I, Funny Read online

  “Not gonna happen, stepbro.”

  “C’mon.”

  “What? You think you’re special? Use the front door, like everybody else.”

  Now he laughs even harder.

  I would go around to the door on the side of the garage, but Uncle Smiley dead-bolted it shut “for security purposes” when I moved in. He also didn’t give me a key. (Have I mentioned how clueless my adoptive parents are? I did? Good. Just checking.)

  Meanwhile, the temperature keeps dropping.

  “Have a nice night, bro!” Stevie cries from the window. And then he disappears.

  Leaving me to freeze in peace.

  Great. I’ve always loved Popsicles. I just never wanted to turn into one.

  Chapter 16

  ME AND MY CRAZY FRIENDS

  Yes, the other Smileys finally came home and, yes, my body finally thawed out.

  (Now I know how a bag of frozen broccoli feels.)

  On Monday morning it’s back-to-school time, which is fine by me. School means I get to hang with my friends, at least.

  I meet up with Pierce and Gaynor in the schoolyard.

  Pierce is so smart, he could probably teach the teachers.

  “Did you know,” he says, “that the average life span of a major-league baseball is seven pitches?”

  “No,” I say. “I did not know that.”

  “It’s true. And it’s rumored that Coca-Cola was originally green.”

  After Pierce hits me with a few fun facts, I try to return the favor with a fresh math joke.

  “So how come calculus and girls are the same?”

  “I dunno,” says Pierce. “How come?”

  “Because I don’t understand either one.”

  “Speaking of girls…” says Gaynor.

  Have I mentioned that Gaynor is girl-crazy? I think the nose ring short-circuited something in his brain. All he ever wants to talk about is girls. Probably because he’s afraid to talk to them. (Aren’t we all? Well, probably not if you’re a girl, but… oh, never mind.)

  “I’m thinking about getting Suzie Orolvsky’s name tattooed on my knuckles,” Gaynor announces.

  “Who’s she?” I ask.

  “That girl in physics,” says Pierce. “You know, Jamie. The one you’re always gawking at.”

  I don’t know who, or what, he’s talking about.

  “So what do you guys think?” says Gaynor, holding up both his fists. “I could put one letter on each finger.”

  “Bad idea,” I say. “Everybody will think you’re in love with S-U-Z-I-E-O-R-O.”

  Gaynor gets it finally. “Oh, man. I need to fall in love with a girl who has a way shorter name. Like Meg Choo. She’s cool.”

  Like I said, Gaynor is girl-crazy. Or maybe he’s just plain wacko. Either way, I love the guy.

  I’m tempted to ask my friends what they think of Uncle Frankie’s idea—me trying out for the funny-kid contest.

  But I don’t ask.

  Know why?

  Because I choke on the words.

  Chapter 17

  THE BIGGEST LOSER

  By now you know I love to tell jokes.

  But other people, it seems, love to play jokes. Especially on me.

  This is why I have such a terrible time at school that day. Maybe the worst since I got to Long Beach.

  Those two jokesters Pierce and Gaynor somehow managed to get my name on the student council ballot. There’s a check box next to it and everything. So now I’m officially running to be a class representative.

  They even made posters—and hung them in the halls!

  Yes, my total humiliation has gone totally public.

  “Why would you guys do something so dumb?” I ask them when we meet up again in the cafeteria for lunch.

  “Dumb?” says Pierce. “Bull! You’re the best man for the job, Jamie.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yeah, you are,” says Gaynor. “You’re honest. You say what you mean. You’ve got guts.”

  “Jamie,” says Pierce, “the student council would be lucky to have you. You have an excellent sense of humor, which can be useful during heated debates.”

  Wow. Maybe my two best friends were serious about me running for office. That made me feel pretty good, actually. For, like, four hours.

  Until the announcements at the end of the day. They read the election results.

  I got three votes. Three out of three hundred sixty-one.

  I know Gaynor and Pierce voted for me, but I can’t figure out who the third vote came from. The only thing I know for sure is it wasn’t me! I swear—I did not vote for myself.

