How to Survive Middle School (15 page)

“I guess people actually watch your videos, David. Maybe I should check them out.”

“Yeah,” I say. “You wouldn’t believe how many—” Then I remember the Daily Acne Forecast. “I mean, there’s only a small group of fans. You’d probably think the videos are lame.” I shrug as though it’s no big deal, but it is a big deal. I’m becoming famous on the Internet. Hundreds and hundreds of people I don’t even know are watching my videos. And liking them. And posting about them on the
Daily Show
forum.

Then I think about Tommy Murphy telling me my videos are lame. I think about him sliding his finger across his throat at me in detention today. And about how completely alone I felt in the lunchroom.

How can things be going so well online when I feel like such a schmo at school?

I take a deep breath, knowing I should start my homework, but instead, I read the guy’s message again and decide to do something else.

I set up the camera and tape fake New York to the wall behind my bed.

I bang two empty paper-towel rolls together and say, “Action.”

Like Jon Stewart, I start off the show by scribbling madly on a piece of paper, then look up and say, “Welcome to
TalkTime
with David Greenberg and …” I almost say,
Elliott Berger
. Almost. I bang the paper-towel rolls together again. “Take two: We’re …” I clear my throat and try again.
Darn you, Elliott!
“Take three: Welcome to
TalkTime
with David Greenberg. I’m going to do a series of shows about how to survive middle school. Today’s show is about dress code. But first, our Daily Acne Forecast.”

I take my camera off the tripod and knock on Lindsay’s door.

“Come in,” she calls, “unless you’re a giant doofus.”

I go in.

“David, I said unless—”

“Smile,” I say, interrupting her insult, and train the camera on her face, which honestly doesn’t look so bad today.

“Get out! I have to work on this paper.”

On the way back to my room, I decide what I’ll write to go along with the footage of her face:
Today’s acne forecast: sunny with a 30 percent chance of blackheads later this week
.

Then I take my time writing the Top Six and a Half list. When I’ve got it pretty much the way I want it, I memorize the list and set up the camera. It’s still hard to position the camera at the right height to film myself. This would be much easier if Elliott were here to help.

But he’s not, so I go on.

“The Top Six and a Half Reasons to Follow Dress Code at School.

“One: If someone at school wants to beat you up, it will be hard for them to find you if you’re dressed like everyone else.

“Two: It will make your parents happy. Your parents give you money when they’re happy.

“Three: Because I say so.” (I turn the camera to Hammy.)

“Four: The Dress Code Police can be anywhere. Anywhere!” Later, when I’m editing, I’ll find a photo of a restroom door and insert it into the video here.

“Five: Just be glad
this
isn’t your school’s dress code.” Online I found a photo of a dog dressed as a clown that I’ll edit in at this part.

“Six: If your school doesn’t have a dress code, where is your school? I’m transferring!

“And the most important reason to follow school dress code is …

“Six and one-half: It’s a great way to avoid getting a detention!”

Then I put on my collared shirt, pose in front of the camera and say, “This is dress code.” Next I borrow Lindsay’s purple dress.
What I don’t do for my career!
In front of the camera, I put my hand on my hip and say in a high-pitched voice—which is not such a stretch for me—“This is a dress, but it’s
not
dress code.” Then I turn off the camera, take off the dress and throw on my collared shirt with my “Be nice to me. I might be famous someday” T-shirt over it. And I stick pencils up my nostrils, turn on the camera and say, “This is snot dress code.” Then I wear a collared shirt, put a different collared shirt on top of my head, dance around and say, “This is dress code. Sort of.”

When I edit later, I’ll insert a shot of Hammy, Photoshop khaki pants and a collared shirt on him and say, “This is dress code. Thanks, Hammy.”

To wrap up, I say in my best announcer voice, “Wherever you are, kids, don’t do dress code. I mean, er …” Suppressing a laugh, I say, “This has been
TalkTime
with David Greenberg. And now, your moment of Hammy …”

I crack up, knowing that this will be my best
TalkTime
yet. And if Elliott sees it, he’ll wish he could have worked on it with me.

I start editing by taking the image of Hammy in the khaki pants and collared shirt and inserting a surfboard under his feet so it looks like he’s surfing. On the left side of the screen, I write
Director—David Greenberg; Producer—David Greenberg; Host—David Greenberg; Guy in a Dress—Beats Me; Daily Acne Forecast—Lindsay Greenberg; Well-Dressed Hamster—Hammy Greenberg
.

I upload the video to YouTube, do my math homework and check back online. The video already has thirteen views and one comment, from Felfdom:
Cute dress, dude. UR 2 funny!!!

I check my Magazine Cover Jon Stewart
TalkTime
. There are more than fourteen hundred views and three more positive comments.

I’m feeling dazed by how many people are watching my videos when Bubbe yells, “Come down for dinner, David. It’s late.”

My stomach grumbles. “Coming!” Before turning off the computer, I glance out the window.
When did it get so dark?

