by Greg Howard
Charvi puts a hand on Pap’s shoulder. “You built the fence, Pap. Just like you built the fence around Clara’s flower garden. And only you can tear it down to get to her. She’s waiting for you. It’s okay to let go.”
Something clicks to life in Pap’s hollow eyes. Like he understands what Charvi means, which is good, because I sure don’t. How is Pap supposed to tear down a dream fence? And what’s he supposed to let go of?
Charvi pats his hand like she did when she finished interpreting Julian’s dream at the open-call auditions. That must be her cue that the show is over. Dad puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, like Thank you.
Mrs. Prosser wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Well, that was simply lovely, Charvi.”
Mrs. Prosser scans the room, her gaze landing on a sad-looking lady sitting in the corner of the room alone. The woman looks a lot older than Pap.
“Mr. Pruitt,” she says to Dad. “If you’re not in a hurry, would you mind if I borrowed Charvi for a few minutes? There’s someone else I’d like her to meet.”
“Of course,” Dad says, seeming a bit confused.
And I guess I’m giving two Charvi Lahiri, Mystic to the Stars, free samples away today. But as long as Charvi’s okay with it, so am I. Because in my whole life, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a peaceful look on Pap Pruitt’s face.
18
THE SIZZLE REEL SMACKDOWN
“Last looks, people,” I yell out, wishing I had a megaphone.
I learned about last looks on Google yesterday. When you’re directing America’s Junior Comedic Sensation in his first sizzle reel, it’s something you say right before you start taping. I also learned that a sizzle reel is kind of like an audition, but on video.
Julian rushes over to Brady, fiddling with his hair and tugging his Iron Man T-shirt down at the hem. “Can’t we do this after I have time to go to the Gap? This boy needs a complete wardrobe makeover.”
Brady rolls his eyes at Julian. “I’m, like, right here. I can hear you.”
It’s Thursday and we’re on the front lawn of the school during second lunch period getting some video on Brady for his sizzle reel for Later Tonight with Billy Shannon. Colton holds my mom’s iPhone up, pointing it at Brady. I told Mom what I needed her phone for and she understood. But she made me promise that I wouldn’t use the phone inside the school and that I would take good care of it, because it’s brand-new and I guess they cost, like, a gazillion dollars. We’re lucky I was able to get her to let me borrow it today. My flip phone doesn’t do video so well. Or, like, you know . . . at all.
Brady glances down, touching the red-and-gold Iron Man mask on his chest. “What’s wrong with my clothes, anyway?”
Julian slaps Brady’s hand away from the shirt, tugging at the hem again. “Nothing, if you plan to sit around all day playing video games.”
“What’s wrong with sitting around all day playing video games?” Brady whines.
Julian steps out of the shot, clapping his hands like a teacher trying to get our attention. “Hush up. Michael is working.”
“Thank you, Julian,” I say. I look at Brady. “Ready?”
He nods and his high-wattage performance smile pops into place, stretching out his whole face.
I crouch down a little. I don’t know why, but it seems like the professional-director thing to do. I hold up a finger. “Aaand action!” I point to Brady.
“Hello, Mr. Shannon,” Brady says, without any of the whine in his voice. “I’m Brady Hill and I’m a comedian, just like you. And one day I hope I’ll have my own late-night show like you. But right now I’m stuck in the seventh grade at North Charleston Middle School in South Carolina.”
So far I’m directing the heck out of this thing. Colton stands right beside me doing a super-crazy-good job of pointing Mom’s phone at Brady and holding it still. The red in his hair is almost blinding in the full sun as it beats down on us. Brady doesn’t look the least bit bothered by the heat, though. That’s called professionalism.
“Middle school is the worst, am I right?” Brady says. “You don’t get to have the fun of elementary school or the freedom of high school. It’s like the middle child of schools.”
Brady grins and pauses like people are laughing. There are a few kids milling around, but no one is paying us any attention. Julian is definitely not laughing. He has his hands over his eyes like he’s watching a scary movie. Colton and I glance at each other. Nope. Neither one of us is laughing, either. Maybe the laughing people are in Brady’s head. I think he’s just nervous and still getting warmed up. When he realizes that we aren’t laughing, he launches right back into his routine.
