The Barftastic Life of Louie Burger

by Jenny Meyerhoff

  Ruby cracks open the door and pokes her head out. “You can be Firespark.”

  “No way.” I pull my pillow over my head.

  “He’s hiding from Blackthorn,” she explains. “But the doom spies are on his tail.”

  “Ruby,” I mumble through my pillow. “Go play in your own room.”

  “I can’t,” she says. “Ari is on the phone with Danny. She kicked me out.”

  I sit up. “Who’s Danny?”

  “A magic boy from seventh grade. And she needs to be private with him.”

  So, because Ari needs privacy, I have to wake up early on a Saturday. Thank goodness she’ll have her own room back soon.

  I slip into my bathrobe and slippers and tiptoe across the hall. I press my ear up against the door and hear giggling. With the way girls are always giggling, I don’t see how they ever get boyfriends in the first place. One good thing about Thermos, she doesn’t giggle.

  I walk into my sisters’ room and sit down on Ruby’s bed. Through the window, I can see Mr. Yamashita mowing his front lawn. I have a good feeling about my phone call to Nick today. We’ve been friends forever, he’s not going to forget about that. He might even be planning on calling me himself.

  Ari shoots me a look of death. “Get out,” she whispers, holding her cell phone away from her head.

  I put my feet up on Ruby’s bed, tuck my hands behind my head, and lay back on the pillow. “Why?” I ask. “So you can talk with your boyfriend?”

  I should probably feel guilty about being the world’s most annoying younger brother, but that’s the point. If I have to be pestered by Ruby, then Ari has to be pestered by me.

  Ari stares me down like she’s trying to melt off my skin. From the look in her eyes, I almost worry that it’s going to work, but my skin feels as cool as ice cream with a dollop of Marshmallow Fluff. I made that expression up, by the way.

  “Louie, I mean it. Get out.” She throws her pillow at me, but it doesn’t even hit the bed.

  “I can’t,” I say. “My room’s been invaded by Ruby.”

  Ari sighs. “Hold on,” she says to Danny. Then she covers the phone and looks back at me. “Give me fifteen more minutes, I’ll come get her when I’m done.”

  I’m about to complain when I see a car pull into Nick’s driveway. Thermos gets out wearing a softball uniform. She rings Nick’s doorbell, and Nick steps outside. Then he gets into Thermos’s car, and the car drives away.

  My eyes start blinking and I can’t stop them. I guess Nick wasn’t thinking about making up.

  I remember my dad’s words: Some things aren’t meant to be.

  I climb off Ruby’s bed and trudge back to my closet. In the background, I hear Ari say to Danny, “That was weird.”

  Ruby has turned my entire closet into a unicorn hideout, but I don’t complain anymore. It’s not like I have anything else to do today. I pick up Firespark and Blackthorn and pretend they are battling for ultimate control of Unicornicopia.

  Blackthorn jams his horn into Firespark’s side, and Firespark falls off the edge of my desk—I mean, off the edge of the cliff.

  “Help me,” he calls to Magic Star. “I’m dying.”

  Ruby prances Magic Star over to Firespark and nuzzles his neck. I make Firespark flop around a little more, but my heart isn’t in it.

  Ari pokes her head in my closet and says, “I’ll play with Ruby now.”

  “That’s okay.” I sigh.

  Ari comes over and sits next to me. “Are you sure?”

  I nod my head but don’t talk. My throat feels sticky. I don’t want to admit that I’ve lost my friend forever.

  “Can I play?” Ari asks.

  I pretend to faint, but Ruby holds up two unicorns. “You can be Nickleby and Thermostasia.”

  Ariella prances Thermostasia around and makes her voice really high-pitched. “I’m the most beautiful unicorn in the world.”

  “Thermostasia is a tough unicorn,” whispers Ruby.

  “Oh,” says Ari, still keeping her voice high and squeaky. “I’m the toughest unicorn in the world.”

  “Better,” says Ruby. She prances Louie the unicorn and Magic Sparkle over to Thermostasia and Nickleby. “Let’s be a team. Then we can all defeat Blackthorn.”

