Oggie Cooder

  “Didn’t anyone tell you?” said one of the reporters. “Everybody who goes on the show gets ten thousand dollars. And if you win the whole shebang, well, then we’re talking really big bucks.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?” said Oggie. “Are you sure about that?”

  “That’s right. Ten thou.”

  “Prrrrr-ip! Prrrrr-ip!” cried Oggie happily, because he knew exactly what he was going to do with the money.

  * * *

  By noon, Oggie had received calls from a dozen different cheese companies asking if he’d be willing to use their product when he went on the show. Oggie’s Aunt Hettie called to congratulate him and to say she’d always known he was destined for greatness. The Cooders were very proud of their son, and Mrs. Cooder carefully glued the newspaper clipping about Oggie into the scrapbook. Oggie had entered more contests than he could count, but this was the first time he had ever won anything. He should have been prrrrr-iping happily all over the place. But the one problem was — he felt bad about Donnica.

  The Cooders had called the Perfectos immediately when they heard about Donnica’s teeth, insisting on paying half of the dental bills. But Oggie knew that Donnica’s chipped teeth were only part of the reason she was mad at him. She had wanted to win herself, and even though she had tricked Oggie into teaching her how to charve, he still felt guilty that he was the one who was going to be going to Hollywood. He wished he could think of something he could do to make it up to her, but so far the only idea he’d come up with was to crochet her a pair of shoelaces, which he planned to do as soon as he could get his hands on some pink yarn.

  Later that day, Oggie was out in the garage pumping up his bicycle tires, when a shadow fell across the floor. At first, he thought maybe it was another reporter coming to ask him more questions, but when he looked up, there was Donnica Perfecto.

  “Oh, hi,” said Oggie. “How are your teeth feeling?”

  “I’m not here to talk about my teeth,” Donnica told him. There was a gleam in her eye that made Oggie feel uncomfortable.

  She wasn’t a big girl, but Donnica looked pretty strong. Oggie thought there was a distinct possibility that he was about to get flattened.

  “Are you ready, Oggie Cooder?” Donnica asked.

  “Not really,” Oggie answered truthfully.

  “Well, get ready, because when I’m done with you, even your own mother’s not going to be able to recognize you.”

  * * *

  Donnica Perfecto did not flatten Oggie in his garage that afternoon. What she did do was offer him a deal.

  “I’ll forgive you for what you did if you let me be your manager.”

  Truthfully, Oggie had no idea what a manager might do, but he didn’t care. As soon as he heard the word “forgive,” he was sold on the idea.

  “Prrrrr-ip! Prrrrr-ip!” he said, relieved to be off the hook.

  “I’m going to assume that ridiculous noise you’re making means we have a deal,” said Donnica.

  “Yeppers!” agreed Oggie happily. “And now I don’t even have to find pink yarn!”

  * * *

  When Oggie Cooder walked into Mr. Snolinovsky’s classroom on Monday morning, everybody was excited to see him. People who didn’t normally even say hello came running over to clap him on the back.

  “I saw you in the newspaper!”

  “Everybody’s talking about you!”

  “Hey, Oggie,” giggled America Johnson, holding out two pieces of paper she had ripped from her notebook. “Can I have your autograph? One for me and one for my sister?”

  Donnica jumped in before Oggie could answer.

  “No autographs,” she commanded. “And no pictures.”

  “Says who?” asked America.

  “Says me,” Donnica answered.

  “Who made you boss?” David Korben asked.

  “He did,” said Donnica, jerking a thumb in Oggie’s direction. “Right, Oggie?”

  Oggie shrugged his shoulders and grinned. He couldn’t believe how much his life had changed all because of one little piece of cheese.

  * * *

  At lunch, Donnica insisted that Oggie sit with her at the table by the window.

  “Hurry up and eat,” she said as Oggie unwrapped his sandwich. “We need to practice.”

  Donnica had taken to carrying a stopwatch with her so she could time Oggie when he practiced his charving.

  “I still don’t understand why I have to do it fast,” Oggie said. “I didn’t do it fast at the audition.”

  “You want to win, don’t you?” Donnica told him.

  Oggie nodded.

