My Life as a Joke Read online

  Ms. McManus grabs me before I leave. “Thanks for collecting so many dolls. We need more kids like you trying to do their share.”

  I nod but keep going.

  “Thinking about those less fortunate than ourselves is one of the signs of growing up.” She smiles sincerely, which makes me feel bad for running away every time I see her. “What a nice young man you are, Derek. Your parents should be proud.”

  It’s the first time in my life that anyone’s ever used the word man to refer to me and it makes me kind of giddy. I thank her for the compliment, trying to squash the picture of Baby Goldmine stashed in the top of my closet.

  Auction Time

  In the end, my desire for some fast cash wins out over my feelings of guilt, so Umberto and I go to Matt’s to figure out how to use eBay. Turns out, you have to be eighteen with credit card information and other stuff that none of us have. But Matt’s brother, Jamie, sells DVDs and CDs online and lets us use his account. Listing something on eBay may not look like a lot of writing and planning but for someone with lowly skills like me, even putting a paragraph together calls for real concentration. Of the three of us, Umberto’s the best writer, so we leave the task to him.

  A few minutes later, he reads us what he has. “Baby Karen doll, circa 1967.”

  “What does circa mean?” Matt asks. “It doesn’t even sound like a real word.”

  “It means ‘about,’” Umberto answers.

  “Then say that!” I never understand why people use elaborate—I mean, fancy—words when simple ones will do. I take over for Umberto and make up my own pitch for Baby Goldmine.

  TOTALLY AWESOME BABY KAREN! STILL IN BOX!!!!! WHAT A GREAT DOLL!!!! SHE’S AMAZING!!!! IN PERFECT CONDITION!!!! WHAT A FIND!!!! JUST LIKE NEW!!!!! SHE CAN BE YOURS TODAY!!!!!

  “I think you can tone down the exclamation points,” Umberto says.

  Matt agrees and takes a photo of the doll in her box to add to the posting.

  We agree that for people who’ve never used eBay before we’ve done a great job.

  While we wait for Bill to pick up Umberto in the van, Matt and I skateboard alongside Umberto in his wheelchair, hoping this is the day one of us finally beats him.

  Umberto laughs all the way down the hill, victorious for another day.

  OUCH!

  For the next few afternoons, Matt, Umberto, and I continue to watch the online auction.

  “I bet you make some serious cash,” Umberto says. “There are four people bidding so far.”

  The three of us lower our voices when Carly approaches. She looks at us suspiciously, then shrugs. “I signed you up for the assembly later,” she tells me.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “The Student Council is always looking for assembly topics. I thought you could talk a little about volunteering for the shelter. Maybe it’ll get other kids to volunteer for different causes later in the year.”

  Carly doesn’t say it, but I know this is her way of supporting the new Derek. At first the thought of standing in front of the whole school terrifies me, but the more I think about it, the more I want to step into this new role. I tell Carly I’ll gladly talk about volunteering.

  “Yeah,” Matt says, “you can tell everyone about all the OPPORTUNITIES available when you volunteer.”

  It takes me a minute to realize he’s talking about Baby Goldmine. Carly, as usual, is much faster on the uptake than I am.

  “What did you guys do?”

  “Nothing!” Matt, Umberto, and I answer in unison.

  She eyes us with mistrust. “Seriously, what did you do?”

  “NOTHING!” we repeat. I’d give anything to have the sixth sense for sniffing out lies that Carly has. It’s almost a superpower. As a cartoonist, I might have to explore this possibility.

  She finally drops the subject and tells me she’ll meet me in the auditorium later. The rest of us head to P.E. None of us are happy when we see the setup in the gym: Mr. Walsh has attached ropes to the ceiling and filled the room with other equipment, like the balance beam and vaulting table. Even worse, there’s another class in with ours—older kids who seem bored and bothered they have to perform feats of daring with squirts like us.

