Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Making Money

by Tommy Greenwald

  She didn’t look up from her texting. “Yeah?”

  “Well, I had this idea.”

  This got her semi-attention. “Hold on a sec.” First she had to finish her text. Then we had to sit there for about twenty seconds. Then she had to receive a return text that made her laugh.

  Then I had her full attention. “What’s your idea?”

  This wasn’t going to be easy. I cleared my throat. “So, you know how you’re always saying that you and I should throw a party together some day, that your friends and my friends would get along great if they ever found themselves in the same room?”

  Megan looked confused. Probably because she’d never said anything like that in her life.

  “What are you talking about? You want to have a party?”

  I put my arm around her. “I want us to have a party.”

  Her phone was buzzing. She was getting all sorts of texts and tweets and Instagrams and Snapchats, and I could tell she was dying to end her conversation with me and return to her conversations with half the eleventh grade.

  In other words, it was the perfect time to make my move.

  “Anyway, my idea is that when Mom and Dad go away to the college thing, that you and I throw a totally fun party. What do you think?”

  She tried to process my request, which on the face of it was pretty ridiculous. When’s the last time a high school sister and a middle school brother threw a party together? I think it was on the twelfth. The twelfth of Never.

  Her phone buzzed again. She couldn’t decide who to answer—her brother or the phone.

  Finally she went for the phone. (They all do.) But before she started texting, she glanced up at me quickly. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  I took that as a yes.

  38

  Kids can surprise you sometimes.

  Take Pete Milano, for example. He’s one of the most immature kids you’ll ever meet, gets in trouble all the time, totally annoying and loud and occasionally funny, but usually just obnoxious.

  But, here’s the weird thing—he’s an amazing artist.

  I remember when we were in our kindergarten art class and he was driving the teacher completely nuts, then she tells us to draw our pets, and he does this picture of himself next to his giant St. Bernard who had just died a couple of months earlier, and it was so beautiful it made the teacher cry.

  Then in third grade I asked him to draw a picture of Hannah Spivero for me, which he did, and it was fantastic. I was so happy to give it to her, and when she took it she smiled at me, and I remember feeling about as happy as a human being can feel.

  Then she turned it over and saw something on the back. She flung the picture back in my face and stomped off.

  I picked up the drawing and looked on the back. Pete had written, Dear Hannah. Here’s a picture of your perfect face. Maybe one day I can kiss it with my tongue. Love, Charlie Joe Jackson.

  Like I said, sometimes kids can surprise you.

  * * *

  But the point I’m trying to make is, Pete is an amazing artist.

  Which is why I was trying to keep up with him as he ran around at recess throwing a Nerf football at all the girls.

  “I need you to design the invitation to my cow-jumping party. You could draw a really cool picture of me jumping over a cow.”

  Pete nailed Eliza Collins in the left calf. That was a mistake. She came marching over with the Nerf football, held it up to Pete’s face, and ripped it into little pieces. Then she dropped them over Pete’s head like confetti.

  “You can get back to your game now,” she said.

  Pete decided to think that was hilarious, since his other choice would have been to be embarrassed. “You kill me, Eliza!” he guffawed.

  “Maybe one day,” she said. Then she walked away, trailed by the Elizettes.

  Pete was about to say something back to her until he realized this was a battle he couldn’t win, and so he finally turned his attention to me. “You want me to draw what?”

  “A picture of me jumping over a cow.”

  He pondered that.

  “Fully clothed,” I added.

  “Forget it,” Pete said. “Naked or nothing.”

  “Come on, dude. You know I can’t do the naked part. But this party is going to be so fun! Food and girls and dancing and stuff. And tons of cupcakes.”

  Pete raised his eyebrows. He had a weakness for cupcakes. “Chocolate?”

  “Double chocolate.”

  He sighed. “Okay, fine. One picture of you jumping over a cow coming up. Just make sure there’s extra frosting.”

  “Awesome!”

  I tried to high-five him, but Pete already had bigger things on his mind. “Wanna go find a tennis ball and whip it at Eliza’s butt?”

  “Nah.” I was ready to return to a detention-free zone, which basically was anywhere Pete wasn’t.

  As I walked away he called to me, “So you’re really going to go through with this party?”

  “Yup. It’s going to be so cool. Seriously.”

  “If you say so,” Pete said, shaking his head. “Jumping over a cow? It seems pretty crazy.”

  Uh-oh.

  When Pete calls something crazy, there’s a pretty good chance it’s crazy.

  39

  I should probably tell you now why I didn’t think it was crazy.

  First of all, I wasn’t going to get a real cow. I was going to get a moose. Meaning, my dog Moose. He’s practically as big as a cow. And he’s such a good dog that he doesn’t mind it when you drape things over his back, things like a towel, or a blanket, or a person.

  So my plan was to dress Moose up like a cow. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Just get a white sheet, draw some huge black circles on it with a magic marker, and we’re good to go. Oh, and borrow the cowbell from Timmy’s drum set. It’ll work great.

  Kids weren’t going to care if it was a real cow or not anyway, as long as the food was good.

