She opens her locker door. The inside is decorated with pictures of famous athletes. At least, I assume they are famous. I don’t recognize any of them. I’m sure Thermos wouldn’t recognize any of the comedy legends hanging in my locker: Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy, the Marx Brothers.
“Hi,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Is that Groucho Marx?”
“Yeah,” I mumble. She must have heard me mention him.
“I’m Thermos,” she says. “Nick told me all about you.”
He forgot to tell me about you, I think. But I just say, “Oh.”
Thermos grabs her football from the top shelf and her backpack from the hook. When she unzips her bag a green hair bow falls out and tumbles toward my feet. I reach down to pick it up for her, but Thermos dives for it and our heads smack.
“Ow!” I stand up and rub the place where my head bumped hers.
“Sorry.” Thermos shoves the bow deep into her bag. Then she reaches out to my forehead. “You have a huge red circle there.”
She has a matching circle.
“Louie Booger has a girlfriend!” I whip around and see Ryan, Jamal, and a bunch of the other football boys making kissy faces at Thermos and me.
I want to tell them to shut it, but that’ll make things worse. I turn to Thermos. She’s already halfway down the hall, like she couldn’t wait to get away from me.
I grab my backpack. Then I step around Ryan and his henchmen to find Nick. He’s at the other end of the hallway because his last name starts with Y.
Nick and I head out to the little kids’ playground. Ruby and Henry wait by the curly slide. Henry is sitting at the foot of the slide and Ruby is trying to attach a pinecone to his forehead. I think it’s supposed to be a unicorn horn.
“Do you want to hang out later? After I go to the eye doctor?” Nick asks. “Maybe we could invite Thermos, too.”
“We could play Magical Mystery Unicorns Enter the Cave of Doom,” Ruby says, repositioning the pinecone. “Louie and I invented it up this summer.”
We reach the first corner and when we stop to look both ways Nick curls his upper lip in a classic yuck face. I can’t believe Ruby told him that we played Magical Mystery Unicorns.
I shrug my shoulders. “What can I tell you? After ten days in the Rusty V. Hickle, unicorns start looking pretty good. Boredom makes you do crazy things.”
Nick nods his head like he’s remembering something. “Once, at sports camp, it was raining, and they made everyone play shuffleboard in the gym.” Nick rolls his eyes. “Thermos and I made up a game called The Floor Is Hard. You fall down and say ‘Ouch. The floor is hard.’ It hurt.”
“You should have played My Butt Is Soft. Then it wouldn’t have hurt so much.”
Nick laughs. “You should have been there.”
At sports camp? With him and Thermos? Does Nick remember who he’s talking to?
We reach the part of the sidewalk that is in front of my house and across the street from Nick’s house. I want to say something hysterical, to remind him that comedy can be as fun as sports, but I can’t think of anything. Ruby and Henry say goodbye and leave Nick and me standing alone. I should invite Nick to watch my act. You can’t get a better audience than a best friend.
“Have a good time at the eye doctor,” I tell him.
He bugs his eyes. “Call me if you want to hang out later.”
After we say goodbye, I step into my house, hang up my backpack in the front hall closet, and edge my way into the kitchen. My dad is washing the dishes from breakfast. I wonder if he’s going to make me do my act right away or if he’ll give me a little while to prepare myself.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, rocking back and forth on my feet. “I’m home.”
“Hi, Louie,” he says without turning around. “Did anything funny happen at school today?”
My dad asks me that every school day, but today his voice sounds hollow, as though he’s asking because he has to, not because he wants to know the answer.
“Mrs. Adler accidentally told us to ‘sit down in our sheets.’ That was sort of funny.”
I wait for my dad to answer, but he’s scrubbing a frying pan.
“Dad?”
He keeps scrubbing and staring out the window.
“Dad!”
He starts and soapy water sloshes onto the counter. “Sorry, Louie. I was lost in thought for a minute there. So, did anything funny happen today?”
I check my dad’s eyes for a twinkle, because he must be kidding. But there’s nothing.
