Chapter 5

CREAKY COMEDY?

Somebody once said, “If you fall off a horse, you need to get back on.”

I think it might’ve been Paul Revere, after he shouted, “The redcoats are coming!” He spooked his horse so badly, it turned into a bucking bronco and tossed him out of the saddle. Anyway, that’s what I need to do. Only without the horse.

I need to get back onstage and make some people laugh again.

I have a feeling my comedy muscles have gotten a little soft since the final round of the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest. I haven’t been in front of an audience in weeks.

Then, just like Lars Johannsen, it hits me.

I should hold my own comedy contest, for elementary-school kids, like the ones who shout jokes at me every morning.

I could call it Jamie Grimm’s Funniest Little Kids in the Whole Wide Universe Competition.

The competition would be open to kids from kindergarten to fifth grade. That way I wouldn’t be showcasing the same bunch of comics who were in my bracket. We could do the show at the diner. Uncle Frankie could clear out a space in the main room, rig up a microphone, maybe rent a spotlight. I would be the master of ceremonies, rolling out between comics to entertain the crowd.

It would give me something to work for. I’d need all-new material, because everybody’s already seen most of my old stuff on TV. Uncle Frankie could give the winner a lifetime supply of chili fries. The local newspaper could put their picture in the paper. The winner, not the chili fries.

I head home to Smileyville to bounce this brainstorm off my uncle and aunt Smiley.

I call the Kosgrovs’ house “Smileyville” because they (and their dog) never look like they’re having a very good time.

I’ve had better luck making lawn gnomes laugh. But, all in all, the Smileys have been extremely good to me. They took me in when I got out of the hospital and did everything they could to make their home wheelchair accessible.

They became my new family right after I’d lost my old one.

They also gave me Stevie for a housemate, but, hey, nobody’s perfect.

Smileyville has moved a little closer to the shore because I used some of my prize money to help make the down payment on a bigger, nicer house after their old one got wrecked by Hurricane Sam. The Smileys, of course, are still the Smileys. They just have more room to frown in.

And I still live in the garage. Only now it’s a two-car garage. What can I say? I love rolling up my bedroom doors with a flick of the remote control.

I also love my new roommate.

It’s Uncle Frankie’s classic 1967 Ford Mustang convertible, parked right next to my bed. It’s here because the car will be mine the minute I turn sixteen and get my driver’s license. We’re going to outfit it with hand controls for the brakes and gas pedal—and then I can hit the highway.

I’ll be able to go wherever I want to go.

I like seeing Uncle Frankie’s cherry-red Mustang every night right before I fall asleep.

Sometimes, I even dream about my new set of wheels.

And all the freedom they’ll bring me.