Cheesie Mack Is Not Exactly Famous Page 2

  “Okay! Okay! I give up!” I yelled.

  The mud flinging stopped. The Total Mud War was over. I looked around. Every runner on the cross-country team was mudiciously mudified and mudulated.

  We were coated!

  I don’t mean we were just a little bit dirty. Nope. We were disgustingly dirty. Majorly muddy. Monstrously messy.

  And then suddenly I remembered. I yelled, “We’re going to be late for the game!”

  I ran, and everyone followed me. We jumped over and scooted around the last barriers the construction guys had set up to keep trespassers like us out. Then we were back in the regular, kid-friendly school yard, heading for the boys’ locker room to wash up and change clothes. As we neared the gym, we could hear kids cheering from inside.

  “It’s already started!” Josh yelled.

  “Dang!” Glenn wailed.

  I didn’t want to miss any more of the game against our archrival, Cape Ann Middle School, so I abruptly changed direction.

  “Forget the showers!” I shouted. “C’mon!”

  Most of the guys kept going, but Josh, Glenn, and I—mud-Splattered from our shoes to our scalps—charged through the gym doors, slid past the RLS sixth-grade cheerleaders, and scooted into the first row of the bleachers, where Diana Mooney, Oddny Thorsdottir, and Lana Shen had been saving seats for us.

  In case you haven’t read any of my previous books, here’s what you need to know about these three girls.

  Diana is:

  1. very popular,

  2. very motivated, and

  3. very good at just about anything that needs energy and enthusiasm.

  Oddny (who just transferred to RLS from Iceland) is:

  1. very tall,

  2. very smart, and

  3. very much liking Georgie!

  Lana is:

  1. very speedy (fastest on the girls’ cross-country team),

  2. very terrific in school (she never tells her grades, but I peeked at her report card … straight A’s!),

  3. very quiet in class (but chatty around her friends and me),

  4. sort of almost my friend (she has been in all my previous adventures), but

  5. also a little bit bothersome (she wants to know everything I’m doing all the time).

  When Lana saw how filthy I was, she squeaked, “Oh my gosh!” and slid closer to Diana and Oddny.

  “You guys are disgusting!” Oddny said loudly. (Her father is a fish scientist, an ichthyologist. This fact has nothing to do with my adventure. I just like how it’s pronounced: ick-thee-AH-loh-jist.)

  I grinned at the girls, which made the drying mud on my cheek crack. It was a weird feeling. I looked up at the scoreboard: Home 6, Visitors 8.

  Eddie Chapple had the ball. He totally faked out one of the Cape Ann guards and drained a jump shot from the free throw line to tie the score. I cheered! I bounced up and down. Flecks of mud flew everywhere.

  Georgie must have heard me. Sitting on the bench, he turned around, grinned, and waved the hand with the blue forefinger splint.

  I waved back. “Go, Georgie!”

  Coach Tunavelov (everyone calls him Coach T) sees everything. Even though he was intently watching the action on the court, somehow he just knew Georgie wasn’t paying attention. Zingo! One word from Coach T made Georgie spin around, once again totally focused on the game.

  We’ve got a great team, but Cape Ann was just as good. The game was close all the way. We were never ahead, but also never behind by more than five points. With just over one minute left, the score was 28–24. Georgie hadn’t played at all. Coach T called a time-out.

  Our cheerleaders started a yell, and all of us RLS rooters screamed for our team.

  Granpa once told me his favorite high school cheer was:

  Hit hat hee,

  Kick ’em in the knee!

  Hit hat hut,

  Kick ’em in the other knee!

  I think it’s hilarious, but when I suggested it to Ms. Hammerbord, who’s in charge of the cheerleaders, she nixed it. (If you don’t get it, I explain why it’s funny on my website. And you can tell me your favorite cheers.)

  Coach T gathered the players around him in a huddle. Georgie, who is way taller than anyone else on the team, was talking. I tried to listen—and I was really close—but the cheering was so loud I couldn’t hear anything. Coach T said something, and Georgie nodded several times. Then the warning buzzer sounded, the team broke out of the huddle, and Georgie went over to the scorer’s table.

