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STRIKE—DAY 9

So it turns out that being a celebrity is really weird.

It started the day after the article appeared on the internet. First, a few people drove by and took pictures of the house. Then, people started knocking on the door and asking if they could sit next to me on the couch and take a picture together. When one guy snuck around the back and started taking my picture through the window while I was napping, Nana sent him on his way with a few choice words.

I was also interviewed over the phone by some of the other local radio and television stations. Fred’s Furniture Farm delivered a new couch to our house, but my mom didn’t like it and sent it back. I mentioned Xbox in one interview, and two hours later a brand new system arrived, with a note that said “I want your life!” Luckily it was from an anonymous person, so my mom couldn’t send it back, too.

It was official: I was kind of famous. But the strangest part was, even though everybody suddenly wanted a piece of me, I was starting to feel really alone.

First of all, I was starting to realize that when you’re the only underscheduled kid in a world of overscheduled kids, you don’t get a lot of company.

And the other thing was, Nana had gone to stay with her friend Lena in the city for a twenty-four-hour bridge binge. She did that twice a year. I think it was kind of like one of those rock festivals, but instead of a bunch of twenty-five-year-olds acting crazy and doing who-knows-what, you had a bunch of seventy-something-year-olds playing bridge and eating cake.

“I’ll be back in time for the big show tomorrow night,” she told me before she left. “Don’t get up from that darn couch before I get back.”

I really missed her.

Then, on Tuesday afternoon, while I was tossing apple slices to Maddie (she loves apples), I heard a knock on the window. I turned around, and Leo was standing there on his bicycle.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let myself in,” he said, coming in through the just-fixed screen door.

“Dude!” I pounded his back.

“I’m heading to the store to get my mom a thing of milk,” Leo said. “Figured I’d stop here on the way and make sure you weren’t too exhausted from not doing anything all day.”

“Very funny. You try sitting on a couch for nine days. It’s starting to kind of stink.”

“Dude, you’re famous. That doesn’t stink.” Then Leo went over to my computer. “But here’s the real reason I came over,” he said. “My brother showed this to me. Have you heard about this?”

I looked at the screen, which he’d opened to Facebook. Someone had started a page called “The Sit-Downers.” It was for people who wanted to support me in the strike. And it had 1,374 likes!

“Holy moly,” I said.

“That’s nothing,” Leo said, typing on the keyboard. “Check this out.”

He clicked on a YouTube video called Lacey Takes a Stand.

I pressed play.

It was a video of a girl walking on a beach. She looked a little older than me. She stared into the camera and started talking.

“My name is Lacey Allen. I read about Jack Strong, and his life sounded exactly like my life. I was running from thing to thing, and never had any time to myself. I figured if he was brave enough to finally do something about it, so could I. Except, since I live in California, I figured I could have a couch with a view.”

Then she walked up to a couch that was sitting right on the edge of the ocean and sat down. As the camera swung around to the other side, she blew it a kiss.

“Thank you, Jack Strong. I think you’re awesome. Bye!”

Then a big frame came up that said “A Lacey Allen Production.”

The whole thing was about thirty seconds long. And it had 7,375 views and 284 comments!

“Holy double moly,” I said.

“I know!” Leo said, pounding my back.

Wow. This was at a whole new level. People all over the country were starting to do what I was doing. Kids were fighting back against their parents. They were following me.

Then the weirdest thing happened. I started to cry. I have no idea why, and just a little, I swear.

Leo stared at me. “Are you okay?”

I wanted to tell him, yeah, I was okay. I was better than okay. I was awesome. I was the luckiest person in the world. I was Jack Strong, who used to be just another kid at Horace Henchell Middle School, but who was now being talked about by cute older girls in California. I was better than okay. I was freakin’ great!!

But all I said was, “Yeah, I’m good.”