Super Schnoz and the Booger Blaster Breakdown (3 page)

“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 accounted for.”

“I've never been to New York before,” TJ added.

“Time out,” I said. “What's all this about going to New York?”

“Remember 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 “carry-on” 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 support 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 wide-eyed 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.