Totally Joe

by James Howe

  Skeezie: Stop crossing your legs at the knee.

  Me: What does that have to do with being a guy-guy?

  Skeezie: It has to do with guys do not cross their legs at the knee. Your aunt Priscilla crosses her legs at the knee.

  Me: I don’t have an aunt Priscilla. Although I wish I did. I love the name.

  Skeezie: You’re an aunt Priscilla, okay? Now, listen up and do what I’m tellin’ ya. If you gotta cross your legs, you keep one leg at a right angle to the floor and put your other ankle on the knee of that leg. Like this.

  Me: Oh my god, you look just like that gangster in that movie. You know, the one with Al Pacino and all the blood? We saw it at Bobby’s that time.

  Skeezie: Do it, lame brain.

  Me: Ow. It hurts.

  Skeezie: Stop waving your hands around.

  Me: I’m not waving—

  Skeezie: Yes, you are. Guys don’t wave their hands around. They keep their hands quiet.

  Me: Well, that’s boring.

  Skeezie: What are you doing?

  Me: What?

  Skeezie: Your hands. You’re folding them in your lap.

  Me: I’m keeping them quiet.

  Skeezie: Your aunt Priscilla sits with her hands folded in her lap.

  Me: Not with her legs crossed like this, she doesn’t. Where are you going?

  Skeezie: I give up. Just be who you are, okay?

  Me: But you haven’t taught me how to talk sports yet. So, what do you think about those Yankees? Huh, Skeezie? Huh? How ‘bout them Yankees?

  Skeezie never did teach me how to talk sports. And I never stopped crossing my legs at the knee. When you come right down to it, I’m a lot more comfortable sitting like my aunt Priscilla than like a gangster in some movie I can’t even remember the name of.

  I wish I did have an aunt Priscilla.

  LIFE LESSON: Just be who you are, okay?

  C is for

  COLIN

  OKAY, THIS IS REALLY FUNNY, ONE OF THE FIRST THINGS COLIN TOLD ME THIS YEAR (actually, he wrote it in this note he put in my locker) (which at first I thought was from somebody else since it was unsigned) (and why in the universe would Colin Briggs be putting a note in my locker?) was: “I wish I could be like you.”

  That’s funny, right? Correction: That’s hilarious. Me! He wanted to be like me. Nobody wants to be like Joe Bunch, and who wouldn’t want to be like Colin Briggs? He is:

  1. Totally cool.

  2. Smart.

  3. A jock.

  4. Really nice.

  5. To everybody, even if they’re not totally cool, smart, a jock, really nice, or popular.

  6. Popular.

  7. Cute.

  8. Seriously cute.

  9. Especially when he smiles.

  In other words, we had, like, zero in common. But then I found out last Thursday that we did have something in common. And now (drumroll, please): COLIN BRIGGS IS MY BOYFRIEND!

  I can’t believe I just wrote that. I probably should have written: Colin Briggs is my boyfriend. But I want to shout it. I mean, I have had this major crush on Colin Briggs since fifth grade. (Fifth grade was a big year for me, figuring-out-who-I-was-wise.) And now he’s my boyfriend— and all because I’m not afraid to be myself, and he likes that!

  Still, I’m a little worried about what Kevin Hennessey might do if he saw this declaration of boyfriendship in writing. Picture it: I’m walking down the hall, and Kevin grabs my notebook and tears it open and yells so the whole school can hear (because he really doesn’t know the meaning of “indoor voice”): “Hey, get this—Colin and Josephine are boyfriends! Ooo, we always knew you were a faggot, Bunch, but didja have to turn Briggs into one, too? Youse two are disgusting!” Okay, so he probably wouldn’t say “youse two.” I mean, we live in Paintbrush Falls, New York, in the twenty-first century, not Brooklyn in the 1940s. (I have been watching way too many old movies with Bobby.) But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do something really … well, I don’t know what he’d do, but it would probably involve pain.

  I was almost sure he’d figured it out on Friday when Colin and I were at the school dance together. Of course, no one knew we were “together.” We were with our friends the whole time, but it was unusual for our groups to be mixing. I mean, Colin and I had never spent any time in school hanging out together before then, unless you want to count our being seated near each other because of our last names: Briggs and Bunch.

