This is where I post my deepest thoughts, answer questions from my adoring fans (that’s you), and provide updates on my greatest accomplishments. If you would like to ask me a question (or pay me a compliment), please send it to me through The Real McCoys Facebook page.
Moxie here. Yesterday I got a question from a reader named Chloe. The question was short. It was simple. It was a total outrage.
Here’s the question (prepared to be outraged):
Does Moxie want a sister?
To Chloe, I ask this: Is the sun hot enough to bake a potato? Is an unshorn sheep soft? Is a golf ball covered with a thousand tiny craters?
The answers are YES, YES, AND YES, Chloe. Of course I want a sister because sisters are magnificent!
Sisters share their guacamole or else give you the entire bowl of guacamole because they know how much you love it. When sisters find slugs on the sidewalk, they slide them into a jar and bring them to you, making sure they don’t get dried out along the way. If someone happened to fling a bowl of soup at you, sisters would leap between you and the bowl to make sure that none of it got on your sweater, or more importantly, into your mouth.
Sisters are the source of all that is good in the universe. My life will never be complete until I have a sister. Bur the last time I asked my mom if I could have a sister, she gave me a funny look and hopped on a plane to Australia. She had been planning to go to Australia anyway, but my point remains.
Here is something you might not know.
In general, 62 percent of people have sisters. But among those who find it more difficult to tolerate flat soda than listen to flat singers, 82 percent have sisters. (Based on a survey of 106 people who find it more difficult to tolerate flat soda than to listen to flat singers and 389 people total.)
I think flat soda is the absolute worst, and I only sort of mind when people can’t carry a tune, and yet I DO NOT HAVE A SISTER. I’d say “what are the chances?” but I know full well. The chances are only 18 percent, and still the world the decided to inflict Milton upon me while denying me my sweet-smelling, obstacle-dodging, unicycle-riding sister of my dreams.
In closing, Chloe, hear this: if you happen to have an extra sister I could borrow, I will take her at this very moment and keep her for at least three weeks and maybe forever.
Please send her with a pie, if possible.
Hello! Moxie, here.
Moxie McCoy, the world’s single greatest 4th-grade detective in the history of time and all other times, here and everywhere, throughout the known universe and beyond.
If you did not know (but how could you not know?), my book by me, about me, with a picture of me on the front is being published in exactly TEN DAYS. This is about as exciting as the day the first person accidentally combined avocados, salt, lime juice, cilantro and little bits of finely chopped onion with a blue corn chip and discovered guacamole.
Here is my book. LOOK AT IT! IT IS MAGNIFICENT!
YES, that is me on the cover. (And yes, that is my dopey little brother Milton on the cover, too. I tried to talk to the people at Macmillan about that, pointing out that only the most important characters should be on the cover of a book about me, but they did not agree.)
And YES, that is my very own Real McCoys bookmark shaped like a magnifying glass, although when reading this book, there is no need for a bookmark because my story is so gripping and captivating that it is impossible to put down so surely you will read the entire thing in one sitting.
As soon as the book comes out, that is. Which, if you had not written it on your calendar yet is EXACTLY TEN DAYS FROM THIS VERY MOMENT.
But who’s counting?
The name’s Moxie. Moxie McCoy. I am ten years old. I am in fourth grade. I am the star of various densely illustrated books and the mastermind behind the solving of various thrilling mysteries.
In spite of my best efforts to work independently like my hero Annabelle Adams (the greatest 12-year-old detective in the history of time), things seem to go better when I talk through problems with my dopey little brother Milton. He may be tall as a turtle and lively as an oyster, but he’s pretty good at noticing things and connecting the dots.
I, on the other hand, am very good at gathering clues, intimidating subjects, and winning fabulous prizes.
When we combine forces, there’s basically no challenge we can’t meet. We are The Real McCoys.