Cheesie Mack Is Not a Genius or Anything Read online

  “What?” Georgie asked me.

  I just stared. I didn’t even turn my head to look at him.

  “What?” he repeated in a softer, more nervous voice.

  “Something moved,” I whispered. “I saw something move behind that curtain upstairs.”

  “Which one?” Georgie whispered, looking up at The Toad, his eyebrows waggling.

  I pointed up at a window, and Georgie followed my finger with his eyes. We stared for a long time. Then he looked at me, and I looked at him, and he said very seriously, “I saw it, too.”

  Of course Georgie hadn’t seen anything. And neither had I. He just said that to go along with me. I think here’s why we did it. Sometimes kids like to make up scary things just to scare themselves. So from then on, Georgie and I would pretend to see shapes moving inside the old house whenever we rode our bikes past. And that’s when it became The Haunted Toad.

  So this day, the day of our fifth-grade graduation, with the two of us dressed up, we rode past The Haunted Toad, and Georgie as usual pointed at a third-floor window and pretended to be terrified.

  I started to let out one of my super-scary soft-and-spooky howls. (It’s kind of an “ow-hooo-eeeee.” I do it very well. At night sometimes when my parents are downstairs, I howl it, and even though it doesn’t really scare my sister, she gets mad at me anyway.)

  But I was only starting into the “hooo” part when something I had seen a million times stopped the sound half out of my throat.

  I braked my bike and stared. I was fumbling in my jacket pocket when Georgie asked, “What?” He looked at me and then back up at The Haunted Toad. Then back at me. Then back and forth one more time.

  “What?”

  I couldn’t say anything. I bet I looked like I had seen a ghost!

  I pointed at the street sign we had passed to and from school every day since kindergarten. Then I pointed at the number on the mailbox in front of The Haunted Toad. Then I pointed at the address I had written on the yellow phone-book page in my hand: 207 Eureka Avenue.

  G. J. Prott lived in The Haunted Toad!

  Just then one of the mice in the paper bag decided the time was right for an escape. It—he or she … mice probably know the difference, but I can’t tell—bit a hole through the bag and stuck its nose out. Georgie instantly folded the bag to cover the hole and rode off toward school.

  “Come on!” he yelled.

  I took one last look at the address I’d written, then biked after him at full speed.

  Lots of kids were already inside the auditorium when we walked in. Georgie’s bag now had two bite holes in it, one of which had a mouse head poking out. He tucked it tightly under his jacket.

  “I don’t know, Cheesie. Maybe this isn’t such a good—”

  I raised my hand to stop him from finishing. Only four rows away, my sister and Kevin Welch were talking to his brother, Alex. She pointed at us, and Alex hurried over.

  “My brother and your sister want to know what’s in the bag,” he said. Alex looked like he didn’t know what he was talking about, which is pretty usual for him.

  “What bag?” Georgie asked.

  “Yeah, what bag?” I echoed.

  “I don’t know.” Alex shrugged. “They just told me to say that.”

  Georgie suddenly jerked, said something that sounded like “Eee-yeen!” and pulled me toward a side door, leaving Alex standing there looking stupid, which is pretty usual for him.

  In the empty corridor outside the auditorium, Georgie began squirming like crazy. “Help me, Cheesie! One of the mice just went into my shirt!”

  Six Georgie twitches, five Georgie hops, and four Georgie contortions later, I pulled his shirt out of the back of his pants and a mouse dropped to the floor. It skittered under a wall of lockers.

  “No way, Cheesie! This isn’t going to work.”

  Clutching the bag tightly with both hands, he ran down the corridor to his locker and yanked it open. Luckily Georgie never uses his locker for anything except storing his lunch, so there was no lock on it and he didn’t have to waste time with a combination. The bag was totally coming apart, and he was losing mice fast.

  One dropped to the floor. I grabbed it. Another crawled out and scampered up Georgie’s arm onto his shoulder. I grabbed that one, too. Georgie shoved the bag of mice into his locker and slammed the door shut.

  I didn’t even have time to ask what the heck I was supposed to do with a mouse in each hand when the door to the auditorium flew open. Goon was holding it and grinning big-time as Mrs. Crespo came striding through, heading right toward Georgie and me.

