Raymond Vellenburg collapsed on the floor in hysterics. “The giant size!” he roared. “Man, what a moron!”
A thousand different laughs started echoing around in my head.
Behind me, Annabelle Posey’s mean, high-pitched cackle penetrated my brain.
I wanted to die.
5
It was the worst day of my life. The absolute worst. Even after school, things just kept going straight downhill.…
“Will someone please tell Ernest Wilson to go home?” I shouted when I walked in the door that afternoon. “He followed me home from the corner, and he’s sitting on the step waiting for me to show him the giant yellow kitty!”
My mother didn’t answer.
I got up and peeked out the window.
“Now he’s in the new lounge chair. He’s got his feet all over it!”
That ought to get her, I thought. Mention feet in a chair and my mother goes nuts.
I sat down at the table and waited for her to rush outside and shoo Ernest away. I wondered if she’d use her broom and chase him around the yard.
“Come on, Mom!” I screeched when she still hadn’t come. “Do something! Aren’t you going to do something? He …”
I didn’t bother to finish. Right in the middle of my yelling I spotted her note on the refrigerator:
Dear Alex,
I got called in to work today. Should be home by four. Don’t eat a lot of junk.
Mom
Great! Just great! The absolute worst day of my life and no one home to talk to. A guy could explode, keeping a day like this all bottled up inside.
“It’d serve her right, too,” I growled out loud. “It’d serve her right if she came home and found me exploded all over the kitchen.”
A knock came at the back door. I opened it just wide enough for my lips.
“Go home, Ernest. I told you before, there is no giant yellow kitty.”
“Yes, there is too a kitty,” insisted Ernest, running to the door and trying to force his way in the crack. “I saw it on the TB.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a TB, Ernest. It’s TV. And the giant yellow kitty was just for the commercial. I don’t own it. It’s not mine, okay?”
Ernest put his face and nose all over the glass, trying to see inside.
“You’re making a disgusting mess on the window, Ernest,” I told him. “Will you go home if I give you my autograph?”
I’m not sure he knew what an autograph was, but he nodded his head yes.
I grabbed a felt-tip marker. Then I went outside and wrote my name on Ernest’s arm.
He went home happy.
But I still wasn’t. Ever since English class all I had wanted to do was run home and try to get the sound of Annabelle’s laughing out of my brain. And I wanted to talk everything over with my mother. And then she’d feel real sorry for me and pat me on the head and tell me I’d never have to go back to junior high again. And then I could quit school and get a job stabbing trash with a pointy stick in the city park.
“But noooo,” I said out loud again. “Where is she when I need her? At stupid work, that’s where! At stupid work, leaving me alone with no one to talk to. No one to pat me on the head. No one to call the city park and see if there are any trash-stabbing jobs available.”
Well, okay. That wasn’t quite true. There was someone home. It wasn’t the someone I wanted, though. Not the someone I wanted at all.…
She walked into the room and sat down beside me. I looked the other way and pretended not to notice.
She didn’t give up though. I knew she wouldn’t give up. She would just sit there like she always does, waiting, patiently waiting, until finally I’d give in and tell her my problems.
But not this time, I thought. This time I refuse to talk. The last thing I need is for someone else to start laughing at me. I’ve had enough laughing to last me a lifetime.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my head. I’d pretend she wasn’t there, that’s what I’d do. I’d keep my problems hidden inside and not say a word. She couldn’t sit there forever, could she? She’d have to get discouraged sometime.
I’m not sure how long I stayed balled up like that. All I know is that after a while I started to get stiff. Then I lost the feeling in my left foot. Was she still there, or wasn’t she? I had to know.
I peeked out from between my knees.
She was still there all right. She caught me looking at her and winked.
“Oh, okay, Fluffy! You win! I’ll tell you what happened. But I’m not kidding—if you start to laugh, I’m putting you outside, and I’m locking the doors, and I’m not going to let you in until morning! Do you understand, Fluffy? Morning!”
After that it just came pouring out. About how I thought this commercial was going to be the best thing that ever happened to me. Only now it was the worst. And how everyone had laughed at me in English class. And how in my other classes hardly anyone had even seen the commercial. And how Ernest Wilson had followed me home screaming, “It’s the Kitty Boy! It’s the Kitty Boy!”
Fluffy rubbed her head against my foot. I think she was trying to be sympathetic.
“You should have heard him, Fluff,” I continued. “Hey, Kitty Boy! How come you ran away from home with that giant yellow kitty cat? How come you couldn’t lift that big bag of food? Weren’t you strong enough?”
That’s when it started. At first I just thought she had a frog in her throat or something. But after a few seconds it was pretty clear that Fluffy was starting to chuckle. Oh sure, she tried to make it seem like she was purring. But her mouth was drawn up in this twisted little grin.
I didn’t waste a second. Before she knew what was happening, I picked her up and rushed her to the back door. Then I gave her the old heave-ho. After that I ran around and locked all the doors and windows.
This may seem crazy—locking the doors and windows—but that’s how I felt. Everything was falling apart! And I didn’t care how stupid I was acting. I’d act any stupid way I wanted to.
