My Life Is a Joke Read online

  Schuyler.

  He’s grabbing a fistful of taffy from the nearest bin and stuffing it into his pocket.

  He’s shoplifting!

  CHAPTER 33

  Our eyes meet.

  Schuyler winks.

  I give him Mom’s Look. It says, in no uncertain terms, Put. It. Back!

  Stealing is wrong. Plus, I don’t want Victoria getting blamed for the theft because she was too busy falling in love with Jeff Cohen to notice it.

  Schuyler gives me another cocky wink.

  This time, I don’t just do the Look. I mouth out the words: “Put. It. Back.”

  Now he gives me a look like I’m some kind of a wimp. But he does put the wax-paper-wrapped tubes back where he found them.

  “Ewww, gross,” says a kid, watching Schuyler pull gummy candy out of his pocket. “That taffy is all warm and squishy now.”

  Victoria snaps out of her love trance.

  “No put-backs,” she says. “You touch it, you bought it.”

  I scoop the taffy Schuyler just dumped back into the bin into a clear plastic bag.

  “My treat!” I say.

  And that’s how I spent the allowance part of my salary that week. Why? Because I’m not big on confrontations. I’m more of a laugh-and-leave-it-alone kind of gal. Or at least I was back in 1991.

  “Let’s go, you guys,” I say. “Victoria needs to take care of her other customers.”

  “It’s true,” she says, snapping back to her normal self. “Customer service is a hallmark of Willy B. Williams’s Taffy Shoppe. Like Mr. Williams always says, ‘Good service is good business!’”

  “I know I’ll be back,” says Jeff. “I love the service in this shop. No, I lurve it, which is even better than love.…”

  “Come on, you guys.…”

  I nudge everybody out the door and pass around the taffy I bought because Schuyler was trying to steal it.

  “So, Jacky,” says Jeff. “Is your sister dating anybody?”

  “Victoria? Nope. In fact, I don’t think she’s ever been on a date.…”

  “Awesome! That means she won’t have any boys to compare me to. I have a shot! Woo-hoo! Catch you guys later. I have to get moo-ving. I’m late for work.”

  Later, after everybody else has peeled off and headed to their jobs or homes, Schuyler and I are alone on the boardwalk.

  “I was just goofing around,” he tells me.

  “No,” I say. “You were shoplifting.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “I am a sodden-witted lord that hath no more brain than I have in mine elbows.”

  “Shakespeare?”

  “Sort of. I, you know, changed it around a little.”

  I shake my head. “See you tomorrow, Schuyler.”

  “‘Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, / Creeps in this petty pace from day to day.…’”

  “What’s that from?”

  “Macbeth. Shakespeare wrote that one, too. Catch you later, kid. I’ve got to bounce.”

  Whistling, he takes off, strolling up the boardwalk, eyeballing all sorts of different shops.

  Leaving me to wonder, what will Ms. O’Mara’s nephew try to steal next?

  CHAPTER 34

  Meredith flags me down outside the church, ten minutes before rehearsal the next day. I have Emma with me.

  “My turn to babysit,” I tell Meredith.

  “I’m not a baby,” says Emma. “I’m six years old. Deal with it. Hi, Meredith.”

  Meredith smiles. “Hi, Emma.”

  “What’s up?” I ask her.

  “All of a sudden, they want me to play Fairy.”

  “I’ll play fairy with you, Meredith,” says Emma, beaming.

  “Emma?” I say. “Meredith and I are trying to have a grown-up discussion.”

  “Why? You’re not grown-ups. You’re twelve.”

  “Which is more grown up than you.”

  “Maybe. But you don’t act more grown up than me.…”

  I ignore her. I can tell Meredith needs to talk. “Who’s this fairy they want you to play?”

  “A fairy without a name. She’s just, you know, Fairy.”

  “Well, that’s great.”

  “Nuh-uh. Fairy has a lot of lines.”

  “So? You can do them. Pretend you’re singing the lines.…”

  “Ms. Sherron says that might be how we end up doing it.…”

  “Great. Let me see the sides.”

