Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Planet Girl (18 page)

Cletus ran back onto the stage and knocked over one of Sammie Corcoran's cymbals. (I told you he wasn't a fan.) Sammie screamed and threw one of her drumsticks at Cletus. It missed and hit poor Nareem in the leg. He jumped back in surprise and spilled his drink all over Mrs. Sleep, who was kneeling down, trying to scrape the poop off her shoes.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, it was a pretty busy five minutes.

Finally, it seemed like Cletus had had enough. He headed back toward his basket, but on the way, he knocked over Katie's guitar case, which was in front of the stage. A bunch of papers fell out, and a kid named Eric Eckstine—one of Pete's wise guy friends—picked up a page and started howling with laughter.

“Look!” he screamed. “I found one of Katie's songs! Listen to this!”

He jumped up on the stage and went right up to the microphone.

“‘Charlie Joe Jackson Has a Pimple on His Fanny,'” Eric announced. “A song by Katie Friedman.”

Wait,
WHAT?!

My entire body suddenly felt like it was on fire. I looked at Katie, like,
huh
? She looked like she wanted to jump out a window.

Mr. Twipple ran up to Eric. “Give me that!” He tried to snatch it out of Eric's hands, and a few other teachers tried to grab it, too, but Eric was too quick. He began to read Katie's “song” at the top of his lungs.

Poor Charlie Joe, in case you didn't know, he has a pimple on his fanny.

When he tries to sit, it hurts a little bit, coz he has a pimple on his fanny.

He always picks it, thinking that might fix it,

but it turns out to not be all that simple.

Charlie Joe Jackson's fanny has a big, fat pimple!

Meanwhile, I finally remembered how to work my legs. I ran up behind Eric while he was high-fiving his friends, and tackled him.

“OW!” Eric screamed.

“Give me that!” I shouted, trying to snatch the piece of paper out of his hand. “Give me that right now!”

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “I'll handle this,” Ms. Ferrell said. “I'll take that,” she said to Eric calmly. He handed it over.

Meanwhile, Mr. Twipple came up to us, dragging Timmy and Pete by their arms. Pete was holding the basket.

“I found them out in the parking lot with the chicken, trying to call a taxi,” Mr. Twipple explained.

“This whole chicken thing was Charlie Joe's idea!” Timmy wailed, throwing me under the bus as usual.

By this time, a bunch of other kids and adults had come up behind us. “Mr. Jackson?” rumbled Mrs. Sleep. “Is this true? Are you behind these very unfortunate events? And if so, why would you do such a thing?”

But before I even had a chance to answer, Mrs. Sleep turned her attention to Katie. “And did you really write that song? I must say, Miss Friedman, that I'm surprised. Very, very surprised indeed.” Mrs. Sleep shook her head at the two of us. “I'm going to call your parents. When they arrive, we'll discuss where to go from here.”

Katie and I stood there, staring at each other. I thought for a second how crazy it was that I'd only wanted to
pretend
to get her in trouble, but now she actually
was
in trouble.

And then I thought back on everything that had happened over the last few months. And I realized I'd made everything too complicated, like always.

And I decided I had only one plan left.

I wasn't going to try and be funny. I wasn't going to try and be charismatic. I wasn't going to try and be nice. I wasn't going to try and be the rascal or the Goody Two-shoes. I wasn't going to try and be anything.

I was just going to be me.

 

38

The first thing I did
was run up to the microphone that Katie had been singing into just a few minutes earlier.

“I'd like to say a few words.”

My face was bright red, and I was sweating right through my shirt, but I didn't care. There was something I had to say.

“I remember when Jake Katz stood up on this same stage and told you all that he had read my books for me for the position paper. I remember how bad I felt about that, and how I promised myself I'd never be that embarrassed again. Well, here I am, just as embarrassed by what happened here today.”

I stopped talking, just long enough to hear how silent it was in that room. The only thing you could hear was the buzzing coming out of Katie's amplifier.

“A couple of months ago, I went to the library to ask Mrs. Reedy for a book.” Everyone giggled at that, like I knew they would. “I wanted a book that would teach me what I needed to know to get a girlfriend. I had never had a girlfriend, but there was a girl I liked, and I thought maybe she liked me back. But I wasn't sure.” I looked all over the room, but I didn't look at Katie. Not yet. “The book was interesting, but I ended up helping other kids more than myself. It seemed like everything I tried ended up going wrong. And I said and did some things that made the girl I liked mad at me for a long time.”

