Almost Starring Skinnybones (5 page)

T
he next day
I stopped by Brian’s house to get him before school. Even when we have a fight, Brian and I walk to school together. It’s one of the unwritten rules of our friendship.

At least it used to be.

“Sorry, Alex. He’s already gone,” Mrs. Dunlop informed me when she answered the door. “He left a few minutes ago.”

I was shocked.

“What do you mean, he left a few minutes ago, Mrs. Dunlop?” I questioned. “Why would he leave without me? He
never
leaves without me. It’d be like a crime or a sin or something!”

“Alex, he’s—”

“I hate to walk alone, Mrs. Dunlop! Brian knows
it, too. I tried it in kindergarten a couple of times. A high school kid came by in a car and hit me with an egg.”

“Alex—”

“Have you ever been hit with an egg at high speed, Mrs. D.? It feels like you’ve been shot. I saw the eggshell, but I just thought some of my bones had splintered or something.”

Mrs. Dunlop stood there rolling her eyes. She does that a lot when I’m around.

“Look, Alex. I don’t know why Brian left without you. All I know is that about five minutes ago, he yelled good-bye and hurried out of here. I thought you were with him.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m here,” I said, pointing to her porch. “And out there somewhere there’s a high-school kid with a handful of hen fruit just waiting to catch me alone.”

“Alex, I really think you’re being a little paranoid about this. Kids walk to school every day without being bombarded with garbage from passing cars.”

“You should have seen my shirt, Mrs. D. It was all slimy and sick looking. Worse than a runny nose.”

Mrs. Dunlop winced.

“It was a new shirt, too,” I remembered. “It said ‘I’m a Little Dickens.’ My grandmother brought it to me from the Bahamas.”

Mrs. Dunlop made this big sighing noise and shook her head. “Have a nice day, Alex,” she said. Then she shut the door in my face.

Mrs. Dunlop thinks she knows me well enough to treat me like that.

I figured that Brian was too far ahead for me to catch up, so I didn’t bother to run. Besides, who wanted to catch him anyway? Walking alone wouldn’t be as bad as walking with a traitor like Brian Dunlop.

Actually it didn’t turn out bad at all. As long as you stay on the lookout and protect yourself, you’re not in too much danger. Every time a car came by, I held up my history book as a shield. It may sound crazy, but wearing a double-yolker to school does that to a person.

After I had gone a block or two, I started to relax a little and think about the day I was going to have. I hoped it would be good. I’d spent most of the night praying that everything would go okay, that everyone would love my commercial. Brian says that God doesn’t appreciate people praying for dumb little favors. But in my opinion that’s what he’s there for.

As I walked, I felt in my pocket for my autograph pen. I’d brought it along just in case, you know? After all, if anything could make me famous, it was being seen in the middle of a great show like
Gilligan’s Island
. I paused a second and smiled. Maybe there’d even be an unruly mob waiting for me at my locker.

“Hey!” shouted a voice, suddenly interrupting my thoughts. “Hey, look! It’s him, Mommy! It’s that boy!”

Wow, this was great! I wasn’t even at school yet, and already I had been recognized!

I turned around. It was Ernest Wilson. Ernest Wilson is three years old. He lives at the end of my street. He can’t remember my name.

“Hey, you!” he screamed again. “I saw you on the TB! My mom told me you’re the Kitty Boy!”

Ernest was standing at his screen door waving his arms and jumping up and down. I smiled and waved back. I probably should have gone over and patted him on the head or something. But I didn’t. It was getting late, and I wanted to have a little bit of time left for the unruly mob.

I stopped to put on my sunglasses. My fans would expect it.

A few minutes later I arrived at my locker. Disappointed, I looked around. No unruly mob.

The only person gathered at my locker was Ned “The Bully” Jankowski. Ned has the locker right next to mine. I met him on the first day of school this year. He had been trying to work his lock combination.

“Hi,” I had said. “I’m Alex.”

Ned had grabbed me by my shirt. “Listen, dude,” he said. “Just in case you might be thinking about looking at my combination—don’t. ’Cause if my locker’s ever broken into, I’ll know it was you, and I’ll track you down until I find you, and then I’ll put my fist right through your eye socket.”

Thinking it over for a second, I nodded. “That sounds fair, Ned,” I squeaked. “That would be good.”

Since then I’ve tried to avoid Ned the Bully whenever possible. But on this particular morning I decided to make an exception. Who knows, maybe he’d seen my commercial. Maybe he’d like having a famous friend.

“Hi, Ned,” I said, giving him a timid little pat on the back. “Er … did you happen to see the commercial I made on TV yesterday, bud?”

