Cheesie Mack Is Running like Crazy!

by Steve Cotler

  Just before the bell rang for first period, we said See ya later! to a huge crowd of not-just-sixth-graders and stilted through the kids to Mrs. Wikowitz’s classroom. She was standing outside the door, and when all four of us approached clompingly (not a real word, but very descriptive, IMO), I saw what I think was a tiny smile.

  After Core, Lana and I walked up the stairs normally, then stilt-walked along the second-floor corridor to our science class.

  “Stilts!” shouted Mr. Amato when he saw us. “An excellent demonstration of balance, equilibrium, and center of gravity.”

  After a couple of physics lessons using stilts, with me as his helper, Mr. Amato led us outside, where he balanced one of my stilts straight up and down on the palm of his hand. It looked really hard to do, but when I got home, I tried … and did it. Except with a broomstick. A stilt was too heavy.

  The balancing thing is actually pretty easy. I put a description on my website if you want to try it. Just make sure you do it somewhere far from windows and other breakables, because you are sure to crash a few times.

  School got even weirder when Lana and I stilt-walked into fourth-period math. Ms. Hammerbord got all giddy and goofy.

  “Ooh!” she gushed. “I loved stilts when I was a kid. May I try them?”

  “Um …” I hesitated. “Mr. Stotts said nobody else—”

  “He meant no kids,” she said excitedly. “Teachers are exempt from that prohibition.”

  The entire class went dead silent as Ms. Hammerbord climbed onto my stilts. She teetered for a moment, then laughed and walked back and forth in front of the class. She taught the entire period standing on my stilts. We couldn’t take our eyes off her!

  “You should teach on stilts all the time,” I said when she gave the stilts back to me. “Everyone pays attention!”

  We were a big hit everywhere we went. Crowds walked behind us chanting Georgie’s name. Lana figured out how to do a half spin on one stilt without falling. Lots of seventh and eighth graders stopped to chat and watch, including Kevin Welch. He said, “You guys deserve to win. This is the coolest gimmick ever. If I could vote, I’d vote for Georgie twice!”

  I saw Goon approaching with her so-called boyfriend, Drew, so I leaned down and whispered to Kevin. As Goon walked by, he called out to her, “Hey, Junie! You must be very proud Cheesie’s your brother. He and Georgie are the talk of the school.”

  All the kids surrounding us turned to look at Goon. She blushed. Four points for me! The score was 694–685. (Thanks, Kevin!)

  Yesterday I bet there were hundreds of kids who didn’t know Georgie Sinkoff. But after today … probably none! Georgie’s stickers were everywhere! In the history of Robert Louis Stevenson Middle School, I am sure there has never been a campaign for sixth-grade president this terrific.

  Halfway through lunch, however, Mr. Stotts’s voice came over the loudspeaker: “Georgie Sinkoff and the other students with stilts … please come to my office immediately.”

  Kids in the cafeteria cheered, booed, laughed, and hooted.

  “Uh-oh,” Lana said. “Are we in trouble?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Georgie replied. “Follow me!”

  We wooden-legged through the halls toward the school office. Georgie was so fast, by the time the rest of us got there, he was already inside, handing a sticker to the secretary.

  “I’d really appreciate your vote and support, Mrs. Collins,” Georgie said, sounding just like a politician.

  “I will definitely vote for you the next time I am a sixth grader,” she replied, smiling warmly.

  Mr. Stotts directed us into his office. I was surprised to see Eddie Chapple sitting there. He looked very serious.

  “Kids,” Mr. Stotts began, “we’ve got a problem with those stilts.”

  “I kept my promise,” I said quickly. “We didn’t let anyone else … I mean, Ms. Hammerbord said teachers were allowed to try them.”

  Mr. Stotts smiled. “That’s not it. Your campaign slogan is ‘Stand tall for Sinkoff,’ right? Well, the problem is, Eddie here says his campaign slogan is ‘Rock and roll with Eddie,’ and he wants to campaign through school tomorrow on his skateboard.”

  “That seems fair,” Georgie said politely. “I don’t mind.”

  Georgie smiled at Eddie, but Eddie wouldn’t even look at him.

