by Tom Birdseye
Sunday, November 5
Worked all day on my speech.
Did so much writing, my hand feels like it’s going to fall off.
But I think it’s pretty good.
So does Emerson.
I called him up and read it to him.
After practicing in front of the mirror.
You’re probably wondering why I’m writing like this, huh?
One-liners?
I have no idea.
My brain is fried.
I’m going to bed.
Good night!
Monday, November 6
Finished my speech. It’s called “Why I Should Be in Charge of the World.” Listed all the things I’d do if elected. You know, stuff we really need:
1. Longer recesses
2. Housecleaning machines
3. Four days of Christmas
4. Milk shakes on Fridays
5. Red cars that don’t dent
6. Baby-sitters that let you go to your room
Also, I listed the things we don’t need:
1. Liver for dinner
2. Snotty sisters
3. Blisters from new shoes
4. Boring Mondays
5. Doctor appointments
6. Fences around yards
7. Kitty litter boxes (especially kitty litter boxes)
8. Parents ruling kids all the time
Cool writing, huh? I’m bound to get elected!
Tuesday, November 7
Election Day
According to Mom’s almanac, the ten worst human fears are (going from bad to worse):
10. Dogs
9. Loneliness
8. Flying
7. Death
6. Sickness
5. Deep water
4. Financial problems
3. Insects and bugs
2. Heights
Guess what number one is.
Speaking in front of a group.
Guess why.
Because it’s scarier than all of the other nine put together—that’s why! And I’m never going to do it again, ever, much less show my face at Garfield Elementary! Is that clear?
Maybe I should explain. The day started out fine. I got up feeling great. But then on the way to school, MC leaned over in the backseat and said, “Don’t do anything weird like you usually do, okay? I’m your sister. It’s embarrassing.”
I told her not to worry, but started to worry myself. What if I got a fit of Old Me, and my mind went blank in the middle of my speech? Or what if my mind was working, but the kids thought I was boring? What if my tongue got tied and I stumbled over my words? What if my knees started knocking so loud I couldn’t think? What if all the work I’d put into my speech was for nothing? What if my pants fell down onstage, like in the fourth-grade play? What if everybody saw me in my underwear? What if they all laughed at me? What if … You get the picture.
By the time I got backstage in the auditorium, my mouth was dry, my palms clammy, my pits sweaty. They could have made a deodorant ad about me: “THIS KID NEEDS RIGHT GUARD!” I sat there with Emerson and listened to Tyler give his speech. It was great. Everybody clapped. Then Amy gave her speech, and it was great, too. Kylie, from Mrs. Larsen’s room, went on, and Amy came backstage. “Good luck!” she said.
Luck? I didn’t need luck. I needed to be rescued! Amy could see the panic in my eyes, I guess. “Here,” she said, pulling up a chair. “Sit and take a few deep breaths. It’ll calm you down.”
Libby, who was standing nearby, said, “Probably not. He’s scared.”
“I’m not scared!” I lied. “I’m not scared of anything!”
“Everybody,” Libby said, her eyes boring into mine, “is afraid of something!”
Which, of course, did nothing to help poor little Old Me. “Maybe they won’t notice if I don’t give my speech,” I whimpered, standing to go. “I could just make a quiet exit and—”
“Sit,” Amy said. She gently pushed me back down into the chair. “Breathe slowly and deeply. I read somewhere that that helps. They’ll love your speech, Cody. Relax. Drink some water. Emerson, get him some water.”
Emerson hustled off the stage. He was back in ten seconds with a cup in hand. “Here, Cody! Fresh from the water fountain, brought to you by—whoa!”
You know how in movies sometimes they’ll switch to slow motion so you can see everything clearly? That’s what the next split second was like for me. Clearly, I saw Emerson stumble over his own feet. Clearly, I saw the cup fly from his hand. Clearly, I saw it coming right at me. Clearly, I saw it all, but could do absolutely nothing to stop it, since I was in s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n, too.
Then that cold water hit my lap and everything went from slow motion to hyperspeed. I jumped up. “Oh no!” It looked like I’d wet my pants.
Emerson freaked. “I didn’t mean to, Cody! Really I didn’t! Quick, come with me!” He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out the backstage door and across the hall into the boys’ bathroom. He jerked paper towels from the dispenser and I wiped and wiped at the spill. It didn’t help. It had soaked in!
Emerson paced the bathroom floor. Then an idea hit. “I know!” he said. “Pull out your shirttail and cover up the water!”
Desperate for anything, I pulled out my shirttail, but the water still showed.
Emerson walked around and around in tight little circles, concentrating. Then he grinned. “Got it! Put your pants on backward!”
I stared at him. “What? No way am I going to—”
“It’ll work!” Emerson said. “Turn them around and then just walk out sideways. Like this!” He demonstrated, shuffling sideways across the bathroom floor. “See? Nobody will notice. Really!”
From the gym I could hear our beloved principal, Mrs. Mead, announcing the next speaker—me. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine crab-walking onto the stage with my pants on backward.
No way.
So I did what any kid who’s shuffling with a full deck would do—I ran. Out of school and all the way home. Where I am going to stay for the rest of my life.