I walk downstairs to the smell of Bubbe’s brisket and the sound of the phone ringing.

Lindsay grabs it. “Hello? Yes, he’s right here. Hold on.”

Lindsay mashes the phone against her stomach. “David … it’s for you.” Her cheeks are bright pink.

“Elliott?” I mouth.

Lindsay shakes her head.

“Sophie?”

She shakes her head again.

“Tommy Murphy?” My heart stampedes.

Lindsay hands me the phone and whispers, “It’s a reporter from the
Bucks County Courier Times
.”

“Hello?”

A deep voice says, “David Greenberg?”

“Yes?”

“Hi, David. My editor got a call from a parent of a student at Harman Middle School about your
TalkTime
videos.”

Could it have been Sophie’s mom? Or Sophie pretending to be her mom?

“It seems like you’re becoming quite the local Internet celebrity.”

“Uh, I guess.”

“Well, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to talk to your mom about interviewing you for an article I’d like to write for the newspaper.”

I blink a few times. “I’ll get my dad.”

I’m in bed, thinking about the questions the reporter asked today: What inspired me to create
TalkTime
? Am I a big fan of Jon Stewart? What do I want to be when I grow up? Duh! I have to ask Sophie if she knows about this.

“David!” Lindsay shrieks from the hallway.

Suddenly, my bedroom door flies open.

Lindsay stands in the doorway, her face covered with zit-be-gone cream. My instinct is to grab my camera, but one look at Lindsay’s tight-lipped face tells me not to move.

She marches toward me, and I press my back against the headboard.

“Okay,” she says. “I figure if a reporter interviews you, your videos must be a big deal, right?”

“Right,” I squeak, wishing I could move farther away from my sister, because spit is flying from her lips.

“So when I’m done with my homework, I decide to finally check out my little brother’s ultrafamous videos. Right?” She steps closer.

“Right,” I barely whisper.

“And what do you think I see, David?”

“Um, my—”

“I see this!” she screeches, pointing to her face. “And your stupid Daily Acne Forecast to go along with it.”

I clutch my blanket.

Lindsay sticks her face in front of mine. “David, I could kill you!”

Dad charges into the room. “Whoa. Whoa. What’s going on here?”

Lindsay screams at Dad, “David put me in his stupid videos!”

Dad tilts his head.

“Like this.” Lindsay points to her cream-covered face.

Dad breathes hard from his nose. “David?”

“Yeah?”

“I kept meaning to look at those videos,” Dad says to himself, then locks eyes with me. “Show me.”

“But—”

“Now!”

I start the video with the Magazine Cover Jon Stewart interview, hoping Dad will think it’s so funny he won’t get mad about the part with Lindsay’s cream-covered face.

Dad doesn’t laugh during the funny parts at all, and when Lindsay’s face fills the screen, he makes a scary sound deep in his throat.

“See?” Lindsay screeches. “What if my friends see this? Make him take it off.”

Dad makes me show him all the videos, then quietly says, “Remove them.”

“I can’t.” My heart hammers.
I’m finally getting popular, even if it is online. I can’t get rid of that
.

“You will,” Dad says.

“Yeah, David.” Lindsay shoves me.

“Hey!” Dad says, holding her back. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“Once they’re up, they’re up. I can’t change them. I can’t remove them.” I don’t think this is true, but I’m counting on Dad’s being too clueless about the Internet to know that.

“Yes, you can, David,” Lindsay says. “And you’d better.”

“No, Lindsay, I really can’t.” I feel my face heat up because I know I’m lying. “It’s impossible.”

“You’re a jerk,” Lindsay says, shoving me so hard my head bangs into the monitor.

“It’s a joke,” I say, rubbing my head. “Why are you guys making such a big deal out of this?”

“It’s not a joke to me!” Lindsay storms out of my room.

“You never film someone without permission,” Dad says. “You should know better.”

“Okay,” I say, holding up my hands. “I get it. I get it.”

“No, David, I don’t think you do. What if Lindsay’s friends at school see that? Do you think that will be easy for her?”

“Why would her friends at school look at my videos?”

Dad shakes his head and walks out, too.

“I don’t know why they’re making such a big deal,” I tell Hammy.

He scratches against the side of his cage.

“Lindsay’s only on a tiny part of the videos anyway. And besides, they really are funny.”

Hammy turns away and burrows in his wood shavings.

The next day, Lindsay glares when I pass her in the hallway. “Don’t even look at me, David. And if you ever come near me again with that camera, I’ll break it.”

I slink back to my room, close the door and wait until I hear her leave for school before going downstairs for breakfast.

At the table, Dad gives me the silent treatment.

“I told you to get rid of the part with your sister,” Bubbe says, making a clucking noise to let me know how disappointed she is in me.

I’m relieved to leave the house … until I realize that it means I’ll have to deal with another day at Harman. I think of the poster I would put on the lunchroom bulletin board if I had the chance.