Cheesie Mack Is Running like Crazy! Page 5

  When my near-the-front group passed Coach T the first time (lap #1), Glenn was still hanging with me. I was impressed. All through elementary school he’d been the littlest kid in class and always nonathletic, but over the summer he’d begun getting some kind of hormone shots that helped him grow a couple of inches and made him way stronger. (Remember his being like a monkey on the rope climb?)

  By the time I passed Coach T again (lap #2 … we’d done a half mile), Eddie’s lead had shrunk to ten feet, and only five kids were in the front pack. Glenn had dropped back into the middle group. I was breathing hard, but I was okay.

  A few seconds later the front group caught up with the slowest guys in our class. They were now walking, which Coach T had said you weren’t supposed to do, but I guess they were either too tired or, as Granpa would say, “dead-flat lazy.” I, on the other hand, was really into the run. I began focusing on changing my breathing from hard panting to breathing long and slowly. I passed about a dozen guys.

  Halfway through the third lap, Eddie and the rest of us in the lead had settled into a regular pace. My breathing was now strong and steady, but I had never run a mile before. Could I run that far without stopping?

  By the time we passed Coach T a third time, all my outside thoughts had disappeared. It was kind of like I had gotten into a groove. I wasn’t tired or out of breath or hurting. I was unaware of anything other than blue sky and cool air and the feel of my shoes on the track. My running seemed effortless. I felt like I could go forever. (My dad later told me it’s called “being in the zone.”)

  Eddie was still a couple of strides ahead of me. It was just us two. The rest of the PE class was now spread out around the oval track. Eddie and I were passing lots of other boys.

  With about a half lap to go, Eddie began to speed up. Until then, I hadn’t been thinking about beating him. I had just been running. Nothing more than that.

  And then I lapped Georgie. He shouted, “Go, Cheesie! Punch it!”

  I punched it!

  I came out of the zone and was suddenly aware. Up until then my ears had been mostly closed to outside sounds. Now I heard everything. Each breath was an explosion. Each footstep was a thud. And the voices of the other boys were a cacophony (ka-KAW-phony … my mom gave me that word … it means crazy, mixed-up noise) of cheers and shouts.

  Step by step I gained on Eddie until only a few feet separated us. He looked over his shoulder. About fifty yards ahead I could see Coach T at the finish line. He had his hand raised, a stopwatch poised.

  “Come on, boys!” he shouted.

  I have a perfect memory of the last twenty yards of the run. There are no photos to prove this, but I know during those last few moments my face was scrunched into a grimace of determination. I caught up to Eddie, and for the next several strides we matched leg to leg, our arms pumping up and down in unison. As we crossed the finish line, Coach T brought his hand down and clicked the stopwatch off.

  Eddie and I staggered a little ways down the track, then sort of stumbled onto the infield and collapsed on the grass, trying to catch our breath.

  “Good race,” I panted in Eddie’s general direction.

  “Yeah,” he panted back. “Who won?”

  I opened my eyes. Coach T was standing over us, shaking his stopwatch in our faces. “I’d need a photo-finish camera to figure that out. Six minutes and nine seconds. Darn good time, boys. Really darn good time for this early in the year. Both of you are going to be on the cross-country team. I won’t take no for an answer.” He walked back toward the track, muttering, “Wow! Six minutes and nine seconds. Wow.”

  I rolled closer to Eddie. “I didn’t know I could run that far or that fast.”

  “Me neither,” he replied, his breathing still rasping out.

  I lay there, feeling my heart pounding hard. I felt terrific. “Hey, Eddie, I got some news. I’m running against you for class president.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he said, turning on his side to face me. “Don’t get your hopes up. That won’t be like this race. You don’t stand a chance.”

  Sinkoff for President!

  That afternoon Georgie and I had some yard work to do at Ms. Prott’s house (remember her and the Haunted Toad from my first book?), so we rode our bikes there. We raked up piles of leaves, had some juice and cookies at a table in her backyard, and listened to her tell a really terrific story about being an Army nurse in India during World War II. (It’s on my website.)

  As we rode our bikes home, I told Georgie who else was running for president.

