Out of Whack

by Jeff Strand

  “To get any misunderstandings out of the way first, I did not quit school and fly down here to join you. But I missed you, Seth. And I missed you too, Travis, to a much lesser degree. I couldn’t not be here for your show.”

  “It should have been our show,” I said.

  “Well, technically it was,” said Travis, “though in sort of a forced, awkward kind of way.”

  “I’m sorry, Seth,” said Laura. “I can’t take back my decision entirely, but God, I hate not having you around, and I hate not being part of the troupe.”

  “What do you mean by ‘entirely’?” I asked.

  “At the end of the semester I could take a year off and move down here with you guys. If that year is worth it, I could take another year off, or transfer to a school down here, or something, anything so that we’re not breaking up. Both you and me, and Out of Whack.”

  I looked at Travis. “I don’t want to stay here. I vote we fly back to Trade Point with Laura, and keep the troupe together no matter what. The paperwork at the university is so slow that we can go back to our classes as if nothing happened. When the semester is over, we’ll decide what we want to do. But only as a team.”

  Travis thought about it for a moment. “Considering how badly we just bombed, I think getting out of the state is a good idea. Group hug!”

  We all hugged.

  The door opened, and Martin peeked inside. “Was it just me, or was there a substantial lack of mirth coming from that audience?”

  “It was just you, Martin,” I said. “They loved it. Listen, we appreciate everything you’ve done for us, but we’re leaving this place. We’ll give you a call next time we’re in town.”

  “Sounds fine,” said Martin. “You know, I owned a dog like Champion once, but he tended to bite me a lot and would have just let me drown.”

  Suddenly the stage manager shoved past him. “What the hell happened out there?” he asked, absolutely furious. “I should kick your asses!”

  “To the airport!” I said, and we fled from the studio as a team.

  Epilogue

  [ Travis sits on a couch, watching television. ]

  NARRATOR: This man is bored.

  [ A gunshot rings out. Travis falls off the couch, dead. ]

  NARRATOR: This man is no longer bored.

  CAPTION: Death. The cure for boredom.

  “Cut!” said the director. “Good fall, Travis. Nice touch with the lolling tongue. Okay, everyone, let’s take five!”

  I set down the megaphone I’d been using to give all of my directorial commands with, much to the annoyance of Travis and Laura. Dylan, a film major who’d agreed to help us videotape Out of Whack: Sort of The Motion Picture, lowered his camera and frowned.

  “I think the lighting was bad,” he said. “I’ll have to play it back and see.”

  “Hop to it,” I said, then lifted the megaphone to my mouth again. “Travis, get off the floor, your scene is over.”

  Okay, this wasn’t going to be playing in theatres around the nation, but it was fun. In between statewide comedy club performances and videotaping our “movie,” Out of Whack was taking up most of our non-schoolwork-related time.

  I had achieved one other small measure of personal success. When we returned from Los Angeles, there’d been a large envelope waiting for me. Inside, with a cover depicting a man with a kitten shoved up his nose, was the issue of Gleefully Disturbed containing my story. My name was spelled wrong.

  Laura wrapped her arms around me. “Y’think I can become a big star by sleeping with the director?”

  “That’s what I hear,” I replied, giving her a nice, lingering kiss.

  Most of our non-schoolwork-related time.

  So, Laura and I were in love. Out of Whack was on the road to...something good, we hoped. Travis was still on the floor being a dweeb.

  Things were working out pretty well.

  And now this book is over.

  You’ve been a great reader, and I thank you for your attention. Now go read Pride and Prejudice to make up for this. Quickly.

  The End

  NOTE: Several animals were harmed during the writing of this book, but none of them were cute.

  Jeff Strand

  Jeff Strand is the best-selling, award-winning, and incredibly demented author of such novels as Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary), Single White Psychopath Seeks Same, and How to Rescue a Dead Princess. He wrote Out of Whack as a statement of protest against his tiny bank account. You can visit his Seriously Whacked website at http://www.jeffstrand.com.