  Kevin and that ________ (fill in the blank) Jimmy Lemon noticed us right away and kept coming over and making little kissy noises.

  Finally, Kevin said, “You girls gonna dance together?”

  I came back with, “Why don’t you and Jimmy show us how?”

  Jimmy Lemon laughed at that. I think mainly because he wasn’t smart enough to have figured out what I was saying. But Kevin didn’t like it at all. He turned to Colin and said, “You better watch out, Briggs. You hang out with queers, you end up with—”

  Skeezie cut him off and said, “A fabulous eye for color?”

  “Hardy-har, greaseball,” Kevin retorted. (It seems like Kevin must have slept through the assembly the day before when Bobby gave this big student council campaign speech against name-calling, which everybody in the whole school thought was awesome.) (Except, obviously, Kevin.)

  “What I was going to say was, if you hang out with queers, people might think you’re a queer.”

  Colin turned white. I mean, whiter than usual, since he has this really fair complexion. I thought, Well, it’s been nice having a boyfriend for, let’s see, thirty-two hours and forty-seven minutes, figuring, you know, that he wasn’t going to be able to take the heat, and probably the minute Kevin walked away, he’d tell me it was nice knowing me and see you around.

  But then before Skeezie or any of the rest of us could think what to say, Colin blurted out, “You and Jimmy have been trying to hang out with us since we got here, Kevin. I wonder what people are saying about you.”

  That was so funny. I almost hugged Colin. (Except of course I wouldn’t have with Kevin and Jimmy standing there.) (Besides which, Colin and I hadn’t hugged each other ever, and it was so not going to happen for the first time at a school dance.)

  It did make Kevin Hennessey leave us alone for the rest of the evening, though. And when I asked Colin later if he was worried about what Kevin thought, he just said, “No,” in that quiet way of his, and I felt sure I’d have a boyfriend for a lot longer than thirty-two hours and whatever minutes.

  Did you ever have a dream you thought could never come true? I mean, it just seemed totally impossible? Like walking into the Candy Kitchen to get an ice cream soda and … Oh. My. God. Isn’t that Julia Roberts sitting at the counter? And she’s waving you over! And you spend the whole rest of the day hanging out with her, laughing, and … well, Colin being my boyfriend seemed even more impossible than that!

  My crush on Colin Briggs started the first time I saw him two years ago. He had just moved here from Someplace, Ohio. Mrs. Kubrich introduced him to our class and then asked me to move back a desk and asked Colin to take my old seat. I couldn’t believe it! He was sitting right in front of me! I spent the entire rest of the day looking at the back of his head and thinking … well, to be honest, I was thinking that the back of his head was shaped like a melon, which is probably what everybody’s head is shaped like, but we had just had melon for dessert the night before and I had made such a production out of telling my mother that I hated melon that, well, now it was deeply disturbing to find myself falling in love with someone whose head kept reminding me of a fruit I had taken a stand on never eating even if it was the last edible substance on the face of the planet like, just fifteen hours earlier. Of course, melons don’t have feathery blond hair. And Colin’s head did. So that helped.

  When I wasn’t thinking about how much I hated melons or how much I liked Colin’s hair, I was trying to figure out what I would say to him after the bell rang. I thought maybe I’d say something about cl
eaning out my old desk, which was now his desk, but that was so lame. Then I thought I’d ask if he wanted to have lunch with me, and then I remembered where I actually sat in the cafeteria, and I thought maybe it would be insulting to ask him to sit with the least popular kids in the entire school. By the time the bell rang, I hadn’t thought of anything better than, “I like your head, even if it is shaped like a melon.” Fortunately, I was saved from the death sentence of saying that out loud because Drew Geller came right over to him and said, “Come on, Colin, I’ll show you where the cafeteria is. You can eat at our table.”

  I hated how Drew said the word “our.” Like: “We’re the best.” But I couldn’t really hate Drew, because he probably didn’t mean it that way. Drew is nice, even if he is popular, and I knew at that moment that Colin was going to be popular, too. I decided then and there that I should be grateful to have a one-sided relationship with the back of Colin’s head and not hope for anything more.