Wednesday, November 8
Hear Ye, Hear Ye! Listen Up, Everybody!
Remember all that stuff I wrote on the first page of this journal about the New Me? Well, forget it. There is no such thing. I thought I’d escaped and started over, that I’d left that old doofus, bozo-brained part of myself behind in Portland. But the truth is that no matter how far I run, I can’t hide from the Old Me. My New Life is history, ruined.
Which is enough to make a guy sick.
Which is exactly what I told Mom and Dad this morning: “I can’t go to school. I’m sick.” Mom put her hand on my forehead and said I didn’t feel feverish. But she let me stay home anyway. So now I get to sit here on the couch in my pajamas all day and watch the rain pour down while I go over and over this fact: I was an airhead for thinking I should get into politics. I blew it, and probably lost the election by a gazillion votes. I should call this journal The Rise and Fall of Cody Lee Carson.
Or maybe I should just toss it in the garbage.
Yep, that’s what I’m going to do, heave it into the stinky trash where it belongs, along with the broken eggshells, and soggy tea bags, and greasy globs of refried beans. So that makes this …
THE END
Later, Wednesday, November 8
Okay, okay, so I didn’t toss my journal. I tried, but it didn’t work. Just as I was standing over the kitchen garbage can with it dangling between two fingers, and I was counting down from ten to the end, there was a knock at the front door. So I tossed it onto the counter and went and opened the door, and there stood Amy.
My face must have gone really pale at the sight of her, because she said, “Boy, you do look sick.”
I faked a cough. “Yeah. Must be the flu or something.” I slunk behind the door and started to close it. “Gotta get back to bed.”
“Too bad,” Amy said. “I thought you were just embarrassed about what happened yesterday. B
ut if you’re really sick, then these wouldn’t help, anyway.” She smiled and pulled a plate of cookies from behind her back.
Chocolate chip cookies. Chunky chocolate chip cookies. Homemade chunky chocolate chip cookies.
“Uh …,” I said, trying to keep from drooling. “Maybe just one wouldn’t hurt.”
So anyway, Amy came on in and WOW, were those cookies ever good! She told me that, yes, I had lost the election, but so had she, and Tyler. Kylie from Mrs. Larsen’s class had won.
“Oh, well,” Amy said with a laugh, “that’s life!”
I laughed, too—which actually helped a lot—and ended up eating every one of those cookies—which helped a lot more. “Think of them as flu medicine,” Amy said with a wink, and put her hand on my arm for just a second. When she lifted it back up, I could still feel the warmth on my skin. Made my head tingle. In an okay way. I guess.
Thursday, November 9
Going back to school today was hard. Even though Amy said not to worry, I couldn’t help it. I kept imagining kids pointing and shouting, “Haw! Haw! It’s Chicken-Cody-Runs-Away! Haw! Haw!”
But get this: the weird thing is that not one person teased me—not even Zach!—or even mentioned what had happened. (Except for Emerson, who fell all over himself apologizing for spilling the water.)
Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I wanted to be embarrassed in front of everyone. I’ve had enough of that Old Me kind of stuff to last a lifetime. Still, kids will be kids, you know. All that politeness seemed downright unnatural!
You may have heard the expression “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Which is another way of saying, If something good comes your way, don’t be picky—grab it! Well, I don’t know for sure who led the gift horse my way, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion her name might begin with A-m-y.
Friday, November 10
Still no teasing from anybody at school about election day. I guess it really is water under the bridge. Whew! Things are looking good.
Better than good, actually. I was playing basketball at lunch recess, and the game was tied. Just as the bell started to ring for us to go in, I tossed up a shot—I mean just threw it, hardly looking—and it went in! Swished! All the guys on my team started whooping and shouting. Tyler came up and gave me a high five and said, “All right! Nice shot!”
Saturday, November 11
Jordy was over again to play with MC. They rode down the stairs in a cardboard box, yelling, “Bump! Bump! Bump!” until Dad made them stop. So they stood on their heads until their ears turned red.
Jordy told me about his cousin Rainy, who is eight years old. Rainy bugged his sister so much she slugged him, but then she got into trouble and had to take out the garbage for a month.
Hmm. Not a bad idea, when you think about it. It would be worth getting slugged ten times by MC if for punishment she had to clean out the litter box for a month!
Later, Saturday, November 11
Started bugging MC to see if she’d hit me. So far, no luck.
Monday, November 13
New spelling list at school today. One of the words is poinsettia. Which is the kind of potted flower you see a lot of around Christmastime. Turns out we’re going to sell them to make money for our Incredible-Fantastic-End-of-the-Year Camp-Out.
Ms. B says there’s a good “profit margin” on poinsettias, which I think means we make lots of bucks off each one we sell.
Amy wanted to know if she had to sell Christmas flowers since she’s Jewish. Ms. B said she’d already thought about that. One of the other spelling words this week is Hanukkah. Which, according to Amy and Ms. B, is the Jewish festival of lights. We’re going to be selling Hanukkah candles, too!