I was running around like a lunatic. Slamming things around and yelling. I wasn’t talking to my hair yet. But almost.
When the front doorbell started ringing, I was still going strong.
“Give me a break, cat!” I screamed from the other side of the door. “You don’t actually think that I’m going to fall for the old doorbell-ringing trick, do you? The one where you ring the bell with your tail, and I’m supposed to think it’s a person and open the door, and then you run inside and hide?”
The bell rang again and again.
“Give it up, Fluffo!” I screeched. “You can ring the bell until your tail falls off, but the door stays locked!”
I heard a knock.
“Hey! I’ve got an idea! Why don’t you try laughing your way in! You’re good at laughing, aren’t you, Fluffy?”
“Alex! I’m going to stand here about two more seconds, and then I’m going to come inside and kill you! Do you hear me? Now open this door, and open it now!”
Oh no. Something was very wrong.
A key was unlocking the door! I didn’t even have time to take cover! My mother rushed inside and hit me on the head with the evening newspaper.
“Thanks. I needed that,” I said, rubbing my head.
“Don’t tell me,” she exploded. “Let me guess! You thought I was the cat, right? There are places for people like you, Alex! Hospitals where you can putter around the grounds and not harm anyone.”
“I was crazy. I’m better now.”
Thinking that I might get another swat with the paper, I covered my head. My mother seems to think that hitting a kid on the head with a paper doesn’t do much damage.
After a minute or two I decided it was safe to come out. Mom was still standing in the middle of the floor, glaring at me. She reminded me of Mrs. Ballentine. If the two of them got together, they could glare your hair on fire.
“Tell me something, Alex,” she continued. “Just between you a
nd me, do any other animals talk to you? Or is Fluffy the only one?”
I thought about giving her a funny answer, but I decided not to. She was waving the paper around like it was a bullwhip.
“Come on, Mom,” I said, trying to calm her down. “I knew it was you. I was going to let you in.”
“When, Alex?” she snapped. “When were you going to let me in? After my tail had fallen off?”
When she said that, I almost burst out laughing. Suddenly my whole day seemed funny to me. That happens sometimes. Things get so bad, something inside you snaps, and you start laughing.
“Oh, this is real funny, isn’t it, Alex?” Mom asked. “I always think it’s funny when I’ve had a bad day at the office, and I come home with a splitting headache, and I can’t find my key, and I ring the bell. And then my son stands on the other side of the locked door and tells me to try and laugh my way in. I can’t think of anything funnier than that, can you?”
I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to answer, but I was still feeling giggly so I gave it a try.
“I don’t know. Did I ever tell you about the time that Brian Dunlop blew his nose on his sheet? That was pretty funny. See, he was having this dream that his nose was running and—”
My mother let out a loud shriek and stormed past me to the kitchen. I knew she wasn’t finished yelling though. My mother’s a marathon yeller. She can yell for twenty-six hours and never even breathe hard. Even with a splitting headache.
“You’re a real amusing guy, you know that, Alex?” she shouted from the other room as she banged the pots and pans around. “A regular comedian, in fact!”
“Thank you,” I whispered so she couldn’t hear. “Thank you very much.” Then I bowed.
“As a matter of fact,” she continued, “you’re so funny, why don’t you march right up to your room and laugh at yourself until dinner?”
I waited to see if she was serious.
“Did you hear me, Alex? March!”
My mother’s very big on marching. It makes her feel like a marine.
I headed for my room. I didn’t march though. And once I got there, I didn’t laugh anymore either. I don’t know why. I guess I’d just used it all up.
I sat down on my bed and put my face in my pillow. After a second or two my eyes started watering a little. Not bad enough to need a Kleenex, but enough to know the wet was there.
I sat up and looked in the mirror. My nose was getting red. My hair was sticking out all over my head.
“Some star,” I said out loud. “Some great star.”
Then I buried my face in my pillow again.
6
Real life is almost never like the movies. In the movies if something bad happens to a kid, something good happens to make it all better. Like if a kid is accidentally run over by a steamroller, he’ll end up winning the Olympics and get his picture on a Wheaties box.
Stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life though. In real life if you’re accidentally run over by a steamroller you just sit around the hospital all flat. You practically never end up on cereal.
You never get to drop out of school and work in the park either. Even after I finally told my parents about the rotten things that had happened to me, they still made me go back to school the next day.
I didn’t stop trying though. That’s the great thing about me. I hardly ever give up.
“Put the pointy stick away, Alex,” ordered my father one night as we were watching TV. “For the last time, you’re not dropping out of junior high. Your school years are the best years of your life.”
I speared a gum wrapper lying next to the table. “I could be good at this. I know I could.”
My mother sighed and shook her head. “I told you before, Alex. You expected too much. Friends will disappoint you sometimes. It happens to all of us.”
“They’re not my friends,” I informed her for the millionth time. “Alex Frankovitch has no friends.”
“Brian’s still your friend,” she offered. “At least the two of you are walking to school together again.”
I frowned. “Big deal. He said I was a habit.”
“Well, what about everyone who has called to say how much they liked the commercial, Alex? What do you call them?”
