The Boy Who Made Everyone Laugh

by Helen Rutter

  “I told you he’s a sweetheart!” Patsy says, laughing as Scraggles starts licking my face. “The owners said he can be available every Thursday at this time, if that works for you?”

  “Yeah, it’s perfect,” I say.

  “It is perfect. They needed someone to walk him anyway, and when I told them the story, it just about broke their hearts. So fingers crossed this will make everyone happy. Including you, Mr. Scraggles.” She ruffles the fur on his neck. “So, is she there?”

  “Yes, all set. Let’s go!”

  Patsy hands me the leash.

  When Mrs. Gibbens first sees us, I have a bit of panic that we may have given her another heart attack. She puts her hands to the glass, and I can see her mouth forming the word Scraggles over and over again as the tears start streaming down her wrinkly cheeks. She vanishes from the window, and we make our way to the entrance, knowing that she’s on her way.

  Scraggles goes completely nuts when he sees her and pulls the leash so hard that it slips out of my hand, and he manages to get through the doors and into the reception. Mrs. Gibbens ends up on the floor with Scraggles on top of her licking her perfectly made-up face while she giggles like a little girl.

  “I’m never going to be able to get up from here, am I, Billy? It’s hard enough getting off the sofa!”

  When we tell her the plan, and that she can see Scraggles every week, she grabs hold of my hand and says, “Billy, your granny always told me what an amazing boy you are. I just wish she was here to see this, I really do.”

  “Me too,” I say.

  As I look at Mrs. Gibbens sitting on the floor stroking Scraggles’s scruffy fur, I wonder how I could have ever been scared of her.

  “I tell you what, seeing you and this scruff bag once a week, that’ll change my life, that will. Thank you so much.” Then she grabs my hand and kisses Scraggles again and again and keeps saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  As we sit there, I hold on to Mrs. Gibbens’s wrinkled hand and look up at Patsy smiling down at us and feel really good for the first time in a long time.

  I wrote a song about a tortilla.

  Actually it’s more of a rap.

  We’re going to play two songs, “Mardy Bum” and then a song we’ve just learned called “Smells like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana. Sam picked it because he thought it went with our name, Teenplay. Phee refuses to wear any kind of Christmas sweater; she’s going to wear her normal baggy black clothes and put some tinsel on her bass. Now that I’m here, I can’t wait until it’s done. Then school will be over for winter break.

  We’re waiting in the corridor backstage. I peek through the side of the curtains at the audience. Ellie is in the second row with her dad. Mom and Chloe are a few rows farther back. There are so many people! It looks like thousands. It’s really loud. Mr. Osho is standing at the side with Mrs. Able. I start thinking about the people I can’t see. I scan each row. So many faces that I don’t know, and who don’t know me. I can’t find Alex or Josh. I can see Matthew’s head high above the rest. Skyla is standing at the back, her hair looking like it’s been brushed. I keep looking, and for a second, I think I’ve seen Granny Bread.

  Molly is just about to start. Her dog doesn’t look very well trained to me. She keeps shouting at him, and eventually he runs to the front of the stage and does a wee by the microphone. Everyone’s laughing now. The laughter is really loud and doesn’t sound very nice. Molly tells off the little dog and picks him up. She takes a bow but no one really claps and then she comes offstage looking really flustered.

  A couple of seniors who have been sorting out all the props push past me and run on with some paper towels. The audience cheers for them. They sound a bit wild. They have been sitting there for two hours. I think they’re bored.

  That’s when it all happens. Sam is standing outside the fire door into the parking lot. I just assume he’s nervous or doing a warm-up or something. Me, Ollie, and Phee are all kind of pacing around not really knowing what to say to each other. I have a final look through the door and see the props guys taking my drums through the curtains and onto the stage.

  “Any minute,” I whisper to Ollie. Then we hear the fire door slam shut and turn to see Sam standing behind us. He has his phone in his hand and looks furious.

  “How could you do that to me?” he hisses at Ollie. Ollie seems to instantly know what he’s talking about and just shrugs and puts his head down. He looks guilty, but I have no idea why. I feel really confused. Sam looks like an animal.

