“Have you seen the way Dad dresses?” Drew answers through the door. Good point. Dad only wears team jerseys, baseball caps, and mismatched socks.
I knock again. Drew doesn’t answer, so I use my secret weapon. “I’ll tell Mom and Dad you played with airsoft guns when you went to Sameer’s house last week.” My parents don’t allow any kind of toy gun, but they especially can’t stand airsoft guns, because they look like real machine guns. Sameer has about twenty airsoft guns.
Drew opens his door. “How did you know that?”
“I saw the pellets stuck to the Velcro on your sneakers when you came back from his house.”
“I can’t believe you noticed that.”
“Believe it. I notice everything.” He looks irritated. But he’s not mad anymore. Drew is like Dad. He gets ticked off for about thirty seconds and then he’s back to normal. “Mom can take you tonight after dinner. No one is going to steal your spotlight. Not even me. Your bar mitzvah is going to be great. You’re going to be great.”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Help me clean up the perfume mess?”
“Fine, but you have to teach me how to play poker like Simon taught you.” I get a plastic bag, and Drew helps me pick up all the shards and wipe up the perfume with a towel. “I don’t care if you steal my spotlight,” he says. “I don’t like being in it anyway.”
“Then why did you get so mad at me?”
“Because as usual it’s all about you, all the time. It gets old.”
“I’m sorry.”
After we clean up, we go to my room and sit on the floor. Drew shuffles and says, “Take out the jokers.”
“Who says you can’t use jokers in this game?”
He takes them out. “You can’t use jokers for anything. Ever.”
“So jokers are useless?” I say, more to myself than Drew.
“Yeah. Jokers are useless.” He throws them across the room. They land in a pile of magazines by my bed.
“That’s me, a useless joker,” I mumble.
“Joker cards are useless. Jokers are important in real life. Everyone needs to laugh. Besides, you can drop your joker act when you want to.”
“The thing is,” I say, “I don’t know if I truly am that joker, if it’s an act, or if it’s just become a habit.”
“Maybe it’s all three. There’s a lot more to you than just jokes, you know.”
The way he says that chokes me up, and my eyes get a little blurry, and the line I was about to blurt (“Yoda man, bar mitzvah boy”) gets stuck in my throat.
It’s time. I’m in front of my computer. Everything has been transferred and edited, thanks to Drew showing me how. I didn’t start this as my good-bye to Max. It began as a way to promote our magic-show business, but now that he’s leaving, our magic-show partnership is over.
I upload the three videos I have to YouTube.
Then text the link to Max, Trina, and Amy.
“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!” Max shouts into the phone.
I don’t understand.
“Do what to you?” I ask. “Didn’t you watch them? Didn’t you see how funny it is?”
“Yes, I watched them! Take them down. Now. NOW. I can’t believe you!”
“I was promoting our magic show, like marketing. You said you wanted humor. That’s why you asked me to be a part of your act, right? This is funny.” I remember a phrase I learned from a business reality show. “I was promoting our brand.”
“Promoting our brand? Are you crazy?!” Max squeaks. “I’ll never be able to get another magic gig again, thanks to you. You promised you would never embarrass me in public. You promised. And now you’ve humiliated me on a GLOBAL level. Take. It. Down.”
“Okay, I’ll take it down. I’m sorry.”
His voice is dead flat. “I’m tired of hearing you’re sorry. I’m glad I’m moving away from you. All you do is wreck everything.”
All the air goes out of me. “Max, you don’t mean that. Part of the reason I did this was because I thought you’d, I don’t know—”
“You thought what?”
“That you might stay after you saw all the good times we had.”
“Stay? You thought I’d want to STAY after you did this to me? Now I have to leave! You’ve made me look like the world’s dumbest magician. I never should have asked you to help me. That was the worst decision I ever made.”
I’m numb. It’s like my insides have been run over by a car.
