by Greg Howard
Julian comes barreling through the door, so I guess I’ll never find out. Colton and I shoot up into sitting positions on the bed, and the ocean of comforter separates us again.
“Okay!” Julian exclaims. “Forbes and I discussed it, and he thinks I should at least give the death drop a try.”
“Are you sure?” Colton asks, acting like the finger-touch-zap thing didn’t even happen.
Julian nods, planting a hand on his hip. I’ve learned he does that when he’s feeling Miss Coco confident.
He points a finger at me. “But only if we find a professional to teach me how to do it so I don’t break my leg. Or my butt. Or anything in between.”
I think for a few seconds and then I cross my arms, because that feels like the professional thing to do. “I have an idea.”
16
THE EMERGENCY CLIENT MEETING
There should be meeting rooms at school where you can conduct professional business during lunch, like mini conference rooms. They could even serve lunch in them so the cafeteria wouldn’t lose out on any lunch money. But our school district is not very business savvy. It’s like they have other priorities. That’s actually a great business idea, now that I think of it. I could sell my consulting services to the North Charleston School District to help them become more kid-entrepreneur friendly. I pull my Amazing Business Ideas notebook out of my backpack and write that down before I forget:
Anything School District Business Consulting
A division of Anything, Inc.
Michael Pruitt—President, Founder, CEO, and Wicked-Good Kid Entrepreneur
It’s Tuesday, and instead of sitting in the green zone with Trey and Dinesh like I normally do, I’ve called an emergency client meeting in the yellow zone, where most of my clients eat lunch. They’re all crazy talented, but they’re all kind of outsiders as well. Weird.
“Yo,” Trey says, setting his food on the table. “Why are we sitting here?”
He looks at the others sitting around the table like they’re aliens. But actually it’s Trey who’s the alien here. He’s in their territory now. Stuart sits in his wheelchair at the head of the table. Brady is across from me, and Colton and Julian are on either side of me. Dinesh follows close behind Trey, giving the group the same confused look that Trey did.
“Sorry, dude,” I say to Trey. “I needed to have an emergency client meeting. This is a super-crazy-busy time and there’s a lot going on.”
Even though Colton isn’t technically one of my clients, he’s like an unofficial adviser/helper/I-like-looking-at-him sort of person.
Dinesh shrugs like he’s over the change in his lunch routine now and sits. Trey does, too. Those guys always have my back.
“Cool,” Trey says. “Let us know if you need our help. Moms say we should always support the arts.”
“I definitely need your help on something,” I say. “So it’s good that you’re here.”
Dinesh nods. “Count me in, too, Mikey. I might not have any talent, but I could tutor your clients if they need help with their schoolwork.”
I shake my head at him. “Everyone has some kind of talent, dude. Even you.”
As soon as Sadie arrives and takes a seat, I launch right into the meeting.
I clear my throat first, because that seems like the professional thing to do. “Let the record show that in attendance are Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency official clients Sadie Cooper of the Amazing Sadie and Fifi . . .”
Sadie waves at everyone.
“America’s Junior Comedic Sensation Brady Hill . . .”
“Um . . . I like it, but I’m not a junior,” Brady interrupts. “I’m in seventh grade.”
There’s a little discussion about what the word junior means. I give a loud ahem, to regain control of the meeting. It works, because everyone quiets down right away.
“The Super Kid of Many Faces,” I say a little mysteriously as I point at Stuart.
Everyone at the table widens their eyes, oohing and aahing at Stuart as he fist-pumps the air. I was especially proud of that one.
“And Miss Coco Caliente, Mistress of Madness and Mayhem,” I say, gesturing to Julian.
The group claps respectfully, probably because they all know that Julian is my star client. He’s what we in the biz call A-List. Julian does a little sitting curtsy, which makes everyone laugh—even Trey and Dinesh.
I figured since Julian has such a great stage name, it would be good for all my clients to have one. I stayed up super-crazy late last night coming up with them. I think it was totally worth it.
Noisy snickers draw our attention. Of course it’s Tommy, Colby, and Trace passing by as they make their way to the red zone. I think I hear the words freaks and queers a couple of times. It’s pretty obvious now that Tommy knows about my whole gay thing, but I still can’t figure out how he knows. I try to focus on my business and not all that business.
“Let the record also show,” I say, just realizing that Lyla isn’t here to take notes to let the record show anything. Not that she would actually be taking notes if she were. “That also in attendance are Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency Executive Advisory Committee members Trey Johnson, Dinesh Lahiri, and Colton Sanford.”
I just made up the Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency Executive Advisory Committee, like, half a minute ago, but I smile at its new members like I’ve been planning this announcement for months. It works, too, because Colton, Trey, and Dinesh all light up at the recognition.
“Wow, dude,” Dinesh says, sitting up straighter. “Thanks.”
“And finally,” I say. “Let the record show that absent from this meeting because they go to entirely different schools are junior talent coordinator Lyla Pruitt and Charvi Lahiri, Mystic to the Stars.”
