Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Not Growing Up
Page 10
I didn’t say anything. I just smiled.
“No way.”
“A hundred and one, actually, I need to save one for Moose. He loves ice cream sandwiches.”
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe. But it’s my birthday, and people are allowed to be insane on their birthdays. Come on.”
Timmy sighed, shook his head, glanced over to see if his parents were watching—they weren’t, because they were busy talking to some other lacrosse parents—then followed me into the school.
We made a beeline straight for the cafeteria, where I saw my favorite lunch lady, Sheila, packing stuff up for the summer. Sheila loved her cafeteria. She was awesome, and sweet, and I was going to miss her a lot.
Right now, though, I needed to tell her something.
“Sheila? They need you outside.”
She looked confused. “Seriously? Who would need me out there? There’s no food service today.”
“I guess someone found some hot dog buns underneath the bleachers, and they want to know if they’re yours.”
“That makes no sense,” Sheila muttered, “but okay.” That was another thing I loved about Sheila. She trusted everyone. Even me.
As soon as Sheila was gone, I sprinted into the back of the kitchen, where the freezer was. I opened it up, and sure enough, there they were: a ton of hard, icy, so-frozen-they-were-steaming, ice cream sandwiches.
“Grab a couple of boxes,” I told Timmy. “Let’s bring them outside.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
I reached down to grab a few boxes myself, and immediately realized there was one problem: the boxes were so frozen, they were stuck to the side of the freezer. I pulled and pulled, but those boxes weren’t going anywhere.
“Oh, great,” Timmy said, looking around nervously.
“No problem. That’s what pockets are for.” I ripped open the boxes, grabbed as many ice cream sandwiches as I could, and stuffed them inside my pants, shirt, and jacket pockets. Timmy did the same. Altogether, I think we got out of there with about twenty-five ice cream sandwiches. Not enough to feed the whole class, of course, but enough to give a few of our closest friends a nice refreshing treat. And enough to make my poor legs very cold.
I was just closing up the freezer when I heard a voice behind me.
“Hungry?”
We froze, just like those ice cream sandwiches in our pockets. I knew that voice. Oh boy, did I know that voice.
“I told you!” Timmy hissed at me, which didn’t help at all.
We turned around and Mrs. Sleep was standing there with sweet, trusting Sheila.
“Sorry, boys,” Sheila said. “She saw me hunting around for the hot dog buns. Can’t lie to Mrs. Sleep. You know how it is.”
“No, of course, Sheila,” I said. “It’s my fault for putting you in the middle of this.”
Sheila waved off my apologies. “No worries, boys.” She jerked her hand toward the principal. “It’s her you gotta be worrying about. Now, can I get back to business?”
“You bet.” Timmy and I scurried around the counter and over to where Mrs. Sleep stood. I could feel the ice cream sandwiches starting to soften in my pockets, probably from the sweat that was seeping out from all over my body.
“What were you boys looking for in there?” Mrs. Sleep asked.
“Nothing,” Timmy started to say, but I interrupted him.
“Ice cream sandwiches.” I pulled one out of my pants. It was already dripping. “We wanted to bring ice cream sandwiches out to the picture-taking party. Timmy and I have a long history with ice cream sandwiches, and it seemed like fun, but we should have asked you. I’m really sorry.”
Mrs. Sleep folded her arms. “Well, Charlie Joe, I appreciate the honesty. It seems like that’s one thing you’ve learned with us here at Eastport Middle. Possibly the only thing.” She held her hands out. “Can you return the ice cream sandwiches to me please?” I think she thought we had, like, five or six. She looked pretty surprised when, between the two of us, we piled up about thirty ice cream sandwiches in front of her.
“Oh, my,” said Mrs. Sleep.
I looked down. “Yeah. Like I said, I’m really sorry.”
As she stared down at our stolen treasure, I had one thought: Could I possibly be brought to the Principal’s Office one last time? That would have to be some kind of a record.
“Well, I’m going to tell you boys what I’m going to do,” Mrs. Sleep announced. “I’m going to give you two options.”
Uh-oh, I thought to myself. I remember the last time she gave me two options. It was after the whole Jake-reading-my-books-for-the-position-paper thing. It didn’t go well.
“Options?” Timmy asked, still looking at me with daggers in his eyes.
“The first is to write a book about how wrong it is to take something that doesn’t belong to you, even if it is just ice cream sandwiches that you’re bringing to your friends,” Mrs. Sleep said.
Oh no! Not again!!
Then the strangest thing happened: Mrs. Sleep smiled.
“However, seeing as you are graduates of this school, as of thirty minutes ago, I’m not sure it’s within my jurisdiction to suggest such an activity,” Mrs. Sleep said.
“What’s jurisdiction?” Timmy asked.
“Shush!” I told him. Things seemed to be turning our way, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
“I do believe it’s your birthday today, Charlie Joe,” Mrs. Sleep continued, “and far be it for me to rain on anyone’s parade. Therefore, I will offer you another option. And that is to invite the entire class into the cafeteria for one final event—an ice cream sandwich party!”