  That’s strange, I thought as the cheerleaders sat down. I turned to Glenn, who was sitting right next to me. “He’s not supposed to play,” I said. This was going to be interesting. Georgie’s dad had warned him not to reinjure his broken finger.

  Glenn nodded. “Perhaps he’s going to use only his left hand.”

  Georgie is right-handed.

  “Go for it, Georgie!” a woman shouted.

  Georgie smiled and waved at someone behind me.

  I turned around. It was Ms. Dinnington, our school nurse. Everyone calls her Ms. D. She and Georgie’s father were getting married in a week. Georgie’s mother died when he was two. He is really excited about having a stepmother.

  The ref blew his whistle again, so Georgie trotted toward our basket, waiting for the action to resume. His position is center, which is almost always the tallest guy on the team. One of our guys threw the ball in to Eddie, who dribbled to the top of the key (he’s an excellent ball handler). Georgie moved back and forth under the basket, his left arm up, motioning for the ball. Eddie faked a pass to the side, then zipped the ball really high toward Georgie. The Cape Ann sixth grader guarding him jumped, but Georgie jumped higher. He caught the ball with just his left hand, spun around, and laid it into the basket.

  28–26.

  “Georgie! Georgie! Georgie!” I yelled, and while the Cape Ann team brought the ball up court, everyone near me picked up the chant.

  The Cape Ann coach called time-out.

  “They’re going to have to figure out a way to defend against Georgie!” The cheering was so loud, I had to scream even though Glenn was standing right next to me.

  When the game started again, Cape Ann players tossed the ball back and forth, delaying as long as they could.

  “Excellent strategy!” Glenn shouted to me. “Using up the time.”

  I looked at the clock. Only twenty-seven seconds until the game was over! Then good ol’ Eddie snagged a bad Cape Ann pass. The RLS fans screamed. This was our chance to tie the score. I looked up at the clock. Just nineteen seconds left. You might think this would be when Eddie would move at super speed.

  Nope.

  He dribbled carefully up the court toward our basket, setting up the play. He waited patiently until all our guys were in position. He looked left. He looked right. He faked a shot, then zipped that high pass—exactly the same as before—toward Georgie under the basket.

  But this time Eddie’s throw was a little off. Georgie had to jump to the side and catch the ball with both hands. He dribbled once with his left hand, spun on one foot, and took a shot. But the Cape Ann guy guarding him was ready. He leaped as high as he could, karate-chopping at the ball just as it left Georgie’s grasp. But he missed the ball and hit Georgie’s hand … the one with the broken finger.

  What happened next seemed to move in slow motion.

  The ball went up.

  The referee blew his whistle and threw an arm up into the air. Foul!

  The ball hit the backboard

  … bounced against the rim

  … rolled all the way around

  … rolled all the way around again

  and fell through.

  28–28!

  All of us on the RLS side of the gym went cuckoo-bonkers! Diana was so excited, she shoved me. Lana forgot that I was Mr. Mud-Man and grabbed my arm. Oddny kept screaming, “Georgie! Georgie!”

  Our fans finally quieted down when they realized Coach T had come out onto the court because a re
feree had signaled for an official’s time-out. I looked up at the clock. 0:03.

  “Excuse me, Cheesie,” Ms. D said as she came down out of the stands past me and hurried over to the bench.

  Coach T was talking to Georgie, who was shaking his head from side to side and holding the hand with the splint. He had a strange look on his face.

  “Uh-oh,” I said to Glenn. “I think Georgie’s injured.”

  Out on the basketball court, all action had stopped. Georgie, Coach T, and Ms. D huddled near the RLS bench, having a conference. Both referees stood nearby, waiting … one of them holding the basketball and whistling a tune I couldn’t hear.

  There weren’t a lot of Cape Ann rooters in our gym, but because their team had been leading the whole game up till now, they’d been pretty loud. Now, however, the fans on both sides were quiet.

  At first I thought it was babyish and embarrassing for Georgie to have his almost-stepmother holding his hand—because that’s what she was doing—but then I realized she wasn’t acting like a parent. She was out there because she was our school nurse, checking to see how badly Georgie was hurt.

  “What’s going on?” Oddny asked me.

