by Tom Birdseye
Titles are important, you know. When you look at a book on the shelf in the library (like the Benton Library, where my mom works), that’s the first thing you see. If the title is interesting, you’ll pick the book up. If it’s not, then you probably won’t. Like if I wrote a book called Book #1, you’d pass right on by. So I have to come up with something good.
But I still can’t think of a title for this journal. I guess I’ll just call it Put Title Here for now.
Monday, September 18
Thought I’d get “A Porch to Remember” back today with a big A at the top, but Ms. B’s not done grading yet.
I guess she’s been too busy thinking—about field trips. Because today after lunch she said, “If we could go anywhere together as a class, where would you like to go?”
Tyler said, “The Grand Canyon.”
I liked that idea. I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. Ms. B said it was a good idea, but would take too long to get there.
Libby suggested the beach. “Let’s go out on the ocean looking for whales!”
“Whales are my favorite animals,” Ms. B said, “but I get seasick just washing the dishes.”
While I was busy trying to figure out if Ms. B was joking, Amy said that since we’ll be studying ecosystems a lot in science this year, maybe it would help us to understand them better if we camped out in the middle of one.
Everybody liked that idea, including Ms. B. All the kids wanted to leave tomorrow, but Ms. B said that a trip like that takes lots of planning and money. “We’ll need to work really hard to raise enough to go.” We all said we would, so Ms. B said okay. And just like that, it was settled. In June we’re going on an Incredible-Fantastic-End-of-the-Year Camp-Out! Yahoo!
Tuesday, September 19
Today during U.S. history, Ralphster the hamster tried to climb out of his TV cage and got stuck behind his exercise wheel. He started squealing and going crazy. Amy jumped up and was to the rescue before Ms. B could even get out from behind her desk. After Amy freed him, both she and Ms. B petted the top of his little head and kissed it like he was a real baby, and kept saying, “Are you all right, Ralphster?”
I like Ralphster fine and would give the Hamster Channel pretty high ratings. But I could never kiss a rodent.
After we got back to business, Ms. B announced that we, the students of Garfield Elementary, will be picking a fifth grader as the new president of the student council.
“A third grader will serve as secretary,” Ms. B said, “a fourth grader as vice president.” She swirled her hands around as she talked, like she was painting a wonderful picture for us. “But only a fifth grader may be elected president.”
I thought, Hmm—Cody Lee Carson, student council president. Has a nice ring to it.… But no, I’m too busy being an ace-brilliant-type-author-guy to get into politics.
Speaking of brilliant writing, here’s my latest (it’s a poem, in case you didn’t know):
There once was a guy, the New Me,
who was as popular as can be.
He never goofed up,
or whined like a pup.
Cooler than cool was he!
I’m sure it’ll end up in the Cody Lee Carson Museum of Really Great Literature, along with “A Porch to Remember.”
Speaking of which, it’s still not back. I guess Ms. B is waiting to hear which New York publisher is going to turn it into a best-seller.
Wednesday, September 20
In the cafeteria Libby told us she’d read an article in USA Today that said that only 21 percent of kids who bring lunch to school pack it themselves. “Moms do 64 percent,” she said, “and dads 11 percent. But here’s the weird part: 4 percent of kids have no idea who packs their lunch.”
Tyler shook his head. “I used to let anybody pack mine, until last year when Aunt Emily put in a liver pate sandwich.”
Zach said, “That’s nothing. My mom makes me slug sandwiches every day. Anybody want a bite?”
Zach is all the time talking about gross things like slugs and boogers. He’ll point and say, “There’s a slug on your shoe!” even when there isn’t. Or he’ll act like he’s picking his nose and flicking boogers up on the ceiling. He’ll keep looking up there, then pretend the boogers drop on someone’s head, like Emerson’s. I used to do that kind of stuff when I was the Old Me, but not anymore.
Anyway, back to the cafeteria. Everybody cringed and said things like “Yuck! No!” and “Eeeeuw, gross!”
