughing when they saw me standing there without a bat. “Schnoz, don’t tell me you’re hitting with just your nose,” Mumps said. “That’s exactly what he’s doing,” Jimmy announced. “He’ll strike out for sure!” TJ shouted from the outfield. “Just pitch,” I said. Mumps wound up and whizzed a zinger right past my honker. The rush of wind from the ball made my nostrils flare like a whale’s blowhole. “Swing next time!” Jimmy yelled. “That was a perfect pitch!” The next pitch came right for my nose. I closed my eyes and swung my honker with all my might. The ball cracked against my left nostril and flew into the air. TJ ran back to catch it, but slipped in the mud. The ball landed in the lawn next door. Jimmy scored and I rounded the bases for my first home run. I hit four more dingers and we won the game eleven to seven. When it was time for cake, Jimmy carried me inside on his shoulders like we’d just won the Little League World Series.

Chapter 10

HIDE-AND-SNIFF

My nose sometimes came in handy for things other than smelling, hitting home runs, and inspiring comic books. I also used it to block a teacher’s sight line when Jimmy, Mumps, or TJ wanted to sleep in class, draw comics instead of read, or just goof off. A simple flare of my nostrils was enough to keep at least one of my new friends hidden from view. One day Mrs. Field pulled a pop quiz on us. It was about colonial history. Jimmy asked me to do something about it. I snorted a tablespoon of black pepper and sneezed so hard the fire alarms went off. No pop quiz. My special gift also created a new game on the playground. Instead of hide-andseek, we played hide-and-sniff. I was always the sniffer; my friends were the hiders. The game was simple. Kids smuggled gross things from home, hid them on school grounds, and I’d sniff them out. When I found everything, I determined the smelliest item and crowned a winner. That meant the fouler the stench, the better odds to win. Jimmy made a fortune taking bets. Kids hid sandwich baggies full of fish guts, their dad’s smelly socks, cat litter clumps, used diapers, moldy mac and cheese, rotten leftover egg salad, and dozens of other malodorous mixtures meant to offend mere mortals. But not me, I inhaled everything they threw at me. Jimmy raised his bet-taking notebook in the air, “Schnoz has to find seven skanky things in less than ten minutes!” he shouted, “On your mark…get set… go!” I was off. Nose to the ground, butt in the air, hot on the scent.

“Look at him go,” I heard TJ say. “That nose of his is amazing. He really does have a superpower!” “Go, Super Schnoz!” Jimmy hollered. The crowd picked up on Jimmy’s call. All I heard were shouts of “Super Schnoz! Super Schnoz! Super Schnoz!” The first thing I dug up was the arch for an old sneaker. It was stinky, but not nearly enough to win. The second item, which I sniffed out under the climbing wall, was a plastic bag filled with dog poop—definitely a contender.

I found the other five objects in quick succession. There was a maggoty hunk of decaying bologna under the teeter-totter, a partially decomposed roadkill chipmunk behind the backstop on the baseball field, a pair of skid-mark-stained underwear buried under a pile of leaves, a container of reeking pond scum wedged between two big rocks, and a clipping of greasy black hair stuffed in a thorny bush. A note attached claimed the hair was from Kenny Walters, the grimiest kid in school. “Who’s the winner?” a third-grader asked when I ed the crowd. “I got all my lunch money on the dead chipmunk.” “No way,” said Vivian. “It’s the dog poop. That’s the most disgusting thing ever.” “Both of you are wrong,” I said. “The winner is…the maggoty hunk of bologna!” Half the crowd cheered, the other half groaned. Jimmy held out his wallet, collecting his winnings. As we tramped back into the building after recess, another strange scent wafted in the air, one I had never smelled before. My nostrils spread wide. The hairs inside my nose bristled with excitement. I inhaled deeply. It was a delicious mixture of dead rodent, raw sewage, and stale fart. But the other kids in school reacted very differently to the odor. Some nearly ed out. Others lost their lunch in the hallway. Principal Cyrano’s panicked voice blasted through the intercom. “Evacuate the school! This is not a drill! Everyone must leave the building immediately!”

Chapter 11

EVACUATION

Three hundred kids and twenty-seven teachers poured out of the school. Two police cars, an ambulance, a news crew, and a big yellow hazmat truck whipped into the parking lot. Men wearing gas masks charged into the building. A reporter spoke into a camera. “Something is rotten in the town of Denmark,” she said in a perfect TV voice. “A foul, offensive odor is permeating James F. Durante Elementary School. It’s described as a fishy, raw sewage smell that made several children and teachers ill earlier today. Here is eleven-year-old Vivian Ramirez with a comment.”

“I couldn’t breathe,” Vivian said into the microphone. “The smell is just so disgusting. It’s really scaring me.” “The source of the smell has yet to be determined,” the reporter continued. “A private company, ECU—Environmental Clean Up, Inc., is in the school right now, conducting air quality tests.” The reporter moved on to an ECU representative. “What exactly does your company do?” she asked. “Our mission is to solve environmental problems with scientifically sound results and to maintain compliance that ensures the safety and health of all individuals,” the representative said. While the reporter jabbered on, interviewing other kids and teachers, I tiptoed away from the crowd and slipped back into the school. The smell was powerful. I crept up the second-grade hall, past the custodian’s closet, and into the teachers’ lounge. The funky fragrance seeped into everything, so much that it was hard for me to determine its source. It could have been anything—a ruptured sewer line, a clogged-up poopy toilet, or the greasy taco meat the cafeteria ladies served up for lunch. I heard a deep voice bellow from down the hall. “Follow me into the teachers’ lounge. We need to talk.” It was Principal Cyrano. If he caught me inside the school when we were supposed to evacuate, I would be in serious trouble. I dashed behind the copy machine. I was perfectly concealed, except for my nose. It was sticking out from the side of the copy machine like the rudder of a boat. The door flew open. I prayed the principal wouldn’t notice my snout. “What’s the verdict?” Principal Cyrano asked through a gas mask. “We’ve unearthed very high levels of methane, butane, and propane. That could

be to blame,” said a woman’s muffled voice. “But we also have to consider other sources, like dead rodents, soil contamination, and gas line issues.” “How long will it take to determine the cause?” “It could be days, weeks, maybe even months. Until then, no students will be allowed into the building.” “But where are we going to house them? If we don’t open this school soon, our kids will be in class all summer. Kiss vacation good-bye for everyone.” “That, sir, is your problem.” I heard the door close and footsteps disappear down the hallway. Principal Cyrano and the woman were gone. Just as I was about to crawl from behind the copy machine, the door opened again. My heart pounded in my chest. I was sure the whole world could hear it. “The principal is clueless,” a hushed voice said. I knew right away it was the same woman who had been talking to Principal Cyrano only moments before. “Good,” a man’s gravelly voice croaked. “That imbecile doesn’t realize he has a gold mine sitting right under his feet and I want to keep it that way. How long will this phase of the operation take?” “I’d say two or three months before the government officially condemns the property.” “Perfect. Get this school shut down and ECU will purchase it for a song.” The door closed. I was alone, trying to digest what I had just heard. No summer vacation! I inhaled the luscious stench, filing the stink inside my mental smell library, and rushed back outside.

Chapter 12

SUMMER SCHOOL

The next day we were back in school, but not at James F. Durante Elementary. We were in the high school auditorium for a big assembly. It was the only place in town that could fit three hundred kids. “This is a challenging situation for everyone,” Principal Cyrano announced. “I just received confirmation from our superintendent that we will temporarily move to the old school across town while the environmental company cleans up Durante Elementary. However, since the old school has sat vacant for three years, it will take the maintenance department at least two weeks to get the building ready for students. After today there will be no classes until the old school is ready to go.” A cheer went up from the kids. Principal Cyrano clapped his hands, quieting everyone down. “However,” he continued, “the Department of Education says that students must complete one hundred and seventy-four days of quality instruction. That means every missed day of school must be made up during the summer months.”

Every kid in the auditorium groaned. This information wasn’t new to me, so I just rolled my eyes and flared my nostrils. “No way!” Jimmy said. “My butt will not be in school one day past June seventh. Period!” “I’m going to Camp Noogiewagga for two weeks at the end of June,” TJ said. “It’s the first year I can do sleepover.” “My family’s going to Cape Cod,” Mumps said. “If we’re still in school, I’ll miss it.” As for me, my summer plans included a self-guided odor tour of the tri-county region. Just me, my nose, my bike, and a snoot full of smelly things. “Nothing we can do about now,” I said. “Let’s just hope they find the source of the smell and clean it up.” Mumps opened his backpack and pulled out his most prized possession—issue 232 of Fantastic Four from 1981 in mint condition. He had bought it a year ago at a comic book convention for thirteen dollars and fifty cents—his whole life savings—and carried it with him everywhere. The front cover was Mister Fantastic, the Invisible Woman, Thing, and the Human Torch shooting into the sky on fire with some devil-looking creature in the background. It was in way better shape than the comics Mr. Colby showed us in Comic Book Club. It didn’t mean much to me, but to Mumps, TJ, and Jimmy, the comic was like an ancient holy relic. “This issue’s a collector’s item,” Mumps said, slowly peeling the pages out of its protective plastic cover. “That’s what I want to be when I grow up,” TJ said. “Part of a superhero team.” “Me too,” Jimmy said. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could do that right now?” “Totally awesome,” Mumps said dreamily.

The guys stared at the comic, carefully turning the pages. The artwork was pretty good. I liked Mister Fantastic’s ability to stretch his body into different shapes. “Wouldn’t it be funny if my nose stretched into weird shapes, like Mister Fantastic?” I asked. Jimmy looked at me. His eyes lit up. “You can be a superhero.” “What are you talking about?” “That nose of yours. It has superpowers.” “Jimmy’s right,” TJ said. “Anybody who can sniff out dog poop from over a hundred yards away has a true gift. With your schnoz, we can discover the source of the smell. The kids at school will love us.” “You’re Super Schnoz,” Mumps said. “Just like in our comic book—only you’re real!” TJ howled, pumping his fists in the air, chanting, “Super Schnoz! Super Schnoz! Super Schnoz!” I hadn’t told anyone about sneaking into the school during the evacuation partly because I was in denial about what I’d overheard in the teachers’ lounge and partly because I didn’t want to get in trouble for breaking the rules. I guess now was time to spill the beans. “ when that reporter was interviewing everyone the day were evacuated?” I said. “Sure,” Jimmy said. “I made it on TV!” “Well, while you were getting your fifteen minutes of fame, I snuck back inside the school to investigate.” Mumps slapped me on the back. “Everyone knows you have a nose for trouble.” “I know smells. And the smell inside that school was nothing I had ever sniffed before. I tried huffing out where it was coming from, but it was too overpowering, even for me.”

“I don’t believe it, Schnoz,” Jimmy said. “Nothing’s too strong for your nose. Let’s start hatching our plan at my house this afternoon. What do you say?” I shrugged. It sounded okay to me, but I had no idea what they were planning. “Schnoz, you’ll need a costume,” Mumps said. “All the greats have a mask, cape, tights, pointy boots, just like in our comic book.” “And a big Schnoz emblem plastered across the chest!” Jimmy added. “Let’s ask Vivian to design it,” I said. “She’s the best artist I know.” The guys all nodded in agreement. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and saw Vivian. She was sitting in the row behind ours. “I’ll do it,” she said. “And I won’t even charge you.” “Great,” said Jimmy. “My older sister wants to be a fashion designer. She showed me how to use her sewing machine. I can totally make your costume.” Super Schnoz—it was a great name for a comic book. Could it be a great name for a real superhero too? Could I save summer vacation for all my friends? How would I look in a cape and tights? I was about to find out.

Chapter 13

IT’S A BIRD…IT’S A PLANE…IT’S SUPER SCHNOZ!

Vivian’s design was perfect. It was a jet black, one-piece suit with a flowing blue cape and a big pair of black pointy boots. Her drawing looked just like me. She had a big nose in three-quarter profile splashed across the chest and the letters SS written on the back of the cape. “Are you sure you can make this, Jimmy?” Vivian asked. “No problem,” Jimmy said and went right to work. Jimmy wasn’t lying. He was a whiz with his sister’s sewing machine. In less than an hour, he had stitched together a cape and long sleeve shirt. The only things he couldn’t make were the tights. I acquired those compliments of his sister too. Jimmy swiped a pair of black dance pants from her dresser drawer. Since Vivian was the artist, painting the Super Schnoz emblem on the shirt was her responsibility. “The nostrils aren’t big enough,” TJ said. “You gotta make them huge.” “It’s not my fault,” Vivian fired back. “Schnoz keeps squirming around. Models are supposed to sit still.” I stopped fidgeting, turned profile, and took a deep breath. “Hurry up. Not moving is next to impossible.” Ten minutes later it was over. She had drawn a perfect image of my nose in profile on the shirt. “Schnoz, try on everything,” Vivian ordered.

I went into the bathroom and closed the door. The costume fit like a freshly laundered sock, from the black shirt and tights right down to the blue cape and Super Schnoz logo. But I refused to wear pointy black boots. My old sneakers would be just fine. “It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s Super Schnoz!” I cried and leaped from the bathroom, chest puffed out, nose held high. The guys and Vivian rolled on the floor, laughing so hard tears streamed down their cheeks. “Perfect!” TJ squealed. “Better than perfect,” Mumps said, “It’s Schnozalicious!” “Let’s go in my backyard,” Jimmy said. “I want to take some pictures.”

It was a sunny, breezy, chilly April afternoon. Wind whipped through the trees, showering us with fallen leaves. I didn’t have a jacket, but the black tights and cape kept me warm. “Stand next to the fence,” Jimmy said. “And pose like a superhero.” “What do you mean?” I said. “You know, stick out your arms like you’re ready to fly or something.” Mumps straightened out my cape. “It would be so awesome if you could really fly.” “Awesome for you, maybe,” I replied. “I’m afraid of heights. Just climbing the slide freaks me out.” I leaned over slightly and stretched my arms, nose pointing skyward. “How’s this for a pose?” Jimmy flashed me a thumbs-up and snapped some pictures. That’s when a huge gust of wind blasted through his backyard. The cold air shot up my nostrils and inflated them like two giant parachutes. My heart dropped into my stomach, my toes lifted off the ground, and my cape fluttered in the breeze. I was flying!

Chapter 14

THE NOT-RIGHT BROTHERS…AND VIVIAN

Well, I wasn’t really flying. I was floating, like a kite or hot air balloon. As the wind lifted me higher, I saw the inside of Jimmy’s second floor bedroom window, then the cracked tiles of his roof, the telephone wires, treetops. The town of Denmark stretched out below me like a miniature world. “Help!” I screamed. “Get me down from here!” A gigantic crow answered with a loud squawk. It flapped beside me then landed on the bridge of my nose. Something warm and wet dribbled down my cheek. Bird poop. The crow preened its feathers. One fell out and tickled my nose, and I sneezed. The expulsion of air was so powerful it propelled me halfway across town. And that’s how I learned to control my flight pattern. To fly faster, I inhaled and exhaled deeply from my nose. The harder I huffed the faster I flew. Landing was just as easy. When I wanted to descend, I closed one nostril with a finger, breathed very lightly, and drifted to the ground as daintily as a dandelion seed. “Schnoz…really…flying,” Mumps stammered when I landed back in the yard. “You really are a superhero,” TJ said, a hint of awe in his voice. “I am completely freaking out right now,” Vivian said. Jimmy tapped the big Super Schnoz logo on my chest. “You, my friend, are the

greatest thing since the Wright Brothers.” “More like the Not-Right Brothers,” I said. All four of them laughed at my joke. “Have you always been able to fly?” Mumps asked.

“Of course not,” I said. “The wind just inflated my nostrils and lifted me off the ground.” “Is this the first time your nose ever filled up with air and sent you into the sky?” Vivian asked. I nodded. What did she think? My snout was an alien ship from another planet or something? “Schnoz flew because of a very a basic scientific principal,” TJ said. “Warm air rises in cooler air.” “What makes you such an expert?” Jimmy asked. TJ grabbed a stick and drew a picture of a big balloon in the dirt. “My Uncle Grady is a hot air balloon fanatic. He told me all about how they work. Hot air is lighter than cooler air. Schnoz’s two massive nose holes are like mini hot air balloons. The cold air blew into his nostrils, warmed, and caused him to float. Simple.” “So you’re saying I’m some kind of human hot air balloon,” I said. “Exactly.” TJ said. “With your power to fly, we can be a famous crime-fighting team like the Fantastic Four. Solve mysteries and beat up bad guys.” “Super Schnoz and the Not-Right Brothers!” Jimmy howled. “You’re the superhero and we’re the team.” “Ahem,” Vivian grunted, clearing her throat. “I mean, Super Schnoz, the Not-Right Brothers, and Vivian.” “Awesome!” Mumps added. “We can work the computers and GPS satellites, and intercept and decode messages from our archenemy.” “But we don’t have an archenemy,” I said. Jimmy dropped his smile and stared at me.

“Whoever or whatever is causing that smell in our school is enemy number one as far as I’m concerned. If we don’t discover the source, say good-bye to summer vacation.” Jimmy was right. I had been planning my July odor tour for months. Summer school meant no new smells for my scent dictionary. “We have to lay down some ground rules first,” I said. “Like what?” TJ asked. “Like my secret identity. No one knows Clark Kent is Superman, Peter Parker is Spider-Man, or that Principal Krupp is Captain Underpants. My true identity must remain top secret or this whole thing will blow up.” “He’s right,” Jimmy said. “We have to promise never to reveal Schnoz as Super Schnoz or that we’re the Not-Right Brothers.” “Then we’ll need to disguise Schnoz’s nose,” TJ said. “People in town will take one look at that snout and recognize him right away.” Vivian paced around the yard, thinking. “Got it!” she exclaimed and raced to her house. She returned five minutes later, holding a bundle of feathers. “What’s that?” I asked. “It’s a Mardi Gras mask with a beak,” Vivian said. “My parents went on a trip to New Orleans last year. They brought home a bunch of masks as souvenirs.” The mask had red, green, and orange feathers with a large silver beak. Black feathers accented the eyeholes to make them stand out. “Try it on,” Jimmy said. I slipped the rubber bands over my ears and pulled the mask over my face. The beak fit perfectly over my nose while still leaving room to flare my nostrils for flight.

“I love it,” I said. “Awesome!” TJ squealed. “The beak totally disguises your nose. You can’t tell it’s you!” “You look like some freaky bird,” Mumps said. I took off the mask and pointed to the tip of my nose. The others bent over until all of our noses were touching. “On the count of three,” I said. “One, two, three,” “SUPER SCHNOZ!” we all screamed. The pact was complete. Our vow of secrecy sealed with a sniff.

Chapter 15

DISASTER SITE

The third week of April was Spring Break. That meant no classes for seven glorious days! Principal Cyrano wanted to cancel the break because of the school situation, but the teachers already had the time off written in their contract. Some kids went to special day camps at the YMCA for the week; others hopped on a plane for a Disney vacation with their parents. The Not-Right Brothers and I spent the time off riding our bicycles, casing Durante Elementary. Vivian couldn’t come because she had to visit her sick grandmother for a couple of days. We pedaled up and down the street, checking things out. I didn’t want to attract attention, so I didn’t wear my Super Schnoz costume. A tall metal fence topped with razor wire surrounded the school property. Armed men with snarling dogs guarded the place. We watched as a fleet of bulldozers, forklifts, backhoes, drilling machines, and other construction equipment so specialized we didn’t know what they were for ripped apart our school. Dozens of workers crawled around the school like a colony of ants. They wore hard hats and safety glasses, poring over construction blueprints. The sounds of jackhammers, loud whistles, and excavators blasted in our ears. We parked our bikes behind the baseball field across from the school. Jimmy brought a pair of binoculars so we could take turns spying on the action. “Seems like a lot of security and equipment just to uncover a bad smell,” I said. “You got that right,” Jimmy said. “What should we do?” Mumps asked. TJ pulled out his big camera with a long distance lens. “I need to get some

reconnaissance photos so we can study them later.” He spent the rest of the afternoon secretly snapping pictures of the school’s perimeter. The next day was the most dramatic of all. From our hiding place behind the baseball field, we watched a convoy of flatbed trucks loaded with hundreds of rubber hoses wheel into the parking lot. Then a bunch of oversized-load trucks carrying massive storage containers rumbled inside. “This is crazy,” I said. “Our school looks like a disaster site.” “Whatever’s inside must be really toxic,” Mumps said. I stood up, lifted my nose, and sniffed the air. “Something toxic or something fishy,” I said. “What do you mean?” Jimmy asked. “They have millions of dollars worth of equipment in there. And they’re employing dozens of construction workers and scientists. This is a huge operation—all to clean up a dinky elementary school in the middle of New Hampshire.” “Schnoz is right,” TJ said, snapping more pictures with his camera. I grabbed the binoculars and focused in on the school. I saw more trucks enter the grounds, followed by what looked like an army tank. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bicycle slowly pedaling down the street. I zoomed in for a closer look. “It’s Vivian,” I said out loud. “I thought she was still at her grandmother’s house,” Mumps said. I shrugged. “Maybe she came back early.” “What’s she doing?” Jimmy asked. “Just riding her bicycle slowly up and down the street by the school, the part that isn’t blocked off.”

A dog barked behind us, and a man’s gruff voice called out, “What are you kids doing here?” We turned and saw an ECU guard. He was dressed in an all-black security uniform, carrying a walkie-talkie and holding a snarling, vicious-looking rottweiler. “You kids don’t belong here,” the guard said. “We just came to play baseball,” I said. “This whole area is off-limits. Don’t you know there’s a dangerous odor coming from that school?” My friends and I just stood there, not knowing what to do. This was the chance I had been waiting for. I wanted to ask an ECU employee what was really going on inside our school. “Why do you need all those trucks?” I asked. “And what are those rubber hoses for?” “It’s none of your business!” the guard barked. “All you need to know is that we’re searching for toxic materials. Our number one concern is for your safety. Now get out of here before I turn my dog loose.” We packed up our stuff and high-tailed it out of there. None of us said a word until we were almost to Jimmy’s house. “That was close,” Mumps said. “What do we do now?” Jimmy asked. A park bench sat in a little patch of green space near Jimmy’s house. I plopped down and tried to take in the events over the last few weeks—the smell, the evacuation, the possibility of no summer vacation, our school that was now a disaster site. I was angry and knew that I had to do something about it. “We’re superheroes,” I said. “Let’s go back to our secret hideout and plan our attack.”

“But we don’t have a secret hideout,” Mumps said. “Then it’s time we got one.”

Chapter 16

THE NOSTRIL

Batman had the Bat Cave, the Fantastic Four had the Baxter Building, Super Schnoz, the Not-Right Brothers, and Vivian had the Nostril. It was really just an old shed in Jimmy’s backyard. After we hauled out all the bicycles, lawn stuff, and rusty gasoline cans, it became the nerve center of our mystery-solving, crime-fighting operation. Communication, comfort, and secrecy were of prime importance. The communication part came from four high-power walkie-talkies and TJ’s laptop with wireless Internet connection. Comfort came from some junky folding chairs and a stained, musty couch from Jimmy’s basement. Secrecy was a combination lock on the shed door to keep out nosy intruders. But there was a catch. Jimmy was the only one who knew the combination. That way if an evil villain captured any of us and slipped a truth serum inside our drink, only Jimmy would know the numbers. That’s why keeping Jimmy safe at all times was extremely important. Every morning we headed straight for the Nostril to plan our attack. TJ flipped open his laptop, connected his digital camera, and ed dozens of photos. “These are the reconnaissance photos I took of the school,” he said. “As you all know, ECU is guarding the place like Fort Knox. It’s going to be wicked hard getting inside without detection.” I carefully studied the photos.

“They’re hiding something,” Jimmy said. “I just know it.” “I agree,” Vivian said. “Why would there be such tight security if it was only a burst sewer line or a bunch of dead rats causing the smell?” That’s when I ed the conversation I’d heard on the day of the evacuation. “ I told you about sneaking back into the school the day of the smell?” I said. Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers nodded. “When I was hiding behind the copy machine in the teachers’ lounge, a man and woman came in and talked about gold mines under their feet and condemning the school. I didn’t pay much attention then because I was too worried about summer vacation.” “Who were they?” Mumps asked. “Not sure. I didn’t see their faces.” “Gold schmold,” Jimmy said. “I only care about discovering the source of that smell and reopening the school.” “Just look at these pictures,” TJ said. “It’s as plain as the nose on Schnoz’s face. We’re not walking through the front door.” I grabbed the mouse from TJ’s laptop and zoomed in on one of the photos. “Look closer,” I said. “There’s a glaring hole in ECU’s security.”

“Where?” Jimmy said. “I don’t see anything.” “What do you see on the roof?” “Nothing.” “That’s exactly the point. We’re not walking through the front door. I’m flying over the school and landing on the roof.”

Chapter 17

STORM CLOUDS

The next Saturday, Jimmy’s mom gave him permission to have a sleepover. We all brought our toothbrushes and pajamas, but no one was planning on getting much sleep. When night fell and Jimmy’s parents went to bed, Super Schnoz and the Not-Right Brothers flew into action. I tied my cape around my neck, slipped on the Mardi Gras mask, and met the guys inside the Nostril. TJ had his laptop open, checking out the weather and wind conditions for my midnight flight. “Where’s Vivian?” I asked. “She was supposed to sneak out and meet us.” “Maybe she got busted,” Mumps said. “We can’t wait for her,” TJ said. “The National Weather Service radar says a storm is approaching from the west. It will be here in two hours or so. What do you think, Schnoz?” “Two hours is plenty of time for me to land on the school and scope out the situation.” “There may be lightning. That could be extremely dangerous if you’re in the air.” “You could sizzle like a piece of bacon,” Mumps added. Jimmy closed the lid of the laptop, powering it down. “Forget about this stuff,” he said. “We have to do it tonight, storm and all. My mom only lets me have a sleepover once a month. We can’t wait another month to see what’s going on inside the school.”

“Schnoz might not be able to fly in severe weather conditions,” TJ argued. “What if he lands on the roof okay, then can’t lift off because of the rain? Or worse yet, the wind speed is so strong it blows him all the way to Boston.” I stepped outside, licked my finger, and held it in the air. “The wind feels like it’s blowing at around twenty miles per hour.”

TJ shot Jimmy a dirty look. “That’s exactly what the Doppler radar said on my computer before someone rudely shut it down. The closer the storm gets, the faster the wind. It could double and maybe even triple in velocity.” “He has to do it,” Jimmy pleaded. “There’s no choice.” I took a deep breath and stared into the night sky. Storm clouds billowed, erasing the stars and moon. The wind whipped through the trees. The mission would be dangerous, but our plan seemed solid. I turned to my comrades. “Let’s get this nose in the air, Not-Right Brothers,” I said, sliding a walkie-talkie into my belt. “We’re wasting precious seconds.” The boys moved into position inside the Nostril, TJ monitoring the weather and communications, Mumps and Jimmy waiting outside to see if I needed help with liftoff. I stood in the center of the lawn, away from the trees and house so nothing could interfere. A gust of wind shot in my direction. I inhaled deeply, and my nostrils flared like the wings of a giant prehistoric pterodactyl. I was off the ground, drifting effortlessly over the house, above the town of Denmark, toward the school. And that’s when I saw a UH-60L Black Hawk military helicopter, armed and dangerous, rise from a pad in the school parking lot making a beeline in my direction.

Chapter 18

DANG TURKEY BUZZARD

The Black Hawk was on me fast. It was so close I could see the whites of the pilot’s eyes. I plugged my right nostril with my finger and banked sharply to the left, bringing me within feet of the helicopter’s four-bladed rotating wings. Just as they were about to hack me to pieces, the helicopter turned suddenly to the right, missing me by inches. “Nothing but a dang turkey buzzard!” I heard the pilot yell above the whine of the wings, and the Black Hawk flew out of sight. A wave of relief swept over me. Thanks to the mask, the pilot had mistaken me for a bird. With the attack copter threat out of the way, I continued my descent to the school roof. The wind had picked up slightly and a light, misty rain began to fall. I lowered my nose, lifted my rear, and made a soft landing onto the asphalt roof. I plucked the walkie-talkie out of my belt and ed home base. “Nostril, Nostril, come in,” I whispered. “Super Schnoz has landed. Can you read me, Nostril?” “Reading you loud and clear, Super Schnoz,” TJ said on the other end. “I’ve landed undetected. How’s the latest weather report?”

“Not so good. Storm’s getting closer. Reports of damaging high winds and lightning.” “I’ll work fast. Over and out.” I hung up the walkie-talkie and assessed the situation. Armed guards with large dogs roamed the perimeter. Spotlights sliced the school grounds. I stumbled around in the wet darkness, searching for the roof hatch the custodian, Mr. Tobey, used when he worked on the roof. I didn’t get ten yards before I found it. I gripped the handle and tugged with all my might. It didn’t budge. Too bad my superpower wasn’t strength instead of smell. The only option was painfully clear: I’d have to risk scaling down the side of the building and finding a way inside from ground level. The rain came down harder. Lightning flared in the distance, followed by cracks of thunder. I moved to the edge of the building and looked down. A dog snarled and a harsh beam of a flashlight blinded me. I froze like a stone gargoyle, my cape fluttering in the wind. Two armed guards stared at me from below. “What’s that thing on the roof?” one of them called out. “Don’t know,” the other said, scratching his head. “Looks to me like a dang turkey buzzard.” “Shoo, you ugly bird, or I’ll sic my mutt on you!” The men laughed and disappeared around the side of the building. When everything was clear, I inflated my nostrils and wafted gently to the ground.

Chapter 19

THE GATES OF SMELL

I may have been a turkey buzzard on the roof, but on the ground I was just an eleven-year-old kid in a cape. Who knew what would happen if one of the guards busted me? I scurried along the side of the building, away from the dogs, guards, and spotlights, searching for a crack in their security. It didn’t take me long to find one. The door at the end of the first-grade wing that we used for recess didn’t shut properly. The latch always caught, leaving the door slightly ajar. Jimmy and I had discovered it one Saturday afternoon when we stopped by the school to collect some new smells for my scent dictionary. We had sneaked inside and roamed the empty school. I slowly creaked open the door and stepped inside. Instantly, the smell hit me like a rubber dodgeball in the face. It was strong, deliciously tantalizing. A wonderful combination of bad breath, poopy bathroom, body odor, and a million other stinky smells rolled into one. Loud footsteps echoed in my direction. I dashed inside Mrs. Ferotte’s room and hid behind her desk. The door opened, and I could smell wet dog and leather boots. It was a gas-mask-wearing guard. His German shepherd was panting heavily. I quickly started licking myself like a cat, trying to remove my scent so the dog wouldn’t pick it up. It worked. The classroom door shut, and the guard and his dog disappeared back down the hall. I crawled from my hiding place, my nose leading me in the direction of the smell. Although the scent permeated every crack and crevice of the school, I soon discovered the epicenter—the school gymnasium. A team of guards stood at each entrance, but I knew a different way. The stage

connected the music room and the gym, so I tiptoed toward the art and music hallway. There wasn’t a guard in sight, so I opened the music door and slipped inside. I peeked around the red velvet curtain. A huge pit spiraling deep into the earth had replaced the gym floor. Scientists wearing gas masks and white lab coats hovered like bees in a hive. Dozens of large hoses snaked into the pit, sucking out barrel after barrel of black, goopy liquid.

With every slurp of the hoses, the smell grew a thousand times more powerful. The black liquid was the source of the stink! I had to see what was inside the pit. Hanging on pegs to my right were several gas masks, security badges, clipboards, and white lab coats. I grabbed a set and slipped them on. I hid my Mardi Gras mask on the stage and pulled on the gas mask. An extra-large size barely fit over my nose. Pretending like I was scribbling stuff down on the clipboard, I walked over to the pit and peered inside. What I saw nearly blew my nose. The pit seemed bottomless. Flames crackled deep inside the core of the earth and gurgling, boiling black ooze simmered and popped in smoky stink bubbles. I shivered inside; my blood grew cold. It was like something from a horror movie—only this was real life. I knew without a doubt what terrible sight I was gazing upon. The Gates of Smell.

Chapter 20

MISSION STATEMENT

A bony finger tapped my shoulder. “You look lost. Are you one of the new scientists?” I turned to see one of the lab-coated scientists standing behind me. He was wearing a gas mask so I couldn’t see his face, but I recognized the voice. It belonged to the mysterious man from the teachers’ lounge the day we evacuated the school. “Uh…sure,” I muttered, lowering my voice to sound more grown-up. “Then you need to be in orientation. It’s in the school library. ECU policy forbids any new hires from the Pumping Floor without first having a thorough understanding of our operation. Understand?” “Sorry,” I mumbled then hurried down the hall before he noticed I was just a kid. I whisked past security and headed for the library. When I got there I didn’t recognize the place. Gone were the books, magazines, and computer terminals. Replacing them were Smart Boards and huge diagrams of Earth’s core and detailed maps of the school and town of Denmark. Several new scientists in white coats sat at worktables, fiddling with their pens, waiting for the meeting to begin. I grabbed the only empty seat next to a scientist who was only an inch or two taller than me and wearing a gas mask like everyone else. Long black hair stuck out from under the helmet.

A tall woman with short blond hair stood up from one of the tables and addressed the room. “I am Dr. Louise Buggingham,” she said. “ECU’s Senior Vice President of Scientific Study.” I instantly recognized the woman’s voice from when I had hid behind the copy machine the day of the evacuation. “You have been chosen for several reasons,” Buggingham continued. “For your impeccable scientific credentials, your commitment to ECU’s mission, and your ability to keep your mouths shut. This is a top-secret operation that will make us all very, very wealthy.” A ripple of excitement stirred through the crowd. I heard a scientist at another table hum the word ka-ching. The others stood and gave Buggingham a standing ovation—except for me and the scientist sitting next to me. Buggingham flicked on the Smart Board. ECU’s mission statement flashed on the screen. Our mission is to solve environmental problems with scientifically sound results and to maintain compliance that ensures the safety and health of all individuals.

I had heard this before. Their mission statement was exactly what an ECU representative told the reporter the day they evacuated us! “This is what we tell the general public,” Buggingham said. “But the following is what we tell ourselves behind closed company doors.” She pushed a button and a new paragraph popped up. Our mission is to locate the most polluted, vile environments on Earth and exploit those areas to make loads and loads of money no matter what the cost to public health and safety. Buggingham and the other scientists all laughed maniacally. The scientist next to me did the exact opposite. She smacked the palm of her hand on the table and groaned, the laughter in the room drowning out her obvious displeasure. “Sit back and relax,” Buggingham said. “I am going to show a brief film to inspire everyone for the important work that lies ahead.” She pulled down a large screen, the same one I used to watch documentaries on when we all went to school here. The lights dimmed. But before everything went completely black, the scientist beside me quickly lifted her gas mask and turned to me. “What took you so long to find a way inside?” My mouth dropped open; my nasal cavities gasped for air. It was Vivian.

Chapter 21

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES

“How’d you get inside?” I asked. “My mom just got a job at the catering company feeding this operation,” Vivian said. “They always deliver their breakfast food the night before. I ed that while I was waiting for my parents to crash. When I heard their snores, I snuck out, climbed into the back of a delivery truck, and hid inside a big tub of bagels. They just rolled me into the cafeteria.” “You were supposed to meet us at the Nostril tonight. We were worried about you.” Vivian shrugged. “My plan was better and much safer than flying onto the roof of the school. Where’s your bird mask?” “I hid it on the stage,” I answered. “ to go back and get it. We don’t want ECU to find it. Did you have any trouble getting inside?” “Not really. A couple guards saw me on the roof. They just thought I was a turkey buzzard and moved on.” “That means the costume I designed is working. It totally disguises your identity.” An ear-piercing wail of screeching filled the room. The movie screen went black and the lights turned back on. “It appears we’re having technical difficulties with the film,” Buggingham said. “I’ve just been told the school’s movie projection equipment is not working.

“Fine. I love to talk so I will explain our operation and your role in making it happen.” Vivian and I sat in stunned silence as Buggingham explained ECU’s true intentions for James F. Durante Elementary. The company’s hyper-spectral imaging and ground-penetrating radar discovered the most noxious, smelly substance on Earth—directly under our school. “The Gates of Smell.” I whispered in Vivian’s ear. Just like there are oil pockets all over the world, there are also smell pockets— stinky underground reservoirs of ancient, coagulated dinosaur poop. Combine this with the hot, Neolithic gases of caveman bad breath, fungus feet, and armpit odor, and it’s an ecological disaster waiting to happen.

That was exactly ECU’s diabolical plan. Their mission was to harness the Gates of Smell and pollute every city in the United States, starting with Denmark, New Hampshire. They, of course, would be the only company in the world with the expertise to clean up the mess and make trillions of dollars in the process. They called the goop gushing from our gym floor SPOIL—Strategic Pollution Originating Inside Layers. Vivian and I looked at each other, the same terrified expressions on our gasmask-clad faces. This meant this was no longer a battle for summer vacation. It was a war to save the world from ECU.

Chapter 22

SPOIL

Buggingham led us from the library to the Pumping Floor. Since I had seen it before, I knew what to expect. Vivian, on the other hand, was in for a complete shock. “I can’t believe that black goopy stuff is coming from the center of the earth,” Vivian said, a hint of awe in her voice. “It sure is,” I replied. “And if we don’t find a way to stop it, ECU is going to pollute the world.” “Gather around,” Buggingham ordered. “I want to introduce you to ECU’s owner, Dr. Milton Muzzle.” “Thank you, Dr. Buggingham,” Muzzle said. It was the man from the evacuation and the one who kicked me off the Pumping Floor earlier. I’d recognize his croaking voice anywhere. “As I’m sure you learned in orientation, this seemingly innocent elementary school gymnasium is ground zero of our operation,” Muzzle said and pointed toward the Gates of Smell. “Below our feet three miles into the earth’s core is where numerous extinct creatures went to the bathroom. A Jurassic outhouse, if you will, creating an endless supply of SPOIL to complete our work. “These hoses are pumping two hundred gallons of SPOIL per hour,” Muzzle continued. “They are then sent to hundreds of truck tankers, waiting for my order to pollute.” He glanced down at his watch. “We will be ready to launch our tankers in exactly seventy-two hours. The town of Denmark will be the first place in America to drown in SPOIL.”

The more Muzzle laid out his plan, the angrier I became. It was painfully clear. He had no intention of reopening our school. We had to do something fast—me, my nose, the Not-Right Brothers, and now Vivian. Vivian walked away from the Pumping Floor and looked out the window. After a moment, she motioned for me to her. “What is it?” I asked. “There’s our old gym floor,” she said. “They carved it up into four giant tiles. They stacked them outside like building blocks.” “What’s your point?” “Silly. If we can get rid of ECU, we can reseal the floor. They’d fit back just like puzzle pieces.” I shook my head. “Those sections of floor probably weigh a ton. How could we ever move them?” “That’s a big problem, but I’m sure your nose can figure something out.” Buggingham clapped her hands for everyone’s attention. “I have good news,” she said. “Technicians have created a SPOIL-free area in the school’s teachers’ lounge. We now have a place we can take off our gas masks without searing our lungs to shreds. Let’s assemble there in five minutes and discuss your duties further.” Muzzle, Buggingham, and the other new scientists made their way to the school library. Vivian and I didn’t budge. There was no way we could take off our gas masks. They’d discover we were kids right away. “What are we going to do?” Vivian asked. “I think we’ve done enough spying for the day,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.” “How? I can’t just slip back inside a dinner roll basket and hope they deliver me to my house. Guards and dogs are at every exit.” I lifted my gas mask and sniffed the air. SPOIL may have been dangerous for

mortal noses, but my sniffer found the aroma of decaying dinosaur poop deliciously alluring. I snorted deeper and caught a familiar scent. Mixed with the overpowering odor of SPOIL was a rotting pastrami sandwich with Swiss cheese and mustard on rye. It was Mr. Toby’s lunch. He ate pastrami every day, and he had probably left it sitting on his desk the day we evacuated the school. I ed the hatch, the one I couldn’t pull open on the roof. It dropped into Mr. Toby’s office. That meant it was locked from the inside. All I had to do was unlock the hatch and we’d be on the roof in seconds. “I know the way out,” I said. “Follow me.”

