My Life as a Cartoonist (27 page)

Throughout the day, I violate school policy and text my mother a thousand times to check on Bodi. She tells me he's fine and to get back to class. Both Carly and Matt are concerned about Bodi and shocked that Umberto was the one who helped save him.

As expected, the word
skeptical
doesn't begin to describe Matt and Carly when I tell them Umberto and I hung out at my house for the rest of the day.

“You got detention because of him!” Carly says.

“He totally copied your cartoons,” Matt adds. “He gave you a stupid nickname.”

“We kind of had fun,” I say defensively.

Carly remains doubtful. “Suppose this is all some fiendish plot to get your guard down so he can ambush you when you least expect it?”

“He's probably got some complicated evil plan, just waiting for the perfect time to annihilate you.” Even though it's his idea, Matt shudders at the thought.

I smile because I know if the tables were turned, I'd be saying the same things. Carly and Matt are good friends, and I can't blame them for not trusting Umberto. All I can tell them is that Umberto helped me save Bodi, and right now that's good enough for me. After much persuading, Matt and Carly decide to give Umberto a chance, while still keeping their eyes out for trouble.

Truth be told, I didn't trust Umberto 100 percent either. After he left my house, my parents OF COURSE wanted to dissect everything that happened. I'm not kidding when I say I'd sooner sign up for another week of detention than sit through one more parental interrogation.

But today Umberto's been making an effort to be a regular friend. He doesn't call me names or egg me on to fight him. He shows me new cartoons he did last night starring a neatly drawn octopus. I compliment him on the strip's quirky point of view.

“Why did you put so much effort into copying my strips if you had original ideas all along?”

I detect the old, devilish Umberto when he starts to laugh. “I don't know. Maybe because I knew it would drive you crazy.”

His answer isn't rational and doesn't help me understand the events of the past month. I chalk it up to
THINGS PEOPLE DO THAT DON'T MAKE SENSE
and race out the door to see Bodi as soon as the bell rings.

“Hold on a second!” Ms. McCoddle says.

“But my dog—”

“Your dog can wait.” She holds out her hand. “Either I get your collaboration today or you're both here another week.”

“Ask and you shall receive.” Umberto practically skids across the room, sliding up next to Ms. McCoddle. “Check out the lettering. It's impeccable.”

Ms. McCoddle lays the sheets of paper Umberto and I finished at my house yesterday across her desk. A slow smile creeps across her face. “Not bad, boys. Not bad at all.”

“Does that mean detention is hereby revoked?” I ask.

She almost tousles my hair the way she used to back in kindergarten but thankfully stops herself. She gestures toward the door. “The two of you—go!”

I race Umberto to the front door of the school.

He beats me by a good ten seconds.

Matt Joins In

After a few days of Umberto being nice, Matt surprises me by asking Umberto if he wants to come over to his house and hang out with us after school. Umberto asks Bill, the van's driver, if he can drop us all off at Matt's. Bill thinks about it for a moment, then says okay. We watch Umberto guide his wheelchair into the van's lift. I realize how much I take for granted just jumping into the car with my mom to get around the city. Matt gives the driver his address, and we settle into the extra seats.

While Umberto talks to Bill about last night's Lakers game, I lean over to Matt. “I thought we were going skateboarding.”

“We are,” he answers.

Matt's plan suddenly dawns on me, and I break into a huge grin. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“I bet that chair can go really fast,” Matt says.

When we look up, Umberto is watching us. “I'll put my wheels up against yours anytime,” he says.

“You don't stand a chance,” I answer.

Bill says he'll go out for a coffee and pick Umberto up in an hour; Umberto calls his mom to say he'll be a little late. The three of us grab helmets from Matt's overstuffed garage and head to the hill at the top of his street.

I don't want to be a spoilsport but looking at the steepness of the hill suddenly fills me with worry.

“Are you sure this is okay?” I ask Umberto.

“There are kids who take customized chairs into the skate park in Venice,” Umberto says. “And that thing's a bowl.”

Matt shrugs, not worried in the least. “Are you using your arms or not?” he asks Umberto.

“I don't know,” Umberto answers. “Will you be using your legs?” And before I can even yell GO, Umberto is rolling down the hill.

Matt and I take off after him on our boards.