“Ooh, can I put a hold on that one?” I ask. “Mike Nichols, Joan Rivers, Robert Klein, Tina Fey, Amy Poehler—so many funny people got their start doing improv in Chicago.”
“I’ll put your name at the top of the list.”
“Come on, Gilda,” I say. “Let’s go drum up some improv students!”
During our free period, we hang up flyers.
We roll into a few classrooms (the ones where the teachers have a good sense of humor), and I do a quick bit to get kids excited about the after-school class in the library.
We hit the biology lab, where I improvise what it’s like to be a cricket in a lab experiment.
“Take these pins out of my legs. All of them! I have to go be Pinocchio’s conscience!”
We make sure every tray in the cafeteria is lined with a flyer—just like they do at Mickey D’s with the paper place mats.
For good measure, I ask Ms. Denning to cue up a DVD of Best in Show, a hilarious mockumentary movie where maybe half of the hysterical dialogue was improvised on the fly.
I have a lesson plan!
I have a funny movie! (Who doesn’t like funny movies?)
We are good to go.
Gilda, Gaynor, Pierce, and I slip out of our final classes a little early and are in the library at 2:38. Ms. Denning is there, too, of course.
“Thanks, you guys!” she tells us. “This is going to be amazing!”
At 2:40, the final bell rings.
We wait for the crowd to descend.
But it doesn’t.
At 2:45, the only people in the library are the five of us who were there five minutes earlier. I feel all my positivity draining away like it’s been flushed.
At 2:50, we’re still waiting. I can’t look Ms. Denning in the eye.
At 2:51, we discover why no one else, not even Vincent O’Neil, is coming to comedy class today.
The answer is outside in the parking lot.
Chapter 40
STEVIE’S AFTER-SCHOOL SPECIAL
When we finally call it quits, turn off the lights, lock up the library, and head for the exit, we see all the kids who used to be in my comedy class lined up in the circular driveway at the front of the school.
They’re all facing Stevie and Lars, who are standing beneath the flagpole. Both of them are chugging protein drinks and scrunching the plastic bottles down to the size of golf balls.
“Welcome to our new after-school class,” says Lars. “Tell ’em what it’s called, Stevie.”
“The title of our class is How to Avoid Being Bullied After School.”
“So,” shouts Lars, “if you want to live to see another school day, pay attention. Lesson one. Give us all your lunch money before school! That way, we won’t have a reason to bully you after school.”
“Lesson two,” shouts Stevie, grabbing Vincent O’Neil (who always seems to be in the front row for everything) and yanking him up onto the grass patch underneath the flagpole. “If you see something, don’t say anything!”
“That’s so true. Just the other day,” says Vincent, who can never resist trying to crack a joke when he’s in front of a crowd, “I saw Stevie and Lars punching a little old lady at the grocery store. I didn’t do anything because I couldn’t tell who’d started it. Thank you. I’m here all week. I think. Am I here all week, Stevie?”
“If you play by the rules,” says Stevie.
“Our rules,” adds Lars.
“Coach Ball’s rules,” adds Stevie.
“Yeah,” says Lars. “Coach Ball is a bully’s bully!”
“No problemo, guys,” says Vincent as Stevie hoists him off the ground again and tosses him back into the crowd.
“Lesson number three,” says Lars.
“And this is the most important lesson of them all!” says Stevie.
Lars glares at his audience. “If you don’t want to be bullied after school, go home! Now!”
“And,” says Stevie, “never, ever be caught dead taking some kind of stupid after-school class in the library—especially if it’s being taught by that gimp Jamie Grimm. In fact, stay out of the library all the time. Libraries and books and all that other junk in there are bad for you.” Stevie taps his head. “They try to make you think. School’s hard enough. Why hurt your brain any more than you have to?”
Lars looks at his watch. “What’s wrong with you people? Why are you still here? It’s after school. Go home!”
“And pack better snacks in your lunch boxes tomorrow,” says Stevie.