Chapter 23

BY THE SKIN OF MY NOSE

Vivian and I walked around the Pumping Floor toward the gym doors. Even with the overpowering stench of SPOIL, the smell of rotting pastrami was strong. I wanted to get to the custodian’s office and escape through the hatch before anyone got suspicious. But as soon as we stepped into the hallway, Buggingham stopped us. “You two are headed the wrong way,” she said. “The teachers’ lounge is in the hall opposite the Pumping Floor.” “Um…we were just going to use the bathroom,” I said, deepening my voice so she wouldn’t know I was a kid. “The one marked Teachers Only near the office. We didn’t want to use the one that’s for children.” “There are no children in this building anymore and there never will be again. There is a restroom in the teachers’ lounge. It’s in the SPOIL-free zone so you won’t have to wear masks. Follow me.” Vivian and I looked at each other. We had no choice. We had to follow Buggingham. The teachers’ lounge looked almost the same as before. There was a long table, a couch, a soda machine, and a row of shelves used for teachers’ mailboxes. Against a far wall was a large, brand-new air-purifying unit. The copy machine I had hid behind on the day of the evacuation was gone. ECU had replaced it with a massive one hundred and seventy-five inch CCTV security monitor that showed several different views of the school. Vivian stared at the screen. “They have every inch of the school covered with cameras. Look at the bottom right screen shot.”

I looked down and saw what she was talking about. ECU had placed a security camera inside the custodian’s office—right next to the roof hatch. The new scientists had gathered around the table, looking at top-secret files about the operation. I nonchalantly wandered over to the table, grabbed a folder, and shoved it down the front of my pants. “Take off your masks,” Buggingham told us. “The bathroom is through that door. Hurry—we’re discussing the Russian community of Nizhnevartovsk, where we first discovered SPOIL.” She then ed the other scientists at the table. Vivian and I were both desperate to breathe some fresh air, but there was no way we could take off our masks. “What do we do now?” Vivian asked. “Go to the bathroom,” I said. “Just like Buggingham said.” When I opened the door, Vivian hesitated. “But you’re a boy. We can’t go to the bathroom together. I rolled my eyes and dragged her inside. “Don’t worry. I won’t pee in front of you.” With the door closed and locked, we took off our gas masks. I inhaled a mighty snootful of air. “I can’t believe they actually had a mask big enough to fit over your nose,” Vivian said. “Forget my nose,” I said. “We have more important things to think about. Like how to get to the hatch without ECU finding out.” “From the looks of it, there’s only one thing we can do.” “Like what?” “Bust out of this bathroom and make a run for it.”

“Let’s do it,” I said. Vivian and I looked at each other nervously. We took a deep breath, pulled on our gas masks, and rushed out of the teachers’ lounge. Two guards marched down the hall, dogs at their sides. We brushed by them, heading toward the custodian’s office. We didn’t get fifteen feet before a familiar voice called out behind us. It was Buggingham again. “Where do you two think you are going?” she hollered. “Orientation isn’t over yet.” We ignored her and walked down the corridor as fast as we could. Buggingham shouted something to the guards. Within seconds, they were on our heels. “Halt!” the guards ordered. We quickened our pace to a dead sprint. I heard the snap of a chain and the sound of sharp nails scraping across the linoleum floor. The dogs were loose. A round of bullets whizzed over our heads, missing us by millimeters. “They’re shooting!” I cried out. Mr. Toby’s office was next to the kitchen at the far end of the school. We dashed past the cafeteria and dove into his office. There was the pastrami sandwich, moldy and festering with flies, sitting on his desk. A metal ladder led to the roof hatch. “You go first,” I said. “I’m right behind you.” The lock was an inside grab-handle. We gripped the long metal lever and pulled with all our might. The hatch popped open. “Up and out,” I said. “Hurry!” Vivian slipped through the opening and onto the roof. I was just about to follow her when something grabbed the heel of my shoe. I looked down and saw a vicious-looking rottweiler ripping at my sneaker.

I tried wiggling out of my shoe, but the laces were double-knotted too tight. The guards burst into the room. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” one of the guards yelled. My nose bumped into the drop ceiling. A cloud of dust wafted down and tickled the inside of my nostrils. My eyes felt watery; my mouth opened wide. I sneezed so hard a flood of snot blew from my honker. The dog whimpered and released its grip on my shoe. The guards were completely soaked in mucus. One of them aimed his rifle at me and fired, but the only thing that came from the barrel was a gurgle of green boogers. I slipped through the hatch and climbed onto the roof. Thunder boomed and lightning illuminated the night sky. The rain was showering down so hard I could barely see. “Vivian!” I shouted. “Where are you?” “Over here!” she hollered back. “Next to the solar s!” I rushed over and instructed her to climb onto my back. She hesitated. “Are you sure you can hold my weight?” A helmeted head popped out of the roof hatch. It was one of the guards. He had managed to free himself from my boogery quicksand. “It’s now or never!” I pleaded. “The guard is coming!” Vivian closed her eyes and hopped onto my back. She was holding onto me so hard I could feel her sharp fingernails digging into my skin. With a giant breath of air, I inflated my nostrils and flew us across town back to the Nostril. We had gotten away by the skin of my nose.

Chapter 24

NIZHNEVARTOVSK

By the time Vivian and I made it back to the Nostril, we looked like drowned rats. I peeled off my Super Schnoz costume and draped it over a chair to dry. After almost getting shot and having my shoe torn apart by a rottweiler, I thought the dangerous part was over. Then I had to fly though a torrential thunderstorm. The wind was so hard it nearly blew Vivian off my back. “You’re a little late,” Jimmy said when he saw Vivian. “Late for what?” Vivian asked. “The operation is already over,” TJ said. “Schnoz has been to the school and back again.” “Vivian was already waiting for me when I got there,” I said. “She found a way in by herself.” “What are you talking about?” Mumps asked. “Let me answer this,” Vivian said, and then explained about her mom’s catering company, hiding in a bucket of bagels, and disguising herself as a new scientist. Jimmy sat up, his cheeks red with anger. “You should have told us what you were doing. ECU could have caught you and blown our whole operation.” “I agree,” TJ said. “That goes for me too,” Mumps added. “Vivian,” Jimmy said. “You’re fired.”

Vivian’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean I’m fired?” “Don’t be silly, Jimmy,” I said. “We need her. She’s been inside the building and knows the layout.” “We can’t trust her. You heard it yourself. She’s sneaking around, doing her own thing. We have to be a team. For all we know, she’s a spy for ECU.” “I’m not a spy!” Vivian fired back. “I’m a part of the team. We need each other.” “ECU’s guards almost killed us,” I said. “Trust me. She isn’t working with them.” I spent the next twenty minutes filling them in on what had happened inside the school. As far as I was concerned, Vivian was already part of our team. Jimmy, TJ, and Mumps huddled in the corner, talking among each other, deciding what to do. We were a democracy, and I was only one vote. “Okay,” Jimmy said finally. “Schnoz, if you trust her then we will too. But she can’t just go wandering off by herself. I won’t be responsible for the safety of a defenseless girl.”

Vivian held up her fists. “I could beat you up easy. Stick ’em up!” “Stop it!” I hollered. “We can’t fight ourselves and ECU at the same time. Vivian and I have a lot more to tell you about what we discovered inside their operation. We only have sixty-seven hours to save our town. Let’s get to work.”

The morning sun had just peeked over the White Mountains when Vivian and I finished our briefing on ECU’s hideous plan, everything from SPOIL and the Gates of Smell to their planned environmental attack on the town of Denmark. “We have to defeat them,” Jimmy said. “I cannot—will not be sitting in Mrs. Field’s classroom come July.” “I second that,” TJ added. “I third it,” Mumps chimed. “Then what’s the plan?” Vivian asked. All eyes turned to me. I was the one with the superpowers. “The answer is simple,” I said. “We destroy ECU and seal the Gates of Smell forever.” “And how are we supposed to do that?” Mumps asked. The Top-Secret Report. I’d swiped it from the teachers’ lounge inside the school. It was still down the front of my pants. During the wet flight back to the Nostril, I’d forgotten all about it. I tugged it out of my underwear and laid it on the table. The folder was actually a book, bound in leather, with the words ECU—Commission on Takeover, Destruction, and Profit stamped across the front. “Maybe this can help us,” I said. “It’s a top-secret document I swiped from ECU.” We spent the next hour poring over the pages. The book was broken up into three sections. The first part was all technical—how to discover sources of SPOIL, and then the science of extracting it from the ground. The second part was just plain horrifying. It explained in gruesome detail about ECU’s first SPOIL operation in Northern Russia in a town called Nizhnevartovsk. I ed Buggingham mentioning that name in the teachers’ lounge before our escape.

ECU’s scientists had located a pocket of SPOIL underneath the city’s community center. Just like in our town, they unleashed a toxic smell. After convincing government officials they could clean it up, they took over the building and started pumping out barrels of SPOIL. When they had enough of the goopy, smelly liquid, they systematically saturated the town. The toxic substance destroyed entire neighborhoods, people lost their homes, and some lost their lives. ECU then swooped in like heroes, claiming they could clean everything up —for a hefty price. They had made twenty-seven million dollars on one little Russian town. “They could make twice as much in New Hampshire,” Vivian said. “America’s the richest country in the world.” “Probably five times,” Mumps added. “Turn to part three,” Jimmy said. “Let see what it has to say.” Part three was titled Denmark, New Hampshire. My stomach churned like I had just swallowed a hunk of moldy bologna. From the frightened looks on my friends’ faces, they felt the same way. Denmark was going to suffer the same fate as Nizhnevartovsk if we didn’t stop them. Just as Jimmy opened his mouth to comment, his mother hollered from the kitchen window. “Jimmy! Tell your friends it’s time to go home. Sleepover is officially over.” “Great,” Jimmy said. “Now what do we do?” “Let’s go home, get some rest, and make an appearance for our parents,” I said. “We’ll meet back at the Nostril at noon.” I opened the door to leave, and that’s when I realized I had forgotten my Mardi Gras mask back on the school stage.

Chapter 25

THE CAYENNE CANNON

I didn’t get back to the Nostril until almost twelve thirty. Vivian and the NotRight Brothers were waiting for me. They weren’t very happy. “You’re late, Schnoz,” Jimmy said. “Sorry,” I said. “My mom made me cut the lawn. I had to wait for the grass to dry out from last night’s storm.” Jimmy pointed to the clock on TJ’s laptop. “You’re the one who said we only had sixty-seven hours to save our town.” “Stop bickering,” Vivian said. “We have to concentrate on our game plan.” “But we don’t have a plan,” Mumps said. I retrieved my Super Schnoz costume from the back of a chair. “By the way, I forgot the Mardi Gras mask when we left the school last night,” I said. “Do you have another one?” “A mask is vital to keeping your identity a secret,” Vivian huffed. “Your nose is as recognizable in this town as the Old Man of the Mountain. Lucky for you my parents have a bunch of masks.” Vivian charged across the street to her house and brought back another mask. This one had all yellow feathers and a big yellow beak. Little black beads outlined the eyes. “I’m not wearing this,” I said. “I’ll look like Big Bird.” “Tough,” Jimmy said. “You should have thought about that when you lost the

other one.” “Take a deep breath, guys,” Vivian said. “I don’t care what the mask looks like as long as it disguises Schnoz’s nose. Let’s break down the operation, starting from the beginning. What should happen first?” “Sneak into the school without alerting the security guards,” said TJ. “Schnoz, you secretly fly us all on the roof and we’ll slip down the hatch,” Vivian said. “Sounds good in theory, Viv,” I said. “But I can’t just fly people one at time. It’s too dangerous, more chances of them spotting us.” “Then fly us all at once,” Jimmy said. “That way you only do one trip. I can make a harness with my sister’s sewing machine, one big enough to hold all four of us. Can you still get airborne will all the extra weight?” I nodded my nose. “As long as I have enough wind in my nostrils it shouldn’t be a problem.” “Good,” TJ said. “Issue solved. What’s next?” “We have to deal with all the security guards, vicious dogs, armored tanks, and attack helicopters,” Mumps said. The Nostril grew quiet. Sneaking into the school was easy, but battling dozens of armed guards with high-tech military equipment was another matter altogether. “What about pepper?” Jimmy said quietly. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “ when I wanted to get out of a pop quiz in Mrs. Field’s class? You snorted a few grains of pepper and sneezed so hard the fire alarm went off.” “The walls of the school actually shook,” Mumps added. “So, that’s your grand plan,” I said sarcastically. “You want me to snort some pepper, set off the fire alarms, and hope it scares away the bad guys. That’s a

ridiculous idea.” “I think it’s a fabulous idea!” Vivian exclaimed. “But instead of using plain black pepper, Schnoz uses cayenne pepper.” “What’s cayenne pepper?” Jimmy asked. “It’s super hot, a hundred times more powerful than black pepper. My dad loves spicy food. He uses the stuff to make five-alarm Buffalo wings. If just a little bit of wimpy black pepper can make the walls of the school shake, just imagine what a whole jar of cayenne can do.” I paced around the room, index finger tapping my chin, thinking. Vivian was onto something. The sneeze that set off the fire alarm was powerful, kind of like a firecracker going off inside my nose. If the cayenne pepper was a lot stronger it could be like a… “A cayenne cannon!” Vivian shouted, as if reading my mind. “Those tanks, guards, and helicopters won’t stand a chance!” Everyone cheered. We were all excited to invade the school and blow ECU to kingdom come. Twenty minutes later, after a quick stop at Vivian’s house to raid her cupboards of cayenne, we were standing in the middle of the Denmark Auto Salvage Yard. There were piles of junked cars and trucks as far as the eye could see. Vivian pulled out a huge jar of cayenne pepper. “Let’s have a test,” she said. “Snort some of this, point your nose at one of those wrecked eighteen-wheelers, and see what happens.” Everyone stood back for safety. I held the jar in front of my nose and huffed with all my breath. The sting of the pepper hit me instantly. It felt like a million tiny razor blades were shooting up my nasal cavity. Then it happened.

A sneeze blasted out of my nose so hard it split the truck in half and sent the pieces flying across the salvage yard. Vivian grabbed the jar of cayenne from my hand and gave me a huge hug. “You did it, Schnoz! You’re going to save our town!”

WARNING! Unless your nose has been genetically mutated, DO NOT inhale pepper to make a cayenne cannon. It can be very dangerous for normal humans!

Chapter 26

THE BATTLE BEGINS

The harness Jimmy sewed together worked great. He even decorated it with a bunch of feathers to make it blend with the turkey buzzard appearance. The lift was rough at first because of the extra weight. TJ, Mumps, and Vivian were fine, but Jimmy’s chunky behind weighed a ton! After a couple false starts, I managed to get enough wind in my nostrils and soar into the clouds. The sky was dusky, teetering on the edge of day and night. Two guards now patrolled the roof—probably because of my escape with Vivian the night before. Fortunately, they were on the far side of the school nowhere near the hatch. The guards easily saw me floating in the air, but they didn’t give me a second glance. They must have thought we were nothing but a fat turkey buzzard. Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers cautiously crawled from the harness. I unhooked the straps around my back. We were ready for action. “You’re going to need these,” Vivian said, handing me six large jars of cayenne pepper. I stuffed the weapons into my utility belt and led everyone to the roof hatch. “I hope the guards forgot to lock this last night,” I said and then tugged the handle. It popped right open. Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers disappeared down the hatch. We had everything planned out. My job was mostly on the outside, disposing of the heavy armor positioned around the school grounds. Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers’ work was on the inside, figuring out how to sabotage the Pumping Floor operation and stop the flow of SPOIL. I crept along the edge of the school, assessing the scene. Dozens of armed guards

with dogs ringed the perimeter. The attack helicopter sat on its pad like a giant dragonfly. Ten M172 armored flamethrower tanks were poised ready and willing. Another dozen or so Stryker ground combat vehicles rounded out the enemy defenses. Fighting them would be extremely dangerous. I prayed I had enough cayenne ammo to finish the job. Just as I was about to fly off the roof, a bullet whizzed past my ear. “Darn it!” yelled a guard on the ground below me. “Missed that bird by a feather!” Another guard yanked out his weapon. “Watch this, Ernie. I’m an expert turkey buzzard hunter. I’ll bring that mangy thing down in one shot.” He aimed and fired. The shot missed, but just barely. It nearly took off my beak. The battle had begun. I grabbed a cayenne jar from my belt, sniffed, and sneezed right at them. The force knocked the guns out of their hands and blew them across the road into the baseball field.

The commotion alerted the flame-throwing tanks. I flew to the ground, took a quick snort of pepper, and knocked out eight of them right away. The last two were on me fast, red-hot flames puffing from their barrels. Before I could react to the tanks, the Stryker combat vehicles were on the move. In a matter of seconds, they had me surrounded. I breathed in some more pepper and took out half the Strykers and another tank. Their metal armor exploded into a thousand scraps, scattering all over the playground. The last flame-throwing tank raced in my direction. As I sneezed, the tank fired. My cayenne blast and the tank’s scorching flames collided together. The explosion of heat was so blistering it melted the tank and the rest of the Strykers like crayons inside a microwave. My nose hairs were singed, and my cape was on fire. I hit the ground, rolling around to put out the flames. Ground troops raced in my direction. I grabbed a jar of cayenne and started to sniff. That’s when a voice rang out over a loudspeaker. “Super Schnoz, stand down your nose!” It was Muzzle. I recognized his voice instantly. “How do you know my name?” I cried, taking a big whiff of more pepper. “I know because your friends told me. They are now my captives. Stand down or you will never see them alive again!” I stopped sniffing. My heart raced with panic. “What are you talking about?” “We have captured your accomplices. Listen to this.” Jimmy’s small, terrified voice came over the loudspeaker. “It’s true, Schnoz. They captured us all. Muzzle said if you don’t surrender, he’s going to throw us into the Gates of Smell.”

Every olfactory receptor in my nasal cavity urged me to fight on. I wanted to sneeze ECU’s army back to the Stone Age, but I couldn’t risk my friends’ lives. If Muzzle was evil enough to pollute every city in America, he would have no problem throwing kids into a pit of dinosaur poop. I dropped my cayenne, raised my nose in the air, and surrendered.

Chapter 27

INTERROGATION

A gang of armed guards tied my hands behind my back and led me into the school. They marched me past the main office and into the school library. I saw Jimmy, Mumps, and TJ tied to chairs, but I didn’t see Vivian anywhere. My friends weren’t wearing gas masks, so ECU must have made the library a SPOIL-free zone just like the teachers’ lounge. One of the guards shoved me into a seat beside Jimmy. He held up a pair of scissors. “One sniff out of you, Super Schnoz, and I’ll snip off that snout quicker than you can say nose hair. Got it?” I nodded. The guard stuffed the scissors into his belt and walked away. When he was out of earshot, I whispered to Jimmy, “Where’s Vivian? Are they interrogating her?” “They didn’t catch her,” Jimmy said. “They think we’re the only ones. As far as I know, she’s still roaming the school trying to figure out a way to sabotage the flow of SPOIL.” I let out a huge sigh of relief. At least they didn’t get us all. The door opened and in walked a man and woman. I overheard a guard address them as Dr. Buggingham and Dr. Muzzle. I could finally see their putrid faces. Buggingham was tall and young. Her skin was as white as a snowball and her eyes were like two sky-blue marbles. Muzzle looked the exact opposite. He was old and wrinkly, with a fake, dark tan and unnaturally white teeth that could probably glow in the dark. “Well, it appears we have found your weakness, Super Schnoz,” Muzzle said, an evil grin plastered across his face. “Friendship.”

“What are you going to do with us?” I barked at him. “You’ll know in due time. But first we need to pump some information from you boys.” “Who else knows about our operation in the school?” Buggingham interjected. “Nobody,” Jimmy said. “It’s just us.” Buggingham gritted her teeth and tweaked Jimmy’s earlobes. “I wasn’t talking to you! I was asking Super Schnoz.” “The whole world knows about it,” I said. “Homeland Security will be here any moment so you better let us go.” Muzzle threw back his head and laughed. “My dear Super Schnoz, you not only have an exceptionally large nose, but also an exceptionally large imagination. To the outside world, ECU is a heroic savior of the environment. A few months ago I received a medal as a Hero of the Russian Federation from their president. We saved the town of Nizhnevartovsk from an environmental disaster.” “You didn’t save anybody from anything! I know what you did. You polluted the town on purpose. Most of those people lost everything, and some lost their lives!” “And you will lose your life too,” Buggingham said. “Right after we get some information.” Muzzle pulled a bird mask with a large beak from a paper bag. I recognized it instantly. It was the one I had forgotten on the stage. “One of my guards found this,” Muzzle said, stroking the feathers. “At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. We had emptied the school of nearly everything, so I figured our men had overlooked it. But now I know perfectly well this mask is yours, isn’t it, Super Schnoz? It was you and one of your friends who posed as scientists and then escaped through the roof hatch. How did you breach our security? It’s the most sophisticated in the world.”

“I’m not telling you anything!” I spit at him. Muzzle yanked off the mask I was wearing. He gently rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Fascinating,” he said. “You’re just a dim-witted juvenile like the rest, probably a student here. I think we are going to keep you alive for a while, my nosy friend. We may have some use for this lethal appendage of yours.” Just then the library door flew open. A scientist wearing a gas mask and white lab coat burst into the room. “Dr. Buggingham, Dr. Muzzle,” the scientist said, “we need you on the Pumping Floor. There’s an emergency.” “Come with us, guards. These insurgents aren’t going anywhere,” Buggingham said as she, Muzzle, and our guards slipped on gas masks and rushed out the door. The scientist didn’t budge. She just stood at the doorway, staring at us, and then took off her gas mask. “Vivian!” I cried out. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

Chapter 28

FREE SODA

“Quick!” I ordered. “Untie us before they come back!” Vivian rushed over and loosened our bonds. “They knotted those ropes so tight it was cutting off my circulation,” Mumps said, massaging his hands. “Me too,” TJ added. “I thought my arms were going to fall off.” I peered out the library door. The hallway was clear, but I knew it wouldn’t be for long. “Throw on these gas masks,” I said. “We have to get moving before they come back.” “Aren’t you going to wear one too?” Jimmy asked me.

I picked my Mardi Gras mask off the floor and pulled it over my nose. “This is the only mask I need. Besides, I want to smell their fear when we come to destroy them.” Vivian handed me the last jar of cayenne and led us down the hallway. Two guards tried to stop us near the nurse’s office, but I quickly put them away with a peppery sneeze. A sharp pain sliced inside my right nostril. I reached up, rubbed my nose, and felt something warm and wet. Blood. “You have a nosebleed,” Vivian said, a look of concern washing across her face. I knew right away it was from the cayenne pepper. The stuff must have been eating away the lining of my nasal ages. “I’m fine,” I said. “We have to keep moving.” Down the hall, outside the Pumping Floor, I heard Buggingham’s voice. “There’s nothing wrong here,” she said. “Hurry, let’s get back to the interrogation.” “Follow me,” Vivian whispered. “I found what we need to put those poop slurpers out of commission forever.” We dashed through the cafeteria, heading to the teachers’ lounge. The room was exactly as I ed it, from the air-purification unit to the one-hundredand-seventy-five-inch CCTV security monitor. Next to the air-purification unit was a vending machine stuffed with soda. “Grab as many cans of soda as you can carry,” Vivian instructed. “We’re going to dump them into the computers that control the flow of SPOIL. Sugar water and motherboards don’t mix.” “But the sign says it costs a dollar a can,” Jimmy said. “We don’t have any money.” “Teachers don’t have to pay for soda,” Vivian said. “It’s written in their teaching

contract.” “Then I want to be a teacher when I grow up!” Mumps gushed. We pushed the vending machine buttons. Out flew can after free can of soda— orange-flavored, grape, lemon, lime, cherry, cream, root beer. “They set up the computers in the gym equipment storage room,” Vivian said. “That’s right next to the Pumping Floor. The door is heavily guarded and locked at all times.” “How do we get inside?” Jimmy asked. “Leave that up to me,” I said. “You guys wait here. When you hear me sneeze and things start exploding, that’s your cue to rush into the computer room and drown those babies.” “There’s only one jar of cayenne pepper left,” Vivian said. “What if you run out?” I stepped over to the window and looked out. It was dark, but I knew from memory what was there—the kickball diamond, the playground, soccer field, basketball court, parking lot—places that were now infected with ECU’s greedy disease. “I won’t run out,” I said. “And even if I do, my nose will shrivel up and rot before I allow Muzzle and his minions to pollute our town.” I raced out of the room straight into the stinky rump of the beast.

Chapter 29

THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL

The stinky rump of the beast was a crater-sized hole in the center of our gym floor. I tilted back the jar of cayenne pepper, inhaled deeply, and nearly ed out on the floor. The pain was excruciating. It felt like my nose was on fire. Drops of blood soaked the front of my Super Schnoz costume, but I had to keep moving. It didn’t take long for me to find trouble. Buggingham and Muzzle had discovered our escape and sent out an alert. I was a marked nose. Every ECU employee on school grounds was on the lookout for me and my friends. Four rifle-toting guards confronted me in front of my old classroom. “Ah…choo!” I fired, sending out a lethal, bloody snotball that knocked the guards off their feet. More of the enemy raced in my direction. I sneezed my way closer to the Pumping Floor; each pepper-spiced booger bomb was like a razor blade ripping the inside of my nose. Guards collapsed to the left and right of me, others went sailing through the gym doors and into the parking lot. I checked my ammo— only two tablespoons left. I was saving those for Buggingham and Muzzle. By the time I made it to the Pumping Floor, the rest of Muzzle’s men had abandoned the operation. At the mere sight of my nose, they dropped their weapons and high-tailed it off school grounds. The only thing left to do was to figure out a way to get the gym floor back in place and seal the Gates of Smell.

But Muzzle had other plans. A girl’s frightened voice screamed out from behind me. I turned and saw the aging polluter with Vivian in his grasp. I reached for the last of my cayenne pepper. Muzzle rushed toward the Gates of Smell, tugging Vivian along with him. When he got to the edge of the pit, he dangled her over the side. “One sniff closer, Super Schnoz, and the girl dives into the stinky abyss!” Muzzle screamed at me.

I stopped dead in my tracks. He had me. There was no way I would ever risk Vivian’s life—even if it meant going to school all summer. “You’re a fool, my nosy friend!” Muzzle cackled. “Did you really think you could stop me? Now, I want you to raise your nose in the air and back slowly away from the Pumping Floor.” I hesitated, not knowing what to do. “Do it!” Muzzle hollered. “Or the girl goes into the pit!” The sound of a helicopter’s rotating wings blasted my ears. The noise was so loud I could barely make out Muzzle’s words. I turned and saw an attack helicopter piloted by Buggingham hovering outside the gym doors. A rope ladder lowered to the ground. “Back away,” Muzzle warned. I did as he ordered, moving slowly toward the far end of the gym. “Hurry, Milton!” I heard Buggingham shout through the whine of the helicopter. A computer voice rang out from an intercom system, “Building will detonate in three minutes and fifty-five seconds.” “What was that?” I shouted. Muzzle cackled and dangled Vivian farther over the pit. “Did you really think you could defeat me, Super Schnoz? We have programmed the computers to self-detonate in exactly four minutes. This whole school will blow to smithereens. SPOIL will spew everywhere and flood the streets of Denmark. And guess what? My company will be back to clean it up just like in Russia!” Muzzle flung Vivian with all his might, sending her on a downward spiral into the Gates of Smell.

Chapter 30

FREEFALL

Muzzle ran to the dangling rope ladder, grabbed hold, and lifted off with his accomplice into the night sky. I raced to the pit, plunging nose first into the Gates of Smell. My stomach heaved into my throat. My cape whipped around my face, temporarily blinding me. When I could finally see, I glimpsed Vivian just ahead, free-falling toward the nastiest, smelliest, gooiest, most foul substance the world has ever known. With a flight trick I learned from watching a documentary about red-tailed hawks, I pinned my arms to my sides, positioned my body at an angle, and dove at breakneck speed. I didn’t know how far the Gates of Smell spiraled into the earth’s core, but I knew my friend was a goner if she fell directly into a pocket of greasy SPOIL. “Help me, Schnoz!” I heard Vivian scream in the darkness. I was close, very close. A flame shot out from the side of the pit, illuminating the gloom. There she was, a few feet from me. I reached out. Our fingers touched. I clamped down harder, grabbed her elbow, and pulled her into my chest. She clung to me like a frightened baby chimp. “We’re going to die,” Vivian whimpered. I knew from reading ECU’s Top-Secret Report that SPOIL had the consistency of quicksand. If Vivian and I landed in it, we’d drown for sure. I tried inflating my nostrils to float us to the surface, but the pain was too much. Every time I took a deep breath, the scabs forming inside my nose burst open. Blood and mucus dripped from my nose like a leaky faucet. My super schnoz was useless.

The bottom of the hole lay below us just a few hundred feet away. The Gates of Smell was more hideous than I had ever imagined. Bubbling, crackling, oozing, ancient poop, the smell was almost too much even for my well-seasoned honker. The cayenne. Another sniff would probably kill me, but I had no choice. It was our only chance. I managed to twist off the lid and inhale the last two tablespoons of pepper. A stab of skull-splitting pain sliced through my nasal cavity. “Owww!” I cried out. The sting was so intense it felt like someone had just smacked me in the face with a concrete block. I sneezed with all my might. Snot mixed with blood and boogers blasted from my wounded nose. The mucus splashed into the pit of SPOIL. The goop fizzed and smoked, gurgling like a fire-breathing dragon ready to swallow us whole. “What’s happening?” Vivian asked. “It’s some weird chemical reaction between my snot and SPOIL!” I said. “Brace for impact!” Just as we were about to plunge into SPOIL, a huge air bubble the size of a swimming pool formed on its surface. We collided against the bubble and it popped, releasing a rush of disgusting, stinky, poopy air. The rush of foul wind inflated my nostrils like two balloons. The pain made me cry out in agony, but I didn’t care. Vivian and I were drifting upward on a breeze of old dinosaur poop!

We blasted from the pit so high we nearly hit the gym roof. Everything was soaked with SPOIL, but we didn’t care. We were smelly but safe. It was such a thrill to be on solid ground, I nearly forgot about Muzzle’s plan to blow up the school and flood SPOIL into our town. Fortunately, Jimmy, Mumps, and TJ were right on task. As Vivian and I sat there soaked in slimy SPOIL, the Not-Right Brothers went to work. They peeled open can after can of sugary soda and poured the contents over ECU’s main computer. The computer voice from the intercom counted down the moment of detonation. Twenty…nineteen…eighteen…seventeen…sixteen… “Hurry, you guys!” I pleaded. “We’re running out of time!” “We’re going as fast as we can!” Jimmy yelled back. The remaining seconds flew past like the flick of a booger. The boys had soaked the entire computer system. So much that they were standing ankle-high in a puddle of pop. Five…four…three…two…one… I lowered my head, shielded Vivian with my cape, and awaited the explosion. The only thing that blew up was the computer system. “We did it,” Vivian said, exhausted from her ordeal. “We saved the town.” Jimmy cracked open a can of soda and took a huge swig. “And we saved summer vacation,” he added.

Chapter 31

SUMMER VACATION

An announcement came over the PA system as we sat in Mrs. Field’s room, cleaning out our desks. It was Principal Cyrano, wishing us a fun and safe summer vacation. “This has certainly been a challenging year for all of us,” The principal said. “After all the problems we had in school with the odor and our first environmental cleaning company quitting and leaving us with a huge mess, we should all be very proud of our patience. And we only had to be in school until June twenty-fourth!” The kids in Mrs. Field’s class cheered and pumped their fists in the air. “ECU didn’t quit,” Jimmy said to me. “We kicked them out.” “It stinks that only the five of us know the truth,” Mumps said. “We’re heroes,” TJ added. “Our faces should be plastered all over the news. The principal should pin us with medals. Marvel should make a comic book —Super Schnoz and the Not-Right Brothers!” “Don’t forget me,” Vivian said, clipping a purple hair extension to her ponytail. “I’m the brains of this operation.” “Sorry,” TJ said. “Super Schnoz, the Not-Right Brothers, and Vivian.” Some recognition sounded good to me. Kids had been teasing me about my honker since nursery school. It was about time they saw the real me. I was no longer just a kid with a big nose ripe for mockery. I had a mission—to fight evil and boldly smell where no kid has smelled before!

“I vote we tell everybody,” Jimmy said. “Schnoz, put on your costume and fly over the school. After that, rip up the gym floor and show everyone the Gates of Smell. Then the world will know the real story about ECU.” Vivian snatched my backpack away before I could grab the cape and Mardi Gras mask. “You guys can’t be serious,” she said. “I thought you were just joking around.” “It’s no joke,” Mumps said. “We deserve some credit.” “And a medal from Principal Cyrano,” TJ chimed in. “If you breathe one word of Super Schnoz’s true identity or what happened inside this school, not only are our lives in danger but also the lives of our friends and family.” “Don’t be a drama queen,” Jimmy said. “Was I being a drama queen when Muzzle threw me into the Gates of Smell? I’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for Schnoz.” We all grew silent. The lure of fame and fortune was strong, but deep down I knew we had to keep everything a secret. “Vivian’s right,” I said. “Muzzle and Buggingham are still on the loose. They’ve seen our faces. If we start blabbing, they’ll know our names too.” “And they’ll know exactly where to find us,” Vivian added. “ECU will be out for revenge.” The Not-Right Brothers reluctantly gave in and we vowed to keep my identity and our operation top secret. When the end-of-school buzzer rang, I cleaned out my locker and said my goodbyes. Vivian was off to guitar camp, TJ to Camp Noogiewagga, Mumps to Cape Cod, and Jimmy to Mt. Washington with his dad. I hopped on my bike and pedaled toward the outskirts of town. My smell tour was already behind and I wanted to get sniffing. My first stop was the town dump. It was a potpourri of scents. But when I got there, nothing seemed to

excite me. Rotting garbage, smoldering car tires, and decaying rat carcasses held little fascination after inhaling the odors locked inside the Gates of Smell. In the distance, I heard the familiar whine of helicopter wings. It may have been Muzzle and Buggingham coming back for more or it may have been the local TV news helicopter.

I reached inside my backpack, threw on my Super Schnoz cape and Mardi Gras mask, and took a big whiff of cayenne pepper. With one nostril open for trouble, I wasn’t about to take any chances.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2013 by Gary Urey Illustrations copyright © 2013 by Ethan Long

978-1-4804-4958-9

Published in 2013 by Albert Whitman & Company 250 South Northwest Highway, Suite 320 Park Ridge, Illinois 60068 www.albertwhitman.com

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Super Schnoz and the Invasion of the Snore Snatchers

Greg Urey

Pictures by Keith Frawley

Albert Whitman & Company Chicago, Illinois

For MJ, Gary Sr., and Don—G.U.

Big honking thanks to Michnelle, Genevieve, Rachel, and Kaelin. Without you, life would STINK!—K.F.

CHAPTER 1

WEAKNESS

Every superhero has a weakness,” TJ blurted out one day while Vivian, Jimmy, Mumps, and I were sitting inside our secret hideout, the Nostril. The morning sky was bright blue and the air was already hot and sticky. Summer vacation was almost over. My friends were back from their camps and my smell tour of the surrounding countryside was an amazing success. I had added sixtyfour new odors to my scent dictionary and managed to go the whole summer without getting sunburn on my nose. (My mom had stocked up with several hundred gallons of SPF 500 sunscreen.) “What weaknesses are you talking about?” I asked TJ. “You know, like how Kryptonite makes Superman shrivel like a worm on sizzling asphalt.” “And how Aquaman turns belly up if he’s out of water for more than sixty minutes,” Mumps added. “Don’t forget Wolverine,” Jimmy said. “The Muramasa Blade completely destroys his self-healing powers.” Vivian, who had been playing with her pet gecko, Mr. Sticky, looked up. “That’s nothing,” she said. “What about Janet van Dyne—aka the Wasp?” “What about her?” Jimmy asked. “Her weakness is the Blob, who ate her in Ultimatum, Issue Two, and then remarked she tasted like chicken!” For the next ten minutes, Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers argued back and

forth about which superhero had the weirdest weakness: Thor letting go of his hammer for more than one minute; Venom, Spider-man’s nemesis, and his vulnerability to extreme heat; Power Girl’s negative reaction to natural elements; and the Green Lantern’s strange aversion to the color yellow.

While my friends jabbered away, I reached up and grabbed my Super Schnoz costume off its hanger. I took a huge whiff of the fabric. The tantalizing odors of my last Super Schnoz adventure made the hairs inside my nose tingle. Even though it had been two months since our battle with ECU, I still smelled the rancid odor of burning Stryker combat vehicles, the pungent pastrami sandwich rotting away on Mr. Toby’s desk, and the disgusting fragrance of Muzzle’s aftershave lotion—an astringent mix of rubbing alcohol and menthol. But most of all, my ultrasensitive, bloodhound-like scent membranes inhaled the nasty nasal sensations of the Gates of Smell. “What’s your weakness, Schnoz?” TJ asked. I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe it’s cayenne pepper. Snorting six bottles of the stuff nearly burned away my nasal lining.” “Cayenne pepper isn’t your weakness,” Mumps joked. “It gives you power the way rays from the sun fuel Superman’s superhuman hearing, strength, and X-ray vision!” Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers cracked up. “Don’t worry,” Vivian reassured me. “I know that stuff wasn’t good for your nose. Hopefully, you’ll never have to arm yourself with cayenne pepper again. But if you do, you need to carry a spray bottle of saline solution to moisten the inside of your nasal ages after every blast.” “Schnoz will need more than a spray bottle to moisten that huge honker!” TJ squealed. “He’ll need a whole tanker truck full of the stuff!” “Very funny,” I said sarcastically. “If it wasn’t for my nose, you’d be floating downstream on a smelly river of SPOIL. ECU would have destroyed our school, town, and possibly the entire world.” Vivian gently picked up Mr. Sticky, placed him back inside his plastic minirainforest habitat, and closed the lid. “I don’t know Schnoz’s weakness, but I know the town’s weakness. And it has nothing to do with sniffing pepper,” she said.

I shot Vivian a confused look. “What are you talking about?” She wiggled her finger, indicating I should follow her. “Let’s go for a ride,” she said. “The evidence is right under your nose in downtown Denmark, and you’re not even aware of it.”

