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Parents never warn you about a cold, the flu, a mild viral infection. It's always pneumonia. But when you do get sick, it ends up being some small-time bug that's going around. And they say, 'I told you so/ Just once I wish I had the guts to tell them: 'No, you didn't. You said I was going to get pneumonia.'"
Olivia looked at him blankly. "What's pneumonia?"
Max groaned. "It's what you're going to catch if you don't stay away from me, squirt."
It was new material, created in his 102-degree
haze as Max recovered from the Ronny Lugnitz flu. He couldn't even ask "Why me?", because he knew full well that nobody deserved this more than he did. He had pulled poor Ronny out of his sickbed, run him ragged all over the school in search of Big Byrd, and then told him it was a misunderstanding. He was grateful that fate had decided to punish him for Ronny instead of the kafuffle with Darth. Influenza wasn't fun, but it was better than being mauled by a wildcat.
Another advantage of being under the weather— Max wasn't around for the aftershocks of Panther Day at Bartonville Middle School. Maude filled him in on the lectures about ". . . putting every single solitary soul in this building at risk." The anger and outrage had come from Dr. Mirvish, the librarian, the assistant principal, and Miss Munsinger. During the meeting with the principal, the superintendent had actually called in from his vacation in the Bahamas to voice his displeasure via speakerphone.
Things were worse for Sydni, who was on the student council's Least Wanted list. Amanda Locke had warned her that, if she came anywhere near official activity, the custodian had orders to turn the hose on her.
"All I ever wanted was to be in school government, and it's never going to happen," Sydni lamented. "I can't do anything right."
She was so miserable that even Maude felt a twinge of guilt. "You weren't the one who brought the panther to school," she pointed out. "And it was Big who took Darth to the groomer. If anybody was innocent in all this, it was you."
"Innocent, shminnocent," moaned Sydni. "It happened while I was in charge. Politics isn't about whose fault it is. It's about results. The only result I ever get is disaster."
There were no signs of Amanda's anger softening. In fact, the girl was becoming more stubborn and bitter every day. There was trouble in the Locke home. Darth, it turned out, was an escape artist. No matter how carefully he was watched and tended, he would find a way out of the house. Worse, once free, he would hightail it into town in search of Big.
On Monday, he tracked the tall boy down at school. At 3:30, Big brought him to his own house. Mrs. Byrd immediately drove Darth to the Lockes. The cat was back on the Byrd doorstep before Big and his mother returned in the car. Now Big's place
was permanently on Darth's radar, and there seemed to be nothing the Lockes could do to discourage it.
“Maybe Darth was the wrong name for him," Max commented over the phone. “We should have called him Houdini."
“Big joke!" groaned Maude, who was providing Max with daily phone updates during his illness. “You're safe at home with a thermometer in your mouth! It's the three of us who have to face the music! We're lepers at this school!"
“I'm hurting too," Max assured him. “The Funniest Kid in America contest is in less than two weeks, and I'm going to finish dead last! Without a comedy club to perform at, I'm going to stink out the Balsam Auditorium! My timing will be off, my material will be untested, and I'll probably die of stage fright before I get to my first punch line!"
“Comedy!" Maude practically spat the word. “Don't you see how fed up we all are of you and your stupid comedy? Everything bad that's happened these last few weeks has been thanks to that contest! We're suffering because of you , but you can't think of anyone but yourself."
"Suffering?" repeated Max. "Oh, Alert the media, Maude Dolinka is suffering again. You suffer every time the wind blows. You know how fed up you are with my comedy? Triple that, and that's how fed up / am with your suffering!"
"Well, maybe I shouldn't burden you with my company, since I annoy you so much," Maude retorted.
"That suits me fine," snarled Max, slamming down the phone.
The remorse came almost immediately. Sure, Maude was a world-class crab. But in a way, her complaining was what had first brought the four friends together, back in second grade.
Nurse Blaff ran a lunchtime group therapy session for troubled kids. The twelve o'clock head- shrinking, Max had called it—even then he'd had a flair for comedy. He was there because his parents had just separated. Maude was there because—well, because she was Maude.
As the weeks went by, others had joined their group. A girl who was despondent because she had lost the election for second-grade representative by three votes. And a tall blond boy fresh out of tonsil and adenoid surgery. Now that he had discovered
the musical tubes in his sinuses., how could he be expected to resist playing them?
"I've got a symphony in my nose," the five-foot- six seven-year-old had greeted the group. "Listen to this!"
The four came together under the banner of Maude and her complaining. There was something about the girl's hard-luck life that made their own problems easier to take. No sob story was ever so awful that Maude couldn't chime in with, "You think that's bad? Wait till you hear what happened to me!"
Now Max was about to step out into the bright lights of the Balsam Auditorium completely unprepared. If there was ever a time when he needed his best friend, this was it.
He called a few times, but Maude's line was always busy. Guessing that she was probably surfing the Internet, he booted up the iMac and instant- messaged her:
Maude,
Come to Chicago with me. I can't
face the contest without you.
-—Max
Her reply was onscreen in less than thirty seconds:
Okay, but only if I get the front
seat.
By the time Max was back in school, a whole week had passed, and the contest was the coming Saturday. He approached Mr. Krakauer for another shot at performing for his English class.
"Forget it, Max. I don't make any more appointments with you."
So much for Max's last chance to impress Ronny and maybe get in at least one set at the Giggle Factory. On Saturday, he would be facing the judges stone cold.
He was surprised when Mario called him at Dr. Carmody's house. Max knew it wasn't just to update him on his stepfather's latest exotic location-— Brooklyn, New York, in the shadow of the largest sewage facility in the nation.
"I always thought that was in the back of your truck," Max quipped. He held the phone away from his ear as Mario's booming laughter rattled the receiver. "What's up?"
"Listen, kiddo," his stepfather managed finally, "I've got some crummy news. Three drivers are out
this week, and I've got to make the Saturday run myself. There's no way I can get to your contest."
Max began to panic. "But Mom won't want to go to Chicago without you!"
"It stinks, I know," Mario said sadly. "But it's work. What can I do?"
All at once. Max wanted to lash out. The words formed in his mind: My real father wouldn't blow me off like this!
But even as he thought it, he knew it was unfair. Dr. Carmody had business responsibilities too. He had dragged four kids to the Plandome farm at nine o'clock at night when Madonna had gone into labor. Besides, who was more supportive of Max's comedy than Mario? It wasn't right to blame this on him.
"You mean—" He could barely bring himself to say the words. "You mean I'm going to have to— drop out?"
"Well—" There was genuine anguish in Mario's voice. "Let me talk to your old man for a minute."
Max waited breathlessly as his two fathers, step and regular, managed to hash out a backup plan. Dad would take Max to Chicago in the Volvo, along with Mom, Olivia, and Maude, whose parents had said yes to the trip. They would leave Saturday
morning, attend the contest, stay overnight in a hotel in Chicago, and return on Sunday.
"In other words, you can kiss the front seat goodbye," Max told Maude. "But at least we're still going."
Maude had another concern. "Your mom and dad in the same car for four hours? Have they been together for that long since the divorce?"
"If you want to back out, I won't stop you," Max offered.
"Believe me," said Maude, "if this contest ends up a catastrophe, you'll be grateful for my moral support."
"I'm prepared for a catastrophe," replied Max grimly. "I just hope it doesn't happen in the car before we even get there!"