The Holly Joliday Page 2

  “Mele Kalikimaka!” shouted Class 3T, and they all took a bow before the curtains closed.

  “Cookie! Bad girl!” said Frank behind the curtain. “Get down here. Right now!” He held out his arm.

  “Lit-tle lamb!” sang Cookie, ruffling her feathers. But she would not come down out of the palm tree.

  “All that practicing and she ruined the show!” said Frank.

  “No way!” said Judy. “Everybody loved it. Cookie was the star of the show.”

  “They think we planned it that way!” said Rocky.

  “How does Cookie know ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb,’ anyway?” asked Judy.

  “She listens to Dog Cat Radio on the Internet,” said Frank. “My mom leaves it on to keep our pets company when we’re not home, and they play animal songs all day. They have a Spanish hour, too.”

  Mr. Todd stepped into the spotlight once more. “Thank you, Cookie the parrot, for celebrating diversity with us tonight!” Cookie bobbed her head up and down, like she was taking a bow.

  “And now, for our grand finale, the second-graders will perform ‘The Night Before Christmas.’”

  “That’s Stink’s class,” said Judy to Rocky and Frank. “Let’s go sit in the audience so we can watch. Mrs. Dempster is reading the poem, and the kids are acting it out. Stink’s the mouse. And his part’s right near the beginning.”

  The lights went down. The audience got quiet. The curtain opened.

  “’Twas the night before Christmas,” read Mrs. D. in a hushed voice. She was sitting in a big armchair at the front of the stage. A second-grader walked onstage, holding up a cardboard moon attached to a stick.

  “When all through the house . . .” Mrs. D. continued. Three more second-graders dragged a cardboard house onstage.

  “Not a creature was stirring . . .” read Mrs. D. “Not even a mouse.”

  The whole audience got super still. Not a cell phone was sounding, not even a cough.

  “Where’s Stink?” Judy whispered. “That’s his line.”

  “Not even a mouse,” Mrs. D. read again, a little louder.

  “Oh, no!” Judy whispered. “Stink missed his cue!”

  The audience fidgeted. Chairs squeaked. Feet shuffled.

  “MOUSE!” Mrs. D. said again, practically shouting this time.

  “Where is he?” asked Judy. Before Mrs. D. could say mouse again, someone — or something — burst onstage in a flash of white.

  Frank Pearl leaned forward, trying to see. “Is that Stink?”

  “I thought you said he was a mouse,” Rocky whispered.

  “He is,” said Judy. “A bright, white science mouse!”

  But when the spotlight found Stink, he was not a science mouse. He was not a mouse at all.

  He was a snowflake! A bright, shiny snowflake. Stink was dressed all in white, and strapped to his back was a giant, six-pointed sparkly snowflake. On his T-shirt, in black letters, he’d written STELLAR DENDRITE.

  “I can’t look,” said Judy, covering her face.

  “Not a creature was stirring!” yelled Stink, whirling and twirling in the spotlight. “Not even a snowflake!”

  It was clear from the look on her face that Mrs. Dempster had not expected a blizzard. But after Stink floated around for a moment or two, she kept right on reading the poem, as if nothing strange had happened.

  Judy had known Stink to be a mouse plenty of times. She had known him to be a human flag. She had known him to be James Madison, Shortest President Ever. But never in a million years had she dreamed that Stink would one day dance onstage as a stellar dendrite.

  “What a flake,” said Judy. “As in snowflake. Or should I say, snow freak?” Judy and Stink would be laughing like a bowl full of jelly over this one for many Christmases to come.

  It was the night before Christmas, and all through the house, the Moodys were stirring, even Mouse. Dad was ordering Hawaiian pizza (with pineapple!), and Mom was wrapping presents. Stink was shaking presents as fast as Mom could wrap them, then tucking them under the tree in the front room. Mouse chased a jingle bell all over the house.

  She, Judy Moody, sang,

  “Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say

  On a bright Hawaiian Christmas day!”

  and

  “Have a hula, jula Christmas!

  It’s the best time of the year . . .”

  Dad poked his head into the playroom off the kitchen. “Pizza will be here any minute,” he said.

  “Does Judy have to sing Hawaiian songs? She knows I want snow.”