I pause, giving them time to ooh and aah at the stage name I gave Charvi, which they all do.
“And Fifi, of the Amazing Sadie and Fifi, who’s probably asleep right now dreaming about dog biscuits and squirrels.”
Sadie nods real hard like what I just said is the gospel truth.
“First order of business,” I say. “Trey, you said the other day that your mom’s friend Manny is a professional drag queen, right?”
Trey nods as he pops a chicken nugget in his mouth. Our cafeteria loves to serve poppable food. I’m not sure why.
“Yeah,” Trey says. “He’s really good, too. Why?”
I look over at Colton and Julian. They smile back like they know exactly what I’m thinking.
“Could you get Manny’s phone number or email address from your mom?”
Trey nods. “On it, dude.” He doesn’t need any explanation because that’s just how best friends are.
“Thanks,” I say, and then turn to Sadie. “Hey, so Fifi is a rescue dog, right?”
Sadie smiles. “Yep. When I turned seven, I wanted a puppy for my birthday, so my parents took me down to the animal shelter to pick one out.”
“And you chose Fifi?” Dinesh says. “Was she even a puppy back then? She looks pretty old.”
Sadie jerks her head around to look at Dinesh. Her long straw-colored ponytail sails through the air like a helicopter blade, missing Stuart’s face only by a couple of inches.
“No, she wasn’t a puppy,” she says with a glare at Dinesh. “But she looked so sad and lonely, and the people at the shelter said she’d been there longer than any of the other dogs. Nobody wanted her. But I took one look at her and just knew we were meant to be together. And when she looked at me, I knew she thought the same thing.”
“Dude,” Trey says to her. “No offense, but Fifi has, like, never seen you.”
Sadie looks puzzled. As if she’d never thought about that.
As nice as this story is, it’s taking way too much time away from important business stuff.
I clap once to get everyone’s
attention. “And the rest is show-biz history!”
Sadie seems happy enough with that ending to the Fifi story.
I point at her with a chicken nugget. “Can you and Fifi meet me at the Petcare store out by Northwoods Mall this Saturday at ten a.m.?”
Sadie nods a little hesitantly. “I guess so.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’m taking Charvi to her first audition this afternoon.”
Dinesh glances up. “Where’s her audition?”
“Prince George Nursing Home,” I say.
Dinesh looks a little puzzled, but he doesn’t ask any questions. See? Best friends. I was super-crazy excited when Dad said Pap Pruitt was doing well enough for me to go visit him after school today—which gave me a great gig idea for Charvi. You might say Pap is the inspiration for my action plan for Charvi. I can’t wait for him to meet her.
“What about me?” Brady says.
I point to him. “I have some very important calls in about you.”
Brady grins and goes back to eating, like that’s good enough for him.
“So,” I say, pausing to meet each of their gazes. “I was thinking you could all compete in the end-of-the-year talent contest. You know, representing Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency.”
Nobody says anything. They all just stare back at me like I’m Voldemort—except for Julian and Colton. They already know about this plan.
“But the tryouts are on Monday and the talent show is next Friday,” Stuart says. “Are you sure we’re ready?”
I throw my hands in the air. “Of course you’re ready. And the big show is the last day of school, so how cool would it be if one of you won that hundred-dollar prize right before summer break?”
Brady and Stuart nod at each other. Sadie agrees, too. I think I’m selling this.
“I bet you all get into the show,” I say, leaning in like that’s a secret. It’s not. “And as your agent, I’ll take care of all the details. All you have to do is practice your acts and be ready for the tryouts on Monday.”
I reach into my backpack and pull out three pieces of paper from my yellow notepad. I wrote out each of their contracts last night after supper.
“These are your standard boilerplate talent-agency agreements,” I say, like it’s no big deal. It is. “I just need you all to sign them before I can officially represent you.”
“What does TBD mean?” Sadie asks, scanning her contract.
“To. Be. Determined,” Julian says, snapping his fingers on each word.
I nod. “That’s right.”
“Shouldn’t we get our parents to look at this before we sign it?” Brady says, pushing his wavy brown hair out of his eyes.
“My mom’s a lawyer,” Stuart says. “I could get her to look at them for us.”
Okay, this is getting out of control. Just who do these people think they are anyway?
“Guys, guys,” I say in a calming voice, with my hands up like I’m surrendering. I’m not. “It’s no big deal. Signing it just means that you won’t let anyone else represent you and that I make commission off any gigs that I get for you.”
“What’s a gig?” Dinesh asks.
“Um . . . a job, genius,” Julian says.
Dinesh hangs his head, looking embarrassed. Colton elbows Julian.
“Ow, girl,” Julian says, scowling back at him. But then he turns to Dinesh. “Sorry, dude,” he says. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Dinesh kind of half grins. I think everything is okay again.
I clear my throat. “Signing this is just the professional thing to do.”
“But how much is your commission?” Sadie asks, her ponytail following the turn of her head in my direction.
