Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Not Reading Page 7

  Hannah looked at me. I mean, really looked at me. Possibly for the first time since she stuck her tongue out at me seven years ago.

  “That’s interesting,” she said.

  Please mark the day and time—May 14, 11:44 a.m.—because, for the first and possibly only time in my life, Hannah Spivero found me, or at least something I said, interesting.

  For that brief, shining moment, I had the upper hand. It felt fantastic.

  But she quickly recovered. Moment over.

  “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” she said. “That sounds like a cool project. I would have done it even without the awesome Beatles album cover.”

  Hannah Spivero had an uncanny ability to make you feel happy and sad in the same sentence.

  “Deal,” she said.

  “Deal,” I repeated.

  For some weird reason I stuck out my hand and she shook it, like we were doing a business deal.

  “The only thing is, you can’t tell anybody why you’re doing it until I present my paper,” I said importantly.

  “It’ll be our little secret,” said Hannah Spivero, winking. “Can I have my hand back now?”

  Charlie Joe’s Tip #19

  IF YOU ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY HAVE TO READ A BOOK, MAKE SURE IT’S ON A TOPIC YOU LIKE.

  If you are a boy, you probably like books about: sports, spies, superheroes, getting lost in the woods.

  If you are a girl, you probably like books about: sensitive, hunky vampires with a weakness for brunettes.

  If you are Jake Katz, you like: books with words in them.

  Jake Katz is a really good guy, despite his love of books.

  His mother, on the other hand, is really kind of annoying. She belongs in what my parents refer to as “the room.”

  Let me explain.

  My parents invented “the room.” It’s an imaginary place where they put all the adults they know that never shut up about themselves, or their families, or their kids, and how amazing they all are, without ever taking a breath long enough to ask you anything about how you’re doing.

  My parents love the idea of all these incredibly self-absorbed people in one room, bragging on and on, no one listening to a word anyone else is saying because they’re all too busy yakking about themselves.

  Jake Katz’s mom isn’t just in “the room.” She’s a founding member.

  Which is why my mom wasn’t looking forward to taking me to Jake’s house that Friday afternoon. She loved Jake—and thought he and his study habits were a good influence on me, of course—but she didn’t exactly relish the idea of listening to Mrs. Katz blab on about their vacation house in Nantucket, her daughter’s freshman year on the Brown University crew, her husband’s promotion to chief executive in charge of making money, or just her family’s general wonderfulness.

  When we pulled up, I hopped right out of the car, so my mom could make a quick getaway. But as usual, Ms. Katz was already running out the door, yelling, “Claire, we have so much to talk about.”

  She was already mid-brag by the time she reached the driveway.

  My mom rolled down the window and called me over. “It’s like I have a sign on my forehead that says ‘talk my ear off,’” she whispered. Then she got out of the car and greeted Mrs. Katz with a big smile. “How are things?” she said, warmly. That’s how my mom rolls. She’s a good one.

  As Jake and I escaped up to his room, I could vaguely hear Mrs. Katz start to talk about the new Lexus SUV she was completely enamored of, and that the gas mileage was so much better than you might think, and my mom agreeing that yes, it was a terrific car.

  * * *

  A lot of nerds just like to talk about nerdy things, like science and Jar Jar Binks. Jake wasn’t like that.

  He liked to talk about girls. A lot.

  But the cool thing about Jake was, he was never one of those kids who felt sorry for himself because he wasn’t Mr. Popular or anything. He still had a certain confidence about him. It was almost as if he realized that his time to shine would come later in life, and so he took everything that happened to him now in stride.

  Right now he was playing computer scrabble and taking in stride the fact that he’d probably be going solo to the end-of-the-year dance.

  “The thing I like about going by myself is the fact that I’m not going to feel like I have to stay with my date the whole night,” he was saying. “If I feel like getting some punch, I can go get some punch. If I feel like hanging with my friends, I can hang with my friends. It’s actually going to be a real advantage, not having to be tied down to one woman.”

