Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Making Money Page 2

  “Do these guys go everywhere with you?” I asked.

  “Everywhere they’re allowed,” Charlie Joe said, “and some places they’re not.”

  “So tell me, exactly what line of work are you looking to get into?” I tried to imagine Charlie Joe in a work environment. It wasn’t easy.

  “It’s not work I’m looking for,” he answered. “It’s money.”

  I stared at him. “Really? I had no idea. That is truly shocking.”

  Suddenly, Charlie Joe went flying, courtesy of Moose and Coco, who had spotted a squirrel and decided to give chase. The squirrel got away, but the dogs didn’t seem to mind.

  I ran up to the dogs and petted their awesomely soft coats. “Have they ever caught one?”

  “Nah,” Charlie Joe said. “But they never lose hope. I don’t think they remember that their batting average is zero.” He scratched their ears. “Isn’t that right, you big dummies?”

  Moose answered by jumping up and swiping his enormous tongue across Charlie Joe’s face. Charlie Joe then proceeded to lie down on the ground and act like a dog for five minutes, while the actual dogs jumped on, over, and around him. In public! It was adorable and ridiculous at the same time.

  “I didn’t come down here to watch you do your best Scooby-Doo imitation,” I said.

  All three of them looked up at me, panting.

  “Sorry,” said Charlie Joe. “Where were we? Oh, yeah. I need money. I really want a Botman, and my parents won’t buy it for me. So I’m looking for a job where I can make a lot of money pretty fast, like two hundred bucks, but won’t be hard or take a lot of work.”

  Isn’t he adorable?

  “I’ll put my best people on it,” I said. Then the four of us walked down to the river, where the dogs chased some ducks. Ducks can fly, though, and dogs can’t, so it wasn’t exactly a fair fight.

  We were sitting by the river, watching the dogs wish they could fly, when the idea suddenly hit me.

  “I’ve got it,” I said to Charlie Joe.

  “You’ve got what?”

  “A way you can make money that you might actually enjoy.”

  Charlie Joe jumped up. “I could kiss you!”

  “I don’t think Nareem would appreciate that,” I said quickly. Nareem Ramdal is my boyfriend, BTW. He’s awesome.

  “Duh. I was kidding,” Charlie Joe said.

  “Oh. Right.”

  Charlie Joe sat back down. “Now, tell me how I’m gonna get rich,” he said.

  So I told him.

  * * *

  Okay, I’m going to give you back to Charlie Joe now.

  7

  Ladies and gentlemen, how about a hand for Katie Friedman?

  I thought she did an awesome job. If I could, I would definitely have Katie write the rest of this book. But I can’t have someone calling me “the laziest person on earth” in public, even if it’s true.

  She described what happened pretty accurately, though. I did call her in a panic, because she always seems to be the best person to talk to on those incredibly rare occasions when I can’t figure something out myself.

  And it’s true, we were by the river watching the dogs wish they could fly, when suddenly she smiled that Katie smile—the one that meant all my problems were solved—and said to me, “I’ve got it.”

  Then she told me her plan, and I got incredibly excited. It sounded perfect. It was Katie’s idea. And as we all know, Katie’s never wrong, right?

  Wrong.

  8

  The next day at school, I put the plan into action. The first thing I did was made sure to participate a lot in my English class. I make a point of participating in all my classes—because I find it can get you out of doing actual work—but this was different, because my guidance counselor, Ms. Ferrell, was observing class that day, and I wanted to make sure she noticed. And she did. After answering yet another question correctly, Ms. Ferrell said, “I have to say, Charlie Joe, you are really on your game today.”

  So far, so good.

  At the end of class, while the rest of the kids got out of there as fast as their little legs would take them, I casually followed Ms. Ferrell back to her office. When she saw me coming, she smiled and shook her head.

  “Uh-oh,” she said.

  I laughed and glanced out into the hall, where Timmy was keeping an eye on me. He’d been showing kids his new Botman all morning, but I’d been ignoring him—just to annoy him, of course. Now he was trying to decide whether it was worth being late to his next class in order to wait for me and rub his new toy in my face. I chased him away, because I had business to attend to.