“Yeah,” says Lars. “We’re getting tired of Doritos and Ho Hos.”
“If your parents are putting fruit in there instead of delicious Meathead protein shakes, you’re going to be the ones to deal with our major disappointment,” adds Stevie. “If you don’t have a shake, we’re gonna shake you down!”
“So tell your parents to buy cases of Meathead protein shakes,” says Lars. “Available wherever beverages with questionable nutritional content are sold!”
They both pound their fists into their open palms.
“Go home!” shouts Lars.
Everybody flees.
“Ah, Ms. Denning.”
Coach Ball just came out of the building behind us. Ms. Bumgarten is with him. Her left eye is twitching. She has her clipboard. It has a built-in calculator.
“Ms. Bumgarten and I were just walking by the library, weren’t we?”
“Whatever you say, Al,” says Ms. Bumgarten. Now her nose is twitching, too. I have to figure working for Coach Ball is one of those high-stress occupations. Like being a Navy SEAL.
“We both noticed that no one was using the library,” says Coach Ball.
“I’d heard you had an after-school program lined up for today,” says the vice principal.
“We did,” says Ms. Denning. “But, well…”
“We’re really not interested in excuses, Ms. Denning,” says Coach Ball. “Only results.”
“Numbers don’t lie or have opinions,” says the vice principal, like someone brainwashed her to say it. “Numbers are unemotional.” Now her nose and eye are twitching in sync.
“Ms. Bumgarten will be taking the official tally next Friday. For the school board.”
“Yes, sir. I will, sir. I love numbers, sir.”
“But I don’t think you’re going to love yours, Ms. Denning,” sneers Coach Ball. “Because so far, you’ve done absolutely nothing to increase library usage. So far, all you’ve done is bring it down!”
No, that was me.
I don’t want to see the look on Uncle Frankie’s face when I tell him I failed.
Chapter 41
ABANDON SHIP! THE LIBRARY, TOO!
You know what?” says Gaynor the next morning while we’re walking to school.
Well, he and Pierce are walking, I’m pumping rubber. Uphill.
“What?” I say glumly.
“In, like, two weeks we’re going to be back at the studio in Queens, doing the show again, right?”
“Correct,” says Pierce.
“We’ll have tutors on the set. They’ll bring us all the books we need.”
“Correct,” Pierce says again.
Gaynor stops strolling, bends down, and looks me straight in the eye. “So, Jamie, why the heck are you busting your hump to save a library you’re never even going to use?”
“Good question,” says Pierce, because I think he’s tired of saying “correct.”
“I mean, somebody on that goofy school board or whatever appointed Coach Bowling Ball to be the new principal at Long Beach Middle,” says Gaynor. “If he’s more interested in wrestling than learning, why should we care? We won’t be there. We’ll be at Silvercup Studios. We’ll be TV stars again!”
“But what about all the kids we’re leaving behind?” I say.
“Exactly,” says Gaynor. “We leave ’em behind. If they want a library, why aren’t they the ones fighting for it?”
“Because Uncle Frankie asked me, not them.”
&nbs
p; “And,” says Pierce, “from what I have observed, your uncle’s interest in the matter is fundamentally fueled by his romantic ardor for his paramour.”
“Huh?” says Gaynor.
“He has the hots for Ms. Denning,” says Pierce.
“Well, duh,” says Gaynor. “Any fool can see that. Even me.”
We reach the corner, where Gilda joins us.
“Hiya, guys,” she says. “What are you three talking about?”
Gaynor looks at Pierce, who looks at me.
They both know that Gilda wants to save the library almost as much as Uncle Frankie does.
“Dumping the library,” I say. “Letting Coach Ball turn it into a sweat room for no-neck Neanderthals.”
Gilda laughs.
Gaynor and Pierce just look embarrassed. Then they stare at the dirt some.
“That was a joke, right?” says Gilda. “How come nobody else is laughing? You guys aren’t serious, are you?”
