Cheesie Mack Is Not Exactly Famous Page 4

  “Sounds interesting,” he said.

  “Yeah, kinda. But there’s a problem.” I glanced at Georgie. He was nodding. “I need to make a deal with you,” I continued. “I’ll show you the thingie we found, and you can give us whatever advice you have, but we can only tell you most of how and where we found it.”

  “Sounding even more interesting now,” Dad said, sitting up straighter. “I’ll accept your deal on one condition. Those parts of the story you decide to leave out cannot involve … one, actual or potential bodily harm … two, law-breaking activities … or three, meanness or disrespect to others.”

  (You can probably tell where I get my ability to make lists.)

  “One moment,” I said holding up a finger. I turned around and shoved Georgie into the hallway.

  “What do you think?” I asked him.

  “Nothing we did was mean or disrespectful,” Georgie said soft enough so Dad wouldn’t hear. “And no way I’d hurt myself climbing on that backhoe.”

  “Excavator,” I said.

  “Whatev—” Georgie said.

  I cut him off. “It’s what he said about law-breaking activities that’s the problem.”

  Just then Goon came out of her bedroom, gave us a hard stare, and went into the bathroom.

  “I don’t think we actually broke any laws,” Georgie whispered.

  “How about trespassing?” I countered.

  “I didn’t see any Keep Out signs.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I sort of agreed. “But everybody knows that place was off-limits or private property or something.”

  “It’s school property,” Georgie said with a bit of a smile. “And we’re middle school students. That’s gotta be good for something.”

  I stood there thinking. Georgie just stared at me. Goon came out of the bathroom holding a hairbrush. She stopped for a moment, stuck out her tongue, and then went into her bedroom. Sometimes it’s hard to believe she’s a teenager.

  “Okay,” I said. “Maybe you’re sort of right. We weren’t supposed to be in the construction site, but maybe there’s no actual law against it. It’s not like we were sneaking into a bank vault or blowing up a secret laboratory.”

  “Right!” Georgie said a bit too loudly. Then, softly, “It’s like the difference between a little fib … which is maybe what we did … and a big huge lie.”

  I wrinkled my forehead and gave a half nod. I wasn’t completely sure our analysis was correct. But we needed advice, so we went back into my dad’s bedroom and showed him the thingie.

  “I found it in some kind of a trench that was being dug somewhere,” I told him as he examined it.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “That’s the part I can’t tell you,” I replied. My stomach felt kind of gurgly. I think I was getting a little bit nervous.

  “You boys are sort of like prospectors who found a large gold nugget that might lead to a very big bonanza … and you don’t want to give away the location, huh?”

  Georgie and I were nodding when Mom asked, “What’s this about a bonanza? What location?” She had been in her bathroom and had obviously over-heard the end of our conversation.

  “Look at this, Edie.” Dad handed Mom the thingie. “What do you think this doohickey is?”

  “It’s definitely not a doohickey,” I said, trying to control the conversation. I know my mother. I absolutely knew what was coming next.

  “Where’d you find it?” she asked.

  Yep. I knew it. I turned to Dad with a please-help-me look on my face.

  He gave Mom a smiley look. “The boys and I made a deal. Kind of an ask-me-no-questions—”

  “Nope,” Mom said sternly.

  “—and-I’ll-tell-you-no-lies kind of a deal,” Dad continued.

  “I did not agree to any such thing,” Mom said. “Where did you find it?”

  “Dad?” I pleaded.

  Goon now butted in. How she snuck up behind me, I don’t know.

  “I saw him come in with whatever that thingamajig is. I bet he stole it.” There was an evil sort of happiness in her voice.

  Dad swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his fake foot. Clearly this conversation was not over.

  “Georgie?” Mom looked straight at him.

  Georgie’s eyebrows started waggling up and down, which is a sure sign he was getting anxious. “We, um, me and Cheesie, I uh—”

  And then, out of nowhere, Granpa was at the door. I guess the baseball game was over or boring or something.

  “Sounds to me like the lad is taking the Fifth Amendment,” Granpa said.

