Cheesie Mack Is Running like Crazy!

by Steve Cotler

  My dad chimed in. “Her feet must’ve been plenty tired by the time she got to Czechoslovakia, Pop.” Then Dad gave me a squinty-evil-eye.

  I tried to swallow. “I hope you win,” I said potatofully to Goon.

  “Shut up,” Goon said.

  I’m willing to bet “shut up” is the phrase Goon says to me most.

  I swallowed. “No, really. I really hope you win.”

  Everyone was staring at me, trying to figure out what I was up to. But I wasn’t up to anything. If there was a chance for Goon to be absent for a whole week during winter break, I was all for it!

  Finally Mom turned back to Goon and smiled. “It would be a perfect reward for all the hard work you’ve put in.”

  Goon does practice ballet a lot.

  At last it was my turn. “I have an announcement, too. I have decided to run for sixth-grade class president.”

  Mom looked surprised. Dad looked surprised. Granpa grinned. Goon choked on a bite of carrot. Dad had to slap her on the back to dislodge it. When she finally stopped coughing, she was so upset she could barely speak.

  “Mom, no! Dad! You have to … I mean … make him not do it. You cannot imagine … it’s so embarrassing … having him in my school. No. Please!”

  Mom gave Goon a stern look. “First, it’s not your school. Ronald is a student there, too. Second, you should be proud that your brother is ambitious. And third, if he wins—”

  “When he wins!” Granpa interrupted. “My grandson is a born leader. It comes with being a Mack.”

  Mom continued, “When he wins, you’ll both be in the student government meetings, and perhaps you can take advantage of those occasions to learn to work together harmoniously.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I would have to be in the same room as Goon.

  Bad news.

  From the look on Goon’s face, I could tell she felt exactly, precisely, definitely, completely, and utterly the same way about that as I did. She once told me she didn’t like breathing the same air as me.

  I ate the rest of my dinner in silence. Later that evening I was in my room doing homework when Goon came to my door.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry I was so negative about your running for class president.”

  Huh? I was instantly on my guard. Goon almost never apologizes to me. And she was carrying a big, rolled-up sheet of paper.

  “I made this poster for you,” she said, taping it on the inside of my door. “Good luck.”

  She was up to something.

  I went to bed mulling (a good school word; it means thinking about something deeply and at length) the pros and cons of running. Here’s what I came up with:

  1. In order to win I’d have to get to know lots more sixth graders. I’d probably end up with a bunch of new friends. PRO.

  2. Goon would do things to try to make me look stoopid. (That’s my made-up word that means “really stupid,” because it’s a really stupid way of spelling stupid.) CON.

  3. It would be fun to be class president. PRO.

  4. Goon is a very tricky girl. She knows the ins and outs of RLS and student government way better than I do. She would succeed (I know she would, she’s super devious) in making me look stoooopid (an even stupider word for stupid). CON.

  My list came out even, so I pulled my pillow over my head. Maybe I wouldn’t run for president.

  Cheesie Gets Socked

  The next two days were super busy. I had to:

  1. Get used to my new teachers. (Señora Lunares speaks only Spanish in class!)

  2. Start a drawing project in art. (I’m terrible.)

  3. Help Mr. Amato organize his science supplies and put them into the drawers and cabinets in the science lab. (He picked me for the extra credit because I was the only kid to figure out his memory trick.)

  4. Do more homework than I ever had in elementary school. (At least the math isn’t hard.)

  There was so much stuff going on, I completely forgot about the decision I had to make.

  Then Goon made up my mind by sabotaging me.

  I had just come out of the bathroom after my morning shower and there she was, trespassing in my bedroom.

  “Get out!” I yelled.

  As she ran past me back out into the hall, I could see she was carrying an armload of my socks. I chased her but gave up halfway down the stairs. I am much faster than Goon, but think about it … how fast and how far can you run when all you’ve got on is a towel?

  Once back in my room, I discovered she had:

  1. Torn up the election registration form I’d gotten in the school office.

  2. Used her markers to color my SuperBinder pink and purple.

  3. Taken exactly half the socks out of my dresser.

  I threw on some pants and stomped downstairs. As soon as Goon heard me coming, she dashed out the door for school. Mom—she’s an air-traffic controller at the airport—was already gone, and Dad was just pulling out of the driveway on one of his limousine jobs.

