“You’re the kid to blame if we have to do community service,” Steve says. “The kid with the lisp.”
I explain that I don’t have a lisp and if we DO have to do community service, it won’t be because of me.
Steve sticks his head through the space between us, checking out the house. “Your bungalow looks the same as ours from the outside, but the inside’s totally different.”
“I know—Mrs. Jacobson would’ve wallpapered the inside of the garage if Mr. Jacobson let her.”
Steve lets out a little laugh that I take as a good sign—until Olivia dashes over and points to my pants. “Derek did pee-pee!”
I roll my eyes at Steve, trying to defuse the humiliating situation. “I obviously did NOT pee my pants. She spilled her juice all over me.”
“No!” Olivia yells. “Derek went pee-pee!”
I give Olivia a little shove into the living room and Steve takes a step back. “Anyway, I just wanted to say hi.” He grabs his skateboard and slowly heads down the walk. I’m embarrassed to admit I chase after him like a hungry puppy.
I point to the board he’s about to jump on.
“Hey, nice deck. Did you make it yourself?” But Steve’s already on his phone, moving to the next thing on his teenage agenda. I watch my cool, A-list neighbor disappear down the street.
Back inside, Olivia has found my markers; her face and arms are now covered with a rainbow of colored streaks. It’s one of the worst afternoons of my life—until I get a text from Matt, telling me to call him ASAP.
“The auction just ended,” he tells me on the phone. “Guess how much you got for Baby Goldmine.”
“A hundred dollars?” I ask timidly.
“There was a huge bidding war in the last few seconds,” Matt says.
I cross my fingers and ask him to tell me the final price.
“Two hundred thirty-two dollars,” he says.
Suddenly losing a supercool potential friend and having to baby-sit a crazy toddler fade into the background. “DID YOU JUST SAY TWO HUNDRED THIRTY-TWO DOLLARS?”
“And the woman already paid.” Matt pauses for effect and I can picture his canary-eating grin from three miles away. “Jamie’s got a special business account where he gets the money right away. So come over and get your cash!”
I pace around the living room until Olivia’s mom FINALLY comes to pick her up, then jump on my board to Matt’s.
Did I mention I just made two hundred thirty-two dollars?!
I’ve Never Held This Much Money
Before Jamie forks over the cash, he makes sure we follow the shipping instructions to send Baby Goldmine to the person who purchased it: a woman from Memphis named Nancy. So Matt and I race back to my house, find a box the right size, and carefully prepare the package. We get a bit distracted by the Bubble Wrap, tap dancing on the plastic to make loud explosion noises. My father sticks his head out of his office with his phone to his ear and shoots us a look to knock it off. We do, not because we’re bothering him but because we’ve popped all the bubbles. I use my best handwriting to address the label and even stick a note inside that says “THANKS!” After we show Jamie the receipt from the post office, he hands over the money.
Then Matt and I skateboard to the bank with my mom’s ATM card to turn all the larger bills into ones. We then proceed to act out scenes we’ve watched in a million movies where lottery winners throw money into the air like confetti and roll around the floor in piles of cash. But when you spread it all over the floor of your basement, it’s not like the massive piles you see in movies. That’s not saying Matt and I don’t enjoy every minute of throwing around all that cash because we do.
“You know we’re not splitting this,” Matt says. “The money’s yours, fair and square.”
It’s nice of Matt to say, especially since all our ideas so far involved the word WE.
“I’m serious,” he says. “If you want to spend this money on a new board or throw it into your savings account, that’s fine with me.”
I tell him thanks, but we’re having so much fun thinking of possibilities that I don’t want to stop. Matt suggests going to several amusement parks—there are tons of them within an hour of L.A.
“Or a party on the beach,” I propose. “We can play volleyball and eat sushi.”
Matt looks at me as if I just suggested we go to the zoo and club koalas with our skateboards. “You want to spend your money on RAW FISH?”
“It was just a suggestion.”
“What’s gotten into you? Next, you’ll be showing up at school smoking a pipe and wearing an ascot.”
“You LIKE sushi!” I pray Matt doesn’t carry my whole mature thing too far. What am I talking about? It’s Matt—of course he will. But he thankfully comes back around to brainstorming ideas. “Maybe we can pay Heinz to take us to the best surf spots,” he adds.
Heinz is Carly’s surf instructor who we’ve all taken lessons from.
“We should TOTALLY do that. Stick our heads out his sunroof and holler at people all the way to Zuma!”
By the time we finish, I have a list three pages long. How’s THAT for extra writing credit?
A Second Impression
On my way to school, I bring Mrs. Mitchell’s barrels up to the top of her driveway. From behind the blue recycle bin, I spot Steve next door hopping on his board. I haven’t seen him since the Olivia incident. Rolling around on all that money must’ve given me extra confidence because I don’t think twice about approaching him now.
“Hey, are you on your way to school? I can grab my board and join you.” It’s not till I finish talking that I realize he’s wearing earbuds and hasn’t heard a word I said.
Steve pulls out his earbuds and I repeat my offer. I try not to look disappointed when he tells me he’s picking up some friends on the way. I’m about to sulk my way underneath Mrs. Mitchell’s aloe plants but then Steve turns back to me.