  “Who ARE these guys?” Matt asks me. “And why are they butting into our class?”

  Mr. Walsh explains that Mr. Costanzo is out, so today his class will be joining ours. I recognize a few of the kids from the pizza shop in the village; they’re maybe a year older than we are but look much stronger and taller. We’ll probably have our heads handed to us today, but Umberto sets the tone by performing twenty-five chin-ups in a row. The older kids half-heartedly join in the round of applause our class gives Umberto.

  “Fallon, you’re up.” Mr. Walsh points toward the thick rope that’s dangling from the ceiling.

  I’ve climbed lots of ropes and ladders in my life, so I’m surprised that climbing this one is a lot harder than it looks. I feel a little better when I watch Matt on the next rope struggling as hard as I am.

  “What’d Mr. Walsh do—soak these in slow juice?” Matt asks.

  “Maybe we’re just wimps,” I tell him.

  “Or maybe your I-want-to-be-mature-for-my-New-Year’s-resolution is slowing you down.”

  I’m not the only one who’s got growing up on his mind. Matt would never admit it but I notice him also checking out the older kids waiting for their turn on the ropes. Maybe talking to the whole school about the program at the children’s shelter later will be a step in that direction. So is reaching the top of the rope and slapping the ceiling beam, which I finally do.

  “Hey, Fallon!” Swifty calls from the ground below. “I can see your underwear.”

  “That’s funny,” I answer. “’Cuz I’m not wearing any.”

  Swifty isn’t amused that I one-upped his joke. He looks around to make sure Mr. Walsh isn’t watching, then grabs the bottom of my rope and jerks it sideways.

  “Cut it out!” I yell, but not loud enough for Mr. Walsh to come running over and save me as if I’m a baby.

  I’m horrified that Swifty is torturing me with these older kids here, a few of whom are laughing. After a few rough swings, I’d welcome any kind of intervention, even from a tough-talking, burly teacher like Mr. Walsh. Instead, Umberto’s the one who comes to my aid, ramming Swifty with his wheelchair till he finally lets go of the rope. To make up for getting picked on, I show off with a fancy dismount. But instead of landing gracefully, I slam my face straight into the mat on the hardwood floor.

  “Are you okay?” Matt asks, jumping off his rope the way you’re supposed to when you’re not showing off.

  “I’m fine,” I say. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel my lip starting to throb.

  Mr. Walsh checks out my bottom lip and asks if I’m all right. I lie and tell him I am. Between this and the fainting episode, I feel like a giant klutz.

  The older kids, of course, hog the showers after class. I don’t take one anyway because I’m too busy staring at my lip in the steamy mirror.

  “You might be puffy for a few days,” Umberto says afterward. “It takes a while for swelling like that to go down.”

  “The assembly!” I’m not trying to make Umberto and Matt laugh but the S’s in assembly send them into fits of laughter.

  “You sound like my little cousin,” Matt says. “He has a lisp too.”

  “It’s not funny!” But that sentence makes them laugh even harder. I get dressed as fast as I can and hurry to meet Carly in the auditorium.

  As soon as she sees me, she knows something’s wrong. “What happened to your lip? Did you get in a fight?”

  I leave off the part about Swifty swinging the rope like a deranged Tarzan and tell her I fell off the rope in gym class. She scrunches up her face in an are-you-okay? kind of way that makes me feel a little better.

  “Do I still have to do this? It’s kind of difficult with a lisp.” I try not to spit all over Carly as I watch the auditorium fill up with kid
s.

  This is not good—not good at all.

  A Tough Audience

  Principal Demetri stands behind the podium to quiet everyone down. While he makes several announcements, pools of sweat gather in my armpits.

  “Community service is an important part of your education,” he continues. “Now Derek Fallon will tell us about the successful campaign for the new playroom at the children’s shelter.”

  Hardly anyone applauds, which is fine—if I were sitting in the audience, I wouldn’t either. I reach for the mic and pull it down to my height.