  “Unicorn Power!” says Ari. She points Nickleby at Firespark, my injured unicorn. “We need you, too.”

  “I can’t,” I croak. “Blackthorn’s horn is poisonous.”

  Ruby shakes Magic Sparkle over Firespark and glitter sprinkles down. “It’s the antigoat. Now you can never get hurt again.”

  Ari giggles. I smile at her. Sometimes sisters aren’t so bad. I stand Firespark up and prance him across my stage. My dumb old stage didn’t help me become a comedian, but at least it’s good for something.

  Louie Burger’s List of Made-up Idioms and Expressions

  As cool as ice cream with a dollop of Marshmallow Fluff: Very relaxed and calm. When teasing your sisters it’s important to act as cool as ice cream with a dollop of Marshmallow Fluff.

  Marches to the beat of a baked potato: Very strange. We all know who marches to the beat of a baked potato.

  Back like barf: Something unwanted that returns anyway. I had hoped he would move away over the summer, but Ryan Rakefield was back like barf.

  Closet-sized: Hugely excellent. Doing my hero project on Lou Lafferman was a closet-sized idea.

  THE BARFTASTROPHE

  That night after dinner, I climb into the corner of the couch and pull a blanket over my head. I’m going to have to do the talent show alone. I’ll probably fail, and not even spectacularly. But worse than that, I’m going to have to do the rest of fifth grade alone.

  After a few minutes, I hear my dad’s muffled footsteps on the carpet of the family room. “How about some frozen grapes?” he asks me.

  I pull the blanket down and raise one eyebrow. Even though I’m feeling as low as a wart on the bottom of a Chihuahua’s toe, I still would have preferred a less healthy snack.

  Dad hands me a plate. “Ready for male-bonding time?”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  Dad pops a grape into his mouth and puts his plate down. Then he sits beside me, wraps his arm around my shoulder, and pulls me close. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I rub my forehead against his shirt. “I was going to ask Nick to be my comedy partner, but he doesn’t even want to be my friend anymore,” I say. “So now I’m going to bomb, and I have no friends.”

  My dad pats my knee. “You won’t bomb. Not if you believe in yourself. And you and Nick will work it out. You’ve been best friends since you were babies.”

  “Some things aren’t meant to be,” I remind him.

  My dad’s eyes dim, and guilt swells inside me.

  He runs his fingers through his hair. “Some things are meant to be. You’ll figure something out. Great comedians always rise to the challenge.”

  I want to ask him why comedians are any different from artists, but instead I say, “Like who?”

  “Well, take Buster Keaton,” he says, holding up a DVD of a black-and-white movie called Steamboat Bill, Jr. “Legend has it that when Buster was only three years old, he cut the tip of his finger off in a clothes wringer, got hit in the head with a brick, and was carried two blocks by a tornado all in one day.”

  I wrinkle my eyebrows and look at my dad. “Seriously?” I thought I was prone to injury.

  My dad nods. “He turned his troubles into comedy.”

  I don’t think it will help my act, but if there is a comedian out there who’s klutzier than me, I want to see it. As soon as the movie starts, my dad and I crack up. Buster Keaton is a comedy genius. The funniest part is when a wild storm blows a house down on top of Buster. He doesn’t get hurt because he was standing in the exact spot where the open window landed.

  When the movie is over, Dad walks me back to my room and tucks me in like when I was little.

  “Buster Keaton was funny, smart, and clever, like y
ou.” He kisses me on the forehead. “You’ll figure out a way to solve your problem.”

  Dad lingers by the door for a second, then turns out the light. I pull my covers up to my chin because vampires don’t come into your room at night if your neck isn’t visible. Then I roll over, close my eyes, and hope my dad is right.

  * * *

  When I wake up on Sunday morning, I still don’t have a way to solve my problem, but I know I have to keep trying. Maybe my dad doesn’t mind quitting, but it makes me feel like a deflated balloon. And not being friends with Nick makes me feel even worse. As soon as breakfast is over, I call his house.

  “Hi, Mrs. Yamashita,” I say when Nick’s mother answers the phone. “May I please speak with Nick?”