Now, finally, I was ready. I looked right at her. She looked right back at me.

“Finally, after a lot of crazy mistakes, I realized that I didn't need to read any books or play any tricks to get her to like me back. I just needed to be myself. But then this girl told me she might be going to private school next year. And that got me really upset. And I would do anything for her not to go to private school.” I paused. “Even get her in a little trouble by making it seem like she brought a live chicken to school. And I'm really, really sorry about that.”

A little gasp went up from the crowd, as people waited to see what I was going to do next. I hopped off the stage and walked up to Katie.

“The book I read was called
A Communication Guide for Boys and Girls
, and it came out like a zillion years ago. I think someone needs to write a new book, called HOW TO TALK TO GIRLS LIKE A NORMAL PERSON. Maybe I'll write it. If I did, the first sentence would be, ‘If you like a girl, just tell her.' And the last sentence would be ‘Just be yourself, and hope for the best.' So here goes.”

I handed her the flowers that, amazingly enough, were still in my hand. “I like you, Katie Friedman. I like you a lot. In fact, I think I've always liked you. Ever since I first met you. I just didn't know it.”

Some kid yelled, “Yeah!”

Another kid yelled, “About time!” and everyone laughed.

Then it was silent.

Katie bent her head down to smell the flowers and stayed there for like ten seconds. The suspense was killing me. Finally she brought her head back up.

“I'm really sorry, too,” Katie said, so softly that only I could hear her. “I'm really sorry that I wrote that song about your fanny. It was mean and stupid. But it was never, ever meant to be shown to anyone. I just did it as a private joke, to make myself feel better.” It was her turn to take a deep breath. “Because you're right. I
was
mad at you. I was mad at you because I really, really liked you, too, but everything kept messing it up.”

When she said that, it was like an ocean of relief and happiness filled my body.

Katie grabbed the microphone. “I think I spent most of the last five years telling myself that best friends can't be boyfriend and girlfriend,” she told the crowd.

Then she smiled—a small, but incredibly real smile.

And she said, “Well, I've changed my mind.”

And all of a sudden, I kissed Katie Friedman.

And she kissed me back.

And people started cheering.

*   *   *

Which is when I realized something. When two people need to stand there and think about whether or not they should kiss each other, then maybe it just might not be the right thing to do. But when they don't even think about it—when something just
makes
them start to kiss—then you know it's perfect.

So there I was, kissing Katie Friedman at long last, in what was probably the greatest moment of my life, when I felt something tickling my feet. I looked down.

SQUAWK!

Cletus was back.

“I'll get him!” Mr. Radonski yelled. He ran up and dove onto the floor, but the chicken scampered away. As I helped Mr. Radonski up, he looked at me and said, “Just FYI, I myself used to have a few pimples on my fanny, but I haven't for years. It's all about excellent hygiene.”

“Good to know,” I said.

We all watched as the chicken jumped up onto the food table and started helping himself to some Doritos. People thought it was hilarious. Then he decided he was full and started walking toward the sweets tray.

Two seconds later, there was a loud scream.

“He's peeing on the rice crispy treats!” someone hollered.

Needless to say, that didn't go over well.

“THAT'S ENOUGH!” screamed Mrs. Sleep. Moving as fast as I'd ever seen her move, she sprinted over to the refreshments, snatched Cletus while he was mid-pee, put him under her arm like a football, and marched over to Pete Milano.

“Mr. Milano, do you mind telling us all where you got this bird?” she thundered.

Pete tried to talk, but his mouth wasn't working very well. “My henhouse,” he finally sputtered.

At first Mrs. Sleep looked surprised by that fact, but then she decided it wasn't worth the effort.

She let out a long sigh. “Well, let's go call your parents, too,” Mrs. Sleep said to Pete, “because you've got a lot of explaining to do.” Then she gave Katie and me a look. “I'll be chatting with you two later.”

And out they marched: Pete, Mrs. Sleep, and Cletus.

I felt someone behind me, and I turned around to see Mr. Twipple standing there, with a nervous look on his face.

“That little chat we had on the bus, when I told you about how if you really wanted something you had to go for it and make a grand gesture. You didn't tell anybody about that, did you?”

I shook my head. “No, sir, Mr. Twipple.”