Ellis Johnson Might Be Famous, page 6
“I told you. Famous for the wrong reasons. Infamous. Come on, let’s go. Being at the store is better than being seen out here. You can push this time.”
To cheer me up, Alex has been pushing me west down Hollywood Boulevard as fast as he can. Now he’s catching his breath at the top of our favorite hill at Hollywood and Formosa. It ends at the cookie store down below. Alex stretches his T-shirt up to his face and wipes his forehead. He’s ready. This is usually when I play a battle charge on my harmonica. Oh well—things change. I kick the thought out of my head.
“Don’t go too fast,” I tell him.
“On your mark, get set, GO!”
He pushes off and we fly down the hill. I should be used to it by now, but I never am. Racing down a hill in a shopping cart toward Sunset Boulevard really isn’t smart. I always forget this until I’m rattling around inside.
There’s no way Alex can hold on. I know he’s done it every time before, but I don’t think he can today. It’s just how my luck is going. He’s going to let me go.
The wind is making my eyes water like crazy. I can barely see. My elbows and knees are knocking against the metal. I’m positive we’re about to crash until I listen. The wheels are slowing over the cement cracks. Once I feel the racer come to a stop, I escape from it like a burning building.
“Too fast! You go too fast!”
Alex’s face is blank—I think. I’m still trying to clear my eyes. Honestly, I’m not even sure if he’s looking at me. Nope, he’s not. He’s watching two people standing by their car in the cookie store parking lot. Two adults. They’re kissing. One more rub and my eyes start to focus.
“Hey, Ellis, who’s that kissing your dad?”
Funny Business
Gross! It’s Sam. Sam’s kissing Dad. Dad’s kissing Sam. I rub my eyes again to make sure they’re working. How can Dad kiss another woman—especially one he just met? And why would two people kiss in a cookie store parking lot? In the middle of the day?
Alex and I step back behind the hedge so we can spy on them. This is big. Mom cannot know about this. And if Grandma sees them kissing, she’s gonna swing her cane at them for sure. Grandma does not like people getting all touchy-feely in public. She calls it “funny business.”
Uh-oh… here she comes. The back kitchen door just opened. Grandma takes two steps onto the painted parking lot. This is going to be good.
THWACK!
“Junior, what’s all this funny business out here?” Grandma demands to know. Dad and Sam quickly step away from each other. They look like two kids getting called out by a schoolteacher.
“Mama, I’m a forty-four-year-old man. I’ve told you. Stop calling me Junior. And put that cane down before you hurt somebody.”
Alex whispers to me, “Is that the pilot?”
I nod. I want to look away, but I can’t. Sam gets her distance from Grandma. She fumbles for her car keys while Grandma grabs Dad’s ear.
“The only thing that’s gonna get hurt is your butt if you don’t get on back to work. I told you. I can’t handle these customers. Ain’t none of them got any manners.” Grandma gives Sam a stink eye. “You take your cookies and get on home, blondie.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she stammers.
I can tell Sam has never seen anyone like Grandma before. She looks nervous, like I feel when I get caught pulling a prank. She finally gets her car keys and unlocks her door. Grandma keeps ahold of Dad’s ear. I feel kinda sorry for him. Grandma’s never grabbed me by the ear—even when I touched her cane. But I’m also happy she’s chasing Sam away. I bet that’s the last time Dad sees her again. Who’d want to risk it with Grandma?
“Are they dating?” Alex asks.
“No,” I say automatically. “They just met.”
“Sure looks like they’re dating to me.”
Sam’s car drives off the parking lot. Alex and I step farther behind the hedge so she won’t see us. Too late. She catches us out of the corner of her eye while looking for oncoming cars on Formosa. We stare at each other for a moment that feels way too long. She gives me that stare of shame I’ve been getting lately—only hers looks like she’s ashamed. Sam stops her car at the corner, makes a right turn, then disappears down Sunset.
“She’s pretty,” Alex says.
“I guess,” I tell him. Suddenly, I don’t want to be in the store anymore today. “Let’s just go back home. I’ll push when we get to the top of the hill.”
