by Bill Harley
Finally, Dad called us down for dinner. He had made grilled cheese sandwiches. We all sat down at the kitchen table and started eating.
I love grilled cheese, but I didn’t even taste it.
I had other things on my mind. Had Dad found a job? Had he found any extra calculators? What was he going to say when people asked him about his work?
But most of all, I wondered what I was going to say when everyone found out that I hadn’t been telling the whole truth. I hadn’t exactly lied. I just hadn’t said what was really happening. And by the time I’d tried to say it, nobody was listening.
Finally, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Dad?”
“Mm-hmm?” he mumbled. He was looking at his phone, which he never does at dinner.
“Did you talk to anybody about a job today?”
As Dad looked up from his phone, Matt excused himself and walked out of the kitchen.
“Yes, Charlie,” Dad said. “I made a few phone calls.”
“Did someone say they would hire you?”
“Not yet,” he said.
“I’d hire you, Daddy,” the Squid said.
“You can’t hire anyone,” I told her.
“Yes, I can,” she said. “I’m hiring Daddy as my daddy. I’m going to pay him a million dollars.”
Dad smiled and let out a long sigh. “Thanks, Squirt.”
Then I heard Matt’s voice calling from upstairs. “Charlie, come here a minute!”
That was weird. My brother never called me. “I’ll be right back.” I hurried out, leaving Dad and the Squid sitting at the table. Matt was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. When I got there, he turned and headed toward his room. He stopped at his door and motioned for me to go in. I walked past him.
“Sit on the bed,” he said, closing the door.
“Why?” I asked.
“Just sit there for a minute, will you?”
I could see that Matt was really mad. What was wrong? I didn’t think my brother would ever actually beat me up, although sometimes he would get me down on the floor and pin my arms down and beat on my chest with his fingers like a drum. But that was just to make me mad. This was different.
I sat on the bed. He stood in front of me.
“You’ve got to stop it,” he said.
“What?”
“Stop bothering Dad about his job. You’re being a complete jerk.”
“But I just want to know what’s going to happen. I—”
“Charlie, shut up for a second!”
“You’re not supposed to tell me to shut up!”
“And you’re not supposed to be a moron. How do you think Dad feels?”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you think he feels about losing his job? Do you think he’s happy?”
“No.”
“Do you think he likes not working?”
“No. But—”
“Do you know what it feels like to lose a job?”
Actually, I did. I’d lost my dream job just that afternoon. I wasn’t the Master Messenger anymore and it felt horrible.
“I only—”
“Stop it!” he said. “Dad feels worse than we do! He’s the dad! He’s supposed to know everything, and he doesn’t right now. Your dumb questions are making him feel worse.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. I didn’t know what to say—everything was confused and confusing. Dad was always Dad—he was always all right. Sometimes he got mad or upset, and I remembered how sad he was when Grandpa Al died. But Dad was always the one who tried to make things okay.
“I didn’t mean to make Dad feel bad,” I said in a shaky voice. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“About what?”
“About him coming into my class tomorrow.”
“Big deal! Maybe he doesn’t come in. So what?”
“But he said he would. And I told Mrs. Burke—”
“Charlie, you’re an ignoramus the size of Mount Everest! Dad speaking to your class is just one dumb little thing. If he wants to come in, okay, but don’t bug him about it anymore. He’s got other things to think about.”
“It’s just …”
“What? What’s so important?”
I blew air out of my mouth. I could feel tears in my eyes, and I REALLY didn’t want to cry. “It’s just … well, some of the kids think he’s, like, the president of his company and—”
“What? Why do they think that?”
“And everyone thinks he’s going to bring in a calculator for each kid in the class.”
“Did you tell them that?”
“No!” I moaned. “They just decided that. And I couldn’t say it wasn’t true until it was too late. And then I was hoping maybe Dad would get to be a vice president or—”
“SERIOUSLY?” Matt was towering over me. I tensed up, ready for him to pin me on my back and drum on my chest with his fingers.
“Or something like that,” I went on. “I figured a vice president would have a lot of calculators. And now Dad doesn’t even have a job. What’s he going to do? What if we don’t have enough money? Will we have to move? And the kids are all going to know, and they’ll think I was bragging about something that wasn’t even true.”
I wiped my eyes before tears came out.
Matt sat on the bed next to me.
“You,” he said slowly, “are an enormous bozo.”
“I know,” I blubbered.
Then we sat there for a while. I wiped some snot off my nose.
“Don’t rub that on my bed,” Matt warned.
I rubbed it on my pants. “I didn’t mean to make Dad feel bad,” I said.
“But you did,” Matt said.
That made me feel worse.
“It’s all right, Charlie,” Matt said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You’re just a dumb fourth grader.”
I slid off Matt’s bed without saying anything and went into my room and closed my door. I curled up on my bed and put my pillow over my head.
I lay there like that for a long time. I kind of wanted to see Dad, but I didn’t know what to say to him. Or how to say it.