  Partially Expelled

  Mrs. Crespo, our principal, has been at our school for 247 years. I’m exaggerating, of course, but I know it’s a really big number. She was actually my dad’s fourth-grade teacher, and he told me she was the youngest, shortest, funniest, and strictest teacher he ever had. Here’s what I know about Mrs. Crespo and those four things:

  She’s not young anymore. She must be way more than forty or sixty or something.

  She is very short, almost as short as I am.

  She grins a lot, which I think is unusual for school principals.

  She is very strict, which I think is usual for school principals, because principals have to punish the kids who do bad stuff like bring mice to school.

  As Mrs. Crespo approached, I stuck both my hands, a mouse in each, into my pants pockets. She passed Georgie, who was leaning against his locker and making plip-plop noises with his lips so Mrs. Crespo wouldn’t hear the mice scratching around inside. She stopped about five inches in front of me.

  “Your sister says you have a bag I should look into. May I see it, please?”

  It was one of those moments when a kid’s stomach gets all hot and watery because you know you’re probably in big trouble. Even so, I thought of three things I could do:

  I could say “What bag?” like I did with Alex, but Mrs. Crespo’s a million times smarter than Alex.

  If I had another bag—an empty bag—I could show that to her. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie because Mrs. Crespo didn’t exactly ask for a bag of mice. And I kind of remembered that there might be an empty lunch bag in my locker, which was in the next hallway. But I wasn’t sure.

  I could say I didn’t have any bag. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie because Mrs. Crespo asked for my bag, and the bag of mice that by this time was probably in shreds inside Georgie’s locker was Georgie’s bag, and actually I had never even touched it … only looked inside it.

  But before I could say anything, Georgie abruptly yanked open his locker and pointed. There was a very short no-one-made-a-sound, and then Mrs. Crespo’s mouth jumped into a big circle and a loud “oooh” came out.

  One second later my principal’s arm whizzed by me and slammed the locker shut.

  Mrs. Crespo’s circle mouth turned into a line. She looked really strict. She had a you-better-explain look on her face. Georgie and I were going to have to tell the truth. And when we did, bad things would happen. Mrs. Crespo would tell my mother, who is a little bit afraid of mice and crawlies. Mom would think we did a really bad thing, and I’d be punished. Probably no TV or computer games for the rest of my life.

  Georgie looked down at his feet and said, “I did it. Those are my mice. Cheesie didn’t do anything.”

  “Go on,” Mrs. Crespo said. Goon was now standing right behind Mrs. Crespo.

  Georgie mumbled, “I got them at the pet sto—”

  Mrs. Crespo waited for him to continue, but he couldn’t talk. His eyebrows were waggling, but his voice was paralyzed. He looked at me helplessly, and even though Goon was grinning wickedly, I ignored her and started talking. I told Mrs. Crespo what Georgie had originally planned to do at graduation: cross his eyes, hold his breath, pretend to barf—the whole list is way earlier in this book, in Chapter 1.

  “But he wasn’t going to do any of those things anymore. None of them. He was only just bringing mice to school.” As soon as I said
it, I realized how lame it sounded.

  Mrs. Crespo turned away from me and faced Georgie. “Is this true?”

  Georgie nodded.

  It was exactly then that I, both hands still in my pockets, suddenly twitched my left arm and half spun around. This surprised Mrs. Crespo, who turned toward me, waiting for an explanation. I said nothing. I wasn’t about to explain that the mouse in my left hand had almost wriggled free.

  Mrs. Crespo stared back and forth from me to Georgie and then began to tap her fingers together. I had seen her do this lots of times before. It meant that she had already decided that someone was guilty and was now trying to think up the right punishment. We were doomed.

  “Well then, George Harrison Sinkoff, you will stay right by my side until graduation starts, at which time you will take your seat and behave yourself. If you do not, you will be PARTIALLY EXPELLED from school for the rest of the year. And since the rest of the school year consists of just one event, your fifth-grade class party, being PARTIALLY EXPELLED will consist of coming to the party and sitting by yourself doing absolutely nothing while everyone else has fun. Is that clear?”

