Cheesie Mack Is Not a Genius or Anything (16 page)

“What?” Goon demanded.

I’m sure Georgie didn’t know why I wasn’t answering, but he jumped in anyway, pointing at the monitor. “See. 1909. Three bucks. Give me my receipt.”

Goon looked at the screen, made a face, and pulled the torn receipt out of her pocket. (Some hiding place!) She crumpled it into a wad, threw it at my head, and left, slamming the door behind her.

Georgie retrieved the wadded receipt, took the other half out of my hand, pieced them together, and put them on the desk. He sat back on my bed and began tossing the tennis ball again. “Your sister
is a jerk.” Then he noticed my weird expression. “What?”

“The penny is worth more than three bucks.”

Still tossing the tennis ball, Georgie asked, “What do you mean?”

“I forgot the San Francisco thing when I looked before. The mint mark. The
S
. Omigosh, Georgie. You’re not going to believe this. It’s worth ninety-five dollars!”

“What?!” Georgie flubbed his catch and knocked over my bedside lamp. The room went dark except for the eerie light from my computer screen.

One second later there was a knock on the door.

I yelled, “Go away, Goon!” Then the knock repeated, and so did I. “Go away!” We sat in the dark for a few seconds, then the door slowly opened. Silhouetted in the doorway stood a man I did not recognize. (I am not making this up!) It was like in the movies where the crazy guy with the chain saw comes in to murder the dim-witted teenagers who stay in the old farmhouse way longer than any intelligent people would have.

Then the man stepped forward, and the light from my computer lit one side of his face. It was Officer Crompton.

My brain went completely blackout for a second and then started thinking at super speed:

1. Since Officer Crompton was not in his uniform, he was doing some kind of undercover mystery investigation.
   
2. Since he was at my house, the mystery involved my family.
   
3. Since he was in my room, and Georgie and I had been sort of arrested by him earlier today, he was investigating us.
   
4. Since the only thing we had done that might be mysterious was to mention in the note we gave to the old lady that there was something in the envelope we found, she must have called the police.
   
5. Therefore, Officer Crompton was here to find out what was in the envelope.
   

“Hello, boys. Remember me?”

I nodded. Georgie also nodded, but he was in deeper
shadow than I was, so Officer Crompton probably couldn’t tell.

“I’m guessing you don’t know why I’m here.”

We both shook our heads. But we were not thinking the same thing. I was pretty sure that Georgie’s head shake was agreeing that he
didn’t
know. My head shake was
dis
agreeing because I was pretty sure I did.

Without thinking, I reached toward my backpack. In the light that came in from the hall and from my computer, I could clearly see the old yellowed envelope sticking out of one of the pockets. Then I realized that a policeman on an investigation would probably be watching me for suspicious movements, so I kept moving my arm until I was petting Deeb. Then I looked back at Officer Crompton.

“I know you told us to stay away from The Toad—I mean, G. J. Prott’s house,” I said. “But tomorrow, we—I mean, the envelope and stuff was lost in Georgie’s house for over fifty years and even though, as Georgie says, finders keepers, we’re going to—”

Officer Crompton put up his hand, so I stopped talking.

“I was on duty this afternoon. Now I’m here playing cards with my friends.” He gave a sly grin. “And to remind you two to keep out of trouble.” He tossed off a sloppy salute—Dad showed me the Navy way years ago—and walked down the hall, leaving my bedroom door open.

Neither Georgie nor I said a word until we heard Officer Crompton going down the stairs.

“Glenn Philips was right,” I said, turning on my desk lamp. “Officer Crompton doesn’t know every kid in town by sight. He knew who we were today because he’s been to our houses before. I guess I just never noticed who my dad’s pals—”

“Whatever,” Georgie said. “And come on, why’d you blab all that about the envelope?”

I did not have a good answer. “I dunno. I guess I just talk stupid when the police are around.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter because tomorrow we’re going to sell that penny and get ninety-five dollars. Our summer may not be completely ruined. That’s
enough to go to Six Flags. There’s some cool new rides that’re absolutely guaranteed to make you barf!”

“I don’t know. I think Officer Crompton will be watching—”

“Forget Crompton!”

We sat there in the semidark for a while. Finally I said, “It would be fun to go on the new rides.”

Then Georgie reminded me about the last time we went to the amusement park. We talked for a long time, and then, with Deeb dog-snoring at the foot of my bed, we fell asleep laughing about our sno-cone fight and our backward dizzy walk challenge.

(I don’t think I need to describe these. You can probably guess.)

I
woke up early and just lay there thinking about roller coasters. Georgie was asleep on his back, one arm flopped completely out of the covers. I was in such a good mood that I decided to play a practical joke on him, one that my dad once told me he’d done to his cousin when they were kids.

I got a can of shaving cream from Granpa’s bathroom and squirted a huge glob onto the palm of Georgie’s outstretched hand. Then I took the feather out of a Robin Hood hat I’ve had for a million years and gently, very gently,
tickled Georgie’s nose. He twitched. I tickled it again. He squirmed. I tickled it once more, and his hand swung up to shoo away the fly that he was probably dreaming about. Sploosh! A face full of shaving cream!

If you decide to try this practical joke on someone bigger than you—like Georgie is to me—be prepared to run.

Georgie woke up, realized what had happened, and attacked. But I was ready. I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. Georgie pounded, and our noise woke up the rest of the house and gave Goon a reason to be crabby all morning.

After I fed Deeb (on my hands and knees, remember?), Georgie and I celebrated our secret plan to sell
the penny and go to Six Flags by eating a gargantuan number of gobbler wraps. Everyone else calls them pigs in a blanket—breakfast sausages rolled up in pancakes—but Dad likes turkey sausage instead of pork, so he came up with a new name. Goon ate only pancakes. Because she is a vegetarian, she calls sausages “flesh tubes.” It doesn’t bother me one bit.

We were in such a good mood that we forgot about the time. Suddenly I jumped up and grabbed my backpack. “Come on, Georgie! We’re late.”

“Where’re you going?” Mom asked.

“Out.” When she gave me another raised eyebrow, I added, “Georgie and I volunteered to help some lady.”

I shouldn’t have offered so much information. Mom pressed. “Who is she? And where does she live?”

“We don’t know her name. She’s really old. We found an envelope she lost, and we’re returning it, and she lives about halfway to school. We’ll be back before lunch.” I was out the door before Mom could ask any more questions.