“B-b-but—”
She hands me a sheet of paper. “Here are the five topics you need to know inside out for your extemporaneous speech.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“And I’ll be happy to look over your prepared speech this afternoon, right after play practice.”
“Um, I don’t know if it’ll be done by then.”
“Make sure it is. And Jacky?”
“Yes, Ms. O’Mara?”
“Today’s Tuesday. The whole cast is supposed to be off book.”
“That means we need to have all our lines memorized, right?”
“Correct.”
I was afraid that was what it meant.
I spent most of the weekend focused on taking care of my big sister instead of myself. So, needless to say, play practice isn’t much fun that afternoon.
I say “Line” all the time, which is what you do when you can’t remember what your line is and you want Colleen, who’s reading along in the script, to tell you what you’re supposed to say next. I say “Line” so many times you’d think Snoopy was a judge at a tennis tournament.
After rehearsal, everybody is shooting me dirty looks. But none of them are as nasty as the look on Ms. O’Mara’s face when I hand her the prepared speech for the oratorical contest, which I wrote during lunch.
“I don’t think the judges are looking for a four-word oration on the duties and obligations of a citizen under the Constitution of the United States.”
“So, ‘Be sure to vote’ isn’t enough? Even if I repeat it a few times?”
Ms. O’Mara actually sighs at me. “Jacky, since we’re on the subject of duties and obligations…”
Oh, boy. She’s squinting at me the way people do when they peel back the bread on their sandwich and see something gross inside.
“You’re letting the rest of the cast down,” she says. “Being in a play is just like being on your Little League baseball team. Everybody else on that stage is counting on you to be at your best. How can they be great if you’re not taking your part seriously? Will anybody in the audience remember Meredith’s amazing voice or Bill’s incredible comic timing if you’re out there on opening night calling ‘Line’ every time you forget what you’re supposed to say?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just that—”
Ms. O’Mara puts up her hand to stop me.
“I’m not really interested in excuses, Jacky. Go home and write a better speech. Memorize the rest of Snoopy’s lines and lyrics.”
“I will,” I say. “I promise.”
“Good. Because if you don’t…”
“What? You’d kick me out of the show?”
“What happens next is up to you, Jacky. Just like it always is.”
CHAPTER 41
And so I embark on what I plan to be an all-nighter (the first of many in my career, I might add).
I write a much better speech. It actually has a beginning, a middle, and an end. I also open with a joke. I read somewhere that opening with a joke is a smart thing to do when you give a speech.
Next, I go to work memorizing Snoopy’s speeches from the play.
I walk around the house mumbling the monologue about being a World War One flying ace and battling the Red Baron.
“‘Curse you, Red Baron! Curse you and your kind! Curse the evil that causes all this unhappiness.’”
During dinner (cheese pizza once again—Dad’s not home) I say “Curse you, Red Baron!” to the shaker can of Parmesan cheese. After dinner, I say “Curse you, Red Baron!” to the dirty dishes soaking in the sink. When it’s time to walk Sandfleas, I treat her to every single speech Snoopy makes in the show. I sing her every song. Sandfleas is a good audience. Mostly because it’s garbage night and there’s all sorts of trash cans and black plastic bags for her to sniff along the sidewalks.
We make it through all my lines and lyrics without me once shouting, or even thinking, “Line!”
“So, Sandfleas, Snoopy’s a World War One flying ace. But what kind of hero would you be?”
The dog keeps on sniffing trash. She’s used to me making up goofy stories about her on our last walk of the day.
“How about an astronaut? Sure, the Soviet Union sent all sorts of dogs into space. But they just went up and down or orbited the earth in a capsule. Commander Sandfleas is the first astronaut dog to ever venture outside the spaceship with nothing but a leash. Sandfleas takes the first dog walk in outer space. She also pees on a passing asteroid. And then, with one paw, she fixes the mirror on the Hubble Space Telescope!”
“So, you want to hear all of Charlie Brown again?” I ask Sandfleas as we come up the block toward our house. “We could do a double walk, it’s so nice out tonight.”
She wags her tail. Because our next-door neighbors have a crumpled chicken bucket, filled with chicken bones, sitting in their open trash bin. While Sandfleas examines the goodies, I glance up the street.
A little red convertible pulls into our driveway.
There’s a woman behind the wheel.
Dad climbs out of the passenger seat.
“See you tomorrow, Jenny,” I hear Dad say.
Because the driver is Jenny Cornwall, the prettiest girl on the beach.
“Curse you, Red Baron,” I whisper. “Curse you and your kind. Curse the evil that causes all this unhappiness.”
Sandfleas is staring up the street with me. She starts whimpering when Jenny Cornwall’s sporty little convertible backs out of our driveway and swings up the street.
Dad’s actually whistling as he bounds up the front steps. Guess he and Jenny had another amazing date. How many does that make this week? Does he really need to hang out with her every single night?
I can’t believe he’s doing this to us.
Worse, I can’t believe he’s doing it to Mom.
“Let’s go home,” I mutter to Sandfleas. “I need to write a letter.”
CHAPTER 42
I don’t even say hi to Dad when I come into the house.
