Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Not Reading Page 2

  That’s right, you heard correctly.

  ME!

  But here’s what’s weird. Even though she’s totally hot (and she really is, that long blond hair is no joke), and even though she thinks I’m totally adorable (I didn’t say it, she did) … unlike the rest of Western civilization, I don’t have a crush on her.

  I don’t know why, I just don’t.

  You know how when you can have something so easily, you don’t necessarily want it? Like when you can only have one bowl of ice cream after dinner, you desperately want more, but if your mom says you can have the whole carton, suddenly you’re like, I’m kind of sick of ice cream? Well, it was like that with Eliza.

  She was the whole carton. All the time.

  * * *

  So when Katie said Eliza, I was confused. I wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with Timmy. As far as I could tell he hadn’t really discovered girls yet … and perhaps more to the point, they hadn’t really discovered him.

  I looked at Katie. “I don’t get it. Timmy doesn’t like Eliza.”

  Katie was still laughing at me. “For a pretty smart guy, Charlie Joe, you can be pretty thick sometimes.”

  Was that a compliment or an insult?

  “It’s not Eliza that Timmy’s worried about. It’s her dad.”

  I thought for a second. “Mr. Collins?” I said, brilliantly.

  “Yup,” Katie said. “He’s the boys’ lacrosse coach, right?”

  Katie played lacrosse. She was pretty good, too. (I could add “for a girl” here, but I won’t.)

  I shrugged. “I think so. Why?”

  She leaned in, as if to say, Here comes the good part.

  “Apparently Timmy thinks that because Eliza likes you, she’ll tell his dad to pick you for the team, and you might make it instead of him. He’s totally freaked out about it.”

  I couldn’t believe it. It was hard to make the travel lacrosse team, but Timmy had been practicing for weeks. Meanwhile, I’d barely ever picked up a stick before. I was just going out for the team to hang out with my friends.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said.

  “It’s true,” Katie said back.

  “I’ll talk to Eliza about it,” I suggested.

  “NO!” Katie answered immediately. “That would be the worst thing you could do. Timmy doesn’t want anyone to know how insecure he is. Just keep your mouth shut about it.”

  I still wasn’t convinced. “Where did you hear this?” I demanded.

  “Don’t worry about it. Let it go.”

  By now Katie’s friends were calling to her to come back, and she started walking back toward them, already texting them. Then she turned back to me with a mischievous look in her eyes.

  “Hey, I have a crazy idea that could solve your whole problem!”

  “What’s that?” I said, hopefully.

  Katie smacked me on the shoulder. “Read the book.”

  * * *

  I thought about what Katie said and weighed my options.

  I could just let the whole thing go, read Billy’s Bargain and be done with it.

  Or I could ignore Katie’s advice, talk to Eliza, try to get her to talk to her dad, make sure Timmy made the team, and not have to read Billy’s Bargain.

  Not a difficult decision.

  Charlie Joe’s Tip #5

  IF ANYONE—LIKE, SAY, A PARENT—EVER YELLS AT YOU FOR NOT READING, JUST POINT OUT TO THEM ALL THE MANY WAYS YOU DO READ.

  1. Web sites

  2. Instant messages

  3. Texts

  4. Video game instructions

  5. Sports scores

  6. Menus

  7. The viewer’s guide on the TV

  8. The back of the cereal box

  9. T-shirts

  10. Supermarket coupons

  11. Road signs

  So you know how I called Eliza Collins hot? Well, my parents hate it when I use the word hot to describe girls. They think it’s insulting, “degrading” my mom says, “shallow” my dad says, like I think it’s the only important thing. I get it, I get it, brains matter, too.

  But let me let you in on a little secret: girls LOVE it when you call them hot.

  Especially really smart girls. Really smart, brainiac girls love it more than any other kind of girl when you call them hot.

  But, out of respect to my mom and all the other girls out there who don’t like the term hot, I will not use the word anymore from here on in.