“Okay.” Alex doesn’t ask any more questions. That’s why he’s my best friend. I grab the front end of the racer, pulling it behind me. Alex pushes from the back, and we both make our way up the hill to Hollywood Boulevard.
I lean into the front door of my house. It always sticks a bit. I shove it open, slam it shut, and make a beeline up the stairs to my room. Mom’s voice stops me halfway.
“Welcome home, big traveler,” she says. “Your dad called. He said Alex and you decided to bring yourselves home from the store.”
“Yep,” I say.
“I saw the parade. Want to talk?”
“Nope.”
I shut the door to my room and lock it. Now I can think. It’s too much. There’s no way Dad and Sam can be boyfriend and girlfriend. Ever. It’s bad enough that Wishbone is taking over the clubhouse. At least he’s family. But sharing the store with Sam? No way—I’m not getting pushed out of the store.
There are only two things that matter right now: getting Sam out of Dad’s life and Wishbone back on the radio.
Oh… and surviving school on Monday. I guess I am a little worried about that.
I sit on my bed and watch the neighbors’ TV through my window. Watching their television has always relaxed me since I was a little kid. I remember watching it on Christmas Eve one year. The one when I got that rocking horse. The neighbors were watching this movie where a dad got caught by his kids putting gifts under the Christmas tree. It totally confused me. I had no idea why a parent would be acting like Santa Claus.
Right now, there’s a commercial on the TV. A number is flashing on the screen.
1-800-VOTE-NOW
I can hear the announcer’s voice through the window. The neighbors play their TV so loud.
“Call now to vote for your favorite song of the week. We’ll play the winner on next Friday’s show.”
Wait a minute. That’s it! It’s so obvious. I know how to get Wishbone out of our clubhouse. I put my shoes back on and race down the stairs. Mom spots me from the dining table.
“I’m going to Alex’s house, Mom. I’ve gotta tell him something.”
“But you just got home. Why don’t you just call him?”
“It’s too big to call. I’ll be back soon.”
I pull my weight against the front door, slam it behind me, and run my fastest up the block. Alex is kicking his soccer ball against his garage door as his mom pulls into the driveway. Courtney rolls down her window from the passenger seat and gives me her gooey smile.
“Hi, Ellis,” she says in a gross singsong voice.
“Hi, Courtney,” I say in my most uninterested voice.
“I like your shirt.”
“You’ve seen this shirt before, Courtney. It’s my dashiki. I wear it all the time.”
“I know. But I still like it.”
Alex can’t stand this. “Courtney, will you stop? What is wrong with you?”
Alex’s mom gets out of the car and plays referee. “Now, kids, both of you stop. There’s nothing wrong with saying someone’s shirt looks nice. Welcome home, Ellis. I’m so sorry about the parade.”
“Thanks.” I shrug.
Alex imitates Courtney’s singsong voice. “I like your shirt.” This prompts Courtney to summon all of her nine-year-old rage and take a swing at Alex.
“I hate you, Alex.”
Mrs. Reedy grabs Courtney’s arm with one hand and holds Alex’s shoulder with the other. “You two stop right now. One day you’ll realize you both are all you have.”
Alex shakes his mom’s hand off his shoulder like it’s a bug. “No, thanks. I’ve got Ellis.” That’s why Alex is my best friend. He always has my back.
We head for the house and dart into his room. On days like this, I wish we hadn’t taken the record player and our albums to the cookie store. I sure could use some music right now. Alex starts kicking his soccer ball against the wall.
“I have an idea,” I tell Alex.
“Uh-oh. About Sam?”
“No, I still need to figure that out. Wishbone. I know how to get Wishbone back on the radio. Remember when he told his audience to come to Sunset Cookies and it worked? It was the power of the press, like Dad says. Well, it’s gotta work both ways.”
I tell Alex about the TV commercial. I bet if enough people call the radio station asking for Wishbone, they’ll have to bring him back. It’ll be like they’re all voting for him.
Alex stops kicking his soccer ball. “That actually makes sense. Kind of,” he says. “But who’s gonna call?”
Instantly, that ugly tightness pulls at my chest.
