The Barftastic Life of Louie Burger

by Jenny Meyerhoff

  “Funny,” I say, but I can’t bring myself to laugh. I want to go home, or to play with Ruby and Henry—anything other than hang out with the Kenji Okada Fan Club.

  Thermos closes the magazine and returns it to Nick’s bookshelf. Then they both look at me like I’m supposed to say something.

  “What should we do?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” says Nick, standing up. “Thermos and I were going to work on our hero project, but I guess we’ll do that another day. What do you want to do?”

  “Louie should do his act,” says Thermos.

  Nick looks embarrassed. “Louie only does his comedy in private.”

  “You’ve never seen it?” she asks him.

  “I don’t perform in front of other people.” The closest I’ve come is the time I performed for Ruby’s Prance ’n’ Nicker Unicorns. They kept whinnying before I got to the punch lines.

  “No offense,” Thermos says, “but that’s kind of weird. I’ve never heard of a comedian who doesn’t perform.”

  Thermos’s words hit me directly in the gut. She’s right. If I’m going to be a real comedian, I have to perform for people, never mind that my skin has taken on the consistency of room-temperature baloney and my earlobes have started sweating.

  Nick looks like he swallowed something strange. “Let’s hang out in my backyard,” he says. I don’t know if he’s trying to help me, or help himself, but Lou’s voice is in my head again: It’s now or never, kid.

  “No,” I say, my breath heaving in my chest. “Thermos is right.”

  I’m either going to be great, or I’ll be so bad they’ll both barf. Fail spectacularly!

  I clear my throat. The floor bobs and sways.

  “I’m going to start with…” A wave of fear sweeps over me and I have to begin again.

  “I’m going to start with … uh…” My mind goes blank. I think I even hear crickets chirping.

  “With … uh … with…”

  Nothing. I can’t remember a single bit from my entire act. Not a joke, not a song parody, not a gag.

  There is nothing spectacular about forgetting your jokes.

  The door to Nick’s room bursts open and Ruby and Henry barge in.

  “We’re bored of restaurant,” Henry announces.

  “I have the best idea,” Ruby says. “Want to do a unicorn fashion show?”

  “Go away,” Nick answers. “We need privacy.”

  “Yeah,” Thermos echoes. “Louie’s doing his act.”

  Ruby looks back and forth between Nick, Thermos, and me with her mouth hanging open. Then she sits down and pats the floor next to her. “Have your seat, Henry. Ladies and gentlemen … Louie Burger!”

  I shake my head. “You won’t get it,” I say. “I don’t want you interrupting the whole time.”

  “I won’t binterrupt!” Ruby says. “You binterrupted yourself.”

  I know she will, but I don’t want to argue with my sister while everyone watches.

  “Fine. I’m going to start with ‘The Burp Song,’” I say. “I wrote it to the tune of The Addams Family theme song. That’s a movie from a long time ago, and a TV show from a long, long time ago.”

  I take a deep breath, because you need a lot of air to do the fake burps at the end of the song, and I start to sing, never once moving my eyes away from Ruby.

  As I finish, my heart thuds so loudly in my chest I’m sure everyone can hear it, because there’s no other sound in the room. But even with my heart racing, I feel like the king of the stage. I nailed my song! Ruby jumps up clapping, and Nick and Thermos start fake burping, and Henry says, “Will you teach me how to do that?”

  My heart rate returns to normal. I just did part of my act out loud and I didn’t burst into flames or shrivel like a raisin or get booed off the stage.

  “That was funny.” Nick almost sounds surprised.

  “It was great,” Thermos says. “You should audition for the talent show.”

  Ryan Rakefield’s face fills my mind. Singing a silly song in Nick’s bedroom is nowhere near the same thing as standing up in front of a crowd of people who think I’m a weirdo. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on,” Thermos says. “You’ll be great. Nick and I will be there, too.”

  “You will?”

  “Sure. We have to go to the audition anyway since we’re going to do a pitching demonstration together.”