CHAPTER 2

CUP OF JOE

Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and I hopped on our bikes and cruised down the street. There’s no way my nose could have missed something. After all, my greatest strength was the mighty booger blaster in the center of my face. The protruding proboscis had the power of flight and was capable of delivering a pepper-crusted snot missile so powerful that it could destroy a whole fleet of armored tanks. (Just ask the losers at ECU!) Tall mountains surrounded the town of Denmark on all sides. The downtown area consisted of Main Street and a few smaller side lanes. I had explored all of them while searching out new smells for my mental scent dictionary. Vivian’s bike brakes squealed to a halt in front of Sleepy Joe’s Coffee Shop. “What are we stopping here for?” Jimmy asked. “Look around, Schnoz,” Vivian instructed. “Tell me what you see.” I scratched the tip of my nose, wondering what point she was trying to make. “I see a coffee shop and a bunch of stores,” I said. “I see the same thing,” Jimmy said. “Okay. Then tell me how many coffee shops you see?” TJ started counting. “One…two…three…six…ten…eleven…twelve. There are twelve coffee shops on Main Street.” “Schnoz, when you moved here last September at the beginning of the school year, there were two coffee shops in town,” Vivian said. “Since then, ten new ones have opened up. Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”

I shrugged. “People just like their cup of morning joe, that’s all.” Vivian let out an exasperated sigh. “Ugh! Then please tell me the names of some other businesses besides coffee shops.” “The Soundproofing Emporium,” I said. “And the White Noise Outlet,” Jimmy said. “Ear Plugs ‘R’ Us and the Earthquake Emergency Bargain Bin,” Mumps added. “Don’t forget about the North American Seismological Laboratory that just moved into the old toothpick factory,” TJ chimed in. “What’s that place all about?” Mumps asked, wiggling his loose bottom tooth. “I don’t even know what ‘seismological’ means.” “Seismology is the study of earthquakes,” Vivian replied. Then she turned to me and pointed to the shoppers strolling down Main Street. “Take a look at those people’s faces,” she said. “What do you see?” I flared my nostrils and then took a good look at them. They were grown-up men and women. They all looked exhausted with big bags under their eyes. “They look like they haven’t slept in weeks,” I said. “Exactly!” Vivian exclaimed. “And what would cause people to not sleep?” I just stared at her, not knowing how to respond. “Noise!” Vivian yelled. “Loud racket in the middle of the night that keeps people up. That’s why there are so many new coffee, ear plug, and soundproofing places in town.” “What’s your point?” I asked. Vivian stepped up to me and tapped the end of my nose. “You are my point,” she said. “Schnoz, you are the world’s loudest snorer! You are the reason people aren’t getting enough sleep! Every night the power of your snoring causes a small earthquake that s a 4.5 on the Richter scale, and it’s getting worse.

Why do you think a scientific laboratory that studies geological disturbances moved to town?” “I’ve never once heard myself snore!” I fired back. “No one hears themselves snore because they’re asleep when it happens,” TJ said. “Um…Vivian’s right, Schnoz,” Jimmy said. “You do have a bit of a snoring problem.” “If I’m such a loud snorer,” I said, “then why didn’t someone tell me a long time ago? Or when my family first moved here?” Vivian, Mumps, TJ, and Jimmy stared at the ground, like they were ashamed to answer my question. “Because your snoring has become the town’s cash cow,” Vivian said finally. “If it wasn’t for your snoring,” Jimmy said. “Main Street would look like a ghost town with abandoned shops and boarded-up windows. As far as this town is concerned, your snoot is an economic engine.” “Well, I find it hard to believe that you four knew about my snoring and never told me about it,” I said. “Because at first your snoring was kind of funny,” Vivian said. “It was like the rumble of a distant evening thunderstorm. But over the last few months it has gotten a lot worse.” “It’s true, Schnoz,” TJ said. “There is a direct correlation between the escalation of your snoring, a seismological lab coming to town, and all the new coffee shops opening for business.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! My nose felt like someone had sucked it dry with a vacuum hose. I was shocked, confused, and downright angry. I shifted my bike into gear and peeled out, racing as fast as could toward home.

CHAPTER 3

A CURE FOR SNORING

My parents were still at work when I wheeled up the driveway. I parked my bike and walked into the house. Mom and Dad had done extensive renovations in the last six months. I hadn’t paid much attention to all the construction until now. They’d had the entire foundation of the house reinforced with thick concrete. Workers had added steel frames to some of the walls. Mom had secured all of the heavy mirrors and pictures tightly. Dad had strapped all of our bookcases and cabinets to the walls to prevent overturning. He had even bolted down the refrigerator to keep it from toppling over. Stuffed away in a cabinet under the kitchen sink was a huge duffel bag labeled Disaster Kit, and it was filled with bottles of water, non-perishable food, and medical supplies. In other words, my parents were earthquake-proofing the house. I ran upstairs and threw open their bedroom door. Scattered on top of their dresser were receipts for thousands of dollar spent at downtown stores like the Soundproofing Emporium and the White Noise Outlet. I ed that over the past few months they had added extra insulation and padding in their room. The padding was a thick foam called Quiet Jams, specially designed for musical recording studios. Mom and Dad had soundproofed their bedroom to escape from my snoring! Lately Mom had been coming into my room at night to check on me. She never turned on the light, but just sat quietly on the edge of my bed, intently watching me for a few minutes. I’d pretended to be asleep. Now I realized she was probably worried that I would die in the middle of the night from excessive snoring. I was just about to run into the kitchen and drown my sorrows in a glass of root

beer when the doorbell rang. I threw open the door and saw Vivian standing there. “What do you want?” I asked. “We need to talk,” she said and then barged through the front door and plopped down at the kitchen table. I poured us two glasses of root beer. “I honestly had no idea that my snoring was so bad,” I said. “I wish somebody had told me.” “Have your parents taken you to the doctor lately for a check-up?” “My mom took me for a physical a couple months ago,” I said, stroking my nostrils. “But the only thing the doctor did was look inside my nose. He tried to use a normal endoscope to look up there, but it was way too small. The doctor had to rig a telescope with a spotlight so he could see what was going on way up inside my beak.” “He was probably checking for an abnormality that would cause you to snore so loudly. See, your parents did take you to a doctor about your snoring but didn’t tell you because they thought it might hurt your feelings.” I shrugged. “Well, I never went back. So he obviously didn’t find anything wrong with me.” “The thing to , Schnoz, is that snoring is not your fault. I’ve Googled the causes and there are lots of reasons. In most cases like yours, it’s not a medical emergency. Loud snoring just annoys other people more than anything.”

We opened up my laptop and typed “causes of snoring” into the search engine. The top four reasons were mouth anatomy, nasal problems, body weight, and sleep apnea. “What’s sleep apnea?” I wondered. “From what this website says, it’s a condition that causes the throat tissues to completely block your airway, preventing you from breathing for ten seconds or longer.” “Creepy,” I said. “Totally,” Vivian agreed. “Look, let’s get TJ, Mumps, and Jimmy working on this with us. We’ll gather all the information on snoring cures and give them a try.” Vivian and I slapped each other a high-five and set out to find a permanent cure for my snoring.

CHAPTER 4

DUCT TAPE

The next morning, I was sitting with my mom and dad at the breakfast table. My parents looked horrible. They had dark circles under their eyes, and their faces were all red and splotchy like someone had smacked them around with a fly swatter. “Do I have a snoring problem?” I asked, slurping down a spoonful of cereal. Mom and Dad gave each other a weird look. “Everybody snores, Andy,” Mom answered. “Why do you ask?” “My friends told me why Denmark has so many coffee shops and noise reduction stores in town. It’s because my snoring is so loud. Is it true?” “You snore a little,” Dad said. “But, like your mother said, everybody snores.” “But not everybody snores so loudly that it causes minor earthquakes,” I said. “Where did you get such an idea?” Mom asked me. “I’m not stupid. I know you spent thousands of dollars soundproofing your bedroom and earthquake-proofing our house.” Mom scooted next to me. “You do snore, Andy,” she said. “And it can be a little loud at times, but we love you and I’m sure you will grow out of it soon.” “It’s kind of embarrassing,” I said. “I mean, my nose is as big as a mountain, and from what I’m told, I snore as loud as a space shuttle launch.” “You’re perfect just the way you are,” Dad said, and then they shooed me out the door.

I met Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers inside the Nostril to plan our snoring attack.The list of cures we discovered online ranged from conventional advice— using nasal strips and taking decongestants before bed—to completely wacky things, like sleeping upside down with your feet tied to a tree limb or strengthening your throat muscles by yodeling on a hillside. “When my dad snores at night,” Mumps said, “Mom gives him a hard elbow to the ribs and then yells for him to go sleep on the couch.” Vivian rolled her eyes. “Let’s start with the easiest cures,” she said. “Nasal strips just might do the trick. They work by lifting the nasal ages to keep them open for normal airflow. “Think again,” Jimmy said. “Nasal strips are for people with normal-sized noses. Using one on Schnoz is like sticking a Band-Aid on an elephant’s trunk. It won’t do a thing.” “Duct tape might work,” TJ mused. “It works for everything else. I read an article about a guy who made a two-story house using nothing but duct tape.” “Hmmm…” I mumbled. “I guess we could give it a try.” “Then let’s do it,” Vivian said. “We’ll duct tape our way to a peaceful night’s sleep.” Twelve-hours and sixteen rolls of duct tape later, the gang had finally managed to duct tape my nose open. “How does it feel?” Mumps asked. “Not very comfortable,” I wheezed. “It feels like the time my nose got stuck inside a porthole when we visited the USS Constitution on our field trip to the Boston Navy Yard.”

“There are a lot of things more important than comfort,” Jimmy preached. “Like the town of Denmark getting a good night’s sleep.” “How will I know if it works?” I asked. “Simple,” TJ said. “Your snoring routinely causes an earthquake that s a 4.5 on the Richter scale. We’ve all felt the effects.” “Dishes break, window panes rattle, furniture topples over,” Vivian added. “There could even be small cracks in the walls and foundations of older buildings. We’ll ask people tomorrow if any of those things happened in the middle of the night. That’s how we’ll know if we cured your snoring.” “But the most important thing is the coffee shop action in the morning,” TJ said. “If people are lined up down the block to get their caffeine fix, we’ll know the duct tape didn’t work.” Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers wished me luck and I went to bed.When the morning came, I peeled off my duct tape nasal strips and rushed around the house. I looked for broken dishes, toppled furniture, cracks in the walls. I saw no sign of damage! Hope rose in my chest like a helium balloon as I threw on my clothes, hopped on my bike, and raced downtown. As soon as I reached Main Street, my hopeful helium balloon deflated into a lump of latex. Hundreds of people lined the streets, their eyes baggy from lack of sleep, waiting patiently for their cup of morning coffee. I saw Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers pushing their way through the early morning cappuccino crowd. Their faces looked as disappointed as I felt on the inside. “No big deal,” Vivian said, trying to sound optimistic. “We just go back to square one and try again.” The next night, the gang talked me into taking a nasal decongestant. They were hoping the medicine would clear my nostrils and make me stop snoring. Since there was enough snot clogging up my nose to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool, I needed to slurp down over two gallons of syrupy stuff. The experiment

was a complete waste of time, money, and cherry-flavored stuffy nose medicine, because the next morning I awoke to the most damage ever. The bell tower on top of the First Parish Church had toppled over. Broken water pipes in the street spouted like Old Faithful, and even more people lined the streets for their morning coffee. Over the next week, we tried out even more so-called cures: sleeping on my side rather than my back, sleeping on a tilted bed, exercising the muscle on the roof of my mouth, mouthpieces, homeopathic anti-snoring sprays. Nothing worked. The downtown coffee shops grew richer. I became more desperate. “We’ve tried everything,” Mumps said one day while we were hanging out inside the Nostril. “What do we do now?” Vivian lifted Mr. Sticky from his habitat, stuck him to the wall, and stared out the window. “What are you thinking about?” I asked her. She turned to face me. “I hate to say it, but you may have sleep apnea.” Just hearing the word apnea sent shivers up my neck. I’m not sure why, but the word sounded scary to me. “What’s sleep apnea?” Jimmy asked. Vivian explained, “Sleep apnea is a chronic condition that causes the throat tissues to block your airway, preventing you from breathing for ten seconds or longer.” “How do we find out if that’s causing Schnoz’s snoring?” TJ asked. “We do a sleep test,” Vivian replied. “We rig up a camera and film him while he sleeps. The next morning we watch the film. If he has sleep apnea, we’ll know exactly what we are dealing with.”

CHAPTER 5

OBSERVATION

That night I felt like a monkey locked inside an animal observation lab.TJ had set up three video cameras in my room.There was one on the right side of my bed, one on the left side, and one directly above my head. “Why do we need three cameras?” I asked. “We need backups in case your loud snoring causes one of the other cameras to malfunction,” Vivian answered. I plopped down on my bed and covered up with a blanket. “I wish Jimmy and Mumps were here to help.Where are they anyway?” “Mumps melted one of his sister’s Barbie dolls in the microwave and got grounded for the night,” TJ said. “Jimmy had to go to his little brother’s tap dance recital,” Vivian added. “That stinks,” I said. “Hey, TJ, where’d you get all these cameras?” “One is mine.The other two I swiped from my older brothers. If they find out I took them, I’m a dead man. But for you, Schnoz, it’s worth the risk. All I have to do tomorrow morning is the video from the cameras to my laptop. I’ll slip the cameras back into my brothers’ rooms and they’ll never know a thing.” While TJ double-checked the cameras, Vivian sat on the edge of my bed and pulled out a bunch of papers from her backpack. “What’s that stuff?” I asked. “Information about sleep apnea I printed from the Internet,” she said. “We need to know what symptoms to look for. I’m glad I did some research, because the

symptoms in kids and adults can be different.” I grabbed one of the pages from her and started reading. “Bed-wetting!” I shouted. “You mean to tell me that peeing the bed is a symptom of sleep apnea?” TJ laughed. “That’s what the medical literature says,” Vivian said with a snicker. “I can assure both of you that I have never wet the bed, even when I was a little kid.” A knock came at my bedroom door. It was Mom. “Andy, TJ’s mother just called,” she said. “She wants him to come home now. And it’s time for Vivian to go home. It’s already dark outside.” Vivian sighed. “Well, this is it. Tomorrow morning we will know for sure if Schnoz has sleep apnea.” TJ checked the video cameras one last time, and then he and Vivian left.The room was completely dark except for the little flashing red lights on the cameras. I suddenly felt self-conscious. What if I farted or picked my butt in my sleep? The cameras would capture it all. Someone could steal the film and it to YouTube. The video could go viral. I’d be the laughing stock of the entire country! I rolled over and placed the pillow over my nose. My heart was beating wildly; sweat poured down my nostrils. I lay there for what seemed like hours, tossing and turning. How could I ever get to sleep knowing three cameras were spying on my every nocturnal move? Around midnight I heard my parents shuffle into their room and shut the door. They were in bed for the night, but I was desperately fighting the urge to fall asleep. No sleeping meant no snoring. No snoring meant I wouldn’t keep the town up all night. Not keeping the town up all night meant my colossal beak wouldn’t get so much extra attention.

The struggle was useless. No matter how hard I concentrated, my eyelids grew heavier and I fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER 6

SHADOW IN THE NIGHT

Rise and shine, Schnoz!” My eyes shot open. I sat up in bed and saw Vivian, TJ, Mumps, and Jimmy standing in my room. “What are you guys doing here so early?” “It’s not early,” Jimmy said. “It’s ten thirty in the morning.” I yawned and rubbed my eyes. “I can’t believe I slept so late.” “You may have slept late, but the town of Denmark sure didn’t,” Mumps said. “Take a look out your window.” I slid out of bed and peered between the curtains.What I saw outside nearly blew my nose away. There were fallen tree limbs and debris all over my backyard. Something had toppled my next-door neighbor’s chimney like a set of Jenga blocks. “What happened?” I asked, still not believing what I was seeing. “Your snoring is what happened,” Jimmy said. “Scientists from the Seismological Laboratory said last night’s tremor was a 5.8 on the Richter scale,” TJ explained. Vivian ed me at the window. “Your snoring is getting worse,” she said. “The earthquakes are becoming more destructive. If this keeps up, Denmark and maybe the entire state of New Hampshire could become one massive sinkhole.”

“Don’t worry,” Mumps said, slapping me on the back. “I don’t care what they’re whispering downtown, we won’t let them make you move.” The room grew silent.Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers had worried looks on their faces. “What do you mean make me move?” I asked. The gang hemmed and hawed for a few seconds, and then Vivian finally spoke up. “There will be a special town council meeting in the next few days,” she said. “That’s when they’ll vote whether to kick you and your family out of Denmark.” “From what my dad told me,” TJ said, “the damage caused by your snoring is becoming more costly than all the money the coffee shops and noise-reduction stores are raking in.” I held my nose in my hands and felt like crying. “But my honker saved this town!” I roared. “ECU and Muzzle were about to destroy everything! They can’t kick me out!” “We still have time to fix your snoring before the vote,” Vivian said. “Let’s check out the video we took last night of you sleeping. If it’s sleep apnea, we can go to a doctor to fix you up.” Sleep apnea. Video cameras. With the news of my possible banishment, I had forgotten all about last night’s experiment. “Your snoring messed up the two cameras on either side of your bed,” TJ said. “But, amazingly, not the one hanging above your head.” He hooked a cable from the camera to his laptop. After ing for a minute, the video was ready to watch in full HD. I had absolutely no idea how boring watching a video of me sleeping could be. “I can’t take much more of this,” Jimmy said six hours later.

“Tell me about it,” Mumps said. “Melting Barbie dolls in the microwave is a thousand times more fun.” Vivian pulled Mr. Sticky from her pocket. “Stop complaining or I’ll sic my assault gecko on you.” “I don’t get it,” TJ said, scratching his head. “We’ve watched nearly all of this tape and Schnoz hasn’t made one little peep of a snore.” “Just fast forward to the end and get it over with,” I suggested. “Rewind to the part where Schnoz farts and picks his butt in his sleep,” Mumps said. “That was hilarious!” TJ laughed. “That’s my favorite part!” Just as he was about to hit rewind, the entire screen momentarily went black, as if a huge storm cloud had ed over my room. Vivian sat up and pointed to the screen. “Stop it right there!” she squealed. “What was that dark shadow?” What happened next was like something from a horror movie. “Ahhhhh!” Jimmy screeched in terror. “It’s a ghost…a demon…” “Hush up!” Vivian scolded. “We’re trying to watch.” I gazed in wide-eyed dread as the shadow circled my bed. Slowly, the dark mass molded into the shape of a solid figure. The being was about four feet tall with wrinkly gray skin. The head was unusually large in proportion to the rest of its body, with huge eyes and small openings for the mouth, nose, and ears. “OMG!” TJ squealed. “It’s an alien from outer space!” Two large hoses appeared in the alien’s long, bony hands. The space creature then lubricated the ends of the hoses with a green, mucus-looking substance and shoved them directly up my quivering nostrils. On the tape, I flailed and groaned but was still obviously asleep. My nostrils flared wide and I started snoring, loud snuffling snorts that made the walls of my

bedroom shake. The alien looked directly into the camera with its dark, soulless eyes.The picture grew fuzzy and then went completely black.

CHAPTER 7

NASAL VIOLATION

There was a loud thump behind me. I spun around and saw Mumps sprawled on my bedroom carpet. He had ed out cold. After waking him up by throwing a glass of cold water in his face, we watched the video again. “This is the creepiest, freakiest, scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jimmy said. “Not to mention the grossest,” TJ added. “What did that alien stick up your nose, Schnoz?” “How do I know? I was fast asleep during the whole thing.” “Does your sneezer hurt?” Vivian asked.

I shook my head. “No. But take a look inside my nostrils and see if that thing implanted some kind of alien seed or something.” Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers (except Mumps, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, still recovering from his fainting spell) each took turns examining the inside of my nose for possible alien implantation. TJ flicked on a flashlight and peered inside one of my nose holes. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary,” he said. “Just a bunch of crusty boogers clinging to your nasal lining,” Jimmy said, looking up the other nostril. “You guys are completely overlooking something,” Vivian said. “What’s that?” I asked. “The clue is not what the alien stuck up your nose. But what happened after it stuck something up your nose.” The Not-Right Brothers and I looked at one another with confused expressions. “Explain,” Jimmy demanded. Vivian hit the Play button. “Let’s watch it again and I’ll show you.” “Do we have to?” Mumps mumbled, still looking a bit queasy. “Yes,” Vivian answered. “Now, everybody watch carefully.” We all huddled around the laptop, watching as the alien materialized from the dark cloud and proceeded to shove the hoses up my pie sniffer. I winced at the thought of an alien inserting foreign objects into my nasal cavity while I slept. When we had finished watching the video three times in a row, Vivian closed the lid of the laptop. “Did you guys see what I saw?” “I don’t know what you’re getting at,” I said.

“Duh! Schnoz, you weren’t snoring until that thing stuck the hoses up your nose!” Jimmy pumped his fists and leaped about four feet in the air. “She’s right!” he screeched. “The alien’s hoses are what’s causing Schnoz to snore!” “Exactly!” Vivian beamed. “Now we need to find out why an alien enters Schnoz’s room at night and shoves hoses up his nose just to make him snore.” “Maybe we should call the police,” Mumps said. “We’ll show them the video and then they’ll alert NASA or something.” “That’s a great idea,” I said sarcastically. “Anybody with the right special effects software can fake a video these days.The police would never believe us and we’d get in trouble for making a phony report.” “But if we don’t do something about the real cause of your snoring,” Vivian said, “the people in Denmark will drive you out of town like some snoring witch in a thirteenth-century European village.” I sat up, rubbed my nose, and paced around the room. All this talk of aliens, hoses, and snoring was making my boogers ache. I just wanted to slip on my Super Schnoz costume and fly away from it all. “We just need to sit down and come up with a plan,” Jimmy said. “Then let’s go back to the Nostril and figure something out,” TJ said. “Guys, this isn’t like fighting the ECU,” I pleaded. “They were human beings just like us. How can we possibly stop an alien with higher intelligence from nasally violating me every night?” The room grew silent. Everyone was confused and a little bit scared—especially me. As far as I was concerned, the task was nearly impossible. “Well, Schnoz,” Vivian said. “This situation affects you the most.What should we do?” “I’m really confused right now,” I said, my thoughts tumbling clumsily inside my head like a preschool gymnastics class. “I need to get outside, take a good

sniff, and inhale all of this before I can do anything.” I ran out of the house, hopped on my bike, and took off down the street.

CHAPTER 8

THE CENTER FOR UFOs, EARTHQUAKES, AND ALIEN ABDUCTIONS

I didn’t stop pedaling until I reached the Nostril in Jimmy’s backyard. I spun the code on the combination lock and stepped inside. A blast of heat hit me like a hot pizza oven. Our secret hideout wasn’t air-conditioned and the place was like a sweaty sauna on a hot summer day. Vivian must have left Mr. Sticky out of his cage, because the gecko was stuck to the windowpane, soaking up the sunshine. My Super Schnoz costume was dangling in the corner on a coat hanger. I hadn’t worn the outfit since defeating ECU. I slipped off my clothes and stepped into the suit. A box of Mardi Gras masks with beaks sat in the corner. I picked one out and slid it over my nose. This one had a plume of bloodred feathers and a glittery paint job. The beak was metallic silver with adjustable black straps. I was one fancy-looking turkey buzzard! A breeze rattled the trees in the backyard. I positioned myself in the middle of the grass as a huge gust of air shot up my nostrils. Instantly, they inflated like the wings of a giant wandering albatross. My stomach leaped into my throat, my toes lifted off the ground, and my cape flapped in the breeze.

I was flying! The town of Denmark stretched out below me like a village in a toy train set. I inhaled deeply and banked hard to the right, heading toward the White Mountain National Forest (WMNF) outside of town. The WMNF was almost a million acres, and within the park were four federally protected wilderness areas.That meant there were no roads or houses in the forest, and the only people were occasional hikers. The area’s remoteness offered just the kind of solitude I needed to contemplate my alien problem. That was when I caught a pungent whiff of something tantalizingly fishy. The smell was a combination of rotting bait and burning ammonia so intense it made my nose hairs stand on end. I scanned my mental scent library for a match. Nothing. The smell was completely new to my olfactory receptors. I had to find its source! Closing one nostril with my finger, I began my descent into the WMNF. The closer I got to the ground, the more intense the smell became. I skimmed the treetops until I came to a clearing in the forest. To my wide-nosed surprise, I saw some kind of compound. There were two small trailers, a massive, globe-like structure with the lens of big telescope popping from the roof, an above-ground swimming pool, and a smaller structure about the size of my dad’s garage. That was where that awesome smell was coming from. I had to find what was causing that odor! I landed softly on an old logging road and walked stealthily toward the garage. Along the path, a hand-painted sign staked into the dirt read: The Center for UFOs, Earthquakes, and Alien Abduction—Dr. Aðalbjörn Wackjöb, Director. A hoard of hungry mosquitoes buzzed around my nose. I shooed them away and kept walking. When I got to the garage, I peered into its dirty windows. I didn’t see anybody, but the source of the smell was as plain as the nose on my face. Hanging like giant spider egg sacs were row after row of some kind of drying meat. Next to the Gates of Smell, this nasty jerky was the most horrifyingly delicious glop I had ever smelled in my life. Quietly, I gripped the door handle and walked inside. The smell hit my cookie detector like a megaton stink bomb. It was as if I had died and awoken in stench

heaven! I grabbed two hunks of the rancid meat and held them to my nostrils. The rancid smell drove my nose crazy. My nostrils flared; my scent receptors quivered in ecstasy. I forgot all about aliens and snoring and basked in the pure joy of smelling! The garage door flew open. I spun around and saw an older man with wild gray hair and a white lab coat. He was holding a loaded shotgun. “Get your hands off my hákarl,” the man growled with a thick, Europeansounding accent. I held up my hands. “S-s-sorry,” I stuttered. “I was just…” “What are you doing here?” the man interrupted. “Why are you wearing that costume and ridiculous-looking mask? Are you with the government?” The old guy had just asked me three questions in a row. I didn’t know which one to answer first, so instead I hurled the meat I was holding at him and made a break for the door. The man fired at me. I braced myself for the shotgun blast. But instead of bullets, all I got was water. He wasn’t holding a real gun. It was just a fancy water pistol! Once I got outside, I inhaled a hard gust of wind and sailed into the clouds. I looked down. The old man was watching me fly away, firing rounds of water into the sky.

CHAPTER 9

THE REYKJAVÍK REVIEW

When I arrived back at the Nostril, Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers were waiting for me. “Where have you—” Jimmy started to ask, and then pulled his shirt over his nose. “Holy stinky skunk, Schnoz!” TJ cried out, plugging his nostrils. “You absolutely reek!” Mumps gagged. Vivian handed me my street clothes, “It’s the Super Schnoz costume that smells,” she said. “Go outside and change.” I stepped behind the nostril and took a huge whiff of my cape, tights, and shirt. They smelled exactly like the malodorous meat hanging inside that old guy’s garage. “I don’t know what you guys are so upset about!” I yelled from outside. “That smell is awesome, second only to the Gates of Smell in my opinion.” “We’re not letting you back inside until you change!” I heard Vivian shout through the wall. I peeled off my suit and plopped it in the grass. Within seconds, the smell had attracted a swarm of green poop flies (technical name: bottle fly). Poop flies were my favorite insect. Next to dogs, they were the only ones who loved stinky, rotting things as much as I did. So as not to nasally offend my friends any further, I took a shower with a garden hose before slipping back on my street clothes.

“What nasty substance were you rolling in?” Mumps asked me when I went back inside. “Some kind of meat,” I replied. “Were you spending time at the roadkill butcher shop?” Jimmy joked. “No,” I answered. “The meat was actually hanging from a peg, drying inside a building deep inside the WMNF.” “Explain,” Vivian ordered. I told the gang the whole story, from flying over the WMNF, smelling the meat, to almost getting my head blown off by a crazy old guy with a high-powered water gun. “I wonder why a person would be living that far out in the woods.” Vivian said. I shrugged my shoulders. “Don’t know. But he was some kind of scientist. There was a sign along the path heading to his property that said The Center for UFOs, Earthquakes, and Alien Abduction. The guy’s first name was long with a bunch of squiggly lines over the letters. His last name was Wackjöb, with two dots over the o. Dr. Somethingorother Wackjöb.” Vivian scratched her chin, thinking. “Hmmm…” she muttered. “TJ, would you please fire up your laptop and Google UFOs, alien abduction, Dr. Wackjöb.” TJ typed in the search and hit Enter. He scrolled through a bunch of pages before finding something relevant. “This may be something,” he said. “It’s an old article from the Reykjavík Review—Iceland’s English Newspaper.” We huddled around the computer and read.

Doctor Defends UFO Research

By Sigudur Bödvarsson REYKJAVÍK, Iceland—The well-respected seismologist, Dr. Aðalbjörn

Wackjöb has been accused of misappropriating money from the University of Iceland’s Geology Department where he had been Chairman. This week Karí Thordarson, University President, fired Dr. Wackjöb for the unauthorized funding of his controversial UFO earthquake theory. The investigation looking into Dr. Wackjöb’s activities has been ongoing for the past eight months. University officials feel they have unearthed enough evidence to terminate the doctor’s tenure. “UFOs are the cause of the entire world’s seismic activity!” Dr.Wackjöb shouted to reporters as police led him away from his office. “My scientific research will prove it!” What Dr. Wackjöb calls science, others call “just plain kooky,” according to several of his colleagues inside the University’s Geology Department. Dr. Wackjöb has also become a laughingstock in the scientific and academic worlds with his claims that aliens are abducting thousands of people (mostly children) each year and using them in their extraterrestrial earthquake experiments. Dr. Wackjöb, who also has an advanced degree in astronomy from the LudwigMaximilians-Universität München in , plans to relocate to the United States to continue his UFO, earthquake, and alien abduction studies.

“That was his first name,” I said. “A…owl…bee…yourn, or however it’s pronounced. The sign said Aðalbjörn Wackjöb.” “Do you think it’s the same man, TJ?” Vivian asked. TJ turned to me. “What was the name of his center again?” “The sign said The Center for UFOs, Earthquakes, and Alien Abduction—Dr. Aðalbjörn Wackjöb, Director.” “It has to be the same guy,” Jimmy said. “How many Aðalbjörn Wackjöb’s can there be who study UFOs, earthquakes, and alien abductions?” “I one hundred percent agree,” Vivian said. She then produced a flash drive from her pocket and plugged it into the USB port of TJ’s laptop. “What are you doing?” TJ grumbled, miffed that Vivian was touching his

computer. “I’m transferring the video of Schnoz and the alien from the computer to the flash drive.” “Why would you do that?” Mumps asked. Vivian peeled Mr. Sticky from the window and gently stroked the reptile’s head. “Because Schnoz is living evidence of Dr.Wackjöb’s theory and the video proves it.”

CHAPTER 10

GRÍÖARSTÓR NEF

Vivian had a dentist appointment that afternoon, so we had to wait until the next morning before heading to see Dr. Wackjöb. I went to bed that night sniffling with anxiety. TJ had hooked up the camera system to get another video, but the whole thing still freaked me out. I smuggled a two-liter bottle of soda into my room and chugged it down before bed, hoping the caffeine would keep me awake.The idea was a complete waste of high-fructose corn syrup and carbonated water. By the time midnight rolled around, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The morning came and it was clear there had been another earthquake.This one was a 6.0.The walls of my bedroom were slightly cracked and my dresser had toppled over. “The town’s in an uproar, Schnoz,” Mumps said when the guys arrived at my house. “There’s damage to a lot of houses. People are really angry.” “We have to get you out of town,” Jimmy said. “It’s for your own safety.” While I got dressed, TJ ed the new video from the camera to his laptop, and then to the flash drive. “Let’s watch it,” Mumps suggested. “No time,” TJ said. “We have to meet Vivian and then get to Dr.Wackjöb’s compound ASAP.” Vivian was waiting for us when we got to the Nostril. She was holding up a brand new Super Schnoz costume. “Where’d you get that?” I asked.

“I made it for you last night,” Jimmy said. “Your old one was way too smelly so I threw it in the garbage.” I ran inside the Nostril and slipped on my new suit. It was the exact same color as my old one—black tights, black shirt, blue cape, and blue Super Schnoz emblem. Jimmy had added a utility belt with hidden pouches to hold jars of cayenne pepper, spray bottles of saline solution, and an electric nose hair trimmer.

“It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s Super Schnoz!” I cried, jumping around the corner. “Let’s get a move on,” TJ said. “We need to see this Dr. Wackjöb.” “How are we going to get there?” Mumps wondered. “It’ll take hours to ride our bikes way out there.” Vivian dragged out the harness I had used to fly everybody onto the school rooftop during my battle with ECU. The stitchwork Jimmy had done on the fabric was still perfect, right down to the feathers that made it look like a pregnant turkey buzzard. “We’re not riding our bikes,” Vivian said. “Schnoz is going to strap on the harness and fly us all there.” She slipped five jars of cayenne pepper and two spray bottles of saline solution into my new utility belt. “What’s this stuff for?” I asked her. “Just in case,” she said. “You never know what we’ll run into way out there.” “Like Bigfoot!” Mumps screeched. Vivian rolled her eyes as she and the Not-Right Brothers crawled into the harness. I secured the belts to my back, slipped on my Mardi Gras mask, and was ready to fly. The wind wasn’t very brisk, so we had to wait for me to get enough air inside my nostrils for takeoff. When my nose finally inflated to its full glory we were off, sailing into the sky toward Dr. Wackjöb’s compound deep in the WMNF. The smell of the rotting meat guided my way. After thirty minutes of flying, I made a perfect landing on the path leading to the UFO Center. “See the sign,” I said, pointing. “It’s over there, stuck in the ground.” “The Center for UFOs, Earthquakes, and Alien Abduction—Dr. Aðalbjörn Wackjöb, Director,” Jimmy read. “If this guy can’t help us, then no one can.” I pulled off the harness and hid it in the bushes. “Like I told you,” I said, “the old

guy is kind of loony. He asked me if I was from the government.” “Sounds paranoid to me,” Mumps said. “And a little—” “I don’t blame him,” Vivian interjected. “After getting fired from his job, the man has trust issues.” Jimmy laughed. “You sound like a therapist. Maybe you should make him lie on a couch.” Just as Vivian opened her mouth to fire a volley back at Jimmy, we all heard a loud crack in the nearby woods. “What was that?” Mumps cried out. I pressed a finger to my lips, hushing everyone up.We all grew as silent as dandelions and listened for more sounds. There was nothing. “Maybe it was a moose or a black bear,” TJ whispered. Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.” And that’s when a cannon blast of frigid water hit me full force in the stomach.The water pressure was so powerful it knocked me off my feet and sent me nosefirst into a thick maple tree. My Mardi Gras mask flew off my head and landed on a branch above my head. Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers got the same treatment. The intense surge of water sent them flying a good ten yards into a stand of white pine.

When I came to my senses, I saw Dr. Wackjöb emerge from the woods dragging a fifty-footlong fire hose. He looked at Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers. “That’s what you get for tresing!” He then turned to me, an angry scowl on his face. “And as for you, Gríöarstór Nef, that was for ruining two hunks of my precious hákarl!”

CHAPTER 11

ROTTEN SHARK MEAT

I reached for my bottle of cayenne pepper, ready to sneeze Dr. Wackjöb back to the Paleozoic Era, but Vivian stopped me. “Stop spraying us!” Vivian shouted. “We have proof that aliens exist!” Dr.Wackjöb lowered the fire hose. “What kind of proof?” “A video,” TJ said. “The kid you called Gríöarstór Nef—whatever that means— has been visited by aliens. They shove big pipes up his honker and make him snore.” A look of skepticism washed over Dr.Wackjöb’s face. He held up the hose, like he was going to water blast us again. “I’ve been laughed at and shunned by the scientific community,” he said bitterly, “I won’t allow a bunch of children to make fun of me too.” “We’re not here to make fun of you,” Vivian pleaded, and then plucked the flash drive from her pocket and tossed it at Dr. Wackjöb’s feet. “Plug this into your computer and watch it for yourself,” she said. “It’s a video of weird aliens doing some nose experiment on Schnoz.” Dr.Wackjöb picked up the flash drive, rubbing it gently with his fingers like it was a precious diamond. He looked at us, back down to the flash drive, and then back at us again. “What are your names?” he asked. “Vivian.” “TJ.” “Mumps.”

“Jimmy.” “Andy,” I said. “But my friends call me Schnoz.” “Or, if you get on his bad side,” TJ added,“he’ll become Super Schnoz and pepper-sneeze you all the way back to Iceland. This guy’s whiffer has the power to blow up a fleet of armored tanks and blast an eighteen-wheeler in half.” Dr.Wackjöb stared at my nose for a long second. “I like the name Gríöarstór Nef for you better. Follow me. My computer’s in the observatory.” All of us looked like dripping wet rats as we trekked to the observatory. Vivian handed me my mask. “Here,” she said. “You’re not Super Schnoz without your disguise.” “I might as well leave it off now,” I said. “Dr. Wackjöb’s seen my face so what does it matter?” The Not-Right Brothers and Vivian plugged their noses as soon as we stepped into the compound. “That smell is disgusting,” Jimmy choked. “It reeks like your gross old Super Schnoz suit,” Mumps gagged. “That’s the building where he dries the meat,” I said. “The place is full of the stuff.” “Ask him what it is,” Vivian said. I broke away from the gang and caught up with Dr.Wackjöb. “Excuse me, but can you tell me about that meat drying in that building? What’s it called again?” “Hákarl,” Dr. Wackjöb said, not breaking a stride. “It means rotting shark in the Icelandic language. It’s a delicacy in my country served at the midwinter Þorrablót Festival.” My nostrils flared wide. Any food that started with the word rotting made my nose hairs tingle with delight. “How do you make it?” I asked.

Dr. Wackjöb explained the fine art of hákarlmaking as we walked. A butcher kills, guts, and debones the shark. He then leaves the meat to rot in a hole covered with stones for two months. After that, he dries the meat in a wellventilated room for another two months.The Hákarl is then ready for eating. “Why do you let it rot?” I wondered. “I mean, why not eat it fresh?” “Sharks that live in the waters around Iceland are poisonous,” Dr.Wackjöb answered in his funny accent. “Those sharks don’t have urinary tracts like you and me. That means they must secrete their urine from their skin. The high amounts of uric acid in the meat are so concentrated that eating it can cause people sickness. If you allow the shark to decay, the urine is naturally removed from the flesh making it digestible.” I looked over my shoulder to see if Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers had caught Dr. Wackjöb’s hákarl explanation. From the sickly green expressions on their faces, I could tell they heard every word. The observatory was a lot bigger than I had ed from my first visit. The place had a round roof and was as large as a four-story building.When we walked inside, I saw computers, printers, and other beeping gadgets that looked so hi-tech I didn’t know what they were for. Above our heads was something extraordinary. “The glass is beautiful,” Vivian said with a hint of awe in voice. “Like something from a church,” Mumps said. “What you are looking at,” Dr. Wackjöb explained, “is a telescope mirror that allows me to see ten billion light-years into the universe. I call it the Cosmoscope, and the viewer can observe planets that orbit distant suns. I have seen new planets form in spectacular supernova explosions.” “This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life,” TJ said, his mouth hanging open in wonderment. “Where did you get the glass for the lens?” Jimmy asked. “I made it myself,” Dr.Wackjöb said with pride. Vivian’s eyes lit up. “How’d

you do it?” We listened intently to Dr. Wackjöb’s every word as he described the fascinating process. “I heat chunks of glass in a large furnace at two thousand degrees Fahrenheit,” he explained. “The glass melts into a syrupy liquid and then drains into a large mold. The glass takes ninety days to cool enough for the finishing touches.” “How do you make—” TJ started to ask, but Dr. Wackjöb cut him off.

“Enough questions for now,” he said. “I want to see this video.” I snatched the flash drive out of the seismologist’s hand. “No one sees this video until you answer my question,” I said, my nostrils flaring. “What does Gríöarstór Nef mean?”

CHAPTER 12

PLANET APNEA

Gríöarstór Nef means vast nose in Icelandic,” the doctor explained. In an instant, the Not-Right Brothers were laughing so hard that tears rolled down their cheeks. “We should have called you Super Gríöarstór Nef!” TJ guffawed. “Very funny,” I said sarcastically. “I wonder what loser translates to in Icelandic.” “Loser is tapar in my native language,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “Knock it off, you guys,” Vivian ordered. “All four of you are tapars as far as I’m concerned. Let’s watch the video so we can get down to business.” I handed the flash drive back to Dr.Wackjöb and he connected it to his computer.The video started to play and his already pale complexion grew even paler when the creepy shadow materialized into an alien on the screen. I winced inside as the little gray nose-molester shoved the hoses up my two sniffers. When the video ended, Dr. Wackjöb was speechless. He sat up, walked over to the Cosmoscope, and sat there in silence for what seemed like an hour. “Um…excuse me, Dr. Wackjöb,” Vivian said. “Aren’t you going to tell us what you think of the video?” “It’s…it’s…” Dr. Wackjöb stuttered. “Utterly amazing. It’s the concrete proof I have been searching years for.” “Then why do you seem so upset?” Mumps asked.