  “Why don’t you sing your own carols, Stink? Like . . . Hark! The herald angels sing!” Dad belted out.

  “Who’s this Harold guy everybody’s always singing about, anyway?”

  “Never mind,” said Dad, shaking his head. Stink put on his snowflake costume and sang, “Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!”

  Just then the doorbell rang. “Pizza!” yelled Stink.

  The Moodys sat down to dinner. Judy was the first to grab the pizza table, for her collection. Stink ate all the pineapples off his pizza.

  “What a great holiday show you kids had this year,” said Dad.

  “And I didn’t have to be a mouse, for once,” said Stink.

  “Mrs. D. sure was surprised,” Mom said.

  “Yeah, she kept saying ‘mouse,’ and Stink didn’t come out.”

  “My snowflake got stuck in the door to the stage!” said Stink.

  Ding, dong.

  “Could that be the pizza man again?” Dad asked.

  “I’ll get it!” called Stink. He raced out of the kitchen and opened the front door. Stink could not believe his eyes. It was Jack Frost, live and in person!

  “One more package for the Moodys got left behind in my truck,” Jack said. “Thought it might be important.”

  “Wow!” said Stink, taking the package. “I never knew the mailman came at night!”

  Jack Frost laughed. “At this time of year, we work long hours.”

  “Thanks!” said Stink. “So you think it might snow tonight?”

  “Never say never,” said Jack. “Might be making snow angels and having snowball fights yet. Well, gotta go. I still have a lot of work to do!”

  “Goodbye, Jack Frost! Have a Holly Jolly Day! I mean a Holly Joliday! I mean a Jolly Holiday!

  “Did you hear that?” Stink asked his family, coming back into the kitchen.

  “We heard you wishing somebody a holly joliday.” Judy cracked up. “Who was it?”

  “Jack Frost.”

  “Not again,” said Judy, rolling her eyes.

  “Who’s Jack Frost?” Mom and Dad asked at the same time.

  “You guys don’t know who Jack Frost is?” Stink asked.

  “He’s the new mailman,” said Judy.

  “And he brings snow,” Stink added. “And tonight he brought us a package. Can we open it? Can-we-can-we-can-we?”

  “Hmm. No return address on the box,” said Dad. “Must be from Grandma Lou.”

  “She already sent fruitcake,” said Mom.

  “Maybe it’s a yule log,” said Judy.

  “What’s a yule log?” asked Stink.

  “Yule never know!” Judy cracked up. “Just open it, Stink!”

  Stink ripped the tape off the box. Inside were two squishy packages — one marked for Judy, and one for Stink. They tore off the wrapping paper.

  “Mittens!” said Stink. A green pair for Stink and a red pair for Judy.

  “Fa la la la la,” said Judy. “I’d rather have fruitcake.”

  “That’s weird,” said Stink. “There’s still nothing that says who they’re from. Just a note that says, ‘You’ll need these when the snow flies.’”

  “Ooh — it’s a mystery,” said Judy.

  “Maybe they’re from Jack Frost!” Stink said.

  “So now Jack Frost knows how to knit, too?” Judy snorted. “Stink, why would the mailman give us a present?”

  “He’s not just the mailman,” said S
tink.

  After pizza, Judy and Stink went into the playroom. Stink stared out the window. Judy decked the halls with Christmas-in-Hawaii stuff — she decorated the blow-up palm tree from the holiday show with origami surfboards, sailboats, and sea horses. She hung a string of pink flamingo lights. Even Mouse got to wear a grass skirt and fake flower lei.

  Stink pointed to the black sky. “I think I see some clouds!”

  “I think you’re seeing stars, Kimo,” said Judy.

  “I wish every one of those stars was a snowflake,” said Stink. He sighed. “I hope it snows by midnight. Jack Frost said —”

  “Stink,” Judy said, craning her neck to look up at the sky, “give it up. No way is it going to snow by midnight.”

  “Wanna bet?” asked Stink.

  “Sure,” said Judy. “But if I win, you have to eat fruitcake.”

  “Okay, but if I win, you have to help me build a snowman.”

  “Deal,” said Judy.

