Chapter 50

TIME FLIES WHEN YOU’RE HAVING FUN

I’m having so much fun being funny, I sort of lose track of time.

Good thing Uncle Frankie doesn’t.

“Come on, Jamie. We need to get you over to the studio, pronto!”

I’m thinking about lingering at the library. Okay, I’m thinking about that kiss from Cool Girl. Wondering if there might be a second one coming my way.

But Uncle Frankie’s right. We need to roll!

Fortunately, for once, the Long Island Expressway isn’t a parking lot. We make it to Silvercup Studios in the nick of time.

Or, judging by the posters we see in the lobby, we might be too late.

“You’re here,” says Mr. Wetmore when he sees us in the lobby. “Good. We’ll be uplinking your audition to LA. Joe Amodio came in from the golf course to see Little Willy Creme and you, Jamie.”

“How was Little Willy?” asks Uncle Frankie.

“Nasty, foul, and angry.”

“Was he funny?” I ask timidly.

“A couple guys in the control booth laughed, but not me.”

“What about Mr. Amodio?” I ask.

Mr. Wetmore puts his hand on my shoulder. “Jamie? Can I give you a little advice?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t worry about Mr. Amodio. Just be you.”

Uncle Frankie puts his hand on my other shoulder.

“I agree,” he says. “You funny.”

And so, at exactly 2:59 PM, I roll back onto the comedy club set.

The director, Brad Grody, is sitting in the audience. So are Little Willy Creme, Donna Dinkle, Stewart Johnson, Ms. Wilder, and all those other people in suits.

But you know what? I don’t really see them.

I see Cool Girl, telling me I have a big heart.

I see the kids at the library, laughing when I popped a wheelie.

I see those elementary schoolers who love telling me jokes just because it’s fun to crack each other up.

That’s who I want to be. One of those kids.

I want to laugh just because I’m extremely happy that I still can.

So, I get going.

“Hi, I’m Jamie Grimm. It’s great to be back. Y’know, my school has these NO BULLYING ZONE posters hanging all over the place. Only one problem: Bullies aren’t big readers. Reading’s not really a job requirement in the glamorous field of wedgie yanking.”

I nail the opening monologue. People are laughing.

Then I veer off script and improvise a little.

“It’s true. Bullies don’t read. Not even in the bathroom. I guess that might explain why the biggest bully at my middle school, Lars from Mars, brushes his teeth with pimple cream. Read the label, Lars. Oh, right. You don’t like to read. Guess that’s why, every morning, you spray your armpits with a can of Cheez Whiz.”

What can I say? I’m having a blast.

In fact, I’m having so much fun, I don’t even care if I get the part.