Jacky shuffles back into the scene. This wasn’t in the script. Yep, she’s improvising. I notice that she’s pulled her left arm out of her tattered shirt and that the sleeve is suddenly empty and flapping.
The applause light comes on. The audience claps like crazy. Theme music swells out of the speaker.
“And we’re clear!” shouts Gilda. “Three-minute commercial break.”
Gaynor and Pierce slap Gilda a high five.
I check out the kids in the wheelchairs down front. They’re loving the show.
I check out the rest of the crowd, too. They’re all smiling! Everybody loved the first two scenes.
Except, of course, Donna Dinkle. Because she wasn’t in either one of them. She’s over near the schoolyard set. Talking to Michael McKee.
And whatever she’s telling him isn’t doing much to calm Michael’s nerves. In fact, my “best friend” Bob has a very familiar look in his eye. It’s the one I always get right before I choke.
Chapter 60
SO FAR, SO GOOD!
Sixty seconds and we’re back live,” says Gretchen, the stage manager.
“Places for the schoolyard scene,” says Gilda. “We need Jamie, Lars from Mars, and Bob.”
Joe Amodio comes bounding onstage over to me. He’s very, very happy.
“The network is tracking audience response at focus groups all across the country. You’re scoring off the charts, kiddo. And they loved that bit with the zombies and then the lizard. Who came up with that?”
“Me and Gilda, I guess.”
“Keep it up, you two. America loves what you’re doing. Stay on a roll tonight, and we’re definitely looking at a twenty-two episode commitment from BNC!”
“And Uncle Frankie gets to keep his diner?”
“Jamie, if you sign on for a full season, you can buy your uncle a whole string of diners.”
“Thirty seconds,” says Gretchen.
“Woo-hoo!” says Joe Amodio, as he, more or less, prances off the stage.
I roll over to the schoolyard set.
Michael McKee is standing near the edge. Trembling.
He looks totally freaked.
“Just relax,” I tell him. “You’ll be great as Bob.”
“I’m Bob the Builder?”
“No…”
“SpongeBob SquarePants?”
Hoo-boy. Donna definitely did a number on the poor guy.
I can see her, smirking in the shadows behind camera three.
“Don’t worry,” I tell Michael. “Lars is on first. You have time to pull yourself together. Just breathe. Try to relax.”
Michael nods. The way people who don’t speak English do when they think you’re asking them a question, but you’re not.
“Five, four, three…”
The stage manager does the last two seconds of her countdown silently with her fingers. This is the problem with doing a live show. You can’t stop when one of your cast mates turns into a frozen vegetable.
The red light comes on again.
The actor who plays Lars from Mars marches onto the set from stage left as I roll on from stage right. We meet in the middle as the transition music fades.
“Oh, hey, Lars,” I say. “Flush any sixth graders down the toilet today?”
“Watch your mouth!”
“Why? Is it doing something weird?”
I scooch my lips around and make a bunch of funny faces. The audience is yukking it up.
Lars steps forward. “What, you think that just because you’re in a wheelchair, I won’t kick your butt into the next county?”
He puts his hands on his hips and scowls at me. You can see the steam shooting out of his ears—Gilda had the prop guys rig him up with crazy smoke-machine earpieces.
“You think you’re so funny.” Lars sneers. “Well, you know what they say about he who laughs last…”
“Um, he was too slow to get the joke the first time he heard it?”
“No! He who laughs last, laughs loudest!”
And then, just like he’s supposed to, he shoves me. Hard.
I topple backward. Fortunately the whole “schoolyard” is actually a wrestling mat painted black and white to look like an asphalt basketball court. The mat cushions my fall.
Lars bends down to laugh in my face.
“Ha! Ha! Ha! I had the last laugh.”
“Tee-hee. Did not.”
Lars balls up his fist. “Ho, ho. Did too!”
He waits for me to dare to laugh again.
When I don’t, he stomps offstage, leaving me stranded—just the way it actually happened when Stevie Kosgrov decked me on my first day at Long Beach Middle School.
But, back then, my friends raced to my rescue.
Which is what we have in the script, too. This is supposed to be my best friend Bob’s big entrance.
“That’ll teach you not to mess with me!” I call after Lars from Mars. Then—“Could you come back and help me up now?” I peep so pitifully the audience can’t help but laugh.
I glance over at Bob.
Actually, I glance over to where Bob is supposed to be.
I’m all alone.
On live TV.
In front of millions of people.
Flat on my back.
Chapter 61
UNLESS I’M MISTAKEN, THERE ARE NO MISTAKES
Okay. Time to improvise.
I can’t put myself back in the wheelchair, which is lying on its side five feet away from me.
And Lars can’t come back into the scene and help me out, because it would be totally out of character.
“Ha-ha.” I say. “There. I had the last laugh. Ha. And the second-to-last laugh, too. Um, can somebody lend me a hand?”
Jacky Hart lurches back onstage in her zombie costume.
“Here you go, kid.”
She tosses me a rubber hand.
The audience laughs. Jacky’s trying to buy me some time to think my way out of this mess.
“I’d love to help you out, Jamie,” she says, “but I’m just a figment of your imagination.”
