Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Not Growing Up

by Tommy Greenwald

  “Where are Katie and Hannah?”

  Jake shrugged. “Probably still in the parking lot, trying to figure out how to walk in heels.” We all laughed and shook our heads. The person who invented high-heeled shoes was as much of a sadist as the person who invented ties.

  “There’s Hannah,” Nareem said, pointing. She was coming down the aisle with her parents, and yup, Teddy. He saw me and grinned.

  “Another swim later, birthday boy?”

  I ignored him.

  “Hey, that reminds me,” Jake said. “Are you mad that your birthday is on the same day as graduation?”

  “Well, I’m not overly thrilled about it, to tell you the truth.” I checked to see if my parents were looking, and then I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt. I can only describe the feeling as similar to what a person probably feels when they’re let out of jail after twenty-five years. “But I am having a separate birthday party next weekend, so we’re all good there,” I added. “It’s gonna be at Chow’s Palace.” I had recently developed an obsession with Chinese food, especially spare ribs. You haven’t lived until you’ve had Chow’s spare ribs.

  I was scanning the crowd, looking for Katie and her parents, when the lights dimmed and the crowd hushed. A light went up on the stage, and there was our principal, Mrs. Sleep, standing at the microphone.

  “If I could have your attention, please,” she said, in that deep voice that had scared the heck out of me for years. “Welcome students, faculty, parents, family, and friends. On the day when our students will soon leave us to go on to bigger and better things, we pause to stop, and reflect, and honor those among us who have accomplished a special measure of achievement. Welcome to the thirty-ninth annual Eastport Middle School Awards Ceremony!”

  The program began, and the first batch of awards was handed out. Nareem won the Math Award, for solving some theorem that probably would have stumped Albert Einstein. Hannah won the School Spirit Award, which makes sense, since she was the most loved and admired student in the whole school (see, it wasn’t just me). Big Phil Manning won the Sportsman Award, maybe because if they didn’t give it to him, he would have picked up Mr. Radonski and tossed him into a garbage can. And Jake Katz won the Science Award, for inventing a gadget that allows you to exercise while petting your dog. Everybody had to give a little speech after they got their prize—kind of like the Academy Awards, I guess, but without the huge orchestra—but nobody said anything particularly interesting except for Celia Barbarossa, who got the Music Award and then proceeded to tell everyone that she was giving up the flute and taking up competitive wind-surfing. I think she may have even shocked her parents with that one.

  As more and more prizes were handed out and the ceremony wound down, I sat there, waiting and wondering. What awards were left? What award could I possibly win? Was there some sort of Wisenheimer Award?

  Mrs. Sleep came up to the podium. “And now, I’d like to introduce Ms. Reedy.”

  I clapped loudly. Ms. Reedy was the librarian and reading and writing tutor, so I wouldn’t blame you for thinking she was my enemy. But for some reason, she wasn’t. She wasn’t even my frenemy. The truth was, she was one of my favorite people at school. I wondered who would get the Library Award. Maybe I would get the Anti-Library Award.

  Ms. Reedy cleared her throat. “It is my honor and privilege to give out the last award of the day, on behalf of the English department and library staff here at EMS.”

  My heart started pounding.

  “This is the Creative Writing Award, and it goes to Charlie Joe Jackson.”

  Wait, WHAT?!?!

  You know how sometimes, you have this thing where you hear something, and then you kind of feel your brain start to float away, so that it’s almost like you’re watching everything—including yourself—from ten feet above the ground? I think they call it an “out of body experience.” Well, that was what I started having, as soon as I heard my name called.

  Other kids started slapping me on the back, as I pushed myself up out of my chair. My mom jumped up and gave me a big hug, while my dad kept repeating, “I knew you could do it! I knew you could do it!” I high-fived a few other people walking down the aisle, and felt my head buzzing with disbelief as I climbed the stairs to the stage.

  “Stand right here next to me,” Ms. Reedy instructed.

  I did as I was told.