Wednesday, November 15
Really thought I had MC. I was in the family room bugging her about listening to Elvis Presley, when she hissed at me, “Shut up!” I said, “Make me.” She started walking toward me with that look in her eye and I figured, This is it! She’s going to slug me, and I’ll fall on the floor screaming, and she’ll get into so much trouble she’ll have to do the litter box for TWO months! I stuck out my tongue at her and said, “Elvis sucks!” just to make sure she was mad enough to do the deed. Then a voice came from the doorway.
Dad’s voice. “I happen to like Elvis.”
Guess who has to clean out the litter box every day until Christmas? Me! Argh!
Thursday, November 16
Turns out we can’t sell poinsettias and Hanukkah candles, after all. Ms. B found out it’s against school district policy. So we’re going to sell chocolate bars instead. Which is okay with me. Chocolate bars are a product I really believe in!
Monday, November 20
Amy’s been spending lots of time watching the Hamster Channel lately. Seems like whenever I look up, she’s finished the assignment we’re on and is over there by Ralphster’s TV home.
Ms. B lets her take him out and play with him sometimes. This afternoon Amy let him crawl up her sleeve. I guess it tickled, because she started to giggle. Ms. B giggled, too, but made Amy put Ralphster back.
Tuesday, November 21
At lunch today I walked past the table where Libby and Amy and a bunch of girls were sitting. I overheard one girl ask the others, “If you had to go out with a boy, who would you go out with?” I slowed down and listened for answers, but they all started laughing and talking at once, and I couldn’t pick out what any one person said. Like Amy.
Not that I care. I was just curious.
Ms. B drew Libby’s name out of a hat, so she gets to take Ralphster home for Thanks-giving. Amy looked disappointed, but then Libby told her she could come visit anytime she wanted. Amy smiled from ear to ear.
Thursday, November 23
Thanksgiving Day
Had turkey for dinner, of course. Dad asked me to carve it. “Nice job, Cody!” he kept saying, even though my slices weren’t as neat as his.
For dessert we had pumpkin and pecan pie, which Mom got at the Benton Bakery. She could have gotten them cheaper at Wal-Mart, but said, “I buy local!” For a sequel to dessert we had some of my fund-raiser chocolate bars. Mom and Dad paid for them. Ace-brilliant-type-fund-raiser-guy-Me was thankful.
Friday, November 24
MC says it’s never okay to kiss a boy. “They always slobber all over you.” I asked her how she knew about kissing. She said, “Ken and Barbie kiss all the time! Do you and Amy?”
I said, “I’ll tell you if you clean out the litter box.”
She said, “I don’t want to know that bad!”
Tuesday, November 28
Today at recess a kid named Andrew kept hassling a girl named Amanda. He called her “nugget head,” and took the soccer ball away from her, and bumped into her—the same kind of Old Me stuff I used to do in fourth grade to Tiffany in Portland.
Libby says it’s a stupid way to show somebody you care. Amy says it’s immature. I agree.
Saturday, December 2
MC said I should call this journal Girls Don’t Get Cooties.
I said, “Mind your own business. I don’t need your help to figure out a title.” (Even though I haven’t yet.)
She covered her ears and said, “I can’t hear you!”
I said, “Besides, girls do get cooties. There’s one on you right now!”
Ha! You should have seen her run to check in the mirror. Serves her right since I have to do Emma’s litter box until Christmas.
Monday, December 4
Today Ms. B said, “We aren’t going to have regular math.”
Somebody said what I was thinking: “Yippee!”
Ms. B smiled. “We’re going to do surveys instead.”
We all just kind of sat there until Zach said, “Surveys? You mean like when you ask people questions?”
Ms. B said, “No, not like when you ask people questions. We actually are going to do the real thing!”
Zach rolled his eyes. He hates it when Ms. B gets on him for saying “like.”
Maybe. Ms. B says we have to “present the survey findings mathematically,” which I think means in a graph or something.
Anyway, I’ll worry about that part later. Right now I’m going to make a list of things I’d like to ask people. Because I always did like to, like, you know, ask lots of, like, questions. Like, How many times a day do you, like, say “like”? (Like, I’m not really, like, going to, like, ask that, though.)
Tuesday, December 5
I got a bunch of survey ideas, and I’m going to do them all! If I can’t get an A for quality, I’ll get one with tons of New Me quantity! An A for effort if nothing else.
Here’s my first topic: food. Everybody has something to say about food.
Here are my questions (and how I’d answer them):
—What’s your favorite food? (Chocolate for me, or pizza)
—Least favorite? (Cooked cauliflower)
—How often do you snack? (As often as possible)
—What’s the weirdest food you ever ate? (Frog legs, no lie)
—What’s the best food to have in a food fight? (Mashed potatoes)
Varoom! I’m off and running! Look! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No, it’s ace-brilliant-type-Question-Man!
Wednesday, December 6
Got a lot of great answers to my food survey. The grossest was Zach’s. He said that when he was at his grandma’s house in Kentucky last summer, she made him eat boiled okra. I’d never even heard of okra before, but Zach said, “It’s all slimy in your mouth, like snot.” I wondered how he knew what snot is like in your mouth, but you don’t ask Zach things like that.
