Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life

by Wendy Mass

  “Don’t worry. You’ve smeared it so much, no one can tell if it says ‘life,’ ‘turnip,’ or ‘Go Yankees.’ ”

  “Swear?”

  “Swear.”

  “Just for that, I’ll let you use my hula hoop when we get back to the inn.”

  “Very funny.”

  “No, you were really good.”

  I finish off the last bite of the Snickers, and toss the stick in the garbage. “Yeah, I know.”

  We spend the rest of the day practicing the routine, and most of the next day, too. Lizzy can catch that football with her eyes closed now. Maybe Grandma was right and the talent show won’t be so bad.

  The announcer clears his throat and booms into the mike, “You will be scored on stage presence, confidence, originality, and entertainment value.”

  Lizzy leans over to me. “What about my good looks? Don’t they count for anything?”

  “Shh!” We’re sitting in the front row along with the rest of the contestants. I don’t want any of the three judges to be annoyed with us before the show has even started. The announcer goes on to introduce the judges—a bald Broadway producer, a talent agent, and a guy who sings jingles in commercials. While everyone claps, I take a moment to check out our competition. The kid on the other side of me is picking his nose, and the girl next to him is chewing on her hair. At the end of the row, the three girls who pointed out Lizzy’s tattoo are dressed in matching leotards and glittery boots. I don’t think Lizzy has seen them yet, which is a good thing. She might say she’s not nervous, but she’s repeatedly pulling the strands of fake grass on her skirt.

  “And now, dancing to the classic disco hit ‘It’s Raining Men,’ we have the three Su sisters!”

  Everyone claps as the three girls climb up the steps to the stage. Lizzy’s eyes narrow, and she sinks a little in her chair. The music comes on, skips a little, and then plays normally. The girls have this whole routine with umbrellas, and they’re actually very good. People in the audience start singing along. I turn around to wave at Mom and Grandma in the third row. Mom’s all set with her video camera. I can’t believe I have to do this. I had made it to nearly thirteen without having to be on a stage. It goes against everything I hold dear. At least it will be over soon, and after all, Lizzy’s doing all the hard work.

  The girls finish, take a few too many bows if you ask me, and sit back down. Next up is a boy playing the violin, followed by a brother and sister singing a duet. The violin boy was pretty painful, but the singers weren’t bad. I nudge Lizzy. “We’re next!”

  She nods, her cheeks a bit pale.

  “And now, allow me to present Lizzy Muldoun, the best hula hooper in the East. She will be assisted by her friend Jeremy Fink.”

  The audience applauds politely as we climb up to the stage. I have all Lizzy’s props in my duffle bag, and I set it to the side. I look toward the center of the stage, where Lizzy is supposed to be. Except she’s not there. I whirl around to find her standing behind me, slightly offstage. She’s waving me over. I hold up a one-minute finger to the judges and hurry over to Lizzy. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “We’re on!”

  Lizzy shakes her head superfast. “Can’t go on,” she says, clutching her stomach. “Cramps.”

  “You have got to be kidding me!” I say. “How long does this thing last?”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, “I don’t know what to do.”

  The audience is getting restless. I can hear them murmuring. I lean closer. “But you worked so hard. Can’t you just push through it?”

  She shakes her head again. “You could go on in my place! I can’t hula, but I could still toss you the props.”

  “What? No way!”

  The Broadway judge comes up onto the stage. “Is there a problem?”

  I don’t know how to answer. Lizzy yanks off her grass skirt and shoves it in my hand. “Jeremy’s going on in my place. I’ll assist him.”

  The judge lifts one eyebrow, but says, “All right, but we need to get a move on. Ten seconds.”

  “Please do this for me, Jeremy,” Lizzy pleads. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. You know my whole routine. I’ll be right there with you.”

  “Five seconds,” the judge calls out.

  This is a prime example of why I hate surprises. I look wildly out at the audience to Mom and Grandma. They’re standing at their seats with stricken looks on their faces. I point to Lizzy’s belly. Grandma looks confused, but Mom whispers to her. Then Grandma starts chanting, “Jer-e-my! Jer-e-my!” To my horror, others in the audience join in. There must be a hundred people stamping their feet and shouting my name. It’s like a scene from a bad teen movie where the lovable loser finally runs for a touchdown or approaches the popular girl in school.