  “Charlie Joe is receiving this award for a story he wrote as part of a class assignment,” she went on. “Inspired by his dogs Moose and Coco, it was a lovely little adventure about two best friends, and I just thought it was the most delicious story.” She looked at me and smiled. “And I know Charlie Joe does love those animals.” I thought of them out in the car, snoozing away. I always wondered why they wanted to come with us so they could wait for hours in a cramped car, instead of just relaxing on the couch at home. Probably because they wanted to be with us as much as possible. Which made sense: I wanted to be with them as much as possible, too.

  “And now,” said Ms. Reedy, “I’d like to present this award—which is a laminated copy of the story and a small plaque—to Charlie Joe.”

  She handed me the plaque and the story, and hugged me. As I hugged her back, a strange thought occurred to me. I realized that it was entirely possible that as soon as the ceremony was over, I would never set foot in that room again.

  “Thanks a lot,” I said. “I really can’t believe this. Thank you to everyone who made this possible, especially my teachers and my parents. I know it’s no secret that I never liked to read very much, so to get a writing award is kind of unbelievable. And on my birthday, and on graduation day, it’s all really incredible.”

  I paused as everyone applauded. I looked around the room at the clapping people, and I thought of more things that would never happen again. Ms. Ferrell would never again tell me that I needed to work hard to fulfill my potential. Mr. Radonski would never again ask me to throw a ball with my left hand, even though I’m a righty. And Mrs. Sleep would never again call me into her office and cause little beads of sweat to pop out on my forehead.

  Believe it or not, I was really going to miss those beads of sweat.

  The next thing that came out of my mouth was a surprise to everyone, especially me.

  “But to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I’m ready to graduate just yet.”

  The applause slowly died down, as people looked up at me curiously.

  “This school is great,” I went on. “The people are nice and have your best interests at heart. They want you to succeed, but they also want you to have fun. It’s like, the best place in the world to be a kid.”

  Ms. Reedy gave me a gentle nudge and whispered, “Charlie Joe, that’s lovely, but we need to close the ceremony.”

  “Who wants to stay here for a while?” I suddenly blurted out.

  I waited, but there were no takers. “We could go … I don’t know … to the gym! Let’s have one last Open Gym!” Open Gym was awesome—the school would open up the gym from 2:00 to 4:00 every Saturday during the winter for all middle school kids in town, and we’d shoot hoops, maybe a little dodgeball, and just hang out. “Open Gym! One quick game of three-on-three! Who’s with me?”

  “Charlie Joe, that is a very sweet idea—” Ms. Reedy began, but she was immediately interrupted.

  “I’m in,” a voice rang out. “I’ll totally go to the gym!”

  I looked out into the audience and saw Teddy Spivero standing up and waving his arms around like a maniac. “Let’s go to the gym and like, never leave!”

  “Not helpful,” I told Teddy.

  “Charlie Joe, what are you doing?” Hannah called out.

  “I don’t know,” I said, laughing nervously. “I really don’t. I just really want to play some basketball right now.”

  Without waiting for an answer that I knew wasn’t coming anyway, I walked to the edge of the stage, jumped down, and headed up the aisle toward the exit. “Who’s coming to the gym with me?”

&n
bsp; I took five lonely steps in complete silence. Then Jake Katz, who really was a ridiculously good friend, stood up. “I’ll go!” he said. Then he shot a look at his mom, who was scowling. “I’ll be back in five minutes,” he added.

  “I’ll go, too,” said Hannah.

  “And me,” said Katie.

  “And I as well,” added Nareem.

  “Let’s go to the gym!” I shouted.

  Pretty soon, about twenty kids were up out of their seats, following me out of the auditorium. We broke into a run to make sure we were out of there before our parents fully realized what was happening.

  “What are people who don’t like basketball going to do?” asked a nice girl named Eden Lloyd, who’d won an art award for making a life-size sculpture of an aardvark.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.” Then a voice behind me started a chant. “East-port Mid-dle! East-port Mid-dle!” All the other kids joined in. “EAST-PORT MID-DLE! EAST-PORT MID-DLE!”

