by Greg Howard
I hit the Refresh button on my email, but no new messages come through.
Very unprofessional.
I had to reschedule the rehearsal planned for today with Julian and Manny the drag queen—who’s going to teach Julian how to do the death drop—because of my grounding. I need to be there to make sure they get it right. And so that Julian doesn’t actually, like, you know, die. Plus with Gabby and Lyla as his backup dancers, I need to make sure they don’t try to steal the show. Backup dancers can do that, you know. I’m sure Mrs. Beyoncé Knowles-Carter knows all about it. Google taught me her whole name when I searched for things gays should know. Google never lets me down. I should probably buy stock in it when my clients make me, like, a gazillion dollars in commission.
Reaching down into my backpack, I pull out Tommy Jenrette’s notebook. It kind of feels hot in my hands. I wonder if he realizes yet that he left it in Mr. Grayson’s office. I don’t know why I took it. I guess I just wanted to see if the Hogwarts drawing was a one-time thing or if he had any other good ones. I start thumbing through the notebook, being careful not to crinkle or smudge the pages with my fingerprints.
The Hogwarts drawing was definitely not a one-time thing. I stare down at a picture of Harry Potter and Ron and Hermione that is amazing. They look like real people, not like the actors in the movies, though. Better than that. After several pages of super-crazy-good Harry Potter drawings, there’s a bunch more of superheroes—Iron Man, Black Panther, Superman, Aquaman, Thor. I would never have thought that Tommy Jenrette had so much talent and pizzazz. Or, like, any pizzazz at all.
I flip past the superheroes and find faces of people I recognize from school. Most of them are kids I see hanging out with Tommy and the drawings are so good, it’s easy to recognize them. There’s one of Colby and Trace playing basketball and a funny one of Mr. Grayson where his head is twice as big as his body. One shows all the guys that Tommy hangs with at lunch sitting around a table stuffing square pizza in their mouths. All I can say is wow. If Tommy were my client, I’d try to get him a gallery showing to sell a bunch of his art. I’d bet people would pay, like, a hundred thousand dollars for each one. My commission from that would be enough to reprint my business cards and get an iPhone. And, like, a house or two.
A ping sounds through my laptop speakers. Looking over at the screen, I see that my email inbox shows one new message, and for a second I just about pee myself. But it’s not from Later Tonight with Billy Shannon. It’s from Colton. I know because the email address is [email protected]. It would be pretty weird if it was from anyone else—especially the Billy Shannon. I double-click on the message and the email pops up.
Mikey,
Sorry you’re grounded this weekend. Have you heard from Julian? I know he was suspended from school yesterday, but I haven’t seen him around his house. Hope he is okay.
C U Monday.
Colton
I’m about to hit the Reply button, when the door swings open. I turn in my chair and find Lyla standing there holding Pooty.
“We’re back,” she says, sounding bored as usual.
Her dark curls bounce along with her as she shuffles over to the metal chair by my desk. She’s wearing one of her favorite Hello Kitty T-shirts with jeans and sandals.
“What the heck took so long?” I say with a huff.
Forbes watches Pooty out of the corner of his eye the whole time. When Lyla sits, Pooty curls into a ball in her lap and stares down at Forbes like he’s a big fluffy bowl of cocker- spaniel-flavored Meow Mix. Forbes whines and scoots under my desk. Poor Forbes.
“We went to see Pap Pruitt on the way home,” Lyla says, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Charvi was there, interpreting dreams. All of Pap’s friends like her a lot, but I think it’s pretty dumb that she doesn’t get paid for it. How come you didn’t get her any money for that gig?”
I cross my arms, ignoring the dig at me. “How was Pap?”
Lyla sighs, petting Pooty real slow. “Not too good. He was in his bed and he didn’t say much.”
That worries me. Pap is always sitting in his wheelchair when I see him, never lying in the bed. I wonder if he’s getting worse. I was hoping he might even be able to come out to the big talent show and see me finally succeed at one of my business ventures.