  I’m not particularly talented at basketball because I’m short, but I know all the rules. “Georgie was fouled,” I replied, “so he gets one free throw. If he makes it, we win.”

  Lana leaned close to listen.

  “But if Georgie’s hurt,” I continued, “Coach T is allowed to take him out of the game and have someone else shoot for him.”

  “Eddie has the team’s best free throw percentage by far,” Glenn offered.

  “It’ll be Eddie for sure,” Diana agreed.

  I couldn’t hear what was going on in the huddle, but of course Georgie could … and he’s standing right behind me in my bedroom as I’m writing this sentence, so I am going to stop right now and let Georgie tell you.

  *

  Hi! I am Georgie Sinkoff writing this. You can be 100 percent positive I am not as good of a writer as Cheesie is, so don’t go all weird on me when you read what I write. Okay?

  First, I’m gonna

  (Cheesie is leaning over me, jabbering that gonna is not a real word, but too bad. I’m gonna use it anyway!)

  Starting over.

  First I’m gonna explain that my dad did NOT say I couldn’t play. He said just be careful. So I sat on the bench. For almost the whole game. You can’t get more careful than that!

  I really wanted to play. If you’re on a team, who wouldn’t? But I didn’t complain or whine or anything. Coach T gets majorly annoyed if you beg.

  Like Cheesie wrote, it was a really close game. When there was only about a minute to play, Coach T called a time-out. We all huddled up.

  “Can you shoot left-handed?” Coach T asked me.

  I was kind of surprised by the question. “Not as good as rightie,” I said. “But yeah, sort of good.”

  Coach T stared at me. Probably he was trying to figure out if I was exaggerating or something. “Okay. You’re going in. I want you directly under the basket.”

  Then he said to Eddie, “Throw him a pass so high, only he can reach it.”

  So that’s what happened, and like Cheesie said, my basket cut the lead to two points. And then we did it again, and I tied the score, but I got fouled.

  Cheesie wrote it was like a karate chop. And he was right. Everyone thought that guy had hit my broken finger. But he hadn’t. He’d hit me on the wrist. It hurt, but I wasn’t hurt. You know what I mean.

  Right away Coach T came out onto the court and started talking to the referee about the rules. I heard the ref say “substitution,” but that’s all I heard because Eddie was whispering smack in my ear, “Tell ’em you’re hurt. If you’re hurt, Coach T’ll get me to shoot the free throw. And I’ll definitely sink it. Tell ’em you’re hurt.”

  Eddie is a better free throw shooter than I am. And with a splint on my finger, probably WAY better!

  “Do it! Tell Coach T!” Eddie was still whispering. But it seemed really loud. “If you miss, we go into overtime. You want to win, don’t you?”

  He was right in my face, but he shut up fast when Coach T came back to our huddle. That’s when Ms. D came down from the stands and looked at my finger.

  Her name is actually Louise Dinnington. I call her Ms. D just like everyone else when she’s at RLS being our school nurse. But she’s going to be my stepmom in a few days, so when she’s at my house I call her Lulu like my dad does. I’m not used to calling her Mom or anything else yet.

  They both asked me sort of the same thing at the same time. Coach T: “Can you shoot that free throw?” Lulu: “Are you hurt?” This story is sort of fun to tell, but I’m tired of typing, so I’m gonna (HA!) turn this computer back to Cheesie and he’s gonna (DOUBLE HA!) finish. But first I want to say hi to my three older brothers. (And Cheesie, you better not take this out, because you know they’re going to be in this book later in the story!)

  Hi, Jokie. (His real name is Joseph Keith.)

  Hi, Fed. (His real name is Fred, but I couldn’t say it right when I was a kittle lid. HA!)

  Hi, Marlon. (His real name is Marlon. DOUBLE HA!)

  And there’s one more thing all of you guys reading this should know. Cheesie definitely likes Lana. Don’t deny it, Cheesie! You know it’s true. So if you delete this, I will grab you when you’re for sure not watching and stick your head in the nearest toilet!

  *

  Okay. I’m done. Now back to your regularly scheduled Cheesie.

  (I won’t delete it, but it’s totally not true. And that’s all I’m going to write about it.)

  *

  The score was 28–28 with only three seconds left in the game.