I watch the videos again. Max dropping metal rings everywhere, scrambling on the floor to pick them up, an old lady with a walker squeaking by while he’s performing, audience members yawning, kids screaming and crying, carrots flying out at them, a mother running toward the camera screaming angrily, Max going “um…um…um…” into a microphone.
Over two hundred views already, and rising.
I thought it would be funny. I thought people would see it and think we were a good comedy team. Now I see what Max sees.
I’ve made him look like a nerd who doesn’t know what he’s doing.
This wasn’t marketing. Or true comedy. I should have realized I was making Max look stupid at the one thing he takes pride in doing well, the one thing he takes seriously. Magic.
How could I have been so off the mark?
My phone dings with a text. It’s Trina.
Y did u do it?
Another text, from Amy this time.
Amy: Saw Utube videos. Max sez he is done w/u. Make up w/him!
Trina: Plz take them down. Im askin 4 Max
Amy: did u see the comments?
I scroll down to the comments section. Abracadorcus. What a dweeb! I’d want my money back. How old are these kids, twelve? That moron will never have a career in magic.
I feel sick.
I did this. Me.
All you do is wreck everything.
My hands shake as I click on my mouse to take the videos off YouTube.
Now they all think I’m a horrible person. They hate me.
I thought TNTRML was my lowest point, the worst thing I ever did. I was wrong.
This is.
Amy and Trina come over. “I meant it as publicity for us,” I say, trying not to cry. “You’ve got to believe me. I thought Max would laugh. I thought he’d love it.”
“How?” Trina asks. “How did you think that?”
“I thought I was showing how funny we are, like reality comedy, the kind you see on Impractical Jokers.”
“Except Max was the butt of every single joke,” Trina says gently.
“Yeah,” Amy whispers. “You showed him doing everything wrong.”
“I was in it too. I made fun of myself.”
“Not like you made fun of Max,” Trina says, shaking her head. “People reposted it. It went viral.”
“It was a mistake.” I start crying. Badly. Ugly-faced, snot-nosed crying. Trina and Amy both hug me. “Do you h-h-hate m-me?” I ask between sobs.
“No,” they both say.
“But you’ve got to fix things with Max,” Trina says.
“I know. Any ideas?” I ask.
“I wish we could tell you,” Trina says. “The answer will come to you.”
There is no answer to how to fix this.
After they leave, I break down in new sobs. I lie on my bed and let it all out.
It dawns on me that I’ve lost my best friend. My BFF is now Max. Not Caitlin. Trina and Amy run a close second place, but Max and I have a connection that is extra special.
Now I’ve probably lost him forever. He’s moving, and he’ll leave hating me.
I blew it.
It’s been a day since YouTube-gate. Hundreds of people saw my videos. No word from Max. I’ve left him messages, tried to talk to him in school, wrote him an apology note. I also texted him:
Don’t U think U shld give me another chance? Ur giving ur mom another chance.
He didn’t text back. Max won’t as much as glance in my direction, and he w
on’t sit anywhere near me. Tony let him pull up a chair at Kelvin’s quad.
He’s done with me. Forever.
Trina and Amy told me he’s packing, and his Dad is driving him up next Saturday. They said the deal is that he’s going to live with his mom for one year on a trial basis.
Will he call me to say good-bye?
Family dinner at Little Italy tonight. It’s Grandma’s favorite restaurant. I like it too, but not for the food. The waiter Nick and I have a routine where we shout at each other and pretend to speak Italian, like this:
“Luciano Pavarotti arugula?” Nick asks.
“Lasagna Gianni Versace,” I answer. I usually belt it out, but my heart isn’t in it tonight.
Mom rubs her temple like she has a headache. My Italian routine with Nick drives her nutso. “Mozzarella biscotti pizzeria,” I tell Nick, handing him the menu. Grandpa laughs his dentures off. Literally. He has to adjust them back in his mouth. Drew gets it all on camera.