“Nah,” I tell him. “It was the first day. Funny stuff doesn’t start until day two.”
Dad nods his head and goes back to scrubbing. He doesn’t say anything about my act.
“Ahem.” I clear my throat and my dad looks at me. “Are you forgetting something?”
His eyes are completely blank for a moment, then suddenly they fill with recognition. For some strange reason I actually feel relieved.
“Lunch,” he says. “What do you want for a snack?”
A snack?
“Dad. Our pact? I’m supposed to do my act for you.”
Now Dad’s eyes fill with a different kind of recognition. “Oh, right. Sorry. Can we do that another time?”
I don’t understand. Yesterday my dad couldn’t wait to see my act. Today it doesn’t matter.
A rubbery lump lodges itself in my chest. “Okay,” I say, even though it doesn’t feel okay. Maybe my dad decided I’m not worth pushing.
I take a deep breath. “When?”
“We’ll see,” he says. “My day was draining. Why don’t you make yourself a Fluffernutter?”
“And then you’ll watch my act after that?” Not that I want to do my act. But if I have to do it, I want to know when.
“Fine.” My father sighs, and I start making my sandwich.
Fluffernutters are better than barftastic. They are barfmazing. The perfect sandwich: peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff on white bread. My mom claims they are not “real food.” Thankfully, my dad didn’t get that memo.
While my dad finishes the dishes, I spread the peanut butter over the first slice of bread and figure out what other memos my dad didn’t get.
“Can I eat this in front of the TV while I watch Lou Lafferman’s Laff Nite?” Mom never lets us eat in front of the television. Another rule: no TV until after dinner.
“I guess so,” my dad says.
“Can I have root beer?” No soft drinks unless we have company.
“Go ahead.”
“Can I have a Lucky Charms sandwich?” Ruby waltzes into the kitchen. She’s now wearing a ballerina tutu and my old Batman mask. “And can I watch TV with Louie?”
I roll my eyes. Whenever I watch TV with Ruby she asks a million questions and laughs at the wrong parts. But I’m pretty sure my dad will say no. A Lucky Charms sandwich is the messiest food on the planet: a kitchen-only food. I know my dad got the memo about that one.
He puts the pan he was scrubbing in the dish rack. “Fine,” he says. “Try not to spill.”
He might as well tell Ruby to take a bath but try not to get wet. I should talk my dad out of it. My mom won’t be happy if she comes home to a magically delicious mess in the family room. But I don’t. Something is weird about my dad.
“Come on,” I say to Ruby, walking into the family room. “Be careful with that sandwich, and if you talk during the show, I’ll never play Magical Mystery Unicorns Enter the Cave of Doom with you again.” Not that I was planning on it anyway. Really.
We carry our snacks to the coffee table and settle ourselves on the couch at the same time that Ariella and a horde of her friends march in front of the TV, blocking our view. For some reason every one of them is wearing jean shorts. And they all stand the same way—one knee bent, with their hands on their hips.
“Dad told us we could have the family room TV today,” Ari says. “You have to watch in Mom and Dad’s room.”
“Dad said I could watch Lou L
afferman. It’s not recorded on Mom and Dad’s TV. Why don’t you use Mom and Dad’s room?”
“Yeah,” says Ruby. “We want to watch Lou.”
I take a bite of my Fluffernutter and try to click on the TV, but the giant group of girlzillas is still in the way.
“There’s not enough room in there. You can watch your show later.” Ari tries to grab the remote out of my hands. I yank it back and smack myself on the nose.
Ow.
The girlzillas giggle.
Ari and I squint into each other’s eyes like we’re about to have a gunfight in the Old West, then we both shout, “Daa-aaad!”
My father runs into the room with suds covering his hands. His eyes are wide and worried.
“What happened?” He looks frantically at everyone.
I don’t know why, but that makes the girlzillas giggle again. What’s the deal with girls and giggling? It must be contagious with them or something.
Ari smiles at Dad as sweetly as a rattlesnake. “You said we could have the TV in the family room.”