  “Hey, wait just a minute!” said Stink. “How will you know if it snows by midnight? You’ll be in bed, sound asleep by then.”

  “No way,” said Judy. “I’m waiting up.”

  “Cool yule!” said Stink. “Me, too!”

  8:12 p.m.

  “No way am I drinking this!” Stink sniffed the yucky-smelling stuff in his Santa mug.

  “It’s coffee,” said Judy. “That’s how you stay awake.”

  “Coffee! Bluck! I’d rather drink a cup of mud.”

  “Just try it,” Judy told her brother.

  “Dad, are we allowed?” asked Stink.

  “Go ahead. Try it,” said Dad. “It’s a special occasion.”

  “C’mon, Kimo,” said Judy. “You go first.”

  Stink stared into the dark murky liquid. He took a sip. Bluhhh! He spit it into the sink. “It tastes like tree bark,” said Stink. Dad grinned.

  “Tree bark?” said Judy. “There must be other ways to stay awake besides drinking tree bark.”

  8:43 p.m.

  Judy and Stink played all the holiday CDs they could find. Mom and Dad sang along to “Frosty the Snowman,” “Jingle Bell Rock,” and “Winter Wonderland.” Stink and Judy sang the Grinch theme song at the top of their lungs:

  “Your heart is full of unwashed socks;

  Your soul is full of gunk, Mr. Grinch!

  The three words that best describe you

  Are as follows, and I quote:

  STINK . . . STANK . . . STUNK!”

  9:15 p.m.

  They took turns reading aloud all the books in the house about snow. Owl Moon and The Snowy Day and Snowflake Bentley. Dad even recited the poem “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”

  “All these snowy books are making me sleepy,” said Stink.

  “All these snowy books are making me cold,” said Judy. “Brrrrr!”

  9:23 p.m.

  Mom and Dad wrapped more presents. Judy and Stink played fifty-two-card pickup about fifty-three times. “No fair. How come you always get to throw them, and I always have to pick up all the cards?” asked Stink.

  9:36 p.m.

  “I have a game for us, Stink. I’ll ask you a question, and you say, ‘Freak of nature.’ Ready?”

  “Ready, Freddy.”

  “What’s another name for a blizzard in Virginia?”

  “Freak of nature.”

  “What’s your favorite subject in school?”

  “Freak of nature.”

  “What do you call somebody who only wants snow for Christmas?”

  “Freak of nature. Hey, wait, that’s me!”

  “Exactly,” said Judy.

  9:44 p.m.

  “Still no snow,” said Stink, reporting from his lookout by the window. He pointed to the thermometer outside. “Hey, good news. It’s thirty-eight degrees. The temperature’s dropping. It was thirty-nine a few minutes ago.”

  “Well, my temperature’s going up every time you check that thing!”

  9:52 p.m.

  “Kids!” said Dad, poking his head into the playroom. “It’s way past your bedtime!”

  Mom had ribbon around her neck and a tag stuck to her sweater. “It’s past mine, too,” she said, yawning.

  “But it’s Christmas Eve!” said Stink.

  “We’re trying to stay up till midnight,” said Judy. “To see if it snows. Can’t we just sleep down here in our sleeping bags tonight?”

  Mom and Dad gave each other a look. “Okay,” said Dad. “Mom and I are off to bed. No pillow fights.”

  “And no more hula dancing. Time to start tucking in,” said Mom.

  “Bah, humbug,” said Judy.

  She put on her monkey PJs. Stink climbed inside his snowflake sleeping bag. Mom and Dad kissed them good night and turned out the lights. Stink couldn’t help closing his eyes.

  “Stink, don’t punk out on me now,” Judy said, plugging the flamingo lights back in. The palm tree twinkled with all the colors of a sunset in Hawaii.

  “I’m just resting my eyes,” said Stink, yawning.

  10:12 p.m.

  Judy went to brush her teeth. By the time she came back, Stink was fast asleep. Even Mouse was curled up on a cozy Santa hat. “Hey, Snoozer,” Judy called, but Stink did not wake up. She tried making goofy faces and noises. She tried lifting up his eyelids. She tried tickling him awake with the fuzzy tip of the Santa hat.

  Finally, she gave up. Stink was going to be so bummed out that he fell asleep. But he was going to be double disappointed when he woke up and there was no snow.