  I picked up the picture of Misty, Ms. Ferrell’s beloved pet Great Dane, which she kept on her desk.

  “That is one beautiful dog,” I said.

  Ms. Ferrell looked over my shoulder and nodded in agreement. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for that girl. And I have the medical bills to prove it.”

  “Well, it’s funny you say that, because I had this idea,” I say, perfectly innocently. “You know how you’re always talking about how you wish Misty could get more exercise?”

  Ms. Ferrell eyed me suspiciously. “Actually, I’m not always talking about that,” she said, “but go on.”

  “Well, I’ve heard you say how because of your schedule and driving your kids around after school you never get to take her out enough,” I said, mentally crossing my fingers.

  Ms. Ferrell picked up the picture of her dog and started petting it. (I love Ms. Ferrell, but she had a few strange habits, and this was one of them.)

  “What are you getting at, Charlie Joe?”

  I took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve decided to start a dog-walking business, and I was thinking that maybe I could walk Misty after school for you. I’m great with dogs, they really listen to me, and I’m going to find some other dogs to walk so they can all play with each other. It’s going to be amazing. They’ll love it.”

  “How much?” Ms. Ferrell asked.

  Wow, she really knew how to get down to business. Unfortunately, I didn’t. “Well, in terms of payment, I was thinking, um, whatever you think is fair…” I continued to stammer along like that for a minute or so before she cut me off.

  “I mean, how much extra credit are you hoping to get with this project? Is this another way for you to try and get your grades up? Do you think this will make me care less about your spotty behavior and your reading habits and you fulfilling your potential?”

  She laughed softly, and I knew I had my first customer.

  “I would never think that,” I said, but I’m pretty sure she wasn’t convinced.

  9

  After I sold Ms. Ferrell on the idea, it was easy to sign up her friends Ms. Rathbone (bulldog named Buster), Mr. Dormer (dachshund named Schleppy), and Ms. Costello (mixed breed rescue dog named Atom—Ms. C was a science teacher). I had it all figured out, thanks to Katie. My mom would drive me to their houses three times a week after school to pick up their dogs and take them to the park for two hours, where they could all play. I would get paid six dollars per dog. Which added up to twenty-four dollars a day. Which added up to seventy-two dollars a week. Which added up to a brand-new Botman in about four weeks.

  Which added up to a very happy Charlie Joe.

  When I told the guys the plan at lunch, most of them were pretty impressed. Pete Milano smacked me hard on the back—he didn’t mean anything by it, that’s just how he is—and told me I should take dog poop and put it on Vice Principal Farber’s doorstep, which was a really stupid idea, considering Vice Principal Farber lived two houses down from me.

  Nareem Ramdal—who was Katie’s boyfriend and who had become a good friend of mine over the summer at Camp Rituhbukkee—congratulated me on my “first foray into the world of capitalism.” Nareem uses at least one word I’ve never heard of in every sentence.

  Timmy’s reaction was a little more complicated. His first instinct was to try to poke holes in the whole plan.

 
“You’re getting paid just to play with a bunch of dogs?!”

  “Yup.”

  He looked like he was about to choke on his fish stick. “What happens if one of the dogs doesn’t want to go with you?” he asked.

  “Dogs love me,” I answered. Which is true; dogs do love me. You know that phrase man’s best friend? Well, I’m that man.

  Timmy thought about that for a minute, then immediately changed his mind and decided he wanted to become my partner. “Well, are you sure you can handle four dogs by yourself? What if one of them runs away or something? I could totally help you.”

  I looked at him. “For free?”

  “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement,” he said, which sounded like a phrase he must have heard on some lawyer TV show.

  Right at that moment Hannah Spivero walked up, and all conversation stopped.

  Then she sat down at the table, and all movement of any kind stopped.