I go straight to my room and yank a clean sheet of paper out of my desk.
Dear Mom,
Hi! I hope you are safe and having a good week, because I am having the absolutely WORST week of my whole, entire life.
First of all, Sydney shows up and tells us she’s flunking out of college so I drop everything to entertain her and make her smile because I think, sometimes, I love my sisters too much.
Then it turns out she’s not really flunking out—she just got a C-plus on one paper. A C-plus! That means she’s a little better than average, which, if you ask me, should be fine with anybody.
And, because of all the time I spent cheering up Sydney, the one teacher at school I sort of like, Ms. O’Mara, definitely doesn’t like me anymore. She’s the director of the school play and I didn’t have my lines in the You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown script memorized on the day I was supposed to have them memorized. Also, I tried to joke my way through the first draft of this stupid American Legion speech I have to give because Mrs. Turner thinks it’ll magically cure my stutter.
Ms. O’Mara is helping me on the speech thing, too, and when she read what I wrote, I think she realized she’s been wasting her time caring about me. I’m not Jacky Ha-Ha. I’m Jacky Hopeless.
But all of this is nothing compared to what Dad’s been up to while you’ve been away from home. First of all, he’s never here. He says he’s “working.” Seriously? How much work is there for a lifeguard—even the head lifeguard—in the middle of October? Do his duties include protecting trick-or-treaters on Halloween? Dad is never home for dinner, so all we ever eat nowadays is cheese pizza because Emma does the ordering. I’m thinking of changing my name to Jacky Cheeseball.
And the real reason Dad isn’t ever home at night?
Brace yourself, Mom. And put down any weapons or grenades you might have in your hands.
Because I’m pretty sure Dad has a new girlfriend. Jenny Cornwall. You remember her… blond, body
like a Barbie doll, lifeguards with Dad (which gives her an excuse to wear nothing but a swimsuit all day, every day). Ms. Cornwall is also known here in Seaside as the prettiest girl on the beach.
Anyway, if I were you, I’d go tell your general and President Bush that you can’t stay in Saudi Arabia any longer. Forget Saddam Hussein, you need to come home and take care of us. And Dad. Before it’s too late!
I write my letter in a blinding blaze of fury.
And then I go back and reread it.
Yowzer.
No way can I send that to Mom. So I fold it up, seal it in an envelope, and tuck it into a drawer.
Then I write another letter. Like all the others I send, it’s all very Ha-Ha.
My second letter is all about how cute Emma is when she insists we only eat plain pizza. How great it was to see Sydney, who came home from Princeton for the long Columbus Day weekend. How hard Dad is working to take good care of us. How much I’m praying for Mom in church. How Nonna is doing better. How Sandfleas is the cutest dog in the whole world (I even add in a quick doggy doodle). Finally, I write two or three paragraphs about how much fun I’m having “starring” in the school play and working on a speech about every American citizen’s duty.
When I’m finished writing the happy letter, I doodle some smiley faces all over the envelope. As I’m sealing it up, car headlights swing across my bedroom window. Somebody else just pulled into our driveway.
I peek through the curtains and see Sophia in the front seat of Mike Guadagno’s car.
I’m glad they’re back together. Hannah will be glad, too. Now she can be heartbroken about Mike at close range.
Not knowing I’m spying on her, Sophia leans over and kisses Mike. On the cheek.
I smile.
That kiss is a nice way to end an otherwise miserable day.
CHAPTER 43
Well done, everybody,” says Ms. O’Mara when we finish rehearsal on Wednesday afternoon.
We all applaud each other.
“And special congratulations to Jacky Hart, who, somehow, managed to memorize her entire part in one night!”
More applause and woo-hoos from the cast.
While I’m packing up my stuff, Ms. O’Mara reads the revised speech I wrote.
“This is excellent,” she says when she finishes.
“Thanks,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”
Okay, can I let you in on a little secret? As nice as Ms. O’Mara was to me, there was a little devil inside me that didn’t think I deserved such good treatment.
Back then, when people tried to get close to me, my instinct was to push them away. Hard.
It’s like when a private club in Beverly Hills allowed the famous comedian Groucho Marx to join. He immediately sent them a telegram saying, “Please accept my resignation. I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept people like me as a member.”
So, on our walk home with Bill and Meredith, my little devil and I have an awful idea.
“You guys thirsty?” I ask when we’re on the sidewalk outside the 7-Eleven.
“I could go for a Slurpee or something,” says Bill.
“I’m good,” says Meredith. (Later, she’ll be glad she said that.)
“My treat, Bill,” I say.
“Nah, I’ve got it—”
“I insist. After all, I made you guys wait a whole extra day for me to get off book.”
“It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
I show him the palm of my hand. The way Ms. O’Mara showed me hers.
“What flavor?” I ask.
“Cherry, if they’ve got it.”
“One cherry Slurpee coming right up. Wait here.”
I dash into the store and grab an empty Slurpee cup. Then, ignoring the funny looks from other customers, I go over to where they keep the condiments for the ancient hot dogs rolling around in the warmer. I pump some mustard and pickle relish into the bottom of my plastic cup. Then I tear open a couple of salt and pepper packets and sprinkle them on top of the hot dog goop. Finally, I go over to the Slurpee machine, pull back the handle, and bury that foul-tasting gunk under a bright red slush pile with a frosty curlicue swirl on top.