  “I know Diana Mooney,” he said. “She’s in my math class. She went to Goose Cove last year.”

  I looked over at him. He already knew what I was going to ask.

  “She’s really popular,” Georgie said.

  We pulled up at the Main Street stoplight.

  “And a huge chatterbox,” he continued, making a talking-mouth hand motion. “She’ll get lots of votes, especially from kids who went to Goose Cove.”

  I shook my head. “This is bad, Georgie. Most kids are going to vote for the candidate who went to their school. Eddie went to Bass Rock. That leaves me and Lana with Rocky Neck. We’re going to hurt each other’s chances by splitting those votes.”

  The light changed. We rode across the street in silence. On the opposite side, Georgie stopped short and grabbed my arm.

  “There’s only one way you can win this election. You have to convince Lana not to run.”

  “How am I going to do that?”

  “I’ll show you. Follow me!”

  He took off, but in the wrong direction. “Where’re you going?” I yelled, pedaling after him. “Georgie?”

  Then it hit me!

  “GEORGIE!” I screamed.

  He stopped and looked back at me.

  “Come on!” Georgie shouted.

  “No way! I am not going to Lana’s house.”

  He stood astride his bike for a few moments, then rode slowly back to me.

  “Do you want to be president or not?” he asked.

  “I’ll talk to her tomorrow. At school.”

  “Yeah?” Georgie said. “With all her friends around? ‘Oh, look, everybody. Cheesie’s talking to Lana. He likes Lana!’ That’s what they’ll say. This way’s private. We drop in and ask her to quit. Simple. Clean. In and out.”

  I stared at him for a moment and made a face. “I don’t even know where she lives. How do you know?”

  “Duh. Birthday party last year?” He began pedaling again. Reluctantly, I followed.

  I recognized Lana’s house when we turned onto her block. Mrs. Shen was in the driveway, lifting bags of groceries out of her car.

  “Is Lana home?” Georgie asked as we laid our bikes down on the lawn.

  “She’s inside,” Mrs. Shen replied, smiling broadly.

  Now I remembered Lana’s party. It was all about hats. Sounds weird and maybe boring, huh? But no. It was really fun. Lana and her mom had bought a whole bunch of hats at Goodwill and Salvation Army, and everyone got to choose one (there were lots of different styles, way more than just baseball caps). Then we decorated them with tons of arts and crafts stuff. When we were done, we named our creations, put them on, and Mr. Shen judged them and gave out awards.

  Mine was a white sailor’s hat with globs of different-colored slime and goo hanging off it. I called it Sea Sickness. Mr. Shen had just come home from his job at the post office and looked like a very official judge because he was still wearing his uniform. He awarded me a blue ribbon for Most Disgusting.

  We helped Mrs. Shen carry her groceries.

  “Lana,” she called out as we entered the house. “You have company.”

  Lana was in the kitchen with Oddny. Oh, darn, I thought. I didn’t want witnesses.

  “We’re baking muffins. Want some?” Lana said brightly, sliding a pan into the oven.

  “Sure/no,” Georgie and I said simultaneously.

  For the next fifteen minutes we sat in the kitchen. Lana a
nd Oddny chattered about school and friends and everything else. Georgie kind of participated. I kept quiet. It was weird. Lana never once asked why we were there. It was as if we always dropped by unannounced.

  Finally the delicious baking smell told us the muffins were ready. There were twelve. We ate them piping hot with cold milk. Georgie was picking up his fourth when I spoke.

  “Lana, remember when I went to the office today?”

  She nodded.

  “It was because, just like you, I’m running for class president.”

  “Oh,” she said softly.

  “I’m his campaign manager,” Georgie said between muffin bites.

  Then I told Lana how Diana Mooney and Eddie Chapple would probably grab most of the Goose Cove and Bass Rock ballots.

  “And that’s the problem. Both of us can’t run. We’ll just split the Rocky Neck votes and lose. So …”

  I paused to take a gulp of milk. I knew what I was planning to say next, but while I was talking, I was looking at her … and she seemed sort of sad … and something happened as my words came out.