  Mr. Stotts shook his head. “No skateboards in school. That’s the rule. And therefore, from now on, no stilts, either. Leave them here. You can pick them up after school.”

  “But—” I said.

  Mr. Stotts raised a hand. “Nope. Let’s move on now. Enjoy the rest of your lunch.”

  We all walked out into the hallway. Oddny said, “Too bad we had to stop. I was really having fun.”

  I thought Eddie would be happy about shutting us down, but he scowled and said, “Go ahead. Have your fun. You guys may have won this battle, but we’ll see who wins the war after we give our speeches.”

  He walked away kind of stiff-legged and jagged and proud.

  “We did win the battle,” I said after Eddie had gone. “Mr. Stotts may have confiscated our stilts, but the Sinkoff legend has been established. Stand tall for Sinkoff!”

  Georgie grabbed the girls’ hands and held them high. Lana grabbed mine.

  “Stand tall for Sinkoff!” we chanted over and over, walking four abreast down the hall, our arms in the air.

  As we passed by my locker, I suddenly remembered. “The posters! We forgot to put up Georgie’s posters.”

  Lana raced to get some tape. Then Georgie and I went one way, the girls went the other, and before the end of lunch, we had our posters all over school. We even put one in the boys’ PE locker room.

  That’s where we learned about the sabotage.

  As we dressed for sixth-period PE, Glenn said to me and Georgie, “Your presidential campaign posters employ a surprising strategy.”

  “Thanks,” Georgie responded, and went off to the bathroom.

  I looked up at the poster. Surprising? What was so surprising about our posters? We had written Georgie’s name, the office he was running for, and some adjectives describing him. Nothing about any of that was the least bit surprising. But Glenn is really smart. He doesn’t just throw words around.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The acrostic.”

  I had no idea what an acrostic was, and I guess Glenn could see that in my expression. He explained, “An acrostic is a series of written lines in which certain letters, usually the first letter in each line, form a message when read top to bottom.”

  Then I got it. I’d been tricked. Look at the poster and you’ll get it, too. Here’s an example of an acrostic poem I just made up that reveals who the villain was.

  Guess who was the joker.

  Only one girl could fake me that bad.

  Oh, how I’d like to croak her.

  Nobody else could make me so mad.

  Coach T blew his whistle, and everyone headed outside. I dawdled at the door, and when Georgie caught up, I told him how we’d been bamboozled. When it was Cheesie for president, Goon had aimed her trickery at me. But now, without knowing what I was doing, I had plopped her deviousness onto Georgie. We had put posters all over school that said Georgie was UGLY.

  I was angry. Even worse, I had embarrassed myself big-time and, according to my Point Battle rules, would have to award my sister eight points. Even worser (there’s no such word, but I was really mad!), I had embarrassed my best friend.

  “That’s bad,” Georgie said, staring at the poster on the locker-room wall.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

  “No,” Georgie continued. “It’s really bad.”

  “I know! I’m really sorry.”

  “No! You don’t get it. I mean it’s wicked bad! It’s so bad, it’s good.”

  “Huh?” Now I was confused.

  “The stilts thing?” Georgie said. “All we were trying to do was to get me noticed. Stand tall for S
inkoff! And it worked, right? So if the posters say I’m ugly, so what? It’s something that will stick in kids’ minds and help them remember my name. Just like the stilts, it’ll get me noticed. And that’ll get me more votes.”

  Georgie suddenly hunched up his shoulders and began swinging his arms like an ape. “People say Ugly Ee-Gorg. Ugly Ee-Gorg happy. Everyone vote Ugly Ee-Gorg to president.”

  Georgie had turned into Ee-Gorg the monster, so I instantly became Dr. Frank N. Cheez, the mad scientist who had created him. I jumped onto Ee-Gorg’s back, grabbed his dim-witted head, shook it from side to side like a maniac, and whispered fiendishly, “Yes, my monstrous friend! We will tell everyone we did this on purpose. And you, my Ugly Ee-Gorg, will become president. And I—bwa-ha-ha!—will defeat my archenemy … Goonzilla!”

  Maybe you remember Ee-Gorg and Dr. Cheez from my earlier books. Georgie and I invented them when we were in third grade.