  Second of all, my sister Megan is one of the most responsible people I know. She doesn’t drink or smoke or do any of that bad stuff, and she was going to make sure the house didn’t get destroyed or anything. I just had to make sure she remembered agreeing to have the party. Which she didn’t exactly do, but she won’t remember that.

  Third of all, all parents want their kids to be popular. They’ll let them go to anything, and they’ll write a check for anything, as long as it means their kids are with other kids and won’t be left out.

  The next thing I had to do was talk to the other most responsible people I knew and make sure they were coming, too.

  I started with Nareem. It took some convincing to get him on board.

  His first reaction was to say, “I’m not sure I can come to a party that your parents don’t even know about,” as we sat in study hall and I watched him do math homework that was about five grade levels above me.

  “Come on, Nareem, I need you there.”

  He squinted at me. “Why? Because I’m the stereotypical Indian kid who does well in school and never gets in trouble, and you need someone like that to prove that your party won’t be some wild, out-of-control event?”

  There was only one answer to that question. “Yes,” I said.

  Nareem sighed. “Well, I appreciate your honesty. And yes, fine, I will attend your party. But you should know that there is another side to my personality.”

  “What kind of side is that?”

  He opened his eyes wide and leaned in close to me. “A crazy side,” he whispered. He looked convincing, but hey, this was Nareem we were talking about. I didn’t believe him.

  I should have.

  40

  My next stop was Katie Friedman.

  Here, I’ll let her tell you about it.

  41

  At first, I didn’t want any part of Charlie Joe’s ridiculous cow-jumping, money-making, check-collecting scheme. I swear I didn’t. I was fine with his dog-walking escapade, and that ended badly enough, but thankfull
y no one got hurt. Not even the gopher. But this time, I was drawing the line. This time, no matter what he said, I wasn’t getting involved. I really meant it.

  Until like a week later.

  Which is when he came up to me at school after lunch.

  “Hey, Katie.”

  I didn’t even look up. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

  Charlie Joe laughed. “Yes, we’ve met. We met in first grade, I think, and we’ve been very good friends ever since.”

  I stuck out my hand to shake. “Katie Friedman, nice to meet you. Now leave me alone, because I don’t want any part of what you’re here to talk to me about.”

  “Come on, Katie.”

  I finally looked at him. “Come on what? Come on, help you out with another crazy idea, even though the last time, you blamed me when it went wrong? Come on, you need another favor from me, even though I’ve told you ten times I don’t want to get involved?”

  He nodded. “Exactly.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You are unbelievable.”

  “Thanks,” Charlie Joe said, failing to detect my sarcasm. So typical.

  I slid over on the bench. “You can sit down, but you can’t talk about cows.”

  Charlie Joe smiled as if he were Santa Claus and I was a five-year-old girl who still believed. “Really? Because I have this awesome idea that’s going to totally change your mind about this whole thing.”

  There’s only one word for people like Charlie Joe: relentless.

  “So the party is really starting to come together,” Charlie Joe continued. “Pete is designing the invitation, Megan and her boyfriend are going to chaperone, the food’s going to be awesome. I’m just missing one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, with a little tingle in my stomach, because I started to realize what he was getting at.

  “A band.”

  Yes.

  “A band?” I repeated, trying not to sound too excited.

  “Yup,” said Charlie Joe, “a band. Which is where you come in. I want to hire CHICKMATE to be the band at my party. I’ll pay you, too.”

  Do you know how confusing it can be when a boy who’s been driving you crazy for years with his ridiculous schemes suddenly has an idea that makes you incredibly happy?

  I think I’ve told you already how much I love being in CHICKMATE. And at Jake’s bar mitzvah, I discovered that playing in front of a live audience was pretty much the greatest feeling in the whole world. The chance to get to do it again—and for money!—was definitely too good to be true.

  I tried to play it cool. “Well, that’s a very nice and generous offer, Charlie Joe. Let me talk it over with the rest of the band and get back to you.”

  “Get back to me? You’re kidding, right? I said I’ll pay you to play at my party! Who wouldn’t want to do that?”

  He had a point.

  “Well, it does sound like a wonderful opportunity,” I said, my coolness wavering. “But I can’t say yes for sure until I talk to the other girls. We’re a democracy.”

  “Okay, fine,” said Charlie Joe, “but you and your democracy let me know by tomorrow morning, or I’m just going to play music off the computer and do it that way.”

  Ack! I couldn’t let that happen.

  “Oh, what the heck. I know what they’ll say. We’re in. Thanks for the offer, Charlie Joe.”

  Charlie Joe hugged me. “I knew it! When you’re big and famous and touring the world, never forget that Charlie Joe Jackson was the one who gave you your big break.”

  I didn’t want him to think I completely endorsed his crazy party, so I only kind of hugged him back, saying, “It’ll be really fun.” And then, momentarily losing my mind, I added, “And you don’t have to pay us, don’t worry about it.”

  He looked totally thrilled. “For real?! You are the most awesome person ever created!” Then he hugged me again and ran off, probably to tell his friends that he just suckered Katie Friedman into playing at his party for free.

