Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Not Growing Up (15 page)

I looked inside. He'd written:
Enjoy your journey. Your friend, Ted. P.S. Tell your mom the muffins were delicious.

“I will,” I told him. “Thank you.”

Ted shook Mrs. Sleep's hand and sat down. As I headed back to my own seat, I stared down at the book in my hand, and slowly the whole thing started to make sense. That's why I knew the name Ted Hauser!
Billy's Bargain
! That was the book that got me in trouble … the book that ended my special “arrangement” with Timmy …

That was the book that changed everything.

 

FLASHBACK!!

By the time young Charlie Joe Jackson started middle school, he was doing very nicely indeed. He had lots of friends—even a few friends who were girls—and was well liked by both students and teachers. And he really enjoyed school, too, except for one small part.

Reading.

Charlie Joe really did not like reading at all. He found it a total waste of time. No one could convince him otherwise: Not his parents, not his teachers, not even his good friend Jake Katz, who read everything in sight.

“Some people like reading, and some people don't,” Charlie Joe would say. “I'm one of those people who don't.”

All this was well and good during elementary school, when the students didn't have to read all that much. But now that Charlie Joe was in middle school, not reading was beginning to become a problem. There were actual books that had to be read—and a lot of them.

One day at lunch, Charlie Joe and his friends were discussing the book that had just been assigned in English class. It was called
Tuck Everlasting
.

“Charlie Joe, are you going to read the book?” asked Katie Friedman, with a smile. She knew the answer—in fact, everyone did.

“Of course not,” Charlie Joe responded.

“You are going to get in so much trouble,” said Eliza Collins. She loved to start fights with Charlie Joe, because she had a crush on him. “The teachers are going to find out you don't do any of the reading and they're going to keep you after school.”

“Fat chance,” said Charlie Joe. But secretly, he was worried. He knew that he couldn't just go on not reading the books forever. He needed a plan.

Just then, Timmy McGibney came up to the table and threw his backpack down. “Hey, anybody got any money? I could really go for an ice cream sandwich, but I'm like, twenty-five cents short.” Everyone shook their heads, not just to say no, but also because they were annoyed. Timmy was a total moocher.

“Dang it,” Timmy said. “No one? A quarter?”

As Charlie Joe watched Timmy rifle through his backpack, looking for stray change, he suddenly had an idea.

“Hey, Timmy,” he said. “I'll buy you an ice cream sandwich.”

Everyone looked shocked, including Timmy. “You will?”

“Yup.”

“Cool!” Timmy bounded up to Charlie Joe, with his hand out.

“Just one thing, though,” Charlie Joe said. “I really, really need you to read
Tuck Everlasting
for me, and then tell me what it's about.”

A confused look crossed Timmy's face. “Wait, what?”

“It's simple,” said Charlie Joe. “I already read the inside cover and the first chapter. All you have to do is tell me what's in the rest of the book, after you read it. You're reading it anyway. So what's the big deal?”

“Don't do it, Timmy,” said Eliza. “Charlie Joe is just being lazy. Don't help him out.”

“You stay out of it,” Charlie Joe told Eliza. He turned back to Timmy. “What do you say? We could do it for all the books.” He nudged Timmy with his elbow. “Think of all the ice cream sandwiches you'll get to eat. For free!”

Timmy started scratching his elbows, the way he always did when he was thinking. No one said a word, as they waited for his answer. Charlie Joe secretly crossed his fingers under the table.

“So let me get this straight,” Timmy said. “All I have to do is tell you what's in the books that I'm reading anyway for class, and you'll buy me ice cream sandwiches?”

“Yup,” Charlie Joe said.

“It's morally questionable,” said Katie Friedman, “but then again, it's extremely clever.”

“What does
‘morally questionable'
mean?” asked Pete Milano.

“It means Charlie Joe could go to jail,” said Jake Katz.

Pete laughed. “I would totally come visit you.”

“When are visiting hours in jail?” asked Hannah Spivero.

“Quiet, all of you!” said Charlie Joe.

They all turned their eyes back to Timmy, and waited.

Finally, after about thirty more endless seconds, Timmy stopped scratching.

“Deal,” he said.

 

19

7:18 pm

Before all the kids
left Eastport Middle School for the very last time—unless we come back for a visit, which everyone always says they're going to do but basically nobody ever does—we had one last assignment: to pose for a zillion pictures.

First, my parents got a family shot of the four of us, then they made me pose with pretty much every other possible combination of people: all my guy best friends (Jake, Timmy, Pete, Nareem, me); all my girl best friends (Katie, Hannah, Eliza); all of us together; all my favorite teachers (Ms. Ferrell, Mr. Radonski, Mrs. Massey, Mr. Twipple, Ms. Reedy, Ms. Albone); all my favorite school staff people (Rose, Johnny, Charles, Betty); and of course, a picture of just myself and Mrs. Sleep.

After we took the picture, Mrs. Sleep turned to me and said, “I would like a copy of that picture.”

I looked up—way up—at her. “Why?”

She laughed her low, deep laugh. “Because students like you don't come along every day, that's why.”