  I laughed crazily as Georgie shambled us toward the running track. Lots of boys looked at us, probably wondering why I sounded so insane.

  Bwa-ha-ha!

  Goon would get no points after all. The Point Battle score remained 694–685.

  Splinter and Splint

  After school, we walked all the way home on our stilts. Some people passing in cars honked at us.

  Once we got home, I came up with a great game. I challenged Georgie to a stilt-joust in my backyard. We started out far apart, then stilt-ran toward each other as fast as we could. When we met, we tried to shoulder each other over. It was just like knights jousting on horseback, except we weren’t carrying lances. (If you think about it, the only way you could hold on to two stilts and a lance would be to have three arms!)

  “First to win three jousts is the winner,” I called out.

  Joust #1—As soon as I started moving, Deeb began barking and then bit the bottom of my stilt. I fell over and called Dog Interference. I put Deeb in the house. No score.

  Joust #2—Georgie snagged a stilt on our sprinkler and called Lawn Interference. I moved the hose. No score.

  Joust #3—We stilt-ran toward each other at super speed, but we both tripped and fell before we met. No score.

  Joust #4—We started a little slower this time, but as we lurched past each other, our shoulders never touched, and we both collapsed on the grass. Lots of laughing, but no score.

  Joust #5—This time we each put on a fierce face, hurtled forward, smashed into each other, and fell over. I acted out an awesome death scene. No score.

  We lined up again. That’s when Georgie’s attempt to trick me led to a disaster.

  Joust #6—It started like all the previous contests, but just before we met, Georgie dug one stilt into the ground and spun around on it sort of like the half spin Lana invented, but way faster. His plan was to fake me out and then crash into me from behind. I think it might have worked, except he lost control, twisted in the air, and landed on his right side with his hand under his stilt. I fell down, too.

  When I got up, Georgie was sitting and ouching pretty bad. He was holding his right hand and looking at a huge splinter in his thumb. Georgie is really tough, so I knew it must have really hurt because he was repeating “Ow, ow, ow.” He kept saying that all the time as we walked inside and showed it to Granpa.

  Granpa took a look at the splinter and tried to make Georgie laugh. “That’s a big piece of wood! I’ll need a hammer, a pair of pliers, and a blindfold.” (He didn’t say who was going to wear the blindfold.)

  Georgie is definitely a better splinter patient than I am. I’m not afraid of getting shots and stuff from my pediatrician, but I get all ouchy when someone pokes my finger with a needle. In my family it’s almost always Granpa on splinter patrol.

  Granpa sanitized Georgie’s thumb and a needle with about a gallon of antiseptic, then picked up the needle and grasped Georgie’s hand.

  “Ow!” Georgie yelped.

  “I didn’t do anything yet,” Granpa said testily.

  “You’re squeezing my finger,” Georgie whined.

  Granpa gave Georgie a long look. “I barely touched it.”

  That’s when I noticed that Georgie’s pointer finger looked fatter than the others. I guess Granpa did, too, because he gently moved it … and Georgie jumped.

  “Ow!” Georgie said again.

  Granpa put the needle down. “You know, kiddo, I think that splinter can wait.”

  Granpa went to the phone and dialed Georgie’s father at work. Two minutes later we were in Granpa’s car, and five minutes later we were walking into my pediatrician’s office. (Georgie and I go to the same doctor.) Neither Georgie nor I said anything during the car ride.

  “What do you think’s going to happen?” Georgie asked me while Granpa was talking to the receptionist.

  “I think Dr. Paul’s going to amputate your finger.”

  Georgie started to punch me, but stopped when he remembered his hurt finger.

  One hour later, after X-rays, splinter removal, and a bright blue splint on Georgie’s right hand (yep, his finger was broken), we were back home. Mr. Sinkoff drove up just as we were getting out of Granpa’s car. He looked very concerned and asked lots of questions. It took Georgie about five repeats of “I’m okay” and “It doesn’t hurt” to convince his father.

  “Even so, I’d like you to take it easy tonight,” Mr. Sinkoff said.

  Georgie shrugged, waved his splinted hand at me, and went home.