  It was hard to change the subject with Jake when he was on a roll, but I had to give it a shot.

  “Dude, that’s still like a month away,” I said. “There’s a lot going on before that. Our Position Papers, for example.”

  “Oh, right.” Talking about schoolwork bored Jake, probably because he was so unchallenged by it.

  Still, I had an agenda to keep. “So anyway, mine’s gonna be about cliques in school, and about why they exist, and if they’re bad.”

  Jake snorted. “Of course they’re bad. Cliques stink.” He was passionate on the subject, for good reason.

  “So, my plan is to show that cliques can be overcome, even eliminated, if only kids would give it a chance. And I want to prove it by giving an example of two people from very different cliques going out.”

  He looked at me. He was too smart not to know what I was up to.

  “Who’d you have in mind?”

  “Well, I was thinking you and Hannah.” I held my breath.

  He laughed. “That’s crazy! I’m no idiot, Charlie Joe. I know the deal. I could set my mind to getting someone like Hannah, or any of the really popular girls, for about ten years, and I’m pretty sure it would never happen.”

  “Well, that’s what’s great about Hannah, she’s not like all the other popular girls. She’s different. And it just so happens I already talked to her about it and she’s totally into it. She wants you to ask her out!”

  “I bet she can’t wait,” Jake said.

  “It’s going to be so cool,” I continued. “But here’s the thing. We’re not going to tell anyone it was my idea, so we can see how the school reacts. And then I can analyze it for my Position Paper.”

  Jake pondered this. “So, it’s not that she likes me, it’s that she’s agreed to be part of a social experiment,” he said, fully grasping the situation.

  “Something like that,” I admitted. “But my guess is, once she finds out what you’re really like, she’ll probably end up liking you anyway.”

  “You think so, really?” he asked.

  Even though it seemed like a long shot, and the possibility scared me to death, for some reason I actually believed it.

  “Really really,” I answered.

  Jake stared deeply into his computer, as if asking it for guidance. Finally he looked up at the ceiling. “Wow,” he said. “Like, wow. Okay, let’s do it.”

  “Now you’re talking!” I said, smacking him on the back. “Come on, let’s go out and shoot some hoops.”

  “Okay,” he said, folding up his laptop. He seemed like he wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. “Thanks, I think,” he said.

  “You guys are going to be awesome together,” I said as we headed outside.

  * * *

  We were halfway through our game of H-O-R-S-E—I was winning by one letter—when I casually brought up another subject, as if I had just thought of it.

  “Oh dude, one more thing. Is it cool if you help me with some of the books I have to read for my Position Paper? Maybe you could just read them really quickly, since you read so fast and everything, and then kind of give me the lowdown on what’s in them.”

  Jake was dribbling around with an extra spring in his step, already feeling Hannah’s wind beneath his wings. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, so I decided to keep talking.

  “The thing is, I got this list of books fro
m my sister and it’s totally brutal. They’re so freakin’ long and hard, and I’m totally nervous I’m not going to be ready.”

  Suddenly he looked at me and smiled the glorious, untroubled smile of a Hannah-dater. “No problem-o, my man. What are friends for?”

  And then he came back and beat me, H-O-R-S-E to H-O-R-S.

  So I’d talked to Timmy, Katie, Hannah, and Jake. They all thought it was a good plan and I was a genius. (Not including Katie.) The stage was set. The die was cast. The egg was ready to hatch.

  I may not like to read, but I know a good metaphor when I see one.

  That Friday night at dinner, my mom asked me why I was in such a good mood.

  “Because I’m going to a party tonight,” I answered.

  “Can you not eat like a dog?” she answered back, which didn’t have to do with anything, except maybe for the fact that I was licking my plate at that particular moment.

  “Mom doesn’t mean just tonight,” dad chimed in. “She means in general. You seem to be in a great mood, which is interesting considering you have your big paper coming up, and we all know how much you love schoolwork.”