“Um, I sort of am,” says Gaynor sheepishly.
“We won’t be at Long Beach Middle School this time next month,” adds Pierce.
“We don’t need the library,” says Gaynor.
“Oh, yes, you do!” says Gilda. Then she strikes a heroic pose, dramatically pointing one finger skyward. She looks a little like the Statue of Liberty, without the green gown or torch. I swear I can hear fife and drum music in the background. “I will now quote from an article by Stephen Segal that I read in Philadelphia Weekly!”
“The Steven Seagal?” says Gaynor. “The martial-arts dude from the action movies? Whoa!”
“I did not realize he was such a fan of libraries,” adds Pierce. “Fascinating.”
“Different guy,” says Gilda. “Stephen with a ph, not a v.”
“Oh,” we all say in a disappointed way.
“According to Mr. Segal, ‘a school where students are not free to use a library is not a school. It’s a multiple-choice indoctrination camp.’ He also says, ‘The library is where students engage their own minds. The library is the place that embodies the concept of intellectual activity being something for a person to choose.’”
“Actually,” says Pierce, “as the name implies, multiple-choice questions also allow you to choose.”
“Or guess,” says Gaynor. “That’s what I usually do. I call them multiple-guess questions.”
“You guys?” says Gilda, practically stomping her feet. “We need to save the library if it’s the last thing we do!”
“Well, it might be,” I joke. “Especially if Lars and Stevie have anything to do with it.”
“Jamie?” she says. “We’ve got to do this. Before we go back to work on the show. We need to make sure the kids we leave behind have the freedom to think and read about stuff besides wrestling.”
From the way she’s looking at me, I can’t say no.
“So let’s go save a library,” I say.
“How?” says Gaynor. “The after-school-class idea isn’t really working.”
“Then we need to try something else. Today’s Friday. We have till next Friday.…”
“So, let’s meet up after school and brainstorm again,” says Gilda. “We’ll think of something. We always do.”
“I’m there,” I say.
“Us too,” mumble Pierce and Gaynor.
“See you guys at two forty in the library,” I say.
And I really meant it, too.
Too bad someone had other plans for me.
Chapter 42
ANOTHER STEPHEN
I’m in the biology lab, measuring my cricket’s rear end, when the school secretary, Mrs. Kuhn, comes to the door.
“Jamie!” she says in an excited whisper. “Hollywood’s calling!”
“Huh?”
“Joe Amodio! Your producer. He’s in Hollywood! He wants to talk to you! On the phone! My phone! The one in the office! He’s calling from Holl-leee-woooood!” She’s practically singing it.
Mr. Harris, the biology teacher, smiles and gives me a nod. “Go on, Jamie. We’ll keep an eye on your cricket.”
“Don’t let him hop anywhere without me,” I say as I roll out the door and head down the hall behind the very excited, very giggly Mrs. Kuhn, who can’t stop saying “Hollywood” every ten seconds.
Joe Amodio is the executive producer of Jamie Funnie. He was also the executive producer of the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest. In other words, he is basically my boss.
When Joe Amodio says jump, I say, “I can’t. Remember?”
“Jamie, baby!” he gushes when I pick up the school office phone and say hello. “Look out the window, what do you see?”
I look out the window. “It looks like a Hummer.”
“It’s a wheelchair-accessible limo, baby. For you!”
“Well, that’s very nice of you, sir, but I live only a few blocks from school and—”
“It’s going to take you into the city. Fifty-Fourth Street and Broadway,” Mr. Amodio tells me.
“New York City? Why?”
“That’s where the Ed Sullivan Theater is located. You’re doing The Late Show with Stephen Colbert tonight. Well, actually, you’re doing it this afternoon. That’s when they tape.”
“But I have—”
“Nothing more important to do today than promoting your TV show, am I right? Was that what you were about to say?” Mr. Amodio asks firmly.
There’s a beat of ominous silence.
