Chapter 65

FLYING HIGH (WITH OR WITHOUT AN AIRPLANE)

Thursday afternoon, me and all the Smileys (except Ol’ Smiler, who’s bunking with Uncle Frankie in my old room) board an airplane headed for Las Vegas.

Of course, I have to board first with the “anyone needing special assistance or a little more time getting down the Jetway” crowd.

Just another perk of life in the Chair.

Uncle Frankie threw me a big bon voyage party at the diner Wednesday night. Gilda—my favorite moviemaker in the entire universe—was there. So were Gaynor (who brought his mom), Pierce, Cool Girl, and half of Long Beach Middle School—including a lot of teachers and Mr. Sour Patch.

I made a little speech.

First I thanked my friends and everybody at school for “giving me so much great material to work with.”

Then I thanked Gilda for coming up with the whole idea of me doing my Vegas act at school and for posting my performance on the Web.

And finally, I thanked the man who was the first person to ever tell me that I had talent and then did everything he could to help me nurture it while also teaching me how to flip burgers and yo-yo at the same time.

Uncle Frankie.

“I just wish you could come with us,” I told him while we were passing around slices of the Good Luck, Jamie cake he wouldn’t be able to eat.

Uncle Frankie shrugged. “Doc says it’s too early for me to fly. Or get all worked up watching you compete onstage. But here. Put this in your pocket.”

He hands me a dinged-up old plastic yo-yo.

“That’s the Duncan Jeweled I twirled when I won the Brooklyn championship. Maybe it’ll bring you luck, too.”

That yo-yo is in my pocket on the plane. It’ll be in my pocket the whole time I’m in Vegas.

For me, this Judges’ Picks Wild Card Show is like the Super Bowl, American Idol, The Voice, America’s Got Talent, and Dancing with the Stars all wrapped up into one.

Well, maybe not Dancing with the Stars.

The people producing the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest bought us all first-class tickets. That means the flight attendants keep coming around to ask if we need or want anything.

“No, thanks!” I say, because I’m too excited to nibble the free goodies they keep passing out.

What’s happening is unbelievable.

I’m flying to Las Vegas.

To do a comedy act.

In front of judges who happen to be some of my all-time favorite comedians.

I feel like I’m sailing over the moon as we fly across the country. It’s enough to make me dizzy. I might even need to grab that airsickness bag.

Stevie Kosgrov, on the other hand, is, well, still Stevie Kosgrov.

He eats every free snack the flight attendants offer. He has two lunches. He’s even hoarding tiny packs of peanuts in his carry-on bag.

As the FASTEN SEAT BELT lights come on and we make our initial descent into the Las Vegas area, Stevie turns to me.

“I only have one question, Crip. Do they give out like a ninth runner-up award to the dude who comes in last? ’Cause I’m making room for it on the mantel at home.”

Yup.

Leave it to Stevie to remind me that every time I enter one of these contests, I have a better chance of coming out a loser than actually winning it.