I pop in a straw, make sure it sinks all the way down to the mustardy bottom, pay for the drink, and head outside, ready to deliver my best prank ever.
“Here you go, Bill.”
“Thanks!”
He sucks on the straw.
The look on his face is hysterical.
Well, to me, anyway.
Bill starts gacking.
“What the heck is this?” he asks as he chokes.
“A new flavor: Cherry Mustard Pickle Pepper.”
“Jacky?” says Meredith. “Is this another one of your stupid stunts?”
“Hey, they have a free fixin’s bar,” I say. “Why should people with hot dogs be the only ones who get to use it?”
I’m laughing.
They’re not.
Meredith grabs Bill by the arm and hustles him into the convenience store.
“Come on,” she says. “You need a bottle of water.” Then she turns to me. “And you need to get your act together, Jacky.”
Wow. My best friend, Meredith, sounds exactly like Ms. O’Mara.
Good, says the little devil in my head. We’re better off without them.
And so we walk home.
Alone.
Just me and my little devil.
CHAPTER 44
I think about confessing my stupid Slurpee stunt to Mom in a letter. Do I like Bill Phillips so much that I’m trying to scare him away? Maybe Mom and I need to have a transatlantic mother-daughter chat courtesy of the United States Postal Service.
But the instant my pen touches paper, I remember: She’s in Saudi Arabia waiting to go to war. She doesn’t need to hear about the dumb pranks her immature middle child is pulling back home.
Maybe it’s a good thing that, the very next day, I have another session with the school shrink, Ms. Alvarez.
I tell her about Sydney and Princeton.
“Is that what’s bothering you?” she asks.
“Maybe. Probably. I guess.”
Or maybe it’s my dad constantly hanging out with the prettiest girl on the beach.…
Or my mom being over in Saudi Arabia, where a full-blown war could explode any second.
Or me being a jerk to anybody who actually wants to be my friend.
Or my fear of letting down the one teacher whose opinion I really care about.
Or maybe what’s really bothering me is the stupid nickname I just can’t shake, the one that’s been with me since kindergarten, when I first started stuttering in front of strangers, the one that tells me I’d better be funny at all times, no matter the cost, or else people will see who I really am.
But I don’t tell Ms. Alvarez any of that.
So maybe it’s not her fault that she’s absolutely no help.
She’s glancing at her battery-powered alarm clock, about to tell me that our time is up, when someone knocks on the door.
It’s Mrs. Turner.
“Jacky?” she says. “You need to go to the hospital right now. It’s your grandmother. Your family will meet you there.”
From the look on Mrs. Turner’s face I can tell: This is bad.
Really, really bad.
She hands me a slip of paper. Guess it’s my Get Out of School Free card, good for one day only.
I hop on Le Bike and pedal over to the hospital.
The whole ride, I’m thinking, How did that happen so fast? It was just a few days ago that me and my friends (who maybe aren’t my friends anymore) were entertaining Nonna and her friends at the rest home.
I’m the first one to arrive at Nonna’s hospital room.
She’s hooked up to all sorts of tubes and dripping bags and beeping machines.
“Hi, Nonna,” I say, taking her hand. It feels so small.
She smiles up at me. “Jacky. My angel. Make me laugh.”
I want to say, Sorry, Nonna, I don’t feel all that funny right now.
But I don’t. “Sure, Nonna.”
And I tell her the one joke that always makes her laugh, no matter how often I tell it to her. “Well, I have some sad news, Nonna.…”
“Good,” she says, because she recognizes the setup.
“There’s been a great loss in the entertainment world.”
“Si?” She’s smiling because she knows what’s coming next.
“Yes, Nonna. The man who wrote the ‘Hokey Pokey’ song is dead. But what was really sad was his funeral. They had trouble keeping his body in the casket. They put his left leg in, they put his left leg out and… well, you know the rest.”
Nonna is laughing so hard, I’m afraid the machines are going to sound their alarms.
And once again, I realize that sometimes, being Jacky Ha-Ha can be a good thing.
The rest of my family comes in while Nonna’s still laughing. Meredith Crawford is with them. Guess she got a Get Out of School Free card, too. Because Mrs. Turner knows Meredith is my best friend. Or was.
Meredith reaches over and takes my hand. “I’m here for you, Jacky,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say. “How’s Bill?”
“Fine. Said that Cherry Mustard Pickle Pepper Slurpee’s going to be a huge hit.”
Nonna laughs when she hears that. Me too.
This is good stuff. And Meredith’s a good friend. The best.
CHAPTER 45
Later that night, when Nonna is resting comfortably at the hospital and we’re all supposed to be in bed at home, I crawl out my window.
I figure it’s time to climb to the top of the Ferris wheel again. I need to make another solemn vow. One I’m actually going to keep. I’m sending my little devil packing with a one-way ticket.
Everything’s easier the second time you do it. I monkey-bar my way up to the top in record time.
Jacky Ha-Ha Page 9