  Thermos is standing in front of me, still talking, but time slows down and her words become stretched and distorted in my head.

  Aaaa piiitchhhinggg demmmonnsstraationnn.

  “You’ll see,” she continues, unaware of the blip in the space-time continuum. “Doing your act at the audition won’t be any different from doing it today.”

  I nod my head at her, though I’m not sure why. Inside, all I can think is, Yes it will. Because before this moment, I only thought that Nick had a new best friend. Now I’m sure of it.

  Make New Friends but Keep the Old

  Ever hear that song about making new friends? It’s supposed to be about being friends with your old friends even when you make new friends, but the truth is right there in plain English in the middle of the song: One is silver and the other’s gold. Those two friends aren’t equal. One comes in first place and the other is just a runner-up friend.

  Here’s what the lyrics of the song should be:

  New friends stink,

  Old friends are true.

  Don’t wreck friendship

  By adding more to two.

  NEVER TRUST A GIRL

  Tuesday afternoon before dismissal, Mrs. Adler makes an announcement.

  “Auditions for the Back-to-School Bonanza are tomorrow. Don’t worry if your act isn’t complete. Anyone who auditions will make the show, but the other teachers and I need to approve your content. It will also be your chance to let us know if you will need a microphone or speakers.”

  The bell rings, and everyone runs for the door.

  “I hope all of you will consider participating,” Mrs. Adler calls after us.

  I race to my locker, but of course I don’t get there before Thermos. She’s already shoving books into her backpack when I step up behind her. As she slams the door, I glimpse a pile of hair bows shoved in the bottom corner. I open my locker while Thermos steps back.

  “Make way for the best act in the talent show,” Ryan shouts as he and Jamal walk down the hallway.

  “I’m sure your act is better than theirs,” Thermos says as they pass us. Why is her voice always so loud?

  “No way!” Ryan pushes Thermos aside and leans down to me. “You’re going to be in the show?” he asks me. “What’s your talent? Annoying the audience?”

  What’s yours? I want to say, Making fun of the audience? But my vocal cords are paralyzed. Then Thermos answers for me. “Louie’s a stand-up comedian.”

  Ryan’s backpack slides to the floor and he has to hold his sides from laughter. “Good one,” he says to Thermos. “You sure you’re not the comedian?”

  Jamal laughs.

  I want to shove cream pies in both their faces or spray their pants with seltzer water or at least tell them to go barf up a tree, but I can’t, because their laughter has me frozen. This is what will happen if I do my act. Ryan will start heckling me. And then the audience will join in.

  “He’s good,” Thermos tells Ryan. “Way better than you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Ryan’s face gets serious. He hikes his backpack high on his shoulders. “I’m doing comedy, too. Jamal and I are going to do Abbott and Costello’s Who’s on First!”

  Real comedy. Ari was right.

  “Louie doesn’t need to copy someone else’s jokes,” Thermos says. “He’s got his own.”

  Ryan looks me up and down like I’m a giant bag of barf. “We’ll find out tomorrow,” he says. “At the audition.”

  My knees buckle. I need to get out of the hallway as quickly as possible, and I’m not coming back to school until the Bonanza is over. Thermos is
insane.

  I fling my backpack over my shoulder. Unfortunately, it is so heavy it spins me in a circle, and I bump my elbow on my locker door. Ow.

  Ryan laughs. “Nice move, Geekburger.” He walks away before I can think of a comeback.

  “Are you okay?” Thermos asks me when Ryan is out of earshot. “You look kind of green.”

  I feel kind of unconscious. “Why did you say that stuff?”

  “What stuff?” she asks, confused.

  “That stuff to Ryan!” My voice squeaks and several people in the hallway turn and stare. “About me and my act.”

  Nick bounds over. “What about you and your act?”

  “It’s trash talk,” Thermos says. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “What’s trash talk?” Nick asks.

  “Thermos ruined my life,” I say, and I leave school alone.

  “Louie!” Ruby calls after me as I burst through the doors to the playground and storm past the curly slide. “Wait!”