  “Um … I really had lots of fun collecting toys for the shelter.” It takes me a moment to realize there are too many S words in that sentence. I can already hear a few giggles from the back of the room. I look over to Carly standing backstage, smiling in her usual supportive way. All I want is to get this over with.

  “It really didn’t take that much time. I’d definitely volunteer again.”

  “You collected DOLLS,” Joe pipes up from his aisle seat. “It’s not like you did anything big.”

  This starts a secondary wave of laughter. I lean into the mic. “I actually spent several weeks on this.” That was WAY too many S words, and the audience responds by laughing even harder at my lisp.

  I’m about to hightail it off the stage when Principal Demetri grabs the mic and faces the audience, especially Joe who’s sitting directly across the aisle from Swifty. “Do you think this is funny?” the principal asks.

  The room gets quiet quickly. Most students at our school like Principal Demetri, but anyone can tell you it’s not a pretty sight to get him angry. I edge my way to the safety of the curtain; Principal Demetri, however, stops me in my tracks.

  “One of our students joins people across the city to help out a nearby shelter—a CHILDREN’S shelter, I might add—and you think that’s a joke?”

  Mr. Demetri is working himself up into the voice he uses whenever he finds graffiti or vandalism on school property. All I want to do is leave the stage before his anger escalates. Carly looks as worried about the blowback as I am.

  Mr. Demetri puts his arm on my shoulder as if he and I are in this together, which we clearly are not. I lean away from the principal but it’s too late.

  “I’m going to recommend all students do community service at the middle school the way they do at the high school. Thank you, Derek—you’ve given me a good idea here today.”

  I look out to the sea of faces; NO ONE is smiling, not even Matt and Umberto, who look downright glum. You don’t have to be a fortune-teller to see how this will play out—with the entire school hating me for adding one more job for us to do.

  “In fact,” Principal Demetri continues, “I think we could use a little more community around here. Everybody stand up. We’re all going to sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’”

  The audience reluctantly rises. All I want to do is disappear.

  Mr. Demetri hands me the mic, which I politely refuse. He insists. “Derek, why don’t you lead us?”

  I take a big gulp and find Matt and Umberto. Matt just stares at me wide-eyed while Umberto looks about ready to wheel himself out of the room.

  I don’t get any farther than “Oh, thay can you thee” before the entire auditorium erupts in laughter. Principal Demetri seems oblivious to why everyone is laughing and bangs the podium to settle the room down. By the time I get to the song’s climax, Carly looks like she might die from embarrassment on my behalf.

  “Oh thay doth that thtarthpangled banner yet wave…”

  When I hit those long, final high notes, the school breaks into hysterics, not applause. I race off the stage with Carly right behind me.

  I lay into her as if she just ran over my dog—AND my monkey. “This is YOUR fault. You and your stupid ideas—wanting me to address the whole school. What were you thinking?”

  I feel my face flush with anger, but Carly’s face is now as red as mine. “I was just trying to help you with your resolution! You were the one who wanted more responsibility.”

  “Well, thanks to you, I’m the school joke!” I kick the wall but it’s concrete and the only thing I hurt is my foot. I hop on one leg all the way down the hall.

  If this is what happens when you try to be a grown-up, lesson learned.

  Acting Mature Was an Immature Idea

  The fat lip and lisp end up sticking around for several days. My mother thinks it’s cute, my father thinks it’s funny, but I am not amused. Every day at school SOMEBODY starts singing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” And if they’re not giving me grief about my lispy song, they’re frowning about the possibility of more community service. Nothing in my life is working … nothing. Except maybe the turnout for the Baby Goldmine auction.

  With two days to go, the bids are already up to ninety-eight dollars. I can’t imagine anyone in his or her right mind paying a hundred dollars for a stupid doll, but according to the list of bidders, there are at least eight of these Baby Karen fanatics. Hey, knock yourself out! The higher the price, the better for me.

