Laugh Out Loud Read online

  This one came from two kids who live down the block from me. They’re twins, named Bob and Abby Kipplemeyer.

  For whatever reason, they’re always grabbing shovels out of their mom’s garden shed and digging stuff up in their backyard.

  “Check it out, Jimmy,” said Bob. He was holding a rusty Band-Aid box caked with mud and a clump of grass.

  “We found it near the oak tree,” said his sister, Abby.

  “The exact same spot where we found that ancient plastic dinosaur,” said Bob.

  “No,” said Abby. “We found the dinosaur buried in the sandbox.”

  “No,” said Bob. “It was under the oak tree.”

  “Sandbox.”

  “Oak tree!”

  “SANDBOX!”

  “OAK! TREE!”

  “Was not.”

  “Was too.”

  “Not.”

  “Too.”

  “Not!”

  “Too!”

  “Three!”

  “What?”

  “I dunno. You said two again so I said three.”

  “Oh. Cool. I was kind of thinking the same thing.”

  “I know. It’s a twin thing.”

  And then, smiling (even though they’d just been arguing with each other), they popped open the hinged lid on their tiny tin treasure chest.

  “There’s seventy-three pennies inside!” said Bob.

  “And worms,” added Abby.

  Seeing the worms squiggling and slithering around the copper coins reminded me of another all-time favorite book: How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell (but I really wasn’t in the mood for a wiggly squiggly ketchup/mustard/relish-dipped dessert).

  “We want to give you this money we found for your book company,” said Abby. “But not the worms. We’re setting the worms free.”

  “Releasing them into the wild,” added Bob. “Then we’ll go back to digging.”

  “We’re hoping there might be more money buried near the tree.”

  “Maybe even a sack of nickels!”

  “Happy treasure hunting,” I told them as they raced back home to dig more holes in their backyard.

  And just like that—BA–LING!—I had another idea for another book!

  Chapter 26

  My First Real Book!

  I tucked that treasure hunters brainstorm away in my thick (and growing thicker all the time) idea folder.

  I had to focus on writing my story about the artistic kid having the worst years of his life in middle school.

  I fired up my computer and, once again, set up shop in the garage. Since I was just writing, not printing, I didn’t take up too much space. Mom and Dad didn’t even notice I was there.

  I decided to name my main character, who liked to doodle cool drawings, after my buddy Rafe because Rafe was the coolest doodler I knew.

  Whenever I finished a chapter, I’d email the text to Rafe, who’d come up with a couple of sketches to illustrate each chapter. Sometimes he went wild and did an illustration that took up two whole pages—in the book biz we call that a spread.

  For a week, I typed and Rafe drew.

  Then I typed some more.

  And Rafe drew some more.

  We kept at it, only taking breaks to go to school (and to the bathroom) for maybe two months. I wasn’t getting much sleep or eating very well, but I was having so much fun! Rafe, too. Fortunately, Mrs. Delvecchio didn’t call on me to give my extemporaneous speech while Rafe and I were creating our book. If she had, I might’ve called her a dragon lady.

  Finally, we put everything together and took it to the copy shop at the strip mall.

  “You want it bound?” asked the clerk.

  “Yes,” I told him.

  “And you want this four-color illustration for a cover?”

  “Yes,” said Rafe. “And can you print the cover on thicker paper?”

  “That’ll make it feel more like a book,” I added.

  “No problemo,” said the clerk. “So, how many copies do you dudes want?”

  I checked the Laugh Out Loud Book Company’s bank account, which was all the cash and coins tucked into my pants pockets. After paying for Rafe’s art supplies plus a couple of energy drinks to keep us both going, we had maybe fifty bucks left. Actually, fifty dollars and seventy-three cents, thanks to the Kipplemeyer twins.

  “Um, how many copies can we get for fifty dollars and, uh, seventy-three cents?”

  “Three hundred pages bound with a card-stock cover?” said the clerk, tapping numbers into a whirring calculator.

  He tore off the tape.

  Read our answer.

  “One.”

  “Okay,” I said. “One copy.”

  “It’s our first book,” said Rafe.

  The clerk flipped through a few pages. Checked out some of the illustrations. Laughed. Read some more pages. Laughed some more.

  I realized there might be a problem writing books that readers just didn’t want to put down. It might be difficult to get people who were supposed to be printing the books to do anything but read ’em.

  Finally, the clerk shuffled all the loose paper together to make a tight stack.

  “Your first book, huh?” he said.

  “Yep,” I replied.

  “Well, I can guarantee you one thing, little dudes: It won’t be your last! You’ve got mad skills!”

  Chapter 27

  Now What?

  We grabbed our bound book when it was hot off the presses. Literally. The thing was still toasty warm from the copy machine.

  “Now what do we do?” asked Rafe.

  “Well,” I said, remembering some of the most basic junk from those business books, “if we really want to be a book company we should probably sell it to somebody—for more than it cost us to make! That way we could make a profit, which, uh, is the ‘excess of income over expenditure.’”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be in my speech.”

  “Good. I’ll sleep through that part.”

  “Making a profit is what makes capitalism work.”