  I keep walking, but she catches up with me. “Why aren’t we walking with Nick and Henry?” she asks.

  “Because I need to think,” I tell her.

  “About what?”

  “About auditioning for the talent show. Now shhh.” I bite on a knuckle and go back to my thoughts, while Ruby matches her steps to mine, and for once in her life actually does what I ask.

  Okay, just because Thermos told Ryan about my act doesn’t mean I have to audition. I could pretend Thermos is insane, that she made the whole thing up. I could hide in the bathroom and never come out. Or I could tell the truth: Thermos said I was auditioning, but she was wrong.

  There’s one problem. If I don’t do my act, Ryan will tease me about it for the rest of my life. Of course, he’ll tease me for the rest of my life either way. But his teasing me about being too chicken to perform will be worse than anything he ever teased me about before because it’ll be true. The only way to shut him up is to do my act.

  “Are you still thinking about auditioning?” Ruby whispers as we turn onto our block.

  “Yes,” I say. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  “Because, if you want, I will let you have my lucky unicorn. His name is Louie.”

  “Thanks, Ruby, but unicorns aren’t lucky. They are extinct.”

  “Okay,” says Ruby, but her tone of voice means that I’m making a huge mistake. “You can change your mind tomorrow. Unicorns are very powerful.”

  I know I need something to help me through my act, but there is no way a sparkly purple horse with a pink horn on top of its head is the key to my success. No way.

  THE AUDITION

  When I wake up the next morning I realize that unicorns may be the sappiest toys on the planet, but, if there is a chance that they can help me with my act, they are my new favorite thing. While Ruby is brushing her teeth, I sneak into her room and find the tiniest unicorn in her collection. Its body is smaller than a quarter, though its horn is much bigger than you’d think. I shove it into my back pocket and sneak away. Ruby would have lent it to me if I’d asked, but I don’t want anyone to know that I have it, and Ruby can’t keep a secret.

  For the whole day, every time I sit down, I feel like I’m getting a measles shot in my butt. It doesn’t make me feel any braver, and when the final bell rings at the end of the day, I take the unicorn out and shove it in my desk.

  Auditions are in the gym immediately after school, but I’m so nervous, I hide in the bathroom for ten minutes. When I finally get there, the auditioning fifth graders are waiting on the floor.

  Nick and Thermos wave me over. Thermos is wearing catcher’s gear, the mask resting on top of her head.

  “You ready?” she asks me when I sit down.

  I’m ready to run through the hallways screaming, but I don’t say that.

  Nick makes a sympathetic face. “Sing your song like you did in my room. Piece of cake.”

  More than half the fifth grade is auditioning. Mrs. Adler takes the stage and tells us to be quiet.

  “There are so many of you, we’ve split you into audition groups based on your act. Musical groups will go with Mrs. Hotchkiss. Dancing, gymnastics, and other sports go with Mr. Lamb. And all other acts will be with me.”

  My left foot starts to shake. Groups wasn’t part of the plan.

  Thermos and Nick stand up and follow Mr. Lamb to the back of the gym. I’m on my own.

  My pulse pounds in my temples and I look around to see who I have to audition with. A group doing a Monty Python skit, two magicians, a juggler, some mimes, a boy who spins plates, and Ryan and Jamal.

  Mrs. Adler calls us up one group at a time. We have to describe our act and perform one minute of it. In the real show we will perform for three minutes. The Monty Python kids go first. I don’t pay attention. I already know the skit, and I need to concentrate on breathing. Today, I have two goals: stay alive and do my act.

  After the Monty Python kids finish, Owen the plate spinner goes. He breaks five plates, and Mrs. Adler tells us not to move until JoAnne, the custodian, has swept up the shards. Then she tells Owen to practice more.

  “Louie Burger, you’re next,” Mrs. Adler announces after JoAnne leaves.

  I stand up, and my shaky left foot sends wiggles through my legs and into my voice box. I’m going to sound like I’m sitting on a washing machine.