  In fact, I voted for a write-in candidate. Bart Simpson. Now, he’s funny. Bart Simpson would be great on the student council. Bart Simpson could be the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic, too.

  It’s definitely not me.

  Chapter 18

  THE CRIP FROM CORNBALL

  The funny thing is, I used to be ready to try anything. I had no fear. Maybe I should have, though.

  Like I said, I used to live in a small town called Cornwall in upstate New York. Well, that’s what people who live there call it. And the people who make maps.

  Stevie Kosgrov? He calls it “Cornball.” Making me the “crip from Cornball.”

  Seems before I moved to Smileyville, Stevie had his eye on the garage.

  “I wanted that to be my bedroom,” he says. “It’d be so easy to sneak out at night to TP yards, egg cars, and punch people.” Yes, Stevie has an active social life.

  He also shadows me wherever I go. School. The bathroom. The movies.

  “And don’t think I won’t punch you!” he’s always saying.

  “You already did punch me!” I want to remind him, but I never do, because it might make him mad enough to punch me again.

  “I’ll punch anybody and anything!” he boasts. “Girls, old people, fire hydrants, even goldfish.”

  Yes, Stevie Kosgrov claims he actually punched out a goldfish once.

  When he was a baby. With teeny-tiny fists.

  “I didn’t like the way the thing was looking at me with that sideways eyeball. So I smacked it right in the kisser.”

  And unlike the miniature snack crackers, this goldfish did not smile back.

  Chapter 19

  MY LUNCH DATE

  The next day at lunch, I make my way to our usual table in the far corner of the cafeteria and discover that Pierce and Gaynor have invited someone new to join our crew.

  The girl with the frizzy hair.

  “Hey, Jamie,” says Gaynor. “You know Gilda Gold, right? From math class? She’s a girl.”

  “Gilda’s in my robotics club,” adds Pierce. “She told me she likes those jokes you crack all the time from the back of the room. So I invited her to join us for lunch so she could officially meet you.”

  I’m nodding, staring, and saying something like, “Stammer, stammer, stammer, stammer.”

  Or maybe it’s “Hummina, hummina, hummina,” which is what the old-time TV comedian Jackie Gleason used to jabber whenever he choked.

  Whatever I do, it makes Gilda giggle. She thinks I’m trying to be funny.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she says, giving me her bubbly laugh.

  Which gives me enough confidence to get out, “Usually I say something like, ‘Haven’t I seen you someplace before?’ And then they say, ‘Yeah, that’s why I don’t go there anymore.’ ”

  Gilda laughs and then flings me her own comeback joke: “Yesterday this total jerk actually asked me what my sign was. I told him, ‘No Parking.’ ”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh, and suddenly it’s like we have this whole history between us, even though we don’t. Just math class. And a love of jokes, I guess.

  Gaynor and Pierce slide down to the end of the table to play flick football.

  Gilda Gold and I crack open our chocolate-milk cartons and talk like crazy. She tells me how she moved to Long Beach from New England. I tell her a little
bit about Cornwall. She loves baseball, especially the Boston Red Sox, even though wearing a BoSox hat is lethally dangerous this close to New York City. (Long Beach is diehard Yankees territory.) I tell her how I used to love playing baseball. Center field. Then I realize what I’m getting into—and I stop myself.

  “Now I mostly play DVDs of old movies,” I say.

  “I love old movies!” Gilda gushes. “Comedies?”

  “Definitely. Blazing Saddles and Airplane! and anything with Will Ferrell. What about the Marx Brothers?” I ask.

  “I love those guys!”

  I pick up my milk straw and start doing my best Groucho impersonation. “Hello, room service? Send up a larger room.”

  Gilda giggles. I keep going.

  “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”

  And that’s when Stevie Kosgrov shows up.

  His fist has some kind of brown goop smeared on it. I think he just punched somebody’s bean burrito.

