“How far do you think I could get one of these Cheetos up Ralphy’s nose?” I whispered to my friend Mike Andrews.

Mike’s uncle, a stockbroker named Theodore Emmett, had paid our travel expenses to bring the three of us and our friend Lisa Higgins to Charleston, South Carolina. The deal was simple. If the four of us agreed to be caddies at a historically reenacted golf tournament, we could have the rest of a week of vacation in Charleston.

Lisa was outside somewhere, talking to the golfer she would be a caddy for.

Mike and I were alone with Ralphy Zee, who slept nearby in a chair in the men’s locker room of the clubhouse at the golf course. As I spoke to Mike, I munched from a bag of Cheetos—those narrow, long, cheese-flavored snacks. It wasn’t much for breakfast, but at least it was something.

“Cheetos?” Mike stared at me as if I were crazy. Which was unfair. Of anyone I knew, Mike Andrews was the craziest. Red hair. Freckles. Except for this morning, dressed in plaid knickers and a vested sweater like a caddy from the nineteenth century, he usually wore a wild-looking Hawaiian shirt and a New York Yankees ball cap. Even though he was only twelve, he had already managed to pack twenty years of pranks into his life. It was always Mike Andrews coming up with the wild ideas. “Up Ralphy’s nose?”

“Sure.” I held up a Cheeto. It would fit perfectly in a human nostril. “Listen to Ralphy snore. He’s exhausted from the trip here.”

The night before, thunderstorms had delayed our flight into Charleston by nearly eight hours. We had not landed until two in the morning. Theodore Emmett had sent a taxi for us because he’d lent his white Mercedes to his son, Devon. Between picking up our luggage and taking the taxi, it had been another hour before we reached Mike’s uncle’s house. And now it was seven in the morning, barely four hours later, and there were about fifteen minutes before we were called to the tee box to carry golf clubs for Mr. Emmett, his business partner, and the president and vice-president of the country club.

“But Cheetos up his nose here?” he whispered back. Mike wasn’t whispering because he was afraid of waking Ralphy. He was afraid one of the members of the club might overhear us. When we’d told the taxi driver last night about the golf tournament, he’d whistled and let us know it cost more to join this country club than most people made in five years.

“This is ... this is ...” Mike lifted his arms, gesturing to our surroundings, still whispering as if afraid of offending any of the wealthy members of the club.

The lockers were not cheap metal, like the ones at our school gym. These lockers were made of stained walnut, and each locker had an engraved nameplate with a member’s name. The floor was lush carpet. Massive old paintings filled the walls. At the back of the locker room was a shower area with a whirlpool and a steam room. We sat in an area with leather-covered reclining chairs in front of a big-screen television.

“This is the snobbiest place we’ve ever been?” I finished for Mike.

“Exactly,” he said in hushed tones. “Not even I would put a Cheeto up Ralphy’s nose here. I’m not even sure we’re allowed in this area.”

“You’re just jealous because I thought of it first.”

“Hah,” he said. “I’m just not crazy enough to try. Even if we were back in Jamesville. You know what Ralphy is like. One little touch on his nose, and he’ll jump through the roof.”

“And I also know that while you and I slept on the airplane, he was so scared he couldn’t even look out the window. And you can bet he hardly got any sleep the night before because he was so worried about flying. And last night, after getting in late, he probably stayed awake most of the night worrying about doing something wrong at this golf tournament. Which means he’s only had a couple hours of sleep in the last two nights. Now he’s so dead to the world, I’m pretty sure I could get a Cheeto halfway up each nostril.”

I could see Mike thinking that through. “No way,” he finally said. “This is still Ralphy we’re talking about.”

I could tell Mike was hooked. I hoped Ralphy wouldn’t smile and give it away that he wasn’t sleeping after all.

