Almost Starring Skinnybones (6 page)

“It’d serve her right, too,” I growled out loud. “It’d serve her right if she came home and found me exploded all over the kitchen.”

A knock came at the back door. I opened it just wide enough for my lips.

“Go home, Ernest. I told you before, there is no giant yellow kitty.”

“Yes, there is too a kitty,” insisted Ernest, running to the door and trying to force his way in the crack. “I saw it on the TB.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a TB, Ernest. It’s TV.
And the giant yellow kitty was just for the commercial. I don’t own it. It’s not mine, okay?”

Ernest put his face and nose all over the glass, trying to see inside.

“You’re making a disgusting mess on the window, Ernest,” I told him. “Will you go home if I give you my autograph?”

I’m not sure he knew what an autograph was, but he nodded his head yes.

I grabbed a felt-tip marker. Then I went outside and wrote my name on Ernest’s arm.

He went home happy.

But I still wasn’t. Ever since English class all I had wanted to do was run home and try to get the sound of Annabelle’s laughing out of my brain. And I wanted to talk everything over with my mother. And then she’d feel real sorry for me and pat me on the head and tell me I’d never have to go back to junior high again. And then I could quit school and get a job stabbing trash with a pointy stick in the city park.

“But
noooo
,” I said out loud again. “Where is she when I need her? At stupid work, that’s where! At stupid work, leaving me alone with no one to talk to. No one to pat me on the head. No one to call the city park and see if there are any trash-stabbing jobs available.”

Well, okay. That wasn’t quite true. There
was
someone home. It wasn’t the someone I wanted, though. Not the someone I wanted at all.…

She walked into the room and sat down beside me. I looked the other way and pretended not to notice.

She didn’t give up though. I knew she wouldn’t give up. She would just sit there like she always does, waiting, patiently waiting, until finally I’d give in and tell her my problems.

But not this time
, I thought.
This time I refuse to talk. The last thing I need is for someone else to start laughing at me. I’ve had enough laughing to last me a lifetime
.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my head. I’d pretend she wasn’t there, that’s what I’d do. I’d keep my problems hidden inside and not say a word. She couldn’t sit there forever, could she? She’d have to get discouraged sometime.

I’m not sure how long I stayed balled up like that. All I know is that after a while I started to get stiff. Then I lost the feeling in my left foot. Was she still there, or wasn’t she? I had to know.

I peeked out from between my knees.

She was still there all right. She caught me looking at her and winked.

“Oh, okay, Fluffy! You win! I’ll tell you what happened. But I’m not kidding—if you start to laugh, I’m putting you outside, and I’m locking the doors, and I’m not going to let you in until morning! Do you understand, Fluffy? Morning!”

After that it just came pouring out. About how I thought this commercial was going to be the best thing that ever happened to me. Only now it was the worst. And how everyone had laughed at me in English class. And how in my other classes hardly anyone had even
seen
the commercial. And how Ernest Wilson had followed me home screaming, “It’s the Kitty Boy! It’s the Kitty Boy!”

Fluffy rubbed her head against my foot. I think she was trying to be sympathetic.

“You should have heard him, Fluff,” I continued. “Hey, Kitty Boy! How come you ran away from home with that giant yellow kitty cat? How come you couldn’t lift that big bag of food? Weren’t you strong enough?”

That’s when it started. At first I just thought she had a frog in her throat or something. But after a few seconds it was pretty clear that Fluffy was starting to chuckle. Oh sure, she tried to make it seem like she was purring. But her mouth was drawn up in this twisted little grin.

I didn’t waste a second. Before she knew what
was happening, I picked her up and rushed her to the back door. Then I gave her the old heave-ho. After that I ran around and locked all the doors and windows.

This may seem crazy—locking the doors and windows—but that’s how I felt. Everything was falling apart! And I didn’t care how stupid I was acting. I’d act any stupid way I wanted to.

I was running around like a lunatic. Slamming things around and yelling. I wasn’t talking to my hair yet. But almost.

When the front doorbell started ringing, I was still going strong.

“Give me a break, cat!” I screamed from the other side of the door. “You don’t actually think that I’m going to fall for the old doorbell-ringing trick, do you? The one where you ring the bell with your tail, and I’m supposed to think it’s a person and open the door, and then you run inside and hide?”

The bell rang again and again.

“Give it up, Fluffo!” I screeched. “You can ring the bell until your tail falls off, but the door stays locked!”

I heard a knock.

“Hey! I’ve got an idea! Why don’t you try laughing your way in! You’re good at laughing, aren’t you, Fluffy?”

“Alex! I’m going to stand here about two more seconds, and then I’m going to come inside and kill you! Do you hear me? Now open this door, and open it
now
!”

Oh no. Something was very wrong.

A key was unlocking the door! I didn’t even have time to take cover! My mother rushed inside and hit me on the head with the evening newspaper.

“Thanks. I needed that,” I said, rubbing my head.

“Don’t tell me,” she exploded. “Let me guess! You thought I was the cat, right? There are places for people like you, Alex! Hospitals where you can putter around the grounds and not harm anyone.”

“I was crazy. I’m better now.”

Thinking that I might get another swat with the paper, I covered my head. My mother seems to think that hitting a kid on the head with a paper doesn’t do much damage.

After a minute or two I decided it was safe to come out. Mom was still standing in the middle of the floor, glaring at me. She reminded me of Mrs. Ballentine. If the two of them got together, they could glare your hair on fire.

“Tell me something, Alex,” she continued. “Just between you and me, do any
other
animals talk to you? Or is Fluffy the only one?”

I thought about giving her a funny answer, but I decided not to. She was waving the paper around like it was a bullwhip.

“Come on, Mom,” I said, trying to calm her down. “I knew it was you. I was going to let you in.”

“When, Alex?” she snapped. “When were you going to let me in? After my tail had fallen off?”

When she said that, I almost burst out laughing. Suddenly my whole day seemed funny to me. That happens sometimes. Things get so bad, something inside you snaps, and you start laughing.

“Oh, this is real funny, isn’t it, Alex?” Mom asked. “I always think it’s funny when I’ve had a bad day at the office, and I come home with a splitting headache, and I can’t find my key, and I ring the bell. And then my son stands on the other side of the locked door and tells me to try and laugh my way in. I can’t think of anything funnier than that, can you?”

I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to answer, but I was still feeling giggly so I gave it a try.

“I don’t know. Did I ever tell you about the time that Brian Dunlop blew his nose on his sheet? That was pretty funny. See, he was having this dream that his nose was running and—”

My mother let out a loud shriek and stormed past me to the kitchen. I knew she wasn’t finished yelling though. My mother’s a marathon yeller. She
can yell for twenty-six hours and never even breathe hard. Even with a splitting headache.

“You’re a real amusing guy, you know that, Alex?” she shouted from the other room as she banged the pots and pans around. “A regular comedian, in fact!”

“Thank you,” I whispered so she couldn’t hear. “Thank you very much.” Then I bowed.

“As a matter of fact,” she continued, “you’re so funny, why don’t you march right up to your room and laugh at yourself until dinner?”

I waited to see if she was serious.

“Did you hear me, Alex? March!”

My mother’s very big on marching. It makes her feel like a marine.

I headed for my room. I didn’t march though. And once I got there, I didn’t laugh anymore either. I don’t know why. I guess I’d just used it all up.

I sat down on my bed and put my face in my pillow. After a second or two my eyes started watering a little. Not bad enough to need a Kleenex, but enough to know the wet was there.

I sat up and looked in the mirror. My nose was getting red. My hair was sticking out all over my head.

“Some star,” I said out loud. “Some great star.”

Then I buried my face in my pillow again.

  
6
  

R
eal life
is almost never like the movies. In the movies if something bad happens to a kid, something good happens to make it all better. Like if a kid is accidentally run over by a steamroller, he’ll end up winning the Olympics and get his picture on a Wheaties box.

Stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life though. In real life if you’re accidentally run over by a steamroller you just sit around the hospital all flat. You practically never end up on cereal.

You never get to drop out of school and work in the park either. Even after I finally told my parents about the rotten things that had happened to me, they still made me go back to school the next day.

I didn’t stop trying though. That’s the great thing about me. I hardly ever give up.

“Put the pointy stick away, Alex,” ordered my father one night as we were watching TV. “For the last time, you’re not dropping out of junior high. Your school years are the best years of your life.”

I speared a gum wrapper lying next to the table. “I could be good at this. I know I could.”

My mother sighed and shook her head. “I told you before, Alex. You expected too much. Friends will disappoint you sometimes. It happens to all of us.”

“They’re not my friends,” I informed her for the millionth time. “Alex Frankovitch has no friends.”

“Brian’s still your friend,” she offered. “At least the two of you are walking to school together again.”

I frowned. “Big deal. He said I was a habit.”

“Well, what about everyone who has called to say how much they
liked
the commercial, Alex? What do you call them?”

“I call them Nanna and Pop Pop,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

My mother just shook her head. I swear, it’s getting looser by the minute.

Just then a familiar little tune filled the room. I didn’t have to look up to know what it was. It was the Kitty Fritters jingle. My commercial was on TV again.

Like so many other times that week, I tried my best not to watch. I hid my head in the chair
cushion and covered up with my arms. I pretended to be ashamed. It was no use though. After only a second or two, I found myself peeking at the screen. The truth is, even after all I’d been through, I was still a big fan of mine.