But Amy didn’t bat an eye, not even when Zach shook his sandwich in her face. She just said, “Thanks, I’d love to, but I’m a vegetarian. See?” She picked up three Tater Tots and started juggling them, then caught them—one, two, three—in her mouth!
And all this time I’d been thinking that the only things Amy was good at were school and keeping quiet about seeing me in my … you know, my underwear, and making her pencil last a long time. But she’s got talent!
Thursday, September 21
I can’t believe it, I got a C on “A Porch to Remember.” Yes, a C, as in “just average.” The New Me is not just average. The New Me is an ace-brilliant-type-author-guy who used all those cool words from the thesaurus, and got the spelling right, and the punctuation, too.
At the top of my paper Ms. B wrote, “Don’t try to impress me—just write. Find your true voice.”
My true voice? All my true voice is saying right now is “Ugh!”
Friday, September 22
Worked hard on my math today, to show Ms. B that I’m not just average at that, too. When I handed it in, she said, “For homework I’d like you to seriously consider running for student council president. Answer due on Monday.”
Sunday, September 24
Been seriously considering running for student council president. Today I ate breakfast thinking about it. Sat in church thinking about it. Walked into Fred Meyer with Mom and Dad and MC to get some teriyaki sauce thinking about it.
Then, as I was standing in aisle 12, I closed my eyes and imagined the New Me as President Cody. I could be great and accomplish many things for the good of Garfield students. Like a longer morning recess. And chocolate milk shakes in the cafeteria. Or maybe soft drinks in the water fountains. Everyone would love it. And they’d love me, too! And chant my name.
“President Cody! President Cody! President Cody!”
I’d be a superstar!
“President Cody! President Cody! President Cody!”
With lots of friends!
“President Cody! President Cody! President Cody!”
When I opened my eyes, there was MC looking up at me with a cantaloupe in her hands. She said, “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t.”
Ha! Since when do I need advice from a five-year-old? Ms. B knows my destiny—that’s why she suggested it. I’m going to be an ace-brilliant-type-politician-guy! Today Garfield Elementary student council president, tomorrow the White House!
Hear Ye, Hear Ye! Listen Up, Everybody! I, Cody Lee Carson, am going for the top!
Monday, September 25
Well, I did it. I officially nominated myself for Garfield student council president. Only problem is, so did Amy. And Tyler. Not to mention a really smart girl named Kylie in Mrs. Larsen’s class.
So all of a sudden I’m thinking of lots of reasons why, on second thought, I shouldn’t run for student council president:
—Not qualified
—Overqualified
—Really am a kindergartner in disguise
—Really am a senior citizen in disguise
—Doctor told me not to run
—Parents told me not to run
—Sister told me to go ahead and run, and that’s a bad sign
—Can’t stand failure
—Can’t stand success
—My mind is too tense
—My mind is too relaxed
—My mind is missing, and that’s a bad sign
—Have to quit to save the world
—Have to
quit to go to bed
—Not enough time to prepare election day speech
—Too much time to prepare election day speech
—Can’t stop worrying about election day speech, and that’s a really bad sign!
Tuesday, September 26
Emerson came up to me today in the hall and told me that I shouldn’t run for president without a campaign manager. “You know,” he said, “a person who helps you get elected. Libby is helping Amy. Zach is helping Tyler. And that girl in Mrs. Larsen’s class, Kylie, has someone helping her, too.” He smiled. “So I thought you might want to think about having a campaign manager, too—like me!”
“You?” I said. Which was kind of an Old Me thing to do, I guess. But I couldn’t help it. Emerson as anything other than Mr. Junk Food is hard for me to imagine.
Emerson’s smile dropped straight to the floor. He mumbled, “Okay … well, if you don’t want me, I guess you could … get someone else.” He turned and started to slouch away.