  Meredith passes me the script. Her hands are trembling.

  “Okay,” I say. “These are just like lyrics. They even rhyme.”

  Meredith peers over my shoulder. “You’re right. That makes it a little easier.”

  Meredith and I run the lines. Emma is our audience. The more Meredith recites the words, the better, more at ease, she gets.

  While we’re rehearsing, Schuyler ambles over. “What are you guys doing?” he asks, probably wondering if we’ve been talking about him and his sticky, taffy-snitching fingers.

  “Shakespeare,” says Emma. “He writes plays filled with fairies.”

  “This is my little sister Emma,” I explain.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” says Schuyler, offering her his hand and dipping into a curtsy.

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” says Emma, because, I think, she’s heard me say it when I’m goofing around.

  “They just slammed Meredith with a bigger role,” I tell Schuyler.

  “But Jacky’s making it easier for me to understand what I’m saying.”

  “It’s fun,” I say.

  “Cool,” says Schuyler. “Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.”

  “My daddy says that,” says Emma.

  “Smart man. See you guys later. And, Jacky? Say hi to your sister for me.”

  “Olivia?”

  “No. Sophia.”

  He strolls away. Probably off to do what he loves: stealing stuff. You do that, you never have to work a day in your life, either. Unless you wind up in prison. Then you have to make license plates or work in the laundry ironing other inmates’ underpants.

  CHAPTER 35

  Riley swings by the church on her bike to take over the Emma watch.

  “I’m ready to take over my part of the shift,” says Riley. “I think I found the bathing suit I need. Come on, Emma.”

  Emma props her hands on her hips. She learned to be defiant around the age of two.

  “You guys keep passing me around like a hot potato!” she whines.

  “Because it’s summer, Emma,” I say. “Everything’s hot.”

  “Hey, you want French fries?” says Riley. “Those are hot potatoes.”

  “Okay,” says Emma, with a gleam in her eye. “French fries and cheese pizza.”

  Another thing she learned at the age of two? How much she loves cheese pizza.

  Riley looks at me. I dig into my pocket. “Will two dollars help?”

  “Couldn’t hurt. All I have is fifty cents.”

  She takes my money (yes, I will spend the entire summer broke, I’m sure of it) and leads Emma off to the boardwalk.

  Meredith and I head down to the church basement, ready to rehearse. Meredith is feeling confident that she can handle the speech we’ve been working on. There’s only one problem: The Fairy’s scene is with Puck. Travis Wormowitz.

  “‘How now, spirit!’” says Travis at the top of the scene. He strikes this pretty goofy pose. “‘Whither wander you?’”

  Meredith launches into her lines, adding some willowy and mysterious modern dance moves. “Over hill, over dale, / Through bush, through briar, / Over park, over pale, / Through flood, through fire.’”

  She gets her lines right, but to my amazement, she puts an awesome spin on them, like she’s half singing, half rapping them. With her beautiful voice, it really makes you think she’s a fairy, because humans don’t sound that good!

  “‘And I serve the Fairy Queen,’” says Meredith. “‘To dew her orbs upon the green.’”
>
  “Cut!” shouts Travis. “Excuse me, Meredith, but this isn’t some kind of hip-hop show starring LL Cool J or Run-D.M.C. This is supposed to be Shakespeare—not amateur night at the Apollo Theater! Do it right or go back to Harlem where you belong!”

  Every adult in the room is staring at him. Some have their mouths hanging open. Latoya Sherron has her arms crossed over her chest. She looks mad. Very, very mad.

  Even I know the Apollo is a world-famous theater in the Harlem neighborhood of New York City. Tons of African-American performers got their start there, like Diana Ross, the Jackson 5, Aretha Franklin, Stevie Wonder, and Mariah Carey. Shakespeare would’ve been lucky to see his plays performed there!

  But for Travis Wormowitz to say those horrible things to Meredith, like she’s doing something wrong and doesn’t deserve to be here? Well, there’s only one thing for a best friend to do.