  Our music starts to play over the loudspeakers. Someone’s gotta go right round baby right round like a record baby right round, round, round, and apparently that someone is me. I pull the skirt up over my shorts. It barely reaches past my knees. I grab the hula hoop from Lizzy’s hand, and move into the center of the stage. I read somewhere that because of the spotlight shining in their eyes, a person onstage can’t see the crowd. I guess that doesn’t apply in a tent in the middle of the day, because I can clearly see everyone’s expectant faces. To my surprise the crowd cheers even before I start moving my hips.

  I take a deep breath, put the hula hoop in place around my waist, and get a solid rhythm going. I nod to Lizzy that it’s time to toss me the football. I catch it easily and toss it back. I’m only half-aware that I’m actually doing this, because most of my brain is occupied with what Lizzy could possibly do to make this up to me. I’m pretending I’m alone in the living room at the inn rather than doing the hula in a grass skirt in front of a hundred strangers. Otherwise I know I’ll freeze up.

  A minute later she tosses the banana. I begin to unpeel it and bring it to my lips when I remember that I hate bananas! I force myself to take a bite, then swallow quickly and make a face. I toss the rest of the banana behind me, and it hits the curtain. The crowd roars with laughter. I hadn’t meant to be funny.

  After what seems like forever, but is actually only one minute and fifty-three seconds, we reach the finale where I pop open a soda, drink some, and then reach down and rest it on the floor next to me, all while hula-ing. The hoop rotates around my knees until the music stops. Then I flip it up around my neck and bow. My head clears long enough for the applause to register. I admit, it feels kinda nice. The last time people applauded for me was when I won the sixth grade spelling bee by correctly spelling the word neurotic.

  Lizzy scrambles across the stage to pick up the props, and I pull off the skirt and run down the steps. Mom and Grandma rush up to greet us.

  I turn to Grandma. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to thank you?”

  “You were wonderful,” she says. “If you can do that, what can’t you do?”

  Mom pats her video camera. “And I got it all on film.” Then to Lizzy she says, “Are you okay, honey?”

  Lizzy nods. “I’m really sorry, Jeremy. But you were really, really good. Better than I would have done.”

  I know that’s not true, but the next act is starting, so we sit down to watch. Ten more acts follow. Most do singing or dancing routines, or play some sort of instrument, but one does a stand-up comedy act, and one girl plays the bongos with her feet. While the judges add up their scores, people keep coming up to shake my hand, and to tell me how much guts that took. The whole thing was such a blur. If not for the lingering feel of the hoop around my waist, I could almost believe I’d dreamt it. Never in a million years did I think I could have hula-hooped in a grass skirt in a talent show. I wonder what else I could do that I never thought I could.

  I try to convince Mom to let me run out for a fried-dough Twinkie, since there’s no way we’re going to win. She makes me stay. The judges finally announce they have a winner.

  Third place goes to the Su sisters, who don’t look thrilled when they go u
p to receive their twenty-dollar check and small bronze trophy.

  “Who’s laughing now?” Lizzy whispers.

  I’m shocked to hear our names called for second place. “That’s us!” Lizzy screams, yanking me up from the chair. The judge hands Lizzy a silver trophy and a check for thirty-five dollars. Lizzy passes them both directly to me. “It’s the least I can do,” she says. I don’t argue.

  First place and the fifty-dollar grand prize goes to the girl who played the bongos with her feet.

  Chapter 19: Happy Birthday

  The sun is shining. The roosters are crowing. I feel older. According to the bathroom mirror though, I don’t look it. I thought for a second that I had a chest hair, but it was only a hair from my head that had fallen and gotten stuck there. While I was trying to get back to sleep last night, it dawned on me that this is really the end of my thirteenth year, not the beginning. Because if you’re a whole twelve months old before your first birthday, then turning thirteen really means I’ve been on this earth a full thirteen years now. I am officially one day into my fourteenth year. No wonder I feel older!

