Cheesie Mack Is Running like Crazy! Read online

  One of the dressed-up women saw me standing alone. “Young soldier, are ye separated from thy brigade? Where be thy commanding officer?”

  “I know not,” I said, imitating her style of talking. “I must locate the rest of my militia.” I pointed toward the North Bridge and trotted away. A minute later I was on the Battle Road Trail. The only soldiers I saw were dressed in red.

  “There he is!” a familiar voice yelled. Several Redcoats spun around.

  One of my own company had betrayed me.

  The Shout Heard Round the World

  I, Chester MacRonald, ducked behind a tree.

  How had this happened? Only a few minutes before I had been with the rest of the Gloucester militia, preparing to battle the Redcoats. And now I was alone in the silent, sunlit woods, without a clear thought as to which way be safety and which way be capture … or worse.

  I had been roused to action the night before, many hours after I had blown out my candle. From deep sleep I was awakened by approaching hoofbeats. Who would be riding so hard and fast this late at night?

  I leaped to the window just as a man I knew not galloped past, his horse’s breath puffing white mist in the moonlight.

  “The British are coming! The British are coming!” he yelled for all to hear.

  I donned boots and coat, grabbed my musket, powder horn, and leaden balls, and ran out into the night, heading for Robert Louis Stevenson’s farm, where our militia had been told to assemble.

  And now, in the cool April morn, I had become separated from my compatriots. I cursed myself for stopping to talk with Elaine Shannon, the Post Road rider’s daughter. That conversation had delayed me, and now, the Lexington Alarm in full fight, I was surrounded by Redcoats.

  “There he is!” a familiar voice shouted.

  The Redcoats spun around, muskets raised. I would be made prisoner before firing even a single shot for my country.

  One of my own company had betrayed me.

  *

  In a place like Minute Man National Historical Park, with all the monuments and old buildings and costumes, it’s easy to imagine yourself back in time. So I wrote the paragraphs above to put you in the mood.

  I showed this chapter to Mrs. Wikowitz, and she told me it is an example of historical fiction, which in one way is harder to write than realistic fiction because you have to get all the historical facts right. For example, I started to use the word bullets, but then learned that no one called them that in 1775.

  And I know I’m too young to have been a real militiaman, so I pictured Chester MacRonald as being about seventeen (but I read there were boys my age who served as drummers and messengers). I made the character names more realistic by changing Lana Shen to Elaine Shannon (there were no Chinese Americans in New England in 1775) and turning her father (who’s a mailman) into a Post Road rider, the mailman of the eighteenth century.

  I bet, like me, you’ve often wondered what it would be like to go back in time. I don’t think I would actually want to be in Lexington or Concord with musket balls flying past my head, but it would be cool to have a time machine.

  *Answers: 1. Goon 2. Mom 3. Dad 4. Deeb 5. Granpa

  Georgie’s Great Idea

  The traitor who ratted me out to Mrs. Wikowitz was (of course) Alex Welch. Georgie told me how it happened:

  1. After my homeroom group watched a short video in the visitor center, Mrs. Wikowitz did a roll-call check and discovered I was gone.

  2. Georgie tried to cover for me by suggesting that maybe I was in the bathroom, and went to check.

  3. But actually he ducked outside to look for me.

  4. Alex followed Georgie, saw me, and tattled.

  5. I was busted, which was bad because …

  6. My punishment was I had to sit up front right next to Mrs. Wikowitz on the bus ride home, but it turned out not to be so bad because …

  7. I didn’t have to sit next to Lana and have Alex do his smoochy routine.

  On the bus trip, most kids played games on their phones or talked with friends. I would’ve played a game on my phone, but I was sitting with Mrs. Wikowitz. She handed me her copy of Treasure Island, so by the time we got back to Gloucester, I was way ahead on that assignment. (I have always wondered why you can get carsick reading in a car, but no one gets “bussick” reading on a bus. If you have a theory, please go to my website and tell me.)

  I guess Georgie’s announcing he was running for class president had gotten Eddie thinking about his own campaign because while we were on the field trip he came up with a creative idea. He bought a minuteman picture in the gift shop, taped a petition to it, and passed it around the bus.