Ding. A text from Amy:
Saw this online—it might get ur mind off everything w/Max—u should do it.
I click on the link.
KID NIGHT AT THE COMEDY CAVE!
Are you a funny kid between the ages of 10 and 13? Then bring your jokes, your family, and your friends to the Comedy Cave Kids’ Open Mic Night this Saturday at 7 p.m. and show us your yuks. No experience necessary.
The last thing I am is a funny kid. I know that now. It’s clear I have no idea what is funny and what is hurtful, and I shouldn’t be anywhere near a comedy stage.
Still, I read it aloud to everybody. “Comedy clubs are sleazy,” Grandma says. “My friends and I would never be caught dead in one. It’s not for a nice girl like you, Abby.”
“Right,” Mom agrees, fanning herself with a menu. “You’re too young for a nightclub environment. Besides, you’re grounded again, don’t forget.” Mom found out about my YouTube debacle. She feels bad about Max leaving, but she says there have to be consequences for me using the Internet irresponsibly, especially when I wasn’t supposed to be on social media at all. I don’t consider YouTube social media, but my parents do, and no social media was on my grounded list. So I’m back to no Netflix and an early bedtime. The way I’m going, I’ll be grounded in some form for the rest of my life.
“Aw, let her try the comedy thing,” says Grandpa. “She’s a pistol. I’ve always said so.”
“Why does she need to try it?” Grandma says. “Stay out of it, Solly.”
Everyone weighs in. Only Drew and Grandpa think I should do it. The others don’t think I should, and worse, they don’t think I can. The more they talk, the more cheesed off I get. What do they know?
Sure, I bombed in front of my class, but that feels like a million years ago.
Maybe, just maybe, in spite of the horrible YouTube mistake, I could still be a funny kid.
Max told me it would be stupid to give up. My friends thought I had what it takes.
But performing stand-up in a real live comedy club is too frightening to consider. Just me, a microphone, and a spotlight? A silent audience or, worse, a mean audience?
Although maybe, just maybe, I’d have an audience laughing hysterically, applauding, the way they do for the comics I see on TV. Maybe that’s the Abby show I should be working toward. A tingle runs through me as I picture it.
“Maybe you should try stand-up comedy, Abby,” Dad says. “You can’t be any worse than those ding dongs on the comedy channel.” Gee, thanks, Dad.
“I appreciate your support,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“No comedy club,” Mom says. “That’s final.”
I text Amy.
Thx for sending — can’t do it
“Hey, if Abby wants to make a fool of herself, let her,” says Mike.
“For your information, during Shakespeare’s time comics were called fools,” I tell Mike. “Fool wasn’t an insult, it was a profession. So, thanks for the compliment.”
“Well, nowadays a fool is a dummy,” says Mike.
“You should know,” I shoot back. Even with everything Mom told me, Mike gets on my last nerve.
“I think you’re funny, Abby,” Beth says, eating a garlic roll.
“Thanks, Beth,” I say. “You look…” I was about to say “You look good rounder,” but I stop myself. Don’t. “You look good. Great.”
Mouth, you don’t own me anymore. She winks at me. I wink back.
“Right, Abby’s funny,” Mike says. “If you’re a two-year-old.”
“Stop it, Mike!” Mom says. “Stop putting Abby down all the time. Do you hear me? No more.”
For once, Mike is speechless. Mom never talks to him like that.
“Mom is right,” Dad says, looking at Mike. His voice is quiet, stern. “We should support each other in this family.”
Mike starts to open his mouth with a comeback, but Mom’s and Dad’s expressions stop him.
I look at my parents gratefully. “I appreciate your support.” This time, I mean it.
Dr. C has her blond-streaked hair in a bun today. “I’ve been in contact with your teacher, Tony. He says you’ve improved your calling out and impulsive behavior, so I’m very surprised about this YouTube business. You were doing so well. What happened? You want to tell me about that?”
I shake my head.