“I’m not upset. I’m just stunned because four American children found the proof before me, a highly educated scientist.” “Who cares who found it,” I said. “The question is what are we going to do about it?” “We have another one,” TJ said. “Another what?” Dr.Wackjöb asked. “Last night’s video of Schnoz sleeping.” “Then let’s see if our vast-nosed friend had another alien abduction.” When Dr. Wackjöb said the words “alien abduction,” a cold shiver went up my nose. I had never thought of my experience in those before. But that was my reality. I was the unconscious victim of a human nose experiment conducted by aliens from outer space. The first six hours of the video were all the same—me sleeping—so Dr. Wackjöb fast-forwarded until we saw the first wisps of a shadow form above my bed. It took all of my courage to keep watching. I mean, who knew what the aliens were going to shove up nose next? “This is the same thing that happened the night before,” Vivian said. Dr. Wackjöb pressed a finger to his lips, indicating for everyone to be quiet. This time, the shadow formed into two aliens. They were identical with tiny slits for noses and mouths and huge eyes.The hoses they used for my nose were twice as large as they’d been the first night.When the aliens shoved them inside my nostrils, I flailed so much that a third alien materialized from the dark cloud and held me down. Then the snoring happened: loud, rumbling snorts that shook the room and made my dresser topple over. A small crack fissured its way up my wall. The aliens turned and looked at each other. Their once dark, soulless eyes now beamed with a fluorescent green light. I heard a loud thump directly behind me. Mumps had ed out again.

“They’re communicating with each other,” Jimmy said. “I bet they’re talking about how big Schnoz’s nose is,” TJ said. “Or about all his boogers.” “They’re Apneans,” Dr.Wackjöb muttered. “That’s exactly what I thought too,” Vivian said. “Schnoz has a horrible case of sleep apnea.” Dr. Wackjöb shook his head. “I said Apneans, not apnea. Follow me to the Cosmoscope.” Dr. Wackjöb turned on a switch, played with some knobs, and the farthest corners of the universe, looking as if they were only inches away from our faces, popped up on a giant screen.The celestial sky twinkled like someone had spilled a jar of silver glitter onto black construction paper. A series of oohs and ahhs went up from Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers. Dr. Wackjöb positioned the mouse on his computer and a flash of light in the middle of deep space appeared on the screen. “Is that a star?” TJ asked. “No,” Dr.Wackjöb replied. “It’s a planet, proof that other life-forms exist in the universe. I have named it Apnea.” “Why Apnea?” I wondered out loud. “Apnea comes from the Greek, meaning to breathe,” Dr. Wackjöb explained. “The study of this planet is my living breath. It is all I live for. That is why I have named the planet Apnea.Watch as I zoom in closer.” The screen grew fuzzy for a moment and then became as clear as a green booger on a white tissue. Mountain ranges, lakes, rivers, buildings, and UFOs flying through the planet’s airspace came into view. “Wow,” Vivian said. “This is just like looking at Google Maps, but instead of a neighborhood you can see a whole planet.”

“Gríöarstór Nef,” Dr. Wackjöb said to me, “this is the planet Apnea, four billion light-years from Earth. Home of the aliens that are snatching your snores.”

CHAPTER 13

SNORE DESTRUCTION

We have to let the world know!” TJ shouted. “This is the greatest discovery in the history of mankind!” Dr. Wackjöb looked at TJ with a frown. “Young man, I have informed NASA, the British Interplanetary Society, the Russian Space Federation, and even a WalMart security guard,” he said bitterly. “I sent them the exact galactic coordinates of my planetary discovery. No one believes me enough to bother looking.” “Can you zoom in closer?” I asked. With a press of a button, the Cosmoscope focused in on the planet Apnea.We saw thousands of aliens that looked just like the ones who shoved hoses up my nose. The extraterrestrial beings seemed to be hovering around a large, metalliclooking object. “What’s that thing they’re working so hard on?” Vivian asked. “Not sure,” Dr. Wackjöb answered. “It is partially obscured by a reflective light shield. Do you see the planet’s two suns in the distance?” We nodded our heads. “As the planet revolves around the suns, the Apneans will move the light shield. Perhaps then, we can get a glimpse of their laborious project.” “I want to see it now,” Jimmy groaned. “Have patience, my boy. Our planet revolves every twenty-four hours, but Apnea revolves every two hours.That’s how long we have to wait until they move the light shield.”

For the next one hundred and twenty minutes, we listened as Dr. Wackjöb explained his theory of UFOs, earthquakes, and alien abductions.With the video of the spacemen sucking snores from my booger maker, his work was no longer a theory, but a proven fact. “Gríöarstór Nef,” Dr. Wackjöb said to me, “Apnea is in trouble.” “What are you talking about?” I asked. “Our world derives its power mostly from fossil fuels,” Dr.Wackjöb explained. “Apneans, on the other hand, have no such resource. They use solar power originating from their two suns.” Vivian scratched her head. “I can’t wrap my brain around this,” she said. “What do solar power and Schnoz’s snoring have to do with each other?” “Look at their two suns on the screen,” Dr. Wackjöb instructed. “Tell me what you see.” “I see two big red suns that pulse every few minutes,” Mumps said, still looking a bit nauseous from his latest blackout. “That is an excellent observation. Although our own sun looks yellow, it is actually white. Only when the sun’s light es through Earth’s atmosphere does it change from white to the yellow color we see. That is the sign of healthy, relatively young sun.” “Thanks for the science lesson,” I said impatiently. “What’s your point?” Dr. Wackjöb turned to look at me. “The point is that a sun nearing the end of its life throbs like a giant heart. It runs out of hydrogen fuel at its core like a motorcycle engine runs out of gas. It also turns a brilliant bloody red, just like the two suns of Apnea.” “So their two suns are dying,” Vivian reasoned. “Without a sun they have no solar power.Without solar power they…” “They find another place to live,” Dr. Wackjöb interrupted. “When Apnea’s suns die, the planet will die. Its inhabitants are acutely aware of this. The Apneans need Gríöarstór Nef’s snores for destruction.” Dr. Wackjöb’s face grew gravely

serious. He looked me in the eye and said, “The Apneans have been harvesting more and more of your snores to use against us. They will use your nose to cause earthquakes and destroy our civilization. Their master plan is to invade Earth and then build a new world in their own image.” “Good-bye, Earth; hello, Apnea,” Mumps muttered. Vivian pointed to the screen. “Look!” she yelled. “The Apneans are moving the light shield!” Everyone stared at the screen. I watched in horror as the aliens pulled away the light shield and revealed the most disturbing, the most frightening thing I had ever seen in my life. “It’s…it’s…” Jimmy stuttered, but the words got stuck in his throat. Mumps collapsed in a fleshy lump at my feet. Vivian gaped in wide-eyed astonishment. Dr. Wackjöb just looked on with a serious expression on his face. “It’s an enormous spaceship shaped like Schnoz’s honker!” TJ cried. “They created a giant Robo-Nose to destroy the world!”

CHAPTER 14

ROBO-NOSE

From the screen, Robo-Nose looked like a ten-story-high, five-school-bus-wide replica of my beak, right down to the shape of my bristly nose hairs. I watched as hundreds of Apneans climbed inside the mechanical muzzle. Moments later, a thrust of snore-fueled, boogery snot exploded from the metal nostrils like a thousand rocket blasts. Robo-Nose slowly rose off the ground, hovered in midair, and then shot through the atmosphere and out of sight. “They are coming for us,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “They have powered their nasal ship with Gríöarstór Nef’s snores.They will then fly around to different parts of the earth and cause massive earthquakes to destroy our planet.This is just as I predicted but no one would believe me!” “How long will it take for them to get here?” Vivian asked. Dr. Wackjöb punched some numbers into a computer program. “Apnea is four billion light-years from Earth. If my calculations are correct and Robo-Nose is traveling at the speed of snores, it should take them two solar days to reach our planet.” “A solar day is twenty-four hours,” TJ said. “They’ll be here on Saturday.” “That stinks!” grumbled Mumps. “I was supposed to go to fishing on Lake Winnipesaukee this Saturday with my uncle. But now it looks like I’m going to have to help save the world from an alien invasion.” “Well, get over it!” Jimmy barked in Mumps’s face. “If Apneans take over Earth you’ll never go fishing again—because you’ll be DEAD!

“Knock it off, you two,” Vivian ordered. “We have to come up with a plan or we’re all goners.” “Vivian is right,” I said. “It’s up to us to save the world.” I turned to Dr. Wackjöb. “And how exactly will we accomplish that?” “We fight fire with fire,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “Or, in your case, we fight nostril with nostril. Is it true that you blew up army tanks and large trucks with just your nose?” “Absolutely!” I announced proudly. “Well, with the help of a snoot full of cayenne pepper. Do you want to see what it can do?” Dr. Wackjöb nodded and we walked outside. Luckily, Vivian had reminded me to bring a bottle of pepper. At the back of the compound were six massive boulders. I knew from school that retreating glaciers from ten thousand years ago had left them behind. I took a huge sniff of cayenne, aimed, and sneezed with all my snot. The boulders shot off the ground like golf balls smacked from a tee and then exploded into a million pebbles. “Astonishing!” Dr. Wackjöb gushed. “That nose of yours is as a lethal weapon!” “Now we know exactly why the Apneans picked Schnoz,” Jimmy said. “Without a doubt, young man. I think we just may have a fighting chance against these invaders. Your proboscis is one of the most powerful forces on Earth.” We filed back into the observatory and planned our next move. While Dr. Wackjöb crunched numbers into his computer, trying to determine the exact coordinates of the alien landing, Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and I talked things over. The first thing we addressed was my nightly visits by little gray space men. The more snores they harnessed, the more power they had. “Let’s ambush them when they materialize from that dark shadow,” Vivian suggested. “What do you mean?” TJ asked.

“You guys have a sleepover at Schnoz’s house. When the aliens appear to do their hose-up-the-nose ritual, you grab them and tie them up as prisoners.” “That’s stupid,” Jimmy said. “What are we supposed to do with them after we tie them up? Hold them for ransom until they agree to leave our planet alone?” “We should just conk them over the head,” Mumps said, flailing around like a ninja ready for battle. “One quick karate chop to the skull and they’d be history.” “Mumps, you out just seeing them on video,” I said. “If you saw an alien in real life, you’d probably spontaneously combust. As far as I’m concerned, Vivian’s on the right track.” “How so?” Jimmy asked. “You guys saw the aliens on tape.They’re about our size. Jimmy, do you think you can sew up a couple alien costumes?” “Schnoz, that’s a brilliant idea!” Vivian beamed. “We should tie up the real aliens and then dress up like them. That way we can go on board Robo-Nose and sabotage it from the inside.” I slapped Vivian a high-five. “Exactly right. Wrap them up in duct tape.That stuff is good for practically everything.” “The dark shadow is some kind of ageway that transports them to our world and then back to Robo-Nose, their main booger ship,” TJ said. “We just have to enter the shadow in place of the real aliens.” Jimmy paced around the room, thinking. “It sounds like a good plan to me, but who is going to take the trip from the shadow to Robo-Nose? This is a lot riskier than just sneaking into our school to battle ECU.” “There’s no way I’m doing it,” Mumps said. “I’ll stay down here on solid ground and work with Dr. Wackjöb.” Vivian looked at Jimmy and TJ. “Then it’s up to us, partners. It can’t be Schnoz because he has to battle them nostril to nostril from the outside.” She looked at her watch. “Schnoz, you better fly us home so Jimmy can stitch up some alien costumes. It looks like we’re going to have a busy night ahead of us.”

Just as we had done when we first formed our crime-fighting superhero team, we all bent over until our noses were touching. “On the count of three,” I said. “One, two, three…” “Gríöarstór Nef!” we all screamed.

CHAPTER 15

SLEEPOVER

After an hour of begging, my mom and dad reluctantly agreed to allow Jimmy, Mumps, and TJ to sleep over. Of course, Vivian couldn’t spend the night because she’s a girl, but we had that all figured out. The two of us would be in constant walkie-talkie communication.When the Not-Right Brothers and I had subdued the aliens, I’d let Vivian know and she would sneak over to my house. She, Jimmy, and TJ would then slip on the alien suits and disappear into Robo-Nose. “This is the fastest sewing job I’ve ever done in my life,” Jimmy said when he got to my house that night. “Let me see your work,” I asked, anxious to see his creation. “Don’t worry, Schnoz,” TJ said. “You’re going to be impressed by our fashion artist friend.” Jimmy yanked out the three costumes from his gym bag. The outfits were awesome, right down to the silver-colored material to the slits for the mouth and nose. “Where’d you get the material?” I asked. Jimmy smiled. “I raided my older sister’s dresser drawer of all her spandex dance clothes. They were all black, so after I finished stitching the get-ups together, I found some silver spray paint in the garage and gave them a couple coats.” “Let’s try them on,” Mumps suggested. Jimmy, TJ, and Mumps slipped into the costumes.They looked exactly like the little aliens who had been snatching my snores. In fact, they looked so real I

wanted to reach out and cuff them a good one upside the head. “Mine fits like a sock,” Jimmy said. “This one feels good too,” TJ added. Mumps strutted around my room, making alien noises. “Since Vivian is about my size, it should fit her perfectly.While you guys are inside Robo-Nose, I’ll be working with Dr. Wackjöb. Schnoz can fly me there in the harness.” A knock came at my bedroom door. “I have some cookies and hot chocolate for you boys.” It was my mom. Jimmy, TJ, and Mumps quickly ripped off the alien costumes. “Thanks, Mom,” I said, opening the door and taking the plate of goodies. “Don’t you boys stay up too late,” she said. “Understand?” “Okay,” we mumbled through a mouthful of cookies. When my mom left the room, I looked at the clock sitting on my nightstand. “It’s nine thirty already,” I said. “I’m checking in with Vivian.” I pressed the red button on the walkie-talkie. “Vivian. Can you read me?” “Roger that,” Vivian replied, her voice full of static. “I saw the costumes Jimmy made. They look just like the real thing.” “Good. I’ll be drinking soda full of caffeine to stay awake. , when the cloud appears you have to let me know. Then I’ll sneak over to your house. Okay?” “Sounds good,” I answered. “I’ll make sure the back door is unlocked so you can get inside. Over and out.” “What do we do now?” Mumps asked when I turned off the walkie-talkie.

“Let’s play a few games of Electronic Battleship and then go to bed,” TJ suggested. Jimmy slurped down the last drop of his hot chocolate. “I won’t be able to sleep,” he said. “Me either,” I agreed. “But we have to turn out the lights. If the aliens don’t think I’m asleep, they may not come.” The Not-Right Brothers and I played a few rounds of Electronic Battleship until around midnight. “I guess it’s time,” TJ said. “You got that right,” I said, crawling into bed and flicking off the light. Jimmy, TJ, and Mumps unrolled their sleeping bags on the floor and slid inside.The only sounds were the occasional fart by Mumps, followed by a round of raucous laughter. My eyelids felt as heavy as bowling balls, but I fought the urge to sleep.The Not-Right Brothers, on the other hand, gave in to the sandman too easily. Soon, all three of them were crashed out, thin lines of drool dripping from their open mouths. I tossed and turned in my bed, trying to stay awake. My discipline paid off. As the crimson-colored numbers of the alarm clock flashed 4:00 A.M., I felt a gust of warm, heavy air over my body. My eyes squinted in the semidarkness. I saw a dark shadow forming above my bed. “Jimmy, Mumps, TJ!” I shout-whispered. “Something’s happening.” “Huh…” Jimmy mumbled in his half-sleep. “Whatta…?” TJ muttered, turning over in his sleeping bag. A pungent electrical smell filled the room. I watched as the shadow slowly molded into the shape of two little gray aliens. The space invaders hovered at the foot of my bed, staring at me with large dark eyes, each holding a flexible hose the size of a sewer pipe.

CHAPTER 16

INTO THE SHADOW

I reached for the walkie-talkie. “Vivian! They’re here!” I yelled. Before I could say another word, the aliens lunged at me.They shoved a hose up each nostril. Instantly, I began to snore, a loud, grinding snivel that made the walls of my bedroom shake and the coffee can full of pennies on my dresser crash to the carpet. The aliens’ dark eyes beamed with fluorescent green light.They were communicating with each other, but I had no idea what they were saying. One of the aliens waved a lightning-bolt-shaped wand over my head. Suddenly, the room started spinning; my brains rattled against the sides of my skull. I felt like they were sucking my insides out through my nose! “Do…do…do something…” I managed to utter to my friends. But they just stood there (except for Mumps, who was still crashed out in his sleeping bag, completely oblivious to what was going on) with their mouths hanging open, fear etched on their faces. My bedroom door swung open. I looked up and saw Vivian. She dove at the aliens and managed to tackle one to the ground. “Yuck!” Vivian cried out. “They’re all slimy and slippery!” Jimmy leaped into action. He grabbed the other alien and shoved him to the ground. “And they smell too!” Jimmy shouted. The alien Vivian was holding slithered from her grasp and came at me again. He gripped both hoses and shoved them deeper into my nostrils. I writhed in pain,

begging my friends to help me. This time TJ lunged at the spaceman, ripping the hose from the alien’s bony hands and pinning the snore thief to the ground. “Duct tape them!” I yelled to Vivian. “Before they get away!” Vivian went to work, wrapping each Apnean in layers of silver duct tape. While she secured the bad guys, TJ flicked on the lights and gently pulled the hoses out of my nose. Mumps rolled over in his sleeping bag. “Did the aliens come?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Take a look,” I told him. Mumps sat up, took a long gander at the duct-taped aliens, and then conked out cold. The aliens’ eyes lit up like a Fourth of July fireworks show. They were communicating with each other, so Vivian shut them up by blindfolding them with a strip of duct tape. “That should keep you Apneans quiet for a bit,” she said. “What should we do with them?” TJ asked. I shrugged my shoulders. “Don’t know.” “Let’s haul them back to the Nostril,” Vivian suggested. “We don’t want Schnoz’s mom waltzing inside his room only to find two space aliens wrapped in duct tape.” “Great idea,” I said. “We’ll carry the slimy buggers out of the house before my parents wake up.” “Ahem…” Jimmy grunted, and then pointed to the floor. I looked down and saw for the first time how the Apneans stored my snores. They used some kind of large metal box that looked like a battery. Connected to the battery were the two hoses.The power of my snores went through the hoses and into the battery.

“What do we do with that stuff?” TJ asked. “Bring it back to Robo-Nose,” Vivian said, slipping on one of the alien costumes. Jimmy and TJ looked at each other with the same uneasy expressions on their faces. “Do you mean that we should still try to infiltrate Robo-Nose?” Jimmy asked. “Of course,” Vivian said. “That was the plan. Now get on your alien outfits.” Jimmy and TJ reluctantly pulled out their costumes and started to change. That’s when the light in the room dimmed like a storm cloud ing over the sun. “It’s the shadow,” Vivian gasped. “Get on your costumes before it disappears!” The shadow was actually beautiful, almost hypnotic in a strange way. The shady gloom wasn’t distorted, but clear and crisp like a shadow puppet against a white screen. I lifted my nose, wondering if the thing had any smell, when some invisible force grabbed hold of my nostrils. “Help!” I cried out. “Something’s pulling me by the nose into the shadow!” Vivian jumped onto the bed and grabbed my leg. She tugged with all her might, but her effort was useless.The vacuum was too powerful. “Someone throw me an alien costume for Schnoz to wear!” Vivian shouted. “Hurry! Before it’s too late!” Jimmy ripped off his costume and tossed it to Vivian. The suction doubled in force, inhaling Vivian and me along with the hoses and battery into the dark depths of the shadow.

CHAPTER 17

THE OLFACTORY BULB

The intense pressure of the shadow propelled Vivian and me through a long tunnel.The journey felt like being inside a giant neon glow stick. A fluorescent green hue—the same shade as the Apneans’ eyes when they communicated with each other—illuminated the ageway as we traveled into another dimension. I looked up and saw that we were heading straight for an even brighter light. Vivian and I clutched each other’s hands as we burst through a thin snot bubble and landed feetfirst in a small room. “Where are we?” I wondered. Vivian shrugged. “I have no idea.” The wheezing sound of Robo-Nose’s snore-propulsion system hummed in my ears. A wall behind me began to shimmer like a precious jewel. I saw the outlines of three Apneans forming in the cascade of colors. Vivian pulled on her alien mask and tossed me my costume. “Put this on before they materialize!” The alien outfit Jimmy had stitched together fit me nice and snug, but the mask was another story.The thing wouldn’t fit over my nose! “Help me!” I hollered to Vivian. “They’re almost visible!” Vivian yanked at the mask, trying with all her might to slip the disguise over my beak. “This is like a grown man trying to put on a four-year-old’s sock,” she grunted. “On the count of three, we’ll give one giant tug. One…two…three…!” The mask slipped over my nose just as the Apneans appeared in the room.

Without even acknowledging us, they picked up the snore hoses and battery storage and then scurried away. “What should we do now?” Vivian asked. “We need to stay under the radar and try to find the ship’s weakness,” I said. “, these creatures are out to destroy Earth.” Vivian handed me another jar of cayenne pepper. “Just in case,” she said, and then we walked through the shimmering door and into Robo-Nose. We walked down a long corridor. The walls were metallic colored, and every few yards were weird glistening doors.The Apneans barged in and out of them without giving us a second glance. “I think our costumes are working,” I said. “Let’s go in one of the doors and check things out,” Vivian suggested. “Um…are you sure?” I hesitated. “What if we walk through a door and it’s an Apnean ladies’ restroom?” Vivian brushed me off. “These aliens are highly advanced beings. They probably don’t even have genders or go to the bathroom.” I took a deep breath and we stepped through a door. The experience was like taking a shower with rainbow water. Brilliant colors washed over us as we materialized on the other side. We saw two Apnean heads behind a privacy wall. Their eyes were flaming with fluorescent green light, obviously in deep conversation with each other. The Apnean closest to us reached up and pressed a button. A loud whoosh like a toilet flushing filled the room. My nose caught a whiff of a stinky, familiar scent. “What’s that bad smell?” Vivian whispered to me. “Apnean poop,” I said. “This really is an alien bathroom.” Before the other Apnean could flush his space age potty, Vivian and I rushed back into the hall.

“There goes your theory that Apneans don’t have bodily functions,” I said. She ignored my comment and kept walking. After exploring for a bit, we discovered that Robo-Nose was broken up into three levels: the lower Nose Hair, the middle Mucous, and the upper Olfactory Bulb. “The Olfactory Bulb is where we want to be,” I said. “That’s the nerve center of this operation.” “How do you know?” Vivian asked. “Trust me. I know my nose, and this whole spaceship is a giant replica of my pie sniffer. The Olfactory Bulb’s job is to transmit smells from the nose to the brain.That’s why dogs and I have such superior senses of smell. Our Olfactory Bulbs are quadruple the size of a normal human.” “Let’s go,” Vivian said, and we headed for the upper level. Robo-Nose’s Olfactory Bulb was brimming with activity. Apneans hustled back and forth, their eyes afire with green light. A viewing deck with a giant glass screen peered into endless space. “Do you see that blue dot in the distance?” Vivian asked. “Yes,” I said back. “Do you think it’s Earth?” “Absolutely. Look behind you.” I turned around and saw a screen with a map of the planet Earth. Three important-looking Apneans were pointing at the screen, zeroing in on North America. They zoomed in closer until only the state of New Hampshire popped up on the screen. After another quick magnification and the town of Denmark and the surrounding woods appeared in plain view. “That’s where they’re headed,” Vivian said. “Our little town.” “I hope Dr. Wackjöb is watching Robo-Nose’s descent to Earth on the Cosmoscope,” I said. A flurry of activity broke out behind us. Vivian and I turned and saw a bunch of

anxious-looking Apneans surround another large screen. We watched with dread as my bedroom popped up on the display. A movie played out before our eyes, showing the Not-Right Brothers fighting the snore-sucking aliens, and Vivian and me disappearing into the shadow. The Apneans had recorded the whole scene.

CHAPTER 18

RUNNING FOR OUR LIVES

A loud, flashing alert signal blasted from the intercom system. Vivian grabbed my hand. “They know we’re on the ship,” she said, panic gripping her vocal chords. “Let’s get out of here and figure out what to do next.” We nonchalantly walked out the Olfactory Bulb so as not to draw any unwanted attention and disappeared down the hall. “What are we supposed to do now?” Vivian asked when we got to the Nose Hair level. I brushed away the bristly, booger-crusted hairs that were dangling from the nasal lining ceiling. “I have no idea,” I said. “But we’re not leaving until we can figure out this flying snot machine’s weakness.” Vivian paced back and forth, thinking. “Weakness…weakness,” she muttered out loud. “If this ship is an exact design of your nose then it must have the same weaknesses as you.” “We went over this a few days ago. My nose doesn’t have any weaknesses.” “ that day you got hit in the snoot by a dodgeball in PE class?” “Of course I do. My honker bled so bad that the nurse alerted every bloodmobile in the state. I single-handedly supplied every hospital in New England with a year supply of type O positive blood.” “What if we figured out a way to cause Robo-Nose to have a massive nosebleed?” “Not very likely unless you can find a dodgeball the size of the moon.”

Vivian pulled up her mask and looked me in the eye. “We have to think of something fast,” she said. “One of two things is going to happen very shortly. Either the Apneans are going to find us and kill us, or they’re going to land on Earth and destroy the planet.” The options didn’t sound good to me. “There’s one nice thing from this experience,” I said. “Like what?” Vivian grunted. My nostrils flared and my scent receptors tingled with pleasure. “All the new alien smells for my scent dictionary,” I took a long, deep sniff. “The Apneans’ stinky odor, their tangy poop, and the perfume of the strange shimmering doors. I love all these new smells!” Vivian’s eyes grew as big as softballs. “That’s your weakness!” she shouted. “Smells!” I raised my eyebrows, not understanding what she was trying to say. Then it slowly dawned on me. Smells were my weakness and my strength all wrapped into one! “You are a genius!” I told her. “Robo-Nose and I have the same weakness— smells!” “Exactly. What’s the smelliest thing you have ever smelled?” she asked. “The Gates of Smell,” I answered. “Okay, then what’s the next nastiest thing you have ever whiffed? There’s no way we’re ripping up the gym floor and exposing that nasty pit.” I thought for a second. Dog poop smeared on the bottom of a sneaker, crusty unwashed underwear, burning human hair, rotting roadkill, my dad’s farts, Principal Cyrano’s body odor, foot fungus… “Rotting shark meat, without a doubt,” I decided. Vivian’s face crinkled in disgust. “Hákarl! The rotting shark meat soaked in its

own urine.” “Somehow we have to lure Robo-Nose with the smell of hákarl and…” Before I could finish my sentence, I looked up and saw several Apneans rushing toward us.Their big alien eyes lit up like fireflies. “They see us!” Vivian squealed. “How do they know it’s us?” I asked. “Your mask is ripped!” I reached up and felt the fleshy cartilage of my schnozola. She was right. The fabric in the mask had torn open and my nose was popping out like a clown from a jack-in-the-box. An Apnean raised a lightning-bolt-shaped wand and aimed it directly at us. We both ducked as a spray of light shot from the end and exploded above our heads. “They’re shooting!” Vivian cried. “Run!” I took a quick sniff of pepper and sneezed a round of cayenne-fueled snot right at them. The boogery phlegm smacked into an invisible shield and then ricocheted harmlessly away.

“The cayenne pepper isn’t working,” I groaned. Vivian and I rushed down several hallways, the Apneans in hot pursuit. “Let’s find the portal back to your bedroom,” Vivian said, huffing for breath. We burst through a bunch of shimmering doors, searching for the way back home.The more rooms we ran into, the more Apneans ed the chase. A blast from one of their lightning wands clipped my left nostril and sent me spiraling to the floor. “Owww!” I cried. “They shot my sniffer!” Vivian held my nose in her hands. “It’s just a scratch,” she said. “There isn’t any blood. Let’s go!” We were running for our lives, the Apneans closing in fast. I could smell their stinky skin and poopy behinds. My nostril throbbed with pain. Just as I was about to fall over from exhaustion, we burst through a shimmering door and saw the portal back home. “This is it!” Vivian hollered. “Are you sure?” I asked. “It looks the same. Anyway, we have no choice. The Apneans are…” Four armed aliens charged into the room.They aimed their lightning wands directly at us. Before they could fire, Vivian and I dived through the snot bubble and into the glow-in-the-dark tunnel.

CHAPTER 19

SWEET DREAMS

We were falling, tumbling end-over-end through a vast void of nothingness. Below us was a bright light. I closed my eyes, praying the light was coming from the nightstand in my bedroom. Vivian and I burst through the snot bubble and landed on top of my bed. We bounced off the mattress directly on top of Mumps, who was still fast asleep in his sleeping bag. “Get off me,” Mumps grumbled. “Where were you guys?” Jimmy asked. “One minute you’re here and the next minute you’re gone.” “Schnoz, your nose is all red,” TJ said. I looked in the mirror and saw a huge red scrape on my left nostril.The wound was sensitive to touch and felt like the brush burn I had gotten on my leg once from sliding down a playground pole in shorts. “The Apneans shot at me,” I said. “Tell us everything,” Jimmy demanded. For the next twenty minutes, Vivian and I explained our journey into the mucous depths of Robo-Nose. From the shimmering doors, the Apnean bathroom, to the nerve center inside the Olfactory Bulb, and my theory about Robo-Nose’s weakness—smells. “How could all that happen when you were only gone for one minute?” Jimmy asked.

“We were gone for hours,” Vivian said. “No you weren’t. You guys disappeared into the shadow on the ceiling for a few seconds and then came back.” “That’s impossible,” I muttered. Jimmy pointed to the clock on my nightstand. “It’s four twenty in the morning. I looked at the clock right after you guys disappeared into the shadow.The time was four nineteen.” “Space-time continuum,” TJ said. “Einstein came up with it. His theory says the universe has three dimensions—up and down, left and right, forward and back. There’s also a fourth time dimension, and that’s called the space-time continuum. It basically means that space time is different from Earth time.” A rustling sound came from the corner of my bedroom. I looked over and saw the two duct-taped Apneans. I had completely forgotten about them! “What are we going to do about—” I started to say when the shadow appeared once again on my ceiling. “They’re coming for us!” Vivian screeched. We all watched as the shadow hovered above the Apneans. A loud sucking sound filled my room, and in flash of bright light, the aliens rose in the air and disappeared into the shadow. “That takes care of that problem,” Mumps said, sliding out of his sleeping bag. “What should we do now?” Jimmy asked. Before I could answer, a knock came at my door. “Andy!” My mom said, raising her voice. “It’s late and time for you boys to settle down. Understand?” “Sorry,” I said. “We’ll go back to bed.” Mom’s slippers padded down the hallway.After her bedroom door shut, I

whispered, “When Vivian and I were in Robo-Nose’s control room, we saw a giant map of Denmark. That means they’re landing right here in New Hampshire to start the first phase of their global invasion.” “And we know that Robo-Nose is flying at the speed of snores,” Vivian added. “They’re going to land soon, probably sometime this afternoon or tomorrow at the latest.” “Plus,” TJ said, pointing at Vivian and me, “They are going to be looking for you two.” My heart plunged into my stomach. From the look on Vivian’s face, I could tell she felt scared too. I hadn’t been this afraid since Vivian and I swan-dived into the Gates of Smell. “Super Schnoz,” Vivian said. “You are the only person who can save us.” “Blow them to smithereens with the cayenne cannon!” TJ cheered. “Pepper sneezes have no effect on them,” I said, patting a jar of cayenne strapped to my belt. “I tried it when the Apneans were chasing Vivian and me. They have some kind of invisible shield that deflects the snot.” “Just like Magneto from the X-Men,” Mumps said. “He has a force field that can block out matter and energy. The field is strong enough to withstand a hundred nuclear bombs.” “Except that there is a big difference between Magneto and the Apneans,” Jimmy said. “What’s that? Mumps asked. “Magneto is a fictional comic book character and Apneans are real!” “Shhhhh!” I hissed, pressing a finger to my lips. I don’t want my mom to wake up again.” “The reflective shield they possess means we can’t fight them with conventional sneezes,” Vivian said.

“Then how are we supposed to destroy them?” Jimmy asked. “We need to lure Robo-Nose to Dr. Wackjöb’s compound with the stinky hákarl.” “Why?” TJ asked. “Robo-Nose is Schnoz’s evil doppelgänger,” Vivian explained. “We all know that Schnoz can’t resist stinky smells. That means the giant booger factory snoring its way toward Earth loves nasty scents too.” I walked over to the window and looked outside. The first winks of dawn peeked over the WMNF. Summer was ending; school would be starting soon, and that meant fall allergies. I was severely allergic to pollen from plants belonging to the genus Ambrosia—otherwise known as ragweed. I could already feel my nose tingling, eyes itching, and gallons of snot pouring from my honker. The ragweed made my sinuses throb and ears plug up so bad it felt like my head was going to implode. “I got it!” I screeched. “Got what?” Vivian asked. “I know how we can defeat Robo-Nose! We plug up its nostrils so the thing implodes from the inside!” I heard my mom’s bedroom door open. Her feet stomped angrily down the hallway toward my bedroom.Vivian hid under the bed, I jumped under the covers, and the Not-Right Brothers slipped into their sleeping bags. “Sweet dreams,” Mumps chimed, and then we all pretended to be asleep.

CHAPTER 20

STAGING AREA

The next morning, Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers met me inside the Nostril. I put on my tights, cape, Mardi Gras mask, and instantly became Super Schnoz! “Schnoz, your idea to plug up Robo-Nose’s nostrils is good,” Jimmy said. “But how can we pull it off?” “That flying snotter is massive,” Vivian said. “There isn’t enough ragweed on the whole planet to stuff that muzzle up.” “We have to think of something,” TJ said. “What about Krazy Glue?” Mumps suggested. “It would take enough Krazy Glue to fill up Lake Winnipesaukee to close up that metallic honker,” I said. “The thing is massive.” Vivian paced around the Nostril, thinking. She peeled Mr. Sticky from the window and stroked his rough, leathery skin. “Did you know that a gecko’s sticky toe pads are so strong they can hold the weight of two adult males?” “So?” Jimmy grunted. “What’s your point?” “I don’t have a point,” Vivian said. “I was just saying.” “I read all about geckos,” TJ said. “They have tiny hairlike thingies called setae on the base of their toes. Over two million setae could fit neatly on a quarter. Their feet are one of the stickiest substances on the planet.” “Maybe we can use Mr. Sticky to plug up Robo-Nose,” Vivian said. “That’s a great idea!” Jimmy said sarcastically. “Let’s go round up a billion

geckos and shove them up Robo-Nose’s booger factory.” “It was just a suggestion,” Vivian fired back. “I don’t hear you coming up with any ideas.” “Let’s talk to Dr. Wackjöb,” I said. “Maybe he knows what to do.” I popped my nose out the door and took a sniff. “The wind is picking up. It’s a good time to fly.” Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers positioned themselves in the harness. I pulled the straps tight, a gust of wind inflated my nostrils, and we were sailing into the sky.We were cruising at an altitude of two thousand feet when I saw something large punch through Earth’s atmosphere. “Look at that big plane!” Mumps gushed. “That’s not a plane,” I heard Vivian say. “It’s Robo-Nose.” I watched as the flying snout speeded toward the WMNF, the rumble of my stolen snores powering its humongous nostrils. Robo-Nose was an invincible snoring machine. The massive mechanical mucous maker made me quiver with anxiety. I would have to fight my evil twin nose-to-nose and nostril-to-nostril in an epic battle to save Earth. Would I have enough nose power to do the job? “Fly faster, Schnoz!” Jimmy shouted.

Robo-Nose descended like a cruise missile into the forest outside of town. A huge blast of green booger bombs shot from its beak followed by a massive explosion. Trees, rocks, and other debris exploded into the sky. “That thing just blew up Dr. Wackjöb!” Vivian cried. From a trick I learned from watching a TV show about peregrine falcons, I pinned my arms at my sides and dove at breaknose speed toward Dr. Wackjöb’s compound. We came within a few hundred feet and my nostrils spread wide. A familiar, tangy stench tingled my nose hairs—hákarl. The round dome of the Cosmoscope was still intact. “Robo-Nose didn’t blow anything up!” I shouted to my friends. “I see the Cosmoscope and smell the rotting shark meat!” “Then what did that thing just destroy?” Jimmy asked. “I’m going to drop you off at Dr. Wackjöb’s compound and find out,” I said. I deposited my friends off and then did a reconnaissance flight. Robo-Nose had blasted a clearing in the woods about five miles from our present location. Dozens of Apneans buzzed around like flies on a dead squirrel. They were clearing away fallen trees and brush, preparing a staging area for their world conquest. They assembled what looked like a row of army barracks and a large storage building for supplies. Space-age-looking land rovers rolled out of Robo-Nose, carrying two massive hunks of metal shaped like rectangles. The Apneans placed the blocks on top of each other. But they didn’t touch.They just hovered in midair like two magnets repelling each other. I knew from science class that magnets also draw things together. Robo-Nose fired up its snore engines and hovered between the two floating magnets. Instantly, the space nose’s nostrils started flaring.The ground below quaked with tremors. I was just about to turn and fly away when a fleet of booger-shaped blobs flew out of Robo-Nose.

The booger blobs were vehicles the size of large jellyfish. Two weapons that looked like torpedo launchers were at their sides. The blobs positioned themselves in battle formation and test fired at the surrounding pine trees. Lethal, laser-like nose hair rockets shot from their guns, blasting the towering trees into toothpicks. A rocket ricocheted off a large rock and then beelined in my direction. I managed to duck out of the way, but the rocket’s tailwind made me bank sharply to the left.The gust of sudden wind caused my butt to rise in the air, and, like the rudder on an airplane, made me pitch downward into a descent. I inhaled with all my might, desperately trying to gain altitude, but it was no use. I was crashing nosefirst into Robo-Nose’s staging ground.

CHAPTER 21

BATTLE OF THE BOOGER BLOBS

I hit the ground so hard my nose was impaled by a mound of dirt. As I struggled to free myself, a sharp pain ripped through my backside. An Apnean had shot me in the butt at close range with a lighting wand! “Owww!” I screeched and yanked my nose from the ground. Mucky soil had packed into my nostrils like cement. My face scrunched up, my eyes closed tightly, and I sneezed. The sludge lodged inside my nose discharged directly into a platoon of Apneans. They must not have been wearing their invisible shields, because the expulsion sent the invaders tumbling into the forest.

