King of the Screwups

by K L Going

  Fortunately, homeroom provides the solution.

  I’m drifting off when the announcements begin, so I almost miss that there’s something going wrong, and when I finally clue in to the fact that the entire class is in hysterics, I have to lean over and ask the guy next to me what happened.

  The guy snorts. “Romer just dropped his microphone and had to climb under the table to get it. The camera zoomed in on his butt. What a geek.”

  Even in my fuzzy state my ears perk up.

  “Who runs the announcements?”

  The guy laughs. “The technonerds,” he says, snorting. “I mean, AV club.” He wads up a sheet of notebook paper and throws it at the screen as another guy coughs into his hand. “Losers.”

  For the first time I start to wake up. Dad was in the AV club. I remember him saying something about how it prepared him for a career in public speaking.

  I glance at the front of the room, and Darleen is watching the announcements with her arms crossed. Every now and then she turns around and glares at the people who are making fun of them. I try to embody complete innocence, watching the screen carefully. I want to like these kids, I really do, but they’re pretty bad. For one thing, the kid who dropped his mic never sits still. He fidgets like he has to pee, and he hardly looks up from his paper. When he does look up, his eyes bug out. He’s wearing a tie and a jacket, even though it’s still hot out, and to make matters worse, the jacket is dark gray—a winter color, not a fall color.

  “Morons,” a girl yawns.

  A skinny kid with freckles and braces starts reading the sports. If it’s possible, he’s worse than the first kid. He says “rehearsal” when he means “practice” and misreads the word varsity as variety. I shake my head, wondering how come I never thought of this before . . .

  I pause, thinking through everything very carefully, just to be sure. Is there any way this idea could lead to disorderly behavior on my part? No, I’m pretty certain it could not. Is there any way this idea could cause me to be late for, miss, or otherwise disrupt class? No. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’d have to arrive early and that teachers would think it was responsible. Last question. Is there any way I can screw up?

  I don’t think so. If I execute my idea, I’ll seem studious and make a whole new set of unpopular friends.

  It’s settled then.

  I’m joining the AV club.

  First I need to find Romer.

  For the rest of the morning I scan the halls, but I don’t spot him until lunch. He’s sitting next to the skinny kid at a long, otherwise empty table. I wind my way through the lunch line, thinking I’ll join them, but when I step out of line Joe and Nikki wave me over. Jen is sitting on top of the table with a small crowd of cheerleaders. There’s a pep rally today, so they’re all in uniform.

  I stare at the empty space they’re creating for me.

  “Oh, man, see, I would except . . .”

  “What?” Jen asks.

  “Nothing. I mean, I promised my good buddies over there that I’d sit with them. Sorry ’bout that.” I shrug as everyone’s faces melt into confusion.

  “Which good buddies?” Nikki asks, staring around the cafeteria. I nod at the two guys from the announcements.

  “You know . . . them.” I smile. “Catch you guys later.”

  Everyone’s staring like I just said I was going to have lunch in the teachers’ lounge, but I carry my tray calmly across the room and sit down next to the announcement guys.

  “Mind if I sit here?” I ask. Neither one responds. Romer looks like he has to pee again, and both of them move their trays away from mine.

  I let out a deep breath. “Cool,” I say, sticking out my hand. “Liam Geller.” Neither one takes it, so I settle into the long task of scraping every shred of meat off my sloppy joe bun. I asked for just the bun, but the cafeteria lady only glared at me.

  “I’m new here,” I say. “Saw you guys on the news this morning, and I thought, Liam, you should hook up with those guys, so when I saw you . . .”

  The skinny kid stares wildly.

  I don’t know what he’s staring at, but it occurs to me that maybe he’s confused by my lunch. Not only have I scraped all the meat off my sloppy joe, but I also scraped all the whipped cream off my chocolate pudding.

  “Vegetarian,” I explain. “And the whipped cream is pure fat calories and artificial flavoring.” I glance at the first kid’s tray. “Cholesterol,” I say, pointing to the meat and shaking my head. “Plus, you never know what they’re feeding animals these days. Steroids, antibiotics . . .” I stop, suddenly realizing that neither of my new friends has blinked in the past five minutes.