  Georgie’s eyebrows stopped waggling for a moment, and he nodded.

  “And you, Mr. Mack … As accomplice to this mischief, you will stay with me and Mr. Sinkoff at all times and make certain that he does exactly as I said. And if he misbehaves, you, Mr. Mack, will also be PARTIALLY EXPELLED.”

  I nodded seriously and asked, “May I go to the bathroom?”

  Mrs. Crespo nodded. “You have two minutes.”

  Hands still in my pockets, I walked to the end of the hall and turned into the corridor where the Boys room is. Once out of their sight, I sprinted, arms flying, a mouse in each hand. I shot right past the bathroom and was out the side door in less than ten seconds. I ran to the grassy field and carefully placed the two mice on the ground. “Look out for snakes,” I warned them, then sprinted back into school.

  With graduation almost ready to start, Mrs. Crespo was super busy, and we had to stay right next to her. First she tracked down the school custodian and told him about the mice in Georgie’s locker. Then she started organizing the graduation ceremony, making Georgie walk on her right side and me on her left so we couldn’t even whisper to each other. It was really embarrassing when Goon saw Mrs. Crespo holding our hands like kindergartners. But the worst thing was that I was going to have to give my sister 32 points.

  These points are really important to me. I’ve mentioned the Point Battle before. It’s my secret way of keeping track of the war between me and my sister. She knows nothing about it. Neither does anyone else. I started it at the beginning of fourth grade, even though Goon had been mean to me for years before that. When fifth grade started, I was behind by 97 points. But by paying attention and really working at winning, I was now down by only 23 points. Remember I said that the score was 615 to 592? Giving her 32 more points for the Mouse Plot disaster would be really terrible, and I’d have to award her that many if she found out that I’d been punished.

  Here’s how the Point Battle is scored:

  If one of us insults the other—

  When we’re alone: 1 point

  When other people can hear: 2 points

  Points are doubled for a REALLY excellent insult.

  If one of us causes the other to do something embarrassing—

  When we’re alone: 2 points

  When other people are around: 4 points

  Points are doubled for a REALLY excellent embarrassment.

  If one of us gets punished—

  By parents: 4 points

  By school: 8 points

  By police: You lose—GAME OVER

  Points are doubled when …

  it’s a REALLY BIG punishment.

  you’re caught lying.

  the other kid tattles.

  the other kid is actually at fault but gets away unpunished.

  Sometimes figuring out the points can be very complicated.

  Try this one. What if I smash Goon with a really excellent insult when no one is around, and she gets so mad that she throws a book at me and breaks a window, and then when Mom finds out, Goon claims that I broke the glass, and Mom believes her and punishes me?

  That would be 1 point for me for the insult, doubled to 2 because of excellence, 4 for Goon because I got punished, doubled to 8 because she tattled, and doubled again to 16 because it was really her fault. Total: 14 points for Goon.

  No one gets any points if the other kid doesn’t know that anything happened.

  So, because holding Mrs. Crespo’s hand was really embarrassing, Goon was certainly going to get 8 points. That was bad enough. But if she found out I was actually being punished by being kept out of the fifth-grade party, I would have to add 8 more, making 16. And because she was the one who ratted on our Mouse Plot, I’d have to double it to 32 points.

  (I think “ratted on our Mouse Plot” is funny. If you know any other excellent rodent jokes, please go to my website and tell me. I’m building a collection of them, and maybe I can add yours.)

  Since I’m the only one who decides what points to give, I could, if I wanted to, give myself points all the time. Goon looked at me weird: 3 points. Goon was mean to me: 9 points. Goon whatever: 88 points! But why would I bother to keep track of the Point Battle score if I could win whenever I wanted? I keep a fair and accurate score. I’m very serious about it.

  My goal is to be ahead of Goon when she finally stops picking on me. I don’t know when that will be … if ever. So the Point Battle could go on forever. No matter how long it lasts, I intend to win.

  The graduation ceremony finally started. When we marched into the room, I could see Gumpy and Meemo sitting with my parents and Granpa. Mom, Gumpy, and Meemo were smiling. Dad and Granpa were giving me the squinty-evil-eye. I was too miserable to squinty-evil-eye back.