  For the rest of fifth grade and all of sixth, Colin and I said maybe fifty words to each other. I wrote his initials maybe five hundred times. And I stared at the back of his head maybe a thousand. (I sat behind him all through fifth grade and in two classes in sixth.) I never, ever, ever imagined that he would like me the way I liked him, and I hated myself for liking him the way I did.

  “Why can’t I like girls?” I asked Bobby once. He was the only one of my friends I could tell about Colin and know that a) he would understand, and b) he would keep it a secret.

  “Have you ever tried to like girls?” Bobby asked. It was the night before my eleventh birthday party. I had just gone through three weeks of stomachaches trying to decide whether or not to invite Colin, knowing the whole time there was no way I would.

  “Sure,” I told him. “I imagined myself married to Julia Roberts once, but all we did was talk about her clothes. I don’t think my father has ever had a conversation with my mother about her clothes, except to go, ‘Uh-huh,’ when she asks him if he likes her new sweater or something. So I figured I wasn’t really the marrying kind.”

  Bobby just shook his head. “I’m not a good person to ask about this,” he said. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get married or even like anybody. I can’t imagine it. I’ll live alone. I might have a dog.”

  “Dogs are nice,” I said. “Maybe I’ll get a dog and name it Colin. Because dogs love you back, right?”

  Bobby is a good friend. He didn’t laugh at me when I said that. Instead, he asked me what kind of dog I would get, but all I could think to say was that it would have to have blond hair and a head shaped like a melon.

  My party was on Saturday. It was pretty good. My aunt Pam, who had moved in with us a few weeks before, baked this amazing cake that looked like the Titanic just before it went under. (I was in my Titanic phase.) But what I remember most is the wish I made when I blew out the candles. I thought, Well this is a waste of a perfectly good wish but I couldn’t help myself.

  On Monday, a mini-miracle happened. Colin turned around while Mrs. Kubrich was writing some vocabulary words on the board and said, “Happy birthday.” (Monday was my actual birthday.)

  I said, “How did you know?”

  He said, “Oh, a little bird told me.”

  I never found out who the little bird was, because Mrs. Kubrich said whoever was talking had better stop, and Colin turned back around.

  Up until last week, Colin wishing me a happy birthday was just about the best thing that had ever happened in my whole life. And then last Thursday he told me he liked me, and it turned out my eleventh-birthday wish hadn’t been wasted at all.

  LIFE LESSON: There’s no such thing as a wasted wish.

  D is for

  DATING

  TWO WEEKS AGO, ME AND MY FRIENDS—ADDIE, BOBBY, AND SKEEZIE—WERE ALL single. Now—except for Skeezie, who is Mr. Don’t-Talk-To-Me-About-Love-It-Makes-Me-Want-To-Puke, even though we all know he has a thing for one of the waitresses at the Candy Kitchen (WHO IS OLD ENOUGH TO BE HIS OLDER SISTER, BY THE WAY!)—we’re all dating. I am soooo excited—and also, at the same time, confused.

  Addie is going out with DuShawn. Bobby (who thought he would never like anybody, remember?) is going out with Kelsey. And I’m going out with Colin. But everybody knows that Addie is going out with DuShawn and that Bobby is going out with Kelsey. And Colin and me, well, we’re kind of in the closet. What I mean is, Addie and DuShawn have already been seen holding hands in the halls, so of course everyone is talking about them. And Bobby and Kelsey are always blushing around each other, which is so Disney Channel. If I hear one more person say how cute they are … well, I’ll probably nod and go, “Uh-huh,” because, I’m sorry, they are cute. It’s just that I want people to think Colin and I are cute, too, and I want to hold hands in the halls.

  (Seventh-Grade Reality Check: You are two boys. Hello. No one is going to think you’re cute. At best, they’ll go, “Ick.” At worst… well, let’s not go there, okay?)

  So what is the point of dating if we have to keep it a big fat secret?

  Are we even dating?

  Our three big conversations so far:

  Conversation #1

  Where: Out by the flagpole

  When: Last Thursday after school

  The first part: Blah blah um er how’s it going blah blah blah

  The important part:

  Colin: There’s something I want to tell you. I, um, like you.

  Me: Really? I, um, like you, too.

  Colin: I have since last year.

  Me: Really? I’ve liked you since fifth grade.

  Colin: Really?

  A loooooooong pause.

