Almost Starring Skinnybones (4 page)

For the first time in my life I started biting my nails. By the end of the week my fingers looked like ten little bald guys. Every time I closed my eyes at night, Annabelle Posey would drift into my mind. I’d be standing there with my little wagon, and she’d take one look at me and her mean, high-pitched cackle would penetrate my brain. Then pretty soon other voices would join in, until a thousand different laughs were echoing all around in my head.

I’d cover my ears, but it never helped. The laughing was inside. And it was worse than any nightmare I’ve ever had.

My parents noticed the change in me. It must have been the way I kept pushing my vegetables around and around my plate at dinner. One time I molded my mashed potatoes into a coffin.

“You’ve got to stop brooding about this, Alex,” counseled my mother as we sat down to supper one night. “You did a terrific job on that commercial. So what if it wasn’t exactly
Rambo
? There’s nothing wrong with playing the part of a wimp.”

I looked up from my meat loaf. “Thank you, Mother,” I said sarcastically. “That makes me feel a lot better.”

“You know what she means,” said Dad, trying to come to the rescue. “That’s
acting
, Alex. Acting isn’t who you are. It’s playing the role of someone else. And the better you do it, the better actor you are.

“Besides,” he continued. “I don’t think the character you played was a wimp. He was just a little younger than you, that’s all.”

I frowned into my potatoes. “If he had been any younger, it’d have been a diaper commercial.” The thought of it made me shudder.

My mother sat there for a moment, gazing thoughtfully into space.

“You know, your father may be right on this
one,” she offered at last. “When you think about it, the character wasn’t a wimp at all. He was just a sweet young boy with a love for his cat.”

I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

“A love so great,” she rambled on, “that even when he ran away from home, he thought not of himself, oh no, but of his little kitten whom he knew he would have to care for on the road. And to show that great love he sacrificed his own nutritional needs by loading a giant-size bag of fritters on board for the kitty cat. And nothing, mind you, not one little crumb, for himself.”

My father and I stared at her, hoping for a sign that she had been kidding. She hadn’t been. It was scary.

But at least she was trying to make me feel better. And I have to admit, some of it helped a little bit. After all, there’s nothing really
wrong
with playing a younger character. They do it in Hollywood all the time. And besides, it
was
sort of a nice story, about the kid loving his cat and everything. Not as nice as my mother made it sound maybe. But still, nothing to have nightmares over. Nothing to be ashamed of.

Two months. That’s how long it took before the commercial finally appeared on TV. I was sitting in
the family room watching
Gilligan’s Island
with my best friend, Brian Dunlop, when all of a sudden it just popped onto the screen. It really took me by surprise!

“Hey! Look! There I am! There I am!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Look, Brian! My commercial!

“Mom!” I called. “Come quick! My commercial!” I was jumping up and down. My heart was pounding a million times a minute.

I thought Brian would be excited too. Not as excited as I was maybe. Not hysterical, but at least mildly excited. Moderately excited. I mean, how many kids get to sit in the same room with a guy that’s on the screen right in front of them?

Not Brian though. He didn’t even jump up and give me a high five. He just sat and watched the commercial without saying a word.

After it was over, he took a deep breath. Then he turned slowly and looked up at me. You could tell he was fighting to keep a straight face.

“Nice,” he said quietly. Then this sort of muffled pig noise escaped from his throat, and he exploded. He started rolling around on the floor in wild, uncontrolled laughter, until he was practically crying. Even when my mother ran into the room, he didn’t stop.

As the two of us watched him circle the floor, a sick, nervous feeling creeped over my skin and settled inside me.

“You missed it,” I informed Mom, suddenly joyless. “It’s all over.”

She thought I meant the commercial. I meant my life.

My mother left the room. I could tell by the look on her face that she felt bad for me. But she’s not the type to yell at my friends and embarrass everyone. When someone’s acting up, she likes to let me embarrass him myself.

I sat down on the couch and waited for Brian to finish rolling. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by his behavior. This isn’t the first time that Brian has been a disappointment to me. I’ve known him since first grade and in the past six years, Brian Dunlop has let me down a lot.

Sometimes I think he’s the kind of friend that grownups call a “fair-weather friend.” That means when everything’s going smoothly, he’s the best friend a guy could want. But as soon as something goes wrong, Brian sort of turns on you. Like if he and I are at a boring movie, and I start trying to hit people in the head with Raisinets, when the manager comes Brian practically jumps out of his seat and starts spelling my name out for the guy.

Anyway, even though Brian may not have loved
the commercial, he still shouldn’t have started laughing at it. Not right in front of me like that. I finally had to slug him two times to get him to stop.

Besides, what was so darned funny? It’s not like I hadn’t told him about how I’d be playing the role of a younger kid. I’d even told him about the hat and the wagon. So what was the big deal?