  Granpa was reading the newspaper. “Don’t look at me, kiddo,” he said. “A stinking pile of squabble is the last thing I’m interested in first thing in the morning.” He stared at me, no squinty-evil-eye. “You’re a big boy, Cheesie. Handle it.”

  I looked down at my bare feet and thought, Good advice, Granpa. I know exactly what I’ll do. Goon will not get points for this.

  Ten minutes later Georgie and I were riding our bikes to school.

  “I was thinking about your class president campaign,” Georgie shouted to me over the noise of passing traffic. “You could totally win. Especially if I’m your campaign manager. We’ll put up posters. We’ll use your grandfather’s camera to make a video just like real politicians do. And we’ll get the video on the school’s TV station.”

  I didn’t respond. I was thinking about how upset Goon would be the next time she saw me.

  Georgie didn’t notice. “I wonder how much it would cost to buy ‘Cheesie for President’ buttons,” he continued. “We could hand them out all over school.”

  When we stopped at a red light, Georgie looked down at my feet. “Why are you wearing different-colored socks?”

  “Goon,” I said, pulling up my pant legs to show one red and one blue sock. “She stole every sock that matched.”

  Georgie made a what-are-you-gonna-do face.

  “But,” I said with a grin, “when she tries to tease me, I’ll just say ‘You lose! These are RLS school colors.’ ”

  The light turned green.

  “That’s perfect for your campaign!” Georgie shouted as he pedaled across Main Street.

  Huh? I thought as I zoomed after him.

  Georgie smiled at me and didn’t say anything for one long block. I could tell he was thinking up another of his Great Ideas.

  “You are so lucky to have me as your campaign manager,” he said as we pedaled past bunches of kids walking to school, “because you know what wins school elections?” He was so excited he began twisting his handlebars back and forth and zigzagging down the street. “School spirit, that’s what. Starting today, you’re going to be Mr. Cheesie RLS School Spirit. You’re going to wear something red and something blue every day until the election!”

  Sometimes Georgie’s Great Ideas are Great. Sometimes they are Not So Great. This one was, IMO, Really Really Great. It would turn Goon’s trickery, and my school colors idea, into something even better for me. When we coasted into the school’s bicycle parking area, I was grinning big-time.

  “Campaigns need slogans,” I said as we locked our bikes and entered the building. We began fast-walking to class. The halls were full of kids, so we weren’t even close to being tardy. We just felt like speed-walking.

  Georgie thought for a moment, then said, “How about ‘Cheesie Will Stand Up for RLS. He Won’t Melt’? You know, like melted cheese?”

  Georgie made a big fake-smile.

  I gave him an ugh-face as we sped toward ou
r homeroom. Mrs. Wikowitz was standing just inside the door. When Georgie stepped around her, his backpack crashed into me. For someone who is a terrific athlete, he can be such a klutz!

  “All right. Here’s a better one,” he said as we approached Lana’s front-row desk. She waved to me. She always does that.

  Just to be polite, I gave her the littlest wave back, but I was listening to Georgie.

  “How about ‘Cheesie Doesn’t Stink’?” Georgie continued. “You know, like stinky cheese.”

  “That stinks,” I said.

  “Okay … how about—”

  “What’re you guys talking about?” Lana asked.

  Before I could not answer (I wasn’t going to tell her that I was running for president yet), she interrupted herself.

  “Omigosh, Cheesie. What happened to your SuperBinder?”

  I said one word: “Goon.”

  “I can fix it for you, if you want,” she said.

  I shrugged, looked at Georgie, and shrugged again. Lana dug into her backpack and took out tape, colored paper, and scissors. Cut … tape … cut … tape … cut … tape, and the pink-and-purple DOOFUS, DWEEB, and DORK-BOY SuperBinder was completely covered with orange construction paper.

  “That’s your favorite color,” Lana said as she handed back my binder.

  I’d never told her that. How did she know?