  You may have heard that in my humble opinion, Hannah Spivero is the closest thing to perfection in human form. Timmy kind of feels the same way. Most of the other boys in our grade (wrongly) think she comes in somewhere behind Eliza Collins, but she’s still important enough for all activity to come to a grinding halt when she shows up unannounced.

  “Have you guys seen Jake?”

  Oh, right. Jake Katz. Her boyfriend. You know the type of guy who’s great at sports, really good-looking, effortlessly charming with the ladies, got it all going on? Well, Jake’s the opposite. And Hannah loves him for it. Go figure.

  I appreciated any opportunity to talk to Hannah, though—even if it was to help her find her boyfriend-that-wasn’t-me—so I answered before anyone else could.

  “No,” I said helpfully.

  Awesomely, Hannah didn’t immediately get up and go look for him. “Were you guys talking about dogs?” she asked. She was staring straight at me, which had its typical effect of turning my face into the surface of the sun.

  “Charlie Joe is starting a dog-walking business,” Timmy said, butting in as usual. “He’s already got four dogs lined up from teachers.”

  “Actually, I prefer to call it a canine recreation program,” I said, trying to sound clever.

  “Cool,” Hannah said. “I love dogs.”

  I was all set to describe my intense love for dogs—which probably would have led to her realizing how much we had in common, which probably would have led to me saying that from the moment I laid eyes on her I knew we were destined to be together, which probably would have led to her saying you are so right, why have I been wasting time with Jake when I could have been with you all along, which probably would have led to us climbing over the lunch table, knocking trays of half-eaten cheeseburgers and half-drunk chocolate milks all over the floor in order to stare into each other’s eyes, and possibly even kiss—but she got up before I got the chance.

  “Maybe Jake’s in the library,” she said, walking away. “Good luck with the dog thing.”

  Okay, so no big love scene with Hannah today. Moving on.

  “When’s Jake’s bar mitzvah?” huge Phil Manning asked, changing the subject. His girlfriend, tiny Celia Barbarossa, giggled. They were the most mature, serious couple in the grade, and they loved bar mitzvahs, because it meant plenty of time for kissing, which had recently replaced football (Phil) and violin (Celia) as their favorite activity.

  I shrugged. “Friday, I think.” There was at least one bar mitzvah, confirmation, or birthday party every weekend, and they all blended together into one long, endless parade of souvenir sweatshirts, dance wranglers, chocolate fountains, bus rides, photo booths, slide shows, and checks that my parents got a little sick of writing. (“Do I even know this kid?” was what my dad usually said.) Jake’s bar mitzvah was going to be a doozy, at some country club turned into an indoor baseball field, with a buffet set up in the infield and a dance floor in the outfield. Rumors were flying that two actual New York Yankees were going to be signing autographs. And Phil and Celia would probably be kissing in the right field bleachers.

  “So do you want me to help you with the dogs or not?” Timmy said, changing the subject back.

  I looked at him skeptically. “Since when do you like dogs?”

  “Since now,” he said, scarfing down the last of his ice cream sandwich.

  Charlie Joe’s Financial Tip #2

  YOU CAN GET MONEY WITHOUT WORKING.

  There are lots of ways to make sure you’re getting paid, and none of them involve working. Here’s a short list of a few ways to keep the cash coming:

  1. Call your grandparents on their birthdays—they’ll send you a check on yours.

  2. Get $3.00 for lunch money. Then pay some kid $1.00 to split his lunch and keep $2.00. Everybody wins.

  3. Collect all the loose change around the house and put it in a big bottle. Say it’s the “family fund.” It’s not. It’s the “you fund.”

  4. Babysit for kids who love television as much as you do.

  5. Open a lemonade stand—but only after your mom makes the lemonade and your dad makes the stand.

  10

  It turned out my mom had a doctor’s appointment, so my sister’s boyfriend Willy drove me and Timmy to pick up the dogs on my first day of work.

  My first day of work! Holy moly, that sounds so awesome. Hello, money. Hello, Botman.

  “So what are you going to do with the cash?” Willy asked.