  There’s a knock on my door, and I quickly throw on a T-shirt. Mom and Grandma and Lizzy come in, singing the happy birthday song. Grandma has a cake with candles in the shape of the number 13. She sets it down on the little desk, right next to our second-place trophy. Where’s the guy who’s supposed to give my official welcome to the world of teendom? Where’s my secret handshake?

  I blow out the candles, and everyone claps.

  “Did you make a good wish?” Mom asks.

  I slap my hand against my forehead. I had totally forgotten!

  “We’ll just have to relight them,” Grandma says, whipping out the lighter from her apron pocket.

  “Do we have to sing happy birthday again?” Lizzy whines.

  “Please, no,” I say.

  This time I close my eyes and concentrate. First, I wish that my family and friends are healthy and safe for another year. But what I really wish for isn’t a wish exactly. It’s more like a hope. I hope wherever Dad is, if he’s watching, that he understands I tried my best to follow the instructions to open his box today. I hope he knows how much it means to me that he gave it to me in the first place. Maybe that’s it! Maybe it’s the gift itself I’m supposed to learn from, not actually what’s inside. I guess I’ll never know.

  “Okay,” Lizzy says, “this has got to be the longest wish in history!”

  I open my eyes. “All right, all right, I’m done.” I take a deep breath, and blow the candles out on the first try.

  As Grandma slices into the cake, Mom says, “We thought we’d go for a picnic at Mosley Lake. What do you think?”

  “That’s the place Dad used to take me fishing, right?”

  Mom nods.

  Lizzy looks disgusted. “You guys used to go fishing?”

  Mom laughs. “Don’t worry, honey. No fish were harmed when the Fink men hit the lake. They used gummy worms instead of real bait.”

  I grin as Grandma hands me a paper plate with a piece of cake on it. “And Dad would sprinkle Swedish Fish on the water and then pretend to catch them. He had to be fast though, ’cause they sank like rocks!”

  “And then the lifeguard told him to stop,” Grandma adds, “in case the real fish ate the candy fish and got sick.”

  “So Dad put on his goggles and swam out and made sure to get every one!”

  Lizzy laughs. “That sounds like your dad. Wouldn’t it have been funny though, if someone caught a real fish and then cut it open to cook it and found a Swedish Fish inside?”

  “A green one!” I shout, after swallowing a big mouthful of cake.

  “Or an orange one!” she cries.

  “While you two are entertaining yourselves,” Grandma says, lifting what’s left of the cake back up into her arms, “we’ll go pack up the lunches and call you down when we’re ready.”

  Lizzy and I finish off our cake, giggling about the other kinds of candy one might find in a fish. I said that a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup would be the weirdest, just because you never picture a fish eating peanut butter. But Lizzy said she thought Cotton Candy would be the weirdest because it meant the fish was once won at a carnival game at the fair, but had escaped. After we dump our cake plates in the trash can, Lizzy heads for the adjoining door. “I have to finish wrapping your presents. I’ll bring them with us to the lake.”

  She leaves the door open a crack, and I’m tempted to peek at what she’s wrapping. But Lizzy and I basically get each other the same thing for our birthdays, so it’s not worth spying and getting caught. Each year she gets me an assortment of candy and comics, and I get her a DVD and a book. I try to find a book that she’d like if she gave it a chance. They usually wind up back on my own bookshelf. I already know what I’m going to get her this year—a really nice copy of Winnie-the-Pooh. I think she’ll like that after the whole Mabel Billingsly thing.

  When we pull up to the lake, I’m surprised to see it’s not very crowded. Maybe ten people altogether. The old rowboats they keep tied up are empty, and there’s no lifeguard. It’s one of those perfect summer days. I’d have thought the lake would be swarming with people. When we get out of Grandma’s station wagon, I realize why we practically have the whole place to ourselves. I’d forgotten why we stopped coming here.

  “What is that?” Lizzy says, holding her nose.

  Mom and I pinch our noses, too, but Grandma inhales deeply. “Don’t you just love it? It reminds me of fishing with my own grandparents. We used real worms, by the way.”

  Lizzy stares at Grandma. “It smells like the Loch Ness Monster came here to die.”