  It read: I’m a patriot. I’m going to vote for Eddie Chapple for RLS sixth-grade class president!

  Eddie’s petition was actually wrong. We’re the RLS Pirates, not the Patriots. But it worked anyway. When the petition got to the front row, I saw that sixteen kids had signed it. I didn’t know any of them very well. None had gone to Rocky Neck Elementary School.

  That got me thinking about Georgie’s campaign. For him to win, he’d have to make himself known to all the sixth graders. We’d need posters and slogans and stuff. And on election day, when the candidates for each office gave speeches to the whole sixth grade, he’d have to do something really special.

  As we unloaded from the buses in the school parking lot, I told Georgie, “We’ve gotta write you a super campaign speech. You know, for the assembly.”

  “No problem,” he replied. “I’ve got it totally under control. I’m not going to give a speech.”

  “You have to.”

  “Nope. I—me, Georgie—don’t,” he said, grinning widely. “The Great Georgio is going to give my speech.”

  “THE GREAT GEORGIO!” I screeched. It was so smart, I had to punch him in the arm. The Great Georgio is the name Georgie uses when he does his magic act. He dresses up in an excellent costume, and he’s really, really good.

  I guess I’d screeched too loudly, because a group of kids, including Eddie Chapple, looked over at us. I immediately shushed myself and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. That is posilutely absitively one of your best Great Ideas.”

  We were almost at the bicycle rack when I saw Lana waving at me like she always does, except this time she seemed anxious or excited about something.

  She and Oddny came running over. “Check out what you’re up against, Georgie,” Lana said, pointing.

  One bus away, a blond girl was moving through a gang of kids, saying hi to everyone.

  “That’s Diana Mooney,” Lana said.

  Studying Diana, I could tell right away that she was one of those bouncy girls who are full of energy all the time and always in a good mood. She got to us while Georgie and I were unlocking our bicycles.

  “Hiya, Lana! Hiya, Oddny.” Then she turned toward me. She had green eyes and braces. “Hi, I’m Diana Mooney. What’s your name?”

  “Cheesie.”

  “Glad t’ meet ya, Cheesie,” Diana said. “Hiya, Georgie. You’re in my math class, right? I hear you’re running for president, too. Well, good luck to both of us.” She shook Georgie’s hand and smiled broadly. “This election is going to be fun!”

  She waved a hand-flappy goodbye and bounced away to chat with more kids.

  “She’s going to win,” Georgie said. “She knows everybody.”

  “Not true,” I said quickly. “She didn’t know me.”

  “She does now,” Georgie shot back.

  “But I’ve already forgotten who she is,” I said. I made a stupid face. “Diana what?”

  “We need a petition like Eddie’s,” Oddny said.

  “Or something to hand out to every sixth grader so they won’t forget Georgie’s name when it’s time to vote,” Lana said.

  “Like what?” Georgie asked.

  I jumped in. “My dad has business cards for his limousine service. He hands them out to everyone. I’ll ask him where he got them.”

  “What we
really need to do,” Oddny suggested, “is come up with ways to make Georgie stand out.”

  “He already stands out,” I joked. “He’s the tallest boy in the sixth grade.”

  “That’s it!” Georgie blurted. “I have another Great Idea! Come on, Cheesie. We gotta get to my house.” He jumped on his bike and started pedaling.

  “Um, goodbye, Lana … Oddny … see you tomorrow,” I said, then hopped on my bike and pedaled super fast to catch up.

  On the way home Georgie told me his Great Idea. When we got to his house, he called his dad at work and got permission to use some of the lumber and tools in his basement workshop. I ran home and convinced Granpa to come over and help us with Mr. Sinkoff’s table saw. I also called my dad and told him Georgie needed business cards.

  “Very smart thinking, Rondo!” Dad said. “I’ll phone my buddy at the copy shop and call you back at Georgie’s.”