  “You know that kid I told you about who won last year?” Donnica continued. “The one who could play ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ with his armpit? Well, you wouldn’t believe how fast he did it. And the judges loved him. And the kid who cracked the walnuts with his toes? He might have won instead if somebody had told him to speed it up a little. Now hurry up and finish your lunch — we’ve got work to do.”

  Having no interest any longer in being anywhere near Donnica Perfecto, Dawn and Hannah joined Amy at Oggie’s old table over by the garbage cans. The three girls watched Donnica fussing over Oggie.

  “Can you believe it?” Dawn said. “A few days ago she was calling him a loser, and now she’s acting like she owns him or something.”

  “I can’t believe we used to like her,” said Hannah. “She’s so fake.”

  “Yeah, like why is she helping Oggie try to win?” Dawn wondered. “We were her best friends and she didn’t even tell us about the audition.”

  Amy didn’t say anything. She just looked across the room at Oggie and shook her head. He wasn’t the only one having a hard time believing how much that piece of cheese had changed things.

  Where are your glasses?” Donnica asked Oggie as they walked down the hall to the classroom after lunch.

  “In my pocket,” Oggie answered.

  “Put them on,” Donnica said, snapping her fingers at him.

  “But they’re sunglasses,” he pointed out.

  “Trust me, people in Hollywood always wear sunglasses, even when they’re inside.”

  “But we’re not in Hollywood.”

  Donnica gave him her don’t cross me look, something Oggie had been seeing quite a lot of since Donnica had become his manager. In order to avoid a confrontation, he put the sunglasses on.

  David and a couple of his jock buddies sidled over to them.

  “Hey, Oggie,” David said. “How about playing a little B-ball with us after school? Maybe the newspaper will come and take our pictures.”

  Oggie was thrilled.

  “Prrrrr-ip! Prrrrr-ip!”

  “STOP prrrrr-iping!” Donnica demanded, grabbing Oggie’s arm. “How many times do I have to tell you, that noise is annoying and weird. Trust me, Hollywood does not like annoying and weird.”

  “What about it, Oggie? Want to play ball with us?” asked David again. “You don’t have to listen to everything old bossy face says.”

  “Oh, yes, he does!” said Donnica. “And there is absolutely no way he can play basketball this afternoon.”

  “Why not?” Oggie asked, dismayed.

  “A, we have too much work to do. And B, you might do something cloddy, like run into somebody and chip your teeth,” Donnica told Oggie pointedly.

  So Oggie reluctantly declined an invitation he’d basically been waiting for his whole life.

  * * *

  After school, Donnica insisted that Oggie go with her to Selznick’s department store.

  “You need some new clothes,” she told him.

  “What’s wrong with the clothes I’ve already got?” asked Oggie.

  “You want to win, don’t you?” said Donnica. “Trust me, your clothes are too weird. And one other thing — you know that silly word you always say instead of yes?”

  “You mean ‘yeppers’?” said Oggie. “What about it?”

  “People in Hollywood don’t say ‘yeppers,’
they just say yes. Understood?”

  “Yes,” said Oggie quietly, and he noticed the first small twinges of an uncomfortable pinching feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Donnica Perfectos’ ideas about fashion boiled down to the complete opposite of everything Oggie had ever worn.

  She picked out a pair of khaki pants and a navy blue polo shirt for him to try on.

  “I like stripes,” Oggie told her. “And checks, too.”

  “No stripes,” said Donnica. “And absolutely no checks. Put these on and then we’ll go look for shoes. You’ll need brown ones to go with your pants.”

  “I’ve got some brown yarn,” Oggie told Donnica. “Maybe I’ll make some laces to go with my new shoes.”

  “You’re not going to wear homemade shoelaces on the show,” said Donnica.

  “I’m not?” asked Oggie. He couldn’t imagine wearing shoes without homemade laces in them.

  “No,” said Donnica, “because —”

  “People in Hollywood don’t wear crocheted shoelaces?” guessed Oggie.

  “True,” Donnica said, “but the main reason is because they look dumb.”

  Oggie was confused. “The other day you told me you loved them. Remember? You said, ‘Love your shoelaces, Oggie Cooder.’”

  “I was kidding,” said Donnica as they turned the corner and started up Tullahoma Street.