“Yes way,” I said. I pretended to give this situation some more thought myself. But it was just pretense. Mike is usually the one playing pranks on Ralphy or me. In fact, on the last day of school, he’d squirted quick-drying superglue onto the seat of my chair just before I sat at my desk. Five minutes later, when I’d tried to stand to leave for school assembly, I’d ripped my pants. And this was only two days after squirting the same superglue into Ralphy’s baseball cap. Now, three weeks into summer vacation, Ralphy’s hair still had big patches missing from where he’d been forced to pull the hat loose.

“Tell you what,” I continued to Mike. “If Ralphy wakes up, I’ll cut your lawn all summer when we get to Jamesville. But if I manage to get one Cheeto halfway up each nostril, you cut my lawn all summer.”

“I don’t know,” Mike said. “Uncle Ted says this place is very snooty and—”

“Chicken?”

Mike straightened and glared at me. “Not a chance.”

I stuck my hand out. “We’ve got a deal?”

He shook on it.

I hid a smile. There was no way I could lose. Ralphy and I had already arranged this the night before. Ralphy was going to pretend to sleep as long as it took for me to get both Cheetos in his nose. We’d have our revenge on Mike. Not a single thing could go wrong.

Except that just as I managed to shove the second Cheeto up Ralphy’s second nostril, a loud, angry voice interrupted us.

“What are you boys doing in this area of the men’s locker room?!”

Mike and I spun around to see a man named Jonathan Wentsworth, the president of the country club. I knew this because Mr. Emmett had pointed him out to us the moment we got to the country club—and had warned us to be on our best behavior around him.

Wentsworth was a big man, wearing old-style golf clothes. He had a huge bald head and a walrus mustache. And a face instantly red with anger.

“What are you boys doing here?” he demanded again. “Caddies are not permitted here!”

I kept myself between the president and Ralphy, who was still reclining in the leather chair. I didn’t think Wentsworth would be amused to see Cheetos up Ralphy’s nose.

“Sir,” I said, “we knew we weren’t supposed to be ready for a few minutes. We just thought—”

“You don’t think around here,” Wentsworth said. “You follow the rules. Who are your parents? I’ll have to have a talk with them.”

“We’re from out of town,” Mike explained. “My uncle invited us to help him with this tournament for your club.”

“Uncle? We have golfers coming in from all over the world for this. Don’t expect me to know who your uncle is.”

“Ted Emmett,” Mike said. Mr. Emmett was also an amateur historian and the person who ran this tournament. “He’s here to—”

“Theodore Emmett.” Wentsworth sniffed with disdain. “So I suppose that means you’re the caddies he’s picked out for us.”

“Yes, sir,” Mike said.

Wentsworth’s frown deepened. “Why isn’t that young man behind you out of his chair and standing with respect for his elders?”

I stepped aside, hoping that Ralphy had managed to pull the Cheetos out of his nose.

“Ralphy?” I said quietly.

Ralphy jumped to his feet and joined Mike and me, facing Wentsworth. I took a quick glance at Ralphy’s face and sighed with relief. No Cheetos. I couldn’t imagine how much more yelling we would have faced with orange Cheetos sticking out of Ralphy’s nose like chopsticks.

I guess, though, Wentsworth still didn’t approve of Ralphy’s appearance. Ralphy’s mouse-brown hair stuck straight up. He was small, and his clothing hung loose on him. He had a skinny face that sometimes twitched with nervousness.

“Straighten up,” Wentsworth told Ralphy. “Make yourself presentable.”

Ralphy ran his fingers through his hair, but it didn’t help.

Wentsworth sighed. “Out to the tee box immediately,” he ordered. “And don’t let me catch you in here again. I don’t care how important Ted Emmett is to the historical society; if any of you misbehave again, all of you will be gone.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” Mike said.

But Wentsworth didn’t reply. He had already walked away, expecting us to follow.

Ralphy didn’t say anything, either.

That’s when I noticed the tears running out of his eyes and a trickle of orange running onto his upper lip from each nostril.

Which gave me a bad feeling about exactly where the Cheetos had gone ... and still were.