I shake the worrying thoughts about Pap out of my head because it’s too hard to think about that. “How did it go with Sadie and Fifi at Petcare?”
“They got the job,” Lyla says with another bored sigh.
“Yes!” I say, pumping my fist in the air. “I knew it.”
Hang in there, Pap. It’s all starting to happen. You are going to be so proud of me.
“The animal shelter was doing pet adoptions in front of the store, like you said they would be,” Lyla says.
She kisses Pooty on top of his head. Ew.
“Once Sadie and Fifi started their act, more people came over to look at the dogs and go into the store.”
Lyla stops like that’s the end of the story.
“And?” I say, egging her on.
“And the manager came out to see what all the fuss was about,” she says. “I thought he was going to yell at Sadie and Fifi to go away, but he didn’t. He stood there and watched them for a while. Then he asked Sadie if she wanted a job doing tricks with Fifi in front of the store every Saturday. He said it’d be good for business. And because Fifi came from the animal shelter, it would help more of the dogs get adopted, too.”
I. Am. A. Genius! I sit there waiting for the good part. But Lyla just strokes Pooty and swings her legs.
“Lyla,” I say. “How much are they paying her?”
Lyla sighs. “I did like you said. I told the manager that he would have to pay Sadie and Fifi at least five thousand dollars a day to perform outside the store.”
She pauses again. I don’t know why she has to make me pull it out of her. Must be part of her human-demon-doll personality.
“So? What did the manager say?” I ask, throwing my hands up.
Lyla doesn’t look at me. She kisses the top of Murder Kitty’s head again. “He said he’d give her thirty bucks a Saturday. But I told him we could only accept dollars.”
I jump up out of my seat, spooking Forbes, who scrambles from under the desk and goes running out the door. Pooty poots.
“That’s amazing,” I say, another first bump with the air. “My strategy worked again and you handled it perfectly.”
I can’t stop grinning at her because even though my little sister can be a huge pain in the butt sometimes, right now I’m super-crazy proud of her.
“Yeah, about that,” Lyla says. “I think I deserve the commission on Sadie and Fifi’s gig at Petcare.”
And we’re back.
I stand there staring at her, my grin fading fast. She didn’t even know what a gig was a week ago and now she’s trying to take credit for Sadie and Fifi getting one.
“What? Why would you get the commission?” I say, and then point at my chest. “I’m the Amazing Sadie and Fifi’s agent, not you.”
Lyla shrugs. “Sadie said she and Fifi have been thinking about making a change for a while now.”
“A while?” I say, my voice cracking. “They’ve only been with the agency for a week!”
“She said she thinks you have too many clients and that you give Julian all your attention. She didn’t like it that you didn’t show up today.”
I feel like cartoon steam is about to shoot out of my ears. “Didn’t you tell her that I’m grounded and that’s why I couldn’t be there?”
Lyla looks up at me as innocent as the baby Jesus himself. “I think maybe I forgot to tell her that part. But she was so happy that I got her a gig that pays thirty dollars a day, she wants me to manage them now. And so does Fifi.”
Lyla swings her legs and strokes Pooty’s back l
ike this is a normal conversation. It’s not. This is what Pap would call a hostile corporate takeover, only it’s not going to happen.
Not today, Satan, not today.
I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. I even sit back down in my chair like a professional boss would.
“Fifi is a dog,” I say slowly, rubbing my eyes because that seems like the professional frustrated-boss thing to do. “So how do you know what she wants?”
Lyla gazes at me with her blank demon-doll eyes. “Because she signed my contract.”
I stare at her. “Your what?”
Lyla reaches under Pooty’s fat stomach and into the pocket of her jeans. She pulls out a crumpled-up piece of paper and hands it to me. Well, I guess I kind of snatch it from her. I straighten it out on my desk. It’s some ratty old Petcare receipt. Written on it in Lyla’s purple pen scribble is:
I want Lyla Pruitt to be my agent.