Timmy and I looked at each other, both thinking the same thing: Did she just say what I think she said?
“An ice cream sandwich party?” I asked. “For real?”
Mrs. Sleep started walking toward the kitchen. “I’d better warn Sheila,” she said, over her shoulder. “Now hurry up and tell your classmates, before I change my mind.”
She didn’t have to tell us twice. Timmy and I raced outside and just started yelling, “ICE CREAM SANDWICH PARTY IN THE CAFETERIA! Mrs. Sleep said so! Ice cream sandwich party in the cafeteria!”
Everyone looked at us like we were crazy, until that unmistakable voice came on over the loudspeaker.
“This is Principal Sleep. Please join us for one last farewell to the graduating class, with an Ice Cream Sandwich Party in the cafeteria. Parents and siblings welcome. Please pick up your trash after you’re done.”
Everyone looked around in happy shock, then started sprinting toward the cafeteria. The only kid who wasn’t running was Katie Friedman, who was looking at me with an odd smile on her face.
“What did you do, Charlie Joe Jackson?” she asked. “What did you do?”
I smiled back at her and shrugged.
“A high school kid never tells.”
20
7:37 pm
So this is how it ends, in the same place it began—the same place everything happens in middle school—the cafeteria.
We were all there: Timmy, Jake, Pete, Nareem, Katie, Hannah, Eliza, Phil, Celia, Mareli, Emory, Erica, and 160 other kids, scarfing down ice cream sandwiches, telling stories, making fun of each other, gossiping, laughing, screaming, having fun, and acting like kids.
“We need to sing to Charlie Joe!” someone shouted. And it began.
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday dear Charlie Joe
Happy birthday to you!
I blew out an imaginary candle on a half-eaten ice cream sandwich, and a new song began.
How old are you now?
How old are you now?
“Old enough to finally say goodbye to this school forever, and begin my journey of life!” I yelled.
Everyone cheered as Timmy smushed the rest of the ice cream sandwich into my mouth. Or, mor
e accurately, around my mouth.
“Eat it, birthday boy!” he hollered.
“Ew!” Katie said, laughing. “You two are so gross!”
“It’s the only way to live,” I told her.
She rolled her eyes, which was her classic move. “Can you at least wash your face?”
“Okay.”
After I got back from the bathroom, Katie was waiting for me.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure if she was asking if I was ready to get back to the party, ready for the summer, ready for high school, or ready for the rest of my life.
But it didn’t matter.
“Yes,” I answered.
Part Four
ONE LAST THING BEFORE I GO
21
8:10 pm
But the day wasn’t over yet.
As soon as the ice cream sandwich party was over, my parents asked me if I had any last wishes before we headed home, for my favorite birthday dinner of fried chicken, rice, applesauce, asparagus—I know, I love asparagus, it’s crazy, right??—and, of course, ice cream cake.
“One,” I said. “One more wish. Or should I say, one more stop.”
They knew exactly what I meant.
So me, my parents, and Megan piled into the car and headed over to the animal hospital. We went inside, and there was Moose, sleeping comfortably. He’d had his operation, and so of course he was on a lot of medication, so there was no way he would wake up. But he looked peaceful, and I knew he was going to get better, and that was all that mattered.
“Should we head home?” asked my mom.
“Not yet,” I said.
Megan held my hand as we went and sat down next to our dog. Then I pulled something out of my pocket that I’d been carrying with me all day—that I hadn’t told anybody about.
A book.
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain.
It was a little waterlogged, but it still worked.
“Wait, what?” said Megan.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” said my dad.
“Wow,” said my mom.
“It was always just a matter of time,” she said.
I held up my hands. “What? It’s not like I suddenly love to read or anything! I found it in my pocket! And it just so happens that Moose used to love it when mom read out loud to us when we were younger.” I held up the book. “And so, I’d like to read to him for a while, before we go home, if that’s okay with you.”
My mom kissed me on the top of the head. “It’s okay with us,” she said.
My dad chuckled. “Last time you had a Mark Twain book in your hand on your birthday, it didn’t go so well.”
“Yeah, well, I’m different now,” I said. “I’ve grown up a little.”
My mom rolled her eyes. “Since this morning?”
I smiled. “I guess so.”
We all got chairs, while I turned the light on near the dog bed that Moose was lying in, and curled up as close to him as I possibly could—just the way my mom curled up next to me and Moose, all those years ago.
Then I opened up the book.
“TOM!”
No answer.
“TOM!”
No answer.
“What’s gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!”
No answer.
After I read the first few pages, I looked up at my family. “This guy reminds me of somebody,” I said.
“I wonder who,” said my mom.
We all laughed, and I picked up the book again.
And I kept reading.
The end.
WAIT, THERE’S MORE!
I couldn’t say goodbye forever without a few last tips, right? So without further ado, may I present to you five bonus tips on life, according to yours truly, Charlie Joe Jackson.