  I gulp as Ryan elbows Jamal.

  “This song is called ‘The Burp Song,’” I whisper. When I try to sing, nothing comes out.

  At first no one says anything, but I can sense everyone wondering what’s going on. Ryan has his hand over his mouth, like he’s trying not to laugh.

  “Louie,” Mrs. Adler says, “would you rather tell us about your act?”

  I would, but I can’t take my eyes away from Ryan. He leans over to Jamal and says, “Thermos was right. He is hysterical.”

  “Louie?” Mrs. Adler says again. “Are you okay?”

  The gym is so quiet you could hear a feather drop … in Antarctica. Both of the other groups have stopped their auditions and are watching me, too.

  Then, from the other side of the room, I hear my song.

  “I drink a can of soda…”

  It’s Thermos.

  “I drink a can of soda…” she sings again.

  I close my eyes. I remember the words now, but my voice box is hammered shut. Thermos sings the whole song:

  I drink a can of soda

  And make a sound like Yoda.

  My stomach might explode-a.

  I really have to burp.

  She even does the burps at the end. People laugh.

  Mrs. Adler says, “Louie, would you stay after the auditions are over? I’d like to talk to you.”

  I nod my head even though it feels like my scalp has caught fire. Actually, if my head was on fire, at least I could say I failed spectacularly. I was just the most unfunny comedian in the history of comedians.

  Ryan and Jamal press their lips together like they are struggling not to burst out laughing. I can’t be in the gym for another second. I grab my bag and head for the hallway.

  “Louie!” I hear Mrs. Adler shout, but I don’t turn around. When I get to the hallway, I slump down against a wall.

  “Louie?” Mrs. Adler pokes her head out of the gym, and when she sees where I’m sitting, she comes over and sits next to me. “You should be proud of yourself for trying out today.”

  “I couldn’t do it.”

  “You have stage fright,” she says simply. “Lots of performers do. My brother is a musician and he has terrible stage fright.”

  “That’s impossible. You can’t be a performer if you can’t perform.”

  Mrs. Adler laughs. “No, you’re right, you can’t. But you can figure out a way to get past your stage fright. It might not go away completely, but you’ll be able to work through it. My brother does a routine before each gig to get in the right mind-set: he shakes his head, shakes his hands, then shakes his feet. That reminds his body he’s about to
perform. He tells himself that performing isn’t about talent, it’s about giving the audience a present of music. Finally, he focuses on one person in the audience. Usually by the third song his stage fright is gone.”

  I look at my feet and squeak my shoes against the floor. “Comedy is probably different from music.”

  “You might be right,” she answers. “But his tips helped me when I first started teaching and felt nervous about getting up in front of my class.”

  I don’t know what to say. Maybe the tips work for music and teaching because the audience listens quietly for both of those things. Making people laugh is different.

  “Well,” she says, standing up, “if all else fails, you could try imagining the audience in their underclothes.”

  “Underwear.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You should say underwear instead of underclothes. It’s funnier.”

  Mrs. Adler laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She looks over her shoulder at the gym. “I need to get back to the auditions. Do you want to come with me?”

  I shake my head.

  “Okay,” she says. “I understand. But promise me you’ll think about what I said. You can do this. It might not go perfectly at first, but every time you try, it will get better.”

  I nod, because that’s what she’s expecting, but inside I’m shaking my head. I can only see my stage fright getting worse, because now bombing isn’t an imaginary thing, it’s a real thing. And it could happen again.

  “Great,” she says, then she goes back into the gym. I stand up and start walking home. When I get there I plan to take the posters down from the walls of my closet and tell my dad to start the demolition. It’s safer not to be a comedian.

  When I reach my street my mom’s car is out front. Both my parents park in the driveway because our garage is so crowded with junk. I wonder why she’s home early. At first I think it must be because of what happened at my audition, but then I realize that even if Mrs. Adler had called her right away, Mom couldn’t have gotten home that fast.