That’s when I remembered how he gave up his seat for me on the first day of school. And how he is all the time doing nice things for other people, too, like letting Amy and Libby in front of him in line, and giving Zach a Toot-sie Roll, even though Zach isn’t nice to him and calls him Fat Boy.
And then I thought about how smart Emerson is. And that he probably really could be a big help with the (gulp!) speech I have to make on election day. So I told Emerson he could be my campaign manager.
You’d think I’d told him he’d won a million dollars. He whirled around with a big ear-to-ear grin on his face. “I’ll get you into office, Cody!” he said. “Just leave everything to me!”
Wednesday, September 27
This morning my new campaign manager said, “The first thing we have to do is create a campaign slogan for you. Something that will appeal to the voting public, like ‘Friend of the People!’ or ‘Cody’s the One!’”
During math I came up with a list of better suggestions:
1. Don’t be toady—vote for Cody!
2. Four out of five doctors recommend Cody—the fifth one’s a bozo brain!
3. Vote for Cody—it’s easier than thinking!
4. If you carrot all, peas vote for Cody! (Pretty punny, huh?)
5. (My personal favorite.) Don’t pick your nose—pick Cody!
Despite how good those were, in the end we decided to keep it simple—“Vote for Cody” with three exclamation marks at the end, which is like shouting—VOTE FOR CODY!!!
Even with all this election stuff, Amy and Libby are still having a pencil length contest. Their #2s are so short, they have to write with their hands in little fists. Looks uncomfortable to me. But hey, whatever floats your boat.
Saturday, September 30
Emma left the water on again in the bathroom. Dad had to shut it off under the sink.
MC keeps saying it’s not her turn to clean out Emma’s litter box, whether it is or not. Mom and Dad are no help. They think we need to work it out ourselves. The only problem is that it’s getting to be less work to just go ahead and do the job than fight with MC about it. But if I do that, then I get mad, because that’s not fair. There’s GOT to be a way I can make MC do her share.
Sunday, October 1
Jordy—the little kid with the big ears—came over again. He and MC spent the whole afternoon finding dead bugs and gluing them onto a piece of cardboard.
Emerson called after dinner to tell me I’m behind in the polls, and we’d better come up with a new strategy quick … like chocolate. “We could give it away,” he said, “along with campaign buttons, to every kid in the school! That would get the vote out!”
Chocolate is my favorite food, of course, but I reminded Emerson that chocolate costs money, and that there are over 450 kids at Garfield Elementary School.
Emerson said, “You need to invest in your future.” Which was his way of saying that to win I’ve got to spend big bucks.
I said, “But I’ve only got thirteen dollars and eighty-five cents. How about we test the chocolate giveaway thing first, to see if it works? On a small group. Of small eaters.”
“Kindergartners!” Emerson said. “We’ll slip the chocolate to them and a cool ‘Vote for Cody!!!’ button at lunch. You give them a little speech, and they’ll be fighting to vote for you!”
“Speech?” I said. I’d been working hard to forget that word. “I’m not ready yet.”
Emerson said, “Sure you are! Just a short—”
“No!”
There was a long silence in which I could hear Emerson let out a long, low sigh. Finally he said, “Okay, no speech tomorrow. We’ll just give away the chocolate and—hey, I’ve got it! You can pull the chocolate and buttons out of a hat so it will look like a magic trick! Voters expect politicians to do magic!”
I said, “But I can’t do magic.”
“I’ll teach you!” Emerson said. “No big deal. It’s easy!”
Monday, October 2
My dictionary defines easy as “requiring little thought or effort.”
Notice, however, that there is nothing anywhere in that definition about pulling off the first magic trick of your political career (not to mention your entire life) in front of a bunch of kindergartners in the Garfield cafeteria. Turns out there’s a reason: there’s nothing easy about it. Especially if your little sister and her friend Jordy are sitting beside each other in the audience.
Before I could even begin to get started, MC held up a french fry and said, “Hey, Cody, you want to see something?”