  “So, what are your names?”

  The first kid stutters. “R . . . r . . . Raymond Romer.”

  The second kid hiccups and looks around the cafeteria again, desperately.

  “Simon. Simon.”

  Simon Simon? I wonder. Or did he say it twice?

  “Great,” I say, finishing off my carton of milk. “So, how do I join?”

  Raymond looks at Simon, and Simon looks at Raymond.

  “We’re full,” Raymond says.

  “What?” I ask. “How can you be full? Who else is in the club?”

  Raymond coughs and moves his tray another inch away from mine.

  “Me and Simon.”

  Two people? Are these guys messing with me? I study my tray, considering. If they are, I have several options. 1. I can let them get away with it and never be able to execute my brilliant idea. 2. I can beat the crap out of them, but that’s not my style. That leaves me only one option, and although I hate to use it . . .

  I stand up and stretch to my full height, faking a yawn. When I sit back down I sit as close to Raymond as possible and tap one finger against his tray.

  “You don’t want me in your club?” I ask, tapping a little faster.

  “No. We didn’t say that,” Raymond says.

  “He didn’t say that,” Simon echoes.

  I try to appear as if I’m considering this. “Because if I were you,” I say at last, “and there were only two of us in my little club and a third person wanted to join, I would let him.”

  Raymond and Simon nod quickly and repeatedly.

  “We only said that because our adviser said . . .”

  “. . . you’ve got to be able to work the equipment . . .”

  I take Simon’s milk off his tray, open it, and drink the whole thing in one gulp. Then I set down the empty carton and start eating Raymond’s pudding.

  “I don’t think I’d have to work the equipment if I were going to read the news, now would I?”

  “No. No. Did I say that?”

  “We didn’t mean you would have to work the equipment.”

  I sit back and grin.

  “Good,” I say. “That’s what I thought. So, when do I show up?”

  Raymond looks down.

  “Mornings. Eight thirty. I set up the camera and Simon edits the news. We film it live.”

  “Great,” I say. “Eight thirty it is.”

  30

  RAYMOND AND SIMON don’t let me read the news right away. I have to show up at the AV room every day for “lessons,” even though all I’ll be doing is reading the news off a sheet of paper. Fortunately, I can catch a ride with Eddie, who heads to the shop at the same time to do inventory before he opens.

  “You really want to do these announcements?” he asks one morning as we’re driving in. “When I was your age, it would have taken a pretty big incentive to get my butt out of bed early.”

  I shrug. “It’s all right.”

  “Well, who else does these things? Is there some hot girl involved or something?”

  “No,” I laugh. “Actually, it’s just these two guys who are pretty terrible at them. They’re making me learn every piece of equipment and Raymond even made up a test for me. You’d think they were messing with me, right? Only, they’re not. Raymond is just really high-strung, and Simon is like his sideki
ck. He wants to be Raymond. I mean, you wouldn’t think a guy like Raymond would have a sidekick, but they both totally love the equipment.”

  “What about you?” Eddie asks. “Do you love it?”

  I shrug again. “I might,” I say, “if they ever let me give the announcements.”

  Eddie pulls the car up in front of the school. “I’m sure you’ll get your shot,” he says, but he’s studying me like he wants to say something else.

  “Liam,” he asks at last, just as I’m getting out, “are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  This is a good question, because most of the time the answer would be no, but this time I smile and nod.

  “Absolutely. I’ve got it all under control.”

  The following Monday morning is my debut. I’ve given it a ton of thought, and I’ve determined exactly what it is that Raymond and Simon do wrong. It’s not that the announcements are so bad in and of themselves. It’s more that they take them way too seriously. I mean, they’re announcements for god’s sake, but Raymond and Simon try too hard, which makes them ridiculous.