  Granpa walked over to Georgie’s with me. In the basement, Granpa set up the table saw, then waggled his hands at us. “You have to count your fingers before you turn this thing on,” he warned. Then, with a lot of buzzing and flying sawdust, he cut the lumber just like we needed. “And then you count them again when you’re done.” He showed us his hands. “Ten. Close enough. I’m going back to watch the Red Sox.”

  Right after Granpa left, Dad called.

  “You can pick up Georgie’s order at the copy shop,” he said. Then he mysteriously added, “But it’s not business cards.”

  We pounded some nails and screwed in some screws, and Georgie’s newest Great Idea was finished! (I’m going to keep what we built secret for a few pages. You’re going to love it!)

  It was almost five o’clock when we hopped on our bikes and rode down to the harbor to pick up Georgie’s mysterious not-business-cards.

  “It’s all paid for,” the copy shop guy said. (Thanks, Dad!)

  Georgie had brought money from last year’s birthday. He put that away and opened the box.

  “Stickers!” he shouted. “This is way better than business cards! Everybody loves stickers!”

  (If you want your own Georgie for President stickers, go to my website.)

  “There must be five hundred in this box,” I said. “We can give one to every sixth grader and have enough left over to do it all again!”

  That night I ate at Georgie’s house. Mr. Sinkoff asked Georgie what he wanted for dinner, and Georgie said, “Breakfast,” so we had waffles and bacon. Then we ate strawberry pancakes sloshed with whipped cream for dessert!

  Because of the field trip we had no homework, so we decided to make campaign posters.

  “I have to feed my dog first,” I said.

  “No problem,” Georgie said. “It’ll take me a while to dig the poster-making junk out of my art closet. I’ll have it all spread out by the time you get back.”

  Georgie has a ton of art stuff. He’s an excellent cartoonist. He wants to be a movie animator when he grows up. Or a Navy SEAL.

  I ran out Georgie’s kitchen door toward my house. The sun was almost down, and the sky was purplish as I pushed through the won’t-close-gate and into the gully that separates our houses. I rock-hopped across the little creek into my backyard.

  My dog—a female springer spaniel named Deeb—heard me coming before I even opened our back door. I expected her to be jumping all four feet off the ground, which is what she does when she’s really hungry, but she just trotted out to me. I rubbed her head and yelled, “Someone feed Deeb already?”

  “Yeah, I did!” Goon shouted back from somewhere inside. “I didn’t know where you were. I thought you forgot.”

  “Thanks, Junie!” I yelled back. “I was just over at Georgie’s. We’re making posters for his campaign.”

  You probably noticed I didn’t call her Goon just then. I guess I was being nice to her because she’d been nice to my dog. But she was wrong. I never forget to feed my dog.

  Since I hadn’t seen Deeb all day, I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a huge hug. When she was a puppy, those hugs always got me a wet face. Dogs like to lick, and puppy-Deeb really liked to lick!

  This is not exactly a book on dog training, but I know something that is really important if you’re a kid with a dog and you don’t exactly love dog slobber.

  Since dogs are natural hunters, they are very observant (excellent sense of smell, good hearing, and pretty good eyesight). So your dog is going to sense everything you do, even if you don’t know you’re doing it. And since your dog is nowhere near as smart as you are, who do you think would be easier to train? You, or your dog?

  You, of course.

  So if you have a face-licking dog (or any other bad-habit dog) and you can’t get her to stop the licking (or any other bad habit), you’re probably giving her some not-so-obvious signals that it’s okay for her to slobber all over you (or whatever). Maybe it’s the look in your eyes … or your posture … or the way you talk.

  You’ve developed a bad habit, and you’ve got to break it.

  My bad habit was, even though I didn’t like Deeb licking my face, something about it made me laugh. And when I laughed, Deeb got excited and thought she was doing something good. As soon as I figured that out, I trained myself not to laugh or smile whenever Deeb licked me (even if she was really cute when she did it), and that’s why I am a dog owner who does not get covered in dog spit.

  You should try it. It really works.

  After I gave Deeb’s head a good, long rub, we wrestled on the grass for a while.

  It’s weird how sometimes you just know someone is watching you. I looked up to find Goon staring at me from inside the back door.

  “What?”