“Hey, I’m having some friends over tomorrow night if you’re around.”
I try to contain myself and not jump up and down like a friendless mutant.
“Sure,” I answer. “Tomorrow night is good.”
“Cool.” Steve jumps on his board and heads down the street.
Okay, I’ve definitely had some missteps this year, but between Steve’s party and the cash I got for Baby Goldmine, things are looking up.
I suddenly notice Mrs. Mitchell outside in her pajamas. I ask if she’s looking for the newspaper.
She seems surprised to see me but gives me a wide smile. “The garden’s so pretty, isn’t it?”
As I agree with her, I notice Mrs. Mitchell is barefoot on this chilly morning. I’m not sure why, but she seems like she needs protecting, so I guide her back to the porch.
“Derek Fallon, you’re such a good boy.”
“Young man,” I correct her.
“A young man who’d like to take a warm cruller to school?” She holds on to the rail for support and goes inside, emerging a few minutes later with a cookie sheet of warm pastries. She removes a cruller from the pan with a napkin just like the professionals in the doughnut shops. She’s like my grammy back in Boston—nothing makes her happier than finding someone to savor her food.
I thank Mrs. Mitchell for the cruller; she thanks me for taking in her barrels. Our relationship is very equitable. I check to see that she’s safely inside before I leave.
The cruller doesn’t even make it to the stop sign as I slalom down the street to school.
A Reason Not to Brag
I try not to mention the party invitation to my friends, but my mouth has a mind of its own and before I know it I’ve told Carly, Umberto, and Matt—all before first period.
“Wow,” Carly teases. “Hanging out with the older, new kid next door.”
“Maybe we should go to the party with you,” Matt suggests. “In case everyone ignores you and you’re in a corner all alone.”
“It might be good to have backup,” Umberto agrees. “Parties
with kids you don’t know can stink.”
“I was the one who was invited,” I tell them. “I’ll check it out and report back.”
“There’ll probably be lots of girls there,” Carly says. “OLDER girls, pretty girls, new girls.”
“Girls you can get crushes on who’ll ignore you for the rest of the year while you stalk them in the halls,” Matt adds.
“Girls you can pretend to run into who make fun of you behind your back.” Umberto tries to squelch his laughter.
“Girls you better not spend the Baby Goldmine money on,” Matt whispers.
“I’m leaving now. Good-bye!” I shake my head and hurry toward my locker. Sheesh! What a mistake THAT was.
But I can’t complain too much—in their situation, I’d be doing the same thing. I also can’t help feeling a tiny bit proud; with this party invitation, all the work I’ve been doing to try to appear a little more mature is obviously paying off.
Later, I’m practically whistling around the house, which immediately makes my mom suspicious.
“What are you so excited about?” she asks.
I tell her nothing but the smile on my face gives me away.
“Okay, spill.” She crosses her arms, her smile matching mine.
I play hard to get for a moment, then tell her about Steve moving into the Jacobsons’ house next door, how he’s almost fourteen and having a party tomorrow night that he invited me to.
“Very nice,” she says. “I haven’t seen his parents around. Maybe we can invite them over for dinner.”
I can’t hide my exasperation. “Can’t I have a friend first without dragging the whole family into it?”
“Of course. We can meet them later.” She shoots me another smile. “If I need you tomorrow night, I can always go over and get you—maybe in my gardening clothes or when I clean up after a carsick dog.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fun. Let me know if you want to bring anything.”
What is my mother thinking—that I’m going to knock on Steve’s door with a platter of appetizers? But after she says it, I wonder if I AM supposed to bring something. What’s appropriate for a teenage party? A bag of chips? A bottle of soda? The bottle makes me think of spin the bottle, which brings on a colossal case of anxiety.
Mom’s mind-reading antennae awaken. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing!”
She rubs my back reassuringly. “I know you and your imagination, Derek. Don’t take a simple invitation and turn it into some overblown event in your mind.”
I HATE it when my mom crawls inside my brain. To change the subject, I take Frank out of his cage and head to the living room couch. Bodi follows, as he always does. I flip to one of the many movies I’ve been saving on the DVR and click on the one with the most car chases, the most explosions, and the least amount of dialogue.
The last thing I want to do right now is think.
OOPS!
I am mortified to admit how long it takes me to decide what to wear to Steve’s party. In my entire life, I’ve never spent ten seconds deciding what to wear, never mind ten minutes. (If I’m being really honest, tonight it’s more like fifteen.) In the end, I decide on one of my skateboard T-shirts and my jeans. Before I switch off the light, I take one more look at the wad of cash I’ve hidden between my jumbled pairs of socks. It’s taken a lot of discipline, but I haven’t spent a dollar yet.
I don’t want to be the first one at the party, so I ride up and down the street on my bike until several other kids have gone into the house. Older kids, cooler kids. I put back my bike, take a deep breath, and knock on Steve’s door.
“Hey, Derek! Come on in.” Steve—who remembered my name!—seems genuinely happy to see me.