Because the only people I can think of are the kids at school.
Which means I’ve gotta ask the same kids who are giving me grief to do me a favor. How is that gonna work?
The first day back at school is going to be a very long day.
Get Out the Vote
“Mom, I’m serious. I don’t feel well. My stomach hurts.” I’ve got exactly three blocks to convince her to turn this car around. I even give a fake cough. “I think I have food poisoning.”
“You have fear-of-going-to-school poisoning. You’ll be fine.” Mom’s been trying to convince me all morning that somehow every kid in Hollywood Middle School has miraculously forgotten about the massive egg I laid on national TV. Like every kid will give me a pat on the back and say, “Great job on the Rocking Kangaroo.”
Fat chance. “Mom, how did Jimmy Carter get people to vote for him?”
“Are you running for president of the United States?”
“No. I’m just curious.”
“He campaigned.”
“Campaigned?”
“He talked to people. He promised what he would do for them if they made him president. He convinced people.”
We’re here. The front of school is empty. Mom can still take me home if she wants. I let out one last cough for luck.
“You’re late for first period. Hurry up, before the second bell rings. And remember, Dad’s picking up you today.”
I grunt “Goodbye” under my breath and slam the car door shut—probably a little too hard. At least I got us here late. The hallways are bound to be empty now. One less chance to be seen. I rub my stomach. It really does hurt.
Yep, just like I planned it. Empty. I look at the clock on the wall.
Second bell rings in one minute. Now I do need to hurry. I’ve got two tardy slips already. I run down the hallway, past my locker, and round the corner to Mr. Croft’s class. Okay, Ellis. Relax. I bet most of the class didn’t even watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I never even heard of it until I was going be in it. Chill out. Stay cool.
I wipe the palms of my hands on my pants and slowly turn the door handle. Maybe I should go to the nurse’s office for my stomach. No, I can’t quit. The second bell rings just as I push the door open. My eyes are locked on the floor, but I feel everyone’s eyes stuck on me. Something’s up. It’s quiet. Too quiet.
I slowly raise my eyes.
The entire class is staring blankly ahead. Twenty-five frozen zombies in front of me. I turn to Mr. Croft for any kind of clue, but he’s not here. Of course. Mr. Croft is always in the bathroom when class starts. He’s what you’d call a chronic groomer—always flossing his teeth and fixing his hair. I look at the class again. This is messed up. No one’s moving. Am I missing something here? The nurse’s office seems like a good option.
Finally, Alex breaks the silence from the back row. The rest of the class follows his cue. They all erupt in laughter.
“That’s exactly how you looked on TV,” Benny calls out from the third row. “Only like this.” He hangs over his desk backward, staring at me upside down.
“I got it, Benny.”
“I didn’t even see you on TV,” says Danny Mazursky. “But you looked pretty funny just now. Priceless.”
Alex pranked me. How did he even have time to do it? I’m not sure if this is supposed to make me feel better. It feels a little bit like the parade all over again. I can’t help but be embarrassed. Mr. Croft walks into class holding his coffee cup. Sure enough, not a hair out of place. He extends his hand like I’m his coworker. “Welcome back, Ellis. Saw you on the parade. Tough break, but I’m proud of you for getting out there. That took a lot of courage.” Mr. Croft lets go of my hand. “Good job, sir. Now take a seat.”
That’s the first person to tell me I did a good job screwing up. I straighten up a bit. “Thanks, Mr. Croft. New haircut?”
Mr. Croft smiles and rubs his hand lightly over his hair. “Thanks for noticing. You gotta keep clean. Above the collar.”
I take my seat in front of Alex while Mr. Croft writes today’s lesson on the board. Alex leans forward and whispers, “Not bad, huh? Now everyone will be talking about the prank and not the parade.”
Yeah, not bad at all. If I can get through lunch in one piece, this day might not be so bad after all. The cafeteria can be a war zone.
I am definitely not getting through lunch.
The seventh and eighth graders keep calling me “Kangaroo Kid” as they pass by. Two kids are actually hopping in front of me. Was I this mean to the third and fourth graders last year? School cafeterias are wicked.