  Eliza Collins (non-brainiac) has been called hot—I mean gorgeous—her whole life, so she really knows it, and she acts like it. If our school was the universe, and the girls in our school were the solar system, then she’d be the sun. And the moon. She’s always surrounded by girls, by boys, even by some teachers who, although they would never admit it, like to be liked by the popular kids.

  If you wanted to see Eliza, you had to make an appointment.

  I was slightly different I guess, because for some reason—like I said—she liked me. BUT … she also hated me, because she liked me, and I didn’t like her. Her inability to snag me was her one imperfection, her one blemish, like the annoying cherry on top of an otherwise perfect hot fudge sundae.

  So of course, she made me suffer.

  * * *

  The next day at lunch, I told Talia, one of Eliza’s “assistants,” that I needed to talk to Eliza. She looked at me like I had two heads.

  “I’m pretty sure Eliza doesn’t want to talk to you,” Talia said, barely looking up from her low-fat turkey burger and high-fat large fries. (Girls are complicated.)

  This was important. No time for pride. I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Tell her it’s important.”

  See, the thing about Talia—and a lot of girls, I’ve noticed—is that they love it when you touch them. I know that sounds gross, but I don’t mean it in that way. I just mean, show them some gentle affection, show them that you care about them and you’re “there” for them (whatever that means), and suddenly they’re your best friend.

  In particular, I’ve noticed that girls really love the gentle hand on the shoulder.

  It’s brotherly, but manly.

  Does that make them shallow, like all they’re looking for is affection? I don’t think so. I just think it makes them seem more human.

  It’s one of the good, human things about girls.

  * * *

  Talia felt my hand on her shoulder, then looked up at me. I could literally feel her shoulders relax as she smiled at me. Then she opened up a little pink book.

  “I think she has an opening tomorrow after math,” she said.

  Meanwhile, the due date for the assignment was coming up fast, and I was still without an outline from Timmy. I could’ve read the book, sure, but then my perfect record would’ve been broken. I’m not gonna lie; I’m proud of my perfect record. All the kids knew about it, and were mighty impressed.

  And let me tell you another thing—I’m no quitter. I was committed to not reading and it was going to take more than just some dumb lacrosse team misunderstanding for me to throw in the towel.

  See, it wasn’t just that I was lazy.

  It was that I didn’t want to disappoint my fans.

  Charlie Joe’s Tip #6

  READING WON’T HELP YOU SUCCEED IN LIFE.

  My parents say that if I don’t start reading, I’ll do badly on all the reading and writing tests that help you get into a good college. And if I don’t get into a good college, I’ll probably end up a failure in life. At least twice a week they say to me, “How are you going to get into a good college if you don’t read? And if you don’t get into a good college, you’ll end up ________ .” (Anything from “homeless” to “a criminal”—it varies with their moods).

  My first answer to that is, RELAX. I’m only in middle school, people.

  My second answer is, what if I’m amazing at some weird thing that nobody else is interested in? Won’t that help me get into a good college?

  I briefly considered sig
ning up for mime class, kind of as a goof. But it turned out that there’s no one less goofy than a mime-boy, do they take it seriously. You would think they would realize how ridiculous it is, but no. It’s too bad that it was such a drag and so embarrassing, because it didn’t seem particularly hard. And my guess is that there are very few kids who put “master mime” on their college applications.

  Maybe I should take up fencing. It’s like sword fighting, only you don’t get killed. Fencing has clothes that are really cool, it’s all about handling a weapon for crying out loud, what could be better than that, and it’s just weird enough to look great on those all-important college applications. What’s the down side?

  Touché!

  During math class, the only thing I could think about was my appointment with Eliza, and getting her to make sure that Timmy made the travel lacrosse team so that he would be my friend again. Then as soon as that drama was out of the way, he’d give me the rundown on what was in the middle of Billy’s Bargain, I could write my paper without reading it, and order would be restored to the universe.