  “Seriously?” said Rafe. “Isn’t that, you know, cheating? Jacking up the price like that? Making more money than we spent?”

  “Nope. Because if we make a profit we can make more books. In fact, I think we should sell this copy for double what it cost us to print it: one hundred dollars!”

  “Um, shouldn’t we just say ninety-nine ninety-nine? Every price they advertise on TV always ends with a ninety-nine. Three ninety-nine. Nine ninety-nine. Fourteen thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine…”

  “Good idea.”

  We knocked knuckles on it.

  “Now,” I said, “we just need to find somebody who has ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents.”

  “Whoa,” said Rafe. “That’s nearly one hundred bucks. Who do we know with that kind of cash?”

  He was right. None of our friends (except maybe Hailey) got a very large allowance. And even if they did, some of their weekly money had to go to purchasing everyday essentials. You know—stuff like bubble gum, video games, and lip gloss.

  And then it hit me.

  “Who do we know who actually has a budget for buying books?”

  “Um, the rotund dude with the man-bun who runs the Comic Book Shoppe?”

  “We’ll hit him up later,” I said. “When we have more copies that he can sell to his customers.”

  “Cool. So who’s our first customer?”

  “Ms. Sprenkle! The librarian at school! Remember, she told us she had to keep room on her shelves for all the new books she was going to buy? Well, this is the newest book in town!”

  The next morning, Rafe and I raced to the school library the second we got off the bus.

  “Congratulations,” said Ms. Sprenkle when we showed her our book. “You are a published author, Jimmy. And you, Rafe, are a published illustrator.”

  “And we’re both ready for our first book sale!” said Rafe.

  “Wh
at’s the cover price?” she asked.

  “Ninety-nine ninety-nine,” I told her.

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “But,” I said, “there’s a school library discount. Schools only have to pay ninety dollars. That’s nearly ten percent off!”

  “That’s very expensive for one book.”

  “It’s a limited edition!” I said. “A first and only printing!”

  She smiled. “Can I read it first?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Come back after lunch. If I like it, we have a deal. I think it’s very important that the library encourage young authors just getting started.”

  As you might’ve guessed, it felt like the looooooongest lunch in history. Longer than one of those Henry the Eighth banquets where everybody gobbled down turkey drumsticks with their bare hands.

  At one o’clock, Rafe and I raced back into the library.

  Ms. Sprenkle was standing there waiting for us with a big smile on her face.

  She also had four twenties and a ten in her hand!

  Chapter 28

  I ♥ Librarians!

  “I’d give your book a gold star, boys,” said Ms. Sprenkle. “I believe you have artfully woven a deep and thought-provoking tale of childhood coping mechanisms and everyday school and family realities.”

  Oh-kay. We just thought we made up a funny story about a kid breaking all the dumb rules at his stuck-in-the-mud middle school.

  But whatever.

  Our first review was a starred review, because the librarian prominently displayed our book on the top shelf of a corner bookcase with a “Ms. Sprenkle’s Choice” star made out of cardboard and gold foil wrapping paper.

  “Whoa,” said Rafe. “Only really good books get the gold star!”

  “It’s like we’re a staff pick at a bookstore,” I said to Ms. Sprenkle. “Except, you know, you don’t sell books. You just lend them out.”

  “Correct,” said Ms. Sprenkle. “And I have already entered your illustrated novel into the computer card catalog. Students can start checking it out immediately.”

  “I want it!” said Rafe.

  “Um, shouldn’t we let somebody who hasn’t already read it check it out first?” I suggested.

  “Oh. Good point.”

  “So,” asked Ms. Sprenkle, “what are you guys going to do with the ninety dollars? Buy a video game? Download a few apps?”

  “No, ma’am. If the guy at the copy shop will give us a bulk discount, we’re going to print two more copies of our book!”

  Luckily, the dude at the copy store really, really, really liked our story.

  “It’s like you wrote my story, man!” he told us when we returned to his store. “I chewed gum in class. I dressed funky. I even thought about pulling the fire alarm once. I was a bad boy with a heart of gold, just like Rafe.”

  “Thanks,” said the real Rafe. “I guess.”

  Anyway, the copy guy liked Middle School so much, he did give us a discount: two copies for ninety dollars!

  “Write on, little dude!” he said, giving me a raised-fist salute when the job was all done. “Write on!”

  We took the two books to school with us.

  There was an awesome English teacher (not Mrs. Delvecchio) who’d taught me the year before. Her name was Tara Muenk. She had the best, coolest classroom library of anyone at the middle school.

  “I always knew you’d become a writer, Jimmy,” she said, hugging my book the way I’d hugged it the day before. “Chris Grabbetts, too.”

  “Because he has good penmanship?”

  Ms. Muenk grinned. “Is that what he told you?”

  “Yeah. That he, you know, liked the ‘writing’ part. Doing calligraphy and junk.”

  Ms. Muenk laughed. “That’s because Chris Grabbetts is always cracking jokes and trying to be the class clown. But he has real talent. Trust me. Hey, maybe you two should work together. Collaborate.”