  She opened the screen door. “You’re working on Georgie’s posters?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I figured this might give you and Georgie some good ideas.”

  She was holding out the poster she had made for me, which I had taped inside my bedroom door. Leaving Deeb scratching herself on the grass, I got up and took it from her.

  “Thanks. But stay out of my room.”

  It was dark when I ran back through the won’t-close-gate. Deeb stopped at the gate. She will never leave our yard unless I call her. “Come on, Deeb!” I yelled.

  She chased after me. We ran into Georgie’s house and up to his bedroom.

  “Hello, smelly dog,” Georgie said.

  My dog does smell like a dog. It’s no big deal, I’m used to it. I slapped Goon’s poster against Georgie’s door and pressed the tape down.

  Georgie was impressed. “I hate to say it, but your sister does excellent lettering.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “But we can make posters that are just as good. We’ll copy her design and add some of your cartoony stuff.”

  “Like this?” Georgie asked. He grabbed a new piece of poster board and a black marker. He printed “Georgie” on the poster, but switched to a red marker for the letter o and the circle part of the second g.

  I watched him closely. His tongue sticks out of his mouth when he draws. You can actually tell which way his hand is moving by looking at where his tongue points.

  “These two letters will be the lenses of my glasses,” Georgie said. “My glasses are kind of like my trademark, and this’ll make the posters really special.”

  I watched as he added the glasses parts that went back to his ears.

  “Very cool,” I said.

  “Yep,” Georgie responded.

  Over the next hour we made ten posters. We had one or two for every hallway in the school. I did all the lettering except for the red glasses.

  “You know what’s weird?” I asked when I had finished.

  “What?” Georgie replied, barely looking up.

  “I’m sure Goon is happy I’m no longer running. But doesn’t it seem strange that she would want to help you?”

  “Probably she likes me more than you,” he mumbled.

  I stared at the poster she had made for me. “She likes any
one more than she likes me.”

  “Forget about her,” Georgie said, putting the cap back on his marker. “Tomorrow we are bringing my Great Idea to school!”

  Standing Tall for Sinkoff

  I got up early the next morning, dressed super fast, and ran over to Georgie’s. Just as I zoomed in their kitchen door (I never have to knock, it’s a best-friend thing), I heard Mr. Sinkoff asking Georgie what he wanted to eat, and I guess because we’d eaten breakfast the night before, Georgie said, “Dinner.” Mr. Sinkoff grinned at us and made spaghetti and meatballs.

  Dee-lish!

  Then Georgie called Oddny. “Remember I said I had a Great Idea for my campaign?” he said over the phone. “Here’s the deal. Call Lana and meet us in the school parking lot fifteen minutes before the bell. Nope. A surprise. You’ll see.”

  “You know her phone number by heart?” I asked.

  “No biggie,” he replied. “Science homework help. Remember?”

  We couldn’t carry the ten rolled-up posters and Georgie’s newest Great Idea on our bikes, so Mr. Sinkoff drove us to school. The girls were waiting in the parking lot as requested, so we unloaded, and while Georgie trained them—(I know! You’re wondering, Trained them to do what? Be patient, I’m getting there!)—I stashed all the posters in my locker, ran to the principal’s office, and:

  1. Told Mr. Stotts that Georgie’s Great Idea was part of our campaign for president.

  2. Showed him the note from Mr. Sinkoff giving us permission to use Georgie’s Great Idea.

  3. Explained that Georgie’s Great Idea wasn’t actually dangerous at all.

  4. Promised we wouldn’t let any other kids try it.

  It took some convincing, but Mr. Stotts finally agreed. I ran back to the parking lot, and all four of us walked back into the school on Georgie’s Great Idea … stilts!

  Our homemade stilts were an immediate sensation!

  “Stand tall for Georgie Sinkoff!” we announced loudly as we clomped down the halls. When a crowd would gather (every twenty feet!), we’d hop down, hand out Georgie’s stickers, and hop back on the stilts again. Every place we went, kids gathered around asking all sorts of questions and begging to try the stilts. But of course we didn’t let them. (Thank you, Mr. Stotts!)