The Booger Blobs were on me fast. A round of nose hair rockets blasted in my direction. Before they could send me to nose-picker heaven, I inhaled a large gust of wind and soared into the sky. I attempted to outmaneuver them, but they were too fast. ing the Forest Moon of Endor chase scene from my alltime favorite movie, Star Wars Episode VI, I dived straight for the heart of the dark forest. I dodged and ducked my way through the trees, careful of low hanging branches and fallen limbs. The booger blobs were hot on my nose. Hair rockets exploded all around me. I snorted a snoot full of cayenne pepper and shot a spicy blast right at them. Just like when I was on the Apnean ship, my snot bomb ricocheted off of their invisible shields and bounced harmlessly away. The lead booger blob—which was a dark green color like the infected snot from a cold—soared to my rear.The thing was so close I could hear the slurping sound of its phlegm-powered engines. Click…click… The sound of the booger blob locking and loading its nose-hair guns was unmistakable. In an act of desperation, I scraped the forest floor with my hand and grabbed a handful of sticky pinecones. I hurled the seed cases over my shoulder directly at the booger blob. The pinecones miraculously penetrated the deflection shield and stuck to the flying mucus like a Band-Aid. I watched as the booger blob sputtered. Snot fuel sprinkled from its tank, and it crashed to the ground in a brilliant explosion of loogies and gray-green discharge. Another booger blob raced beside me. Before the snotty thing could raise its rockets and fire, I swung my head and nudged the alien with my nose. My efforts knocked the booger blob off balance just enough for me to bombard it into submission with more pinecones. I didn’t have time to ponder why pinecones breached their invisible shields and not the Cayenne Cannon. Maybe when I speared one with a pinecone, it affected their balance and sent the slimy things into a deadly tailspin. A nose-hair rocket blasted past my head and nearly ripped off my nose. I turned and saw two-dozen more booger blobs racing after me. Six of them were gaining

on me fast. I knew I could never fight that many at once in nose-to-nose combat. So instead of throwing pinecones with my hands, I shoved them up my nostrils and fired them like missiles from a jet fighter. One by one, the booger blobs dripped away like a runny nose on a winter day. I flew as fast as I could, inhaling deep snorts to keep up my speed and velocity. When I was sure no more Booger Blobs were coming after me, I inflated my nostrils and rose over the forest canopy. That’s when I saw Robo-Nose expel a blast of hot air from its nostrils.The rancid nasal expulsion withered vegetation and scorched the earth. The giant nose’s snoring became so loud it made my ears ring. The olfactory energy made the floating magnets grow hotter. Flashes of brilliant emerald green and pink lights illuminated the sky. The light show was spectacular, like having a front row seat at the aurora borealis. I was spellbound until I looked back down at the ground. The earth below Robo-Nose was shaking violently. A small fissure had split open the ground and was growing larger. Forty-foot high trees toppled and twoton boulders rolled into the crack like toy marbles. I watched helplessly as the crevice slowly expanded outward in all directions. More booger blobs appeared on the horizon. Apnean ground troops formed a column and marched along the fault line. They were heading straight toward Dr. Wackjöb’s compound and then on to Denmark for the destruction of our town.

CHAPTER 22

POLYDIMETHYLSILOXANE AND CARBON NANOTUBES

The Cosmoscope was shaking like a dog in a thunderstorm when I landed back at the compound. I rushed inside the observatory and saw Vivian and the NotRight Brothers desperately trying to stabilize the giant telescope. “Help us, Schnoz!” Vivian shouted when she saw me. “Grab this strap and secure it to the wall,” Dr. Wackjöb ordered. I tugged the long leather strap and hooked it to an iron peg screwed into the wall. Jimmy did the same on the other side. After a few tightening adjustments, the Cosmoscope stabilized into position. “Robo-Nose started an earthquake,” I said, out of breath. “I figured it was either that or a massive elephant herd was stampeding our way,” Jimmy said. “What do we do now?” Mumps asked, a look of fear in his eyes. “Are we all going to die?” “No one is dying,” I consoled him. “Not as long as Super Schnoz is still alive and sniffing!” “What did you see out there?” TJ asked me. I filled them in on everything, from landing nosefirst into the dirt, getting my butt zapped with a lightning wand, to my epic battle with the booger blobs. Dr. Wackjöb turned as white as vanilla ice cream when I told him about the giant magnets and the magnificent light display. “What’s happening?” Vivian asked, seeing the seismologist’s concerned

expression. “The Apneans’ mission to destroy Earth has begun,” Dr.Wackjöb said grimly. “They will cause massive earthquakes, tsunamis, climate change, and ultimately our species’ extinction.” Vivian, Mumps, and I looked out the observatory window. In the distance, I heard the awful phlegm-sucking sounds of the booger blobs’ engines. The trees were shaking; the Apneans were getting closer. “Now that we know what they’re trying to do, let’s come up with a plan to stop it.” Vivian said. “We already thought of a plan back at the Nostril,” I told her. “Robo-Nose must be destroyed. It’s like killing the queen of a beehive. Once the queen bee is gone, the hive is doomed.” “Perfect analogy, Gríöarstór Nef,” Dr. Wackjöb said to me. “But even my superior mind cannot think of how we can destroy it.” “We don’t need a superior mind to stop that extraterrestrial snot maker, we just need a superior nose!” Vivian pulled Mr. Sticky from her coat pocket. “That and my little cold-blooded friend. We already know how to destroy Robo-Nose.” I smiled at Vivian and then looked Dr.Wackjöb in the eye. “We have to plug up Robo-Nose’s nostrils. If we can do that, the whole schnozola will break apart like a battered piñata at a little kid’s birthday party.” The floor shuddered beneath our feet. Dr. Wackjöb grabbed a door handle to stabilize himself. “You are absolutely right,” he said. “Why didn’t I think of that?” “Who cares who thought of it!” Vivian hollered. “We’re running out of time!” Dr. Wackjöb stared at the ceiling, muttering to himself. “Nose, nasal ages, blockage. Congestion, allergies, head cold, nasal polyps…I got it!” he yelled. “What is it?” TJ asked. “We need to make some kind of synthetic mucus,” Dr. Wackjöb explained. “It

must be the thickest, most gelatinous substance on earth.” “The footpads on a gecko’s feet make some of the stickiest substances on earth,” Vivian said. Dr. Wackjöb nodded his head. “Setae. You are absolutely right. All I would need to produce synthetic setae quickly is polydimethylsiloxane and carbon nanotubes, which I have inside my laboratory.” “What about sticky pinecones?” I suggested, and then I told him how the pinecones were able to pierce the booger blob’s invisible shields. “It probably wasn’t the pinecone itself that had the penetration power,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “But rather the resin surrounding the pinecone. That’s another good source of stickiness.” “We have two ingredients,” Jimmy said. “Synthetic gecko feet and pinecone gunk. Is that enough to make fake snot?” “We’ll need a liquid base to hold all the ingredients together,” TJ said. “You can use my own snot for a base,” I offered. “It’s almost allergy season and my mucus is as thick as whale blubber.” “Perfect,” Dr.Wackjöb said. “Let’s get to work!”

CHAPTER 23

TRAIL OF HÁKARL

Dr. Wackjöb drained the above-ground swimming pool behind the Cosmoscope. Everyone stood back as I filled it back up with every drop of my gooey snot. The pool looked like a giant bowl of tapioca pudding topped with green raisins. “That is plenty for the base,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “Mumps, I need you to collect as many pinecones as you can carry. TJ, follow me to the laboratory. I will need an assistant to make the adherent mixture.” Mumps disappeared into the woods and Dr. Wackjöb and TJ hurried into the laboratory. The dirt rumbled underneath our feet. Robo-Nose’s angry snores grew louder. Dr.Wackjöb’s compound and the town of Denmark were first in line for the Apneans’ total domination of Earth. “How are we supposed to shove fake snot up Robo-Nose’s nostrils anyway?” Jimmy asked. I shrugged. “Dr.Wackjöb will let us know.” “We need to lure Robo-Nose to us,” Vivian said. “Just like in Hansel and Gretel, but instead of a trail of bread crumbs we leave Robo-Nose a trail of rotting, urine-soaked shark meat.” Jimmy plugged his nose. “Schnoz, you need to get it within whiffing distance of Robo-Nose. The smell of the stuff makes me want to throw up.” “He’s right,” Vivian added. “I can’t go anywhere near the stuff either.” The harness I used to transport Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers to Dr. Wackjöb’s compound lay crumpled in the weeds. It gave me the perfect idea.

“I load up the harness with the hákarl,” I said. “I’ll fly over the Apneans’ staging ground and drop a hunk every twenty yards or so. , Robo-Nose is an exact copy of my sneezer. If I love the luscious smell, then my mirror image will too.” “It sounds kind of risky to me,” Jimmy said. “We don’t have any other choice,” Vivian told him. “If the hákarl doesn’t work, we’ll all be dead meat just like those poor decomposing sharks.” Hundreds of hunks of Hákarl dangled on hooks inside the drying shed. I loaded as many as I could into the harness. Just as I was about to levitate into the sky, I saw the dark cloud of booger blobs getting closer. I stuffed dozens of pinecones into my utility belt in case I needed to defend myself. “Don’t forget to take some cayenne pepper,” Vivian suggested. “It doesn’t work on Apneans,” I said. “You saw with your own eyes.” Vivian shoved a jar into my utility belt. “Cayenne pepper is like having a Boy Scout knife. You never know when it might come in handy.” I flew low, skimming the treetops to stay out of sight of the booger blobs. RoboNose’s snoring had ripped a chasm into the earth ten yards wide and fifty yards deep. The fissure grew longer and longer with every snort from the mighty mechanical nose. When I arrived at the Apneans’ staging ground, I hovered in midair and checked out the scene. The ground around Robo-Nose was smoking with flames. The two floating magnets were red hot; the light emanating from them was a horrific, fiery vision of Hades. I stuffed a hunk of hákarl up my nose and sneezed with all my might. The rotting shark meat landed within a few feet of Robo-Nose’s throbbing nostrils. What happened next made my honker hoot with joy! Slimy scent pods shot out of Robo-Nose and sniffed up the hákarl. I sneezed another piece, this time a little farther away. The massive beak rotated its nostrils and rolled toward the stinky meat. Again, the scent pods grabbed the bait and snorted it up in one sniff. For the next forty-five minutes, Robo-Nose followed the scent of hákarl through

the woods like a hungry tiger tracking a wounded goat. A legion of Apneans followed close behind their fearless sniffer. The booger blobs flocked in the sky above me. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a half-dozen of them dive, firing their nose-hair rockets at the ground. A voice screamed out, “They blew up the Cosmoscope!” It was Vivian. I flew as fast as I could toward Dr. Wackjöb’s compound, dropping the last hunks of hákarl along the route. When I arrived, I saw little gray Apneans everywhere.The compound now looked like a war zone. Plumes of dark smoke rose over the devastation. Booger Blobs had blasted the sight into submission, destroying nearly every building. The only thing standing was the swimming pool full of my snot. I desperately sniffed the air, smelling for my friends. A group of Apneans had captured Vivian, Jimmy, and Mumps. The enemy had bound them at the wrists and they were being marched into the woods. Dr. Wackjöb and TJ were nowhere in sight. I shoved a few rounds of pinecones up my nose and dived to rescue my friends. Mumps looked up and saw me speeding toward him. “Super Schnoz, look out!” he screamed. I glanced around to heed his warning. That’s when two booger blobs fired at me. Three rounds missed their mark, but the fourth shot was a direct hit. A deadly nose hair pierced my right nostril and sent me spiraling out of control toward the ground.

CHAPTER 24

NOSTRIL-TO-NOSTRIL RESUSCITATION

The blast knocked me out of the air and sent me tumbling into the weeds. My wounded nostril throbbed with pain. Blood dripped from the end, soaking the Super Schnoz emblem on my chest. I inhaled deeply, sniffing to see if my smell powers were still working. The strong, stinky scent of Apneans wafted into my nostrils. I looked up and saw a gang of them racing in my direction. I reached into my utility belt and shoved five pinecones up each nostril. As the Apneans were about to pounce on me, I pointed my honker howitzer and sneezed right at them. My aim was perfect. The pinecones pierced their invisible shields and blew them across the compound. Across the battlefield, I watched Dr. Wackjöb and TJ climb out of an underground bunker. They were carrying a huge tub of sloshing green liquid.As the Apneans closed in on them, the two managed to hoist the tub over the rim of the pool and dump its contents. The chemical reaction between the synthetic mucus and my real snot instantly doubled the concoction like a giant batch of bread dough rising over a loaf pan. A loud rumbling sound came from the woods. Robo-Nose had followed my trail of hákarl just as we had hoped. But how could I deliver the payload? Snaked around the swimming pool was Dr. Wackjöb’s firehose. I realized his plan was to slurp the fake snot up with the hose and shoot it into Robo-Nose’s nostrils. The idea was brilliant. Except for now, Dr. Wackjöb and TJ were prisoners of the Apneans. I fought my way to the swimming pool, firing rounds of pinecones at the pursuing aliens and their flying booger blobs. Robo-Nose had discovered the source of the hákarl supply and snorted every bit of the stinky stuff into its greedy nostrils.

What I saw next made my nose quiver with fear. The Apneans were marching my friends straight toward the alien sniffer’s pulsing proboscis. “Help us, Super Schnoz!” Vivian cried out. Dr.Wackjöb, Vivian, and the Not-Right Brothers were within twenty yards of Robo-Nose. I had to act or lose my friends and the planet forever. I dove for the firehose. Just as I gripped it between my hands, a booger blob shot at me.The nose-hair rocket punctured the hose, shredding it to pieces. What would I do now? There was only one choice: I would have to inhale the synthetic mucus into my nose and then implant it into Robo-Nose myself. I gripped the sides of the pool and plunged my nose into the bubbling booger brew. After a quick huff, my nostrils had sucked up every drop of the glutinous mixture. The gunk was super sticky, like Krazy Glue on steroids. I ran toward Robo-Nose and attempted to sneeze the snot into his awaiting nostrils.

Nothing came out. The stuff had clogged up my nostrils like dry cement. “Use the cayenne pepper!” Vivian shouted at me. “Rub it inside your nostrils with your finger. The heat of the pepper may be enough to loosen the adherent.” I grabbed the bottle and dumped some pepper into my hand. Thankfully Vivian had insisted I carry it along. I plunged my pepper-laden finger into my nose and worked it deep into the nasal cavity. A painful burning sensation shot through my forehead. I ran the back of my hand across my nose and saw thick green discharge. The cayenne was working! My congestion was clearing! My friends were seconds away from Robo-Nose snorting them up forever. I charged at the evil smelling machine, blowing the contents of my snuffler directly into the nasally clone’s nostrils like I was giving it nose-to-nose resuscitation. I fell away, gasping for air. Robo-Nose’s nostrils closed shut. It let out a deep choking sound, like it was fighting for breath. The Apneans who were guarding my friends rushed toward their wounded leader. “Run!” I shouted. “This snorter’s going to explode!” We all dashed into the woods and watched the scene unfold. The booger blobs flying overhead ignored us and soared to help Robo-Nose. “Listen,” Vivian said. “The earthquake has stopped.” “She’s right,” TJ said. “I don’t feel any more tremors.” “And the crack in the earth isn’t getting any bigger,” Mumps added. Dr. Wackjöb opened his mouth to comment just as Robo-Nose began to suffocate. The alien ship’s titanium seams split apart like an elephant trying to fit into a pair of pants made for a toddler.

Robo-Nose exploded in a violent shock wave. We all hit the ground as a shower of shrapnel fragments splintered off in every direction. A fireball scorched the area with red-hot flames. “Keep your heads down,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “The blast wind is coming.” “What’s a blast wind?” Jimmy asked. Before Jimmy could get an explanation, a rush of air like a vacuum began sucking us toward the blast sight.The pull was so strong, we had to grab trees to keep the suction from drawing us back to the source of the explosion. Then everything grew eerily silent. The only sounds we heard were Robo-Nose’s sizzling nose hairs. The Apneans had disappeared, and the few remaining booger blobs were fleeing into the atmosphere toward outer space.

CHAPTER 25

WACKJÖB ENTERPRISES

The Apneans had completely destroyed the Center for UFOs, Earthquakes, and Alien Abduction. The steady hum of a helicopter’s rotating wings buzzed in the distance. “A helicopter is coming,” I alerted everyone. “That’s a helicopter from the US Forest Service,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “They probably saw the explosion from the top of Mt. Washington and are coming to investigate.” “Great!” TJ chirped. “We can tell them what happened out here. How we saved the world from an alien invasion!” “Nobody’s telling anybody anything,” I told him. “Our operation is a secret. ?” “But we deserve some recognition! We can be national heroes. They’ll name high schools after us, stretches of highway, skyscrapers, airports. I can see it now: The TJ International Airport of Denmark, New Hampshire.” “McDonalds can name a new hamburger after me,” Mumps said. “The McMumps Burger! Four all-beef patties, three slices of cheese, and lots of mustard!” “That’s about the grossest sounding burger ever,” Vivian said and pretended to gag. “I’m glad I’m a vegetarian.” Dr. Wackjöb stood up and gazed at the ruins of his life’s work. His face was haggard and old-looking. We had been through so much together; I felt bad for

the guy. After all, his whole life had exploded in a wad of snot right up RoboNose’s nostrils. “TJ, the authorities will never believe you,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “I have been trying to tell people for twenty years that alien beings are real and were planning an all-out assault on Earth. No one listened and they laughed me right out of Iceland.” “What will you do now?” Vivian asked. Dr. Wackjöb shook his head in defeat. “My reputation has already been ruined and now my compound is completely destroyed. I have nowhere to go.” “You can stay in Denmark and be one of us,” I said. “Of course!” Vivian beamed. “You can be a new member of our team—Super Schnoz, the Not-Right Brothers, Vivian, and Dr.Wackjöb!” “Great idea,” Mumps said. “It’s just like when the Human Torch became a member of the Fantastic Four.” “My dad owns an apartment building on Main Street,” TJ added. “There are a couple of empty apartments.You can live in one of them.” A smile slowly spread across Dr. Wackjöb’s wrinkly face. “You are very kind,” he said softly. “I accept your offer as it appears I have no other choice.” “Besides Dr.Wackjöb ing our team, another good thing has come from all of this,” Jimmy said. “What’s that?” I asked. “Your snoring.We cured it. Now the people of Denmark can finally get a good night’s sleep.” He was right. Without the Apneas shoving hoses up my nose every night, I was snore free. Now the townspeople wouldn’t make my family and me move! I walked across the scorched battlefield and picked up the tub that held the sticky concoction Dr. Wackjöb and TJ had made. There was still a cupful sloshing around in the bottom.

“This potion you guys made worked like a charm,” I said. “If it wasn’t for this stuff, we’d all be speaking Apnean right now. That was the gooiest, stickiest stuff I’ve ever seen.” “I was just the helper,” TJ said. “Dr. Wackjöb gets all the credit.” “Someone should market it as a product for glue,” Vivian suggested. “You’d make a million.” Dr. Wackjöb’s solemn face grew brighter. His eyes opened wide in realization, like he’d just discovered the secret of the universe. He scooped the last few drops of his creation into a plastic cup. “Children, we need to get away from this place now,” he said. “The US Forest Service and the State Police will be here any moment.” Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, Dr. Wackjöb, and I walked down the path and headed back to town.

On the last day of summer vacation before school started back up, I slipped out of the house and hopped on my bike. My neighbors were getting ready for work, their faces fresh from a restful night’s sleep. I pedaled into town as Main Street was just starting to liven up with the morning rush. All but one coffee shop had closed its doors. Stores like the Soundproofing Emporium, the White Noise Outlet, and the Earthquake Emergency Bargain Bin had gone out of business too. But the storefronts were not empty. New businesses had set up shop, like Glue More, Forever Stick, Snore Be Gone Bazaar, and the Snore No More Shack. When the earthquakes stopped, the North American Seismological Laboratory moved out of the old toothpick factory and back to California. The new occupant of the brick building was Wackjöb Enterprises—Makers of Gecko Glue® and Snore Cure Mist®. A large sign outside of town proclaimed: Denmark, New Hampshire—the Glue and Anti-Snore Capital of the World. After experimenting more with the sticky, snotty gunk, Dr. Wackjöb discovered that by boiling down the synthetic setae into a mist it transformed into a cure for snoring. He wasn’t sure why, but after several clinical trials the facts were undisputable. Dr. Aðalbjörn Wackjöb, native of Iceland and resident of Denmark, New Hampshire, had discovered a permanent cure for snoring. I pedaled past Dr. Wackjöb’s factory toward the outskirts of town. There was a rumor going around that a dead moose was lying on the side of a country road. I had been neglecting my scent dictionary as of late and was eager to add some new smells. A decaying, maggoty dead moose would be a perfect new addition.

I felt a slight sting on my nostril. I reached up and gently touched my nose. The wound on my honker from the nose hair-rocket was healing, but it still hurt sometimes. From down the road of I heard a loud sucking sound.The noise sounded exactly the slurping of a booger blob’s phlegm-powered engine! I ripped open my backpack, threw on my Super Schnoz cape and Mardi Gras mask, and searched the ground for fallen pinecones. The nearby woods were full of them, so I shoved a dozen or so up my nose and waited for the booger blob. The snotty thing was coming up over the hill! The sickly slurping sound was unmistakable. Just as I was about to fire, I saw that it wasn’t a booger blob after all. Just a rickety old pick-up truck with a bad muffler. Relieved, I unloaded my nose of all the pinecones except for one. If a real booger blog appeared on the horizon, I wanted to be ready.

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Text copyright © 2014 by Gary Urey

ISBN: 978-1-4976-5296-5

Pictures by Keith Frawley

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Super Schnoz and the Booger Blaster Breakdown

Gary Urey Pictures by Keith Frawley

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CHAPTER 1

STRANGE SCENT

“Schnoz, what’s that weird smell?” Jimmy asked me one day while TJ, Mumps, Vivian, and I were cruising on our bikes down Main Street. I flared my nostrils and inhaled the luscious, intoxicating scent. My nose hairs tingled with joy, my olfactory bulbs throbbing with delight. The wonderful smell had been wafting in the crisp autumn air of Denmark, New Hampshire, for weeks, and my nose could barely contain its excitement. “That smell isn’t weird,” I answered. “It’s Strange, as in Jean Paul Puanteur’s Strange.” “Huh?” TJ grunted. “Strange is the name of an extremely popular unisex perfume,” Vivian said, steering her bike toward Dr. Wackjöb’s Gecko Glue® and Snore Cure Mist® factory. “Every teenager and adult in town wears it.” “Schnoz, let me give you a piece of advice,” Jimmy razzed. “Don’t let the other guys in school know you like perfume. It could be seriously bad for your honker health.” TJ laughed. “Perfume’s for girls.” “Don’t tell that to my dad,” Mumps said. “He’s been spraying himself with Strange every morning for a month.” “Like Vivian said, the perfume is unisex,” I replied. “What’s ‘unisex’ mean?” Jimmy asked. I hit the brakes, and my bike skidded to a stop. “It means the perfume is suitable

for both sexes, male and female.” “My mom loves it too,” Vivian added. “She goes through a bottle every two weeks.” “Jean Paul Puanteur is the greatest perfumer in the world!” I proclaimed. “He’s the Mozart of odor, the Picasso of aroma—” Before I could finish, one of Dr. Wackjöb’s delivery trucks whizzed past us. His Gecko Glue® and Snore Cure Mist® products were selling like hotcakes around the world. In fact, they were so successful that Filthy Rich Review had featured the company on the cover of its October issue. But the best thing about the business was that it employed hundreds of local people. My mom even got a job there as a quality control supervisor. “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” I said to Jimmy after the truck had turned the corner. “I’m not just a one-sniff pony who only likes the smells of dog poop, armpits, and rotting roadkill. I’m a connoisseur of the sweeter scents in life too, you know.” “The art of mixing herb oil, spices, and tree resins to make different fragrances goes all the way back to ancient Babylon,” Vivian said. “Perfuming is as old as civilization itself.” TJ rolled his eyes. “Ancient or not, I still say perfume is for girls.” “Stop being a sexist!” Vivian yelled and then held up her fists. “Do you want a bop on the chin?” “I’m not six!” TJ fired back. “I turned eleven two months ago.” “I said you were a sexist, dork butt. A person who stereotypes people based on their gender.” “She’s right, TJ,” I said. “Apologize. Vivian’s smarter and tougher than all of you Not-Right Brothers put together.” TJ kicked a rock with his sneaker. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t mean anything by it. I just assumed only girls wore perfume, that’s all.”

“Well, now you know different,” Vivian said. “Let’s hurry up and get to Dr. Wackjöb’s office. I’m starving.” Every Wednesday, students were released early from school so the teachers could have meetings. We got out at noon and, weather permitting, rode our bikes to Dr. Wackjöb’s office for lunch. As we made our way down the street toward the factory, I deeply inhaled the overpowering smell of Strange. Distinguishing among the perfume’s different ingredients proved difficult at first, but soon my powerful olfactory receptors ed the parts directly into my mental scent dictionary. The perfume’s base was ethyl alcohol and distilled water—typical for most perfumes. Next, I sniffed a tantalizing blend of essential oils like lavender, jasmine, sandalwood, and bergamot. I could tell the perfume was of the highest quality because all the ingredients were natural, not one synthetic fragrance in the mix. The security guard opened the factory gates, and we rolled into the parking lot. I leaned my bike on the rack and took one step toward the office door, and that’s when I sensed another extremely subtle, barely detectable ingredient in the Strange concoction. The odor stopped me in my tracks. My nose lifted into the air, huffing like a crazed bloodhound at the scent particles floating on the wind. “What’s wrong, Schnoz?” Vivian asked. “You look like you just smelled a ghost.” “I smell something, all right,” I said, my heart thumping. “And I have no idea what it is.” “But you know practically every smell on earth,” Mumps said. I scanned my mental scent dictionary front to back, starting with the pungent odor of a crushed ant and ending with the cheesy aroma of baked ziti. There was nothing, not one tiny whiff of the Strange scent.

CHAPTER 2

FRENCH JASMINE

Dr. Wackjöb was chatting on the phone when his secretary escorted us into his office. The overwhelming stench of fresh hákarl blasted up my nostrils. I loved the smell of fermented, urine-soaked shark meat, but the Icelandic delicacy made Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers nearly gag. Jimmy pulled his T-shirt up over his nose. “Why does Dr. Wackjöb have to eat that disgusting hákarl every single day for lunch?” “I don’t like the smell either,” Vivian said. “But we have to give the guy a break. The doctor was a laughingstock in his native Iceland and had to flee. Hákarl reminds him of home.” “Hákarl reminds me of an unflushed toilet,” Mumps said with grimace. “So nice to hear from you, Pierre, and I hope to speak with you soon.” Dr. Wackjöb said and then hung up the phone. He pointed to three large pizza boxes sitting on a conference table. “One is plain, one is pepperoni, and the other is black olives and mushrooms. Please, help yourselves.” Vivian, the Not-Brothers, and I tore into the pizzas like starving rescue dogs. Dr. Wackjöb tied a bib around his neck and popped slices of hákarl into his mouth. He chewed very slowly, savoring every shark-pee-flavored bite. While the gang munched away, my nose drifted off to the mysterious smell locked inside Strange. The fragrance resembled vanilla, but the unknown aroma was way more earthy, funky, and bold than any variety I had ever come across during my scent-gathering expeditions. Only a master like Jean Paul Puanteur could confuse my world-class sniffer like this! Most kids my age have posters of actors, musicians, and athletes hanging on

their bedroom walls. As for me, I have only a small, eight-by-ten framed picture of Jean Paul Puanteur. I clipped the photo from a National Geographic magazine article about the art and science of making perfume. He is standing in a field of extremely rare and expensive French jasmine, wearing a black tuxedo with bright red Converse sneakers, a brilliant orange sun high in the sky. The man is a scent artist of the highest order. A set of greasy fingers snapped in front of my face. “Earth to Schnoz,” Vivian said, ripping me out of my French jasmine daze. “You’re staring blankly into space. What are you thinking about?” “Strange,” I said. TJ fanned the air in front of his face. “I wish I had a bottle of Strange right now. I’d spray it around the room to get rid of the hákarl stink!” Dr. Wackjöb laughed. “Iceland’s secret shark recipe goes all the way back to the time of Vikings. What is this Strange you speak of?” “Strange is a ridiculously popular perfume,” Mumps answered. “Everybody’s wearing the stuff.” “I’m a huge fan of the perfuming arts,” I said. “But there’s one ingredient in Strange that my snuffer can’t sniff out.” Dr. Wackjöb raised his white, bushy eyebrows. “You, the one and only Super Schnoz, cannot recognize a scent? I don’t believe it. Your nose is to smells what Einstein’s brain was to physics.” “Well, this is one odor equation I have yet to crack.” “I don’t know anything about the perfume business,” Dr. Wackjöb continued. “But just as my company has a secret ingredient—synthetic setae developed from the sticky pads on a gecko’s feet—I would assume perfumers use secret ingredients as well.” I shrugged. “You’re probably right, but if I don’t figure out that smell and add it to my scent dictionary I’m going to blow a booger!”

“Perhaps I should call back Pierre and ask him.” “Who’s Pierre?” Vivian asked. “He’s the gentleman I was talking to on the phone as you arrived for lunch. He’s a Frenchman, an old friend of mine from when I studied geology for a year at the University Lille Nord de . I hadn’t spoken with him in thirty years. He phoned me out of blue after reading about my successful business in Filthy Rich Review.” “Why would this Pierre person know about secret ingredients found in perfume?” I asked. “Gríöarstór Nef, my old friend’s full name is Pierre du Voleur, owner of the Français Scent Company, makers of fine perfumes and fragrances.” I sat up in my seat, nose hairs quivering with excitement. “Can you ask him about the mystery ingredient in Strange?” “That won’t do any good,” Vivian said. “Why?” “Strange is made by Jean Paul Puanteur, a completely different company. Coke would never give up its secret soda formula to Pepsi. Why would two rival perfume companies share ingredients?” “She’s right, Schnoz,” Jimmy said. “If you want to figure out that smell, you’ll have to huff it out for yourself.” The scent receptors inside my honker deflated a little. The task would be daunting, but I had never met a smell my nose couldn’t defeat, and Strange was not going to provide the first.

CHAPTER 3

ODOR-BLINDNESS

The mysterious odor molecules inside Strange teased my nose during the day and haunted my dreams at night. How could I not know what that last scent is? For the next week, I put myself through a vigorous set of smell exercises. Just as a bodybuilder pumps heavy weights to make their muscles grow, I attempted to expand my olfactory senses by immersing myself with the smelliest things in town. I spent a hot and humid Saturday locked inside the overflowing port-o-potty at the high school football field. The overwhelming reek of liquefied poop, sopping toilet paper, and stale urine made my eyes water and nose hairs curl. After that, I shoved one of my dad’s rancid running shoes over my nose and mouth like a surgical mask. The foot fungus rot penetrated my nasal cavity and absorbed into my sinuses. I then took a midnight dip in the wastewater treatment pond.

Other than an extremely itchy red rash, I got nothing from the sewer plant splash or any of my other odor-immersion experiments. My smelling confidence sunk to an all-time low. The secret scent of Strange was slipping further away from my dictionary of scents. “Have you figured out the Strange smell yet?” Mumps asked me one afternoon when Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and I were hanging out in our top-secret hideaway, the Nostril. “No,” I said. “And I don’t feel like talking about it.” “But you’re a smelling prodigy!” Jimmy proclaimed. “Your superhuman snoot is capable of detecting over a trillion scents.” “This reminds me of when the Thing spontaneously reverted back to human form and lost all of his Thing powers.” Mumps said. “I’m not losing my superpowers!” I growled. “I defeated greedy polluters and a giant nose rocket from outer space that was intent on destroying Earth!” Vivian grabbed my nostrils and forced me into a chair. “Schnoz, settle down before you blow a snot bubble. We know this Strange aroma has been tough on you. Let’s all put our noses together and think of what to do.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ve tried everything. The smell in Strange resembles some kind of spicy vanilla, but it’s nothing my sniffer has ever encountered before.” “Well, there’s one good thing about the smell,” Jimmy said. “What’s that?” I asked. “It doesn’t stink. In fact, the smell is kind of nice.” “This isn’t about whether the smell is good or bad,” Vivian said. “The odor is personal for Schnoz. Smelling is his whole identity. Just imagine if you suddenly couldn’t smell your favorite foods like pizza, hamburgers, or—”

“Or bean burritos!” Mumps interjected. “Mexican food is my favorite even though it gives me really stinky gas.” “TMI—too much information,” Vivian said, rolling her eyes. TJ, who had been silent the whole time, looked up from his laptop. “Schnoz may have anosmia.” “Huh?” I grunted. “While you four were bickering,” TJ continued, “I’ve been researching and have come across a medical condition called anosmia.” “I don’t have insomnia,” I said. “Since the aliens stopped harvesting my snores, I sleep like a puppy at night.” “A-nos-mi-a,” TJ pronounced slowly, accenting each syllable. “Not insomnia.” “What’s anosmia?” Vivian asked. “It’s a medical condition sometimes referred to as odor-blindness.” “I don’t even know what odor-blindness means,” I blurted out. “When someone can’t tell one color from another, it is called being color-blind,” TJ explained. “Anosmia is the same thing only with smells.” “What’s the cause?” Mumps asked. TJ clicked a link on the anosmia web page and started reading. “‘Anosmia can be caused by a severe inflammation of the nasal ages due to allergies or a cold virus; severe blows to the head causing a concussion or head trauma; deviated nasal septum or crooked nose; nasal polyps; tumors; different medications,’ and a hundred other reasons.” My heart sunk into my chest. I felt the blood drain from my face. The room started spinning; my breath came in quick huffs. Tears formed in my eyeballs, but I didn’t want Vivian or the Not-Right Brothers to see me cry. This was the moment I had been dreading since discovering my proboscis powers. At one time or another, every superhero—Spider-Man, Superman, the Invisible Woman,

Green Lantern, Human Torch, Wolverine, and dozens of others—lost all of their super powers. “Without my supersized snort detector, I’m just a mortal kid with a big nose ripe for ridicule,” I said with a shaky voice. “Everybody at school will start picking on me again.” “Nobody will pick on you,” Jimmy said and then held up his fist. “If any kid makes fun of your nose, I’ll give them my five-fingered sandwich.” Vivian gently patted the bridge of my nose. “Just because you can’t detect one single ingredient inside a bottle of perfume doesn’t mean you have a smell disorder,” she said. “There has to be an anosmia test you can take.” “There is such a test,” TJ said. “A company called Sniffsonics sells a product called OINK—the Odor Identification Nasal Kit. It’s self-istered and perfect for people who think they may have anosmia.” “Then order the kit,” Mumps said. “How much is it?’ “We can get one for the bargain price of four hundred and ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents, plus shipping and handling.” “Ugh!” I groaned. “We don’t have that kind of money.” “We don’t have that much money,” Vivian said. “But we know someone who does.” “Who?” TJ asked. Vivian slipped on her bicycle helmet. “Come on, guys. We need to take a ride and have a little chat with Dr. Wackjöb.” We all hopped on our bikes and pedaled to the Gecko Glue® and Snore Cure Mist® Factory.

CHAPTER 4

SNIFFING STICKS

“Gríöarstór Nef needs four hundred and ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents for what kind of test?” Dr. Wackjöb asked after we burst into his office. “Plus shipping and handling,” Mumps chimed in. “Anosmia,” Vivian said. “Some people call it odor-blindness.” Dr. Wackjöb stared long and hard at my honker. “Are you having some kind of smell difficulties?” “Yes!” I exclaimed. “It happened for the first time when we were all standing in this very room. Don’t you —the secret ingredient in Strange? I can detect over a trillion smells, but that single, vanilla-like odor is leaving my snot maker high and dry.” “We’re afraid Schnoz might have a scent disorder,” TJ said. “We have to buy a test called the Odor Identification Nasal Kit. Sniffsonics is the only company in the world that sells it.” A look of worry washed over Dr. Wackjöb’s face. “My friend, your snuffler is not only a gift from the heavens above, but an American treasure. We must do everything possible to keep it in proper working order.” He grabbed a pen and wrote a check for the entire amount.

The kit arrived in the mail a week later. Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and I gathered inside the Nostril and opened the box. “I can’t believe this thing was so expensive.” Jimmy groaned. “It’s just an

instruction booklet, a blindfold, and a bunch of fancy-looking markers.” “Those aren’t markers,” Vivian said as she skimmed through the instructions. “They’re called sniffing sticks.” “What’s a sniffing stick?” Mumps asked. I reached out to grab one of them, but Vivian cuffed the tip of my nose. “Stay away, Schnoz,” she said. “These sniffing sticks are the main component of your smell test.” “Excuse me, Miss Know-It-All,” I said sarcastically. “Then why don’t you explain how this whole thing works?” Vivian held up a DVD that came with kit. “Let’s watch this first.” TJ popped the DVD into his laptop. The narrator was an old guy who called himself Professor Stickle. He wore a white lab coat and big, round glasses that nearly took up his whole face. We were surprised to learn that Professor Stickle originally designed the Odor Identification Nasal Kit to test of the armed forces with olfactory-sensitive jobs. “I’m the test ,” Vivian said when the DVD was over. “Schnoz, just like Professor Stickle says, we need to find a quiet, odor-free space for testing.” “The Nostril should be fine,” Jimmy said. “The Professor said it must be an odor-free space,” Vivian countered. “Your sweaty armpits smell like you just ran a marathon. TJ smells like he just took a bath in a garbage can, and Mumps’s breath reeks like he hasn’t brushed his teeth in a month.” I nodded my nose. “She’s right, guys. You three stink pretty badly, but I kind of like it. In fact, Mumps’s breath is so uniquely rancid that I’m going to add it to my scent dictionary.” “Gross,” Vivian said with a grimace. “Schnoz, let’s ride our bikes to the library and use one of the study rooms.”

We loaded the Odor Identification Nasal Kit into Vivian’s backpack and then headed to the Denmark Public Library. The library had three private study rooms, all of which were in use when Vivian and I got there. You could only use the rooms for an hour at a time, so Vivian and I had to wait twenty minutes for one to open up. Vivian killed the time by researching anosmia on the Internet. I browsed the comic book section, poring over superhero stories for some guidance about my loss-of-powers problem. I found some comfort in an issue of Uncanny X-Men when Storm lost her ability to control weather. The government shot her with a weapon specifically designed to neutralize the powers of mutants. She eventually got her powers back by spending a year on a parallel Earth and making a machine that restored her powers. Where could I find a parallel Earth to solve my problem? The only planet outside our solar system that I knew of was Apnea, and those snore suckers wanted to kill me! “Our room’s opening up,” Vivian said. We stepped into the study room and closed the door. The room did not offer complete privacy. Instead of four solid walls, one wall had a big window facing the reference librarian’s desk. Anybody walking down the hall could see right inside. “The librarian can see exactly what we’re doing,” I said, plopping down at the table. “So what?” Vivian remarked. “We’re not doing anything wrong. Just doing a little smell test, that’s all.” Vivian unzipped her backpack and retrieved the Odor Identification Nasal Kit. The contents of the kit included sixteen different sniffing sticks, three sheets of paper with numbered little ovals to fill in like those on a standardized test, and a black blindfold. “Why do I need a blindfold?” I asked. “Because that’s what the instructions say. Put it on.” I slipped the blindfold over my nose and then around my eyes. Everything

instantly turned dark. “Now, pay careful attention,” Vivian instructed. “I’m going to hold a series of three different sniffing sticks up to your nostrils. Two of the sticks are the same smell and one is different—but extremely minutely. All you have to do is take a whiff of each stick and then tell me which one has the different smell. Got it?” I took a deep breath. “Ready when you are.” “Okay. When you give me an answer, I’ll record the results on the data sheet. Here we go. Ready, sniff!” With a big huff of my honker, the familiar scent of butanol, the basis for most French fragrances filled my nostrils. Vivian then held up two more sniffing sticks to my nose. “Which stick was different from the other?” she asked. “Easy,” I answered. “I detect that Stick Two was not the same.” There was a scribbling sound as Vivian filled in an oval on the data sheet. For the next forty-five minutes, Vivian held up different sniffing sticks to my nose. Each level of smell detection grew more difficult. When I had sniffed the last stick, my nose felt like it had been through a smell-a-thon. As Vivian compared my responses with the test’s answer key, my heart raced like a bunny rabbit at a falconry festival. The consequences were as clear as snot running out of my nose on a bad allergy day—if I’d failed the test, my super sniffing powers were slipping away forever. “Done,” Vivian finally said. “Do you want to hear how you did?” “Yes!” I cried out so loudly that the reference librarian pounded on the window and held a finger to her lips. “A perfect score is one hundred. Schnoz, I’m sorry to inform you that your score was…” Time stopped; Earth ceased to rotate on its axis. Beads of sweat formed on my

temples. My nostrils throbbed like an exposed artery. The next word from Vivian’s mouth would determine my entire future. “One hundred!” Vivian screeched. “You got a perfect score. You don’t have odor-blindness. According to this test, your nose is in perfect working order.” The librarian pounded on the window again, signaling us to be quiet, but I didn’t care. I raised my nose, sucked in a big nostril full of air, and let out the most joyful trumpet snort ever.