  “Why you wearing that hat?” he says to Gilda.

  “Um, because I like the Sox.”

  Kosgrov cocks back his arm. “Consider this a warning, sister. You better watch yourself.”

  “Okay. Sure.” Gilda pulls out her makeup mirror. Stares at her reflection. “I’m watching myself.”

  When Kosgrov stomps away, it’s Gilda’s turn to quote some Groucho to me: “He may look like an idiot and talk like an idiot, but don’t let that fool you. He really is an idiot.”

  Yep. She funny.

  Chapter 20

  WHY “PUBLIC SPEAKING” SHOULD BE CALLED “PUBLIC EXECUTION”

  I wish I could say that after lunch with Gilda and the guys, my day just kept getting better and better.

  I guess if this were a Hollywood movie, that’s how things would go. Unfortunately, it’s just my life.

  Right after lunch, I have ELA. English Language Arts. One of those arts, I hate to say, is public speaking.

  And it’s my turn to give a speech.

  I chose the topic “Climbing Mount Everest.”

  Why not? Fiction is one of the language arts, too.

  “Today,” I say when I’m in front of everybody, “I’d like to talk to you about climbing Mount Everest—the mountain, which Tibetans call Jomolungma, a name that means ‘Holy Mother.’

  “And that’s exactly what I said the first time I saw the summit looming in the distance: ‘Holy Mother, what have I gotten myself into this time?’ ”

  The class and Mrs. Kanai, our teacher, laugh.

  “But it had always been my dream to reach the Top of the World, as Everest, the highest mountain peak on earth, is sometimes called. However, I had been hoping that Donald Trump would just drop me off in one of his helicopters. But it wasn’t meant to be. The Donald was busy making another couple of billions that day.

  “ ‘Why Everest?’ you may ask. ‘Because it’s there’ is the most famous answer. ‘There was nothing good on TV’ is another.”

  More laughs.

  “And so with my trusted Sherpa guide and a sled dog named Bob, I set out from Kathmandu.

  “We made our way to base camp and spent two weeks adjusting to the higher altitude and lack of oxygen. We all sounded like we’d been sucking helium out of birthday balloons.

  “Finally, we set out for the summit. Yes, it was hard. Yes, it was dangerous. Yes, we had to wear helmets that gave us horrible hat hair, but it was worth it. Because I knew that if I could ascend Mount Everest, I would show the world that I could overcome any obstacle life put in my way. I could achieve any dream I dreamed. And so I pushed myself. Literally. I mean I used both arms and pushed—hard. That Everest is steep.

  “Suddenly, an unexpected storm erupted. Thunder boomed. Snow swirled all around me. My wheels became caked with ice. My spokes became icicles. My Sherpa guide and Bob the sled dog both said we should turn back. But I said no! I could see the summit! I could…”

  Actually, what I see are two dozen pairs of eyeballs staring at me. My audience is dying to hear how my story ends.

  And then a real storm erupts. A sweat storm. My armpits look like I’ve been popping water balloons down there. I can’t remember how the speech is supposed to end.

  All of a sudden, I have a new dream: to disappear right into the floor!

  Chapter 21

  FIRST AID FOR CHOKING VICTIMS

  Totally embarrassed, I bolt out of school before the final bell even stops ringing.

  I don’t hang out with Pierce and Gaynor. I don’t say good-bye to Gilda. I just roll my sweaty butt down the boardwalk to Uncle Frankie’s diner.

  “So how was your day?” he asks.

  “Terrible. This morning, when I put on my underwear, I could hear the Fruit of the Loom guys laughing at me.”

  “Jamie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s a Rodney Dangerfield joke. You told it last weekend to Mrs. Nicolo. I’m asking about your day, not Mr. Dangerfield’s.”

  “It was horrible. I choked.”

  “Did you try the Heimlich maneuver?” cracks Uncle Frankie.

  It makes me smile. “That’s pretty good,” I say. “I may steal it.”

  “Be my guest. Anything I can do to help.”