“And what’s the deal with square pizza in the school cafeteria? Everywhere else you go, pizza slices are triangles. Pizza Hut, Chuck E. Cheese, Little Caesars—all triangles, like pie. I mean, when one of your parents makes an apple pie, they don’t cut you a square piece, do they? If my mom gave me a square slice of apple pie, I’d probably check her medications.”
Colton and I both giggle a little, nodding to each other. Brady is right about that. I look over at Julian. He doesn’t smile, not even a little. Actually he crosses his arms, frowning at Brady like he’s thinking, Step it up, dude—you’re blowing this. Man, Julian is a tough audience.
Brady smiles bigger and starts using his hands more, like Billy Shannon does when he’s doing his monologue at the beginning of Later Tonight.
“The other day in science class, we learned about atoms,” he says. “But me? I don’t know. I just don’t trust atoms. That’s right. I don’t trust them one little bit.”
Brady pauses just for a second like a professional comedian would. He even glances around, looking at different people in an imaginary audience.
“You want to know why I don’t trust atoms?”
Colton and I are already giggling, which is a good sign. We nod at Brady.
Brady throws up his hands. “Because they make up everything.”
That makes me and Colton laugh out loud. Colton’s hand dips a little and I grab it to hold the iPhone in place. We’re both pointing it at Brady with my hand on top of his for, like, three whole seconds before I pull mine away. I don’t want Colton to think I’m a creeper. But he glances over and flashes me one of his famous stomach-in-the-blender smiles, so I guess he doesn’t.
Brady is on a roll now and goes right into the next joke.
“In math class yesterday, I was looking at my textbook and I thought to myself—this is the saddest book I’ve ever seen. I mean, no textbook is sadder than a math textbook. You want to know why?”
“Why?” Colton asks, chuckling.
Brady lights up at the audience interaction. “Because it’s full of problems!” He throws his hands up again and they land on his hips.
Colton and I are laughing so hard now we must sound like a whole audience on the video. That one even makes Julian smile. Just a little. He at least uncrosses his arms and starts fanning himself.
“You know, North Charleston Middle is a very diverse school,” Brady says, looking more serious now. “We have kids from all different backgrounds and cultures.” Brady counts off on his fingers. “We have black kids, white kids, Indian kids, Middle Eastern kids, Asian kids—heck, we even have some elf kids.”
Colton and I glance at each other with raised eyebrows like, Whaaat? I don’t have any idea where Brady is going with this one, but I have to just trust his comedic genius. That’s part of being a good talent-and-pizzazz agent.
“That’s right, folks, elf kids. And everyone at North Charleston does the same thing after school, except for the elves,” Brady says, real serious-like. “All the other kids have to do their homework. But elf kids have to do their gnome-work.”
That gets the biggest laugh yet from me and Colton. I did not see that one coming. Gnome-work. Now, that’s smart and funny. E
ven Julian can’t help himself from laughing out loud.
Brady holds both hands up and waves at us, slowly backing away. “Thank you. Thank you very much. You’ve been a great audience.”
He heads off to the right and out of the shot. Colton hits the red button on the iPhone, stopping the recording.
“How was that?” Brady asks, running back over. “I figured I should end on the biggest laugh. That’s what other comedians do on Later Tonight.”
“You were super-crazy good, Brady,” I say, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “So funny.”
Colton hands me the iPhone, pushing his blinding reddish-brown hair off his forehead. “It was great, Brady. I laughed a lot.”
“Thanks, Colton.” Brady looks at Julian for his verdict.
Julian tugs at the front of his T-shirt and then fans himself with both hands. He gives Brady a little grin. “You had a slow start, but you brought it home.”
Brady looks pleased enough with that. “So, Mikey,” he says. “Do you think the video has enough sizzle?”
“I think so,” I say. “You might want to get a couple of short clips at home. You know, making fun of your mom or your dad or both. That’s always good for a laugh. Email them to me and I’ll edit them in and then send the sizzle reel on to Billy Shannon’s booking office.”