  So, for the first time since my transformation, I abandon Aunt Pete’s T-shirts and the clothes I got at the mall, and dress in my nicest brushed-cotton gabardine flat-front pants, a truly awesome slim-fitting jacket from Mom’s shop—it’s one of a kind, designed by an up-and-coming Italian designer—paired with a Burberry button-down shirt with opposing pinstripes and a slim black tie that accentuates the lines of the jacket. I wear my favorite Cole Haan Italian-made shoes—polished, of course—and leave my hair unbrushed. The whole thing is so over-the-top for Pineville High, it’s absurd. Anyone with a lick of fashion sense will smell “overkill” a mile away.

  “Now that’s more like it,” Eddie says when I come out that morning. He whistles and raises both eyebrows until they nearly disappear.

  “It’s my on-air debut,” I say.

  Eddie grins. “Well, you’re certainly . . . uh . . . prepared.” He laughs. “I doubt anyone’s ever worn Burberry in Pineville before. And that jacket . . .” He whistles again. “Are you sure this occasion warrants such a stunning ensemble?”

  He’s joking, but I don’t care. What he doesn’t know is that this “stunning ensemble” is going to be my ticket into the out crowd.

  “Break a leg,” Eddie yells when he drops me off.

  I wave over my shoulder, then go straight inside to the AV room. I arrive before Raymond and Simon, so when they finally get there I’m totally ready.

  I sit down next to Raymond at the news desk and wait for Simon to position the camera. Our faculty adviser has come with them today since it’s my first time on air. She’s young and wears funky knit clothes. Most of the time she doesn’t show up because the AV room is Raymond’s domain, but she has to be there to oversee my debut.

  “I’m pleased you’ve decided to join the AV club,” she says, staring at my jacket. “Raymond tells me you’d like to read the news. You look very nice.” She smiles, then fumbles with a stack of papers.

  “I am all for the news,” I say. “News is very important. Essential, really.”

  The adviser tucks a stray hair behind her ear and touches her throat. “Why, yes,” she says. “I agree.”

  I grin.

  “You’d better read these a couple times before we start,” Raymond says, interrupting. He hands me several sheets of paper. “Make sure you know all the words. I can help you if you’re stuck on any of them. Just read slow and look directly at the camera. It’s important that you enunciate. Don’t you think, Ms. Peterson?”

  The adviser is staring at me. “What?” she says. “Oh, right. Yes. Enunciating.”

  I nod, and grin at Simon and Raymond. “Never fear,” I tell them.

  Raymond is skeptical.

  “Simon will be working the camera,” he says, “and I’ll be reading the sports, so if you lose your place, I can point it out for you.” He attempts to hook the mic on top of my lapel. “If you need me to take over, just kick me under the table. Lightly. No need to be nervous.” For the fourth time in a row, the mic slips out of Raymond’s sweaty hands. I pick it up and tuck it neatly under my lapel, then slide the wire inside my jacket.

  “Got it.”

  The adviser smiles wistfully and Raymond nods.

  “Remember to read carefully,” he says again. “Are you nervous? You look nervous.”

  I shake my head. I’m not nervous. I’m thinking about what kind of look I want to project while giving the announcements. Dramatic? Sincere? Smoldering? Yes, that’s it.

  “Okay. The light’s going to come on any minute. Aaanny minute . . . aaanny . . . oh, it’s on . . .”

  Raymond kicks me under the table, and I pause dramatically, then lean ever so slightly toward the camera.

  “Good morning, Pineville High,” I say in my best smoldering voice.

  Raymond cringes. I was supposed to say, “Good morning, Pineville High School.” I ignore him and begin to ad-lib.

  “This is Monday morning, and the time is now eight forty-five A.M. I’m Liam Geller, and these are the announcements.” I change my angle slightly. “In the news today, the first ever mock NATO delegation will be chosen from aspiring juniors and seniors. This team will represent Uganda.” I pause as if this is highly significant. “They will travel to Washington, D.C., to play this all-important role. Historic. Truly historic.”

  I let the moment linger before fixing the camera with a steady, penetrating gaze.