  I know it’s hard to believe, but all this excitement made it very difficult for me to concentrate on the fractional ratios of binary numbers.

  (Don’t bother looking up “fractional ratios of binary numbers,” by the way. I just made it up.)

  * * *

  Finally, class was over. I went out into the hall, where Eliza was being attended to by a harem of three Elizettes.

  She saw me and shooed away her friends.

  “Why, Charlie Joe Jackson, as I live and breathe.” She proceeded to breathily give me a kiss on the cheek to really drive home the “live and breathe” part.

  She was kind of dramatic that way.

  “Hey, Lize,” I said. (Pronounced lies. Only those in the inner circle got to call her that.)

  She swung her hair over to one side. Whenever she did that, activity in the hallway pretty much ground to a halt. It was kind of amazing, I had to admit—like when you see a red Maserati on the street and everyone stops to stare.

  “Now, Charlie, are you here to ask me to the end of the year dance?”

  The end of the year dance was like four months away, and for anyone else, that would have been a ridiculous question. But this was Eliza Collins. For all I know, several kids had asked her already.

  “Isn’t it a little early to be thinking about the end of the year dance?” I asked.

  Eliza brushed a single golden strand of hair out of her left eye. “Well, I was just making sure. Because if you’re about to ask me out or something, you know you’re barking up the wrong hill.”

  She had this way of mangling expressions that for some reason actually made her hotter.

  “I figured that, Lize. I’m actually here on behalf of someone else.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Not a good sign. I plunged ahead, whispering so the entire hall couldn’t hear me.

  “You know Timmy McGibney, right?” (Duh. Of course she knew Timmy McGibney.) “Anyway, I happen to know for a fact that he is a really good lacrosse player, and if you maybe talked to your dad about making sure he made the travel team, that would be such a totally huge favor to me, because I know how much it means to Timmy. And I promise I’ll never ask you for another favor again as long as I live.”

  * * *

  Have you ever noticed that really pretty girls think being pretty is like a license to talk loud? Especially when they get irritated?

  Eliza was irritated, because not only was I not asking her out, I was asking her for a favor that she found really … well, boring.

  Eliza heard my plea, and then said loud enough for people in Thailand to hear, “CHARLIE JOE. THAT IS SO SWEET THAT YOU CARE ABOUT YOUR FRIEND TIMMY THAT MUCH. BUT I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MY DAD’S LACROSSE TEAM, AND TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH, I REALLY DON’T CARE. SO, YEAH, UH … NO.” And she swung her hair back to the other side, then walked away.

  Everyone in the hallway stared as she left me standing there, mission completely unaccomplished.

  * * *

  So, to recap: a) Eliza said no; b) Timmy probably would never read another book for me again; and c) the entire hallway pretty much thought that I thought that Timmy wasn’t good enough to make the lacrosse team on his own.

  Oops.

  Charlie Joe’s Tip #7

  READING CAN RUIN FRIENDSHIPS.

  The thing I’ve noticed about reading is that it can become a habit. A bad habit, like smoking, or forgetting to put on deodorant, or saying “you know” all the time. (Or “Yeah, no” to start a sentence. I hate that one. What does that even mean?)

  Take my buddy Jake Katz, who used to take pride in not reading, just like me.

  Then he got this book about snakes, fell in love, and started reading books about reptiles all the time.

  Then he started reading about all kinds of things—weather patterns, Civil War battles, science fiction stories, murder mysteries, even a book called Mastering the Art of Slicing Sushi.

  Like he’s ever going to need to know that.

  Now, Jake carries books around with him everywhere, no matter where he’s going. The minute things are quiet, or he has time to kill between activities, he whips one out and starts reading right there and then.

  I’m not gonna lie, it’s put a strain on our friendship.

  Later at recess, while I was trying to get over my failure with Eliza, I was cornered by my English teacher, Ms. Ferrell.

  “Hi there, Charlie Joe.”