  Mrs. Crespo made Georgie and me change from our assigned seats and sit right in the very first row where she could keep an eye on us. “If you behave,” she said, “I will not mention this to your parents.”

  The class and everyone else recited the Pledge of Allegiance. Georgie did not cross his eyes.

  Boring.

  We sang “This Land Is Your Land.” Georgie did not hold his breath and did not turn bright red.

  Boring.

  Mrs. Crespo gave her speech. Georgie did not pretend to throw up on Lana Shen, who because we had changed seats wasn’t sitting anywhere near us. But even if she had been next to Georgie … no way.

  Boring.

  We listened to Francine Binki recite her poem. Georgie did not slide slowly out of his chair.

  Boring.

  We got our diplomas. And finally, when Alex Welch walked past, grinning at us and humming “Three Blind Mice,” Georgie did not trip him. He really wanted to. I saw his leg start to move. But he stopped himself.

  Boring.

  It was almost noon. All I could think about was our fifth-grade party. The grassy field behind the school was going to be converted into a huge water park with sprinklers, Slip ’N Slides, water balloon games, and all kinds of desserts. We were supposed to go home, have lunch, then change into our swimsuits and come back to school at three o’clock.

  Georgie, his face super mad, whispered to me, “If Mrs. Crespo doesn’t let us have fun at the party, this is going to be the worst day of my life.”

  I nodded, looking at Mrs. Crespo to make sure she hadn’t seen Georgie whispering.

  “And it’s all your sister’s fault.” His angry voice got a little bit louder.

  Mrs. Crespo, who was at the microphone making a final announcement about the party, turned toward us. I coughed very loudly, masking Georgie’s final comment.

  “We abso … (COUGH-COUGH-COUGH) … revenge.”

  Finally it was over, and my parents and grandparents swarmed over me with hugs and kisses.

  “A buck for each grade,” Gumpy said as he slipped a five-dollar bill into my pocket.


  I mumbled a thank-you.

  “Why were you in the front row out of alphabetical order?” Dad asked.

  Mrs. Crespo overheard him.

  “Hello, Caldwell,” she said with a big grin. That’s my dad’s real name, but almost everyone calls him Cal. He told me that when he was in Mrs. Crespo’s fourth-grade class, everyone called him Dweller, which I think is a very cool nickname. When I was in fourth grade, I called my father Dweller instead of Dad for almost the whole year. He kind of liked it, but after a while I quit. I guess I liked having a Dad better than a Dweller.

  “Ronald and George were quite cooperative just before the ceremony,” she said, patting me on the head, “so I rewarded them with a front-row seat.” She looked right at me and Georgie. “I know you’re going to have fun at the party.” Then—I swear this is true—she gave my father a squinty-evil-eye, and he gave one back!

  Just then Goon walked by with Kevin Welch. “Your teacher has asked us to be in charge of games at your party,” she said with a smirky look. Normally the thought that Goon was going to be at my party would have really made me mad. But not this time. I grinned at her. My boring graduation was over. Mrs. Crespo, the used-to-be-youngest, squinty-evil-eyed-funniest, maybe-still-shortest, definitely-not-strictest principal, had not PARTIALLY EXPELLED us. Therefore, Goon was getting only 8 points instead of 32.

  The score was now 623 to 592.

  The Most Bloodthirsty Vampire in Massachusetts

  “How—howdy-how—howdy-how-how did we NOT get punished?” Georgie yelled to me as we biked toward home.

  “Me neither!” I shouted.

  “Me neither” may sound like a goofy answer, but it’s really not. Because if Georgie knew the answer, he wouldn’t have asked the question, and since I didn’t know the answer either, saying “Me neither” was actually a good shortcut.

  Georgie and I have a lot of shortcuts. It’s one of the things I like about having a best friend.

  “Race you home!” I yelled. I waited for him to get even with me, then began pedaling full blast. You might think that Georgie, who is bigger and stronger than I am, could ride faster. Well, he can’t. When he pedals fast, his weight shifts from side to side, and his handlebars wobble, so he loses speed. But I am fast and steady.