“Here you go, Kangaroo Kid. In case you need another one.” Some dope throws a “ladder” made of interconnected plastic straws onto the table. “Careful using it. You might slip like you did last week.”
Another kid follows right behind the plastic straw artist. “Know where I can get a harmonica fixed?”
Now Bumpy Woods is walking toward my table, ready to torture me some more. His real name is Frankie, but everyone calls him Bumpy. Bumpy is the biggest bully in Hollywood Middle School. People say that last year he put every sixth grader’s head in the toilet—on the same day. I can’t even see how that’s possible, but I’m not taking any chances.
“Hey, Kangaroo Kid,” Bumpy growls. “Watching you in that parade gave me a good idea. It might be fun hanging you upside down from the top of the bleachers tomorrow. What do you think about that, Kangaroo Kid? An encore performance.”
Bumpy now turns his attention to our cafeteria trays. Alex covers his tater tots. I’m exhausted from being called “Kangaroo Kid” all day. Nothing works. It’s all anyone wants to talk about. Bumpy’s getting impatient. Does he really expect me to answer that question?
“Good thing your cookies are so good or else you’d be a total loser.” He steals one of my tater tots and walks away.
Cookies! Of course. It’s so obvious.
“Bumpy, you like cookies?” I shout as he walks across the cafeteria. Bumpy turns around.
“I like ’em if they’re free.”
“I’ll get you some free cookies if you keep me off the bleachers. And give me your vote.”
Bumpy is confused. “My vote? Right now, I’m voting to swing you off the bleachers tomorrow.”
“If you swing me off the bleachers, there’s no cookies. Plus, I need your vote for my campaign.” This is as close as I can come to standing up to Bumpy. I keep my hands in my pockets so no one sees how much they’re shaking. He’s thinking about it—I think. It’s hard to tell. Bumpy always has the same death stare on his face.
“Alright, Kangaroo Kid.” Bumpy takes the apple slices from my tray. “Bring me some cookies, we’ll talk about the bleachers, and you can explain this campaign thing. I have no idea what that word means. I’m failing English.”
Alex breathes a sigh of relief and uncovers his tater tots. I wait for Bumpy to fully exit the cafeteria then stand up in victory. “I’m a genius!” I yell.
“Shut up,” some random eighth grader yells back. “You’re the Kangaroo Kid.”
I sit back down and lean into Alex, who’s drowning his tater tot in ketchup.
“Cookies!” I try to hold my excitement into a whisper. “It’s like Dad says. They’re magic. Everyone loves chocolate chip cookies. The cookies can solve everything. It changes the subject. It gets Bumpy off my back. And it’s the perfect campaign promise.”
“Sounds like bribery to me.” Alex licks the ketchup off his fingers.
“Adults do it all the time. People need a reason to call the radio station. And I need a way to make everyone forget about the parade. Cookies are the campaign promise. It solves everything.”
Jordan sits down with us next to Alex. I’m so glad all three of us ended up at the same middle school—especially on days like today. Jordan may have a stutter, but he can talk to anybody about anything.
“H-h-hi, Ellis. I heard your d-d-dad is d-d-dating a p-p-p-pilot.”
Why is he talking to me about this? “He’s not dating anyone.”
“Sure looked like they were dating at the cookie store.”
“They are NOT dating. And I’m going to make sure they never do. Hey, Jordan, want to help me get out the vote?”
“V-v-votes f-f-f-or what?”
Before I can explain, Diane Clark shows up, interrupting me. Diane has math class with us. She’s my middle school Brad Katz—meaning she has really good math grades. Meaning she helps me get really good math grades.
“Hi, Ellis, I heard what you said to Bumpy. I like cookies, too.”
I knew it. Everyone loves chocolate chip cookies. I give Alex an “I told you so” look. “Diane, I’d like your vote in exchange for some cookies.”
“Sounds like bribery to me,” Alex says under his breath.
Diane is very serious. She likes things explained very clearly. I tell her about Wishbone and KIRA. Diane’s listening closely. She thinks for a moment.