  I nodded. It was a good idea. If I had a couple of authors to write with, I could make more books with all the ideas stuffed in my head and my file folder. When kids said, “Give me another book, Jimmy,” they wouldn’t have to wait so long if I had other writers working with me.

  Long story short, Ms. Muenk bought both copies from the second printing of my first book.

  We had one hundred and eighty dollars in the bank, which was still the pocket of my jeans.

  “Now we can print four more books!” said Rafe.

  “Or,” I suggested, “we could celebrate the official birth of my book company with a pizza party extravaganza!”

  “An excellent idea,” said Rafe. “Because we’ve been working so hard, I’m starving!”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”

  And so my new book company planned its first-ever office party!

  Chapter 29

  PAR-TAY!

  That night, we had the best pizza party one hundred and eighty dollars can buy!

  I’m talking Papa John’s and Pizza Hut. They were both having specials. So we ordered a few pepperoni pies plus garlic knots, cheesy bread, and jalapeño poppers. Yep, there was a lot of extra gas in our garage. We also scored one of those ginormous chocolate chip cookies the size of a manhole cover.

  After everybody had chowed down and danced the Dab, I decided it was time for me to make a speech. I bopped the side of a two-liter bottle of soda to get everybody’s attention. Chris shut off the dance music.

  “You guys?” I said. “I just wanted to say that I’ll never forget this day. You guys are my inspiration. My muses. You were also my first investors!”

  “Woo-hoo!” everybody shouted.

  “It was your car washing skills that gave us enough money to make my dream a reality. Sure, we’ve only printed three copies of our first book, but like they say, every journey starts with a small acorn. No, wait a second. Strike that. They say mighty oak trees take small steps. No, no. That’s not it, either.”

  Everybody started laughing, which is exactly what I wanted them to do. Hey, if you’re running a company called Laugh Out Loud Books, there better be some laugh-out-loud moments in the workday, not to mention the par-tay.

  “Actually, what they say is ‘Hey, Jimmy—please give me another book.’”

  Everybody cheered when I said that. (Note to self: Have that slogan printed on T-shirts.)

  Just then, the garage door started rising, slowly grinding its way up.

  Mom and Dad were home from work.

  “What’s going on?” asked Mom from behind the wheel.

  “Why’s everybody having fun?” asked Dad.

  “Jimmy sold his first books!” shouted Chris.

  “So we’re having a party to celebrate,” said Maxine.

  “We need to park our vehicles,” said Mom.

  “Let’s clean up this mess, kids,” said Dad.

  Mess? Wow. Talk about a party pooper.

  All my friends were bummed, but they chipped in and helped out. We cleaned up all the pizza crusts and stacked the cardboard cartons in the recycling bin.

  Have I told you how amazingly awesome my friends are?

  That’s another reason I wanted to open up a full-scale book-making factory ASAP. So we could all work together and hang out together every day. It’d be fun, like at school. There just wouldn’t be so much homework.

  Chris Grabbetts was the last to leave. He helped me roll the trash and recycling bins down to the curb. It was late but the moon was shining bright.

  “Great party,” said Chris.

  “You know what?” I said to him. “When I open my company, every day will feel like a party!”

  “Hey, Jimmy!”

  It was Sammy, my next-door neighbor.

  “Hey, Sammy. What’s up?”

  “Maddie.” He gestured over his shoulder. My other next-door neighbor was up on the second floor, waving at me from her glowing bedroom window. “She heard about the new book you wrote. The one about middle school with all the funny drawings. She wants a
copy.”

  “Yeah,” said Chris. “So do I.”

  And that’s when I realized what a huge mistake the whole pizza party thing was.

  My Laugh Out Loud bank vault was completely empty. We had no more cash on hand.

  And without cash, we couldn’t run off more copies of my first book—no matter how much the dude at the copy shop loved it.

  Chapter 30

  Banking on a New Bank

  Monday, right after school, I put on my bow tie again and went to a new bank.

  This one was an “investment bank” in San Jose called Adventurous Venture Capital, Inc. According to their website, they were famous for providing “seed money” to Silicon Valley start-ups. Why software developers needed seeds, I had no idea. Maybe they liked to make popcorn while they wrote code.

  Anyway, I biked over to Adventurous Venture Capital’s offices. Everything inside was very sleek and modern. Their lobby reminded me of a piece of furniture from that IKEA store.

  “Please take a seat,” said the receptionist. “One of our investment specialists will be with you shortly.”

  I took a seat.

  But it turns out shortly meant “in maybe an hour, maybe two.”

  I spent the time flipping through magazines. A lot of them were filled with success stories about tech companies worth billions that had started as somebody’s dream. They were my kind of success stories! I figured if they could do it, so could I—with just a little help.

  Finally, three bankers came marching into the lobby.

  “You wished to see us?” said number one.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “This way,” said number two.

  “Follow us to the conference room,” said number three.

  Then, like synchronized swimmers, they all pivoted on their heels and led the way to another glass-walled aquarium room.

  “Tell us your idea,” said number one when they were all seated across a table from me.

  “Make your pitch,” said number two.