Attack of the Mutant Underwear (3 page)

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 …

Until—in a very New Me moment—a voice came into my head. It said, “Pull the plug, Cody.”

So I pulled the plug. Godzilla made a sound kind of like a burp, then ground to a halt.

Ms. B picked up Godzilla and looked down its throat. “Whew! For a second there I thought it was going to eat the entire classroom. Quick thinking, Cody.” She patted me on the back. “Our hero saves the day!”

Which I like the sound of—Cody Lee “Our Hero” Carson.

Later, Amy came up to me and said, “Thanks!”

Which was nice, too … I guess.

Saturday, October 7

MC invited that Jordy kid over
again.
Dad says, “They're like two peas in a pod.” Meaning they're both trouble.

No kidding. A guy can't get any privacy when they're around. They were playing tag (which Mom had already told them twice not to do in the house) when MC came blasting into my room with Jordy chasing right behind her.

I didn't see or hear them. That's because I was listening to a CD through my headphones. And I had my eyes closed. And I guess I was sort of dancing to the music and acting like I was playing the guitar, in my … I hate to say it … in my underwear.

When I finally realized MC and Jordy were there, they were pointing at me and laughing. I yelled at them. “Get lost!” They said, “Oops!” and left. I sure wish they hadn't seen me dancing around like that, especially Jordy. What if he's a blabbermouth?

Sunday, October 8

MC's tooth is getting lots looser. She keeps making Dad and Mom wiggle it, but I won't—unless she does her share of cleaning Emma's kitty litter.

Which she hasn't.

Which is a problem.

A BIG problem.

So I started thinking, Sometimes to solve a BIG problem, you have to do like Ms. B says and “think outside the box.” That doesn't mean the kitty litter box. “The box” is just a way of saying how most people see things. So if you “think outside the box,” you're hatching new and creative ideas, stuff most people wouldn't dream up.

Might as well give it a try: Think outside the box. Think outside the box. Think outside the box.

Monday, October 9

Ms. B said she couldn't have her students being devoured by a pencil sharpener, so she took Godzilla home. “He's happily perched on my kitchen counter,” she said, “where I feed him a pencil every day for breakfast.”

Thursday, October 12

Today was school picture day. Lots of kids were really dressed up. Tyler even had on a tie! Zach kidded him about it, saying, “You look like a geek!” I felt sorry for Tyler. When I was the Old Me, I used to get teased a lot. But Tyler didn't seem to mind. He said, “You're just jealous 'cause you're not as handsome.” Zach punched him on the arm. Tyler punched Zach back, and they both laughed.

It was nearly lunch by the time our class lined up by height and marched down the hall to get our pictures taken. The photo guy had his stuff set up in a corner of the gym. When it was my turn, he adjusted the stool, then had me sit down just the way he wanted. He went and looked at me through his camera. “Chin up a little, okay?”