  Georgie looked at Granpa and nodded rapidly. He knew what that meant because we just learned about the Fifth Amendment in Mrs. Wikowitz’s class. It is part of the Bill of Rights to the U.S. Constitution, and it says, “No person … shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself.”

  “You don’t have to answer the question, Georgie,” Granpa announced. “And it appears, from what I heard coming up the stairs—and none of you were very quiet—that I need to call the Mack Supreme Court into immediate session.”

  “Yes!” I almost shouted.

  “Okay with me,” Mom said. “I’ll be the prosecutor.” She sat down on the bed next to Dad.

  “Good idea, Pop,” my father said, strapping on his foot. “I’ll be the defense attorney.”

  Goon shoved her way past me and sat next to Mom on the bed. “I get to be the executioner.”

  If you read my earlier books, you know we have lots of Mack Family Traditions. The Mack Supreme Court is one of them. (Also our squinty-evil-eye and musical belching. I have a very strange family.)

  “Start us off, Cheesie,” Granpa told me in a loud whisper.

  I stood up straight and announced in a very official voice, “Hear ye! Hear ye! The Mack Supreme Court is now in session. Honorable Chief Justice Melvyn Bud Mack presiding.”

  Georgie looked confused, which was pretty understandable because he had never been at a Mack Supreme Court before.

  “The prosecution may now begin,” Granpa said, pointing to Mom.

  My mother is really smart. She stood, smiled in a sneaky way, and then said, “Your Honor, instead of the Fifth Amendment, I offer the witnesses a challenge. I will ask four questions which they must answer with lies. If they succeed in lying to every question, I will ask nothing further. If, however, either of them tells the truth even once, they must tell the truth to all my succeeding questions.”

  From his expression, it was obvious Granpa had no idea what Mom was up to. Neither did I.

  “The Mack Supreme Court finds the request interesting,” Granpa said, then turned to Dad. “Is that acceptable to your clients?”

  Dad gave me a questioning look. I thought for a moment, then pulled Georgie next to me and whispered, “All we have to do is answer every question wrong. It’ll be easy. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Georgie whispered back. He still looked a little confused.

  I nodded to Dad.

  “My clients agree to lie,” he said.

  Mom stood, paced around the bedroom as if she were thinking hard, and then spun on one foot and pointed at Georgie so fast he actually jumped.

  “Georgie Sinkoff … how much is two plus two?”

  Georgie’s eyes darted from Mom to me. I could tell he thought it was some kind of trick.

  “Answer the question,” Dad said softly.

  “Umm …” Georgie hesitated. “Umm … five and one-half.”

  “Very good, Mr. Sinkoff,” Mom said.

  Georgie looked at me. We grinned at each other.

  Mom tapped a finger to her lips, looked out the bedroom window, then turned around slowly and asked me in a very accusative voice, “Ronald Mack, where were you last August sixteenth in the afternoon?”

  That was easy. August 16 was my birthday, and it was the last day of summer camp. I looked around the room. Here’s what I saw:

  1. Granpa had a stone-faced expression, lo
oking exactly like a very stern judge.

  2. Mom was pointing a finger at me, looking exactly like a prosecuting attorney quizzing a defendant.

  3. Dad was giving me a squinty-evil-eye, looking exactly like my dad when he tries to make me laugh.

  4. Georgie was smiling a little bit, but I could tell he was nervous, because his eyebrows were still waggling.

  5. Goon was staring straight at me, silently mouthing, Your birthday … your birthday … your birthday.

  I stared right back at my sister. She was trying to hypnotize me into telling the truth, but I saw a way for a Point Battle victory.

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “August sixteenth. That was when my sister fell off the stage at her ballet recital, landed in the orchestra pit, and got her entire head stuck inside a tuba.”

  Goon swung a fist at me, but I am much more agile than she is. She missed, clunked her hand against Mom’s bedpost, and squealed a whiny “Owww!”

  Sort of ducking behind Granpa, I pretended to be offended. “Jump back, Junie! Where’s your sense of humor? It’s supposed to be a lie. Are you upset because maybe it’s actually true? Did you really stick your head inside a tuba?”

  She swung at me again, but Dad grabbed her arm as it flew past him.

  “Cool it, kids!” he said sternly.