  “I’m not going to run for class president.”

  A piece of muffin dropped from Georgie’s mouth.

  “If only one of us is going to run, you should do it,” I continued.

  For the next few moments each of us kind of just looked at the others. Lana and Oddny didn’t know what to say. Georgie was completely confused. And I had no idea why I had done that.

  It was really awkward.

  (Awkward is a really awkward word. Look at the letters. Two w’s with a k in the middle. Weird. Plus an auk is a seabird. If you could teach it to speak, I bet its speech would be awkward. It’s a joke, get it? Auk word.)

  Finally Lana broke the awkward silence. “No, Cheesie. You’d have a much better chance to win. I won’t run.”

  “That’s crazy,” I blurted, sitting up straight. “You’ve got a great personality. Kids will vote for you. And you’d make a way better president than me. You know how to do things.”

  “That’s not true,” she countered. “And everyone at Rocky Neck liked you. More than me, I think. You should run.”

  “No, you should run.”

  “You should,” she said, pointing a finger at me.

  “No, you!” I replied louder.

  “No, you!” Lana yelled.

  And then all four of us laughed. Muffin crumbs fell out of Georgie’s mouth.

  “I’ve got the answer,” Oddny said suddenly, jumping up and waving her arms. “Neither one of you will run for class president. How about we all work together and elect Georgie?”

  Georgie’s muffin-mouth fell open. I looked at Lana. She stared at me. Then we both grinned.

  “Sinkoff for president!” I yelled.

  The Bus Ride of Paul Revere

  My decision not to run for class president was huge news in my house at dinner. I switched around what Mom, Dad, Granpa, Goon, and Deeb said. Can you guess who said what? Turn the page to see the answers.*

  1. “OMG! That’s the absolute best news I’ve ever heard.”

  2. “It would’ve been a good experience for you, but if you’re sure you’ve thought this through …”

  3. Gave me a squinty-evil-eye, but when I didn’t smile, whispered, “Georgie’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

  4. “Throw me a tennis ball.” (translated)

  5. “Big mistake! I know how these things work. You were a shoo-in.”

  The next morning, as we had planned the night before, Lana and Oddny were waiting at the RLS bike rack when Georgie and I pedaled in. The entire sixth grade was in the parking lot, boarding buses for our field trip.

  “You guys run to the office and get Georgie’s registration form!” Oddny shouted, dashing for the bus our homeroom was boarding. “I’ll save us seats!”

  Lana, Georgie, and I sprinted past teachers who were herding students onto the buses, and then kind of ignored the no-running-in-the-hall rule. We slammed into the office, almost crashing into the counter.

  “Election registration is closed,” Mrs. Collins told us when we asked for the form. “The deadline was yesterday.”

  Georgie looked crestfallen. (Which means sad and despairing. I guess it’s because when a bird gets depressed, the crest feathers on the top of its head fall down.)

  It’s amazing how fast your brain can work in an emergency. One instant later I said, “Sure. No problem. It’s closed to adding candidates, right?”

  Mrs. Collins nodded. Just then Mr. Stotts came out of his office. “What’s up, kids?”

  “It’s the sixth-grade elections,” I explained. “We’d like a registration form for Georgie. Even though registration officially closed yesterday, we’re not really adding anyone. We’re subtracting. Yesterday there were four candidates for president. Lana’s out. I’m out. Georgie’s in. So now there’ll only be three.”

  Mr. Stotts gave us a long, hard stare. “I see. The two of you are forming a coalition in support of a Sinkoff candidacy, huh?”

  Lana nodded. I had no idea what a coalition was, but I nodded anyway. (I looked it up later. Pronounced “koh-ah-LIH-shun,” it means an alliance, like Lana and I teaming up for Georgie.)

  “Have you ever run for office before, Georgie?” Mr. Stotts asked.

  Georgie shook his head.

  “Well, you are now. I like this. Put him on the ballot, Francine.”

  We ignored the no-running rule even faster on the way back to the parking lot. Lana is really speedy. She and I reached Mrs. Wikowitz, who was standing impatiently beside our bus door, at almost the exact same time. (I won by a little.) Lana clambered up the steps with me right behind.