Sadie signed her name at the bottom of the receipt and there’s a muddy paw print beside it. Wow. You can’t trust anybody in this business. Not even a blind, three-legged pit bull.
“I didn’t authorize this,” I say, holding the receipt out to Lyla. “I should fire you right here on the spot.”
Lyla stands and cradles Pooty up to her shoulder. “Even if you could, then the agency would lose a client. The Amazing Sadie and Fifi will follow me wherever I go.” She walks over to the door and opens it real slow, she and Pooty both looking back at me and—OMG!—I just realized they have the same eyes! Why haven’t I ever noticed that before?
“And who knows,” the traitor says with a smirk, “some of your other clients might want more attention, too.”
Pooty hisses at me over her shoulder and they’re gone.
22
THE EPIC DISASTER
Monday at school, it seems like everyone’s in a bad mood, which is weird because it’s the last week before summer break. Colton hasn’t smiled at me all day, and Dinesh is grumbling because he thinks he bombed his social studies final exam this morning. But bombing for Dinesh would be like getting an A minus. Trey is bummed because his crush, Heather Hobbs, forgot his name and called him Terry, and Julian is moping around the yellow zone of the cafeteria like a zombie right now. I wonder if it has anything to do with his suspension last Friday, or his ghosting us over the weekend. I guess he could just be nervous about the talent-show tryouts after school today.
I’m still ticked about Lyla stealing the Amazing Sadie and Fifi right out from under me. The only reason I haven’t fired her is because she might go off and start a competing agency. Plus it would look bad if Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency lost a client so soon. At least this way I can say that Sadie and Fifi are still on my agency’s roster, even though Lyla is their agent and not me.
Dinesh, Trey, and I eat lunch at our regular table in the green zone. I feel a little bad that most of my clients are sitting way over in the yellow zone. At least they’re all at the same table. Stuart, Sadie, Brady, and Julian. Colton’s over there, too. Maybe I should have sat with them. Or maybe I should go and invite them to come sit with us. Yeah, that sounds like the nice, human thing to do. But that would require crossing through the red zone, so, no, thank you very much and have a nice day.
I still have Tommy’s notebook in my backpack and I feel like I’m carrying around a bomb that could go off at any minute. He’s not going to like that I took it, and he might even punch me in the face if he knows I looked through it. I know Tommy’s been searching for the notebook. I just saw him coming out of Vice Principal Grayson’s office and now—OMG!—he’s headed right for our table. Dinesh spots him, too.
“It’s Tommy Jenrette,” Dinesh says in a panicked whisper. “Act cool and don’t look him directly in the eye.”
That’s solid best-friend advice, right there.
Tommy stops, standing at the end of our table. We don’t look him directly in the eye, like Dinesh said. I keep my gaze directed at his chest, not an inch higher. I’m not sure if we’re acting cool or not, but I kind of doubt it.
“Hey,” Tommy says.
To me, I think. But I’m not looking him in the eye, so I can’t be sure.
“Why are you staring at my chest?” he asks.
Yep—definitely talking to me.
“Nice pants, Tommy,” Dinesh says, his eyes locked on Tommy’s waist. “Are those from Old Navy?”
“Huh?” comes Tommy’s headless response.
Trey looks over at me, shaking his head like Dinesh and I are the most ridiculous people he’s ever met. We probably are.
“Sorry,” I say, directing my gaze far away from Tommy’s chest. Like all-the-way-to-the-front-office far away.
I only caught a glimpse of him and he’s standing there with his hands on his hips, resting his weight on one side like the cool kids stand. I’ve tried that in the mirror, but it never looks right on me.
“Dude,” he says, waving a hand in front of my face. “I’m over here. Did you go blind all of a sudden?”
“That’s a cool belt,” Dinesh says to Tommy’s belt. “Also Old Navy? Are they having a sale?”