  Why am I such a good person? What is wrong with me?

  42

  Thank you, Katie Friedman, for announcing to the world what an incredibly good person you are.

  Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean you get to put it in a book.

  I would never do something like that.

  43

  What do you think? Pretty good, right? Nareem helped me write it.

  Telling people to RSVP directly to me in school was a little risky, but it was the only way to do it. I couldn’t have my mailbox at home start filling up with strange little envelopes addressed to me—my parents would have noticed that for sure.

  Oh, and “no gifts please” is code for “checks only.”

  44

  Did I mention I invited Zoe, too?

  After Jake’s bar mitzvah, we didn’t talk or text or anything for a while. Or more specifically, she didn’t text me, and I was too shy to text her first. (I’m pretty shy sometimes. No, seriously, I am.) I was starting to think the whole thing never happened, and I was raising all this money for nothing.

  Then, about a week later, I got a text from her:

  Leaving for Ohio in three weeks. did you ever ask your parents about visiting?

  I texted back:

  Yes—Looking good! Fingers crossed!

  She texted back:

  YAY!!!

  So we were definitely back on texting terms, complete with exclamation points!

  Anyway, I didn’t necessarily want to tell her that I was throwing a party to make money just to visit her, but I did want to invite her. And I really wanted her to come. But I wanted it to sound casual. So I texted her again:

  I’m having a party the week before you go, do you want to come? Katie’s band is playing.

  That way, it seemed more like I was inviting her to come see Katie’s band, not to come to my party just to see me.

  She texted back:

  I would love to!!!

  I texted back:

  Great!

  She texted back:

  Can’t wait 2 see u! Tell katie I say hi!

  When I told Katie that Zoe said hi, she said to say hi back. But when I started to tell her about the rest of our text exchange, Katie waved me away. “I’ve got way more interesting things to do than listen to every detail of your love life.”

  “Oh, right,” I said, but inside a part of me was thinking, What could possibly be more interesting than my love life?

  45

  The party was two days away when I got the scare of my life.

  We were sitting at dinner when all of a sudden Dad said, “I’m thinking of bailing on this whole college reunion thing. It’s just going to be a bunch of people talking about how awesome their lives turned out, how much money they’ve made, and how gorgeous and perfect their kids are.”

  I dropped my fork.

  Megan played it cooler. “Are you saying we’re not gorgeous and perfect, Daddy?”

  “Of course he’s not saying that, honey,” my mom chimed in. “You know how Dad hates show-off-y types, that’s all.”

  I had to say something. “Well, Timmy’s parents just went to his mom’s college reunion, and they said they had the most amazing time in their lives.”

  “Really?” Mom asked. “I’m surprised Rose didn’t tell me about that.”

  (I didn’t say I had to say something true. I just said I had to say something.)

  “I don’t know,” Dad said, leaning back in his chair and undoing his belt, which was a sign he was finished eating. “I’m really only in touch with about five people from college. It might just be too weird seeing everybody else.”

  Just as I felt the first beads of sweat start breaking out on my forehead, my mom saved the day. “Of course we’re going to go, Jim,” she said. “These kinds of things come along once every ten years. It’ll be a hoot!” My mom has a tendency to use phrases that haven’t been popular since before I was born, like “It’ll be a hoot!” and “Oh, goodness me!”

  Dad got u
p. “We’ll see.” He started making his typical lame attempt at clearing the dishes, which usually ended after about one glass. Then he looked at Megan and me and said, “I’m not thrilled at the idea of leaving you guys here by yourselves for the weekend, either.”

  That was new. Usually it was Mom who was the nervous parent. It was obvious he was just looking for a way to get out of going to his reunion.

  “Sorry, Dad, that’s not gonna fly,” I said. “Don’t try to make excuses. You’re going to that reunion. Megan and I are going to spend the whole weekend doing fun activities like weeding and dusting and going to the library.”

  “I love weeding,” Megan said.

  “And I love dusting,” I added. I wanted to say I loved going to the library, too, but I couldn’t quite spit it out, even as a joke.

  “Enough, you two,” said Mom. “Keep it up, and I’ll call your grandmother to come stay with you.” That we didn’t need. We loved Grandma, but she had the unfortunate habit of playing the television all day long, loud enough for people in Borneo to hear it.

  (Anyone know where Borneo is? I don’t. But it’s a cool name for a country.)

  * * *

  Later that night, I went to Megan’s room for some last-minute planning. She was sitting in front of her giant mirror, combing her hair.

  I sat down on her bed. “Everything ready on your end?”

  She didn’t take her eyes off her reflection. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I can’t believe I said yes.”

  It didn’t seem like a good time to remind her that she had never actually technically said yes, so I tried to change the subject. “Why do you comb your hair before bed, anyway? Are you trying to make sure you look good in your dreams?”

  She changed the subject back. “What do you mean, is everything ready on my end? I’m not having anyone over except Willy, who’s coming just to help me keep you in line.”

  “I love Willy!” I said, trying to keep things happy. “He’s like my favorite of all the boyfriends you’ve ever had.”