  “Sure, Louie, but Nick can’t play today. Henry is sick and I want to keep Nick home for the next twenty-four hours, in case he comes down with the virus, too.”

  “That’s okay,” I say. “I just want to talk.”

  “All right,” Mrs. Yamashita says. “I’ll get him.”

  I stare out the window at Nick’s house while I wait for him to pick up the phone, but a few seconds later when a voice says, “Louie?” it’s not the voice I want to hear. It’s still Mrs. Yamashita. “I’m sorry, honey. Nick says he’s feeling too tired to talk. I hope he’s not getting sick.”

  He’s just sick of me. “Tell him I hope he feels better.”

  “I will,” she answers. Then we hang up.

  * * *

  On Monday morning I feel so nervous about seeing Nick that my stomach flutters have flutters. I don’t know if he’ll walk to school with me. But when Ruby and I leave our house, there he is, standing at the end of my driveway. Henry must still be sick.

  “Hey,” I say, because I don’t think you can do a packheader or a secret handshake when your friend is mad at you.

  “I talked it over with Thermos. I’ll do your act with you.”

  A huge bubble of excitement fills my body. He said yes! But then I realize how flat his voice sounded when he told me, how unexcited he sounded, and the bubble deflates.

  “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

  Nick sighs a sigh so loud I’m certain my dad can hear it in the house. “I wouldn’t have agreed to do it if I wasn’t sure.”

  My cheeks burn. Nick is doing what I wanted, but it feels terrible.

  I should tell Nick to do the pitching demonstration with Thermos and that I will figure out some other way to do my act. But I don’t. I’m too chicken.

  Having a comedy partner doesn’t feel the way I thought it would.

  After the Pledge of Allegiance, we start our hero presentations. Mrs. Adler makes us put our note cards inside our desks so we won’t be distracted during someone else’s speech. Then she passes out bags of popcorn to munch on while we watch. Everyone settles in.

  I think of a double-beat joke, and I want to whisper it to Nick, but I’m afraid of his reaction. For the first time ever, it feels safer to say it out loud to the class instead.

  “After we eat this, do we have to take a pop-corn quiz?” (Get it? Pop quiz.)

  The joke gets a few laughs and a few groans, but that’s okay. I was setting up part two.

  “Sorry. That was corny,” I say. (Get it? Corn-y.) More people laugh the second time around. Mrs. Adler winks at me.

  “No quiz,” she says. “But I do expect you to gain a few kernels of knowledge.”

  I smile. Not too shabby, Mrs. Adler. Not too shabby.

  Thermos and Nick go first. They set up a colorful poster with a baseball diamond. Each base is a different part of Kenji Okada’s life. A little paper baseball player moves around the bases. When they put him on first base, they tell us all about how Kenji’s father made him practice every day for two hours before school and two hours after school.

  Whoa! Now that’s being pushed by your father.

  Then they tell us that when he first played in Japan, no teams wanted to sign him because he was too skinny. Who knew I had so much in common with Kenji Okada?

  When Nick and Thermos finish, everyone claps, and Mrs. Adler tells them that their presentation was very creative. Next, Owen presents his report on James Dewar, the inventor of the Twinkie. Twinkies are an important contribution to society, but if I were Owen I would have chosen Archibald Query, the inventor of Marshmallow Fluff.

  I can’t pay attention. I’m too antsy about my turn.

  Usually doing a report isn’t as scary as doing stand-up comedy. I can read from my notes and stare at the floor and it doesn’t matter if I’m terrible. But today when I step to the front of the classroom, my breathing starts to race and my mouth gets so dry my lips stick to my teeth.

  I glance at Ryan Rakefield and my heart ka-thunks in my chest.

  I glance at Nick. He has a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Okay, Louie, go ahead.” Mrs. Adler smiles encouragingly from the side of the room.

  My hands shake, but I look down at my note cards and begin.

  “Lou Lafferman was born on March 8, 1980. He told his first joke at age three. ‘Why did the chicken cross the road? Elbow!’ As you can see, he wasn’t very good when he started, but he kept working at it.”