  I knew what they were getting at. They didn’t really want to know why I was happy. They wanted to know if I was up to my old tricks.

  Megan, who was eating, texting, and combing her hair all at the same time, heard the word schoolwork and looked up.

  “What are we talking about?”

  “Why I’m happy,” I said, helping myself to some more pasta.

  My sister looked at my parents. “Come on you guys, give Charlie Joe a break,” she said, bless her heart. “He’s been working pretty hard lately, and he picked a really cool topic for his Position Paper.”

  “Oh?” said my mom. “What’s it about?”

  This could have gone one of two ways. I could have told them, which definitely would have led to at least fourteen more questions on the matter. Or I could have not told them, which might have led to fourteen more questions on the matter.

  “I’d rather keep it a surprise,” I said, which didn’t really make any sense, now that I think about it.

  My parents looked at each other, and decided to accept it. Or, at least for now, let it go.

  “Well, I look forward to reading it,” said my dad, who then proceeded to lick his own plate, much to my mom’s horror.

  “Do I live in a kennel?” she sputtered, before giving her plate to Moose and Coco so they wouldn’t completely miss out.

  Middle-school parties are all pretty much the same: cold pizza, soggy cookies, flat soda, deafening music, a couple of kids kissing, a ton of kids pretending not to look but actually staring at the kids kissing, and the little sister of the host constantly coming in and out, supposedly to see if the chips bowl needs refilling, but really just to check out what was going on and report back to the parents that nobody had overdosed on potato chips and was projectile vomiting on the couch.

  That Friday night at Kelly Dunn’s house, the stars of the show were Jake Katz and Hannah Spivero.

  Jake had asked Hannah out at lunch two days earlier, and it took about eight minutes for the entire school to know. I guess a good way to describe the reaction was shock and awe.

  Hannah’s friends were shocked, and Jake’s friends were awed.

  Their first date was Kelly’s party. You can pretty much imagine the reaction.

  They weren’t making out or anything, but they were doing something almost as shocking. They were talking and laughing. And while other people couldn’t take their eyes off of them, it seemed like Jake and Hannah couldn’t take their eyes off each other.

  I realized I had never really seen either of them laugh and talk so much at the same time.

  Naturally, I had mixed emotions.

  I was delighted that my experiment was working so well.

  And I was miserable that my experiment was working so well.

  * * *

  The very idea that head cheerleader Hannah Spivero and head bookworm Jake Katz were hanging out at a party together was already too much for people to take.

  But when they began to dance, the whole party ground to a halt.

  At first, people stopped talking altogether and stared openmouthed. You could hear a pin drop. Then there was a new kind of buzz in the conversation, kind of a freaked-out whispering, lots of omigods, that kind of thing.

  It took Kelly Dunn’s little sister, who had come into the room on one of her periodic spying missions, to blurt out what everyone was thinking.

  “Holy crap!” she said.

  And it took Teddy Spivero—Hannah’s obnoxious, annoying twin brother—to blurt out what I was thinking.

  “Hey, Jackson, what happened? All those years panting after my sister and little Jake Katz gets her? But don’t worry, maybe one day that will be you.”

  He took a deep swig of his punch. “Yeah, one day in the year TWO THOUSAND AND NEVER!” Everyone cracked up.

  Even I had to admit, that was a pretty good one.

  Charlie Joe’s Tip #20

  WHEN YOU’RE MORE THAN HALFWAY THROUGH A BOOK, PICK UP THE PACE, SKIM A BIT, AND GET IT OVER WITH AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE.

  You know those people who finish a book and then say, “I’m so sad it’s over”? I have news for them.

  The person who wrote the book isn’t sad it’s over, otherwise he or she would have kept writing. In fact, it’s the opposite. They’re relieved. Thrilled. Ready to celebrate.

  It should be the same for the reader. Finishing a book is cause for rejoicing, not regret.

  So hurry up. You’re more than halfway home.

  Pedal to the metal, people.