  As I’m marching over to the stage and rolling up my sleeves to sock Wormowitz right in his wormhole, I see Scott, the director, looking at Ms. O’Mara. She nods. He nods back.

  “Travis?” says Scott. “Let’s take a walk. Outside.”

  “What? You have notes? For me? I only said, like, one line and I said it absolutely perfectly!”

  “Outside,” says Scott. “Now.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Travis stomps up the steps. He doesn’t prance, skip, or fairy-hop. He stomps.

  And he never, ever comes back to that church basement.

  Ms. O’Mara comes over to me.

  “Jacky?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have you been doing your homework?”

  All I can do is nod and try to remember how to breathe.

  “Good. Because you’re our new Puck.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Wh-wh-who’s my understudy?”

  “Nobody right now. So, Jacky? Don’t mess this up.”

  I nod again.

  So, my darling daughters, as you can see, not getting the part of Puck wasn’t my colossal mistake that summer because, eventually, I did.

  But hang on.

  Mom’s big, embarrassing belly flop is still on its way.

  CHAPTER 36

  When you’re in a play, your cast becomes your new family.

  And nobody wants to be in a family with someone who is downright mean and nasty to someone else in that family. When my friends and I talked about it later, we all agreed Travis was totally disrespectful to Meredith. You can’t do that and stay in the family (unless, of course, it’s your biological family—otherwise, Sophia would’ve kicked me out of the Hart family for messing up her under-the-boardwalk romance with Schuyler).

  After Travis’s dramatic exit, we rehearse a few scenes with me as Puck. I amaze everybody (including myself) with how well I know the lines. See, mornings at the Balloon Race booth are kind of slow. I have plenty of time for memorization. I’ve been working the lines into my booth spiel to make sure they really stick in my brain cells.

  And, ta-da! Since I actually know the lines, I don’t stutter. (Even though on the inside I’m shaking like the last leaf on a tree being attacked by a leaf blower.)

  “We should celebrate!” says Bill when rehearsal’s over around eight o’clock. “Who wants to grab a slice?”

  Everybody’s hands shoot up.

  Except mine.

  “If it’s okay with you guys, I just want to head home,” I say. “It’s been a long, strange day.”

  “Sure,” says Bill. “I’ll walk you.”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” I tell him.

  “Okay,” says Bill, sounding disappointed.

  “Don’t worry, Billy Boy,” says Meredith. “Jacky’s still crazy about you.…”

  I give her a double eyebrow raise and a Whaaaat? look. Meredith ignores both.

  “She just has a lot to think about,” she says.

  “True,” says Dan.

  “Like how is she going to get Riley to cover more of her babysitting slots now that she has such a major role?” adds Jeff.

  He’s right. Plus, what am I going to tell Mom and Dad? I promised them my role as Mustardseed wouldn’t interfere with my chores at home or my job on the boardwalk. And they’re counting on me to pitch in with Emma.

  So, I actually do have a lot to think about.

  “Maybe next time?” I say to Bill.

  He smiles. His hazel eyes twinkle. “Next time.”

  It’s dusk. I decide to stroll down the beach to the band shell. To see the stage where I will be playing Puck, one of Shakespeare’s best parts, in front of thousands of p-p-people.

  As I approach the band shell, I hear loud, angry voices shouting from the stage. They’re accompanied by even angrier electric guitars that seem to know only two chords.

  “We’re Toxic Trash!

  Come hear us thrash!

  We’re better than the Clash!

  We’ll give your ears a rash!”

  CHAPTER 37

  I study the two guys on the stage.

  I’m pretty sure it’s Bob and his friend Ringworm (I seriously need to learn his real name). They’ve both done something spiky with their hair. They’re also dressed in ripped T-shirts and black leather pants, and have chains dangling off their belts.

  The two boys are manically hopping around a boom box (that’s a portable music machine the size of a suitcase), shaking their heads, pumping their fists in the air, and screaming at the empty beach. They’re imitating hard-core punk rockers, which, in the late ’80s and early ’90s, meant bands with names like the Misfits and Gorilla Biscuits.