  Sam pushes Ollie then, in the chest, hard, and Ollie nearly falls over. I’m really scared. I’m shaking and I don’t know why Sam’s so angry, but most of all I want to protect Ollie. I stand in between them.

  “C-c-c-calm down, SAAM!” I stammer, but Sam isn’t listening and shoves me to one side as he comes towards Ollie, who’s still off-balance.

  Then Sam hits him. Hard. In the face.

  I have never seen anyone actually punched in the face before. I can hear the dull impact of Sam’s fist. I’ll never forget it. It feels really scary. Ollie holds his head in his hands, and I scream at Sam, “Leave him alone!! Leave us alone. Okay?”

  Sam kicks the wall. I think he must have broken his foot he kicks it so hard. He limps off through the fire door and rips down a poster on his way.

  Ollie looks at me and Phee sheepishly and shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry, guys,” he apologizes. “Thanks for sticking up for me, little man!” Then he ruffles my hair and heads off down the corridor, catching the blood from his nose in his hand.

  I have no idea what’s going on. I look at Phee, who just looks at the floor and mumbles, “I think that means Ollie’s going out with Sam’s ex Tia now, which means the end of the band. Sorry, Bill.” And with that she shuffles off after Ollie.

  My heart’s racing, and I’m sweating. I feel really awake. As I look through the door again, I see the seniors putting the microphone in the middle of the stage. I only have the vice principal’s introduction before Teenplay, a band that doesn’t exist anymore, will be announced. There’s only me. I have absolutely no idea what to do.

  Then I hear footsteps heading towards me. Alex is running down the corridor. “I just saw Ollie in the bathroom—he was a mess. Are you okay?” I look at his face. He looks so worried. The fact he still cares about me makes my throat get tight, and I think about it all at once.

  Granny Bread. The pinkie promise. The fact I have lost the best friends I ever made. William Blakemore. Everything.

  Alex hugs me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say once we’ve stopped. And then I look behind him and see Josh, Matthew, and Skyla are there too.

  “We wanted to wish you luck,” Matthew says. “What’s going on? Where are the others?”

  “It’s not happening,” Alex tells them.

  I look at them and whisper, “I have been a terrible friend.” My eyes meet Josh’s. “I’m really sorry.”

  He just shrugs and says, “We missed you—and your jokes. Now what are you going to do about this empty stage?”

  Skyla takes something out of her back pocket. My joke book!

  “How d-d-d-d-did you … ?”

  “I saw your mom in the audience. She found it in the trash. She’s worried about you too.” Then she passes it to me and says, “I think you should do it, Billy. Go up there and show the lot of them.”

  I take the joke book and nod. She gives me the biggest hug until my feet lift off the floor.

  “P-put me down,” I say, pretending to gasp for breath, “I c-c-can’t b-b-breathe. Goodbye, one and all.” They all laugh.

  “He’s back!” says Skyla as she puts me down. They all go to get back to their seats. I look on to the stage and then down the empty corridor. Two options. Two different directions for me to put one foot in front of the other. Just then William Blakemore appears at the fire door, blocking one of my paths. He stands there, leaning against the wall, looking down at his shoes.

  I open the joke b
ook and inside the front cover is a little piece of paper with Mom’s beautiful curly handwriting. It reads: Remember, EVERYTHING you say is important. I know what I have to do.

  A face pops through the door and holds it open for me, giving me a thumbs-up, and then I hear the vice principal say, “Welcome to the stage, our headline act of the evening, a band that is really going places … Teenplay!” The audience starts clapping, and I head towards the curtain. I can hear my footsteps loud on the wooden stage, in time with my heart beating hard in my chest. One foot in front of the other. As I’m taking my first steps, Blakemore says, “Billy?”

  “Yeah?” I say, turning back to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “Me too.”

  “You know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to?”

  “I know.”

  He holds his hand out, and I shake it.

  The room falls silent as I appear. I’m not what they are expecting. There’s some murmuring, shuffling in seats. I try to keep going. But I’m frozen. I can’t move. I have no plan of how to start, or what to say. I look out at everyone. From the stage, it looks like thousands of faces. Faces that are not even looking at me. Not interested in me. This is the bad version of the dream, and it’s coming true.