“Right. Thanks for dropping by.”
“No problem. I think I’ll go inside and check out the teacher’s lounge. I hear teachers have humongous brains…”
She exits.
The audience is still cracking up. They think this is all part of the bit. That’s good.
“I think I broke my butt bone,” I say, earning another laugh.
I turn my head sort of sideways.
“You ever have one of those days?” I say to the camera. “I do. All the time. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…”
I see Gilda next to the camera. Her hands are up. She doesn’t know what to do. She raises her eyebrows and makes a slashing gesture across her throat.
Should I cut to a commercial? is what she’s trying to ask me.
“But do I let it get me down?” I say. “Nope.”
That’s my way of telling Gilda to not call the cut. Everyone will know we messed up if she does.
I can’t quit. Not in front of Serena Wetmore and all those other kids pulling for me. Just because we’re in wheelchairs does not mean we’re helpless. Sometimes, we just have to be a little more creative than everybody else.
I, once again, remember what Jacky Hart always says: Every mistake is just a chance to do something even funnier.
Like adding some characters to a live TV show who aren’t even in the script!
“Yo, Gaynor? Pierce?” I shout. “A little help out here…”
While they look at each other and wonder what the heck I’m doing, I talk straight into that camera lens again.
“Joey Gaynor and Jimmy Pierce are the two best friends any guy could ever have. They never treat me like I’m handicapped or disabled. They just treat me like they would any doofus who fell out of his chair and sprained his butt.”
While the audience chuckles, Gilda shoves Gaynor and Pierce forward.
They don’t know what to do at first.
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They’re on TV!
Gaynor actually waves at the camera.
“You can wave at your girlfriend later, Gaynor,” I say. “Right now, I need a little help.”
“What were you trying to do, Jamie?” says Pierce, not too stiffly. “Audition for the part of the class turtle?”
I wiggle my arms like a tipped-over turtle to make the gag pay off while Gaynor and Pierce bend down on either side of me. They slide their hands under my back.
“Jacky Hart gave me that line,” Pierce whispers in my ear.
“Thanks for the help, guys,” I say out loud. “But, uh, don’t you think we need to prop up my wheelchair first?”
“Oh, right,” says Gaynor. “Duh.”
Then he and Pierce both drop me. Hard. My head hits the “asphalt” like a rock.
I do a funny take and the audience cracks up.
Gaynor and Pierce grab my chair and roll it closer. Then, just like in real life, they lift me up and lower me into the seat.
The audience does one of those elongated “awwwws” that sitcom audiences do when they see something sweet.
“Thanks, guys,” I say when I’m back in my wheelchair. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”
“Spend a lot more time on your butt,” cracks Gaynor.
Ha! Now he’s ad-libbing, too!
The audience howls. Gaynor sort of smiles and nods. Pierce waves.
“Who are you waving at?” I ask.
“Um, Gaynor’s girlfriend?”
“Watch out, Gaynor. You might have some competition!” I waggle my eyebrows in Pierce’s direction.
That gives us our exit laugh.
“Thanks, you guys,” I whisper to my friends.
As we exit, Gaynor starts pumping his arm and chanting, “USA! USA!”
I’m not sure why, but the audience loves that, too!
Yes, there are no mistakes on live TV. Just new opportunities to let your friends know how awesome they are.
Chapter 62
BUYING TIME
After the schoolyard scene, we cut to another commercial break.
“Two minutes, everybody,” Mr. Wetmore announces through the ceiling speakers. “And, Ms. Gold? That scene went a little long. We need to lose ninety seconds somewhere.”
Gilda’s nodding. Slashing her script with a thick marker. “We’ll cut the cafeteria scene, go straight to the diner.”
“What?” shrieks Donna. “If you do that, I’m not even in this episode.”
“Huh,” says Gilda, without even looking up from her script. “Funny how that worked out. Can somebody go find Bob? Make sure that our darling Donna didn’t make him sick to his stomach.”
“What are you implying?” Donna fumes.
“That you’re off this show. Like my friend Jamie always says, being funny should be fun.”
When we come out of the commercial, Nigel Bigglebottom and I do a funny scene in the diner. There’s lots of yo-yoing involved. A couple of milk-shake glasses get shattered.
After that, we head home to the Frownies’ kitchen, where the audience discovers that Lars from Mars is my cousin.
“Let’s all pose for our first Christmas card with Jamie,” says Mrs. Frownie.
Stone-faced, they gather around me as Mr. Frownie sets his camera on a timer.
“Smile!” he says in the most boring monotone ever. “We’re one big, happy family.”
And, of course, I’m the only one even grinning. The audience cracks up.
The Frownies’ cat slumps to the floor and, right on cue, puts his paws over his eyes and grumbles. Now the audience is hysterical. But the Frownies keep on frowning.
When the camera flashes, I say, “Tomorrow, we start remedial smiling lessons, you guys.”
The family exits, except for Lars. He balls up his fist to threaten me. “Tomorrow,” he says, “you die!”
“Great. Let me put that on my calendar.”
“Was that a joke?”
“Ha!”
“Are you still trying to get the last laugh?”