“Wow,” Brady says, his face as bright as a mall Christmas tree. “I can’t believe I’m going to get discovered on Later Tonight. And then one day I’ll have my own show like Billy Shannon. I think I’m much funnier than Billy, anyway.”
“Maybe don’t say that on the sizzle reel,” I say.
“Yeah, don’t get a big head just yet,” Julian says.
I spot Trey and Dinesh coming out the front entrance of the school and heading our way.
“How did it go?” Trey asks, dropping his backpack on the ground.
“Great,” I say proudly. “Brady killed it.”
“He murdered it,” Colton adds with a little laugh.
“That’s so cool.” Dinesh pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Hey, Charvi is psyched about her gig at the nursing home.”
I nod. “Me too. I think she will really help some people.”
It’s not a real paying gig, though. It’s more like a volunteer position. After Charvi talked with some of the residents at Prince George about their dreams, Mrs. Prosser asked her if she would like to come by every other Saturday to visit. She said it was good for raising the residents’ spirits. I thought about pushing for Mrs. Prosser to pay Charvi one thousand dollars per visit, but Charvi was so excited about the idea of helping out and putting smiles on so many faces that I didn’t play hardball. She’s even going to start this weekend. I might not get any commission from Charvi’s nursing-home gig, but it’ll help get her name out there, which will help me get her paying jobs in the future. So I’ll just consider this one a marketing expense in my action plan for Charvi Lahiri, Mystic to the Stars.
The front doors of the school burst open and some guys from the basketball team charge out in a noisy rumble. Of course Tommy Jenrette leads the pack, and of course his gaze locks in on us immediately. Crap.
“Hey, guys,” I say to my friends, looking away from Tommy. “We should go back inside.”
Julian fans himself with a spiral-bound notebook now. “Yes, honey. Miss Coco is not about this heat.”
“But we still have, like, ten minutes of lunch period left,” Colton says, his freckled face twisting in confusion.
Colton doesn’t realize that Tommy, Trace, and Colby are walking right up behind him. Colton has his hand on his hip like Lyla does sometimes, and Tommy is staring at him.
“Is this your new girlfriend, Gay Mikey?” Tommy says, sneering at Colton.
Trace and Colby laugh like Tommy is America’s Junior Comedic Sensation instead of Brady. He isn’t. Trust me. Julian rolls his eyes at them as Brady stands motionless. Dinesh and Trey look down, probably wishing they could make themselves invisible.
Tommy bumps Colton with his shoulder kind of hard, causing Colton to stumble forward and lose his balance. Then he’s falling. Landing on one knee and a hand. Luckily we’re on the grass and not the concrete, but my blood boils just the same. I don’t know exactly what I plan to do. Tommy is much bigger than me and has muscles. But Tommy just can’t do that to Colton and get away with it, either. I hesitate a moment too long, though, and it’s not me but Julian who gets all up in Tommy’s face.
Julian points a finger at Tommy’s chest, forcing air through his nostrils like a fire-breathing dragon. “What is your problem, you psycho, redneck Neanderthal?”
“Whoa,” Trey says, almost like a prayer.
Brady and I help Colton back to his feet. He has some dirt on his jeans and a grass stain on his hand.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Are you okay?” Tommy says, mocking me in a high, whiny voice. “Jesus, what a big fruit basket you all make.” He points to me, Colton, and Julian one at a time. “You, your little sissy girlfriend, and this he/she, illegal tub of lard.”
“Uh-oh,” Dinesh says in a whisper.
We haven’t known Julian long, but I think Trey, Dinesh, and I realize that Julian is braver than all three of us put together, especially when he’s wearing a dress, but even now when he’s not. He might not have as many muscles as Tommy, but he’s just as tall and probably weighs more.
“Julian?” Colton says, because we all can see the way Julian’s face has hardened into something pretty scary looking.
“Yo, Julian,” Trey says calmly. “Don’t do it, bro.”
Tommy slings his thick mop of brown hair out of his eyes. “What’s he gonna do? Take a Weed Eater to my yard while his dad mows it?”