Enjoy your journey of life. But stay young at heart forever.
Your pal,
Charlie Joe
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Special Bonus Tip On Life, #1:
NEVER DRESS UP.
Fancy clothes are overrated. So are fancy shoes, jackets, pants, dress shirts, and worst of all, ties. Leave my neck alone, people! The whole thing is the complete opposite of comfort and good sense.
My goal in life is to never get strangled by an article of clothing.
Yours should be, too.
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Special Bonus Tip On Life, #2:
TAKE AS MUCH AS YOU WANT.
You know how whenever you’re eating dessert with adults, they never take seconds? They usually say something like, “Oh no, I’m watching my weight,” or, “The days when I could eat whatever I want are long gone.” Well, guess what? You’re young enough to eat whatever you want—and as much of it as you want, too. So take that second dish of ice cream, that third bowl of pudding, or that fourth slice of cake.
Just don’t take a single bite of tomato salad.
That would be gross.
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Special Bonus Tip On Life, #3:
ALWAYS BE NICE TO YOUR TEACHERS.
Believe it or not, I loved most of my teachers. When you think about it, they serve pretty much the most important role in society—trying to figure out how to take obnoxious, annoying kids like, well, me, and turn us into productive members of society. So three cheers for all the teachers! Remember to treat them with kindness and respect!
And if you tend to drive your teachers crazy, just do what I did, and make it up to them by writing a book that says how awesome they all are.
Works every time.
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Special Bonus Tip On Life, #4:
READING CAN BE FUN!
You probably just fell on the floor.
It’s okay, I’ll wait.
I know—shocking, right? Charlie Joe Jackson, saying reading can be fun?
Well, newsflash: It’s true.
BUT … please note I didn’t say reading IS fun … I said it CAN BE fun. There’s a big difference—for me anyway. It turns out that I have found some books that I’ve enjoyed. That doesn’t mean I run to the nearest park bench to spend the afternoon reading. It just means that like everything else in life, some things take some getting used to, and if you open yourself up to new ideas, you might be surprised.
So yeah, I admit it. I kind of like reading now.
Please don’t tell anyone.
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Special Bonus Tip On Life, #5:
IT’S OKAY TO BE SAD, BUT IT’S BETTER TO BE HAPPY.
Life is a lot of things. And sometimes, it can be a little hard. And it’s totally fine to be sad, or mad, or upset, when bad things happen. But you know what? Life is also awesome. There are so many things in life that are great. So whenever you’re feeling a little down, just remember, soon you’ll be up again. You can even make a list of things that you love about life and keep it in your pocket, just to remind you that the sadness won’t last. That’s what I did. Here’s my list:
CHARLIE JOE JACKSON’S TOP TEN THINGS THAT ARE AWESOME ABOUT LIFE
1. Family
2. Having two dogs. (That’s why we have two hands—so we can pet them both at the same time)
3. Chocolate milkshakes
4. The Beatles
5. Friends
6. The moment you realize that the person you like actually likes you back
7. French fries
8. Movies
9. Making people laugh
10. Summer
P.S. You know what makes life extra double interesting? The things that are awesome and sad at the same time. There’s a word for it: Bittersweet. Here’s a very short list of my favorite bittersweet things:
CHARLIE JOE JACKSON’S TOP ONE THING THAT IS BOTH AWESOME AND SAD
1. Writing the last word on the last page in the last book of a series.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In September 2009, when I first wrote the words “Charlie Joe Jackson’s Guide To Not Reading” on a blank screen, I never in a million y
ears dreamed it would become a six-book series. I would like to thank EVERYONE who made the series a reality. I wish I could list you all by name, but inevitably I would forget one person, and it would be a really important person, and I would feel terrible. So let me just say: It has been a joy and a privilege, and I will be forever grateful.
—T.G., January 2016
By Tommy Greenwald
Pete Milano’s Guide to Being a Movie Star
Katie Friedman Gives Up Texting! (And Lives to Tell About It)
Jack Strong Takes a Stand
The Charlie Joe Jackson Series
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Guide to Not Reading
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Guide to Extra Credit
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Guide to Summer Vacation
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Guide to Making Money
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Guide to Planet Girl
Charlie Joe Jackson’s Guide to Not Growing Up
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tommy Greenwald has enjoyed reading all his life, which is why he’s appalled that his kids Charlie, Joe and Jack, would prefer getting a dental check-up to checking out a book. After years of pleading, threatening, and bribing, Tommy finally decided the only way to get his kids to read was to write a book about how to get out of reading. The result was Charlie Joe Jackson’s Guide to Not Reading. And they read it! (So they say.) The Executive Creative Director at SPOTCO, an entertainment advertising agency in New York City, Tommy lives in Connecticut with his wife, Cathy; his non-reading sons, Charlie, Joe and Jack; and his dogs, Moose and Coco. You can sign up for email updates here.
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
J. P. Coovert is the illustrator of the Charlie Joe Jackson books by Tommy Greenwald. You can sign up for email updates here.
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