  Goon’s face turned red. Four points for me. I increased my lead. 739–694!

  Mom, still acting like the prosecutor, had mostly ignored Goon’s interruption. She turned to Georgie. “Mr. Sinkoff, what event is taking place this coming weekend?”

  Another easy one. Georgie’s father and Ms. D were getting married on Sunday, and we were all invited.

  Georgie smiled. “At midnight on Saturday night, Cheesie and I will turn into werewolves.”

  I laughed out loud.

  Georgie kept going. He was having fun lying. “And then we’ll run through Gloucester howling at the moon and everything.”

  I howled, “Ow-ooooo!”

  Mom nodded, then asked me, “Was that my third question?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Thank you for that surprisingly truthful answer,” she said. “You lose. Now tell me where and how you found this so-called thingie.”

  “Huh?” I asked.

  My mother turned to Granpa. “Would Your Honor please instruct the witness he must tell the truth to all further questions?”

  Then it hit me. “Mom! You tricked me!”

  “I certainly did,” she said with a smile.

  (I think you can figure out what Mom did, but if you don’t know how she tricked me, go to my website. I let Mom put up a page explaining everything.)

  Goon began laughing hysterically. It was a totally fake laugh.

  “Quit it!” I shouted. (I had lost control, and this was going to hurt me in the Point Battle …)

  “Loser!” she yelled, jumping up and down and waving a two-finger L in my face. (… but Goon overdid it.)

  “June!” Dad said sternly. “Out!” (So when Dad sent her to her room …)

  “But—” she said. (… and she argued,)

  “Now!” Dad insisted. (I decided it was a tie. That meant no points. It was still 739–694.)

  Goon stomped away. Moments later I heard her bedroom door almost slam. (Neither of us actually slams doors. In our house there is an instant Mom-enforced penalty for that.)

  Then it was quiet.

  Until Mom gave me a hard look. “The truth, Ronald. Now.”

  I had no choice. I confessed. I told her everything Georgie and I did at the construction site.

  Mom was upset. “You could’ve gotten seriously injured playing around all that big equipment.”

  “But they didn’t,” Dad said.

  “Grounded for a year would be the right punishment!” Goon shouted from her bedroom. (I guess her door wasn’t shut all the way.)

  “Cool it, June,” Dad said loudly and firmly. “Come on, everyone. Let’s keep our eyes on the ball here. I think what Georgie and Cheesie found might be really important.”

  Granpa slapped his hand down on a dresser and announced loudly, “I have heard enough. The Mack Supreme Court has made its decision. These boys must take this whatever-it-is to the Gloucester Museum. The guy who runs the place is Bob Hernandes, one of my fishing buddies. If he thinks it’s important, the crime will be overlooked in the interest of historical discovery. Otherwise, bread and water for a week.”

  He gave me a squinty-evil-eye.

  “Or whatever punishment the prosecutor”—Granpa pointed at Mom—“decides is appropriate.”

  Mom nodded.

  “Okay then,” Granpa continued. “Sentence postponed until tomorrow.”

  (I know that looks like a totally bogus title for a chapter, but keep reading.… )

  The next morning, as Georgie and I came downstairs wearing our school backpacks, Granpa had our breakfasts ready, but he wouldn’t let us sit and eat. He was standing by the door, holding sandwiches, napkins, a couple of juice boxes, and two apples.

  “Big hurry!” he shouted. “Get over here and open up!”

  Like baby birds, we opened our mouths, and one second later we were gripping melted cheese sandwiches with our teeth, our hands were full of apples and juice boxes, and he was rushing us out to his car.

  (You probably have noticed that if you have something tasty that’s halfway in your mouth, but you can’t bite it or chew it, you will definitely drool. In fact, by the time we got our seat belts fastened, and I was finally able to set down my apple and juice box and grab the sandwich, I was drooling down my chin.)

  We were at the Gloucester Museum in less than three minutes. My sandwich was only half-eaten, and I had just taken my first apple bite.

  “Leave it!” Granpa said. “This guy Hernandes is a very busy man.”