  It’s pretty much an unwritten rule that at every school assembly at every school in the nation, people sit with their own clique. Jocks sit with jocks, dorks sit with dorks, Chinese kids sit with Chinese kids, and so on.

  But not at our school. Not anymore.

  Because here’s the thing: ever since Jake and Hannah started going out—and actually seemed to like each other—the whole rest of the school had slowly, carefully, warily started to stray from their cliques.

  Listen, I’m not saying it was a social earthquake or anything. It was just a few small things here and there. Like the way people sat at school assemblies, for example.

  At today’s assembly, which happened to be about why the cafeteria had replaced all the good snacks that were bad for you with bad snacks that were good for you, Jake sat next to Hannah, who sat next to Jack Humphries ( jock), who sat next to Mark Fricker (dork), who sat next to Lauren Hu (Chinese kid).

  It was a beautiful thing to see.

  * * *

  After the assembly, Ms. Ferrell was standing near the auditorium with Mr. Dormer and Ms. Axlerod—two social studies teachers whom everybody assumed were going out, just because they were the two best-looking teachers in the school.

  I knew Dormer was good-looking because all the moms—including, I’m horrified to say, my own—would get all giggly whenever they saw him.

  I knew Ms. Axelrod was good-looking because I have two eyes.

  In any event, Ms. Ferrell saw me and called me over.

  “Charlie Joe, why were all the kids sitting with different kids today? I’ve never seen that before in all my years at this school!”

  “I know,” I said. “Can you believe it?” I didn’t want to get too far into the topic.

  (For some reason, whenever Ms. Ferrell had an interesting observation to make about the student body—good or bad—she made it to me. Sometimes the observations were neither good nor bad, but just random. Like “Why are all the boys in this school so fascinated with skateboarding?” Or “What’s with all the girls suddenly straightening their hair?” I guess she assumed I would care. Not a very accurate assumption.)

  Mr. Dormer put his arm around me. “Mr. Jackson, I hear you’re a very bright kid, but a bit of a slacker.”

  My first thought was why wasn’t it Ms. Axlerod who was putting her arm around me
?

  My second thought was deny, deny, deny. “I wouldn’t say that’s true at all.”

  I tried to slip out of his grasp but he tightened his grip.

  “Well, I hope to have you in my class one day,” Mr. Dormer said, “because we’ll find out once and for all.” And then he whacked me playfully on the back. “In my class, the only one who’s allowed to be a slacker is me!”

  He roared at his own joke—an inexcusable violation of the comedy rulebook, if you ask me—and Ms. Axlerod fake laughed right along with him.

  That clinched it. They were dating.

  Oh Ms. Axelrod, how could you?

  * * *

  Ms. Ferrell tried to regain control of the conversation.

  “Anyway, Charlie Joe, what are your plans for the summer?”

  Grateful for the change in topic, I launched into a long, detailed description of my summer agenda.

  “Not much.”

  Mr. Dormer hijacked again.

  “Ah to be in your shoes, Mr. Jackson,” he said. “What I wouldn’t give to be a kid again. Except for the pimples and the Position Paper, of course!” He ended every attempted joke with the verbal equivalent of an exclamation point.

  Did being handsome give him the right to be so completely not funny?

  “Well, I gotta get to class,” I said, trying to get away. “Don’t want to be late and give anyone the idea that I’m a slacker.”

  Ms. Axlerod laughed at that—an actual, genuine laugh, which sounded nothing like her Dormer fake laugh.

  Mr. Dormer watched her laugh and then glared at me, officially guaranteeing me a lousy grade if I ever found myself in his class.

  Ms. Ferrell chuckled, too, which made me feel good as usual—I loved making her laugh, because even though I associated her with homework, books, and reading, I actually liked her a lot as a person.

  “I’m looking forward to Tuesday,” she said, and for a second I had no idea what she was talking about.

  And then I remembered. Oh, yeah.

  I was presenting my Position Paper on Tuesday.