  Oggie put his hand on his stomach. That uncomfortable pinching feeling was getting a little bit stronger.

  “What’s the matter with you?” asked Donnica, noticing Oggie rubbing his stomach.

  “I’m not sure,” said Oggie. “You don’t think my appendix is about to explode, do you?”

  Donnica didn’t answer. She was looking up the street at Oggie’s house.

  “Whose car is that in your driveway?” she asked.

  Oggie told her he didn’t recognize it.

  “Well, if it’s anybody important, call me,” Donnica said. “And remember —”

  “I know.” Oggie sighed, rubbing his stomach again. “No autographs, no photographs, no basketball, no shoelaces, no nothing.”

  There were two men sitting in the living room with Mrs. Cooder when Oggie walked in. Turk came charging over to jump up on Oggie and give him a welcome-home face licking.

  “So this is the famous Oggie Cooder everyone’s been talking about,” said the taller of the two men, rising in order to shake Oggie’s hand. He had on blue jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. On his feet he wore expensive-looking leather loafers and no socks. “I’m Bradley Mathis from HT.”

  “What’s HT?” asked Oggie.

  The man chuckled. “Hidden Talents. You have heard of the show, haven’t you?”

  “Actually none of us were familiar with your show until Oggie got chosen to be on it,” said Mrs. Cooder, smoothing the front of her purple skirt with her hand. “You see, we don’t own a television, Mr. Mathis.”

  Mr. Mathis looked stunned.

  “Do you mean to say, you’ve never seen the show?” he asked Oggie.

  “No, I haven’t,” said Oggie. “Does that mean I can’t be on it?”

  “Are you kidding?” exclaimed Mr. Mathis. “Our publicity people are going to love this!” He pulled a pen out of his pocket. “I’ve brought some contracts for you and your parents to sign, and Jimmy here is going to snap a few photos.”

  The other man unsnapped the black bag hanging from his shoulder and pulled out a camera.

  “I’m not supposed to sign anything or have my picture taken without my manager here,” said Oggie, remembering Donnica’s rules. “And I can’t play basketball with you, either.”

  “You have a manager?” Mr. Mathis seemed surprised. “That was fast. What agency?”

  “It’s just the neighbor girl,” Mrs. Cooder explained. “She’s taken a sudden and rather surprising interest in Oggie since you people came to town.”

  “Yeah,” Oggie said, “she’s the one who bought me these new clothes.”

  “I was wondering where those came from,” said Mrs. Cooder, eyeing Oggie’s crisp new khaki pants.

  “Actually,” said Mr. Mathis, “I was wondering about those clothes myself. Do you think I could talk to that manager of yours, Oggie?”

  “Hang on,” said Oggie. “I know how to get her over here fast.”

  He walked over to the window, pulled it open, and leaned out.

  “DONNICA!” he shouted. “Somebody’s trying to take my picture!”

  Two seconds later, she was there.

  Apparently, Donnica knew a lot less about Hollywood than she thought she did.

  “We don’t want you messing with his look anymore,” Mr. Mathis told her. “We like the whole Oggie Cooder package — the clothes, the funny-looking dog, the weird noises, and especially those crazy shoelaces. And we think America is going to like it, too.”

  “Does that mean I can say ‘yeppers’ again, Mr. Mathis?” asked Oggie hopefully.

  “Absolutely,” said Mr. Mathis. “And forget the formality — we’re a team now, Oggie. Please call me Brad.”

  “You know,” said Mrs. Cooder, “now that I think of it, several kids came into the store yesterday, asking whether we had any seersucker pants. I wonder if that was because of Oggie.”

  Some of those kids were from Oggie’s class, because over the next few days more and more of them showed up at Truman wearing things that had obviously come from the racks of Too Good to Be Threw.

  The talk at Bethie Hudson’s lunch table changed from horses to crocheting, and pretty soon all the girls were making homemade shoelaces just like Oggie’s. Kids were getting into charving, too. Grocery stores in Wawatosa reported record sales of American cheese slices. The excitement about Oggie going to Hollywood was building to a fever pitch.

  Donnica switched gears immediately and became as fierce about preserving Oggie’s image as she had been about trying to change it.