  The next morning, Granpa drove me and Georgie to school. Georgie was wearing a red wristband just above his blue splint. “My dad made it. I got the idea from your school-color socks. Remember?”

  Lots of kids were curious, so Georgie told the story over and over, exaggerating like crazy.

  “Me and Cheesie were on those stilts going about a hundred miles an hour….”

  He added special effects.

  “Ker-bam! Slam! Crunch!”

  And gory details.

  “Then the doctor came toward me with this huge needle….”

  Wherever Georgie went, Oddny, Lana, and I circled around him, handing out more stickers.

  “It was totally worth breaking my finger,” Georgie said later, waving his blue splint in the air. “This got me almost as much attention as being on the stilts.”

  Georgie’s posters worked, too. Whenever kids mentioned the UGLY acrostic, Georgie laughed and said, “Good for you. You found my secret code.”

  Not everything went our way, however. Both Diana and Eddie had pumped up their campaigns. They had posters everywhere. And Diana came to school with about ten thousand million heart-shaped cookies. She and a bunch of her friends went all over school handing them out to everyone and saying, “I Heart Diana.” She even gave a few to Georgie.

  “Pretty good cookies,” he told me between bites.

  Eddie’s supporters were working the halls, too. They were everywhere, handing out professional-looking buttons (I bet they cost a lot) with “Get Ready! Here Comes Eddie!” on them. Georgie took one and pinned it on his shirt.

  “It’s going to be hard to get Bass Rock and Goose Cove kids to vote for Georgie,” Lana said.

  “I wonder how many other kids are like you,” Georgie said to Oddny. “You didn’t go to one of Gloucester’s elementary schools, but you’re voting for me.”

  “Good question, Georgie,” I said. “We’ve got five minutes before class starts. Let’s get the answer. C’mon!”

  The four of us walked quickly to the school office.

  Mrs. Collins was on the phone, but when she noticed us waiting, she whispered, “What do you need?”

  “May we get a list of what schools all the sixth graders came from?” I whispered back.

  She kept talking on the phone, simultaneously moving her mouse and clicking a few times. A few seconds later a sheet of paper printed. She handed it to me.

  We crowded in close to look at it.

  “There are two hundred sixty kids in sixth grade,” I said, pointing at the total.
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  “Oddny is one of these six,” Georgie said, his finger on the OOD Tfr line, which stood for “Out of District Transfer.”

  Our principal walked by. “What’s up, guys?”

  Lana spoke first. “Just election stuff, Mr. Stotts.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Most kids are going to vote for someone they went to school with last year because they know them,” I said.

  “And Rocky Neck’s the smallest of the three elementary schools,” Lana added.

  “But these guys”—I pointed at the Misc Pvt Sch, Home Sch, and OOD Tfr lines—“didn’t go to Bass Rock, Goose Cove, or Rocky Neck. Can we get the names of those thirty kids?”

  Mr. Stotts took the sheet of paper, glanced at it and smiled. “Going for the independent voters, huh?”

  I smiled back. “Yeah, I guess. Can we?”

  “That info isn’t confidential, is it, Francine?”

  Mrs. Collins shook her head.

  “Go for it, kids. I like your thinking.” He smiled again, then added, “But you realize … if Eddie or Diana asks, we’re going to give them the same list.”

  “That’s fair,” Georgie said. “But they probably won’t because they don’t have Oddny to give them the idea.”

  Oddny blushed.

  Mr. Stotts disappeared into his office while Mrs. Collins clicked her mouse a lot.

  Before she got too far, I asked, “Um, could you put homerooms on the list, and could we have four copies?” I turned to the others. “If we divide up the list, it’s just seven or eight kids each. We’re not going to have a lot of time with everything going on.”

  I was right. At lunch the campaigning got way more intense. While kids were still going through the food line, a bunch of Eddie’s supporters began chanting their button slogan over and over. That got Diana’s crowd, which seemed more organized (and louder!), to start up an “I Heart Diana!” chant. It was really loud!

  I looked over at Coach T, who was on cafeteria duty. I figured he was going to shut everyone up, but he just leaned against the wall, smiled, and watched the noise war.