  Georgie got on last and yelled to everyone on the bus, “Attention, everyone! My name is Georgie Sinkoff, and I’m running for class president.”

  Lots of kids cheered. Alex Welch, who was sitting with a bunch of kids from room 111, cheered like Georgie was his bestest best friend. I looked at Eddie Chapple. He looked not happy and also confused. He didn’t know Lana and I had dropped out of the race. I bet he was wondering how many kids were going to be running against him.

  Then Georgie raised his arms and hollered, “Vote for Georgie Sinkoff!”

  Someone started yelling “Sinkoff! Sinkoff! Sinkoff!” and lots of others, me included, joined in. Georgie was grinning as he sat down. I was grinning, too, until I noticed which seats Oddny had saved. She and Georgie were sitting together. The only empty seat was next to Lana.

  One second after I plopped myself down, Alex Welch leaned over the seat back and whispered VERY LOUDLY, “Smoochy smoochy.”

  It was a one-hour ride to Minute Man National Historical Park.

  I don’t remember much of the bus trip because I fell asleep.

  Minute Man National Historical Park is in Lincoln, Massachusetts, which is near Lexington and Concord. The park is all about the Revolutionary War, which, as you probably learned in school, was filled with stuff like the Declaration of Independence, the Boston Tea Party, lots of battles, and George Washington crossing the Delaware River while standing up in a rowboat (pretty risky, IMO). But to me, one of the most interesting things about the Revolutionary War is Paul Revere’s ride.

  During our bus trip, Mrs. Wikowitz read us a famous poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow called “Paul Revere’s Ride.” (Okay, I didn’t really fall asleep on the bus. I was just pretending to be asleep so I wouldn’t have to listen to Lana chattering about nothing and something and everything else.)

  Lots of kids have heard Longfellow’s poem. Here’s how it begins:

  Listen, my children, and you shall hear

  Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,

  It has the famous line, “One, if by land, and two, if by sea,” and goes on to tell how Paul Revere warned the American colonists “the British are coming!” and how the Revolutionary War began with what later became known as “the shot heard round the world.”

  That phrase is from another poem Mrs. Wik
owitz read called “Concord Hymn” by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

  So you might think, Okay, you listened to some poems. So what?

  Well, here’s what.

  Mrs. Wikowitz is a different kind of teacher. She doesn’t just read a bunch of poems and tell us history and stuff. She shows us how we have to use our brains to figure things out instead of just believing everything we hear.

  For example, despite what Longfellow’s poem says, Paul Revere was not the only rider who alerted the colonists. There were two other guys hardly anyone has heard of, William Dawes and Samuel Prescott. Right now I’m going to make them famous with my own poem!

  Another rider was William Dawes.

  He got left out just because.

  And if Samuel Prescott had a rhymable name,

  He’d be the one with all the fame.

  —CHEESIE MACKSWORTH SHORTFELLOW

  When we got to Minute Man National Historical Park, we discovered that many of the park rangers were dressed as Colonial militiamen, British Redcoats, and women in old-fashioned skirts. While we watched, they acted out battles and showed us how the Revolutionary War got started right there. Today history books call it the Battle of Lexington and Concord, but back then it was called the Lexington Alarm.

  (Which National Parks have you been to? Go to my website and tell me.)

  One of the militiamen let me hold a Revolutionary War musket. It was heavy! Then one of the Redcoats gave us a musket-firing demonstration. It was loud! And there was lots of smoke.

  I would’ve had a terrific time, except Alex kept saying “smoochy smoochy” whenever Lana got near me. He wouldn’t stop no matter what I said. It was so annoying that once our picnic lunch was over, I accidentally (if you know what I mean) got separated from my group.

  When my homeroom walked toward the North Bridge where “the shot heard round the world” was actually fired in 1775, I was sort of accidentally out of sight behind a bunch of trees doing some very close scientific examination of some really interesting orange-and-black toadstools. When I looked around, my class and all the other visitors had disappeared. In fact, the only people I could see were dressed in eighteenth-century clothes.