I gulp my root beer. I’m sure my dad will remember that he told me I could watch Lou. But then he looks at me with his eyebrows pinched. “I’m sorry, Louie, but I told Ari she could have this TV.”
“That’s not fair. You told me I could watch Lou.”
“I know it’s not fair. Nobody ever said life was fair. I made a mistake, I’m sorry.” Dad sighs and runs his soapy fingers through his hair, leaving a big pouf of bubbles on his forehead. “Be a sport, okay?”
You know what I hate more than sports? Being a sport.
“What am I supposed to do? You won’t let me watch TV and you won’t watch my act!”
“I’ll watch your act,” says Ruby.
Dad hangs his head. “You can have the TV as soon as Ari’s friends go home.” He slouches back to the kitchen.
“I love comedian shows.” Ruby tugs my sleeve.
The girlzillas swarm the couch and suddenly I’m surrounded by them. It smells like I’m sitting in the middle of a strawberry-shampoo factory. Barf.
I head back to the kitchen. Ruby follows me.
“Want me to be your bannouncer?” she asks. “I can do a really good bannouncer voice.” She makes a sound deep in her chest and starts talking low and slow. “Laaa-diesss and gennnntlemennnn … bannnnoun-sssing Louuuu-ie Burrr-ger!”
For some reason, I don’t feel nervous when I think about doing my act for Ruby, but that’s probably because she’s a weirdo six-year-old who doesn’t even know how to say the word announcer. It doesn’t count if she thinks I’m funny.
My dad rinses his sudsy fingers, then stares hard at me while drying his hands on a dish towel. Maybe I have Marshmallow Fluff on my face. I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand.
“What?” I say.
My dad shakes his head. “I need to be in my studio for a while. Will you watch Ruby?”
His studio used to be Ari’s room, but Mom made Ari move in with Ruby so Dad could have a space to create his masterpieces.
Suddenly, I remember something. “Your meeting! How’d it go? Is the gallery going to sell your art?”
My dad shrugs. “Guess your mom was right.”
“Oh.” I wish I could take my question back. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Daddy.” Ruby hugs my dad’s leg. “I’ll buy your art.”
My dad rubs Ruby’s back. “No way. You get it for free.” He turns to me. “Can I take a rain check on your act? I wouldn’t be a good audience today.”
My dad’s words should make me feel great since I don’t have to do my act anymore, but they don’t.
He leaves Ruby and me standing alone in the kitchen.
“I will be the best audience in the world,” Ruby says. “So will Sparkle and Magic Star.”
“Sorry, Ruby. I wouldn’t be a good comedian today. Want to play Magical Mystery Unicorns?”
Ruby’s eyes widen and she nods. “Today is Louie the Unicorn’s horn day celebration.”
“Why are they called unicorns anyway?” I ask. “It’s not like they have corn on the cob sticking out of their foreheads. They should be called unihorns, right?”
Ruby laughs. “You’re the funniest person in the world.”
Too bad Ruby’s the only person on the planet who thinks so.
NOT THE CLOSET!
A few hours later my mom brings home takeout. My dad was supposed to make dinner, but he didn’t.
“We can’t afford this every night,” Mom reminds him, unpacking the plastic trays.
“I am trying to make money,” Dad answers.
“That’s not what I meant.” My mother slumps back into a chair and lets her arm dangle.
My father brings five water glasses to the table and plunks them down. Ruby closes her eyes. I wish my parents would smile.
“What do you get when you cross California rolls with Bran Flakes?” I joke.
“I’m too exhausted to eat,” Mom says.
“Did you get California rolls?” Ari asks as she walks into the kitchen.
No one acknowledges my joke.
“Pooshi!” I tell them. I make drummer hands and say, “Ba-dum ching.”
“Pooshi!” Ruby cracks up. “I want pooshi. And unicorn rolls.”
“I got California rolls, spicy tuna rolls, extra-spicy dragon rolls, and cucumber rolls for Louie.” My mother stares at the ceiling as she answers us, as though she’s too tired to lift her head. “I didn’t even have students today,” she says. “I can’t believe how wiped I am.”