  “If any reporters show up, make sure you prrrrr-ip as much as possible,” she’d tell him. “And toss in a couple of yeppers, too.”

  She also suggested that besides saying “yeppers,” he add “nopers” to his vocabulary.

  Oggie didn’t get it, but everybody who knew Donnica could tell that the reason she was helping Oggie was in order to get something for herself. And it worked, too. Once the papers got wind that Oggie’s manager was a pretty little ten-year-old girl, they went nuts taking pictures of Donnica and Oggie together. HT, seeing the potential for even more publicity for the upcoming show, invited her to come with him to Hollywood. Donnica’s ego immediately grew from large to jumbo size.

  “Have you noticed she’s calling people ‘darling’?” Dawn said to Hannah one day at lunch.

  “And now she’s wearing sunglasses all the time, too,” said Hannah. “The whole thing makes me sick.”

  Amy just shook her head.

  Pretty soon, the papers started running stories about which contestants would prove to be the biggest competition for Oggie.

  “You think Oggie can beat that guy with the stretchy nostrils?” Bethie Hudson asked one day.

  “Of course he can beat him,” said Donnica. “What’s so great about being able to put quarters up your nose?”

  “What about the girl who paints with pudding?” asked someone else.

  “Who cares about pudding?” Donnica said, although truthfully the girl’s remarkably accurate version of the Mona Lisa made entirely out of chocolate pudding had made her a little bit nervous.

  “I’ve been thinking, maybe charving states isn’t good enough,” Donnica told Oggie one day at lunch. “What about presidents? You could charve Abe Lincoln with his top hat on. Or George Washington chopping down the cherry tree.”

  “That sounds kind of complicated,” said Oggie.

  “You want to win, don’t you?” barked Donnica, pulling out her stopwatch. “Come on, Oggie Cooder. Give me George Washington and the cherry tree — and make it good!”

  Oggie sighed and pulle
d a fresh piece of cheese out of his pocket. Charving sure was a lot less fun than it used to be.

  * * *

  On Friday, two days before Oggie and Donnica were supposed to fly to California to tape the show, Mr. Snolinovsky asked to see Oggie out in the hall.

  “I’d better come, too,” said Donnica. “I don’t like my client to be interviewed when I’m not present.”

  “Donnica,” Mr. Snolinovksy told her firmly, “go back to your seat, please. During school hours Oggie is not your client, he is my student. And please don’t make me say this again: No sunglasses in my classroom.”

  Out in the hall, Mr. Snolinovsky leaned against the wall and scratched his head.

  “Is there anything you’d like to talk about, Oggie?” he asked.

  Oggie thought for a second. “Well,” he said, “I have always kind of wondered why you scratch your head so much. When Turk is itchy, it usually means it’s time for a flea bath.”

  Mr. Snolinovsky looked flustered. “I meant about the show,” he said. “Are you sure it’s not too much, all of this Hollywood hoo-ha?”

  Oggie laughed. He liked that word “hoo-ha.”

  “I’m okay,” he said. “My stomach feels kind of weird sometimes, though. I think it might be my appendix.”

  “It’s more likely that you’re nervous.”

  “The funny thing is,” said Oggie, “I used to charve when I felt nervous. But ever since Donnica started timing me, and making me charve George Washington, it’s not so relaxing anymore.”

  “Donnica can be a very persuasive girl,” said Mr. Snolinovsky.

  “Does persuasive mean the same thing as really bossy?” asked Oggie.

  Mr. Snolinovsky laughed. “Just remember to be yourself, Oggie, and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  At the end of the day, Mr. Snolinovsky dragged out his record player and the desks got pushed to the side of the room for square dancing. The first dance was a “ladies’ choice” and all the girls made a beeline for Oggie. Everybody wanted to dance with the most famous fourth grader in Wawatosa, Wisconsin. That is, almost everybody. Amy stood in the corner watching Oggie and quietly shaking her head.

  * * *

  When Oggie and Donnica got home from school, Bradley Mathis’s car was parked in the Cooders’ driveway again. Mr. and Mrs. Cooder were down at the store, meeting with another plumber, so no one had been home to answer the doorbell, leaving Brad no choice but to wait on the porch steps.