He introduces me to the kids playing video games in the main room, then leads me to the kitchen.
“You want a soda or some chips?”
Even though I came emptyhanded, I congratulate myself for guessing the correct items to bring to a teenage party. I grab a handful of chips and a soda can.
“This is my little brother, Taylor. He’s five.” He gestures to a kid with a runny nose, playing with wooden trains in the corner of the room. “My parents won’t be back till ten and said I had to babysit him. I thought since you babysat other kids, you can watch him for a while.”
The sad truth of the situation starts to sink in. “You invited me to your party so I could babysit for your brother?”
Steve looks at me with a quizzical expression. “You thought I invited you to hang out with my friends?” He hands me a stack of picture books. “Taylor loves the one with the kitty. Maybe you can start with that after you finish playing trains.”
On his way back to the living room, Steve gives me a quick wave. “Thanks a lot, Derek.”
I stand in the tiled kitchen, feeling as young and alone as Steve’s little brother. This is outrageous! How arrogant and inconsiderate!
But here’s another sad fact I’m embarrassed to admit:
I stayed.
Lying to Friends and Family
For a little kid, Taylor ends up being a tolerable playmate. We play trains, we read picture books, I even come up with a story about a zombie platypus that he makes me repeat three times. In between games, I watch the older kids hang out in the living room. I recognize Brenda Osborne and Melissa Hamilton, two of the most popular girls in school. Melissa is telling a story that has several of the others riveted. Steve and Bill Hernandez shout at the screen during their video game. Several other kids mill around the room, talking or sharing photos on their phones. From the outside, it seems like a fun party—not that I’d know from my hiding place in the kitchen.
As I try to get a better look at Brenda, I notice that Taylor has taped large pieces of paper to the wall. I give him a disapproving look and then tell him that he’ll probably be in tons of trouble when his parents get back home.
“My mom likes it when I’m creative,” Taylor says without looking up.
I tell him that I like to draw too, and Taylor hands me a thick purple marker. “Can you teach me how to make cave paintings?” he asks.
I have to admit it’s nice to be wanted for something besides babysitting. “Well, if it’s a cave painting, we should use red or brown.”
Taylor runs upstairs to get more markers. When he returns, I draw a small stick-figure man and a mammoth next to Taylor’s doodles. He takes a marker and draws two men with spears; I follow with three horses. It doesn’t take long for us to cover most of the walls.
“Wait!” Taylor suddenly runs upstairs again and comes down wearing a Tarzan-like leopard skin. “We can be real cavemen! You can wear this!” He hands me a long piece of cheetah-print fabric that I tell him I’m NOT going to wear.
“It’s from the den,” Taylor says. “No one cares.” He signals to the living room.
I take off my T-shirt, throw the small blanket over my shoulders, let out a few grunts, and continue drawing. Before long, we’ve wallpapered the kitchen full of men, women, and animals.
“What are you DOING?”
I turn around to find Steve and everyone else from the party crowded in the doorway. I explain that I’m giving Taylor some art lessons—caveman style.
Steve’s face grows red as he rips one of the papers from the wall, which is now filled with the shadows of our cave paintings. “Those permanent markers bled through the paper. My mother’s going to KILL me!”
I look over to Taylor, who shrugs innocently.
“And you’re wearing my mother’s scarf!” Steve yanks the cheetah print off me, then starts furiously scrubbing the wall with a sponge.
As I slip my shirt back on, I shoot Brenda and Melissa a weak smile but they continue to stare at me blankly.
“OUT!” Steve says. “You’re a menace, a joke! I’m going to get grounded because of you!”
I have to fight the urge to shout, “I’m not a loser. I have two hundred thirty-two dollars in my sock drawer!”
Taylor gives me a big wave when I leave; no one else says a thing.
I slip into my house even more quietly than the time Matt and I went nighttime skateboarding with flashlights. But the sneakiest ninja in the world can’t get past my mother, who spots me faster than a hawk.
“How was the party?”
I look at her face with its mixture of anticipation and kindness, and I lie. I tell her it was great; I tell her I made lots of new friends.
“I’m glad you had fun.” She tousles my hair and says she’ll see me in the morning. She lingers for a moment on the stairs, then heads back down to the kitchen.
Before I go, I find Bodi and make sure he follows me up to my room. Tonight’s definitely the kind of night a kid needs a dog to sleep at the bottom of his bed.
I keep myself busy all weekend, doing family stuff to avoid the texts from my friends. When I finally see everyone Monday morning, Steve’s party is the first topic of conversation.
“Well?” Carly stands on her tiptoes as if the party suddenly caused me to grow three inches and she’s trying to catch up.
Matt and Umberto also wait for my answer.
I’d planned on lying like I did with Mom but it hardly seems worth the effort. Telling the truth doesn’t seem like a good option either. I eventually grunt a few syllables and say the party was fine.
Carly won’t let the subject drop. “Come on, be more specific!”
“Yeah,” Matt adds. “Are you going to dump us for your big, cool friends now?”
Umberto spins his wheelchair in front of me, blocking my escape. “Come on, dude. Spill the beans!”
My Life as a Joke Page 5