  (I’m doing a favorite-color survey on my website. What’s yours?)

  “Um, thanks,” I said.

  Lana smiled and sat back down.

  The bell rang, and Mrs. Wikowitz began the class by collecting permission forms for a field trip we were taking the next day to Minute Man National Historical Park. Then she handed back the assignments she’d regraded from the first day. In red ink at the bottom of mine, she’d written: Det. Armack is an intriguing and observant character. Good work! A.

  Hooray for mulligans!

  Several hours later I was standing behind Georgie in the lunch line. “After we eat I’m going to the office to get another election registration form,” I said to the back of his head.

  But Georgie wasn’t listening. He was totally focused on convincing the lunch lady to give him a double helping of fish nuggets. (We often have them in our schools because fish nuggets were supposedly invented in Gloucester.)

  I like fish nuggets, but I was in the mood for mac ’n’ cheese. When I walked past Goon’s table with my tray, she snarked, “Nice socks, Runtboy.”

  Maybe she thought I’d be embarrassed, but no way! I just smiled and replied, “School colors, loser.”

  As I walked away, I heard Drew mumble, “Cool idea.”

  “It’s stupid!” Goon said loudly.

  I glanced back. She might have sounded tough, but her embarrassed expression told me she knew her sock-stealing plan had backfired. I awarded myself four Point Battle points. The score was 694–681!

  I ate lunch with a big grin on my face, sort of sticking my feet out to show off my school-color ankles. At first no one noticed. Then some girls walked by, and one of them, Kandy DeLeon (I have never mentioned Kandy before, but she was in my fifth-grade class), made a big deal about my socks. I explained about the school-color thing, and pretty soon a whole group of girls was hanging around and chattering.

  Kandy was sort of jumping from foot to foot. “That’s so cool! Hey, everyone, look at Cheesie’s socks! We should definitely have a sixth-grade school-colors day.” Kandy has excellent school spirit and also a loud voice.

  I looked over at Goon. She was steaming. Ha!

  I didn’t award myself more Point Battle points, though. An embarrassment only counts once.

  “We could do it every week,” said a girl voice behind me.

  I knew instantly who it was. I turned around. It was Lana, standing there with Oddny. I had a glop of mac ’n’ cheese on my spork, so I shoved it into my mouth. (I think the spork is a great invention, and a cool word. A foon is the same thing, but who wants to eat with a foon?)

  Another girl from my fifth-grade class, Livia Grant, singsonged, “Cheesie Mack eats mac ’n’ cheese.”

  Very original.

  Oddny sat down beside Georgie. “Hello, Georgie. You wanted to ask me something about our science homework?”

  Georgie gave me an I-have-to-do-this look and struggled to pull a wad of paper from his pocket. He flattened it on the table, slid it in front of Oddny, and read his terrible handwriting aloud: “Algae, fungi, microorganism, bacteria, protozoa. What’re we supposed to do with these words?”

  Georgie and I have science during different periods, but we both have Mr. Amato. I had done that assignment last night.

  Why did he ask Oddny instead of me? I wondered. Weird.

  Lana slid in next to me. I slid a little bit away from her—I don’t like people sitting too close to me while I’m eating. When Oddny finished explaining the microbiology terms to Georgie, I pointed to my food. “Mr. Amato said microorganisms are everywhere,” I said. “I bet there’s algae, fungi, bacteria, and protozo-zos in this.”

  I sporked up the last macaroni on my plate. “Protozo-zos,” I repeated. (Some words, especially made-up ones, are fun to say out loud.)

  “Gross,” Lana said, but she was smiling like she thought I was funny.

  I stood. “See you last period, Georgie. I gotta go to the office.”

  “Why?” Lana asked.

  “None of your beeswax,” I said. (Granpa taught me that phrase. I think kids used to say it when he was little.)

  Georgie and I had decided not to talk about my campaign until it was official. But then I noticed that Lana looked like I’d hurt her feelings, so I changed to a very sneaky, spy-guy voice. “Top-secret stuff. I’ll tell you soon.”