  I’m surprised when I open the door after school to find Mrs. Mitchell dropping off Olivia for a few hours. My mom has a full day of animal appointments and forgot to tell me Olivia was on my schedule today. Here’s ANOTHER reason I can’t wait to grow up—to be in charge of my own time, not have days jam-packed with stuff other people want me to do. Mrs. Mitchell leaves a bag full of crayons, paper, and board books, and tells me she and her daughter will be back in two hours. She thanks me profusely as she leaves.

  Because I didn’t know Olivia was coming, I didn’t hide Frank. Olivia goes bonkers when she sees a capuchin monkey sitting in a cage on the counter. She pleads for me to take Frank out but I firmly tell her no. As much as I don’t want to spend the next two hours babysitting, it feels good to be the one GIVING orders for a change, instead of being on the receiving end of all those rules.

  I can’t blame Olivia for not taking no for an answer. If I were two years old, I’d be jumping up and down to play with a monkey too. She begs, she whines, then she starts crying. I already want this baby-sitting job to be over, and Olivia hasn’t even been here a full minute yet.

  I try to substitute Bodi as a fun animal playmate, telling her what a great dog he is and how much his tail will wag if she pets him. However, her only interest in Bodi is as a stepladder; she climbs over my poor dog to get closer to Frank. I drag the crying toddler and Frank’s cage over to my mother’s office. I want to barge into Mom’s examination room and complain, but she’s in the middle of giving a pug stitches, so I head back to our house with the sniffling Olivia.

  My first thought is to text Carly to come over and help. I can’t ask her, though, because we haven’t really made up from our little fight at the assembly last week. I also know she’d just end up telling me that boys can babysit just as well as girls and I don’t need her help.

  I bring down a pile of picture books from my room and sit Olivia on the couch. Because of my reading disability, I still read a lot of picture books. There are a few I forgot about, and I find myself happy to discover them again.

  We read for a little while until Olivia jumps off the couch and starts foraging through the box near the front door.

  She holds up the stupid fishing hat that my father wears when he wants to annoy my mother. “I want the monkey to wear a hat!” Olivia shouts.

  I tell her Frank’s not here but even if he were, there’s no way he’d wear a hat. (I don’t tell her I’ve made him wear hats plenty of times.)

  “I want the monkey to wear a hat!” she repeats, even louder.

  I tell her again that Frank will NOT be wearing a hat today.

  She holds out the hat. “YOU wear it.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  She tosses me the hat and crosses her arms defiantly.

  I almost start laughing because I remember having hundreds of tantrums of my own when I was little. As obnoxious as Olivia is being right now, I have to give h
er credit for persistence. I pick the hat off the floor and put it on.

  “YOU be the monkey!” Olivia yells, this time with delight.

  I don’t need a lot of convincing to start jumping around the room like an overgrown capuchin. Olivia joins in the act and leaps around the room with me. Unfortunately, she gets a little too rambunctious and her cup hits the floor, spilling all over me. I grab some paper towels and wipe the floor and my pants while Olivia continues to jump. I just hope that pretty soon she’ll collapse in a state of exhaustion.

  When I hear a knock at the front door, a wave of relief floods over me that Olivia can finally go home. But it’s not Mandy; it’s one of the older kids from school who joined our gym class. I suddenly realize I’m wearing a stupid hat and my pants are soaking wet.

  This kid wears a cool vintage T-shirt with a Slinky on the front, and he’s holding a skateboard that looks homemade and superfast. Even though I’ve whipped off the hat, he still looks at me warily. “Um, my name’s Steve. I just moved in next door. The people we bought the house from said a skateboarder lived here.”

  “That’s me. I’m Derek.” I try to figure out if I can salvage this horrible first impression. The last thing I want is for Steve to think I hang out with two-year-olds, so I try to block Olivia, who’s still singing and dancing around the living room.