“The big deal is that you fell flat on your face trying to pick up the cat food bag!” he roared. “My great-grandmother is stronger than that. You ought to come with us the next time we go to the nursing home. The two of you could arm wrestle. We could get it on
Wide World of Sports
. Grandma Dunlop versus Alex.”

“Oh yeah?” I argued. “Well, guess what, Brian. That’s called
acting
. I was supposed to act weak like that. I was playing the part of a little kid, remember? And even though he was running away from home, he loved his cat enough to take the giant bag of Kitty Fritters with him. Not the bargain size, Brian. Not the economy size. The
giant
size. And he didn’t take any food for himself, either. Only the fritters for the cat.”

Brian stopped laughing and pretended to dab his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “Oh, I’m sorry, Alex. That’s very touching. I think I feel a tear coming on.”

“Shut up, Dunlop,” I replied, clenching my teeth.

“And that cat!” he continued. “What a blimp! How far do you think you could get carrying a fat bag like that?”

This time I didn’t say anything. I just sat there wondering if I should call his father at work and tell on him. It may sound crazy, but Brian Dunlop hates being yelled at by adults more than any kid I’ve ever known. Once when he was being hollered at by our third-grade teacher, he raised his hand and said she was giving him a heart attack.

“Come on, Alex,” he said, finally catching his breath. “Don’t look so serious. I’m only kidding. Can’t you take a joke?”

“Sure I can, Brian. And if you ever manage to come up with one, call me and we’ll celebrate, okay? Meanwhile, maybe you’d just better go.”

“Go? Why? Why do I have to go?”

“Why? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re dripping with stupidity, and I don’t want it getting all over my rug, that’s why.”

It was pretty clear that Brian wanted to laugh again, but this time he held it in and just smirked.

Now, I realize that there are probably a lot of kids who would have punched Brian for this. But as I said before, I’d already hit him twice, and with
Brian twice is my limit. After that, he creams me.

Besides, that’s one good thing about being small. You learn to use your brain more than most people. And sometimes when you do, you come up with even better ways of handling things. I’d get the best of him yet.

“Listen, Brian,” I said, suddenly calming down as I kicked the old brain into action. “Let’s not get into a fight over this, okay? I mean, I’m finally beginning to understand what’s happening here. I think I know why you’re acting like this.”

Brian rolled his eyes and gave me the cuckoo sign. He does this sort of thing a lot. It never stops me though. It takes more than a little cuckoo sign to stop the brain of Alex B. Frankovitch.

“See, Brian, way down deep inside you’re probably going through a lot of conflicts about this commercial. On one hand you’re probably really admiring me a lot, but on the other hand you might actually be a little jealous.”

Brian continued with the cuckoo sign.

“And I can understand how these feelings could be confusing to you, Brian,” I went on. “After all, one day I’m just plain old Alex Frankovitch, your best friend, and then suddenly,
poof!
There I am on TV! And you’re wondering if I’ll still like you when
I’m a big famous star and you’re still an ordinary little nothing.”

“Alex,” he said, trying to interrupt. But I wouldn’t let him.

“And I bet you’re worried that I might not hang around with you at school anymore, and that I’m going to drop you like a hot potato and go with the more popular kids.”

“Alex!” he shouted this time. “If you really want to know what I think, you’ll shut up and listen!”

“Guess what?” I replied smugly. “I don’t.”

“So listen anyway!” he continued. “I think you’re taking this whole acting thing too seriously. Even before you did the stupid commercial, it’s all you talked about. About New York and Hollywood, and how you were going to be a big movie star and ride in a limousine, and how people all over the world were going to recognize you and—”

“I never said
all
over the world,” I corrected, raising a finger in the air. “I said in most major countries and the parts of China with electricity.”

Brian ignored me and kept right on talking.

“And then you bought those sunglasses and started signing autographs that nobody wanted. My mother said the last time she went to the grocery store, you ripped her bag.”

“She resisted,” I explained simply. “A fan should never resist. Someone could get hurt.”

Brian looked at me strangely. “You said that Pudding Boy is a personal friend of yours.”

I smiled and nodded. “Yeah. What a crazy guy.”

“Listen to yourself, Alex!” he exclaimed. “Can’t you hear how you sound?”

Before I could answer, he stood up and headed for the door.

I followed.

“Look, Brian,” I said. “All I meant to say was that even though I’m probably going to be very famous now, it doesn’t mean I’m going to change.”

I paused. “Of course, I’ll probably have to wear a disguise from time to time, but—”

Brian covered his ears and hurried out the door. Just as he was starting down the front steps, he stopped suddenly and whipped around.

“Oh yeah. There’s one more thing, Alex,” he said.

“What?”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “No offense. But deep down, I really don’t admire you that much.”

After he was gone, I turned off the TV and sat down in my father’s recliner. Then I gazed down at the ten little bald guys on my hands. I fought the urge to chew on their heads.

I pushed the chair back to the reclining position, stretched out comfortably, and tried to relax.

I closed my eyes.

Annabelle Posey drifted into my mind. She was laughing harder than ever.

  
4