  Lana grinned. Then Oddny started explaining about microorganisms to Georgie, and I remembered something I’d read about certain kinds of mites. Mites are related to ticks and are in the same animal class as spiders. They’re bigger than microorganisms, but most are too small to see without a microscope.

  “Hey, Georgie,” I said as I picked up my tray. “Why don’t you show Oddny your demodex mites?”

  Georgie knew what I was talking about, so he laughed. Oddny and Lana looked confused. I walked away grinning.

  Get ready to be grossed out!

  Most people—maybe even you!—have lots of tiny mites on their faces. These creatures live in the pores at the bottom of your eyelashes and eat dead skin and oil.

  (I bet some of you are going “Eeeeew!”)

  And even if you wash really hard, you can’t get rid of them. They’re crawling around your eyelids right now!

  Eeeeew!

  I wrote a demodex report for Mr. Amato’s science class. It’s on my website. But I warn you, I yanked out one of Georgie’s eyelashes and looked at it through his microscope. GROSS!

  When I got to the office, I filled out the election registration form and handed it to the school secretary. I was starting to leave when a thought hit me.

  “Um, can you tell me who else is running?” I asked her. “You know … my opponents?”

  Mrs. Collins peered at me through her thick glasses, smiled, and began shuffling through a small stack of registration forms. As she sorted them into piles, she said, “Vice president … secretary … vice president … president … treasurer …”

  When she finished, my registration form and three others were in the president pile. I am very good at reading upside down. I already knew who my opponents were before she picked up the papers and read the names to me.

  Eddie Chapple. No surprise. He’d already told me he was running.

  Diana Mooney. I’d never heard of her.

  The last name was a big surprise, and one that would make things difficult for me.

  Lana Shen.

  Running in the Zone

  I was sitting next to Glenn Philips, putting on my PE clothes and thinking hard about my Lana Shen problem when Georgie bounced into the locker room.

  “Cheesie, old friend, old pa
l, I am definitely going to get an A in science this year!” he said.

  This was a surprising comment. Georgie is not usually an A student. He is plenty smart enough to get As, but he is lots of times lazy and sloppy about homework, and he gets way too nervous during tests.

  Georgie opened his locker and began to change clothes. “That new girl, Oddny. I sit next to her in Mr. Amato’s class. She is really smart.” He looked over at Glenn. “Maybe as smart as you, Glenn, when it comes to science. Really smart.”

  Glenn shrugged. Georgie put his right foot into his left sneaker, realized his mistake, kicked the sneaker straight into the air, and caught it with his left foot. He is super good at things like that.

  “She will definitely get an A in science,” Georgie continued, pulling his RLS T-shirt over his head. “And she told me last period she’s going to make sure I get an A, too!”

  “Uh-oh,” I said softly.

  He paused, his head half through the T-shirt neck hole. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  One second later he had me in a headlock. “What?!”

  I squirmed free, jumped away, and scooted toward the locker room door. “I think Oddny likes you!”

  Georgie ran after me. “Of course she does. I know that. I can’t help it if I’m way too handsome.”

  Outside, Coach T assembled our class at the running track that circles the combination football and soccer field. He waved an arm at the cloudless September sky. “Another benchmark test on this beautiful day, boys. We’re going to run a mile. That’s four times around the track.”

  Lots of guys groaned or moaned.

  “Mellow out, boys,” Coach T said. “I don’t care how fast you do it. What I’m looking for is heart, guts, and stamina. Can you do a mile without walking, stopping, or throwing up?”

  As he lined us up, I wondered how I’d do. I’m a good runner—I knew that—but I had never run a mile before. I looked over at Georgie. I wondered if he could do a mile without stopping. He had a smile on his face. It was as if he knew what I was thinking.

  “Don’t worry about me, Cheesie,” he said. “I’ll do the whole mile. No problem. But you’re going to be lots faster than me—”

  Just then Coach T yelled, “GO!”

  Fifty-six boys took off running. By the time I reached the first turn, the group was spread way out. Eddie Chapple was leading everyone by about ten yards. I was near the front with about a dozen guys, most of whom had come from the other elementary schools. Only Glenn Philips and I had gone to Rocky Neck. Georgie was somewhere in the middle, clumped up in a big pack.