The next few seconds pass in slow motion, like a dream. I mostly remember the blood—spewing out of Tommy Jenrette’s nose, covering Julian’s fist, and some even splattered on the red-and-gold Iron Man mask on Brady’s shirt. Then it’s like WWE SmackDown. Well, the North Charleston Middle School version of WWE SmackDown. Colby and Trace tackle Julian, wrestling him to the ground, which is no easy task because of Julian’s size. Julian yells, slaps, and kicks, trying to get out from under them. Colton, Brady, and I jump on top of the pile, yelling at Colby and Trace to get off Julian, which would be kind of hard for them to do since we are all on top of them. Tommy runs around holding his gushing nose and letting curse words fly with no bleeping like they have on RuPaul’s Drag Race.
Trey and Dinesh are trying to pull us all apart while yelling something about the gray sun, which doesn’t make any sense. It takes me a minute, but what they’re saying finally clicks in my head.
Vice Principal Grayson is coming.
I guess it registers with everyone at the same time, because all of a sudden the sizzle reel smackdown is over and we all scramble to our feet. Mr. Grayson’s approach doesn’t stop Tommy from cursing at Julian, though, calling him every mean name in the book that has anything to do with his size, his being gay, or the fact that he’s Mexican. I scan the ground for Mom’s new iPhone before Mr. Grayson reaches us. If he confiscates her phone, I’m toast.
Tommy catches me searching right when I spot it close to his feet. We look at each other for a frozen second, him holding his bloody nose and me ready to sprint. I make the first move, but before I even get close, Tommy slams his foot down on the phone. The sound of it shattering under the heel of his shoe is muted and unspectacular, but my heart drops to my stomach anyway. Mom is going to kill me. Brady’s sizzle reel footage is gone. And with less than two weeks of school left, I’m pretty sure I just got my second strike from Vice Principal Grayson.
19
THE MIDDLE SCHOOL JUSTICE SYSTEM
Tommy, Julian, and I sit silently in a row of chairs lined up in front of Mr. Grayson’s messy desk like we’re facing a firing squad. I’m in the middle and don’t l
ike being this close to Tommy. With his head tilted back, he holds a gauze bandage the school nurse gave him to his nose. Apparently Mr. Grayson decided the three of us were the most to blame for the fight. Tommy and Julian, maybe. But why me? I don’t say a word, though. It’s something I’ve learned the hard way in my career.
Michael Pruitt Business Tip #365: During tense business negotiations, never be the first one to speak, or you’ll lose the upper hand.
“He hit me for no reason, Coach,” Tommy says with a slight pout in his voice.
I’m glad Tommy was the one who just lost the upper hand, but I would’ve been happy, too, if it had been the vice principal. I guess Mr. Grayson sat me in the middle to keep them apart, but Tommy and Julian act like I’m not here anyway.
Julian points at Tommy. “He pushed Colton Sanford down on the ground. Colton didn’t even do anything. It was a hate crime.”
Julian folds his arms over his chest.
“Fat freak,” Tommy mumbles.
“That’s enough,” Mr. Grayson barks.
Julian and Tommy both go silent. Mr. Grayson exhales through his nose and runs a hand over his shiny bald head. I don’t know why. Maybe he likes to pretend he still has hair. He looks directly at me. Why is he looking at me?
“What was your role in all this, Pruitt?” Mr. Grayson asks.
I knew he was trying to pin this on me. The vice principal has never liked me for some reason. Maybe he’s a homophobe with good gaydar.
I shrug. “All I did was try to get Trace and Colby off Julian after they tackled him.”
The way Mr. Grayson looks at me with cold eyes and little teeth showing like a ferret makes me wonder if I need a lawyer. There really should be lawyers for kids who are sent to the vice principal’s office, to make sure they get a fair trial. Especially when the vice principal is a suspected homophobe, and the assistant basketball coach, and your drag-kid client just gave the captain of the team a bloody nose. I would probably be a super-crazy-good lawyer. I could even start my own firm to help kids who get into trouble at school:
