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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, joined 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 joined 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 third-grade 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.

"Remember 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 joined 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 join 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.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Super Schnoz and the Gates of Smell"
by .
Copyright © 2013 Gary Urey.
Excerpted by permission of Albert Whitman & Company.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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