  Soon we were racing down the hall to the gym. A bunch of kids were laughing, and some were singing our school song: We are the Lions, the mighty mighty Lions, Come inside! Feel the pride!

  I looked around and couldn’t believe it. My weird idea to have one last Open Gym turned out to mean something to people!

  It turned out I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t quite ready to leave.

  We arrived at the gym, and with a flourish, I put my hand on the door.

  “Let’s do this!” I shouted, and a cheer went up. I yanked on one of the doors.

  It was locked.

  “Huh?” That was weird. The gym doors were never locked.

  I pulled again. Nothing.

  “Let me try,” said Phil Manning, the strongest kid in the school. His face turned red as he pulled, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  I looked down the hall and saw Johnny, one of the custodians, fixing a window. “Johnny! Can you please let us into the gym?” I called. But Johnny shook his head.

  “Can’t, sorry bud,” he said. “Doctor’s orders.” He always called Mrs. Sleep “doctor,” for some reason.

  By now, the kids behind me were starting to get a little restless. It had been a fun little game to play, marching down to the gym to pledge our allegiance to the school, but it was beginning to dawn on people that the graduation itself was going to start in an hour and a half. And there was still a little refreshment gathering in the courtyard after the awards ceremony.

  “I guess we should go back,” said Jake, who knew his mother would be stampeding down the hall any second.

  “No!” I said. “Let’s stay here!”

  “We can’t stay here forever, Charlie Joe,” Katie said. “You know that.”

  I looked down the hall. Sure enough, the parents were coming. Mrs. Sleep and Mrs. Katz were leading the way.

  I desperately yanked at the door. “Come on!”

  A few seconds later I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I turned around and saw Ms. Ferrell standing there. “Charlie Joe,” she said, gently. “What you said, and what you’re doing—it’s so sweet. But life goes on. You know that. And part of life is growing up, and moving on. You’re going to do great things in high school; I know it. So let’s celebrate our wonderful time here at Eastport Middle, and then get ready for the next great chapter in our lives. Okay?”

  I looked up at her. She’d been with me every step of the way so far—ever since kindergarten, when she was my teacher. She always had my back, even when she was mad at me for not trying hard enough in school.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m ready.”

  The awards ceremony was done. The gym was locked.

  And my days as an Eastport Middle School student were over.

  13

  4:47 pm

  After the awards ceremony, and after people finished talking about my sweet but lame attempt at extending my middle school career, we all gathered in the courtyard of the school for a short reception. The best part was that I was allowed to bring the dogs.

  “Moose! Coco!” I called as I ran to the car. “Let’s go get some cheese and crackers!”

  I knew something was wrong with Moose as soon as I opened the door to the car. Coco jumped up, the way she always does, but Moose looked up at me groggily. His eyes were only half open. And his tail wasn’t thumping a mile a minute, the way it usually did.

  “Buddy? Everything okay?” I scratched behind his left ear, which was his favorite spot. It usually caused him to let out a long, satisfied groan.

  But this time, nothing.

  “Come on Moo-moo, out of the car!” I urged him. “Let’s get some fresh air.” I was beginning to get a bad feeling. I looked around to see where my mom and dad were, but they were nowhere in sight.

  Moose looked at me, then pushed himself up and jumped out of the car. I knew he was doing it just for me, though, because his heart wasn’t in it.

  As we slowly walked to the reception, I went back over the earlier part of the day in my mind. I remembered how when Moose came in to wake me up, he was a little lethargic. And then, at the baseball field, he got tired faster than usual and lay down in the shade. Of course, I didn’t think much of it at the time, because Moose is a pretty old dog. But now I was realizing that Moose was trying to tell me something.

  He was trying to tell me he was sick.

  “Let’s go get some treats,” I said. He looked up at me and gave me a halfhearted wag. That’s the thing about dogs. Even when they’re not feeling well, all they care about is making you happy.