  Colin: Do you want to, you know, go out?

  Me: Go out?

  Colin: I mean, we don’t have to, if …

  Me: No, I mean, yes, I want to.

  Colin: Okay.

  Me: Okay. So I guess we’re going out, then.

  Colin: Right.

  Me: Okay.

  Colin: Sweet.

  Me: Excellent.

  Conversation #2

  Where: On the phone

  When: Thursday evening, three hours and twenty minutes after Conversation #1

  Colin: Hi, it’s Colin.

  Me: Oh, hi. So, what’re you doing?

  Colin: Calling you. What’re you doing?

  Me: Being called.

  Colin (laughing): You’re funny.

  Me: No, I’m funny when I’m not nervous. Right now, I’m nervous. When I’m nervous, all I am is nervous. And fairly stupid. And I talk too much.

  Colin: Well, I’m nervous, too.

  Me: Really?

  Colin: Sure. I never called a boy before. I mean… well, you know what I mean.

  Me: Uh-huh, I know. Did you ever call a girl before?

  Colin: Once. My mom made me.

  Me: She made you? That is so Mommie Dearest!

  Colin: Huh?

  Me: Mommie Dearest. It’s an old movie about this real witch of a mother. I saw it over at Bobby’s. He’s into old movies. Oh, not that your mother is a witch, I mean … I’m not saying that, I mean, I don’t even know your mother. Did you ever hear of Joan Crawford?

  Colin: No.

  Me: She was a movie star in the olden days. Only, this movie isn’t with her, it’s about her. And all the horrible things she did to her daughter in real life. It’s totally over the top. Do you like movies?

  Colin: Sure. Have you seen all the Matrix movies? They’re awesome.

  Me: I saw the first one. Keanu Reeves is so hot.

  Colin: Um.

  Me: Well, isn’t he?

  Colin: I guess. I never really thought about it.

  Me: Oh. So who’s your favorite movie star?

  Colin: I don’t have one.

  Me: Get out! You don’t have a favorite movie star?

  Colin: Is that bad?

  Me: Yeah-huh. But don’t worry about it, help is on its way. Ta-da!

  Colin: What about baseball? Are you watching the play-
offs?

  Me (cursing Skeezie for not teaching me how to talk sports): Well, I haven’t… really … had … time. I’ve been so busy with, you know …

  Colin (laughing this seriously cute laugh): It’s okay. You’re not into sports. I’m cool with that.

  Me: Honest? Well, I’m cool with you not having a favorite movie star.

  Colin: Honest?

  Me: Semi-honest.

  Colin: Oh. So, do you want to see a movie Saturday? Maybe I’ll find a favorite star.

  Me: Okay. We could watch the play-thingies, too. If you want to.

  Colin: Play-offs. And that’s okay, we don’t have to. Well, I’d better go. I still have all that French homework.

  Me: Moi aussi. But wait, Colin …

  Colin: Yeah?

  Me: Um, Skeezie and Bobby and Addie and me, we’re going to the dance tomorrow night, and I was wondering if… I mean, you probably want to go with Drew and your other friends, but…

  Colin: Why don’t we all go together? I mean, you and me, we’re … you know …

  Me: Oh, good. I was afraid maybe you changed your mind.

  Colin: What? No way!

  Me: Good. So we’ll go together. Well, I’ll see you in school tomorrow. Good luck with the election.

  Colin: You, too. And we’ll see each other Saturday, too. Right?

  Me: Saturday?

  Colin: The movies, remember?

  Me: Oh, right. I told you, I get a little stupid sometimes.

  Conversation #3

  Where: Colin’s house

  When: Saturday, after going to the movies and having dinner with his family

  The first part: blah blah the movie blah blah your parents are really nice blah and your little sister is so cute and this is a cool room blah blah blah

  The important part:

  Me: So right now I like to be called JoDan. That’s a combination of my first and middle names. Joseph and Daniel. My parents are so unimaginative. With a last name like Bunch, the least they could have done is named me Alain— that’s French for Alan—or Keanu or something. Lately, I’ve been thinking of calling myself Soleil or maybe Jade. Soleil might be a tad pretentious, but I like Jade. It keeps the J and d thing going. But I still like JoDan, too. I don’t know, what do you think?