I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up to the sound of my door opening. I kept the pillow on my head—it seemed safer that way. Someone sat on my bed. I could tell it was Dad. He didn’t say anything. So I just stayed where I was with the pillow on my head. I wondered if I could just keep a pillow on my head for the next two or three days. If they made me go to school, I could just tape a pillow to my head so I couldn’t see anyone or hear anyone. That way if people were looking at me or talking about me I wouldn’t even notice. I would just be Charlie Bumpers, the Boy with the Pillow Head.
“Can you breathe?” my dad asked.
“Sort of,” I muttered.
He tugged on the pillow, and I let go so he could pull it away.
“Do you want to tell me what you’re doing?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said. Which was true.
We sat there for a little while. It was getting kind of boring, but I was still trying to think about what to say. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” I said.
“I know,” Dad said.
“I just want to know what’s going to happen.”
“So do I,” he said.
Aren’t dads supposed to know what’s going to happen? Isn’t that their job? What happens when dads don’t know?
“What will you do in my class tomorrow?” I was kind of hoping that we could both call in sick.
“Oh, I’ve got some ideas,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s a surprise. Just because I don’t have a job doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to add and subtract.”
That was true.
“Dad,” I blurted out. “Some kids think you’re a millionaire and the president of the company and are going to give everyone a calculator.”
He sat there f
or another minute not saying anything, then he leaned over and gave my hand a squeeze. “It’ll be all right,” he said, standing up. “Put your pajamas on and get under the covers. See you in the morning.”
So I did. When I got in bed, I put the pillow back over my head. Just in case.
A couple of minutes later, I heard the door open. I peeked and saw Mom come in. I think she was checking on me. But I didn’t move and pretended to be asleep. She leaned over and kissed me on my shoulder. “Good night, Charlie,” she whispered.
I still didn’t move.
Then she left.
20
Waiting for the Helicopter
Tommy sat down beside me the next morning on the bus.
“Did your dad find a job?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said.
“Is he still coming to talk to your class?”
“I guess.”
“What’s he going to talk about?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He told me not to worry.”
“Is he going to hand out calculators?”
“Nope,” I said again.
“Your dad’s funny,” he said. “Maybe he’ll just crack jokes. Maybe he’ll get a job as a comedian.”
“Ha ha ha,” I said.
Kids kept coming up to me in class to ask me questions like “Hey, Charlie, is your dad coming to school in a limousine?”
When Robbie asked me if my dad was bringing in computers for everyone, Samantha Grunsky said, “Charlie’s dad isn’t rich. He’s not giving out computers.”
I kind of wish my dad would give out computers, just to bug Samantha. Her mom and dad were both lawyers—they would probably hand out laws for us to follow.
At lunch, Tommy and Hector and I sat at a table in the far corner of the lunchroom, but other kids still found me. First, Alex and Trevor came over and started asking what kind of calculators my dad was bringing. Then Kyle and Darren showed up with big smiles on their faces. “Hey, Charlie,” said Darren. “When’s your dad taking you on vacation in his private jet?”
“We don’t have a private jet,” I said. “I’ve never even been on an airplane!”
All of a sudden, Tommy stood up.
“STOP IT EVERYBODY!” he shouted.
Everyone at our table quit talking and looked at him.
“Listen, you guys!” he said, loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear. “Charlie’s dad is not a millionaire. He’s just a thousandaire.”
Everyone stared at him like he was out of his mind. I’d never heard of a thousandaire before—I figured he just made that word up.
“What’s a thousandaire?” Darren asked.
“Someone who has a thousand dollars, you dummy,” Tommy explained. “Duh!’
It was quiet for a minute, then Alex started giggling. Trevor joined in, and pretty soon they were all laughing. I didn’t feel like laughing myself, but I was glad when Kyle and Darren gave up and went back to their table.
At recess, I decided to shoot baskets by myself, hoping no one would find me. But as I was dribbling the ball over to the basket, Tracy Hazlett ran up to me.
“Hi, Charlie,” she said.
“Uh … hi,” I stammered. My hair tingled and my ears felt all hot and sweaty.
“Your dad’s coming in today, right?”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Okay. Don’t forget what you said about saving a calculator for me.”
“Um, okay. It’s just—”
Before I could say anything else, she turned and ran back across the playground.
With everyone reminding me, I thought, how can I ever forget? I shot at the basket and didn’t even hit the rim. The ball hit the backboard and bounced off to the right. I chased down the ball and dribbled it back to take another shot.
Mrs. Burke was standing right where I’d started shooting. Where did she come from?
“How come you’re not playing soccer?” she asked.
“I didn’t feel like it,” I said.
“Are you excited about your dad coming this afternoon?”
“I guess.” I dribbled a couple of times, then shot the ball, and it bounced off the rim right to where Mrs. Burke was standing. She caught it but didn’t pass it back. She just held the ball.
“Do you want to tell me anything?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said, hoping she would just give me the ball back. I wished people would stop talking to me all the time.