  I sigh and get serious. “Today in ELA, I had to give a speech, and it was going pretty good right up to when it wasn’t. I panicked, Uncle Frankie. My mind went totally and completely blank. I choked.”

  Uncle Frankie gives me a knowing nod, like he’s been there, done that.

  “You know, Jamie, I read this magazine article once. It said the fear of public speaking is second—only to the fear of death—in the dread-and-anxiety department.”

  “I guess that’s why comedians say they’re ‘dying’ when nobody laughs at their jokes.”

  “Whoa. Hold on, kiddo. Everybody laughs at your jokes. I’ve heard ’em.”

  “Only if I don’t freeze up first. Like, if there was a little pressure on me. Or an audience of more than one or two.”

  “So allow me to pass along some advice a customer—a guy who teaches public speaking at City College—told me once. He said everybody gets stage fright. The key to beating it is practicing the three Ps.”

  “You’re saying I should do more bathroom humor?”

  “Jamie?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Practice. Prepare. Perform.”

  I nod.

  “Hang on a second,” says Uncle Frankie. He goes to this drawer where he keeps junk, like the halves of broken yo-yos and extra spools of yo-yo string. “This speech teacher—he gave me a pamphlet for a seminar he leads.” He hands me the slim brochure. “Take it home, Jamie.”

  “Great. Now even my favorite uncle is giving me homework.”

  “Only because I love you, kiddo.”

  I smile when he says that. “Yeah. I know.”

  Chapter 22

  THE LONG WAY HOME

  After visiting the diner (and helping out behind the cash register during the dinner rush), I take the long way back to Smileyville.

  I’m not in that big of a hurry to head for “home.”

  Plus, the boardwalk is incredibly beautiful after the sun goes down. It’s just me and the stars and the ocean crashing against the shore.

  Very peaceful.

  I love the beach and the boardwalk—almost as much as I loved my old life back in Cornwall.

  Almost.

  Yeah, I miss Cornwall like crazy.

  What exactly do I miss so much?

  Everything. And everybody. I miss the way things used to be, you know?

  The people who used to be in my life.

  The people who used to be my life.

  Sorry. That’s all I can give you right now. The beach, especially at night, is a total No Buzzkill zone.

  Chapter 23

  A BAD DREAM COME TRUE

  Speaking of a totally incredible buzzkill…

  Who should come bopping up the boardwalk but Stevi
e Kosgrov and a couple of his creepy friends—guys he probably met while doing hard time in detention hall.

  “Well, if it isn’t the crip from Cornball.” Stevie sneers as he and his two pals block my way forward.

  When I try to back up, one of the knuckle-dragging thugs grabs hold of a railing, swings around, and ends up behind me.

  I’m totally surrounded. It’s like a bully doughnut, and I’m the squishy jelly in the middle.

  “Where you going, funny boy?” Stevie asks.

  “Home,” I mumble.

  “You mean Cornball? Then I think you’re heading in the wrong direction.”

  He grabs my armrests and spins me around. Then he tilts me backward till I’m staring straight up at the sky.

  “You know, Forrest Gimp, you should do like sailors do when they’re lost: Follow the stars! Can you see the stars, Jamie?”

  I don’t know why exactly, but I crack wise in reply: “You mean those tiny twinkling things up in the sky? I always wondered what those were called.” And then I follow up with an insult joke. “Stevie, you ate paint chips in your crib—am I right?”

  “Are you mouthing off to me?”

  “No. I was just—”

  He doesn’t wait for my next snappy comeback. He dumps me. He lets go of my handles and lets me fall backward and hit the deck, hard. So hard, I actually see a few more stars.

  “Grab his chair, Zits,” Stevie says to one of his hoodlum friends.

  “Got it.”

  “Yo,” he calls to the other goon. “Give me a hand, Useless. It’s time to toss out the trash.”

  Stevie grabs my arms. Zits and Useless grab my legs. They start swinging me back and forth like I’m a hammock somebody hung up in a hurricane.