  I try to catch Nick’s eye. I wish he would give me some sign that we can be friends again. He has a sour expression on his face. Does he wish he could leave? Does he hate my speech? I lose track of my words and stare at Nick. A couple of kids clear their throats, and Mrs. Adler says, “Louie? Remember the tips?”

  I don’t answer because Nick looks really strange. I tilt my head and wonder how a person’s skin can get that shade of green.

  Mrs. Adler notices, too. “Nick, are you all right?”

  Nick nods and then hurls onto his desk.

  Only one kid says, “Eeew” out loud, but I’m sure everyone is thinking it. It’s obvious Nick had Froot Loops for breakfast, although they’ve lost their lemony-grapy smell. Even from the front of the room, I can tell.

  Mrs. Adler runs to the sink, grabs two fistfuls of paper towels, then rushes over to Nick. She helps him wipe his mouth and spreads the rest of the towels on top of the puke. Then she tells Thermos to walk Nick to the nurse with his coat and backpack. After they leave, she calls JoAnne to come to our room for a cleanup.

  I’m still standing at the front of the room, holding my report so tightly the cards crumple. Poor Nick. I hope he feels better soon.

  But something dawns on me, and I almost feel like I have to barf. Nick can’t do the talent show now. Barf Brothers can’t perform when they’re barfing for real. Even if he feels better tomorrow, there is no way his mom will let him out of the house so soon. I’m right back where I started. Alone, and about to humiliate myself in front of the entire school.

  Top Five Most Boring Jobs I Might Have to Do if I Can’t Cut It as a Comedian

  1. Toilet-Bowl Scrubber (The person, not the scrub brush.)

  2. Insurance Analyst (I don’t even know what that is.)

  3. Lined-Paper Salesman (You should buy this really exciting product … paper! Nope. I don’t think so.)

  4. Banker (If you have to wear a suit and tie, how much fun can you have?)

  5. Gym Teacher (Doesn’t even need an explanation.)

  THE BARF SISTER

  At recess, kids are fake barfing everywhere I look. The weather is especially sunny and warm for the end of September, but that only makes me feel worse. It should be cold and rainy. That would fit my mood better. I hide in the shady spot behind the rock-climbing wall, but Thermos finds me. My gut tightens. Is she going to yell at me for what I said in gym? Is she going to yell at me for asking Nick to be my partner?

  Is she going to beat me up?

  She’s got a piece of paper in her hands and she shoves it toward me. “Nick asked me to give you this. He wrote it in the nurse’s office.”

  “Thanks,” I say, but I don’t open it. What if it says:

  Ha! You got what you deserve. Now you’ll never be a comedian.

&nb
sp; Thermos leaves without saying anything else and trudges to the edge of the football game to watch. Without Nick, she’s as alone as I am.

  Now that she’s gone, I look at Nick’s note. On the outside is written:

  For Louie’s eyes only.

  My hands shake as I unfold the paper. The future of our friendship is inside. Hopefully it will say something like:

  No matter how sick I am, I won’t miss the talent show. You’re my best friend.

  What it actually says is:

  Thermos could be your partner.

  Nick wants me to do my act with Thermos.

  I imagine stepping out onto the stage with Thermos by my side and I don’t feel the zingy buzz I get when I imagine performing with Nick. But I don’t feel filled with fear and dread either. It would probably be better than performing alone, but there is no way Thermos would agree to it.

  I stand and take one step toward the football field.

  This might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

  I take another few steps.

  Thermos knows kung fu. She could turn me into tiny pieces of Louie.

  A few more steps, and Thermos glances over her shoulder and sees me coming. I quickly squint up at the sky as if I have spotted a UFO. When I look back at Thermos, she’s studying the skies too. I manage to jog the rest of the way before she notices me again. I don’t want to give her time to run away from me.

  The football boys act as if they don’t see Thermos on the sidelines. They’re probably scared of her, she’s so much better at football than they are.

  “They said they’d let me in if anyone got injured, but I don’t believe them.”

  I shade my eyes. The sun is behind her head, so it’s hard to look at her face. I shift my gaze to the grass.

  “You’d think sporty kids would be good at sportsmanship,” I say.

  Thermos looks me up and down. “Kids aren’t like books. You can’t tell from the outside what they’re like on the inside.”