  There are people standing at the back, leaning against the wall. I see Mom and Chloe sitting up really straight. Mom has her speech therapy smile on. Chloe has her favorite pony on her knee. At the side I can see Dad; he gives me a thumbs-up from behind the camera but looks a bit confused when no one else comes on with me.

  There’s a little table on the stage with a glass of water on it. I’m holding the joke book so tightly that it digs into the tips of my fingers. I can see the little dents in the flesh where the edges have been. The blood rushing into them turning them from white to pink.

  Everyone’s waiting now. I see William Blakemore come through the double doors at the back of the theater. Ellie and her dad are a few rows from the front, smiling. I pick my leg up with my hands and move it in front and then the other one follows. I picture Mom’s words and repeat them in my head: Everything I say is important. Everything I say is important. Everything I say is important.

  When I eventually get to it, I tap the microphone. It hisses loudly. I clear my throat, open my book and begin, “H-h-h- h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h—”

  Everything I say is important.

  Giggling. One boy at the back shouts, “P-P-P-P-P-Pip!” Even more giggling. I see some kids at the back of the hall wrestling.

  I stop and take a breath in, take a sip of water. Everything I say is important. Everything I say is important.

  Then I try again, “H-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h—”

  I look out at all of the frowny/smiley faces staring back at me.

  Then I look at Mom and see a sad smile on her face. I just want to take that smile away for her. No, not for her. For me. I don’t want anyone to look at me like that anymore. Never again. I need to do something.

  I close the book and put it on the little table. I take the microphone off the stand, pull up the chair, and sit in it. I cross my legs and sit back in the chair. “I h-h-h-h-h-hope you h-h-h-h-have nowwwwhere else to be tooooday.” It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. They’re listening. They are REALLY listening. “W-w-w-we could be here for some tiiiime.”

  I take another sip of water. The audience chuckles. I feel something change in this moment. I feel it and so do they.

  As I look out at everyone, their faces and bodies look totally different. Relaxed. They aren’t so scared anymore. They’re listening. The view has changed. They want me to talk now. They’re interested. Even if I stammer. So I do.

  “H-h-h-h-h-hello, my name is B-B-B-Billy Plimpton, and I h-h-have a s-s-s-s-stutter. I a-a-am meant to be up here with my baaand, but they have d-d-d-ditched me.” Another sip of water.

  A few people say, “Ahhhh.”

  I keep going. “M-m-m-maybe it was something I s-s-s-sstuttered.”

  Laughter. Real laughter. It sounds amazing. Just like the laughter from the good version of the dream.

  “When someone suggested I c-c-come up here and tell some j-jokes, I was speeeechless … L-l-l-literally.”

  I see Skyla standing at the back with her mom. They are both laughing and wiping their eyes. I see Mr. Osho put his hand on Mrs. Able’s shoulder. I’m enjoying myself now, enjoying the view.

  “D-d-did you hear the rumor about the butter? Well, I’m not about to start spreading it.” I walk over to the drums and at the punch line take the sticks and play a huge BA-DUM TSSSHHH.

  People whoop, so I play a huge roll-and-drum solo.

  “Wh-wh-why did the ch-chicken j-j-join a band? Because it already had s-s-s-some drumsticks.” At this, I pretend to be a drumming chicken, clucking and hitting the cymbal. People are loving it. I stand up and put the microphone back into the stand, I’m just thinking about how to finish. What to say. But I realize I don’t want to stop. I want to say more.

  So I go on.

  “S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-school … wow, that one was a big one, wasn’t it?!” More laughter, more relief. I can feel people stop worrying about me. “Has n-n-not been easy f-f-f-for me. Buut I don’t think it’s easy for anyone, i-i-is it? Whether you want t-t-to beeee more n-n-normal or whether y-y-you s-s-s-struggle with m-m-m-math.” I look at William Blakemore and smile. He smiles back at me.

  “We all h-h-h-have our s-s-struggles. Even if we don’t admit it. The problem wiiith mine is that I can’t h-h-hide it. Everyone can hear when I a-a-am s-s-s-s-s-struggling. Maybe it’s not such a b-b-b-bad thing.

  “Maybe it’s not good t-t-t-to hide f-from th-th-things that scare us. I did not want to do th-th-this. T-talk like this. N-n-not at all. I wanted to hide away from it. W-wait until I was a different person. Until I had got rid of my s-s-s-s-s-stutter. Buuut now I’m here, like this, it’s not s-s-so bad. M-m-maybe I’m okay as I am.”