I wasn't sure what to say to that.

“Say thank you,” my mom said, reading my mind as usual.

“I wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not,” I told her.

“Neither was I,” said Mrs. Sleep.

After about twenty minutes, I'd taken just about all the pictures I could take.

“Yo,” I said to Timmy, who was taking a picture with his family and his girlfriend, Erica Pope. (I still can't believe I'm using the words “Timmy” and “girlfriend” in the same sentence.)

“What's up?” he asked.

“I don't think we should leave middle school quite yet.”

“NOT AGAIN!” Timmy hollered, rolling his eyes.

“Shhhh!” I said. “I'm not talking about, like, trying to open the gym or anything. Obviously, that didn't work out so well.” I leaned in so various adults in the immediate neighborhood couldn't hear me. “No, I mean, we need to do one last thing for everyone to remember us by.”

Timmy's eyes widened in suspicion. “Like what?”

I gestured to all the people in the courtyard. “Check it out,” I said. “Look at all these people, hot, bored, and tired. They need something to perk them up.”

Timmy shrugged. “Like what?”

“Ice cream sandwiches,” I said. “That's what.”

“And where are you going to get a hundred ice cream sandwiches?”

I didn't say anything. I just smiled.

“No way.”

“A hundred and one, actually, I need to save one for Moose. He loves ice cream sandwiches.”

“You're insane.”

“Maybe. But it's my birthday, and people are allowed to be insane on their birthdays. Come on.”

Timmy sighed, shook his head, glanced over to see if his parents were watching—they weren't, because they were busy talking to some other lacrosse parents—then followed me into the school.

We made a beeline straight for the cafeteria, where I saw my favorite lunch lady, Sheila, packing stuff up for the summer. Sheila loved her cafeteria. She was awesome, and sweet, and I was going to miss her a lot.

Right now, though, I needed to tell her something.

“Sheila? They need you outside.”

She looked confused. “Seriously? Who would need me out there? There's no food service today.”

“I guess someone found some hot dog buns underneath the bleachers, and they want to know if they're yours.”

“That makes no sense,” Sheila muttered, “but okay.” That was another thing I loved about Sheila. She trusted everyone. Even me.

As soon as Sheila was gone, I sprinted into the back of the kitchen, where the freezer was. I opened it up, and sure enough, there they were: a ton of hard, icy, so-frozen-they-were-steaming, ice cream sandwiches.

“Grab a couple of boxes,” I told Timmy. “Let's bring them outside.”

“Are you serious?”

“I've never been more serious in my life.”

I reached down to grab a few boxes myself, and immediately realized there was one problem: the boxes were so frozen, they were stuck to the side of the freezer. I pulled and pulled, but those boxes weren't going anywhere.

“Oh, great,” Timmy said, looking around nervously.

“No problem. That's what pockets are for.” I ripped open the boxes, grabbed as many ice cream sandwiches as I could, and stuffed them inside my pants, shirt, and jacket pockets. Timmy did the same. Altogether, I think we got out of there with about twenty-five ice cream sandwiches. Not enough to feed the whole class, of course, but enough to give a few of our closest friends a nice refreshing treat. And enough to make my poor legs
very
cold.

I was just closing up the freezer when I heard a voice behind me.

“Hungry?”

We froze, just like those ice cream sandwiches in our pockets. I knew that voice. Oh boy, did I know that voice.

“I told you!” Timmy hissed at me, which didn't help at all.

We turned around and Mrs. Sleep was standing there with sweet, trusting Sheila.

“Sorry, boys,” Sheila said. “She saw me hunting around for the hot dog buns. Can't lie to Mrs. Sleep. You know how it is.”

“No, of course, Sheila,” I said. “It's my fault for putting you in the middle of this.”

Sheila waved off my apologies. “No worries, boys.” She jerked her hand toward the principal. “It's her you gotta be worrying about. Now, can I get back to business?”

“You bet.” Timmy and I scurried around the counter and over to where Mrs. Sleep stood. I could feel the ice cream sandwiches starting to soften in my pockets, probably from the sweat that was seeping out from all over my body.

“What were you boys looking for in there?” Mrs. Sleep asked.

“Nothing,” Timmy started to say, but I interrupted him.

“Ice cream sandwiches.” I pulled one out of my pants. It was already dripping. “We wanted to bring ice cream sandwiches out to the picture-taking party. Timmy and I have a long history with ice cream sandwiches, and it seemed like fun, but we should have asked you. I'm really sorry.”

Mrs. Sleep folded her arms. “Well, Charlie Joe, I appreciate the honesty. It seems like that's one thing you've learned with us here at Eastport Middle. Possibly the only thing.” She held her hands out. “Can you return the ice cream sandwiches to me please?” I think she thought we had, like, five or six. She looked pretty surprised when, between the two of us, we piled up about thirty ice cream sandwiches in front of her.

“Oh, my,” said Mrs. Sleep.

I looked down. “Yeah. Like I said, I'm really sorry.”

As she stared down at our stolen treasure, I had one thought:
Could I possibly be brought to the Principal's Office one last time
? That would have to be some kind of a record.