“You sure?” Mom asks. “That’s why we’re here. Your YouTube video cost you a friendship.”
None of this is helping.
Dr. C waits. I don’t know what to say. “I can see you’re upset with yourself,” she says. “It’s a hiccup, Abby. A setback, that’s all.”
“Losing Max is more than a hiccup.” My voice wobbles, and my throat gets tight. “I made a major mistake, but it wasn’t a, um…” I search for the word. “…an impulse. I thought my YouTube videos would be great. I thought they would be something that they weren’t. I didn’t see them the way other people did. I thought they were funny.”
“So it was an error of judgment,” Dr. C says, peering at me over her rhinestone glasses. “A poor decision.”
That sounds right. “Yeah. But I don’t want to talk about it. It makes me feel bad.”
“You don’t want to talk about Max?”
“No.”
“Okay, let’s talk about how you can move forward with good decisions, not bad ones. Tell me about the good decisions you’ve been making.”
I shrug.
There’s a fly buzzing in the corner of the window. I wonder if it will get out through the opening. It keeps circling around it, almost escaping but missing every time. That fly is like me. The opening is there, but I can never get through to where I want to be. The bzzz is faint, but I can hear it.
“Abby?” asks Dr. C. “What’s been going well lately?”
“What? Oh. Going well. Fewer conversational accidents,” I say. “I think I might be learning to use my filter. I’m getting better at stopping myself. But I still react big time when I get mad. Like when Max told me he was leaving, I threw grapes at him.”
“You threw grapes at him,” Dr. C repeats.
I start giggling. It’s inappropriate but hard to stop, even with Dr. C’s serious face aimed right at me. “We laughed about it later.”
“You talk to Max a lot?” Dr. C asks.
That stops my giggling—the realization that I don’t talk to him anymore. “Yeah, we talk on the phone and in class too, but I stopped doing that as much or Tony said he’d move my seat.” I don’t know if Max will ever talk to me again now.
Dr. C listens, typing on her laptop. “We’re going to discuss managing your emotions, but first, I need to tell you that I used to get in trouble for talking too much, just like you.”
“You did?” I ask, surprised.
“I did. Now I talk all day, and listen too, and I’m good at it. Your emotions run high because you’re passionate. You feel things. That will make you a good actress someday. Your biggest flaw can be your greatest asset. Remember that.
”
“I will.” I’ll have no choice but to remember that. Because I know I’ll never be able to change all my flaws. I’ll just get better at managing some of them, maybe.
“I will too,” Mom says. “That’s a good one to remember, Abbles.”
I’m playing a game on my phone when it rings. Why is Caitlin calling me? Don’t pick up. It rings and rings. “Hello?” I’m too curious.
“I’m sorry about what I said, about dumping your new friends.”
I don’t answer her.
“Hello?”
“I’m here.”
“So, are we still friends?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
“So you’re friendship-breaking-up with me, just because you made new friends without me? I’m the one who should be mad at you. Don’t you think you should give me another chance?”
That’s exactly what I asked Max. Sometimes you run out of chances.
“We’re not as close as we used to be because of the way you’ve treated me, not because of my new friends,” I say. “Didn’t you make new friends at camp?”
“Of course I made friends, you idiot.”
“See? Friends don’t call each other idiots.” And then it hits me. It wasn’t me who needed to worry about finding other friends, it was Caitlin. It’s been Caitlin all along, making me think I needed her when really it was the other way around. She hasn’t been in touch this summer because she didn’t want me to know she wasn’t making new friends at camp.
“So are you having any adventures?” she asks, assuming I’m taking her back.
“Actually, I am having an adventure,” I say.
“Really?”
The lie comes out before I can stop it. “Yeah, I’m doing stand-up comedy at a comedy club this Saturday night. At the Comedy Cave.”
“Stand-up comedy? You?”
“Yeah.” I brace myself for the put-down.
“Wow, that’s new for you.”
This Is Not the Abby Show Page 16