  Remember how Bob was making my stomach flip and feel funny? He’s doing it again. But it’s a new kind of funny. The kind you get with stomach flu.

  When the music stops, Bob thrusts his make-believe microphone up toward the sky.

  “We’re Toxic Trash,” he announces. “And we want your vote, Seaside Heights!”

  Since there’s no one else in the audience, I applaud.

  “You’ve got mine,” I say. Of course I have no idea what Bob and Ringworm are running for.

  “Jacky?” says Bob after he squints enough to recognize who’s clapping for him.

  I give him a wiggle-finger wave.

  He hops off the stage.

  “Aren’t we awesome?” he asks.

  “Well,” I say with a smile, “your hair sure is.”

  “Thanks. We’re going for the whole punk look. I might dye mine pink for the show.”

  “What show?”

  “The Battle of the Bands! It’s gonna be here on the beach.”

  He shows me a crinkled flyer.

  “The battle takes place right here on this stage,” snarls Ringworm. “Right before your stupid Shakespeare show.”

  “Um, our Shakespeare show isn’t going to be stupid.”

  “Sure it is,” says Ringworm. “It’s Sh-Sh-Shakespeare, isn’t it?”

  Well, Bob may be trying to become a decent human being, but his sidekick, Ringworm, is definitely slipping back into familiar kindergarten-bully territory on me.

  “We are so going to win this thing!” says Bob. “All we need now is the entry fee and a ton of hair gel.”

  “Hey, you got any money, Jacky Ha-Ha?” says Ringworm, giving me a mean look. “Because we need two hundred more bucks to enter the Battle of the Bands.”

  “No… I…”

  He moves closer.

  “Don’t w-w-worry, Jacky. We’ll pay you back wh-wh-when we w-w-win. First prize is a thousand b-b-bucks.”

  “I don’t h-h-have any money,” I say, taking a step back.

  “Sure you do. You have a job. People with jobs always have money.…”

  Unless they give most of it to their parents, I think but don’t say. All I want to do is get out of there fast.

  “Whoa,” Bob says to Ringworm. “Ease up, bro.”

  “Aw, you’ve gone all soft, Roberto. Just because Jacky Ha-Ha smiled at you once…”

  I’m trying to decide where exactly to kick Ringworm first and which
way to run when I hear the wonderful whoop-whoop-whoop of a police siren and see the soft swirl of cherry-red light.

  The cavalry has arrived!

  CHAPTER 38

  It’s the Seaside Heights Police, and Dad’s working the night shift.

  He and his partner ease out of the patrol car, the way super-cool cops do on TV. The spotlight beam of a flashlight hits us. I feel like tap-dancing for joy.

  “Jacky?” says Dad as he and his partner amble closer. “These boys friends of yours?”

  “Not exactly,” I mumble.

  “What’s the problem, Officer?” snarls Ringworm.

  “We had a noise complaint,” says Dad’s partner, a lady I don’t recognize. “Were you kids screaming and shouting about toxic trash and the Clash?”

  “So what if we were? It’s a free country,” says Ringworm, who, it seems, has taken over the top bully spot from Bubblebutt. Maybe they had a vote.

  “It’s also getting dark,” says the cop. “Little kids are trying to sleep. You’re keeping everybody awake. Plus, did you seriously say you were better than the Clash? Because I gotta tell you—‘Rock the Casbah,’ ‘London Calling’… those are classics.”

  “They’re old!” shouts Ringworm. “You’re old.”

  “Yo, bro,” mumbles Bob. “Chill.”

  “You two need to move along,” says Dad. “Now.”

  “Fine!” says Ringworm. “But we’ll be back for the Battle of the Bands, which, by the way, we’re totally going to win, this I can tell you!”

  As Ringworm and Bob saunter away, Dad flicks off his flashlight.

  “You okay, Jacky?” he asks. Parents have a kind of internal radar. They know when their daughters or sons are scared. Trust me. We do.

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”

  “Those two boys in your Shakespeare show?” he asks.

  “No way.”

  “Good. They didn’t strike me as Shakespeare types.”