I swallow hard. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s my Jamie. Stephen’s a big, big fan of your show. Can’t wait to chat with you. Maybe you two can do some kind of bit together. Maybe show him how to play that wheelchair basketball game… what do you call it? Murderball! I love murderball!”
“Did you, uh, run this idea by Uncle Frankie?” I ask.
“No. Colbert doesn’t want a yo-yo artist. He wants you, Jamie. Thinks you’re hysterical.”
The more Mr. Amodio babbles in my ear, the more I start thinking, Hey, this might be fun. In fact, it might be just what I need: a short break from Long Beach and libraries and Ms. Denning and Stevie and Lars and Coach Ball and crickets. It might be great to horse around onstage with the one and only Stephen Colbert. I’m a big fan of him and his show, too!
“So, when do I leave?” I ask.
“How about now?” says Mr. Amodio. “That fancy Hummer limo out in the parking lot? They charge by the hour, Jamie baby. The meter is running!”
I probably should’ve let Gilda and the guys know I’d miss our after-school brainstorming session.
I probably should’ve told Uncle Frankie I’d miss my shift cracking jokes behind the cash register at the diner.
But, to be honest, I was so excited about doing Colbert’s show, I forgot all about everybody.
Except me and Stephen Colbert!
Chapter 43
ROLLING HOME
I finish taping the show close to seven. Feeling pumped after saying good-bye to my biffle Stephen Colbert, I ask the limo driver to drop me off at the diner.
I thought it might be fun to hang out with Uncle Frankie and stay up late to watch the show together when it comes on at 11:35.
“You were funny, kid,” says the limo driver. “That line about Colbert’s butt? Cracked me up!”
“Thanks,” I say through the partition window. “It felt good to be in front of a live studio audience again.”
“By the way, would you mind autographing a couple of napkins or something back there? My kids are big fans.”
“No problem, sir,” I say as I scrawl my signature across a pair of napkins with the Sharpie pen I always carry. The napkins are stored right next to the snack jars and crystal goblets that I get to use to drink all the free soda I want. The snacks are free, too! Limos are genuine, first-class awesomesauce. Especially Hummer limos.
Three sodas later, we’re pulling into Uncle Frankie’s Good Eats by the Sea.
“Would you like me to wait for you, Mr. Grimm?”
“No, thanks.
I can roll myself home from here.”
It’s a crisp night. The stars are twinkling. I’ve just guzzled free soda and gobbled free snacks in the back of a stretch military vehicle. All is right with the world.
Until I enter the diner.
“There you are!” says Uncle Frankie. “We were worried about you.”
“Until we were watching the CBS news,” says Gilda, “trying to see if you were in some kind of accident.”
“Instead,” says Pierce, “we saw a promo for your appearance on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Mr. Amodio called. Said Jamie Funnie needed the publicity. So I limoed into the city. Now we can all watch me and Colbert at eleven thirty-five.”
“We know,” says Gilda. “We saw the promo.”
She doesn’t look very happy. She doesn’t sound very happy, either.
“Dude,” says Gaynor. “You totally bailed on us. After that early-morning pep talk and everything. You bailed.”
“Oh, you mean that brainstorming session we were going to do after school? We can do that tomorrow. If, you know, we’re not too tired from staying up late to watch me and Stephen. We did this funny bit about—”
“Your friends pulled out all the stops,” says Ms. Denning.
“Huh?”
“They got everybody to come back to the library to give you one more chance.”
“One more chance at what?”
“To teach your comedy class.”
“I told you guys. No more teaching. No more after-school classes.”
“But we want to do that student showcase next Friday,” says Gilda. “When the school board comes back. We want the library to be packed.”
“Fine. We’ll do the class after school on Monday. Unless, of course, Jimmy Fallon and Seth Meyers want me on their shows, too.”
I smile and wait for the laugh.
There isn’t one.
“That’s a joke, you guys.”
“No one is coming back on Monday, Jamie,” says Ms. Denning. “After you didn’t show today…”