CHAPTER 5

THE BOY WITH A THOUSAND SCENTS

My booger blaster may have been in fine working order, but the secret ingredient in Strange was still unknown. I was beginning to think the smell might be one of the great mysteries of the universe. Like the origins of life or the cheeseburger Mumps keeps in his underwear drawer that still hasn’t decomposed after eleven months. Thankfully, my nose had no problem flying. Whenever I got depressed about Strange, I slipped on my Super Schnoz costume, turned my nostrils into massive hot air balloons, and floated into the clouds. I buzzed over the town of Denmark and into the White Mountain National Forest. The burned-out remnants of Dr. Wackjöb’s Center for UFOs, Earthquakes, and Alien Abduction lay below me like a giant scar on the earth. Huge chunks of Apnean metal from when I blew up Robo-Nose littered the grounds. In less than a year, my nose had defeated an evil environmental company intent on destroying our town and saved the Earth from alien domination. Yet, one barely noticeable ingredient in a bottle of perfume was stopping my sniffer cold. I was about to land and walk around the ruins of the compound when a familiar smell wafted into my nostrils. The scent was from an aerosol can of novelty fart spray. Just like the Gotham City Police Department uses the Bat Signal to summon Batman, the Not-Right Brothers and Vivian use the fart spray to me. I closed one nostril, banked sharply to the left, and flew as fast as I could to our secret hideout. Dr. Wackjöb and the gang were waiting for me when I got there. “We’re going to New York City!” Jimmy exclaimed. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

“New York City, baby!” Mumps hollered, spewing more fart spray into the air. Vivian fanned the rancid air away from her face. “Knock it off with the fart spray already. Schnoz is present and ed for.” “I’ve never been to New York before,” TJ added. “Time out,” I said. “What’s all this about going to New York?” “ my old friend, Pierre du Voleur?” Dr. Wackjöb asked me. “Sure. He’s the guy who owns the Français Scent Company. What about him?” “We spoke again this morning. I told him about your impressive olfactory skills, and he wants to meet you. He found tales of your proboscis power very intriguing. Especially your extensive mental scent dictionary.” My eyes lit up and my nostrils flared. “For real? An international French perfumer wants to meet me?” “Absolutely,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “After I entertained him with tales of your sniffing adventures, he said, ‘I must meet le garçon aux mille parfums.’” “What does that mean?” Vivian asked. “It means ‘the boy with a thousand scents’ in French,” Dr. Wackjöb answered. “More like the boy with a trillion scents,” TJ chimed in. The news was overwhelming. A real person in the perfume industry wanted to meet me. Even though I didn’t know a thing about Pierre du Voleur or the Français Scent Company, the fact that a living, breathing creator of perfumes knew about my nose was an incredible honor. “Why do we have to meet him in New York?” I asked. “Why can’t he come to see us here?” Dr. Wackjöb smiled. “That is the best part! Pierre explained that an art show devoted exclusively to scent is opening in New York the week of October 12. The show is called the Art of Odor, the world’s first major museum exhibit

devoted exclusively to recognizing scent as a major medium of artistic expression.” “I know all about!” I exclaimed. “I’ve been reading about the show online. It’s going to focus on fifteen major perfumers and twelve works, including Jean Paul Puanteur. I’ll finally be able to meet the Mozart of odor, the Picasso of aroma, and ask him about the secret of Strange! “Our weeklong school break is from October 12 to 16,” Vivian said. “Maybe we can go!” “Count me and my nose in,” I gushed. “This is like a dream come true!” “When do we leave?” TJ asked. “This coming Monday morning,” Dr. Wackjöb answered. “We will be staying in New York for an entire week.” “I doubt my parents will allow me to go for that long,” Vivian said. “Mine too,” Mumps added. “No need to worry, children,” Dr. Wackjöb reassured us. “I have already spoken to each of your parents. This will be a weeklong educational field trip to the most exciting city in the world. They were all very comfortable with me being your adult chaperone.” Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers let out an enthusiastic cheer. TJ fired up his laptop and researched New York City tourist sites. The gang gathered around him, super-excited about all the places they would visit. Seeing Central Park and climbing to the top of the Empire State Building would be fun, but for me the week was more than just a field trip. I would finally rub noses with people obsessed with scents, just like me. “Start packing,” Dr. Wackjöb advised. “I’m going to arrange our airline flights and hotel accommodations.” “Go ahead and reserve our rooms,” I said, “but don’t worry about buying airline tickets.”

“Driving a car or taking the train will take way too long,” Dr. Wackjöb said. I dragged out the harness I had used to fly everybody into the White Mountain National Forest when I battled the Apneans and booger blobs. Jimmy’s artful stitchwork on the fabric was still perfect, right down to the feathers that made me look like a pregnant turkey buzzard. “What are you doing with that thing?” Mumps asked. “We’re not taking an airplane to New York City,” I said. “I’m flying us all there with my nose.”

CHAPTER 6

UP, UP, AND AWAY!

Where’s Dr. Wackjöb?” Jimmy wondered, looking at his watch. “We all agreed to meet in front of the Nostril at six forty-five a.m. sharp. He’s already ten minutes late.” Everyone milled around Jimmy’s backyard, anxious for our trip to New York. Mumps carried a big Denmark High School duffel bag. TJ and Jimmy lugged two overstuffed backpacks, and Vivian carted two pieces of luggage. She said one was full of clothes and toiletries; the other was what she called her “carryon” bag, whatever that meant. I didn’t care that Dr. Wackjöb was running late. My main concern was how my nose would get us off the ground with all the extra weight. Launching with just Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers was challenging enough. But I assumed I could carry them plus Dr. Wackjöb. I hadn’t thought about the extra weight of the luggage. My flying honker did not come with a standard operating manual, so I had no way of knowing if the harness Jimmy had stitched together could everyone. Maybe we should have taken the airline after all. Before expressing my concerns, a big Gecko Glue® and Snore Cure Mist® delivery truck backed into Jimmy’s driveway. Dr. Wackjöb and a driver got out of the truck, flipped open the roll-up door, and hoisted out a large wicker basket the size of a car. Luckily, Jimmy’s parents were at work so they didn’t see what was going on. “What’s that for?” Vivian asked. “One moment,” Dr. Wackjöb answered as he and the driver gently set the wicker basket on the grass. “That thing looks like a picnic basket for a giant,” TJ observed.

“Or for Little Red Riding Hood on steroids,” Mumps added. Dr. Wackjöb waited until the truck pulled out of the driveway and then said, “How do you like our gondola?” Jimmy scratched his head. “A gondo…what?” “Gondola,” Dr. Wackjöb repeated. “But a gondola is a boat used on Venetian canals to row tourists around,” Vivian said. “My parents rode in one when they stayed at a hotel in Las Vegas.” “That is true, young lady. A gondola can also be the name of a large basket suspended beneath a hot-air balloon.” Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and I looked at each other with similar wideeyed expressions. “You want Schnoz to use this basket instead of the harness to fly us to New York!” TJ exclaimed. “I don’t know about this,” I said. “Carrying all of you, the luggage, plus this huge basket looks a little overwhelming even for my giant flapping nostrils.” “Gríöarstór Nef, if your nose can destroy an alien space ship intent on taking over the earth then it surely can propel us all to New York in a gondola,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “I will not travel with all of us smashed together in a canvas sack like a bunch of groceries. This gondola means we soar to New York in comfort and style!” Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers tossed their luggage into the gondola and then climbed inside. I ran behind the Nostril, stripped off my street clothes, and pulled on my Super Schnoz outfit and Mardi Gras mask. “I hope we don’t have to crash land in some farmer’s corn field,” I said, still unsure of whether I could carry all the extra weight.” Dr. Wackjöb chuckled as he draped two thick ropes over my shoulders. “You’ll be fine, Gríöarstór Nef. I have complete confidence in your nose.”

“These ropes feel like Burmese pythons trying to suffocate me,” I groaned. “They need strength and weight to keep us stable during flight,” Dr. Wackjöb said. He then attached the opposite ends of the ropes to the gondola and climbed inside with his suitcase. “Let’s get this bad boy in the air,” TJ ordered. “I want to be in New York before noon.” The breeze was light at first, but soon a hard gust of wind shot through Jimmy’s backyard. I sucked in as much air as humanly possible. My nostrils inflated like a giant bounce house at a kid’s birthday party. My toes lifted off the ground, cape fluttering in the breeze. I was hovering in the air, but the gondola didn’t budge an inch. “This thing’s too heavy!” I hollered. “I can’t lift it off the ground.” “Keep trying!” Vivian shouted to me. “You can’t turn back now,” Jimmy added. “Schnoz! Schnoz! Schnoz!” TJ and Mumps chanted, trying to encourage me. I inhaled deeper. My nostrils had expanded to their maximum point. If they spread any further, my beak would burst apart and unleash gallons of snot all over my friends. Finally, the gondola ascended a few feet in the air. The sudden lurch caused everyone to fall backward on their butts. “This thing should have come with seat belts,” I heard Mumps complain. The gondola and I were now engaged in a brutal game of tug-of-war. I was trying to defy Newton’s universal law of gravity, and the gondola was fighting to stay on the ground. I sniffed, huffed, and snuffled with all my might. Still, I was losing the battle. There was no way we’d get to New York at this rate. “Use some of this!” Vivian shouted and then tossed me a jar of cayenne pepper. “Why?” I asked. “Do you want me to blow something up?” “Great idea!” TJ exclaimed. “Schnoz, sniff the pepper and turn your snot maker

into a rocket!” “TJ and Vivian are right,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “Just as the space shuttle uses a pair of solid rocket boosters and liquid hydrogen to initiate launch, you can use your pair of massive nostrils and cayenne pepper to propel us into the sky.” “You have solid rocket boogers!” Mump screeched.

I quickly opened the jar of pepper, took two big snorts, and sneezed so hard I thought my nasal lining would hemorrhage. A fiery blast of red-hot mucous shot from my stinging nostrils. The ropes around my shoulders stiffened, and we thrust into the sky like an arrow shot from a bow. “Up, up, and away!” I cheered as the clouds grew thicker and the town of Denmark disappeared below my feet.

CHAPTER 7

EENEY, MEENY, MINEY, MORE

Once we had reached an altitude of five thousand feet, I stopped sniffing the cayenne pepper and flicked off my solid rocket boogers. I was floating on the swirling breeze in a southwest direction. Every now and then, I looked down to check on the gang. From the smiles on their faces, they were having a great flight. “There’s the Hudson River,” I informed them. “We just follow the river south all the way to our destination!” “How long will it take to get there?” Jimmy asked. I tilted my nose and gauged the wind speed. “The wind is gusting at about forty miles per hour,” I said. “New York City is sixty miles away. That means we’ll be there in ninety minutes.” Everyone hooted their approval as I set my course for the Big Apple. The rolling fields and thick woods of the countryside soon gave way to civilization. In the distance, the massive skyline of New York City came into view. The sight was both awe inspiring and intimidating. Questions tumbled in my mind. Where will we land? How will I hide the gondola? Will New Yorkers make fun of my nose? Before I could think of any more questions, a huge jet airliner whizzed overhead. The massive draft of wind made the gondola wobble in midair like a crazy spinning top. “I’m going to be sick,” I heard Mumps whimper. I quickly plugged my nostrils, began our descent, and stabilized the gondola. Iconic sights came into view—the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, and a swath of green among the buildings that had to be Central Park.

“Land in the park,” TJ said. As I circled around the park searching for a landing place, a crowd of people standing next to a lake looked up at me. “Check that thing out.” I heard a man say. “It’s some kind of hot-air balloon,” said another. “And the balloon is shaped like a kid with a huge nose!” someone else commented. Dr. Wackjöb hollered up to me. “Gríöarstór Nef, do not land in the park!” “Why?” I asked. “There are eight million people in New York City. We can’t risk someone damaging the gondola. You’ll have to find another place to set this thing down.” Frustrated, I inflated my nostrils again and floated above the skyline. “Drop the gondola on top of a skyscraper!” Vivian shouted to me. “But which one?” I wondered aloud. “There are hundreds of them poking into the clouds.” “Select one with a flat roof,” Dr. Wackjöb suggested. I circled the city like a vulture searching for a dead animal carcass. Twenty blocks south of Central Park, I spied two buildings that looked promising. They were side by side, had flat roofs, and were of medium height. I didn’t want the structures to be a zillion stories when we had to walk down a back stairwell to ground level. Finally, I picked one using the trusted eeney, meeny, miney, moe method and landed perfectly on the black-tar roof. “It feels great to be on solid ground again,” Jimmy said. “We’re not on solid ground yet,” TJ said. “Technically, we are standing on top of hundreds of tons of steel beams and reinforced concrete.” “What’s that big round tower?” Mumps asked, pointing to a rusty-looking

structure in the far corner of the roof. “It holds water,” Dr. Wackjöb answered. “The city can’t supply enough water pressure because the buildings are so tall. They must have their own pumps and water towers.” Vivian yanked open a heavy door. “This is the way to the street,” she said. “Let’s check into our hotel and see the sights!” I changed out of my Super Schnoz costume and ed the gang in the stairwell. The building had twenty stories, so it took us a good fifteen minutes to hike all the way to street level. As soon as my nose hit the sidewalk, dozens of tantalizing smells bombarded my olfactory senses: rotting garbage, onion bagels, stale pee, burning meat from food vendors, hot steam drifting from street grates, taxi-cab exhaust, pepperoni pizza, soft pretzels, coffee, and…

Strange! Hundreds of people clogged the busy sidewalks, and most of them were wearing my favorite perfume. The sweet scent wafted off napes of necks, crooks of elbows, and pulsing wrists. I sniffed harder, hoping the barrage of Strange would help me uncover the elusive vanilla-like mystery ingredient. There was nothing. Just a big question mark among the gentle mixes of lavender, jasmine, sandalwood, and bergamot. “Here’s the hotel,” Dr. Wackjöb announced. I looked up and saw a big sign welcoming us to the Lexington Avenue Hotel. The doorwoman loaded our luggage onto a cart, and we stepped inside. The hotel’s lobby was small with black marble floors, lots of fake plants, and a massive oak check-in desk. Dr. Wackjöb had reserved four rooms: one for him, one for Vivian, and two others for the Not-Right Brothers and me to share. “I refuse to sleep in the same room as Mumps,” Jimmy said. “He farts in his sleep.” “Then you and TJ share, and I’ll bunk with Mumps,” I said. “I find his middleof-the-night explosions oddly endearing.” We rode the elevator to our rooms, unpacked our suitcases, and then all met back down at the lobby. As we were deciding what attraction to see first, the hotel door opened and in walked a scrawny young man wearing a red beret and carrying a white sign that read: Dr. Wackjöb and Friends. “I am Dr. Wackjöb,” said Dr. Wackjöb. “And we’re his friends,” Vivian added. “Who are you?” Mumps asked. “My name is Arnaud,” the man said with a thick French accent. “I am Pierre du Voleur’s personal assistant and chauffeur. He wants you to meet him at the Museum of Olfactory Art.” Arnaud turned his attention to me. “From the looks of your nose, you must be the infamous Andy Whiffler. Monsieur du Voleur is

very excited to meet you.” “Call me Schnoz,” I said, and then we all hopped into a Hummer stretch limousine and sped up the avenue.

CHAPTER 8

THE ART OF ODOR

Arnaud steered the Hummer through the busy New York streets. The inside of the vehicle was awesome—cushy leather seats, tinted windows, a mini refrigerator stocked with soda, and two flat- TV screens with DVD players. “The last person to use this limousine was dousing themselves with lots of Strange,” I said. “The smell is really strong.” “Do you like Strange, Schnoz?” Arnaud asked, smiling at me through the rearview mirror. “I love it! Strange smells great, plus Jean Paul Puanteur was the creator. He’s the greatest perfumer on the planet.” “Some think Puanteur is the best. Others think Monsieur du Voleur is better.” “I’ve never smelled any of Pierre du Voleur’s perfumes.” “You must be joking,” Arnaud said. “Monsieur du Voleur created such classic scents as Snakebite, Love Kills, Secretions, and his most popular, Bête Blanc— White Beast.” I shook my nose. “Sorry, I’ve never heard of them or smelled them.” Arnaud’s smile turned into a frown. “Don’t worry. The fragrances of Pierre du Voleur will soon rise to the top, and Jean Paul Puanteur will kneel before his greatness.” He then raised the partition window that separated the driver from the engers. The Hummer raced angrily through a yellow light, barely missing a group of pedestrians. We all stared out the windows in awe as the Empire State

Building came into view. “Sounds like Arnaud doesn’t like Jean Paul Puanteur very much,” Vivian whispered. “From what I understand,” Dr. Wackjöb said, “there are a lot of cutthroats and much back-stabbing in the perfuming world. The scent artists must closely guard their creations from rival companies who want to steal their ingredients and make knockoffs.” “Kind of like the glue and snore cure business,” TJ offered. Dr. Wackjöb nodded. “You are correct. If the secret of synthetic gecko feet ever got out, I’d be out of business within a year.” The Hummer suddenly screeched to a stop in front of a white building that looked like a giant tower of Jenga blocks. Outside, women wearing fancy evening gowns and men in black tuxedoes hovered around the entrance. “Why are all those people dressed up?” Mumps asked. The partition window slowly rolled opened. “Because the opening of a new art exhibit is a chic affair,” Arnaud said. “What’s ‘sheek’ mean?” Mumps asked. “It means ‘classy’ in French,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “Give them your name at the doors,” Arnaud instructed. “Monsieur du Voleur is expecting you.” The moment I stepped out of the Hummer, all of the elegantly dressed couples stopped what they were doing and stared at my nose. My stomach tangled up like a set of earbud cables. Their reactions to my sniffinator brought back unhappy memories of my first few weeks at James F. Durante Elementary School. “Ignore them, Schnoz,” Vivian said. “Your nose is a gift from the gods, and don’t you ever forget it.”

Her words made me feel a lot better. These people knew nothing about me or the power of my honker. They had no idea that I had saved the world from snotty aliens and evil polluters. I flung my muzzle in the air, took a confident whiff, and walked into the Museum of Olfactory Art with the rest of the gang. We gave the ticket person our names and strolled into the exhibit. I had been to the Classic Arcade Museum in Laconia and the Salem Witch Museum in Massachusetts, but the Art of Odor exhibit was something completely different. The smell of perfume was everywhere, floating like invisible scent pods on the still air. We were standing in a large white room with twelve curvy indentations in the walls. I watched people step up to an indentation, take a whiff, and then move on to the next one. “Go on, Schnoz,” Jimmy said. “You have the honor of taking the first sniff.” I took a deep breath and stepped up to the wall. There were two holes at the base of the indentation. As soon as my snuffler got close, a puff of perfume shot from the holes. It was kind of like taking a slurp from a water fountain. A brief description of the perfume flashed on the wall, but I already recognized the fragrance before reading a single sentence. “Mammal No. 5 by Eugene Mammifère!” I gushed and then quickly moved on to the next smell. After an exhilarating half hour with my nose pressed against the wall breathing such classics as Sticky by Jacques Gluant, Dracula Noir by Otto Sang, and the incomparable Strange by Jean Paul Puanteur, I was ready for something new. “Do you know what I find extremely interesting from reading the history of these perfumes?” Vivian asked. “What?” I mumbled, still intoxicated by all the beautiful smells. “Perfumers used only natural scents until the early twentieth century. After that, nearly all of them switched over to synthetic materials.” “But not Jean Paul Puanteur,” I said. “He uses only natural ingredients. That’s why Strange is so excellent.” We moved from the main gallery to a smaller room with a bunch of different

exhibitions. One of them was about how perfumers layered their scents to make one unified smell. TJ and Mumps spent the bulk of their time here, trying to learn how coffee, spearmint Life Savers, garlic bagel with cream cheese, bad breath, and body odor all mixed to give Principal Cyrano such an awful stench. Vivian, Jimmy, Dr. Wackjöb, and I sat at a long glass table in the middle of the room. Twelve bowls were on the table, each filled with a scent represented in the main gallery. A museum guide encouraged us to dab a wooden stick into one of the bowls, take a sniff, and then go to a computer terminal and log how the scent made us feel. Only one sentence came to my mind—I think I died and woke up in aroma heaven! As I was about to TJ and Mumps, Arnaud and another man walked into the room. The man accompanying Arnaud was tall with slicked-back hair and wearing a black tuxedo. A licorice-thin mustache outlined his upper lip. “Pierre!” Dr. Wackjöb said enthusiastically, shaking the man’s hand. “You haven’t changed a bit in thirty years!” The man patted Dr. Wackjöb’s balding head. “I wish I could say the same about you, Aðalbjörn.” Both men laughed. Dr. Wackjöb turned his attention to me. “This is the young man I have told you about. Pierre du Voleur, meet Andy Whiffler, the boy with the most powerful sense of smell on the planet.” I stuck out my hand, but Pierre du Voleur did not offer to shake. He just stared intently at my nose, his gaze like a hungry tiger ready to pounce on an unsuspecting goat.

CHAPTER 9

STRANGE IS AS STRANDE DOES

“Excusez moi while I indulge,” Pierre du Voleur said with a thick French accent. He then proceeded to invade my personal space by gently spreading open my nostrils with his fingertips, flicking on a penlight, and peering deep inside my sniffer like a doctor examining a patient. “You have the most fantastique olfactory bulbs I have ever seen!” Pierre proclaimed. “Not to mention an exceptionnel epithelium, merveilleux mitral cells, and a grande glomerulus!” “What’s he talking about?” Mumps asked. “He’s iring the different components of Schnoz’s world-class olfactory system,” Vivian answered. “The man sure is an expert on noses,” Jimmy said. “He and Schnoz should get along great.” While Pierre gazed lovingly at my nasal anatomy, my thoughts drifted toward Jean Paul Puanteur. He was my all-time favorite perfumer and the reason I was here. His picture was on the cover of the exhibition’s program, and he was to be the closing night keynote speaker at PerfumeCon. My snot bubbled with excitement at the thought of finally meeting him. “Le Nez, you are just what I am looking for,” Pierre announced, flicking off the penlight. “What’s ‘le Nez’ mean?” TJ asked. “Nose,” Arnaud chimed in.

“I don’t understand,” I said, a bit confused. “Why are you looking for my nose?” “To assist me, jeune homme,” Pierre said. “What did he say?” TJ asked again. “Jeune homme means ‘young man’ in French,” Dr. Wackjöb clarified. “Assist you in doing what?” I questioned. Pierre let out a loud belly laugh. “Smelling, odeur!” From the sound of it, odeur sounded a lot like ‘odor’ in English. That meant he wanted me to use my nose, or nez, to smell something. I was beginning to pick up on a few words in the French language. “I would like you to come to my perfume laboratory on West Thirtieth Street so I can witness your phénoménal nose in action,” Pierre continued. “I have several new lines of perfumes, and I would love to get your opinion on which ones smell the best.” My heart skipped a beat, and my nose hairs pricked with anticipation. A professional perfumer actually wanted me to smell his new line of perfumes! “Vivian!” I gushed. “Quickly, tweak my nostrils to see if I’m dreaming!” “You’re wide awake,” Vivian said. “The man really wants you to smell some of his creations.” I looked to Dr. Wackjöb for permission. He was, after all, our adult chaperone for the trip. “It is fine by me,” he said. “Shall we all go?” “No way,” Jimmy protested. “I don’t want to go to some perfume laboratory and watch Schnoz smell stuff.” “Me either,” Mumps chimed in. “We see Schnoz sniff things all time,” TJ added.

“This is an invitation for le Nez only,” Pierre said. “I mean, you are in New York, the most exciting city in the world—after Paris. Enjoy the sights. Besides, I wouldn’t want to bore you with lines of perfume still in their enfance stage.” “How will we all meet up for dinner?” Dr. Wackjöb wondered. “Dinner is on me, Aðalbjörn,” Pierre offered. “I will send Arnaud to your hotel at seven o’clock. You will all me for dinner at Nourriture, the finest French restaurant in New York.” “Does that mean we’ll be eating french fries?” Mumps asked. “We will have a délicieux three-course meal, beginning with salade verte and la soupe à l’oignon,” Arnaud rattled off. “Next, you will have a choice between les coquilles Saint-Jacques à la Provençal, le saumon d’ecosse, or les filets de bœuf. Dessert will be la tarte fine aux pommes or crème brulée à la vanille. I have arranged everything.” TJ leaned over and whispered in my ear. “What’s he talking about? That sounds like the most disgusting food ever.” “I hope those words mean hamburgers, hot dogs, and pepperoni pizza in French,” Mumps said. “I doubt it,” Vivian said. “But I think bœuf means ‘beef.’ Sorry, there’s no way I’m eating a dead animal. I’m a strict vegetarian.” Just then, a bunch of people carrying notebooks and iPads burst into the gallery. They were dressed in normal-looking street clothes, not fancy tuxedoes and evening gowns like those that everybody else was wearing. “Who are they?” Vivian wondered. “Journalistes,” Pierre announced. “They have come to interview the great Pierre du Voleur!” Arnaud straightened Pierre’s bow tie and plucked lint from his tuxedo jacket. The journalistes hurried in our direction, pen and notebooks poised for writing, iPads charged and ready to go. Just as the first reporter was about to ask Pierre a question, a flurry of activity broke out behind us. I turned around and saw a short

man with thick, curly gray hair step into the gallery. He also wore a black tuxedo, but instead of fancy black shoes, he had on a pair of bright red Converse sneakers. Jean Paul Puanteur! The man, the myth, the perfuming legend was standing less than ten feet from me! I instantly recognized his face from the picture of him in my room. When the journalistes saw Jean Paul, they completely ignored Pierre and flocked to the creator of Strange. Voices rang out. “Jean Paul, look this way for photo!” “I love Strange!” “Tell us your secret of Strange success! “Mr. Puanteur, give us a quote!” “I have only one thing to say before I let my fragrance do the talking,” Jean Paul said in a deep voice heavy with French inflection. “Strange is as Strange does.” A series of astonished oohs and ahhs escaped from the journalistes’ lips, like Jean Paul had just given them the secret of the universe or something. The ones holding pens quickly scribbled down the quote. Others checked their iPads, making double sure they had digitally captured his words. I took three deep snorts, trying to work up the courage to introduce myself, when Pierre’s normally pale complexion suddenly flamed fiery red. “Jean Paul Puanteur is a fake, a fraud, and an escroc of the highest order!” he screamed. Jean Paul looked up from the reporters and glared at Pierre. “Pierre du Voleur! Get that crasseux rat out of my sight! He belongs in the gutter, not a museum!” Pierre lunged at Jean Paul, his fists curled and ready to fight. But before he could throw a punch, a burly bodyguard wearing dark sunglasses pushed him aside and escorted Jean Paul out of the exhibition hall.

“What was that all about?” I cried. “You will know soon enough,” Pierre huffed as he and Arnaud tugged me toward an awaiting car.

CHAPTER 10

THE FRANÇAIS SCENT COMPANY

Before I snapped on my seat belt, Arnaud shifted the car into drive and sped recklessly through the city streets. Pierre’s reaction to Jean Paul inside the museum had taken me by surprise. I was curious to know why he wanted to fight my hero, but I dared not ask him. The man had yet to calm down. His face was still as red as a cherry popsicle, and I could see a vein on his temple throbbing a million miles an hour. After a wild ten-minute ride and two near-collisions, Arnaud skidded to a stop in front of a dingy-looking brick building. “We are here,” Pierre said. “Follow me.” An attendant opened the doors, and we walked inside. I knew from reading magazine articles that the perfume business was all about style, fashion, and making a great first impression. So, I was expecting Pierre to overwhelm me with an opulent lobby—perhaps a white marble floor, slick modern furniture, and a bunch of young assistants answering phones. Instead, the first floor looked more like the waiting room of my ENT (ear, nose, and throat) doctor’s office. The carpet was an ugly, algae-green color. Four mismatched folding chairs sat against the wood- wall. Hanging precariously above the lobby attendant’s desk was a fading sign that read: Français Scent Company—American Headquarters. Pierre and Arnaud ushered me into a creaky elevator. When the doors opened to the third floor, an unpleasant blast of artificial, synthetic scents bombarded my olfactory bulbs. The smells were nothing like the organic, natural scents locked inside Strange. “Arnaud, show le Nez around for a moment,” Pierre said. “I need to make a quick phone call.” He then disappeared into a small office, slamming the door

behind him. “Pierre doesn’t seem too happy,” I remarked. “Monsieur du Voleur has good reason not to be happy,” Arnaud said. “Why?” “All of his best work has been systematically stolen by one man.” “Who?” “Jean Paul Puanteur.” I couldn’t believe my ears. Jean Paul Puanteur, the world’s greatest scent artist, a thief? “Why in the world would he steal perfume ideas from Pierre?” I wondered aloud. “The so-called darling of the perfuming world is an untalented escroc. That is why. “What’s ‘ace…crock’ mean? I’ve heard that word used to describe Jean Paul twice today.” “Escroc means ‘crook, thief, trickster’ in English. Let’s not talk about Puanteur anymore. Just the mention of his name sends Monsieur du Voleur’s blood pressure to dangereux levels.” I kept my mouth shut while Arnaud gave me a tour of the Français Scent Company’s perfume laboratory. Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep my nose shut, because the place stunk to high heaven with dozens of yucky synthetic aroma compounds. I had sniffed the nastiest odors in the world—the Gates of Smell, hákarl, roadkill skunk on the side of the road—but a whiff of any artificial scent made my nose hairs recoil. Still, I collected the fake musk for inclusion in my mental scent dictionary. My nostrils scooped up semi-toxic substances like musk ketone, musk xylene, galaxolide, and tonalide. I knew from reading that those chemicals were potentially dangerous to humans, especially galaxolide and tonalide.

“This is where the magic of the Français Scent Company happens,” Arnaud said, leading me through a set of double doors and into a large room. The room was white and sterile-looking, a complete contrast to the dreariness of the rest of the building. One side of the room had long tables piled with hundreds of small brown bottles. Two bored-looking men and one equally disinterested woman wearing lab coats sat on swivel stools, dipping little wooden sticks into the bottles and then smelling them. A vast array of chemical-laced aromas wafted in the air. My sniffer picked up scents like baked pumpkin, pomegranate jam, ripe papaya, banana peel, apricot, campfire marshmallow, and dozens of other imitation aromas. “Are those people perfumers?” I asked Arnaud. “They are my fragrance technicians,” a voice bellowed from behind me. “But compared to you, le Nez, their noses are about as useless as a skunk without stink spray.” I turned and saw Pierre. His face was no longer red, and the throbbing vein on his temple had calmed to a normal pulse. Oddly enough, he was clutching a fancy gift bag with Jean Paul Puanteur’s Strange logo emblazoned in gilded script. “I created Bête Blanc—White Beast, my most popular perfume, in this very room,” Pierre continued. “It was the second most preferred fragrance of incarcerated females in the United States prison system from 2001 to 2003.” “The number one most popular prisoner perfume of the time was Évasion by You-know-who,” Arnaud said. Pierre shot him a dirty look. “What’s that huge machine in the corner?” I asked. “A robotic mixer,” Pierre explained. “We use it to blend ingredients to create new parfums. I want your exquisite nez to sniff several new lines we are currently working on.” “How do you capture the smells of natural, living flowers to use in your

perfumes?” Pierre chuckled and then shot Arnaud a sly look. “Le Nez, this is the twenty-first century,” he said. “We buy our scents from Khasabu Fragrance and Flavor International in India. They are the world’s largest—and cheapest—synthetic scent manufacturers in the world.” “Only fools like Jean Paul Puanteur use all-natural ingredients,” Arnaud added. “They cost a fortune and cut deeply into his profits.” The word escroc flashed in my mind—crook, thief, trickster. I needed to know the truth about Jean Paul, but I could tell from the look on Pierre’s face that this was not the time to bring up the subject. “What do you want me to smell first?” I asked. “I thought you’d never ask,” Pierre said. He then placed the gift bag he was holding on a table and pulled from it a very familiar-looking red bottle. “Strange,” he said with a wicked smile. “I want you to smell Strange.”

CHAPTER 11

NEZ PROFESSIONNEL

“Why would you want me to smell Strange?” I asked, a bit confused by Pierre’s request. “Don’t you want me to sniff some of your perfumes?” Pierre looked at his watch and then clapped his hands, getting the attention of the three fragrance technicians who were working at a back table. “Madame et messieurs, you can leave two hours early today. You will be compensated for a full day’s work.” “Thank you, merci,” the excited fragrance technicians echoed as they grabbed their jackets and hurried out of the lab. “Arnaud, I need to speak with you in my office for a moment,” Pierre said. “Le Nez, we will be right back.” A sudden quiet fell over the Français Scent Company. The events of the day replayed in my mind—the gondola trip from New Hampshire to New York City, landing on top of a skyscraper, the Art of Odor exhibit, and seeing Jean Paul Puanteur up close and personal. Now, less than eight hours after I had lifted off from Jimmy’s backyard, I was alone inside a professional perfumer’s laboratory. I still found the odor of synthetic fragrances a bit disgusting, but I was finally in a place where a kid with a big nose and a sense of smell like a dog was an honored guest instead of an object of ridicule. The laboratory door swung open. Pierre strolled into the room followed by Arnaud, who was carrying a large sheet of paper in one hand and a fancy quill pen in the other. “Le Nez,” Pierre announced. “I want to make you the richest nose in the world.” “Huh?” I mumbled, flaring my nostrils.

“Show him, Arnaud.” Arnaud placed an official-looking scroll of paper in front of me. “What is it?” I asked. “An employment contract,” Pierre answered. “I want you to work for me.” “I already have a job. Every Sunday the Denmark Parks and Rec Department pays me a dollar for every pile of dog poop I sniff out that people have neglected to pick up. Dog waste left on the ground near the town’s swimming pond causes pollution problems.” Pierre laughed. “I am talking about a real job. In fact, one of the most important jobs in the whole perfume industry—a nez professionnel! I scratched my sniffer and thought for a second. Nez meant ‘nose.’ Professionnel sounded a lot like ‘professional.’ “Are you saying that you want to hire me as a professional nose?” “Oui,” Pierre said. “You will be a very highly compensated nez professionnel. Read the number at the bottom of the contract.” I looked down at the paper, skimming through the boring parts until finally focusing on a number with a bunch of zeroes at the end. “One million dollars!” I exclaimed. “Is this a typo or something?” “It is no mistake,” Pierre said. “One million dollars will be yours.” All the things I could buy with that kind of money tumbled around in my brain. Personal rock-climbing gym in my backyard. A brand-new, state-of-the-art underground hideout for Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and me. Custom-made Mardi Gras masks decorated with gold leaf. Pencil sharpeners shaped like big noses to hand out as gag gifts at school. Nuclear-powered nose hair clippers and an endless supply of high-grade cayenne pepper imported from Peru. The possibilities were endless! But most of all, I could help my parents repair all of the damage to our house that my earthquake-like snoring had caused.

“Give me a pen!” I whooped. “I’ll sign right here and now!” “In due time,” Pierre said. “First, you will need to a smell test.” “What kind of smell test?” Arnaud placed a bunch of bottles of perfume on the table. I recognized most of them from the Art of Odor exhibit. Famous scents like Dracula Noir, Sticky, Appetite, Perhaps, and Mammal No. 5. “I want you to sniff each perfume and then tell me the precise ingredients,” Pierre instructed. “A nez professionnel knows every smell in the world and is prized for his or her skilled and intelligent assessment of fragrances.” “In other words,” Arnaud added, “you need to name every scent in the bottles or you get nothing.” Pierre looked at his watch. “This test will be timed. Do you have any questions?” I shook my head, no. “Then you may begin now!” A jolt of anxiety shot through my body. My fingers shook as I popped the cap from the first perfume—Sticky by Jacques Gluant. The scent wafted from the bottle and into my awaiting honker. “I smell bergamot, lavender, amber, civet,” I rattled off. “And a slight hint of lemon.” “Perfect!” Pierre gushed. “Quickly, smell another one.”

I grabbed the bottle of Dracula Noir by Otto Sang, twisted off the cap, and took a huge whiff. “Off the top, I smell rosemary, basil, lemon, bergamot, and cinnamon. Then subtle hints of leather, amber, pine, and sandalwood.” “Excellent!” Pierre exclaimed. “You are an aromatic genius, an odeur prodigy! Now, smell the bottle of Mammal No. 5.” For the next fifteen minutes, I astonished Pierre and Arnaud with my olfactory gifts. I systematically listed every fragrance in every bottle of perfume they placed in front of me. The hard work I had put into my mental scent dictionary paid off, and now it was going to reward me with a million dollars. I couldn’t wait to see my parents’ faces when I handed them a wad of cash to patch the foundation of our house! “When do I get paid?” I asked, still dreaming of ways to spend the money. “Not so fast, le Nez,” Pierre muttered. “We still have one more perfume.” He placed the bottle of Strange on the table. My heart skipped a beat, and a bead of sweat dripped from my forehead all the way down the bridge of my nose. With the excitement of being in a real perfume lab and getting a million dollars, I had forgotten all about my inability to huff out the secret scent of Strange. “Scent dictionary, don’t fail me,” I prayed and then took a big snort of Strange. “There are essential oils like lavender, jasmine, more sandalwood, and bergamot,” I said with a shaky voice. “And I get mild hints of artemisia, coriander, patchouli, carnation, and one final scent is…uh…um.” “What is it?” Pierre growled in my face. “I need to know the final ingredient or you say au revoir to the millions de dollars!” My nervous nostrils quivered like a cell phone switched on vibrate. Frantically, I scanned my mental scent dictionary, silently pleading for the odor to reveal itself. The vanilla-like smell was earthy yet sophisticated, the icing on the most deliciously perfect perfume ever concocted by man. “Tell me the scent!” Pierre demanded.

“It’s…it’s…I don’t know!” I cried out, tears streaming down my face. “It resembles vanilla but none I’ve ever smelled before!” Pierre grabbed more bottles and bags of dried bean pods from a shelf. “These are all of the synthetic and natural vanilla essences known to man,” he said. “Do you smell one of these?” Inhaling deeply, I sniffed vanilla beans from Mexico, Tahiti, and Madagascar. There was no match. I moved quickly to the bottles—vanilla extract, pure vanilla extract, and vanilla essence. Again, there was no match. Lastly, I popped the cap on a bottle of vanillin, the synthetic version of vanilla. The unnatural ingredients made my nose turn away in disgust. “It’s none of these,” I informed him. “The unknown, vanilla-like ingredient in Strange is from a completely different origin.” Pierre violently slammed his fist on the table, sending bottles crashing to the floor. “You are a failure!” he screamed, his face flaming red and his temple vein throbbing. “You will never be a nez professionnel, and you will never see a penny of the money until you figure out every single ingredient inside Strange. Come with me, Arnaud. I need to get ready for our dîner with Aðalbjörn and his friends.” Pierre and Arnaud walked out of the lab, leaving me alone. I laid my nose on the table, feeling horrible because I had let Pierre down. I was a complete sniffing loser, and it was all because of Strange.

CHAPTER 12

UNTALENTED INSECTE

Pierre, Arnaud, and I drove to the restaurant in silence. The two of them were so disappointed in my inability to conquer Strange that they wouldn’t even look at me. My dream job as a nez professionnel and the million dollars were slipping away. “We have arrived,” Arnaud said, wheeling to the curb. I looked out of the car’s tinted windows. Dr. Wackjöb, Vivian, and the Not-Right Brothers were waiting on the sidewalk under a big sign that read: Nourriture— Cuisine Française. “Do not mention anything about what happened in the perfume lab this afternoon,” Pierre ordered before we stepped out of the car. “I have not given up on you yet, le Nez. I have faith that you will tell me the secret of Strange, and the millions de dollars will be yours.” Pierre patted my shoulder and smiled at me. My nostrils swelled with relief. He wasn’t mad at me anymore! There was still a chance for me to sniff out Strange and show him the power of my proboscis. I hopped out of the car and walked into the restaurant with my friends. While Pierre and Dr. Wackjöb chatted, Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers told me about their afternoon touring New York City. “After the Art of Odor, we went to the top of the Empire State Building,” Jimmy said, biting into a breadstick. “The view was awesome!” Mumps pointed to greasy splotch on his skull. “This is where a pigeon pooped on my head.”