“I call them Nanna and Pop Pop,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
My mother just shook her head. I swear, it’s getting looser by the minute.
Just then a familiar little tune filled the room. I didn’t have to look up to know what it was. It was the Kitty Fritters jingle. My commercial was on TV again.
Like so many other times that week, I tried my best not to watch. I hid my head in the chair cushion and covered up with my arms. I pretended to be ashamed. It was no use though. After only a second or two, I found myself peeking at the screen. The truth is, even after all I’d been through, I was still a big fan of mine.
Seeing myself on television continued to amaze me. Every time it happened, my eyes opened wide and my heart began to pound. I even started to smile a little. I couldn’t help it. I just did.
It’s too bad, you know. Too bad that there are mean people in the world who try to make you feel ashamed when you should feel proud. Seeing yourself on national television shouldn’t make you hide your head in the chair cushion. It just shouldn’t.
We had an assembly at school the next day. I missed English class. On my way to the auditorium I stuck my head in the principal’s office and shouted, “Thank you!” No one needed a school assembly more than I did. Even if it was stupid—even if it was the history teacher giving another boring slide show of his trip to Peru—no one wanted a break from school more than me.
When Brian and I walked into the auditorium that morning, Mrs. Wallin, the principal, was already at the microphone. She was shouting for everyone to be quiet.
“Students, please!” she begged. “As soon as you quiet down, we can get started!”
I don’t know why principals waste their time saying stuff like that. It takes forever if you ask politely. If I were a principal, I’d just take out a gun and shoot someone in the foot.
As things started to settle down I noticed that Annabelle Posey was sitting right in front of me. For days she had done nothing but make fun of me. She’d sit behind me in English and hum the “Ballad of Davy Crockett” in my ear or call me Alex Frankfritters.
“Oh my gosh, Brian!” I gasped when I saw her stupid head in front of me. “Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird … it’s a plane … it’s Super … no, wait! I’m wrong! It’s not Superman at all, Brian. Hold everything! It’s coming closer into view …
“I can see it better now. There’s a cape … yes, there’s a cape all right. But wait! There’s a cowboy hat … and, oh no, a big rubber nose!”
“Oh wow, Alex!” Brian gasped. “You don’t mean it’s …”
“Yes, Brian. I’m afraid I do. It’s Uncle Dippy. Uncle Dippy, the flying cowboy clown. Flying his way into hundreds of homes each day, trying to find someone who can figure out what he is.”
Without even turning around in her chair, Annabelle began sniffing the air.
“Does anyone here smell something?” she asked loudly. Sniff, sniff.…
“Like maybe someone’s wearing a raccoon on their head.”
A lot of kids seemed to think this was real funny. Brian was one of them. He made that pig sound again.
Just then Mrs. Wallin started clapping her hands to get our attention.
“And now, boys and girls,” she announced. “Without wasting any more time, I’d like to introduce you all to our guest this morning. He’s a fabulous magician and I know that many of you have heard of him. We’re delighted to have him with us. So please give a big round of applause to … the Amazing Mel!”
The curtain opened and this man jumped out from behind a screen. He was wearing a top hat and a black tuxedo with big silver lapels that sparkled under the lights. Also, he had a rabbit sitting on his head. You couldn’t see it, but when he bowed,
he took off the hat and pulled the rabbit out, so you knew it had been sitting on his head for a while.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he gushed.
“Geez! What kind of magician is this guy, anyway?” I asked. “What kind of dumb name is the Amazing Mel?”
“Shh!” whispered Brian, concentrating very hard on the stage. Brian is one of those kids who thinks magic is really magic.
On stage Amazing Mel got right down to business. He grabbed a handful of skinny balloons and started blowing them up and twisting them into funny animal shapes.
He wasn’t very good at it. Even when he told you what they were, you couldn’t recognize them. The cat looked deformed. Like, instead of growing four legs, it grew three legs and a thumb.
“Okay. How many of you buckaroos recognize this little fella?” he said, holding one of his creations in the air.
“A mutant creature from the planet Zircon!” shouted someone from the back of the room. A second later he was led out of the auditorium by Mr. Armanti, the assistant principal.
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” exclaimed Mel as he came to the end of the balloon act. Then he bowed and bowed until we started clapping again.
Mel tapped on his magic wand and turned it into a bunch of paper flowers.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he repeated.
“You’re welcome. You’re welcome. You’re welcome,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
It became pretty clear that the Amazing Mel was different from the magicians I’ve seen on TV. He didn’t tell jokes or kid around with the audience like most of them do. He’d just perform a couple of easy tricks, say, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” and then go on to something else.
The tricks were the same old ones you’ve seen a million times before: card tricks, rope tricks, that kind of thing. Nothing spectacular. He made some milk disappear in his hat, but it wasn’t anything a sponge couldn’t do.
In some ways it really started to annoy me. All I kept thinking about was how the Amazing Mel was up on stage acting like a big star, and I was sitting in the audience being my usual nothing. It wasn’t fair. Kids were applauding him like he was David Copperfield or something, and the guy had never even been on national television!