I ignored her, of course. It says right here in my Big Brother Instruction Book: “Ignore little sister whenever possible.” I pulled out the magic hat Emerson had given me.
“Something really cool?” Now it was Jordy. He grinned as MC carefully laid the french fry on the palm of his right hand. “I’ve been practicing a lot!”
I ignored Jordy, too. It also says right here in my Big Brother Instruction Book: “Same goes for her friends.” I held up my magic hat for everyone to see, just like Emerson had taught me.
“Ready-aim-fire!” MC blurted out. Jordy popped his hand up and catapulted the french fry right into his open mouth.
The kindergartners broke into applause. MC and Jordy took this as a sign to go for an encore. “Ready-aim-fire!” Right in the mouth again.
“Ready-aim-fire!”
I know this is going to be hard to believe, but I swear that if you saw a slow-motion replay of that third catapulted french fry, you’d see it flip end-over-end as it arched upward and—this is the truly amazing part—go shooting right up Jordy’s left nostril.
Everything was quiet for a moment as we all gawked in disbelief. Then kids jumped up, yelling, “Wow! Do that again! Do that again!”
I looked to Emerson for help. This was not going according to plan. “Do something!” I said between clenched teeth.
Emerson blinked and muttered, “Uh …”
Clearly, he didn’t have a clue.
Jordy did, though. He yanked the french fry from his nose and, with great dramatic flair, popped it into his mouth.
“Eeeeuw, yuck!” the kindergartners screamed. But it was Emerson who ended up stealing the show back. He went pale, gagged, then threw up. Yep, threw up—as in puked, hurled, blew lunch, spewed, erupted like a volcano—right there in the cafeteria.
Tuesday, October 3
Emerson apologized about ten billion times today for getting sick. “I’m sorry, Cody,” he said over and over again. “I’m really really sorry.”
To make up for it, he bought a bunch of chocolate with his own money and gave it out on the playground, along with “Vote for Cody!!!” buttons. Several kids came up to me afterward and said they would vote for me for sure, so I guess his idea worked.
Still, I wish he’d give me a little space. Seems like every time I turn around, he’s there, looking like he expects something.
Thursday, October 5
Played football today at recess. We
lost to Tyler and Zach’s team, but I caught one pass.
MC has her first loose tooth. She said, “I closed my eyes and wished really hard over and over for it to happen, and it did!”
I said, “Ha! If wishing was all it took, I’d be a millionaire.”
MC said, “Hmph! That just shows what you don’t know. It doesn’t work on big stuff, just little stuff!”
I rolled my eyes, but later I couldn’t help thinking, Why not give it a try? So here goes: I wish I could win the election without giving a speech. I wish I could win the election without giving a speech. I wish I could win the election without giving a speech.
Friday, October 6
First the bad news: Ms. B looked at me funny and said, “Yes, of course you still have to give a speech.”
But there’s some good news, too. During the math quiz, I got so uptight that I pressed too hard and broke my pencil lead.
You might be thinking: This is good news? Yes! You see, if I hadn’t broken my pencil lead, then I wouldn’t have walked over to Godzilla to sharpen it. And if I hadn’t walked over to Godzilla, then I wouldn’t have been right behind Amy while she was sharpening her stubby little pencil. And if I hadn’t been right behind Amy, then I wouldn’t have been there when Godzilla jerked her stubby little pencil out of her hand.
Amy jumped back, screaming, “It’s eating it!” The noise coming from Godzilla was incredible, like rocks in a blender. Ralphster the hamster went wild in his cage, squeaking and going around and around on his exercise wheel. Kids clapped their hands over their ears. Ms. B hustled across the room, saying, “It’s okay! It’s okay!” Even though the look in her eyes was saying, “No, it’s not! No, it’s not!” Tyler jumped up out of his seat and started banging on Godzilla. But the monster wasn’t fazed. It kept grinding Amy’s pencil into splinters. Things were looking kind of bad …