  Mom has let go of her nose and is inhaling deeply, too. “This is how you get used to a bad smell,” she explains. “Once it gets into your nasal cavities, you’ll barely notice it anymore.” I hesitantly try her technique. It seems to work. I can only smell the swampyness on every few inhales now.

  “Can’t we eat in the car?” Lizzy begs.

  Mom shakes her head. “Now come on, it’s a beautiful day. It’ll be better closer to the water.”

  “Won’t it be worse closer to the water?” Lizzy asks, grudgingly trailing behind us. I’d have to agree with her, but Mom turns out to be right. We spread out the blanket between a young couple sunbathing and a kid flying a kite in the shape of a dragon. We’re still far enough away from both to have privacy though.

  Grandma unpacks the cooler. One by one, she pulls out things that smell even worse than the lake. Tuna fish on whole wheat, egg salad on rye, olives, pickles. Lizzy takes the egg salad, and I wait patiently for my peanut butter sandwiches, which I know are coming. Grandma pulls out a Thermos of lemonade, then napkins, paper cups, and forks. “Dig in, everyone.”

  I tip the cooler toward me. It’s empty. “Um, where’s my peanut butter?”

  “Now don’t freak out,” Mom says as she pushes the tuna sandwich over to me. “Grandma and I thought since you’re thirteen now, it’s time to try something else.

  My eyes widen. “You’re kidding!” How could they do this to me on my birthday? I’m starving. All I had was the birthday cake for breakfast.

  Mom smiles. “Yes, we’re kidding.” She reaches into her beach bag. “Here are your sandwiches.”

  Grandma chuckles. Lizzy grins, and her teeth have egg salad stuck all in them. Even though she makes me swear to tell her whenever she has food in her teeth, I let it go this time, since she’s laughing at my pain.

  “Ha ha, very funny,” I say, grabbing the sandwiches. “Tease a kid on his birthday. Nice.”

  “To make it up to you, here’s your birthday present.” Mom hands me a blue envelope. I’m surprised because she almost never gets me cards. She thinks all the holidays are creations of the Hallmark company.

  “Before you open it,” she says, “I should explain that it’s only a picture of your gift, because I didn’t want to lug it all the way here.”

  Intriguing! So the gift is big e
nough that it would have to be lugged. I tear open the envelope and pull out a Polaroid photograph of a telescope! I can see from the background that Mom had hidden it in the Muldouns’ living room.

  “Did you know about this?” I ask Lizzy.

  She nods. “I’m getting better at keeping secrets.”

  “Do you like it?” Mom asks.

  I throw my arms around her. “I love it!”

  “I tested it out on the roof. The view is a bit fuzzy because of all the lights, but it worked better than I expected. I’m sorry we couldn’t have brought it out here. You can see the stars much more clearly this far away from the city.”

  “You can bring it next year,” Grandma says. “Turn the picture over.”

  I flip the picture over in my hand. Stuck to the back is a Post-it note with the words, The Sky and Telescope Foundation, membership good for one year.

  “That’s my contribution,” Grandma says. “You can go to their building anytime you like to do research, or to talk to other like-minded folk. It’s in Midtown, though, so you’ll have to take a subway or bus to get there.”

  “Is that going to be okay?” Mom asks. “I could make arrangements to take you, if you’d rather.”

  I pause for a second and then say, “No, that’s okay. I can do it now. It’s all about the Metrocard.”

  “Are you ready for my gift now?” Lizzy asks, bouncing up and down on her knees in anticipation.

  I nod, taking another quick bite of my sandwich. Lizzy reaches into her beach bag and pulls out a box wrapped in last week’s Sunday Comics. I rip it open to discover a smaller lumpy package, four of my favorite comics, and the new Betty and Veronica double issue. Lizzy laughs. “I got you that one just to prove to you that people would buy it even without seeing the flyer.”

  “That’s not exactly proving my point. You did see the flier!”

  “Ah, a tiny detail. Open the rest.”

  I open the smaller package to find the usual assortment: Twizzlers, Skittles, Fun Dip, Bottle Caps, Runts, and two Peppermint Patties.