“Are you sure?” she asked. She dribbled the ball once.
“It’s just—”
“Just what?”
Boogers. I had to tell her.
“Me and my big blabby mouth.”
“What did your big blabby mouth do?” she asked.
“I sort of let everyone think that my dad was a big shot in his company … and … and now my dad doesn’t even have a job.”
She frowned. “Really?”
“Yeah. He lost his job last week, but he said he’d still come in. And because of my big mouth everybody thinks he’s, like, the president of the company and he’s going to bring in free calculators.”
Mrs. Burke bounced the ball again. Then she passed it to me. I caught it. She held out her hands like she wanted it back, so I bounced it back to her. Then she took a shot at the basket.
It went right through the hoop, hit the ground, and spun back to her. “Your turn,” she said, passing it to me.
We took turns shooting the ball without talking.
After a while, she looked at her watch. “Time to go in,” she said. She blew her whistle and we both started walking back toward the school door.
“Hang in there, Charlie,” she said. “Things have a way of working out.”
After recess, our class was fidgety and much noisier than usual. I thought Mrs. Burke might say something to calm the kids down, but she didn’t. She didn’t even snap her fingers when Sam got up to look out the window. He told her he was waiting for the helicopter that was bringing my dad.
Now it was 1:45 and we were doing silent reading, waiting for my dad to show up. The phone on the wall by Mrs. Burke’s desk buzzed. She picked it up and turned her back to us so we couldn’t hear what she was saying. Then she hung up. “Citizens,” she said. “I have some bad news for you.”
All the kids were already quiet, but we got even quieter.
“I just got a call from Charlie’s father …” She paused.
So it was about my dad! What had happened? Now I was really worried.
“He just called to tell me that something has come up and he can’t make it today.”
“Oh, no!” Alex wailed. “No calculators!”
POW! Mrs. Burke snapped her fingers.
“But,” she said, “he knows you were looking forward to his visit and so he’s asked a friend to come instead.”
A friend? Who was my dad sending in his place?
Just then there was a knock on the classroom door.
Mrs. Burke went to the door and opened it.
A weird-looking man walked in.
21
“Noombers Are Bee-yoo-ti-ful Things”
The man was wearing a white lab coat. The chest pocket was stuffed with pencils. He was wearing a wig with crazy white hair that stuck out in every direction. And black-rimmed eyeglasses with a big nose attached.
“Hel-looo, most excellent peoples!” the man said in a very strange accent. An accent I’d heard before.
Then I realized who it was.
My dad.
A couple of kids laughed.
“I oonderstand thees ees Meez Burke’s Empire, and you are learning about different jobs. My dear friend Meester Boompers ees away, on other planet, and so I am happy to talk about the work of noombers. My name ees Professor Zed.”
“Where’s Charlie’s dad?” Joey Alvarez called out.
POW! Mrs. Burke snapped her fingers again.
Dad grabbed his chest like he’d been shot. “Ow!” He looked down, checking for
a wound. “Oh, good, I am not eenjured. But please to raise hands, so no one ees harmed. And as for your question, Meester Boompers ees fine, just fine, thank you. He sends his regards.”
A bunch of hands shot up in the air.
“No questions, please!” my dad said. “Hands down, hands down. So math genius can theenk.”
But Alex still had his hand up, waving it around.
“What?” my dad asked, looking at him.
“Did you bring in calculators for us?”
“Calculators! You want calculators? We don’t need no steenking calculators. Already I have one!” He put his fingers on the sides of his forehead and closed his eyes. “My brain ees beeg calculator. I show you.”
He whipped a marker out of his pocket. “Five noombers in the hundreds, please, from 100 to 999. Queekly!”
He called on five kids.
“Four hundred thirty-seven,” Candy said.
“Two hundred ninety-three!” Manny called out.
“Seven hundred and ninety-nine!” Dashawn yelled.
“Three hundred thirty-three,” Lydia said.
“Nine hundred sixty-four,” Cory said.
Professor Zed wrote each number up on the board, one under the other. Then he drew a line at the bottom and added a plus sign. I knew what was going to happen. I’d seen my dad do this before.
“Someone watch the clock and say go!” He pointed to Alex. “You, boy who wants calculator. Tell me when to go.”
Alex jumped out of his seat, he was so excited. “Ready, set, go!”
My dad looked at the numbers for about three seconds. Then he wrote 2818 on the board in big numbers.
“How do you know?” asked Alex.
“Because of my brain calculator. Meez Burke, please check total.”
Mrs. Burke got out her calculator and punched in the numbers. “You’re right!” she said, holding it up so the class could see.
“That was lucky!” Sam said.
“Luck! Noombers not about luck! Noombers are bee-yoo-ti-ful things, like flowers in spring. Try again.”
The kids gave him more numbers. Dad did the trick twice more, and he seemed to get faster each time.
By now the kids had forgotten about my dad. As far as they were concerned, this was Professor Zed speaking.