“Yuck.” I grimaced. “You could have at least washed it off.” “Not a chance. It’s supposed to be good luck. Plus, I’m keeping it there as a souvenir to show my little brother.” “Tomorrow we’re going to the Museum of Natural History,” TJ said. “There’s a living spider exhibit that I have to see. Black widows, tarantulas, wolf spiders, hairy scorpions, giant vinegaroons, the brown recluse, and the deadliest creepycrawly in the world—the Brazilian wandering spider!” Jimmy shuddered. “Spiders give me the creeps.” “Maybe one will bite you,” Vivian joked. “Then you’ll become Spider Boy!” We all laughed. “How was your afternoon of sniffing perfumes?” Dr. Wackjöb asked me. Pierre stared at me, his intense gaze like sharp needles plunging up my nose holes. I lowered my head, unable to look Dr. Wackjöb in the eye. “It was fun,” I muttered. “Pierre has some awesome new fragrances coming out.” After parking the car, Arnaud ed us at the table. Since he had preordered our meal, we didn’t get to pick from a menu. Our first course—salade verte and la soupe à l’oignon—was really a hunk of iceberg lettuce with some tomatoes and a cup of onion soup. I could do without the salad, but the soup was okay. I love the smell of onions. Next was the main course. Our choices were les coquilles Saint-Jacques à la Provencal, le saumon d’ecosse, or les filets de bœuf. We quickly learned that coquilles Saint-Jacques were scallops, saumon d’ecosse meant Scottish salmon, and filets de bœuf was beef. The Not-Right Brothers and I picked beef. Dr. Wackjöb and Pierre ordered the salmon, and Arnaud had the scallops. Vivian just got a refill of salad, bread sticks, and onion soup. “Le Nez,” Pierre addressed me through a mouthful of baked salmon. “I would like you to return to my perfume laboratory again tomorrow morning. Your astute observations of my fragrances were quite impressive. Is this okay with

you, Aðalbjörn?” Dr. Wackjöb shrugged. “It’s fine with me. I can tell how much Schnoz enjoyed spending time with you.” “But you’ll miss all the deadly spiders at the Museum of Natural History,” TJ said. “Plus, I wanted Schnoz to help me coax another pigeon into pooping on my head so I could have double good luck,” Mumps complained. “We’re going to miss you,” Vivian added. This was a golden chance to get out of another tortuous session of Strange smelling. The stress of trying to figure out the mystery scent was too much, and I needed a break. “You guys are right,” I said. “I should spend the day with you, visiting all the—” “Nonsense,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “The Museum of Natural History is not going anywhere, and we still have four full days in New York. Schnoz, spending one more day with a professional perfumer like Pierre is the chance of a lifetime.” My nostrils deflated and I felt a little icky, like a pigeon had just pooped all over my head. Before I could protest, a hard glance from Arnaud caught my attention. He raised his right hand, rubbed his thumb and fingertips together, and made the international sign for money. One million dollars. The dough was just a single smell away. If I could sniff out the secret of Strange, I could take care of my family forever. I cleared my throat to get everyone’s attention and raised my water glass in the air. “A toast to Pierre and the fabulous fragrances of the Français Scent Company,” I declared. “For making my perfuming dreams come true.” The sound of tinkling glasses filled the air. Pierre was enjoying his dessert of la tarte fine aux pommes—apple tart—when the restaurant doors opened and in walked a familiar-looking man wearing a black tuxedo with bright red Converse sneakers.

Jean Paul Puanteur! A man wearing a name tag that read Maître D’ welcomed Jean Paul to the restaurant by kissing him on both cheeks. A small entourage, including his two burly bodyguards, ed him at a choice table next to a fancy stained-glass window. Pierre dropped his spoon, wiped his mouth, and groaned, “I have suddenly lost my appétit. Please excuse me, Aðalbjörn. I have urgent business to attend. Le Nez, I will send Arnaud to pick you up at your hotel at nine a.m. sharp.” He paid for the meal, and then he and Arnaud disappeared into the city streets. “This was just like at the Art of Odor,” Vivian commented. “As soon as Jean Paul Puanteur enters, Pierre du Voleur decides it’s time to leave.” “I hope we’re not leaving,” TJ said. “I haven’t even finished my apple tart.” “I Pierre always being a bit odd during our college days,” Dr. Wackjöb said, taking a sip of coffee. “But eat your desserts, children. We will stay until you have finished your meal.” Seeing Jean Paul made my nose hairs knot. I still found it hard to believe that he had stolen Pierre’s perfumes. This was my chance to meet the man. Maybe I’d have the opportunity to ask him about secret scent so I could be a millionaire! I excused myself from the table and headed in the direction of the bathroom. When I got near his table, I took three quick huffs to calm my nerves and stepped next to his chair. Instantly, his two bodyguards bolted to attention, ready to escort me away from their boss. Jean Paul, however, waved them off and stared intently at the mass of fleshy cartilage in the middle of my face. “My name is…uh…Andy…Schnoz…le Nez,” I stuttered. “I am a huge fan of Strange and wanted to…uh…say…um…” Jean Paul stood up before I finished my bumbling sentence. He was shorter than I had thought. The top of his curly gray hair barely reached the tip of my schnozola. And then, like a man examining a piece of rare, exquisite pottery, he reached out with both hands and gently stroked my honker.

“Beautiful,” he said softly. “You have a nez that puts other nez to shame.” “My nose can smell great too,” I said. “I know your signature perfume, Strange, has an awesome blend of lavender, jasmine, sandalwood, berga-mot, patchouli, and stuff like that. But there’s another very subtle, mysterious scent in the mixture that my nez can’t quite figure out. What is it?” The master perfumer frowned and shook his head disapprovingly. “When I arrived at the restaurant, I noticed you were sitting with that untalented insecte, Pierre du Voleur. Tell him that he has stooped to a new low by using an écolier, a schoolboy, to try and steal my creations. Now, leave me alone. I am having dîner.” Jean Paul’s bodyguards ordered me to step away from the table. As I walked back to the gang, my head and snout felt woozy. Jean Paul and Pierre were accusing each other of swiping fragrances, and I didn’t know which man to believe.

CHAPTER 13

WHO WANTS TO SMELL A MILLIONAIRE?

I tossed and turned in bed all night long, and it wasn’t because of Mumps farting in his sleep. My mind raced with images of Jean Paul, Pierre, and Strange. The two perfumers were obviously rivals, and I was stuck in the middle of their fragrance feud right up to my world-class nostrils. As the first slivers of sun peeked over the New York City skyline, I heard a knock at my hotel room door. I instantly whipped off the blanket and looked at the clock—5:44 a.m. Arnaud, I thought right away. He must have come early to pick me up for another day of Strange sniffing at the Français Scent Company. “Schnoz, are you up?” a voice whispered from the hallway. It was Vivian. I pulled on a pair of jeans, slipped on a T-shirt, and opened the door. “What are you doing up so early?” I asked her. “I couldn’t sleep.” “Me neither.” “There are a couple of chairs in the foyer next to the vending machines down the hall. Let’s go. We need to talk.” Vivian slipped a couple dollars into the vending machine and punched up two packs of peanut butter crackers. “Breakfast is on me,” she said, handing me the crackers. “Now, let’s not beat around the boogers. What is wrong with you?” “Nothing’s wrong with me,” I said. “Whatever gave you that idea?” “Something’s on your mind. Last night at dinner, you looked like a stressed-out

lab monkey during a psychological experiment.” I let out a deep snort and stared at the ceiling. “I like your analogy, because that’s exactly what I feel like.” “Then tell me what’s bothering you.” “Okay. But you have to promise not to say anything.” “You can trust me,” she said, and then pretended to lock her lips with an imaginary key. “I’m one sniff away from being a millionaire,” I blurted out. Vivian cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. “A sniff away from a million what?” “One million dollars! Currency, bread, cash, and whatever the French word for money is.” “Argent is the French word for cash. I learned that at the restaurant last night.” “Whatever. Pierre said he would pay me a million dollars if I could list every ingredient in a bunch of perfumes. That’s what I was doing at his perfume lab yesterday. I guessed every one until I had to smell Strange. When I couldn’t figure out the secret ingredient, Pierre got so mad I thought he was going to hit me.” Vivian sat up and paced the hallway, index finger tapping her chin, trying to make sense of what I had just told her. “Did Pierre tell you why he had to know every ingredient in Strange?” “To see if I was ready for a job,” I said, biting into a peanut butter cracker. “He wants to hire me.” “Hire you for what? You already have a job sniffing out dog poop in the park.” “He wants me to be his nez professionnel. That means “professional nose” in English. It’s one of the most important and highly compensated jobs in the perfume industry. The test was to see if I had the smelling chops to perform all

the duties.” “Since you couldn’t figure out the secret of Strange, you failed the test, right?” “Yes, but he’s giving me another chance today.” Vivian paced around some more, still tapping her chin and practically wearing a hole in the carpet. While she marched, I filled her in on every detail—from the offer of a million dollars and smelling all the perfumes to Pierre’s anger issues. I wasn’t ready to tell her Jean Paul and Pierre had accused each other of stealing fragrances. “Schnoz, this is the sniffing opportunity of a lifetime!” Vivian exclaimed. “Think about it. You can get a million big ones just for figuring out a simple smell. It’s like you’re a contestant on that TV game show Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” “More like Who Wants to Smell a Millionaire?” I countered. Vivian laughed. “I say go for it. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.” “But what if I can’t figure out the smell? Then I get nothing.” “Schnoz, think about it. Yesterday at this time, you were standing in Jimmy’s backyard in New Hampshire struggling to lift a gondola off the ground. A day later, you’re in New York City and a perfuming company has offered you a job and a million dollars if you can figure out a dumb odor. You’re the Cinderella of smells!” Vivian was right. Strange was my glass slipper and the million dollars my happily ever after. But I knew that every fairy tale had a villain. Who was my Evil Stepmother—Pierre, Arnaud, Jean Paul, or Strange itself? “Thanks for cheering me up,” I told her. “This is the experience of a lifetime. And if I can’t figure out the smell and don’t get the million dollars, no big deal. I never had it to lose in the first place.” “Now you’re thinking like a superhero,” Vivian said, cupping a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. “I’m going back to bed.”

We parted ways and went back to our rooms. When I opened the door, Mumps was still asleep and tooting away under the blankets like a bad trombone player. I plopped down on my bed and reviewed my mental scent dictionary. Each delicious scent was alphabetized, categorized, and organized like a virtual public library. The secret of Strange was hiding somewhere inside my honker, and today was the day I would reveal its fragrance.

CHAPTER 14

THE BOATHOUSE

A couple hours later, I met the gang in the hotel restaurant for breakfast. “After we eat, we’re heading straight for the Museum of Natural History,” TJ mumbled through a mouthful of oatmeal. “Then we’re going to the Central Park Zoo,” Mumps added. Dr. Wackjöb held up his empty cup, signaling to the server that he’d like more coffee. “We wish you could be with us,” the doctor said, splashing milk into his refill. “But I know how much your time with Pierre is worth to you.” “It’s worth a million bucks!” Vivian blurted out. “What do you mean a million bucks?” Jimmy asked. My nostrils flared with anger. I shot Vivian a dirty look. The girl had promised to keep the million dollars a secret, and two hours hadn’t ed before she let the snot out of the sack. “It’s just a figure of speech,” Vivian said quickly after realizing what she had done. “You know, it’s an experience that money can’t buy.” “I’d buy a lot of experiences with a million dollars,” TJ mused. “Like what?” Mumps asked. “First, I’d buy us a big jet and fly us around the world!” Jimmy pointed to my nose. “We already have a jet, and it’s plastered right in the middle of Schnoz’s face. He sailed us all the way from New Hampshire to New York with just a few sniffs of cayenne pepper fueling his solid rocket boogers. If

we loaded his honker with enough cayenne, he could probably fly us to the moon and back!” The restaurant door opened, and Arnaud stepped inside. “My ride is here,” I said. “Have a great day of smelling Strange,” Vivian said with a wink. I chugged down the rest of my orange juice, said good-bye to my friends, and hopped in the backseat of Arnaud’s car. I was surprised when we sped past the Français Scent Company’s bland brick building. “Where are we going?” I asked. “Monsieur du Voleur thought a change of scenery might be better for your nez,” Arnaud explained. “He has rented a private space for the day inside the Boathouse in Central Park.” “What’s the Boathouse?” “It is an exquis restaurant and oasis in the middle of the city. You can rent boats and bicycles by the hour. You can also rent private dining rooms. Monsieur du Voleur has reserved one for you.” I shrugged, not caring where the final smell test would take place. The only thing that concerned me was figuring out the mystery ingredient in Strange and getting my million. Arnaud wheeled the car into a parking garage. We then entered Central Park at Seventy-Second Street and Fifth Avenue on foot and strolled down a path toward the Boathouse. Five minutes later, we came upon a lake. I ed the body of water instantly. It was the same place where I had almost landed the gondola when we first arrived in New York. Rowboats for rent bobbed in the water along a wooden dock. Arnaud led me into a large building with a fancy green roof and a large outdoor terrace for dining. “Do you have a reservation?” a hostess wearing a white shirt and flowing black skirt asked us.

“We have one in the name of Pierre du Voleur,” Arnaud said. “It is for a private room, party of three.” “Yes, of course,” the hostess said. “Mr. du Voleur is waiting for you. Please, follow me.” The hostess led us through a packed dining area and into a small room with an awesome view of the lake and even better view of the skyscrapers towering over the trees in the distance. “Le Nez,” Pierre said, shaking my hand as I entered the room. “I am so glad you could us. Voulez-vous le petit déjeuner?” He motioned toward a buffet table loaded with fruit, cheese, croissants, and a large jar of Nutella. I raised my eyebrows, not sure what Pierre had just asked me. “He wants to know if you would like breakfast,” Arnaud clarified. “No, I’m good. I just ate at the hotel.” “Very well,” Pierre said. “Now, let’s get down to business.” A small round table with a single chair sat next to a window that overlooked the lake. Sitting in the center on a white tablecloth was a brand-new bottle of Strange. “The moment has arrived, le Nez,” Pierre said to me. “Today, you become a nez professionnel, an odeur artiste with such an acute sense of smell that you can compose complex fragrances that convey intense moods, deep feelings, and wonderful sensations.” “Don’t forget about my million dollars,” I reminded him. Pierre smiled. “I will be back in fifteen minutes. You will then reveal to me the secret of Strange, or you don’t get a penny.” The two men then walked outside and closed the door behind them. I sat down at the table, just my nose and a rosy bottle of Strange. Like two MMA fighters ready to duke it out for the ultimate prize. My heart raced, nostrils quivered, fingers shook as I twisted off the cap. Instantly, familiar smells wafted in the air:

lavender, jasmine, sandal-wood, bergamot. One last scent escaped from the bottle—the mystery ingredient, the phantom fragrance, the million-dollar odor dancing around my nose like an aromatic apparition. I huffed and snorted with all my olfactory might. The vanilla-like smell penetrated my scent receptors, flooding my mental scent dictionary. I frantically searched for the musk’s origin like a computer program scanning for a rogue virus. “Earthy…grass…dirt…” I gasped. “Something definitely found on the ground, yet totally sweet and intoxicating. The secret of Strange is…I don’t know!” I slammed my nose violently on the table. The glass bottle of Strange flew on the floor and splintered into a thousand shards. The mysterious scent was everywhere, mocking me, teasing my nose worse than any playground bully ever had. Tears formed in my eyes. I looked out the window and saw Pierre and Arnaud walking toward the Boathouse. Before I had to face the men with my failure, I tore out of the room and raced into the heart of Central Park.

CHAPTER 15

THE SECRET OF STRANGE

The Central Park Zoo. Mumps had mentioned at breakfast that the gang would head to the zoo after visiting the Museum of Natural History. I stopped and asked directions from an old guy who was feeding stale bread to pigeons. “Zoo’s that way,” he grumbled, pointing in a southeast direction. “Sixty-Fourth and Fifth.” “Thanks,” I said, and then tore off down a path. While I ran, I looked over my shoulder every few yards to see if Pierre and Arnaud were following me. They were nowhere in sight. When I arrived at the zoo, I checked the time on a clock mounted to a brick wall—ten thirty-five. It was way too early for Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and Dr. Wackjöb to be at the zoo. They were still touring the Museum of Natural History and probably wouldn’t even show up until after lunch. My only choice was to wait for them, so I purchased a ticket and pushed through the turnstile. Like throughout the rest of New York, the smell of Strange completely permeated the zoo. I even saw the gift shop manager spraying himself with the stuff when I was browsing through a book of endangered animals. Using the zoo map, I scooted down a walkway and entered the Tropic Zone. The exhibit featured creatures found in the Earth’s rain forests. Black and white lemurs leaped through a canopy above my head. Colorful birds with names like golden weaver, Victoria crowned pigeon, and white-rumped shama flitted from branch to branch. A creepy-looking orange-and-yellow snake called a macabrel sat curled in a corner.

The next animal I saw stopped me in my tracks. A creature called a big-nosed tamandua—otherwise known as an anteater. My animal spirit had sandy fur with striking black markings. The shape of our noses was surprisingly similar. Long, pointy, and fat with a set of huge, flaring nostrils. The anteater flicked its lengthy pink tongue and then stared at me. Its black eyes were intense and glistening, like it was trying to communicate with me.

“Can you smell Strange, little guy?” I whispered. “I bet if you talked, you’d tell me the secret.” The ear-piercing screech of a wild-haired golden lion tamarin shattered our bond. The anteater flicked its tongue one last time and then scurried out of sight behind a big rock. I moved out of the Tropic Zone and headed for the Sea Lion Pool. A trio of seals swam, splashed, and sunned themselves on rocks. A bunch of little kids made barking sounds, trying to get the seals to answer back. Temperate Territory, the next exhibit, was filled with snow monkeys, snow leopards, red pandas, turtles, and big, white wading birds. The highlight here was the salty, ammonia tang of snow leopard pee. The unique urine odor of this elusive cat native to the Himalayan Mountains was fresh and new. I quickly added it to my mental scent dictionary. I breezed through the Polar Zone (the penguins and puffins were kind of boring) and entered the final exhibit called Camels—Ships of the Desert. The first type I saw was an Arabian camel, also known as a dromedary because it only has one hump. A sign posted on the fence warned that camels were notorious for spitting at zoo patrons, so be aware. I had never smelled camel spit before and was actually hoping one would expectorate in my direction. Today wasn’t my lucky day, however, because the animals were all too busy munching on dried hay and small brown pellets to notice me. A tired-looking mother pushing a baby carriage with one hand and clutching a toddler with the other strolled up beside me. “Mommy, want ride camel,” the toddler garbled. A zoo attendant, who was inside the enclosure scattering food for the camels to eat, wandered over to us. “Camel rides are on the main lawn from noon to three p.m.,” she explained. “Cost is ten dollars a ride including photos. You can purchase tickets inside the gift shop.” The mother said thanks and walked away. The attendant went back to her work of feeding and watering the animals. I moved farther down the fence and came to another type of camel called a

Bactrian, native to the Gobi Desert in Mongolia. There was only one, and it was a lot hairier than the Arabian type and had two humps instead of one. I was about to head toward the Dancing Crane Café for a bite to eat when I noticed a smell—or a lack of smell, to be more precise. The overpowering potpourri of Strange was fading away, but the single, earthy, vanilla-like ingredient inside the perfume was fuming hard and heavy inside my nostrils. I squeezed my schnozola between the fence’s metal gates and sniffed deeply. There was no mistaking it—the secret ingredient of Strange was drifting inside the Bactrian camel enclosure! I had to get inside and investigate. But how could I do it? The fence was at least ten feet high. Plus, the zoo attendant was still wandering around. The sudden urge to eat some candy came over me. I was reaching into my pocket for a piece when a sudden gust of wind swept through my hair. My nostrils inflated and my toes lifted off the ground. “I’m flying,” I said with a grin, and then floated gently over the fence and landed quietly next to a watering trough. The attendant was a few feet away with her back to me, completely unaware of my presence. However, the huge Bactrian camel noticed me right away. It hoofed over, gave me a quick sniff, and then let loose a wad of frothing camel spit right in my face. “Ugh!” I yelped, wiping camel saliva out of my eyes. “Be careful what you wish for! This thing just sprayed a goober all over me!” The attendant spun around. “What are you doing in here? Animal enclosures are off-limits to visitors!” She yanked a walkie-talkie from her utility belt. “Security! This is Emma down with the camels. A boy with a huge nose just hopped the fence. Get here right away!” Just then the spitting camel’s bowels opened up and steamy clumps of brown dung balls plopped on the ground. The smell was unmistakable. The secret of Strange was inside the poop of a Bactrian camel!

CHAPTER 16

HUMPHREY

“I’m going to be a millionaire!” I snorted with glee. “You’re going to be arrested and fined,” the zoo attendant growled at me. “Security is on the way.” I ignored her while my mental scent dictionary quickly broke down camel’s waste product. There was a rich array of minerals, carbon, nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen, and phosphorous. A few sniffs later, I had completely figured how Bactrian camel dung produced an intoxicating vanilla essence. “Scientists first separate the chemicals in the dung and then process the different aromas at high heat and pressure. Presto! The end product is completely natural and an amazing alternative to synthetic vanillin!” “What in the world are you mumbling about?” the zoo attendant said. With the thrill of finally sniffing out the secret of Strange, I had totally forgotten that I had illegally entered the camel enclosure. My nostrils flared, hoping for a gust of wind to carry me to safety. There was nothing. The once-strong breeze was now a gentle whisper. Three zoo security guards wearing badges and carrying nightsticks burst through a heavy metal door. The first guard was tall and skinny. The second one was short and plump, and the third guy looked like he was about eighty years old. The zoo attendant pointed at me. “He’s the one!” I frantically searched my pockets for a bottle of cayenne pepper, hoping a little sniff could propel me back over the fence. Or at the very least, I could use it to give the guards a peppery sneeze while I made my escape. My heart sunk into

my stomach. The only items I found were a half-eaten pack of Sour Patch Kids and a palm full of sticky lint. A loud grunting sound blasted in my ears. I turned around and saw the hairy Bactrian camel that had hockered on me. The thing was a huge male, standing at least seven feet tall. He calmly chewed on his cud while simultaneously spraying more loads of Strange-scented poop out of his butt. That’s when the idea hit me. Without a second to lose, I leaped onto the camel and landed right between his two fuzzy humps. “Giddy up!” I shouted, poking his ribs with my heels like I had seen cowboys do in the movies. The camel didn’t budge. The tall guard burst out laughing. “That ain’t no horsey, little boy.” “Camel rides start at noon on the main lawn,” chimed in the plump one. “Get your tickets in the gift shop.” “Pictures included!” The old guy guffawed through a set of pearly white false teeth. “Quit fooling around!” the zoo attendant ordered. “Get that kid off Humphrey before he gets hurt.” Humphrey must have been the camel’s name. What came next made me promise to give Humphrey a big, wet kiss after this was all over. As the three guards closed in on me, Humphrey’s cheeks bulged like a giant prehistoric chipmunk. The camel then took aim and fired three rounds of gloppy, frothy spit right in their faces. “Gross!” the plump guard cried. “I just had my uniform dry cleaned, and now it’s ruined!” shouted the old guy. The zoo attendant grabbed a hunk of braided rope off the ground. She quickly tied it into a lasso. “Come off that camel this instant or I’ll rope you like a suckling calf,” she threatened.

“Open the gate, and I’ll leave,” I fired back. “No questions asked.” “You ain’t going anywhere,” the tall guard barked, his angry face still dripping with camel saliva. “You broke park rules. You’re paying a hefty fine and then heading to juvie jail.” The word “jail” sent shivers down my nose. I could see the scenario play out in my head: Dr. Wackjöb paying my fine and then having to tell my parents that I was in juvie jail for breaking into a camel enclosure at the Central Park Zoo. After my prison stint, my parents would probably ground me for a year! A loud Jeep painted to look like a tiger wheeled up to the camel exhibit. Two more security guards hopped out and made their way in my direction. As the Jeep sat idling, its exhaust backfired like a shotgun blast. Humphrey went crazy. With me still on his back, the camel stampeded through the enclosure. I grabbed a fistful of Humphrey’s coarse hump hair and held on for dear life. We dashed past a bunch of Arabian camels munching on hay. They charged right along with us. Over a dozen crazed camels were now racing straight for the enclosure’s wrought-iron fence. If Humphrey didn’t put on the brakes soon, the collision was not going to be pretty. I closed my eyes and awaited impact. At the last second, I felt Humphrey lurch to the left. And that’s when I went flying off his back. Like a fighter pilot forced to use an ejection seat, I vaulted over the enclosure’s fence and landed nose first in front of a food cart selling Italian sausages.

“That was freaking awesome!” the guy behind the cart gushed. “I’ll give you ten bucks to do it again.” “Offer me a million and then we’ll talk,” I said, wiping dirt off my honker. “I’ll give you sixty days in the slammer!” a familiar voice hollered from behind me. I turned and saw the tall security guard, his pink face still glazed with camel spit. The guard pulled out a pair of handcuffs and lunged at me. I countered his attack by stabbing my nose hard into his belly. The guard cried out in pain, grabbed his stomach, and then crumbled to the ground. The other guards rushed toward me. I kept them at bay by using my nose like a sword, slashing at them like an extra from a bad gladiator movie. Just as they were about to overtake me, Humphrey let out a loud grunt. He was staring at me through the fence with his big, sad camel eyes. He then turned around, pressed his butt pressed against the fence, and poured out globs of poop. That was my cue. I fought my way to the fence, scooped up two big fistfuls of Humphrey’s million-dollar bum brownies, and sprinted as fast as I could back to the Boathouse.

CHAPTER 17

CHAMEAU MERDE

I was a wanted kid. An ANB—All Nose Bulletin—went out for me. Every police officer assigned to Central Park was looking for me. Park-goers cleared out of my way as I hurried down the paths leading to the Boathouse. Swarms of flies, hungry for the clumps of poop in my hands, buzzed my head as I ran. After a close call with two of New York’s finest, I finally arrived at the restaurant. The hostess at the Boathouse refused to allow me inside. “I told you,” I pleaded with her. “I’m with Pierre du Voleur. He rented a private room off the dining terrace.” “Leave here immediately before I call the police,” the hostess said, holding her nose. “This is not a soup kitchen. You look and smell disgusting.” “I am not a homeless person! I am Pierre du Voleur’s guest at this restaurant!” “Let him in,” a familiar French voice said from behind me. I turned and saw Pierre. He was glaring at me, his temple vein throbbing and his face as red as a cherry-flavored Sour Patch Kid. “But Mr. du Voleur—” the hostess protested. “The boy is telling the truth,” Pierre said. “He is my guest. Show him to the toilette so he can clean himself.” “Very well, sir,” the hostess said and then reluctantly led me to the restroom. I locked the door and stared at myself in the mirror. The hostess was right. I

looked a mess. My nose was dirty; my jacket and jeans were ripped from flying head first out of the camel enclosure, and fresh hunks of camel dookie were dripping from my hands. However, I took offense at her telling me I smelled bad. What I carried in my hands was one of my most exciting fragrance discoveries since the Gates of Smell and Dr. Wackjöb’s hákarl. After carefully wrapping the camel poop in layers of paper towel, I scrubbed my nose and hands. My jacket and jeans still had big tears in them, but at least I wasn’t dirty anymore. I opened the restroom door and saw Arnaud waiting for me. “I hope for your sake, le Nez,” Arnaud said ominously, “that whatever is wrapped inside that serviette en papier is what Monsieur du Voleur so desperately desires.” He then grabbed me by the elbow and tugged me back to our private room. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t crush you like an insecte right now!” Pierre barked in my face. “Because of this,” I said, and then laid the poop wrapped in paper towels on the table. “You filthy pig!” Pierre roared. “Get this excrément away from me!” Arnaud attempted to grab the camel caca from the table, but I stopped him. “Don’t touch it!” I hollered. “This is Bactrian camel dung. It’s the secret of Strange! Jean Paul Puanteur uses it to make the subtle, vanilla-like scent that drives people crazy. But in a good way!” “You have insulted Monsieur du Voleur for the last time,” Arnaud said. “You will pay a heavy price for—” Pierre raised his hand, cutting Arnaud off in mid-sentence. “Let le Nez speak. I want to hear more.” I told him everything. Running to the Central Park Zoo after I couldn’t figure out the smell, illegally entering the camel enclosure, and finally figuring out that the Bactrian camel’s backdoor bricks were the elusive last ingredient that made Strange the world’s greatest perfume.

“I am confused,” Pierre said, scratching his head. “How does Jean Paul turn common chameau merde into a powerful ingredient that smells like vanilla?” “What’s chameau merde?” I asked. “Camel droppings,” Arnaud answered. “The main chemical compounds of camel poop are carbon, nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen, phosphorous, and various other minerals,” I explained. “Jean Paul must use a machine of some kind to separate the different chemicals.” “He most certainly uses a centrifugal separator,” Pierre added. I nodded. “You would know better than me. Anyway, he splits up the chemicals and then processes their different aromas at a very high heat with lots of pressure. What he ends up with is a natural, pleasing, and spectacular vanillalike fragrance. The man’s a genius. He actually created a brand-new smell!” Pierre held his hands over his face in disbelief. “I should have known! Human beings have used various forms of merde to make fragrances for centuries. It was common from Roman times all the way to Napoléon III.” “Jean Paul claims he uses only natural ingredients for his fragrances,” I said. “You can’t get much more natural than good old-fashioned poop. I read a sign at the zoo that says the wild Bactrian camel is only found in Mongolia.” “This will be bigger than the fortune you made off of the Venezuelan bloated toad,” Arnaud said. “I will call your private jet and put them on standby. We can assemble our men and fly to Mongolia immediately.” I was just about to ask what a toad had to do with anything when a Boathouse server entered the room. He carried a platter of food with one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “Just in time,” I said. “I’m starving!” I reached to grab a hunk of cheese and Pierre slapped my hand. “Get away from my déjeuner!” he snapped. “Your work with me is fini, ended, over. Leave immediately.”

“When will I get my million dollars?” Arnaud laughed. “I don’t you g a contract for anything.” “But you told me I couldn’t sign the contract until I figured out all the ingredients in Strange. Well, I figured it out, and now I’m ready to sign. I want to be a nez professionnel!” “You will never be a nez professionnel, and you will not receive payment,” Pierre said coldly. “I told you to get out!” I couldn’t believe this was happening. A camel had nearly killed me and the cops had almost arrested me—all to get Pierre the secret ingredient. Now he was trying to cheat me out of my money! “Not until you pay me!” I yelled. “Call the police!” Pierre shouted to Arnaud. Arnaud whipped out his cell phone. “Hello, 911? The boy wanted for causing a disturbance at the Central Park Zoo this morning is now attempting to rob patrons at the Boathouse restaurant on the lake. Please, hurry!” “You’re lying!” I cried. “You pulled the poop over my eyes and used my nose just to get the ingredient!” Police sirens wailed in the distance. They were coming for me. I grabbed a fistful of cheese from the platter, angrily hurled the chunks at Pierre and Arnaud, and then fled the restaurant.

CHAPTER 18

SUPER-VILLAIN

I was so furious that my nose spewed red-hot snot bubbles. How could I have been so stupid? Pierre du Voleur had just been using my gift of smell the whole time. All he wanted was the secret of Strange, and I’d handed it to him on a poopy paper towel filled with camel dung. Jean Paul Puanteur was right. Pierre was nothing but a thief and an untalented insecte. Two New York City policemen on horseback galloped toward me. I dove into the bushes and watched them . They were heading straight for the Boathouse. Soon, the whole place was swarming with men in blue. The cops would bust me for sure if I didn’t get out of the park right away. A familiar scent drifted in the wind, and it wasn’t Strange. Novelty fart spray from an aerosol can. Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and Dr. Wackjöb were signaling me! I leaped from my hiding place and dodged the police as I made my way down the busy New York streets. My nose followed the fake flatulence like a bloodhound. I sniffed over twenty blocks until I came to the same building where I had landed the gondola when we first arrived in New York.

After running up twenty flights of stairs, I pushed open the heavy metal door and stepped onto the roof. What I saw made my nostrils bug out of my nose. “Jean Paul Puanteur,” I said. “What are you doing here?” The master perfumer, the legendary creator of Strange, was standing less than five yards from me. He was still wearing a black tuxedo with bright red Converse sneakers. Directly behind him were Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and Dr. Wackjöb. Mumps shot a blast of fart spray into the air. “Nothing attracts Schnoz like a funky butt explosion,” he said. “Thank goodness you made it,” Vivian said. “We were so worried about you.” “Way to get in trouble big time at the zoo,” Jimmy joked. “You have the whole New York City Police Department looking for you.” A police helicopter buzzed overhead. “Gríöarstór Nef, hide your nose!” Dr. Wackjöb shouted. “They have deployed helicopters in the search for your enormous proboscis!” I dashed behind the water tower. The helicopter hovered over the building for a moment and then flew away, whining like a giant prehistoric mosquito. “That was a close one,” TJ said. “The news reports are saying that you tried to steal a camel in the zoo and then rob people in a restaurant.” “None of it’s true,” I said, stepping from behind the water tower. “Of course it’s not true,” Vivian agreed. “You’re a superhero, not a supervillain.” “There is only one super-villain,” Jean Paul said bitterly. “And his name is Pierre du Voleur,” I still couldn’t believe Jean Paul was standing on the rooftop with the rest of the

gang. “How…why…what?” I stuttered. “Jean Paul came looking for us,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “He got our names from the French restaurant last night.” “Pierre du Voleur is a notorious thief,” Vivian said. “Jean Paul told us all about how he tries to steal more talented perfumer’s creations.” “I researched it on the Internet,” TJ added. “Everything he says about Pierre du Voleur is true. The man’s no good and rotten to the core.” TJ didn’t have to tell me that. I already knew firsthand that Pierre was a lying dirty rat. And so was his weasel lackey, Arnaud. “He is after your nez,” Jean Paul said to me. “From what Monsieur Wackjöb says, you have the greatest nez and the most spectacular sense of odeur in the history of mankind.” “Schnoz can sniff out dog poop from over a hundred yards away!” Mumps chimed. “And can sniff out minute fragrances as well,” Jean Paul added. “Pierre wants nothing more than to steal my special ingredient in Strange. May I call you Schnoz?” “You can call me anything but le Nez,” I said. “That’s what that rat Pierre calls me.” “Very well, Schnoz. If Voleur tries to trick you into revealing my ingredients, I implore you not to oblige him. It will not only ruin me, but destroy the livelihoods of many people around the world, as well as an endangered wild animal.” My heart dropped into my chest. I had done something very bad and now felt like a pile of maggoty garbage. How could I tell Jean Paul that I had already revealed the secret of Strange to Pierre? “I’m afraid this is my fault,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “I knew Pierre du Voleur as a college student over thirty years ago. He ed me a few days ago and invited us to New York as his guest. I’m the one who made the introduction.”

“It’s not your fault,” Vivian said. “You had no idea your old college friend was a scumbag.” “She is right,” Jean Paul added. “The only person at fault is Voleur. A man so devoid of morals that he tried to use a boy for his dirty work.” Jimmy slapped me on the back. “Well, thankfully my big-nosed friend here would never fall for something like that. Right, Schnoz?” All eyes fell upon me. I quickly looked away. “Right, Schnoz?” Jimmy repeated a little louder. Jean Paul’s face grew ashen. “You have been tricked into revealing the ingredient, haven’t you?” “Yes!” I cried out. “It’s Bactrian camel poop! I’m sorry, but I didn’t know Pierre was a fake!” I rested my nose on Vivian’s shoulder. A master manipulator had fooled me, and I felt horrible. My insides felt like I had just swallowed a hunk of moldy tofu. I wanted to crawl inside my own nose and die. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Schnoz,” Vivian snapped at me. “You’ve been tricked by a sleazy criminal. It’s happened to a lot of people. We need to focus our attention on what we can do now.” “What did you mean that uncovering the secret of Strange would destroy the livelihoods of people around the world and hurt endangered wild animals?” TJ asked. A lump formed in Jean Paul’s throat. His eyes grew watery; a single tear dripped down his cheek. “Gather around,” he choked. “I will tell you the story of Camel Pee Shampoo.”

CHAPTER 19

CAMEL PEE SHAMPOO

We all sat cross-legged on the black tar rooftop and listened to Jean Paul’s tale of Camel Pee Shampoo. “Many years ago when I was a jeune homme starting out in the parfum et de la beauté business,” Jean Paul said, “I worked exclusively in hair care. Specifically, on how women could have fuller, thicker-looking hair, and how bald men could regrow the hair they had lost.” Jimmy patted Dr. Wackjöb’s thinning scalp. “Listen closely. Maybe you can learn how to grow your hair back.” Dr. Wackjöb laughed. “Male pattern baldness is a sign of strength and virility!” “Back then, my company sent me on a fact-finding mission,” Jean Paul continued. “They wanted me to bring back to the hair care secrets of Mongolian femmes. At the time, the women of the Gobi Desert were known to have the lushest, most beautiful hair in the world.” “Where are Mongolia and the Gobi Dessert?” Mumps asked. “Mongolia is a country in northeast Asia bordering China in the south and Russia in the north,” TJ answered. “The Gobi Desert covers parts of northern China and southern Mongolia. I didn’t win the James F. Durante Geography Bee three years running with just my good looks.” Vivian rolled her eyes and then pressed a finger to her lips. “Shush. I want to hear this story.” The sound of a helicopter ing overhead caught everyone’s attention. I quickly ducked behind the water tower and hid like before. Even though I hadn’t

done anything wrong (except enter the camel enclosure illegally), the New York City police were pulling out all the stops trying to catch me. The helicopter buzzed the building for a couple minutes and then flew off. When the sky was clear, Jean Paul picked up his story. “After landing in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia’s largest city, I became entranced by the culture and people,” he said with a glint in his eye. “I hired a guide to take me deep into the desert. That’s when I met a band of nomadic cattle herders and fell absolutely in amour.” “What’s ‘a…more’ mean?” Mumps asked. “Love,” Vivian said. “Jean Paul fell in love.” TJ, Mumps, and Jimmy looked at each with the same That’s so gross grimaces on their faces. “In amour with a femme to be precise,” Jean Paul mused. “Her name was Sarantstral, and she had the most beautiful, flowing, midnight black hair I had ever seen. With her stunning, exotic face, she could have easily been a Vogue cover model.” I raised my hand. “Sorry to interrupt, but what does a pretty Mongolian girl with nice hair have to do with camel pee?” “You like to get to right to the point.” He chuckled. “I like that in a homme. As Sarantstral and I grew closer, she revealed to me the secret of her beautiful hair —the urine of the wild Bactrian camel native to the Gobi desert.” “Totally gross!” Jimmy chimed. “Please don’t tell us that your girlfriend washed her hair with camel pee!” TJ cried. Mumps stood up and pointed to his skull. “See where the pigeon pooped on my head? It makes my hair all shiny. Maybe camel pee does the same thing.” “Not quite the same thing,” Jean Paul offered. “But you are on the right track.” “Stop judging,” Vivian barked at TJ and Jimmy. “Nomadic peoples have to make

do with what they have.” “Boys, I had the same reaction when I saw Sarantstral wash her hair in camel urine for the first time,” Jean Paul said. “I then realized that people all through the centuries have used urine to make soap, cleaning agents, and even toothpaste. She explained that only the urine of the wild Bactrian camel works for shampoo. Domesticated camel urine does not have the same shine and thickening properties as that of their wild cousins.” “Camel pee smells awesome!” I exclaimed. “Keep going!” “To make a long story short, I brought home Sarantstral’s secret of luxurious hair, and it set off a wave of l’ urine de chameau manie—camel urine mania—in the European hair care industry.” Jean Paul then turned away, the expression on his face growing sad as painful memories flooded his brain. He wiped away a tear and finished the story. “Much like the American buffalo were almost brought to extinction for their hide, the wild Bactrian camels of the Gobi desert were exploited for their urine and are now nearly extinct—all because of me.” “What happened to Sarantstral?” Vivian asked. “I do not know. The urine de chameau manie faded away rather quickly, and I never saw her again. The rush of foreign beauty companies racing into the desert for camel urine nearly destroyed their culture. Last I heard, she had fled with her family into the city slums to look for work.” No one said anything for the longest time. Vivian sniffled into a tissue, and the rest of us stared into space. Another helicopter ed overhead, but Jean Paul’s tale of lost love was so depressing that I just let it without attempting to hide. “I vowed to make it up to the people whose centuries-old way of life I had destroyed,” Jean Paul said, his voice hoarse from emotion. “This is how I discovered that wild Bactrian camel dung, processed in the correct way, creates an elixir of odeur very similar to vanille.” “Why do you need wild camel dung?” I asked. “It would be easier to use poop from a zoo.”