  Georgie knew Eddie was sort of, kind of, maybe right about how to win. Georgie wasn’t actually injured, but if he lied and told Coach T he was hurt, Eddie would sub for him and shoot his free throw. Eddie is really good. He’d probably make it, and then we’d win. And if Eddie missed, no one would ever blame Georgie.

  But if Georgie told the truth …

  Everything would depend on him.

  I knew what Georgie would do … and I was right.

  I saw Georgie shake his head, then sort of shoulder Eddie aside as he turned to face Coach T. I saw Georgie’s face for only a second, but that was all I needed. When Georgie gets nervous, his eyebrows waggle up and down. This time?

  Nope.

  No waggle.

  He looked right at me and Lana and Oddny and gave a big thumbs-up with his splinted hand. The ref blew his whistle. And both teams trotted back onto the court.

  Huge cheers went up from both sides. Georgie took the ball from one of the refs and stood with his toes right up to the free throw line. He was facing away from me, so I couldn’t see his face. I stared at the 11 on his back. Georgie had chosen that number when Coach T handed out uniforms.

  “Some people think eleven’s a lucky number,” I’d told him when he showed me his new uniform.

  “One of those people is me,” he’d replied with a grin.

  Georgie bounced the ball a couple of times, lined up the shot, then lofted the ball toward the basket.

  His free throw was short. Way short.

  A sound kind of like a loud moan came out of the RLS fans.

  Georgie’s shot hit the front of the rim and bounced straight up and straight back. Georgie charged forward. He jumped higher than anyone, controlled the rebound with his left hand, and tipped the ball up.

  It swished through just as the buzzer sounded.

  We won 30–28!

  Everyone called him Big Eleven.

  His real name was something else, “but eleven is my lucky number, and that’s what I’m gonna be called.” He was a big man … the biggest soldier in our regiment. Solid. Tough. If I had to pick one totally dependable guy who could pull us out of whatever predicament we were in, I’d always go with Big Eleven.

  We’d been on a mission in unfriendly ter
ritory. Had a couple of close calls. Traded a few shots with the Kaypan forces. But neither side had achieved any significant victories. If someone had asked me, I’d have said the good guys and the bad guys were tied.

  All we had to do was cross over the mountain the local people called Kin Guf Daheel and then we’d be back at base camp. But the weather had been miserably wet, and the dirt road was treacherous. Sloppy. Narrow. Winding. Steep.

  Big Eleven had been hurt in a previous battle, but it wasn’t real bad. He didn’t complain or ask for any special treatment, so Captain Tuna put him in the lead vehicle. I was right behind.

  We headed up the mountain. It was quiet.

  Too quiet, I thought.

  Just as we reached the narrowest section of the climb, the road in front of me collapsed into a huge, thundering mud slide. My front wheels dropped into the emptiness that used to be a road, and my truck tipped onto its side.

  My windows were covered with mud, but I could tell I was in big trouble. My vehicle was half over the edge. I struggled to get out, but the weight of the avalanche on the door was too much. I started to climb through a smashed window, but my shifting weight caused the truck to teeter. I stopped moving … and so did the truck.

  I looked down. Below me was a sheer drop into a rocky, kiss-it-all-goodbye canyon.

  But on the other side of the now-broken road stood Big Eleven. He gave me a thumbs-up with his bad hand, then pulled his arm back to throw me a rope.

  *

  My dad and I like watching war movies. Granpa doesn’t. He says they bring back too many bad memories. My mom thinks they’re too violent. She wouldn’t let me watch any until I was ten.

  While I was writing about the end of our basketball game, I started thinking how sports contests are like battles. So I decided to see if I could turn the Cape Ann—RLS game into a war story.

  You probably guessed Kaypan was Cape Ann, Captain Tuna was Coach T, and the karate chop to Georgie’s hand turned into the mud slide. And I shouldn’t have to tell you what Kin Guf Daheel was. (Just sound it out.) Mrs. Wikowitz, my English teacher, helped me come up with the idea of symbolizing the tie game with the truck hanging over the edge.

  It was hard to write a war story, because I don’t know very much about war. My dad helped me. He was in the Navy. He advised me to call this Operation Three instead of chapter 3 because it sounds more military.