Back at school the next day, Mrs. Kanai, my ELA teacher, compliments me on my big win.
She’s actually gushing a little.
“Congratulations, Jamie! All the teachers are talking about your triumph.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve never had a famous comedian in my class before. So, did you use any of your hilarious ‘climbing Mount Everest’ speech in your routine?”
“No. Not this time.”
“Oh? Is there a next time?”
“Well, I guess I’m supposed to represent Long Island at the New York State competition. Um, actually, I know I am.”
“And when’s that?”
“In a couple of weeks. In Manhattan. A comedy club called Gotham.”
“How exciting! Congratulations again, Jamie. I know you’ll win the next round, too.”
Wow. You have no idea how good it makes me feel to hear Mrs. Kanai say stuff like that… even if it’s not true.
And then there are my buds. Gaynor, Pierce, Gilda, and Cool Girl. They’re all pulling for me, too. Asking me what bits I’m going to do for the next round. Pumping me up. Telling me I’m going to win again.
Yes, I have a very small and mostly nerdy fan club. And much to my amazement, it grows a little larger every day. Apparently, these new recruits liked what they saw of my act on YouTube (even though everybody wishes that doofus blocking the camera had a smaller head).
“That blogger was so wrong,” one after another tells me. “I caught your act. You were good, man!”
Even the vice principal—the school’s head disciplinarian, the man who collects the detention slips and memorizes every name on them, Mr. Sour Patch himself—actually nods at me in the hallway. Just once. But it is an official nod. Pierce is my witness.
As for Stevie Kosgrov?
He’s still giving me the finger. About a thousand times a day.
You gotta love the guy.