Dinesh sounds like a baby seal, nervously laughing at his own lame attempt at a joke. Like he just told the funniest joke in the whole entire seal kingdom.
I slowly lift my gaze all the way up to Tommy’s face. He’s staring at Dinesh with his thick, grown-man-looking eyebrows all bunched together and his mouth twisted.
“I don’t know where my mom buys my clothes, okay?” Tommy looks back at me, his bushy eyebrows parting ways. “Hey, Mikey.”
Wow. He said hey and didn’t even put the gay in front of my name, so that’s something, I guess.
“Yeah?” I say, trying with all my might to hold his laser-sharp gaze.
He squints his left eye at me, like a middle school pirate. “Did you see what happened to my notebook on Thursday? I thought I left it in Coach Grayson’s office, but I just checked and it wasn’t there.”
I stare at him, silently wondering what I should say. I could tell him that I picked up his notebook, took it home, and looked at all the pictures inside. But then he might punch me right in the face. Or I could lie and say, Why, no, Tommy Jenrette, I don’t have any idea where your notebook is, so thank you very much and have a nice day! But then what would I do with it? Keep it forever? I make a quick decision and go with it.
Michael Pruitt Business Tip #367: A good businessperson should always be quick and decisive. Except when it comes to firing your board-approved, human-demon-doll junior talent coordinator. That’s a lot trickier and riskier. You know, Murder Kitty hexes and all that.
I shift nervously in my seat, pushing my hair out of my eyes. “Um . . . uh . . . yeah.”
Okay, so not as quick and decisive as it sounded in my head.
“Um . . . uh . . . yeah . . . what?” he says, mocking me.
I clear my throat, looking over at Trey and Dinesh for some bro support. But Trey pretends like he’s reading the nutrition label on his juice box, and Dinesh is still staring at Tommy’s belt like an undercover Old Navy secret shopper.
“I mean, yes,” I say, looking right in his eyes like I’m not supposed to be doing. “I saw that you left it on Mr. Grayson’s desk, so I put it in my backpack for safekeeping. I was just waiting to run into you today to give it back. So this is, like, so cool. This, that you’re here now so that I can do that. So . . .”
I sound weird and I’m repeating words for no reason, so I shut my mouth. Reaching into my backpack, I pull out the blue notebook and hand it over to him. He looks at my hand like I have gay cooties and might have infected his notebook.
“Oh,” he says, his face tightening. He shifts his weight to the other side, like he’s nervous. “You didn’t look inside, did you? Because it’s private. And that would be, like, illegal or something.”
Tommy would make
a terrible lawyer because just looking at something is not illegal. I don’t think so anyway. No, I’m pretty sure. But this is another quick decision I don’t hesitate to make. I shake my head faster than I knew it would shake.
“No,” I say. “I would never go through someone’s private stuff. Like I said, I just wanted to make sure you got it back safely. You’re such a wicked-cool talented artist, those drawings could be worth a lot of money. You should be more careful about where you leave that lying around.”
Tommy squints at me like he’s trying to decide whether to believe me or not. I pray he does because, as unimpressive as my face is, I like it just the way it is.
“So you honestly think I could make money with my drawings?” he asks.
I look at Trey and then Dinesh. They both stare back at me with their mouths hanging open. They don’t have any idea what I’m about to say any more than I do. But I guess I wait too long, because Tommy shakes his head.
“Never mind,” he says, rolling up the notebook like a baseball bat. “They’re just stupid pictures. Well, thanks or whatever, I guess, for getting it back to me.”
Tommy glances around, nods once, and then he’s gone. Finally.
Trey exhales like he’d been holding his breath the whole entire time Tommy was here. “You totally looked through his notebook, didn’t you.”
But he doesn’t say it like a question, because he knows me too well.
“Well, duh,” I say, leaning over the table. “And the weirdest thing is that he’s a super-crazy-good artist.”