Attack of the Mutant Underwear Read Free Page A

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.
    â€œA 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?