Joey Pigza Loses Control by Jack Gantos Page A

me another Chihuahua as a surprise for me when I came home. Maybe she went to Tijuana to hear Herb Alpert. There were many good reasons to go to Mexico. And as Mom always told me, when you feel mixed up always try to think positive thoughts.
    So I ran outside and cupped my hands around my mouth and faced what I thought was Mexico and I yelled out at the top of my lungs, “Have a great time south of the border and bring me back something good!” That made me feel much better, except I had to go to the bathroom so I ran back inside the store.
    I was cutting through the boys’ clothing section when I passed a kid that looked like somebody I knew
from school. I turned to say hello to him, but realized he wasn’t a real kid at all but a mannequin. Then I started examining the mannequin. It was the most real-looking one I had ever seen, and the kid seemed perfect in every way. The hair was just the right blond and the right length. Very cool sunglasses covered his eyes, which were blue and bright. The nose was medium size and straight. The lips were barely open, as if he were going to say something perfectly polite. The chin was strong. His skin was as smooth as new vinyl, with no bumps, scars, moles, weird hairs, or pimples. Not even freckles. His arms were reaching out as if he were going to catch a beach ball. His bathing suit and T-shirt were new and clean and he was wearing sandals. Even his feet were perfect.
    I just kept staring at him. There he is, I thought, the perfect kid, and I bet he is perfectly normal too. I wondered how it would feel to be one-hundred-percent flawless in every way so that from waking up in the morning to going to sleep at night I didn’t make one mistake, big or small. Like, I didn’t even get itsy-bitsy crumbs on the floor, or feel moody, or forget to feed Pablo. Maybe the store could sell perfect kids that could be placed like mannequins around the house, just sitting next to their toy boxes without ever making a mess, or taking fake showers without ever getting a huge puddle of water on the floor. Or you could put them out in the front yard like garden statues
waving to the neighbors or holding a goofy flag with a bright flower on it. Mom once said it was my mistakes that made me interesting, and although I didn’t understand her then, I did now.
    Then I got a great idea. I went to the clothes rack and got a beach outfit and went into the bathroom and put it on. I hid all my stuff in my backpack, then dashed over to the mannequin. I hopped up and stood on the fake painted beach like I was his friend and took his sunglasses off and fit them on my face. I clipped my tape player to my waistband, pressed in my mini-speakers, and struck a pose like a lifeguard looking out at the surfers. As people walked by they didn’t notice me or my new friend.
    But I was looking at them. Most everyone was going somewhere in a hurry. And it got to be no fun standing there with no one looking at me, so then I tried to get their attention.
    I leaned way forward and stuck out my tongue until my mouth started to ache. People just walked by as if it was nothing. I crossed my eyes and drooled so much it dripped off my chin. Nothing. I did fake hiccups. Nothing. Nobody seemed to notice, because no matter how weird I was, they were just as weird. People argued and picked their noses and swatted their kids and talked to themselves and pulled at their tight underwear and spit chewing gum out in the corners and wiped their dirty hands on the clothes and sang
off key and did all kinds of strange things that I did too, which made me feel like I was normal like they were and not perfect like my mannequin buddy.
    Finally, a lady who looked like any kid’s mom checked the price on my shorts and I began to laugh because it tickled and the woman nearly fainted and then started laughing because what I was doing was funny and she knew it, and I figured she must be nice because most people would pitch