Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Planet Girl (17 page)

My dad kissed my mom, and they hugged.

“How was work?” my mom asked.

“Gripping,” my dad said. Mom laughed, because he was kidding.

“How was school?” my dad asked. My mom was taking some classes at the local university.

“Excellent, actually,” she said. “I'm really impressed with one of my professors.”

“Good news,” said my dad. “He's probably impressed with you, too. You're going to make a terrific therapist.”

As he sat down and started eating, I noticed something I'd never noticed before. He held his fork with his left hand and my mom's hand with his right hand. And the amazing thing was, it seemed like he didn't even know he was doing it. Every once in a while, he would let go of my mom's hand to pick up the knife and cut something. But as soon as he was done, he'd grab her hand again.

It reminded me of how when they watched TV together, they sat really close to each other, always touching just a little bit, even though the couch was big.

And it also reminded me of how my mom twirled her hair sometimes when she was talking to my dad on the phone, almost like she was back in high school or something.

“Charlie Joe?” I suddenly heard my dad say. “Everything okay there, buddy?”

I snapped back to reality and looked at my parents. They'd known each other forever, probably like twenty years or something. They really,
really
loved each other. And the most amazing thing about it was that they didn't have to shout about it. They didn't have to brag about it. And they definitely didn't have to bring chickens to school dances to prove it.

They just did.

Which made me suddenly realize what I had to do.

I jumped out of my chair. “Um, yeah, I'm good, Dad,” I said. “Can I be excused?”

My mom looked confused, but she nodded. “Sure, honey.”

I ran up the stairs two at a time and texted Pete and Timmy.

Dudes! Cancel plan! Cancel chicken! Cancel everything!

Timmy texted back.

Why?

I answered.

Because I have a new plan. It's called just being myself.

Timmy texted.

Well that sounds like a lame plan. Plus, Pete got his phone taken away by his mom for using his bedspread as a napkin.

Uh-oh.

I'm leaving now to find Pete! But if this doesn't go well, forward my mail to Timbuktu.

 

Jim Jackson's Guide to Romance

MAKE 'EM LAUGH.

A couple of weeks ago, I forgot to take out the garbage, and in the middle of the night, the dogs decided to distribute it throughout most of the house. The next morning, my wife, Claire, was so mad. So I did the only thing I could think of. I made a joke. It wasn't the best joke in the world—to tell you the truth, I can't even remember what it was. But Claire laughed, a little. Don't get me wrong, she was still mad. But she was mad while smiling.

It's true, funny guys get away with murder. So do funny girls. So sharpen that sense of humor. Trust me, you're gonna need it.

And if you're anything like me, you're gonna need it A LOT.

 

37

“Mom! We gotta go! Now!”

“Coming, honey,” she said, way too casually, as I dragged her out the door. On the way to the car, I picked a few flowers from the garden and wrapped them up in a rubber band. Just in case.

I hid them from my mom, of course—she probably would have been mad. She loved her flowers.

I managed to get there just as the dance was starting. The theme was “Friendship Is the Best Ship,” and there were posters all over the walls of kids from the class, but we were Photoshopped as if we were standing on different kinds of boats—sailboats, motorboats, battleships, etc. There was a picture of Katie and me, and they made it look as if we were standing on a canoe. The caption underneath said CAREFUL, DON'T TIP OVER!

Katie was already on stage with her band, CHICKMATE. Did I mention that they are really good? They are. I was pretty positive she was going to be famous one day.

But enough about Katie Friedman, rock star. I had to find Pete and Timmy. I looked all over the entire school and finally found them behind the stage. Pete was carrying what looked like a giant Easter basket. And sure enough, the basket was moving.

“Is that Cletus in there?” I whispered.

“Yup,” Pete said. “Wanna meet him?”

“No! You need to get him out of here! I want to cancel the whole thing!”

Pete stared at me. “What do you mean? I brought him all the way here! You can't just cancel!”

“Yes, I can!”

“I don't get you, Charlie Joe. It's your plan!”

“Well, it was Jake's plan to make the plan,” I said. Speaking of Jake, I noticed he was nowhere to be found. How convenient for him.

“But it's so simple!” Pete protested. “All we're going to do is put the basket next to Katie's jacket and then spread the word that Katie brought a chicken to the school dance, and then Mrs. Sleep or Mr. Radonski or some other teacher will find out, and then Mrs. Sleep will ask Katie if she brought a chicken to school, and then Katie will deny it, and then Mrs. Sleep will ask her if she's telling the truth, and then Katie will start to get upset and maybe even cry, and that's when you step in and say it was all your idea, you wanted to get her in trouble so she wouldn't go away to private school, because you like her and want to marry her and live happily ever after.”

Timmy and I stared down at the basket, then up at Pete.

“When you put it like that, it doesn't actually sound that simple,” I said.

“The whole thing will all be over in like five minutes,” Pete added. “What's the problem?”

But I never had the chance to tell Pete what the problem was, because at that very moment, Sammie Corcoran started her drum solo. Which involved a lot of cymbals.

And as it turns out, chickens are not big fans of cymbals.

When Sammie hit her third cymbal crash, Cletus decided he'd had enough. And before anyone knew what was happening, he pecked the flaps of the basket open and took off.

Timmy, Pete, and I looked at each other. Pete said, “That's not good”—which was the understatement of the year—and then we all took off after the chicken.

“Hey, get back here!” I shouted, just in case Cletus knew English.

Meanwhile, Katie was still playing, her eyes closed, singing her heart out. Coincidentally enough, they were playing a song called “Chick Power,” which Katie wrote.
All the little chicks with all their little beaks/Gonna take back the night and take back the streets!
It was actually a really cool, intense song about girls and women fighting for respect in a male-dominated world. Unfortunately, the only thing people remember about it now is that it was the song Katie's band was playing when a chicken ran across the stage, jumped down onto the dance floor, flapped its way over to Mrs. Sleep, and pooped on her shoes.

You know that expression “I saw my life flash before my eyes?” Right at that moment, I realized it wasn't a figure of speech. But of course, everyone thought it was hilarious. Kids started howling with laughter, as Mrs. Sleep stared down at her soiled footwear. Meanwhile, the chicken clucked happily and scampered away.

Mrs. Sleep roared, “IS THIS SOMEONE'S IDEA OF A JOKE?!”

That got the band's attention. They stopped playing. Katie opened her eyes and saw Cletus running around the dance floor. She looked shocked, which was probably the only predictable thing that happened the whole night.

Here are just a few of the highlights from the next five minutes:

People chased Cletus all over the gym.

Cletus drank some punch.

Cletus ate half of a cupcake.

Cletus trampled over all the other cupcakes.

Ms. Albone, my English teacher, dove on the floor trying to catch Cletus, but missed and tore her dress. She was wearing pink underwear that night, in case you were wondering.