  “Hi, Ms. Ferrell.” I tapped my foot impatiently. Recess was 24 minutes long, and every minute was like gold.

  “Charlie Joe, have you read Billy’s Bargain yet? You know the paper is due next week. I expect big things from you on this paper.”

  It was my curse to be one of those students that Ms. Ferrell thought showed promise. I hate promise. It’s just a synonym for high expectations, which are almost impossible to meet.

  What’s so great about “great”?

  “Pretty good” is good enough for me.

  I looked longingly at my buddies, who were playing a rare form of basketball that involved whipping the ball at each other’s groinal regions. I saw Phil Manning nail Ricky Snyder, and I couldn’t help but crack up.

  “Charlie Joe, I asked you a question.” Ms. Ferrell leaned in close enough that I could tell she’d had the fish sticks for lunch. (At least we had that in common.)

  “I’m pretty much halfway through it.” Halfway through the first chapter, that is.

  She sighed that classic teacher sigh.

  “Fine. I look forward to reading your observations. And no more excuses. If your paper’s late, it’s ten points off. Rules are rules.”

  I may have forgotten to mention that in addition to being allergic to reading, I also had an occasional problem with punctuality when it came to assignments.

  Ms. Ferrell adjusted her glasses, which was a sure sign that she was coming to the heart of the matter.

  “Charlie Joe, someone of your ability has the responsibility to produce a paper worthy of your talents, however hidden they may be. I’ve talked about this with your mom and dad several times. They’re wonderful people, and you really owe it to them to start applying yourself before it’s too late.”

  Wow. She played the parents card. That was low.

  And with that she walked off to join her fellow teachers, who were technically assigned to watch kids at recess but who really spent the time flirting with each other.

  I made it over to my friends just in time for Pete Milano to throw a Spalding indoor-outdoor adult-sized basketball, and nail me right in my you-know-what.

  The day was not turning out well.

  Charlie Joe’s Tip #8

  NOT ALL BOOKS ARE BAD.

  Every once in a while, a book can be a good thing. Here are those rare exceptions:

  1. Comic books

  2. Yearbooks

  3. Checkbooks (when your grandparents are writing you a check for your birthday)


  4. Facebook (when your parents aren’t looking)

  Since you’re about to meet my family, I may as well tell you a little bit about them.

  The first thing I’ll say is that they’re pretty awesome.

  My dad, James Jackson. Jimmy Jackson to his friends, although I once heard someone actually call him J.J. (It’s as bad as when some lame adult who doesn’t know me calls me C.J.) He’s a lawyer, works a lot, likes to walk around the house in his boxers, has the eating habits of a ten-year-old, and makes really strange noises when he plays with the dogs. He loves ketchup but hates tomatoes. He’s not tall or short or big or small—he’s a pretty regular, normal-looking dad. I guess I kind of look like him.

  My mom, Claire Jackson. Homemaker/substitute teacher, works a lot, orders me and my sister to stay in touch with her but then never answers her cell phone, laughs at all of dad’s jokes even when they’re not funny, does a killer Australian accent, rolls her eyes when dad makes funny noises when he plays with the dogs, tells him to put clothes on, and eats the tomatoes off his plate. She’s super nice, and all my friends say she’s really pretty. When they say that, it kind of grosses me out and makes me feel proud at the same time.

  My sister, Megan Jackson. Two years older than me, used to be a tomboy until she discovered boys, wears shorts shorter than my underwear, plays a mean clarinet, LOVES TO READ.

  So yeah, even though in most books this would probably be the part where the narrator complains about his family, talks about how miserable life is at home, and pleads for the reader’s sympathy, it turns out I really like my family. They’re pretty cool. I like every one of them pretty much all the time. Even my sister. I know it’s crazy, but it’s true.

  In other words, no big family drama situation.

  At least, not until I got home that night.

  The afternoon started innocently enough. After school I went over to my friend Jake’s house, where I found him standing in his yard, reading a book.