Ari, Ruby, and I open our little plastic trays of sushi and start eating. My mom doesn’t seem to notice that my dad is mumbling to himself as he grabs his pack of spicy tuna rolls. Finally my mother takes a deep breath and sits up. “Okay,” she says, “let’s hear about everyone’s day.”
“Ryan Rakefield is a footsniff,” I say. “But Mrs. Adler’s nice.”
“Mr. Beauregard said I’m the most unique of first grade,” Ruby says.
“That’s a polite way of putting it,” I add.
Ruby nods. “Mr. Beauregard is very polite. But Daddy didn’t sell his art.”
My mom puts her hand on top of my father’s and squeezes.
Dad slowly unwraps the paper from his disposable wooden chopsticks, then he looks at my mother and smiles. It feels fake, but I’m still happy to see it.
My mother gives my father a kiss on his cheek. “It’s just one gallery, not the end of the world.”
Ari clears her throat. “Speaking of the end of the world … Did you know that I’m the only person in middle school who has to share a bedroom?” Ari pops a California roll into her mouth, and I wait for Mom to tell her that this discussion is closed, but instead my mother says, “I know giving up your room has been hard on you.”
“It doesn’t have to be hard on me.” Ari finishes chewing and puts down her chopsticks. “This time I thought of a perfect solution!”
Ever since Mom and Dad told us about the Studio Plan, Ari’s been trying to come up with alternatives. First, Ari said I should be the one to share a room with Ruby, but my parents said that I was too old for a boy-girl room. Then Ari said Dad should work in the basement, but my parents said it’s too damp. Then Ari said he should work in the garage, but my mom didn’t want him to be in a different building from Ruby while he works, and our garage isn’t attached to our house. Besides, the garage is so messy no one wants to clean it out.
I think we’re running out of alternatives.
Ari leans forward, her eyes twinkling. “My friend got her own bathroom by using part of the laundry room. They didn’t have to make the house bigger. They moved a wall over and made the laundry room smaller.”
Ari shoots me a snotty smile, and my stomach burbles.
“If we knock out part of Louie’s closet and build a new wall in the middle of Ruby’s room, then we can turn two bedrooms into three and everyone will be happy.” Ari leans back in her chair, picks up her chopsticks, and pops another ro
ll into her mouth.
“No way.” I jump up from the table. “You cannot take away my closet. That’s totally cruel and unusual.”
“Calm down, Louie,” says Mom. “No one said we were going to do anything.”
I take a deep breath and pick at the seaweed wrapper of my cucumber roll.
“I will share my room with Louie,” says Ruby.
I stare laser beams at both of my sisters.
“Ariella,” says Mom, “we respect your need for privacy. Unfortunately, hiring someone to tear down walls and rebuild them would be expensive. We’ve already explained to you that our budget is going to be pretty tight for the next few years.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, but then Dad clears his throat.
“Now wait a minute,” he says, and he suddenly has a burst of energy. “We can’t afford to hire someone to do this project, but I’m handy with a hammer. I could move the walls myself. I’ll have the time. Galleries aren’t exactly overwhelming me with orders.”
Ari squeals and jumps into my dad’s lap. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
My stomach jerks.
My mother shakes her head. “David, this is a big project. When will you work?”
“It’s not fair to punish Ari when this whole artist thing might not even pan out.”
“You have to be patient.”
My dad runs his fingers through his hair. “I can do both. It won’t take as much time as you think.” He gives Ari another hug, then sends her back to her seat.
“But Dad,” I splutter. “My closet … Where will I practice my comedy?”
“Yeah,” says Ruby. “Where will you put Louie’s stage?”
Dad’s brow wrinkles. “I’m sure there’s another place for it. What about the basement?”
“The basement is gross,” I say. “You didn’t want your studio down there.”
“Okay, so we’ll find somewhere else. How about a corner of the living room?”
“The living room!” My mother shakes her head. I do, too, because the living room is in the middle of the house, where everyone in the world would see me, would be able to watch me every time I tried to make a joke.
The Barftastic Life of Louie Burger Page 3