“Nope. Hee-hee.”
“So, how’d you even get back in your wheelchair after I decked you?” Lars snarls.
I smile. “With a little help from my friends.”
We do one last scene in the diner and then go to our last commercial break.
All that’s left is my closing monologue. I nail it.
The audience applauds like crazy—even before the applause lights come on.
“We’re clear,” announces Gilda, who is really getting the hang of this directing thing. “Good show, everybody.”
Joe Amodio comes onto the set. “Great show, kiddos! Fantastic. Gilda, you’re a natural. So, guess what I did?”
“Bought yourself an ice-cream cone to celebrate?”
“Nope. I called my alma mater, UCLA.”
“Huh?”
“I went to school there. Did you enter their short-film contest?”
“Well, I was going to…”
“Forget it. You don’t have to. If you can direct a live TV show for BNC, you don’t have to win a contest to earn your summer internship. You’re in. Plus, when you’re old enough for college, the film school will give you a full scholarship. The one I’m going to fund just for you!”
“Good job, you guys,” says Uncle Frankie, shaking hands with Gaynor and Pierce. “Jamie’s lucky to have friends like you two.”
“I’ve already signed a dozen autographs,” reports Pierce.
“That cute girl over there kissed me,” says Gaynor, pointing at Serena Wetmore. “I like being a TV star.”
Mr. and Mrs. Smiley bustle out of the bleachers to join us.
“Good job, Jamie,” says Mr. Smiley. “Very funny show.” He’s frowning, of course.
“Thanks!”
“Has anybody seen Stevie and his new friend Lars?” asks Mrs. Smiley.
“Yes, ma’am,” says the lead security guard. “I’m afraid there was a slight accident. Somehow, the two of them fell into a Dumpster out back. Headfirst.”
“How’d that happen?” asks Mrs. Smiley.
I shrug. “Hollywood magic, I guess.”
EPILOGUE
SIGNING ON THE DOTTED LINES
The pilot is a hit.
Actually, it’s a sensation. The ratings are through the roof. America can’t wait for Jamie Funnie to become a regularly scheduled show. Neither can BNC.
And I’ve already called Donna Dinkle to see if she wants to be in episode two. Hey, she was a big star and then lost her show. I know how that feels, sort of. Because it almost happened to me.
Saturday morning, Joe Amodio swings by the diner with another contract that needs signing. Actually, he brings four of them—one for me and one for each of my best friends.
“You give the show a spontaneous spin,” Mr. Amodio tells Gilda, quoting from our review in the New York Times. “‘Watching Jamie Funnie, one has the sense that anything could happen, no matter how random or ridiculous. Young Gilda Gold has a refreshingly new feel for mainstream-TV comedy.’”
Gilda signs on to direct a dozen more episodes. “I can’t do all twenty-two,” she explains. “I still have homework.”
“Everybody loved you two!” Mr. Amodio tells Gaynor and Pierce. “You’re the best friends every kid in America wishes they had.”
They sign on their dotted lines, too.
“What about that gnarly chick, Donna Dinkle?” Gaynor asks Pierce.
“She’ll be back,” I say. “Everybody deserves a second chance.”
“I agree,” says Uncle Frankie. “And, Jamie? I’ve always been glad you got yours.”
So, what happens next?
Well, I still can’t really believe it, but my best friends and I are all going to be working together on a funny TV show. Maybe Uncle Frankie’s diner will become super famous. Maybe we’ll all be balloons in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Maybe Stevie will finally graduate from eighth grade.
Hey, like
that review said, anything could happen.
But first, we’re going to do that comedy contest for the younger kids. The ones who hang out on the elementary-school playground and try to crack each other up—just because it’s fun.
I pitched the idea to Mr. Amodio. He loved it.
Gilda, Gaynor, and Pierce come with me and Mr. Amodio to see the kids in action.
Because the best laughs are always the ones you share with your best friends.
James Patterson holds the Guinness World Record for the most #1 New York Times bestsellers, including Middle School and I Funny. He is a tireless champion of the power of books and reading, exemplified by his new children’s book imprint, JIMMY Patterson, whose mission is simple: We want every kid who finishes a JIMMY Book to say: “PLEASE GIVE ME ANOTHER BOOK.” He has donated more than one million books to students and soldiers and has over four hundred Teacher Education Scholarships at twenty-four colleges and universities. He has also donated millions to independent bookstores and school libraries. James will be investing his proceeds from the sales of JIMMY Patterson Books in pro-reading initiatives.
Chris Grabenstein is a New York Time best-selling author who has collaborated with James Patterson on the I Funny and Treasure Hunters series and Daniel X: Armageddon. He lives in New York City.
Laura Park is a cartoonist and the illustrator of the I Funny series and four books in the Middle School series. She is the author of the minicomic series Do Not Disturb My Waking Dream, and her work has appeared in The Best American Comics. She lives in Chicago.
BOOKS BY JAMES PATTERSON for Young Readers
The I Funny Novels
(with Chris Grabenstein, illustrated by Laura Park)
I Funny
I Even Funnier
I Totally Funniest
I Funny TV
The Middle School Novels
Middle School, The Worst Years of My Life