  Someone cheers at this, and people begin clapping. I look at Skyla and know what to do.

  “We’re all different. K-kids, parents, teachers … especially t-t-t-teachers. Teachers are very different. You know who I mean.”

  Then I launch into my impressions, and the whole place goes crazy. Skyla is standing up and cheering throughout. I can see that some of the teachers are wondering if it’s okay to let me keep going. Should everyone be laughing at a science teacher falling asleep? But even they can’t help but laugh when I’m scratching my tummy like Mr. Randall and doing sums as fast as I can.

  “Four times four is sixteen. Yeah, give me another, another. I love m-m-math. Throw me a ball. I love math more than b-b-balls. Fetch, sit, paw, roll over. I’m a good math p-puppy. Pythagorean theorem, algebra, geometry.” Then I start panting and roll on my back like I’m exhausted. A huge round of applause.

  I know it’s time to go, and as I stand up and pick up the microphone, I see my mom smiling up at me. I imagine the beautiful curly handwriting, and I realize something.

  “My m-m-m-m-mom always tells me that everything I say is important, but that can’t be true, c-c-can it?” Mom looks confused now. “EVERYTHING?! That’s a l-l-l-lot of responsibility, Mommmm!” More gentle laughter, Mom has the red blotches on her neck, but she’s smiling. Listening. “How aboout this? Fart. P-pants. Poo head, worms. That isn’t important.”

  More laughter, Mr. Osho is holding his stomach.

  “It wasn’t, was it? It was s-s-s-s-silly. Really silly.” People are wiping their eyes, and I don’t know if they are laughing or crying. “P-P-P-Paris is the capital city of Ch-Ch-Ch-China. That’s not important either. It’s wrong! Sometimes I s-s-say things that are just plain wrong. We all do. Like when Mr. Grant calls me Bobby! I d-d-don’t mind, Mr. G-G-Grunt, honest!”

  Mom is nodding now and has her hand over her mouth. I know she feels bad, so I wink at her. “I can s-s-s-say things that are mean, which I do to my sister; th-thoughtless, which I do to my frie
nds; funny, which I’m hopefully doing with you now; and poetic. I c-c-c-can say something and change my mind in the very next moment. I can say sorry. So not everything I say is important, and that’s okay, isn’t it? It is more than okay … it’s great. I have already s-s-spoken f-f-for longer than anyone would have imagined. I c-c-can see that my m-mom is about to cry … a lot! She h-h-has th-that look on her face. Thanks, everyone. Good night!”

  I have never heard so much noise in the theater before. Everyone is on their feet, and most of the moms look like they are crying. Even some of the dads. I stand there for ages not really knowing what I’m meant to do. So I take a big over-the-top bow and then put one foot in front of the other and leave the stage like a chicken playing the drums.

  What was the snowman doing in the vegetable aisle at the supermarket?

  Just picking his nose.

  After the show, Mom and Dad won’t stop hugging me, but I’m too happy to be embarrassed. When I lift my head out of Mom’s tight grasp, I see Ellie and her dad coming over. He looks a bit emotional and says, “I wish I had seen something like that when I was a kid. That was incredible!” And then he hugs me too!

  Ellie just laughs and says, “I think you made a big impression! Well done, Billy. See you soon, eh?”

  I watch them as they leave the hall, her red hair bouncing out of the door, and suddenly I feel completely exhausted. Exhausted but totally happy. When I notice tears rolling down my cheeks, I finally understand why Mom sometimes cries happy tears. As I wipe my eyes, I see Mr. Osho heading over, not even trying to hide his tears. He gets to me and says, “Billy Plimpton, I have never been more moved or proud of another human being in my whole life. I bow down to you.” And with that, he gets on his knees and pretends to worship me.

  “M-maybe don’t do that in class, sir,” I say, smiling as he stands up and gives me a huge hug.

  When the news goes out on TV, I kind of become a bit of a celebrity. They want me to go on and do an interview in the new year! On the last day of school before break, some kids come over to our table in the dining hall—they want me to sign their lunch bags! They keep calling me a legend.