  “In other news, the hot lunch today will be (a significant pause) beef stew, a roll, a pudding cup, and (pause) milk. The bag lunch will be (pause) ham sandwich, an apple, chips, and (pause) milk. There is no vegetarian option, but if one were to purchase both a hot lunch and a bag lunch, one could scrape together a meal consisting of a roll, an apple, chips, a pudding cup, and (pause) milk.”

  I settle back in my chair.

  “Finally,” I say with grave importance, “any and all students who have not had their annual physical, please, report to the nurse’s office before the close of the school day. This is the final day.” I allow myself to look truly concerned. “A school physical is crucial.”

  I look into the camera, but I’m careful not to stare at it. Instead, I look beyond it, imagining my audience.

  “This concludes the announcements,” I say, then I pause because it’s time for the clincher. I glance at the adviser, but she has her chin propped between her hands, so I figure I can get away with one final embellishment if I move quickly.

  “In the interest of diversity, the announcements will now be repeated in French.” I take a deep breath, imagining myself being inducted into the Unpopular Hall of Fame. Who would have guessed living in Paris would come in so handy?

  “Bonjour, Pineville High.”

  I repeat the entire thing, then look meaningfully at Raymond.

  “And now to Rambo Romer for the sports. Rambo?”

  Raymond does not move a muscle. He’s staring at me, his bug eyes bursting out of their sockets and his sweaty hands crushing his papers. I wait, smiling into the camera.

  “Pardonne-moi,” I say at last. “Et maintenant, Rambo Romer avec les sports.”

  Raymond turns slowly toward the camera.

  “J . . . J . . . Junior varsity cheerleading tryouts will be held today from three o’clock until three-thirty . . .”

  I sit back and wait for Raymond to finish. Brilliant, I think. Absolutely brilliant. I wait until the little red light goes off, clap Raymond on the back, and stand up.

  “That was great,” I say, taking off my mic. The adviser is still staring at me, and Simon’s mouth is hanging open. Raymond looks like he might pass out. “See you guys later, then?” I ask. The bell rings and I decide not to wait around. I step into the hallway and laughter bubbles out of the classrooms as students pour into the hall. I grin, waiting for the ridicule to begin.

  The voices get louder as more kids spill into the hallway, and a group of girls giggle as they walk past
. Then I hear it.

  “Way to go, Liam!”

  I stop midstride as a guy I don’t know slaps me on the back.

  “That was cool, man.”

  There’s a moment where I am completely stunned. What? I think. Impossible. I read the announcements in goddamn French! I took them way too seriously.

  Joe Banks throws a football down the hall and I catch it without thinking.

  “Liam, you were awesome!” he yells. “I almost shit a brick.”

  Then I get it. I start toward my locker, walking faster and faster until I’m running down the hall, plowing through the people in my way. I’m almost there when Darleen strides past.

  “Idiot,” she mutters.

  I slam into my locker and slide down the wall. Impossible, I think again. How could I have screwed up at screwing up?

  Only I could do that. Liam Geller, King of the Screwups.

  31

  IF IT WASN’T BAD ENOUGH that the entire school, with the exception of Darleen, loved my announcements, that day I decide to sit with Raymond and Simon again at lunch, and Joe Banks’s entire table comes over and joins us.

  One minute it’s just me and my AV buddies sitting forlornly in the cafeteria all by ourselves, the next minute there are trays and milk cartons everywhere. Half the football team settles at one end, and at least half the cheerleading squad takes up residence at the other end. Nikki sits on top of the table, and Joe produces a blue Pineville Devils football jersey and holds it up dramatically.

  “We took a vote, Rambo,” he says, “and we think you should wear this Devils jersey when you do the sports. You can be an honorary member of the team.”

  Raymond looks like he’s about to piss his pants, and I can’t help but wonder who “we” is. Didn’t anyone else think I sucked?

  “And these,” Nikki adds, pulling out a pair of shades. She places them seductively on Raymond’s face, leaning far over so that her cleavage shows. Raymond Romer beams. I moan.

  “Damn, you guys were cool,” Joe adds, sloshing down his milk. “When Liam started doing the announcements in French, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.”