  10:27 p.m.

  Judy hummed all Twelve Days of Christmas . . . inside her head.

  10:28 p.m.

  Judy counted reindeer . . . inside her head.

  10:37 p.m.

  Suddenly, in the not-so-silent night, Judy heard something . . . tapping on the roof. Reindeer? She heard something else . . . tapping at the window. Jack Frost? She looked out, when what to her wondering eyes did appear, but . . .

  Rain!

  There was only one thing worse than not getting snow for Christmas. Getting rain. Judy looked over at the sleeping Stink. He was going to be double triple quadruple bummed-out disappointed.

  What happened then? Well, in Moodyville they say that Judy Moody’s heart grew three sizes that day.

  Judy ran to get scissors. Paper. Glitter. Glue. Snip, snip, snip. While Stink was asleep all snug on the couch, Judy made millions of paper snowflakes and stuck them all over the walls, windows, and doors.

  She sprinkled the teeny-tiny scraps along the windowsill and all across the floor. She even sprinkled Stink while he was sleeping. In the moonlight, the confetti looked like new-fallen snow.

  Perfect! Brainstorms were better than rainstorms any old day. Now Stink could have a ho-ho, not ho-hum, Christmas. Judy could not wait to see Stink’s face when he woke up to snow everywhere, even if it was fake. It would be a million times better than watching him eat fruitcake any day.

  Judy felt like Old Man Winter. She felt like Santa at the North Pole. She felt like Snow Freak Bentley.

  She, Judy Moody, felt like the genuine-and-for-real Jack not-the-mailman Frost.

  11:57 p.m.

  Just before the big hand and the little hand hit twelve, the rain stopped tap, tap, tapping. Judy snuggled down into her cozy sleeping bag. At last, she was ready for some long winter’s nap, nap, napping.

  When Stink woke up bright and early Christmas morning, he thought he was dreaming.

  “Judy! Wake up! Wake up! Snow! It really is a white Christmas!”

  Judy rolled over. “I know, Stink. It’s just pretend snow. I didn’t want you to have a very muddy Christmas. Or a very moody one.”

  “No, Jack Frost was here. For real and absolute positive. No lie.”

  “Um-hmmm. He brought us mittens,” said Judy, hunkering down into her sleeping bag. “It’s cold!”

  “C’mon, Bed Head.” Stink tugged at her sleeping bag. “Just get up and look out the window.”

  Still wrapped in her
sleeping bag, Judy stood up and kangaroo-hopped over to the window. Stink had rubbed a small circle in the frost on the windowpane. Judy and Stink smushed their noses to the glass and peered out. Mouse dashed over to the window, too, jingling all the way.

  Snow. Real-live, not-fake snow. On houses, trees, rocks, hills, and leaves. Everywhere they looked, a blanket of white. A marvelous marshmallow world. A whipped-cream winter wonderland.

  The earth was covered in clean, bright, stellar-dendrite snow. Heaven and nature seemed to sparkle and sing. Joy to the world!

  “Snow,” Stink breathed. Now he could see why, in Alaska, they had a dozen different words for snow. One word just wasn’t good enough.

  “A genuine-and-for-real freak of nature!” said Judy.

  “It’s like being inside a snow globe — from Vermont!” said Stink. “I wished. I hoped. I dreamed of a white Christmas, and my wish came true. Just like Jack Frost said.”

  “The world is your snowball, Stink!” said Judy.

  Then Judy and Stink took one look at each other. Away to the closet they flew like a flash. They pulled on their boots and they pulled on their hats. They pulled on their coats and their scarves and their brand-new, hand-knit mystery mittens.

  They held their breath as they opened the front door.

  Judy and Stink stepped outside into the snowy-blowy, swirly-twirly winter wonderland.

  “Rare!” said Judy.

  “Cool yule!” said Stink. “This is the best holly joliday ever!”

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2007 by Megan McDonald

  Illustrations copyright © 2007 by Peter H. Reynolds

  Judy Moody font copyright © 2004 by Peter H. Reynolds

  Judy Moody®. Judy Moody is a registered trademark of Candlewick Press, Inc.

  “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch”