Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Planet Girl (14 page)

Ms. Albone was the first teacher to notice it. “Charlie Joe,” she said one day after class, “is everything all right?”

“Yes, Ms. Albone, why?”

“Well, I just realized that I haven't reprimanded you in a while.”

“Right. Well, I, uh, have decided to try and be a little better behaved.”

“I see.” Ms. Albone looked at me closely, like she didn't quite believe it. “Well, good for you.”

“Have a nice day, Ms. Albone.”

Mrs. Sleep probably loved the new me. But I wasn't sure I did. Because honestly? I was worried that the new me was a little boring.

There was hope, though. The weather was getting nicer. The leaves were starting to bloom on the trees. You know what that means, right?

SUMMER.

Did you hear me? I said …

SUMMER.

You've heard of it, right? That time of year when there's absolutely no homework of any kind?

You can probably imagine how I felt about summer.

I WAS FOR IT.

Then one day, about a month before the last day of school, a bunch of us were sitting around at lunch talking about the end-of-year dance, which was a pretty big deal.

“Back where I come from,” Emory said, “we all went to the beach and had a barbecue with surfing and volleyball. It was awesome, dudes.”

“I'm totally moving to California when I grow up,” Pete said.

“Uh-oh,” said Jake. “Poor California.”

“Charlie Joe, who are you going to take to the dance?” Timmy asked, a little too cheerfully. “Going solo?”

“Nope,” I answered. “I'm taking Erica.”

Emory's mouth dropped open. “You're taking Timmy's girlfriend?” The poor kid had a lot to learn about East Coast sarcasm.

“Very funny,” Timmy said to me.

“Oh, now I'm with you! Good one dude,” Emory said, chuckling.

Our conversation was interrupted by the crackling of the loudspeaker, meaning an announcement was about to happen.

“Hello, students, this is your principal, Mrs. Sleep.” As if we didn't all recognize her weird, deep voice. “This is a reminder: All permission slips for the field trip to the high school are due tomorrow. This applies to all students, no exceptions. Have a wise day.” She always said that at the end of an announcement—
Have a wise day
. I wasn't exactly sure what it meant. Personally, I'd rather have a chocolate day, but that's just me.

Anyway, I'd forgotten about the field trip. All seventh and eighth graders visit the high school at the end of the year, to get used to the idea of going there one day. At the lunch table, everything got a little quiet for a minute. Nobody wanted to admit it, but we were all a little scared of the place.

“I've been there a few times,” said Phil Manning. He had an older brother who was a sophomore. “It's huge.”

“It's not so big,” I reassured everyone. “I go there with Megan all the time.” I'd never actually gone
inside
the building, but they didn't need to know that.

“From what I hear,” said Jake, “it's almost like a college. So many extracurricular opportunities, and an incredible course selection.”

He said that like it was a good thing, by the way. We all looked at him like he was from another planet, which of course he was.

“Well, all I know is, I'm perfectly happy right here,” I said, speaking for pretty much everyone else at the table.

Or so I thought.

“Not me,” said Nareem.

We all looked at him.

“Life is about embracing the unknown,” he said.

I snorted. “Did you read that in a book somewhere?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he said. And he held up a book.

A Communication Guide for Boys and Girls.

Until that moment, I had no idea you could actually physically feel your face turn red.

“Charlie Joe, are you okay?” Jake asked.

“Fine,” I managed to choke out. “I think a fish stick went down the wrong way.”

“Nareem,” Katie said, “do you mind if I ask you why you're reading that book?”

“Yeah, no offense or anything, but that seems like a book only a loser would read,” Timmy weighed in.

I felt my face go from red to green.

“I saw this book in the library,” Nareem said. “Mrs. Reedy told me that someone else had just read it and found it quite fascinating. I looked through it, and it seemed like something I might benefit from. I am not embarrassed to say that I could use some improvement in that department.”

The other kids all looked at Nareem, impressed that he could be so honest about it.

“In any case,” he continued, “in the book, one is advised to take risks and to not be afraid. If you like a girl, or a boy, you should tell them.”

“What does that have to do with high school?” I asked, trying to get us back to the original subject.

“Well,” Nareem continued, “when we get to high school, it will be a similar situation. We must be ready to face all challenges. Whether it's a girl we like, or high school, or anything else for the rest of our lives.”

“That sounds like good advice,” Timmy said. “But the only challenge I'm really worried about is four hours of homework a night.”

“Plus, I heard it takes you twenty minutes to walk from one end of the school to the other,” Phil added.

“Can I see that book?” Katie asked Nareem.

He handed the book to her. She flipped to the very last page and started reading.

“
Every young person at some point faces the moment when he or she is ready to engage with a member of the opposite sex as a normal person, as opposed to acting as if they are different species. When that moment comes, it is important to remember that there is no special formula to boy-girl interaction. In fact, it is quite the opposite. It is ideal to make such communication not special at all: it should feel ordinary, an everyday occurrence, like talking to your friends. When boys and girls are able to speak normally with each other, without fear of being boring or dull; when they are able to sit quietly, and not feel like they have to fill every moment with conversation; when they are able to treat each other as one human being to another; then, and only then, will they have learned what it means to truly communicate.”

Katie closed the book. Everyone sat quietly for a minute, thinking over what she had just read.

Finally I said, “I hope they have chocolate pudding in high school.”

Katie smiled. “Stop feeling like you have to fill every moment with conversation,” she said.

 

Bill Radonski's Guide to Romance

STAY IN SHAPE!

As a gym teacher, I of course think that physical fitness is the root of all human happiness. Similarly, I find that the best way to connect with a woman is through exercise.

A nice long jog. A game of tennis. Spotting each other while lifting weights. Nothing helps two people bond more than seeing each other sweat.

Stay in shape, and romance is sure to follow. Remember—the heart is a muscle, too!

 

30

On the day of the high school
field trip, I was late for school. Even though I had a good excuse—my mom couldn't find her keys, as usual—that still meant I was the last person on the bus.

Mr. Radonski was standing in the school parking lot as we pulled up.

“We've been waiting for you, Jackson,” he said, pointing at his watch. “Are all the students supposed to be late for the high school because you couldn't get to school on time?”

“Sorry, Mr. Radonski,” I said.

“SORRY DON'T FEED THE BULLDOG!” he yelled, whatever that means.

My mom popped out of her side of the car. “It's totally my fault, Bill,” she said. “For the life of me, I couldn't find my car keys this morning!”

Mr. Radonski saw my mom, and his whole mood changed, of course. Apparently they'd gone to high school together, and I guess he had a thing for her—just writing that gives me the willies—so whenever he saw her he went from a pit bull to a puppy (something he'd never admit, by the way).

“Ah, Claire!” he said. “So good to see you, as always. Couldn't find the old keys, huh?”

“Sure couldn't,” said my mom.

Mr. Radonski shook his head, but he was smiling. “Happens to me all the time, too. In this day and age you'd think they'd invent a way to live without keys, right?”

“Absolutely!” said my mom, flashing her nicest smile. She was no dummy—she knew a happy Mr. Radonski made my life a lot easier. “Well gotta run—have a great day, you two!”

I waved to my mom as she drove away. “Bye now!” hollered Mr. Radonski. “Always great to see you!” He kept waving until he noticed me looking at him. Then he looked a little embarrassed.

“You need to do a better job helping your mom find her keys in the morning,” he told me. “Now get on that bus.”

I hopped on the bus, and my worst fears were confirmed—no more seats, except for one.

In the very first row.

Next to the adult chaperone.

Who happened to be my old drama teacher, Mr. Twipple.

Just to remind you, Mr. Twipple and I had a complicated history. At first, we didn't get along too well, maybe because I used to imitate him by scrunching up my face to look more like a ferret than a person. (It was really funny until he found out about it. Then it was a lot less funny.) But then, I ended up playing the lead in this school play he wrote about the guy who invented paper towels, and he told me I was talented—even though I almost ruined the whole thing when I panicked on stage before kissing Hannah Spivero. Ever since then, we'd been pretty good pals. Even though I still thought he kind of looked like a ferret.

“Hey, Mr. Twipple,” I said as I sat down next to him on the bus.

“Well hello, Charlie Joe.” Mr. Twipple slid over to make room. “Excited about checking out the big campus?”

“I guess.”

Mr. Twipple went back to reading his book—a biography of some guy named Marlon Brando—but two minutes later, he put it down. “Charlie Joe, can I ask you something?”

Uh-oh. “Sure.”

“Well, I've noticed you haven't exactly been yourself lately,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I've known you for a while now. We've had some good times and some bad times, but generally speaking, you're one of the liveliest personalities in school. It seems like lately, though, you've become a little more reserved. Is it just my imagination? Or is something going on with you?”

I shifted in my seat. “No, I'm good.”

Mr. Twipple pointed at his book. “Charisma, Charlie Joe, is a rare thing. It's not something that can be taught—it's a gift. Most great performers have it. Marlon Brando, one of the finest American actors ever born, had it in spades.” He slapped me on the knee. “You, Charlie Joe, have charisma. It's what makes you who you are, and it's what has allowed you to get away with many of the things you've gotten away with.”

“Thanks. I think.”

He chuckled. “You're welcome.”

Two minutes later, I heard this come out of my mouth: “Have you ever liked a girl, but didn't know how to tell her, so you get this book about what to do, which ends up helping everyone else except you, and then when you end up trying to tell her, you mess it all up, and so now you don't know if you'll ever be able to tell her again?”

“As a matter of fact, that happened to me just last night,” Mr. Twipple said.

“Really?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Another minute went by, then my mouth said this: “Well, this book I read said that I shouldn't try so hard to be like the funniest kid all the time. That maybe I should just be more relaxed and normal and not show off so much by doing goofy things and stuff. So that's what I'm trying to do.”

A nervous cheer went up as the bus turned into the high school parking lot.