Ned whipped around so fast, his breeze practically knocked me over. “Let’s get one thing straight, dude,” he replied, grabbing a handful of my shirt. “You’re a skinny little bone bag and I’m not your bud. Get it? And if you ever slap me on the back again, I’m going to reach into your skull and pull your feet out through your brains.”

This time I actually started to whimper. I didn’t mean to but a series of little whimpers just slipped out my lips.

“Ss … ss … sounds good, Ned. Right out my brain. A guy couldn’t ask for a better deal than that.”

Finally Ned released his grip and stormed away. I stayed at my locker and dusted off. Not a bad start for the day really. Any time I’m able to leave my locker with all my body parts, I feel lucky.

A few minutes later I headed for my first-period English class. As soon as I was inside, I hurried to put my books under my chair. Then I sat down quickly and pulled out my autograph pen. I took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

Annabelle Posey was already seated at her desk behind me.

I spun around and grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant little grin either. It was one of those big, wide, annoying grins that makes you look like a jack-o’-lantern.

Annabelle Posey turned her head and pretended not to see me. I knew she would. Whenever I grin at her, she pretends not to notice. It was just the chance I was looking for. Before she could stop me, I took my pen and wrote my name on her notebook.

“My autograph,” I explained nicely when she finally turned back around.

Annabelle made this face like she was going to be sick. Then she ripped open her purse, spit on a Kleenex, and started trying to rub my name away.

I widened my grin. “Sorry. Waterproof.”

Annabelle Posey’s face got so red, I thought she was going to boil over in her seat.

“You big jerk! I didn’t want your stupid autograph! Turn around! Just turn around!”

She screamed it so loud, our teacher, Mrs. Ballentine, stopped taking attendance and started glaring at me. Mrs. Ballentine has one of the deadliest glares in the business. There’s a rumor going around that a few years ago she actually glared a hole in a kid’s head.

“What’s going on there?” she asked at last. “What’s all that racket about?”

Annabelle held her notebook over her head. “He scribbled his stupid name all over my stuff!” she declared loudly. “He’s ruined it!”

“Alex?” said Mrs. Ballentine, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m deeply insulted,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face. “An autograph is not scribble.”

Mrs. Ballentine seemed puzzled. “Why are you calling it an autograph?”

Ahhh. The moment I’d been waiting for. I stood up.

“Well, I wasn’t going to mention it, Mrs. B. But since you brought it up, I might as well talk about it. The national television commercial that I made in New York last summer was shown for the first time yesterday.”

Mrs. Ballentine frowned. It was the kind of frown teachers do when they think you’re lying. “You made a national television commercial?” she asked doubtfully.

“It came on during
Gilligan’s Island
,” I informed her. “I swear. You were probably still here at school making up those test questions nobody can ever answer.”

Her frown got deeper.

“Ask anyone!” I insisted. “I bet a lot of kids saw it.”

I turned around and scanned the room. “How many in here saw it? How many saw my commercial?”

No one answered. Not one person.

I started to sweat.

“Oh, come on, you guys,” I persisted. “You did too.
Think. Gilligan’s Island
! The new Kitty Fritters commercial! I was the kid running away from home with the cat.”

Suddenly, in the back of the room, a hand shot into the air.

“That was you?” blurted Raymond Vellenburg, astonished. His eyes were as wide as saucers. “You were the kid in the coonskin cap?”

“Yes! Yes! That was me!” I exclaimed. “That was me!”

“I saw it too!” said Cynthia Kendall excitedly. “I didn’t know it was you, though, Alex. I didn’t recognize you.”

I felt so proud I almost burst. I stuck out my chest and nodded eagerly. “Yeah! It was me all right! Did I say that I made it in New York?”

Raymond continued to stare at me in disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You mean the kid who fell on the floor trying to lift the cat food bag into the wagon—that was you?”

I bobbed my head up and down some more. “Yup! He was me! I was him!”

Suddenly Raymond dropped his head and began slapping the top of his desk with his hand.

“That was the
stupidest
commercial I’ve ever seen! What a weakling! You looked about four!”

Giggles started across the room.

Beads of sweat popped out all over my forehead. Oh no. It was happening! My worst nightmare was coming true.

Why wouldn’t they stop laughing?

“Oh yeah?” I blurted, trying not to show the hurt. “Well, guess what, Raymond? That’s called acting. Acting isn’t who you are. It’s playing the part of someone else. And I happened to be playing the part of a little kid. 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, Raymond. Not the economy size. The
giant
size. And he didn’t take any food for himself, either. Only the fritters for the cat.”

Geez, why did I have to say that? It was the same stupid stuff I had said to Brian!

Albert Ruppert, the class show-off, jumped up and pretended to play the violin.

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
  

I
t 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:

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.