“Camels in the zoo eat dried hay and various grain pellets. Their wild brothers eat native Mongolian herbes and dry, thorny plants that other animals of the desert do not eat. Their natural diet makes the différence.” Jean Paul then explained that he pays bands of nomadic shepherds to follow the last wild herds of Bactrian camels of the Gobi Desert and collect their droppings. After collecting the camel’s dung humanely and without disturbing their natural habitat, they mail the sacks of dried poop to his laboratory in for processing into Strange. They have a generous form of income, and Jean Paul has the main ingredient for a world-famous perfume. “What will happen to the herdsman and camels now?” Jimmy asked. “Pierre du Voleur is not a stupid man,” Jean Paul explained. “He has no doubt brewed up a plan to hunt down and capture the last roaming wild camels. He will then cage them to make a cheap synthetic ingredient that imitates the smell of Strange. He has done this once before, when European cosmetic companies used the oily secretions of the Venezuelan bloated toad to make a wildly popular nail polish. The toad is now extinct—all because of Pierre du Voleur’s greed.” I ed Arnaud saying that Pierre had made a fortune off the Venezuelan bloated toad. How could anyone hunt a creature to extinction just for money? An image of Humphrey popped into my mind. I saw his sad camel eyes staring at me from behind the fence at the Central Park Zoo. His telepathic message to me was loud and clear. He had revealed the secret of Strange to me, and now I had to save his wild brothers and sisters in Mongolia. “Everybody, head back to the hotel and grab your luggage!” I ordered. “We’re checking out!” “What are you talking about?” TJ wondered. “We still have four more days to see the New York sights.” I ran to the gondola and slipped on my Super Schnoz costume. My cape fluttered in the wind, while my Mardi Gras mask fit snugly and perfectly over my beak. “We’re not staying in New York or even America for that matter,” I said. “I’m flying us all to Mongolia so we can save the Bactrian camel!”

CHAPTER 20

SIX THOUSAND MILES

I rushed to the gondola and lifted the thick ropes around my shoulders. “Hurry, everyone!” I hollered. “We’re losing time!” “Slow down, Schnoz,” Vivian said. “This won’t be like flying us from New Hampshire to New York. Mongolia is on the other side of the world!” Vivian was right. Mongolia was thousands of miles away. Plus, the bulk of the flight would take place over a vast ocean. The trip would be dark and dangerous. My nostrils drooped in desperation. All I could think of were Pierre and Arnaud slaughtering wild camels just to make loads of cash. “Maybe we should take a commercial airline,” Dr. Wackjöb suggested. “No time,” Jean Paul said. “There is not a direct flight from New York to Ulaanbaatar. It would take three days of changing planes to get there. And by that time, Voleur will have set his plan in mouvement.” “Pierre’s already left for Mongolia,” I said. “He has a private jet flying him there.” TJ flipped open his laptop and started googling. “New York to Mongolia—as the Schnoz flies—is roughly six thousand miles. For our Canadian and European friends, that’s just over ten thousand kilometers.” “Impossible,” Jimmy said. “We’ll never make it.” “Nothing’s impossible!” I cried. “I’m Super Schnoz, for sneezing out loud! I’ve crushed a lot stronger enemies than a sleazy French guy and his wormy little assistant. We have to find a way.”

Everyone paced around the rooftop, trying to figure out how we could get to Mongolia before Pierre commenced his camel genocide. TJ, Vivian, and Jimmy debated velocity and wind speeds. Dr. Wackjöb and Jean Paul discussed how they could get their hands on a Cessna Citation X, the fastest enger plane in the world with a top speed over seven hundred miles an hour. “What about Schnoz’s solid rocket boogers?” Mumps suggested. “What about them?” Jimmy grumbled. “Just a few sniffs of cayenne pepper lifted us out of the backyard and all the way to New York City in a couple hours. Maybe if Schnoz snorted a bunch of pepper, he could fly a lot faster and farther.” “Mumps, you may be on to something,” TJ said excitedly. “Let me crunch the numbers. This may take a while.” While TJ typed away on his laptop, Jimmy, Mumps, and Dr. Wackjöb hurried back to the hotel to collect our luggage. Jean Paul opened his wallet and showed Vivian and me a fading color photograph of Sarantstral. The woman was beautiful—long, black hair, pearly white teeth, and a perfectly round face. She was standing inside a large tent (Jean Paul called it a yurt), wearing a long purple tunic decorated with colorful beads and silver. “She has a pair of Nike running shoes on her feet,” Vivian noticed. “It really clashes with her traditional style of dress.” Jean Paul chuckled. “Yes, Sarantstral always had one foot firmly planted in tradition and the other reaching toward the future. I gave her those shoes as a gift for her nineteenth birthday.” “I got it!” TJ exclaimed. “I know exactly how we can get to Mongolia in less than twenty-four hours.” “Then let’s hear it,” Vivian said. “Okay, put on your math caps and pay close attention. It took Schnoz six snorts of pepper to power us three hundred miles in two hours from New Hampshire to New York City. Mongolia is six thousand miles away. Six thousand divided by three hundred is twenty. Multiply twenty times two—meaning two hours—and

that’s how long it will take Schnoz to fly us to the capital city of Ulaanbaatar.” Jean Paul shook his head. “Forty hours is almost two days. We will be too late. Voleur has an énorme head start and will have already started his onslaught.” “Let me finish,” TJ said impatiently. “Six snorts powered us for two hours. That’s about an ounce of pepper. So, if Schnoz snorts two ounces of pepper every two hours instead of one, we can get there in twenty hours instead of forty. Get it?” “Totally makes sense, TJ!” Vivian shouted. “That means Schnoz will need over eighty ounces of cayenne pepper for a round trip from America to Mongolia and back again. They sell those big sixteen-ounce jars at the Pepper Emporium. We can load up.” “Your idée just may work,” Jean Paul said and then looked at me. “Do you think you can pull it off?” I shook my nose. “It’s a nice plan in theory, but it won’t work in realty.” “What do you mean it won’t work?” TJ asked, sounding a little miffed. “My nose can’t take that much heat. Do you what happened when I battled ECU—Environmental Clean Up, the evil company that tried to close our school? Luckily, the battle with them ended before I bled to death from sniffing so much cayenne pepper. The stuff shredded my nasal lining!” “Saline solution would do the trick,” Vivian said. “But it would take a tanker truck full of water to keep your nose moistened enough to handle all of that hot pepper.” We all looked at the large, round water tower on top of the building. The same one I had hid behind when the police helicopters were prowling about. TJ ascended the tower and peered inside. “It’s full of water,” he said. “My guesstimate is that it holds at least two hundred gallons.” “Will that be enough water?” Vivian asked me. I shrugged. “Don’t know, but we have to give it a try. The lives of endangered

wild camels are at stake.” The water tower was way too heavy for us to lift by ourselves. TJ tied one end of the gondola’s ropes to the water tower and then secured the other end around my shoulders. I took a snort of cayenne pepper, lifted the water tower in the air, and gently placed it inside the gondola. “The tower takes up nearly the whole gondole,” Jean Paul said. Vivian climbed inside. “There’s just enough room for all of us to fit reasonably comfortably,” she observed. “But you can kiss our luggage goodbye. There’s not enough room.” Just then, Jimmy, Mumps, and Dr. Wackjöb stepped onto the rooftop with our luggage. All three were red-faced and panting for breath. “Thanks for getting the luggage,” I said. “But we can’t take it with us.” Jimmy’s mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me? The elevator’s broken and we had to lug this stuff up twenty flights of stairs.” “Come with me, Mumps,” Vivian said, zipping her jacket. “We’re going shopping to stock up on cayenne pepper and food. We have a long trip ahead of us.”

CHAPTER 21

CRASH LANDING

TJ plotted our course on his laptop. I would fly eastward over the Atlantic Ocean, sailing through European and Russian airspace before finally landing in Mongolia. By his calculations, we should land in the capital city of Ulaanbaatar in just under nineteen hours. Jean Paul would then hire a guide to lead us into the desert after Pierre. I prayed that we had enough cayenne pepper and saline solution to get us there safely. Everyone squeezed into the gondola. I took a snoot of pepper to ignite my solid rocket boogers and attempted to rise in the air. We didn’t budge an inch. The tremendous weight of the water tower made liftoff nearly impossible. “Take in more cayenne,” Dr. Wackjöb suggested, tossing me a sixteen-ounce jar. “That should get us airborne.” I snorted up the fine red powder until my sniffer felt like it was on fire. After huffing nearly a half a bottle and letting out a mighty sneeze, I felt the gondola rising into the air and beginning its ascent over the city. Thankfully, TJ and Dr. Wackjöb had rigged a hose with a spray nozzle to the water tower. They drenched the insides of my burning honker with cool, refreshing H2O. Smooth sailing lasted only a few moments. When I had finally reached a comfortable altitude, a noisy helicopter buzzed my flank. “This is the New York State Division of Homeland Security!” a loudspeaker rang out over the whine of helicopter wings. “Identify yourself immediately!” “Holy schnozola!” I hollered down to the gang. “First, police whirlybirds are hunting me down for something I didn’t do, and now the government is nipping at my nose!”

“They must think we are terroristes,” I heard Jean Paul say. “What are you going to do?” Vivian shouted. “I’m going to do what they want and identify myself!” I said. I closed one nostril with my finger and banked hard to the right. The helicopter was now directly in front of me. We starred at each other like a turkey buzzard and bald eagle squaring off over an animal carcass. Two uniformed men were inside. One flew the chopper; the other clutched a high-powered rifle. “Identify yourself!” the pilot repeated through the loudspeaker. “I’m Super Schnoz!” I yelled and then inhaled another snoot full of pepper. The blistering sneeze that followed was so powerful it propelled me away from the helicopter and over Long Island Sound. The skyscrapers of Manhattan slowly faded away in the distance. The waters of the Atlantic Ocean lay below like a giant green carpet. Mumps turned on the hose and gave my hard-working honker a well-deserved nasal flush, and we were on our way to save the Bactrian camel. Four hours and two jars of cayenne pepper later, the European continent came into view. “Land ho!” Jimmy shouted. “We made it!” “We haven’t made it anywhere,” I heard TJ say. “We still have a good fifteen hours of flying left before we land in Mongolia.” “My sinuses need another blast of water!” I yelled from up above. “I feel a bloody nose coming on.” Jean Paul grabbed the hose and fired a round of warm water into my dried mucous membranes. The relief was instantaneous. Without the water, the trip would not be possible. “Thanks,” I said. “Now, toss me up one of those chocolate protein bars. I’m starving.” Night fell as we ed over Paris. Below my feet, the Eiffel Tower looked like a bright Christmas tree. While Jean Paul entertained Vivian and the Not-Right

Brothers with stories about his native city, I focused on the stars. The alien Apneans, who just a few months earlier had collected my snores to take over the world, were up there somewhere. I wondered if they had found another planet to take over. Or were they planning another invasion of Earth? Hundreds of miles later, the lights of Europe’s major cities gave way to utter blackness. TJ had calculated we were somewhere in the middle of Siberia. Exhaustion tugged at my flapping nostrils. I desperately wanted to land in some desolate patch of woods and rest, but every lost second meant the life of an endangered camel. I caught a gust of wind, inhaled more pepper, and kept sniffing along. Finally, as I neared my nineteenth hour of continuous flying, we crossed over the Russian border into Mongolia. The gang let out a loud whoop, but the grueling trip had fried my nose so badly that I couldn’t show any emotion. The first rays of morning sun peeked over the horizon. Below us, the Gobi Desert stretched as far as the eye could see. The landscape was harsh, barren, and completely void of life. “Are you sure we didn’t blow off course and land on Mars?” Jimmy joked. “The Gobi is rocky with very sparse vegetation,” Jean Paul explained. “Unlike deserts we are all used to seeing, there are very few sand dunes. The harsh terrain discourages human habitation except for rubuste souls.” “Like Sarantstral and her fellow desert dwellers?” Vivian asked. Jean Paul nodded. “Yes. She came from very résilient stock. Also, the Gobi is known for extrêmement violent and unpredictable dust storms with very high wind…” Before Jean Paul could finish his sentence, a huge, tornado-like dust cloud appeared out of nowhere. A blast of yellow sand blew directly in my face. Dirt and debris clogged my nose, causing my nostrils to deflate. The ropes over my shoulders that I used to carry the gondola twisted up like a kindergartner’s shoestrings. The water tower tipped over, dumping gallons of water and nearly crushing TJ and Dr. Wackjöb under its weight. We then went into a deadly tailspin and plunged toward the desert floor. “Throw me some pepper so I can keep us from crashing!” I yelled.

Mumps dove for the last jar of cayenne that was rolling around inside the gondola. Just as he wrapped his fingers around it, another fierce blast of wind whipped us sideways. The jar popped out of his hand and disappeared over the side. “It’s gone!” Mumps cried out. “We’re going to die!” I shoved two fingers deep inside my nose, desperately trying to scrape my nostrils free of sand so I could get some wind. It was useless. The more sand I picked from my snout, the more that came flying right back in. Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, Dr. Wackjöb, and Jean Paul grabbed hands, praying for their lives. I tilted my nose down, closed my eyes, and awaited impact.

CHAPTER 22

MY KINGDOM FOR A HORSE

An image of Jimmy’s black cat, Igor, flashed in my mind as I plummeted to the ground. One afternoon we were all hanging out inside the Nostril when Vivian noticed Igor on top of Jimmy’s roof. The cat had climbed from an attic window to stalk a flock of pigeons roosting near the chimney. What happened next was the most amazing feat of aerial acrobatics I had ever seen. A stray pigeon wandered within Igor’s striking distance. The cat pounced from his hiding spot, but instead of getting the pigeon, he accidentally leaped off the rooftop. I watching in amazement as Igor twisted in midair like an Olympic diver until all four of his paws were squarely under his body. He landed with a thump in a patch of mulch. I thought for sure the cat was dead or badly hurt. But he just gave his body a quick shake and then trotted back inside the house. If we were to survive this fall, I would have to perform the same daredevil act as Igor. The cat had used his tail and flexible backbone to right himself. I, on the other hand, needed to use my bendy booger beak. Everyone has a tiny nasalis muscle whose sole function is to flare the nostrils. The difference between my nasalis and one of a normal person is like the Thing and a little old lady flexing biceps. There is no comparison. I squeezed my nasalis muscle with all my might. Slowly, the mass of fleshy cartilage in the center of my face started wiggling. My mutated mucous monster jiggled faster. The dirt and sand clogging up my snot sewer began falling away. I was getting air! Just before we crashed, the external openings of my nasal cavity inflated like a stuntman’s air bag. Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, Dr. Wackjöb, and Jean Paul crashed on top of me, my bouncy nose breaking their fall.

“Is anyone hurt?” I asked, panting for breath. “Owww!” Mumps cried out in pain. “My ankle!” The gang jumped off my muzzle and rushed to help Mumps. “Careful,” Vivian warned. “He may have a broken bone.” Dr. Wackjöb gently rolled up Mumps’s pant leg. “It’s bruising already,” he said. “Can you move it?” Mumps gritted his teeth. After a moment, his foot moved a couple millimeters. “If you can move it, then it’s not broken,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “It looks to me like a very bad sprain. You just need some R-I-C-E.” “I’m not hungry,” Mumps groaned, still obviously in pain. “RICE is an acronym that means rest, ice, compression, elevation,” Vivian said. “My grampy’s an emergency-room nurse.” “Rest, compression, and elevation we can do,” Jimmy said. “But where do you expect to find ice? We just crashed in the middle of a dry desert!” Everyone stopped what they were doing and gazed at the vast horizon. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but a foreign landscape of rocks, pebbles, boulders, and dirt. “What do we do now?” I groaned. “We’re out of food and water.” “Plus, my laptop was completely destroyed in the fall,” TJ added, salvaging the computer’s hard drive. Jean Paul climbed a small, rocky hill and surveyed the surroundings. “This is the landscape of northern Mongolia,” he said. “If TJ’s calculations were correct and we crossed over the border between Russia and Mongolia, then Ulaanbaatar is somewhere south of here. Schnoz, can you fly there to find us help?” I lifted my nose in the air. Only a moment ago a wicked windstorm had been blowing dirt and sand everywhere. Now, the air was still without even the

slightest breeze. “Not without wind or cayenne pepper,” I said. “Until Mother Nature decides to whip up a gust, I walk like everyone else.” Vivian tore a hunk of fabric from her jacket and wrapped Mumps’s injured ankle. TJ and Jimmy helped him climb onto Dr. Wackjöb’s back. “Mumps cannot put any pressure on his ankle or it will never heal,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “I will take the first shift carrying him. Fortunately, my young friend is a pipsqueak and doesn’t weigh much.” Using the rising sun as our guide, we walked south toward Ulaanbaatar. By nine a.m., the air was already dry and hot. By the time noon rolled around, the temperature was scorching. We all huddled against a big boulder that offered a minuscule amount of shade. “Water,” Vivian said. Her voice was weak and her lips chapped from sun exposure. “I’ll give my kingdom for a glass of water.” “That is from a Shakespeare play,” Dr. Wackjöb said and then lifted Mumps off his back. “Richard III, I believe. But the line is ‘My kingdom for a horse,’ not water.” “I’d rather have water right now instead of a horse,” I said, trying to shield my already sunburned nose. Jean Paul abruptly stood up. “Look in the distance,” he said. “Do you see that kick-up of poussière?” I assumed that poussière meant dust, because that is exactly what I saw on the horizon. It wasn’t huge like the dust storm that had crashed the gondola, but several small dust devils whirling like spinning tops. “I hear hoofbeats!” Jimmy cried out. “They’re horses!” “You are correct,” Jean Paul said. “Men are riding them—at least a dozen—and they are coming this way!” The only thing I could think of was Genghis Khan and the Mongol horde. Were

these men going to rob us and leave us for dead in this forsaken desert? Before we had time to react, the horses had reached us. The riders wore long, elaborately decorated robes with hoods that concealed their faces. Long swords, sharp knives, and bows with quivers dangled from their mounts. They shouted at us in a foreign language I assumed to be Mongolian. The rider in front, obviously the leader, drew his sword, hopped off his horse, and approached us. I thrust out my nose, ready to defend my friends. The sudden appearance of my menacing honker took the man by surprise. He took a step back and yanked off the hood hiding his face. That’s when I realized that he was really a she. The other riders yanked off their hoods as well. They were all women!

CHAPTER 23

FLYING DRAGON NOSE

The woman standing before me looked slightly different from the others. She was young, with long, black hair and intense dark eyes, but her face was angular and not as round as the rest of the women. Under her robe, she wore what I assumed to be a traditional Mongolian outfit—except for her shoes. On her feet was a brand-new pair of red Converse sneakers, just like Jean Paul was wearing. Jean Paul stepped forward and took one look at the woman, and his mouth dropped open in shock. “Sarantstral,” he blubbered. “Is it really you? You haven’t changed one bit in trente years!” The woman clutched her sword. “I was not even alive thirty years ago,” she said. “And why do you call me by my mother’s name?” Her perfect English and the fact that she knew the word trente meant “thirty” in French surprised me. The other women slid off their horses. They huddled around their leader with weapons drawn.

“I will ask you again,” she said. “How do you know my mother’s name?” Jean Paul stared at her deeply, his eyes carefully studying her face. As he reached out to touch her, the woman grabbed his arm and flung him to the ground like a wet towel. The other horsewomen rushed toward us, ready to fight if we made any sudden moves. “He was in love with a Mongolian girl named Sarantstral a long time ago,” Vivian said, trying to diffuse the situation. “You must have reminded him of her. That’s all. We’ve flown here from the United States and crashed in the desert. A very bad man wants to capture a bunch of wild Bactrian camels, and we need to stop him.” A shocked expression washed over the woman’s face. She turned to her fellow horsewomen, jabbered something in Mongolian, and then faced us. “I don’t believe you,” the woman said angrily “You are with the Frenchman and his foreign fighters. You have invaded our villages and forced our husbands and brothers to help you search for our sacred camels. You want them all!” “We don’t want to take camels,” I said. “We want to save them. The Frenchman you’re talking about wants the camels to make an ingredient for his horrible perfume.” “Just like when my mother was young, when foreigners invaded the desert to collect camel urine for shampoo.” One of the horsewomen gave me a sinister look. She raised her sword in the air, seconds from be-nosing me, chopping my cookie detector right off my face. That’s when Jean Paul struggled to his feet, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the fading photograph of Sarantstral wearing the purple tunic and Nike running shoes. “Her name is Sarantstral,” Jean Paul said, handing the photo to the head horsewoman. “We once loved each other.” The woman studied the photo, looked up at Jean Paul, and then stared back at the photo. “This is my mother as a young woman,” she said. “And you…you…”

The words became stuck in her throat. She took a deep breath. “You must be Jean Paul…my father.” Jean Paul and the woman collapsed into each other’s arms, tears flowing down their cheeks. “What is your name?” Jean Paul asked his newly discovered daughter. “Bayarma Juliette,” she answered. “My mother wanted me to have a Mongolian first name and a French second name in honor of my father.” “Where is Sarantstral now? I must know.” Before Bayarma answered, the sounds of gunfire blasted in the distance. “Sorry to interrupt the father and daughter reunion,” I said. “But we came here on a mission. We need to think of a way to save those camels!” Bayarma composed herself and then clustered with her crew. The horsewomen debated loudly back and forth with each other. “What are they shouting about?” Jimmy wondered. “Something about how they are considérablement outnumbered,” Jean Paul said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard anyone speak the Mongolian language, but I can make out a few words here and there.” Bayarma turned to us. “I am sorry to say that our cause is lost. The Frenchman…” “The rat’s name is Pierre,” TJ interjected. “The Frenchman, Pierre, has at least one hundred heavily armed men. They are not Mongolians, but from different European countries.” “He employs criminels from , Spain, , Austria, and even the United States,” Jean Paul said. “I saw their destruction firsthand in Venezuela when they hunted the bloated toad to extinction.” A rush of wind whipped through the dry desert valley. I braced myself for

another dust storm, but the breeze was clear of any dirt and debris. I inhaled a big gust, and my nostrils inflated to the size of a camping tent. My toes dangled above the ground. I let out a big snort and rose about twenty feet in the air. The horsewomen took one look at me hovering in midair and ran to their horses like a herd of frightened sheep. “Luu khamar nisdeg…luu khamar nisdeg!” they shouted in Mongolian. “What are they saying?” Vivian asked. “Flying dragon nose,” Bayarma answered. “They think he has the powerful nose of a flying dragon.” Mumps lifted his head and snickered through the ankle pain. “Give him some cayenne pepper, and Schnoz will be a flying dragon nose who breathes fire.” “Schnoz, come back down!” Vivian shouted to me. “You’re freaking these ladies out.” I closed one nostril and drifted to the ground. “It feels so good to fly,” I said. “The wind is pretty strong right now. I can do a reconnaissance flight and see if I can locate Pierre and his men.” “That won’t do any good,” Jimmy said. “Sure it will,” Dr. Wackjöb countered. “No it won’t. You heard what Bayarma said. Pierre has over a hundred men experienced in killing! They’re probably carrying M4 carbines, MK13 grenade launchers, AR15 assault rifles, and a bunch of other military-style guns. We have six unarmed people, one of who is injured, and twelve tough women armed with swords, knives, and bows. I’d say the odds are pretty much against us.” “But they don’t have a flying dragon nose!” Mumps shouted. Everyone looked at me. For the first time since becoming Super Schnoz, I didn’t feel like a superhero. My dirty, shredded Super Schnoz costume hung off me in threads. The Mardi Gras mask disguising my nose was long gone.

“Jimmy’s right,” I said, hanging my nose in shame. “I can still fly, but without any pepper to fuel my cayenne canyon, we’ll never defeat Pierre and save the camels.” “What do you need pepper for?” Bayarma asked. “And what is this ‘cayenne cannon’ you are talking about?” Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and Dr. Wackjöb spent the next five minutes explaining how I had crushed ECU and the Apneans just by using the power of my nose and a snuffler full of spicy pepper. Bayarma’s eyes grew wide with excitement. “You are coming with us,” she said, jumping on her horse. “If his big khamar just needs hot pepper to blow up army tanks and defeat aliens, then I may have exactly what you’re looking for.”

CHAPTER 24

DANCE OF THE BUDDHA

The women helped us onto their horses, and we galloped across the desert. Thankfully, they had lots of water for us to drink. I wanted to inflate my nostrils and fly, but Bayarma asked me to share her horse, a fleet Mongolian stallion she called Od, which she told me meant Star in her native language. “How do you speak English so well?” I asked as we scurried up a rocky embankment. “I am fluent in Mongolian, English, French, Russian, Mandarin Chinese, and the slang of American hip-hop,” she answered. “I was raised herding cattle in the Gobi, but I graduated from Inner Mongolia University with a degree in foreign languages.” “What about the other women? Do they speak English as well?” Bayarma shook her head. “No. They have lived their entire lives as nomadic Gobi herders.” We rode in silence for a long time. The only sounds were pounding horse hooves and blowing gusts of wind. A plume of black smoke rose from a camp in the distance. Bayarma let out a cry of despair, slapped her horse, and raced toward the camp like she was in the home stretch of the Kentucky Derby. When we got there, the scene was one of utter destruction. Several yurts were ablaze, all of the animals were gone. Bayarma hopped off Od, clutched her sword, and examined the carnage. “Mother, Grandmother!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Eej ni, Emee, where are you?”

The other horsewomen frantically ed in the search for friends and loved ones, but there was no one. The place was completely empty of people. “The Frenchman and his brutes have raided the camp and taken more of our mothers, grandmothers, and sisters to help find the camels!” Bayarma said, her face flaming with fury. “If we don’t find them quickly, who knows what will happen!” Vivian slid off her horse and ran up to me. “Schnoz, you’re the only person who can help. We need to come up with a plan and fast.” She was right. I didn’t fly us across the world just to watch yurts burn. I walked up to Bayarma, grabbed her shoulders, and shouted, “Keep calm and smell on! We all need to have clear heads. You said something about pepper. Tell me more.” Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, Dr. Wackjöb, Jean Paul, Bayarma, and I powwowed around an overturned cooking pot. The tension and desperation in the air was so thick I could sniff it with a spoon. Bayarma grabbed a cloth sack full of dried peppers about the size of a finger. “The pepper is called bird’s eye chili,” she explained. “We use it in many Mongolian dishes.” Vivian, Jimmy, and Bayarma each grabbed a handful of the peppers and then pulverized them to dust with a stone pestle and mortar. I quickly snorted up a wad, aimed my nose at a rocky mound, and let out a sneeze. The peppery blast that followed made my nose hairs dangle in defeat. Instead of blasting the rock to smithereens, the sneeze merely made two watermelon-sized indentions in its side. “The pepper’s not powerful enough,” I whined. While I lamented about my weak, wimpy sneeze, Dr. Wackjöb grabbed a handful of the crushed peppers and examined them closely. “We just need to enhance the capsaicin,” Dr. Wackjöb muttered. TJ scratched his head. “What’s capsaicin?”

“Capsaicin is the main chemical compound that makes peppers hot,” Dr. Wackjöb explained. “If only I had some allyl isothiocyanate to increase the naturally occurring capsaicin production.” “Where do you get ‘all…ill…iso…thio…whatever’?” I asked. “Allyl isothiocyanate is the oil responsible for the hot taste of horseradish and wasabi.” Bayarma produced another sack and handed it to Dr. Wackjöb. “Do you mean this?” Dr. Wackjöb opened the bag and took a whiff. His cheeks turned red and his eyes started watering. “This is the most powerful horseradish root I have ever seen,” he said, fanning his face from the heat. “Where do you get it?” “It grows wild in certain areas of the Gobi,” Bayarma said. “TJ, grab the pestle and mortar,” Dr. Wackjöb ordered. “You and I are going to try to make the most powerful pepper mutation known to man.” Three of Bayarma’s horsewomen approached me. They bowed politely and then tossed a bundle of colorful fabric at my feet. “What’s this stuff?” I asked. “It’s a costume from one of our Tsam dances,” Bayarma said. “Tsam means ‘dance of the Buddha.’” She rummaged through the fabric and yanked out the most awesome, freaky, scary mask I had ever seen. “It’s a dragon mask!” Jimmy exclaimed. “Try everything on.” The mask was fiery red with huge golden eyes and pearly white fangs. Bright yellow feathers finished off the presentation. I carefully slipped finished off the presentation. I carefully slipped the mask over my head. The dragon’s papiermâché snout fit perfectly over my massive beak. I then slipped into the rest of the costume.

Bayarma smiled. “Wonderful! You look like a Mongolian Tsam dancer.” A hard squall blew through the camp. My nasal cavity inhaled the breeze, expanding my nostrils. I drifted steadily into the air. The dragon costume’s red tail flapped in the wind. “I’m off to scout for Pierre!” I yelled from up above. “When I find him, I’ll be back, and we can start our assault. Hopefully, Dr. Wackjöb and TJ will have the pepper ready for me to blast them into the Stone Age.” I sucked in a deep snoot full of air, pointed my honker toward the horizon, and flew off into the clouds.

CHAPTER 25

BATTLE OF THE BACTRIANS

After thirty minutes in the air, I finally sniffed out Pierre and his soldiers. They were in a dry desert valley, pursuing a panicked herd of wild Bactrian camels that were for the moment just out of firing range. I sailed high above them, scoping out their operation. Jimmy’s hunch had been correct; the militia carried powerful rifles and machine guns, and drove militarystyle jeeps and Hummers. Trudging behind the squadron were at least two dozen frightened Mongolian men, women, children. Thick ropes bound them together while four of Pierre’s goons forced them to march. “Bayarma’s people,” I said aloud. “I bet her mother, Sarantstral, is one of them.” As I banked left to turn my beak around and return to the gang, a round of gunfire blasted over my head, barely missing my nose. I looked down and saw a bunch of Pierre’s men firing at me. “What kind of ugly bird is that?” one of the men shouted. “Looks like a big kite shaped like a dragon,” said another. “Let’s shoot that sucker out of the sky!” cried a third man. A bullet clipped the end of my dragon’s tail, sending a spray of yellow feathers and papier-mâché into the air. I sniffed harder, quickly flying out of firing range, and headed back to my friends. Everyone was waiting for me when I finally landed. A million questions flew in my direction. “Did you find them?”

“How many are there?” “What about their guns and equipment?” Bayarma rushed up to me. “Did you see my mother?” “Maybe,” I answered. “They were forcing a couple dozen of your people to march with them. One of them was probably your mother.” Dr. Wackjöb and TJ emerged from over the ravine carrying a large clay pot. “Does the pepper work?” I asked. “We don’t know,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “You have to test it out first.” I looked into the pot expecting to see a bunch of ground pepper. Instead, I saw a bunch of little brown balls the size of Milk Duds. “What’s this stuff?” I asked, scratching the end of my nose. “Simply grinding both peppers and mixing them together did not change the levels of capsaicin,” Dr. Wackjöb explained. “TJ and I had to boil each of the ingredients down to this clay-like substance. We’re hoping that heating the combined properties of the bird’s eye chilis and the Mongolian horseradish root will greatly increase its heat.” I grabbed two of the pepper balls and shoved one up each nostril. The sting was so intense I nearly ed out. My elephant trunk started tickling. I aimed my nose at a rocky mound and sneezed. The boogery blast that shot from my cayenne cannon sounded like a howitzer going off. My brain throbbed and my ears rang. The pepper balls, combined with my atomic snot, exploded the mound to pieces and left a crater the size of a Florida sinkhole. “Success!” Dr. Wackjöb and TJ cheered, slapping each other a high five. We finalized our battle plan. Vivian, Bayarma, and I would fly ahead to bombard Pierre and his men with pepper balls. The rest of the gang would ride on horseback with the women to guard my flank. We all bent over until our noses were touching.

“On the count of three,” I said. “One, two, three…” “SUPER SCHNOZ!” we all screamed. Vivian and Bayarma strapped the clay pot filled with pepper balls on my back and climbed on board, and we soared into the clouds. As we approached Pierre’s men, I saw my worst nightmare was coming true. They had found the herd of Bactrian camels and were now rounding them up. “Ammo!” I ordered. “Quickly!” Vivian and Bayarma shoved a round of pepper balls up my nostrils. I swooped low and fired on a group of men. They had just lassoed an adult camel and two nursing calves. My aim was perfect. The pepper balls made a direct hit, and the camels escaped over a hill and out of sight. The Battle of the Bactrians had begun. Pierre’s men were everywhere, rounding up the innocent camels. I swooped and dove like an animated dragon in a Disney movie, blowing away the camel rustlers with my pinpoint, pepper-ball-fueled booger blasts. Pierre and Arnaud came into view. They were riding in an open-air Hummer, pointing into the sky, and ordering the men to stop hunting camels and start shooting at me. Dozens of men trained their sights in my direction. “I need more pepper balls!” I shouted to Vivian and Bayarma. I felt Vivian’s hand reach around my head and shove a single pepper ball up my honker. “It’s the last one,” she said dejectedly. “At least we will have died trying to save innocent camels,” Bayarma said. I saw a cloud of dust appear on the horizon. The horsewomen stormed onto the battlefield carrying the Not-Right Brothers, Dr. Wackjöb, and Jean Paul. TJ and Mumps hopped off the horses and hurled globs of fresh camel poop at Pierre’s men. The fleeing camels suddenly turned on the men, spitting wads of slobbery goop into their eyes. Before the thieves could wipe the poop and spit from their

faces, Vivian, Dr. Wackjöb, and Jean Paul had freed the captured Mongolians. Half of Pierre’s men raced after their former captives, the other half fired at me. A bullet clipped the dragon mask, causing it to fly off my head. The gunfire missed my flesh, but the impact knocked me sideways. Before I could right myself, I was dive-bombing directly toward Pierre’s Hummer. “This can’t be!” I heard Pierre cry. “It’s…it’s le Nez! You are destroying all my plans!” “I’ve been saving this for you two!” I sneered and then sneezed the final pepper bomb at the two evil perfumers. The explosion split the Hummer in two. Pierre and Arnaud stumbled from the burning vehicle and attempted to flee, but Dr. Wackjöb and a horsewoman quickly wrestled them to the ground.

“Hello, old friend,” Dr. Wackjöb growled in Pierre’s face. “I will greatly enjoy turning you over to the Mongolian authorities.” I turned to check on the others. What I saw blew my nose with joy. Using only swords, knives, and bows and arrows, the horsewomen had chased down the rest of Pierre’s men and quickly subdued them. When the dust settled, I saw Bayarma and Jean Paul hugging a beautiful older woman with streaks of gray in her Halloween-black hair. The woman was wearing a worn pair of Nike running shoes. Jean Paul had finally found Sarantstral.

CHAPTER 26

A GIFT OF CAMEL

After three days of traveling, we landed in New York and then took a quick commuter flight back to New Hampshire. Dr. Wackjöb had booked us a firstclass flight out of Mongolia. Thank goodness, because the thought of flying six thousand miles back to the United States with nose power made my sinuses want to explode. My spent honker needed a well-deserved vacation. The smell of Strange was still everywhere, and I kept thinking about Jean Paul. He had decided to stay in Mongolia to be with Bayarma and Sarantstral. When I made it back home, I gave each of my parents a gift from the trip. Instead of picking them up an I LOVE NEW YORK T-shirt or an Empire State Building key chain, I got them each a traditional Mongolian hat that I had picked up at a shop inside the Ulaanbaatar airport. I told them all about visit to the Big Apple, except for my experiences with Pierre and Arnaud and the New York City Police Department. I also left out that little part about flying six thousand miles to the Gobi Desert and fighting evil camel poachers. Two months later, Dr. Wackjöb invited Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and me to his office for lunch. The weather was too cold to ride bikes, so Vivian’s mom dropped us off. When we walked into his office, Jean Paul and Bayarma were standing there. We all gave them a big hug. “What are you two doing here?” I asked. “I thought you stayed in Mongolia,” TJ said.

“Where’s Sarantstral?” Jimmy wondered. Jean Paul chuckled. “One question at a time. First, Bayarma and I are here because we wanted to say merci for everything you did for us.” “Second, I am now in a master’s program at Columbia University in New York,” Bayarma said. “I’m studying conservation biology with a specialization in the wild Bactrian camel.” “And third,” Dr. Wackjöb added, “I invited Sarantstral to come, but she is too vital in the lives of her people to leave the Gobi Desert.” We spent the next hour eating pizza and reminiscing about our time in Mongolia. Jean Paul informed us that Pierre and Arnaud were now serving a five-year sentence in one of Mongolia’s toughest prisons for entering the country illegally with instruments of war. Then Jean Paul turned to me and said, “Bayarma and I have something to show you.” Dr. Wackjöb led us through the Gecko Glue® and Snore Cure Mist® factory and outside into the back parking lot. Five inches of snow had fallen overnight, blanketing everything in white. We stopped in front of a flatbed truck loaded with a huge metal crate. Jean Paul handed me a key. “Unlock the crate. Inside is a présent for you.” I gave Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers a confused look and slipped the key into the lock. When I opened the crate, my nose nearly fell off. “Humphrey!” I exclaimed. The camel trotted out of the crate and nuzzled his hairy face against my nose. “This is the camel I told you about,” I said to Vivian and the Not-Right Brothers. “He’s from the Central Park Zoo.” “So this is the camel that finally gave you the secret of Strange,” Jimmy said. “You mean its poop gave up the secret.” Mumps chortled.

“And don’t forget,” TJ added, “this thing almost got you arrested by the New York City police!” “Why…how…” I stammered. “The Central Park Zoo is closing its camel exhibit,” Bayarma explained. “Other zoos offered to take the Arabian camels, but there were no takers for the lone Bactrian.” “I made a sizeable donation to the zoo and assumed responsibly for the camel,” Jean Paul said. Bayarma explained that she had wanted to ship Humphrey to Mongolia to be with his wild brothers. However, after talking with a zoo official, she decided that it would be extremely difficult—if not impossible—to return a habituated animal to its wild state.

“I have purchased thirty acres of cleared woodland outside town,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “That will be Humphrey’s new home. I assume that you five will take responsibility for his care and feeding.” I was so happy that I wrapped my arms around Humphrey’s neck. The camel licked my nostrils, puffed up his cheeks, and then fired a wad of spit right in my face. A camel saliva bath had never felt so good.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2015 by Gary Urey Pictures by Keith Frawley

Cover design by Jordan Kost

ISBN: 978-1-5040-1741-1

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