  “I’m going to buy a Botman,” I answered.

  “I already have a Botman,” Timmy said unnecessarily.

  Willy looked at him. “So then why are you here?”

  “I just like money,” Timmy explained.

  I decided to let Timmy join my dog-walking business for three reasons: 1) he was happy with eight dollars a day, leaving me the other sixteen; 2) he was as fascinated by Hannah Spivero as I was, so I figured we’d have plenty to talk about on the job; and 3) holding four dogs on four leashes at the same time seemed a little impossible.

  “Well, just be careful with those dogs,” Willy said, as we turned into Ms. Rathbone’s driveway. “I’m sure they’re incredibly cute, but they’re still animals, with animal instincts and animal needs and animal urges.”

  Timmy and I looked at each other.

  “What’s your point?” I asked Willy.

  He laughed. “They don’t call it a dog-eat-dog world for nothing,” he said, as Buster the bulldog sprinted down the driveway and crash-landed into the back seat at full speed.

  * * *

  After we picked up all the dogs—although Atom refused to get in until we threw a piece of beef jerky inside—we headed to Lake Monahan. Willy’s pickup truck was filled to the brim—since we’d also taken Moose and Coco, we had six dogs crammed in there, or seven, if you count Misty the Great Dane as two dogs, which you should. But they all seemed thrilled to be out and about, riding in the back of a truck, their ears pinned back by the wind as they smacked each other in the head with their tails. Schleppy, the dachshund, was a total munchkin compared to the other dogs—in fact, he probably could have easily fit inside one of Misty’s ears—but he was clearly the leader of the pack. When he barked, people (and dogs) listened.

  At the lake, Willy dropped us off and drove away, chuckling and shaking his head.

  Timmy and I looked around. Now that we were out there with the dogs, we didn’t quite know what to do.

  “Let’s head to the Rock,” Timmy said.

  Lake Monahan is a beautiful place, with a big field to play in and a lake for the dogs to cool off in when they get hot. The Rock is the watering hole where all the dogs gather and make friends. It’s the butt-sniffing capital of the world.

  Moose and Coco didn’t need leashes, but we were under strict orders never to let the other dogs off theirs. So once we got to the Rock, our first problem was to figure out how to let the dogs go swimming.

  “I have an idea,” Timmy said, as Misty was introducing himself to a friendly golden retriever named Sonny. “We jus
t have to make sure the dogs are on their leashes, right? Nobody said that we had to be holding their leashes the whole time.”

  I considered his point. Technically, he was right. As long as the dogs were “on” their leashes, it was all good.

  We dropped the leashes and the dogs made a mad dash to the water, except for Schleppy, who was more interested in taking a snooze; he parked himself under a picnic table. There had to have been at least twenty dogs there, splashing and chasing sticks and dog-paddling, and they were clearly having a blast. Timmy and I took a seat to watch the festivities.

  “Sure beats working for a living,” I said.

  “This it too good to be true,” Timmy said.

  Turned out we were both right.

  11

  The dogs had been swimming for about fifteen minutes—and Timmy and I had been talking about Hannah Spivero for about fourteen of those minutes—when we heard a voice behind us.

  “How’s the whole dog-walking thing going?”

  Guess who?

  We turned around and there was Hannah, holding a leash with a gigantic poodle at the end of it.

  Jake was there, too. He wasn’t on a leash.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I asked, while noticing out of the corner of my eye that Buster was trying to get inappropriately friendly with a springer spaniel. “Buster!” I hollered, and he turned and gave me a look as if to say, Stop interrupting.

  “I always take Gladys for a walk here after school,” Hannah said.

  “Which one’s Gladys?” I asked, looking back and forth between Jake and the poodle.

  “Ha-ha,” Jake said, looking at me suspiciously. Even though Jake and I were good friends, he was always on the lookout for any signs that I might be moving in on his girl, which was flattering, since Hannah was about as interested in me as a vegetarian is in a pork chop.

  “What were you two talking about?” Hannah asked Timmy and me, as if she didn’t know.