  Granpa was really moving! He charged through the museum’s back door with Georgie and me running after him. I straight-armed the door as I sucked the last of my juice box and, still following Granpa, spotted a trash basket and lofted a perfect shot. I watched my empty juice box tumble end over end, heading right for …

  And I crashed into a woman I hadn’t even noticed.

  She dropped the notebook she’d been writing in.

  “Sorry,” I blurted. I quickly retrieved her notebook and handed it back. I actually expected to be yelled at or scolded or something, but the woman smiled.

  “No harm done,” she said softly.

  Now, don’t get all weird on me because of what I’m going to write next, but the people who publish my books tell me I need to describe the characters in my stories, so I am just being honest and not mushy or romantic or any of that gunk, but this woman was beautiful. I’m not going to tell you about her hair or eye color or anything else. Just beautiful. That’s enough.

  “What’re those?” I mumbled, pointing at the rock-looking objects she’d been inspecting on a table.

  She smiled again. “This is a Wampanoag moose-hide scraper. These are Agawam arrowheads.”

  I pointed at a little white one. “Pretty small for an arrowhead,” I said.

  She kept smiling. “It’s called a bird point. Used for—”

  “Hunting birds!” I said, feeling very smart for a second. (But now that I am writing this, I am thinking, DUH, Mr. Obvious!)

  “Cheesie!” Georgie shouted from somewhere.

  I ran down the hall. Georgie and Granpa were just stepping into an office. At a desk, a big gray beard (with a man behind it) was banging away at a computer.

  No lie! That was my first impression.

  The beard belonged to Mr. Hernandes (I could tell because of the nameplate on his desk). It was the biggest, widest beard I had ever seen. He gave Granpa a stern look. “You’re late, Bud.”

  “Your clock is wrong, Bob,” Granpa said. “And you get uglier every time I see you.”

  Mr. Hernandes stood up slowly and gave Granpa a really dirty look. “You’d have to come see me fifty more times before I’d be as ugly
as you.” His beard was so bushy, you could barely see his lips move when he talked.

  They glared at each other like they were total enemies. I was completely confused. I looked at Georgie. His eyes were wide.

  Granpa suddenly smiled broadly and stuck out his hand. “Bob, you batty old buzzard! How the heck are you?”

  Mr. Hernandes grinned from inside his huge beard and shook Granpa’s hand. “I’m as mean and nasty as I ever was. It’s good to see you, Bud.”

  Suddenly I understood. My Granpa is bad-tempered, cantankerous, contrary, crabby, cranky, critical, cross, crotchety, grouchy, grumpy, irritable, ornery, peevish, prickly, quarrelsome, snappish, and vinegary.

  And I guess he has some friends who are just like him.

  (The words I used to describe Granpa are in alphabetical order because I got them out of a thesaurus, which sounds like it’s some kind of dinosaur but is actually a collection of synonyms. It is an excellent online tool when you are writing a report or a story or something.)

  Granpa turned to Georgie and me. “Show him what you got.”

  I pulled the thingie out of my jacket pocket and handed it across the desk. Mr. Hernandes sat back down in his chair and peered at it closely, turning it over and over in his hands. Then he fumbled around in a desk drawer, took out a magnifying glass, and examined it even closer.

  “If you want my opinion …,” Granpa said, breaking the silence.

  “I don’t,” Mr. Hernandes muttered, his eye peering closely through the magnifying glass. “Elizabeth!” he shouted. “Please come in here!”

  The woman I had bumped into appeared in the doorway.

  “Take a look,” Mr. Hernandes said, holding out our thingie and the magnifying glass to the woman. “What do you make of this?”

  She nodded to Granpa and Georgie and smiled at me. “Hello again.”

  I am not good at guessing women’s ages (and my mom told me I should never ask), but I think she was probably in her thirties.

  Mr. Hernandes continued, “This is Professor Elizabeth Solescu. She researches American history and archaeology at Harvard. She’s my daughter.” He looked very proud. Then he told her our names.

  Granpa immediately stood up and actually sort of bowed to Professor Solescu. I didn’t know what to do, so I just smiled. She smiled back and took the thingie and the magnifying glass from her father. He looked at me and Georgie and tugged his beard. “Where’d you find this, boys?”