My phone vibrates in my pants pocket. Perfect timing! I don’t see Vice Principal Grayson anywhere. Technically we’re not supposed to have our phones out during lunch period. I finally spot Mr. Grayson dead center of the red zone, talking to Tommy and some other basketball players. Mr. Grayson lets them get away with just about anything because he’s also the assistant coach of the basketball team. I slip the phone out of my pocket but keep it hidden under the edge of the table. When I flip it open, I see that it’s the number I’ve been waiting for. It vibrates a second time.
“Hey, guys,” I say quickly. “This is a very important business call that could be a life-changing big break for the Super Kid of Many Faces. But I can’t really take it and represent him until he signs the contract. And I can’t do the same for you guys until you sign, either.”
The phone vibrates again. One more before it goes to voice mail.
They all look at Stuart with wide, wonder-filled eyes. Stuart looks terrified. Maybe I went just a tad overboard describing the call. But it works, because they all scramble around in their backpacks until they find pens. I wait until they have all signed. Trey looks at me, amazed. Colton smiles at me like he’s proud of me and, well, you know . . . stomach-smoothie time.
I press the Call button before it vibrates a fourth time and cover the mouthpiece with my hand.
“Okay. Give me a minute and cover for me,” I say, hunching over.
Everyone nods and looks around like spies as I slip out of my chair and under the table. I clear my throat.
“Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency, this is Cheryl. How may I direct your call?”
Okay, so it wasn’t my best fake-receptionist voice. I think I went too Southern and way too high. It sounded like I just sucked on a balloon full of helium and grits.
“Um, yes,” the woman on the line says. “I’m returning a call from Michael Pruitt?”
She says it like a question. I don’t know why. I mean, are you returning a call from Michael Pruitt or not, lady?
I go back into helium-and-grits-voiced-receptionist-Cheryl mode.
Michael Pruitt Business Tip #363: Once you commit to a business strategy, you stick with it. No matter how silly you sound.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, or Cheryl says. I’m getting confused. “Can I tell Mr. Pruitt who’s calling?”
I can barely hear what the woman is saying because there’s a lot of noise in the cafeteria—shrieks of laughter and lots of next-Friday-is-the-last-day-of-school shout-talking. And Trey is talking in his outside voice. I kick his leg to shut him up.
“Ow!” he yells from above. “Yo, what was that for?”
“Quiet, dude,” I whisper-yell with my hand over the mouthpiece.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I say into the phone in my super-professional Cheryl-the-receptionist voice. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Bobbie Jo Martin,” the woman says, sounding a little annoyed. “Mikey Pruitt, is that you?”
“Hold for Mr. Pruitt, please,” I say in a hurry, my voice rising another octave at least.
Holding the phone to my chest, I count to five, then I raise it to my ear again. “Yes, this is Michael Pruitt.”
“Mikey, aren’t you at school?” Mrs. Martin says. “Does your mama know you’re making prank calls at school?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “She knows. And this isn’t a prank. I was calling about Chandler’s birthday.”
“Yes,” she says. “What about it? Is your sister coming? Chandler would be so happy if she came.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, my eyes peeled to a pair of grown-up- man legs edging closer and closer to our table. “Lyla will be there. I was wondering if you had booked any entertainment for the party yet?”
“Entertainment?” Mrs. Martin says. “What kind of entertainment? It’s a bunch of eight- and nine-year-olds. They’re pretty good at keeping each other entertained. Plus we have a Wii and Monopoly.”
Wow. Wii and Monopoly? This lady does need my help.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of Stuart Baxter, the Super Kid of Many Faces,” I say, mustering up some Miss Coco Calien
te courage and confidence that I see Julian using all the time. “He’s all the rage at nine-year-olds’ birthday parties.”
I’m not exactly sure what being all the rage is, but Mom says it all the time and she’s always smiling when she says it. So I’m pretty sure it’s a good thing.
“Stuart stays pretty booked up, but I’m his official agent, so I could probably work Chandler’s party into his schedule since Lyla and Chandler are such good friends.”
Dinesh sticks his head under the table. “Dude! Grayson’s coming this way.” Then his head disappears.
“What was that?” Mrs. Martin asks.
“Oh, nothing, ma’am,” I say. “Just one of my associates. So would you like to book Stuart for the party?”
There’s a pause. And then Mrs. Martin says, “Now what does this boy do exactly? Is it a magic show? Or does he make balloon animals?”
OMG! Adults always ask so many dumb questions.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Martin,” I say, trying not to huff into the phone. “I promise you’ll be amazed. Trust me. The first time I saw Stuart’s act, it stayed with me for days.”
Three days of hair washing to get all that Silly String out, to be exact. There was even some way up my nose. I thought I’d sneezed some of my brains out.
“He’ll keep those kids entertained and out of your hair for hours,” I add.
“Hmm,” Mrs. Martin says. “I don’t know, Mikey.”
I don’t have time for this. Mr. Grayson’s legs have stopped a couple feet away and all the legs at our table go completely still. Not a good sign.
