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thumbs. Like they wear on smackdown wrestling. We can give them scary faces, so they look bad. Real bad.”
    “The baddest,” said Webster.
    Stink got out scissors, felt, glue, markers, and a bag of googly eyes. “Mine’s gonna be green, with a black Batman mask for eyes and red flames on top,” said Webster.

     
    “Mine’s gonna be silver with pointy red teeth and a black shark fin on top.”
    “We SO don’t stink at this,” said Webster, grinning.
    Done. Webster and Stink slipped the masks over their thumbs.
    “Cool,” said Webster.
    “Bad,” said Stink.
    “Dweebs,” said Stink’s sister, Judy, coming into the room. “Why are you guys making finger puppets? Finger puppets are for babies.”
    “They’re not finger puppets,” said Stink.
    “They’re
luchadores,
” said Webster. “Like pro wrestlers from Mexico. Now we have to think up names for them.”
    “How about El Terrible and El Even Worso?” Judy cracked herself up.
    Stink ignored her. “Tweedle Thumb and Tweedle Dumb?” Judy suggested.
    Webster held up his thumb mask. “Meet . . . T. Rex Wasabi.”
    “Presenting . . . Shark Hammersmash,” said Stink. “T. Rex Wasabi and Shark Hammersmash are warming up for the big event: the Ultimate Thumb-Wrestling
Thmack
down.”

     
    Webster didn’t miss a beat. “T. Rex Wasabi is favored to win 7–1. But underdog Shark Hammersmash could come from behind with a sneak attack. You might say he’s a Snake in the Grass. A little Bug in the Ear.”
    “You might say he’s a little
Pain
in the
Rear,
” said Judy, grinning.

     

 
    “Please?” Stink begged. “Pretty please with Screamin’ Mimi’s ice cream on top?”
    “Forget it. I’m not going to thumb-wrestle. Mom and Dad said you have to play a
sport.
”
    “Thumb-wrestling is on the sports channel. Thumb-wrestling has all three
S
’s: Strength, stamina, and strategy.”
    “Do you even know what that means?” Judy asked.
    “Hel-
lo!
I read the
S
encyclopedia.”
    “Trust me, Stink. Mom and Dad are not going to go for thumb-wrestling.”
    “That’s why I have to wow them with my amazing skill. For serious. If I practice a bunch, I can win the Ultimate Thumb-Wrestling Thmackdown.”
    “Thorry,” Judy teased. “I have homework.” She bounced a bouncy ball off the wall.
    “Homework? You’re just bouncing a ball.”

     
    “I’m counting how many times I can bounce it off the wall — 107, 108, 109 — without dropping it. Like a science experiment.”
    “Your science experiment could be to see how many times you can beat your little brother at thumb-wrestling.”
    “Stink. You’re wrecking my concentration.”
    Stink did not stop talking. “Did you know that thumb-wrestling goes way-way-way back to the time of the Romans?”
    “Uh-huh. 110, 111, 112, 113.”
    “Back then, they thumb-wrestled in a big stadium. Bazillions of people came to watch.”
    “Uh-huh.” 114, 115, 116
    “And they thumb-wrestled
to the death.
”
    Judy stopped bouncing the ball. “That is SO not true. People don’t die from thumb-wrestling.”
    “They wrestled to the death . . .
of the thumb.
You were the loser when your thumbnail turned all black and gross and fell off. Then the winner took the gross thumbnail and ran around the arena with it. The crowds went wild and yelled, ‘All hail the thumbnail.’”
    “Stink, you lie like a guy with a booger in his eye.”
    “Nah-uh. I swear.” He held up his left thumb. “Thumb-wrestler’s honor. Now that you know how cool and gross it is, will you thumb-wrestle me?”
    “Still no.”
    “Not even if I give you my Liberty Bell postcard and my Ocean Breeze Water Park squished penny?”
    “You’ve got to come up with something better than that, Stink.”
    “I promise not to put my smelly feet on you for one whole entire week.”
    “Tempting,” said Judy. She flung the ball against the wall extra hard.
    “Never mind. I’m stronger anyway.”
    “Are not,” said Judy.
    “Am too,” said