  Coco was nudging her big brother in the ear, trying to make sure he was okay. We walked around the courtyard until we found my parents, who were standing with Megan and talking to the drama teacher, Mr. Twipple.

  “Mom? Dad? I think there might be something wrong with Moose.”

  “Like what?” asked my dad. He bent down to take a look. “You okay, big guy?” He scratched Moose’s ear. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, but we’ll keep an eye on him,” Dad told me. “Maybe we shouldn’t keep taking him everywhere, it’s a lot of work for him to get in and out of the car all day long.”

  “And you need to stop feeding him all that gross food,” Megan added. “You’re not doing him any favors, you know.”

  “Stop saying that!” I snapped. I suddenly got a scared feeling that maybe Megan had been right all along.

  “Ready for high school, Charlie Joe?” asked Mr. Twipple. “Are you going to try out for the shows? It gets pretty intense up there, you’re going to really have to be on your game.”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “I haven’t really thought about it.” The truth was, I had thought about it. In fact, I had thought about it a lot. It would be so cool to be in a high school show. The problem was, the whole idea made me nervous. Because I knew that Mr. Twipple was right—it was intense. Just like everything else about high school.

  “Well, you’re definitely good enough,” Mr. Twipple said. “You’ve got the talent. Now go show them what you’ve got.”

  “I’ll try.”

  I was figuring out how to change the subject when Katie, Hannah, and Nareem came by. Boy, was I glad to see them.

  Nareem shook his head. “Charlie Joe! That was hilarious in there! Only you would have the nerve to stage a sit-in at the junior high school gym!”

  “What’s a sit-in?” I asked. “I just wanted to play one last game of basketball.”

  Before Nareem could answer, Mr. Radonski ran up and smacked me on the back. “Hard to figure you out, little man. You spent three years walking around school acting like you’d rather be anywhere else, and then when the time comes, you don’t want to leave! What’s that about?”

  I shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

  “I’ll tell you,” my mom said. “Charlie Joe may have moaned and groaned about school, but he loved it here. He really, truly loved it here.”

  I thought about that for a second. “I guess that’s true.”

  “I loved it her
e, too,” Katie said. “I’m going to miss it a lot.”

  “Me, too,” Hannah agreed.

  “Except the soggy fish sticks,” I said. “I’m not going to miss them at all.”

  “I can’t believe you even ate those things,” laughed Katie.

  I licked my lips. “It was all about the tartar sauce.”

  And just like that, we were off and running, telling stories about the gross food, the boiling hot classrooms in the winter, the time there was the leak in the gym and the whole floor got warped, the time a mouse ran across the stage of the auditorium during a school assembly, which made everyone scream until Mrs. Sleep chased the mouse all the way to the art room, where she trapped it in an old shoe box, took it outside, and set it free in the woods behind the school while everyone cheered.

  We told stories, and laughed and laughed, and suddenly it felt like things were going to be okay. Middle school was great, but high school would be great, too. And I bet the stories would end up being just as amazing.

  Hannah was in the middle of telling everyone about the time her school bus got stuck in the mud during an intense rain storm, which meant all the kids had to walk back to school while it was pouring, when Moose suddenly started making this weird wheezing sound.

  We all looked down. “What is it, boy?” said my dad. He looked concerned.

  Moose kept wheezing. “Dad,” I said, “we should take him home.”

  “Good idea.” Moose was lying down, so my dad tried to get him to his feet. “Come on Moose, let’s go. Let’s go home and get some treats.” But Moose wouldn’t get up. His legs were trembling, and there was a little bit of drool coming out of his mouth.

  My mom bent down and looked into Moose’s eyes. They were glassy. “Moose isn’t well,” said my mom. “We need to take him in.”

  Tears sprung to the back of my eyes. “Take him in? What does that mean? Take him in where? I have graduation in an hour!”

  “I’ll go,” my dad told my mom. Then he looked at me. “I need to take him to the vet, just to see what’s going on. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll meet you guys back here.”