Saturday!”
I stared at her. “And I should care about this because…?” I prompted.
“We can’t let him do all that work by himself,” Trudi reasoned. “It’s a big yard. And his dad doesn’t live with them, you know.”
“You don’t live with them either,” I reminded her.
I didn’t care that my dizzy friend was starting to believe Parker Schmidt’s article. Anybody with eyes could see how she laughed at Wallace’s jokes, hung around his locker, and even invited him to a cast party at her house (one guest: him. He stayed about forty-five seconds). No, what bothered me was that she was blowing me off, breaking our tradition, to do some jock’s yard work!
All day I simmered just below boiling. I looked longingly at the posters advertising this year’s fair as the biggest we’d ever had. I must have overheard twenty people from our play alone making plans to meet bright and early Saturday morning:
“Be at my house by eight-thirty. My mom’s giving us a lift.”
“We’ll meet at the Main Street bus.”
“Don’t be late. There’s so much to do.”
I thought it over. Why should I miss the fair because Trudi had gone crazy? I had other friends at this school.
I approached Leticia. “Hey, is it all right if I tag along with you guys on Saturday?”
“Sure!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm. “The more the merrier. Don’t forget to bring your rake.”
My rake ?!
Enter…
WALLACE WALLACE
I was a Giant again, in my usual spot on the bench. The halftime show was going on in the middle of the game. It was “Old Shep, My Pal,” starring Nathaniel Spitzner on Rollerblades, with musical guests Mr. Fogelman and the Dead Mangoes.
Rick took the snap, and whipped the ball over to Laszlo, who took off on his moped, mud kicking up behind the spinning wheels. But Everton Wu was a wizard with his remote control, and the stuffed dog made a beautiful tackle.
I was about to jump on the fumble when marbles and pepper and pancake syrup started raining down on the field. It was another attack on the play! My loyal wife Trudi had the culprit in a headlock. He wore a Giants’ uniform with a question mark where the number should be. His face was hidden by a cheerleader’s megaphone.
“Wallace!”
I knew that voice! Was it Rick? Feather? Kevin? Cavanaugh?
I pushed away the megaphone to reveal the face of…
“Wally!”
My mother was calling me from downstairs.
“I couldn’t see who it was!” I roared out loud.
“Wally, come down. Your friends are here.”
I sat up in bed. “Rick?” I asked hopefully. “Feather?” I couldn’t believe those guys were talking to me again after I’d quit the team.
I ripped open the curtains to see whose bike was here. I gawked.
It wasn’t Rick or Feather, but it seemed like everybody else I knew. Most of the cast and crew of Old Shep, My Pal was swarming over my yard, raking.
Laszlo stood guard over an enormous pile of leaves. Vito held open green garbage bags while Rory and Leticia were in charge of stuffing. They were so organized down there that they even had a twist-tie specialist, Everton, who was also responsible for piling the full bundles by the curb. It was like the Giants times a hundred. But I’d always invited the team. I hadn’t invited anybody for today.
I threw on some clothes, and raced downstairs. It was really nice of everyone, but I was mortified. I mean, the job was half done before I even opened my eyes to start the day.
Trudi was there to greet me as I burst out the side door. “Hi, Wallace! Guess what we’re doing!”
Like I wouldn’t notice forty people slaving on my lawn. “But why are you here? How did everybody know I was raking today?”
She looked mystified. “You told me.”
“ I told you?” But then I remembered. Ever since that moron Parker Schmidt reported that Trudi was the love of my life, she’d been trying to bamboozle me into acting like it was true. When she hit me up to take her to the fall fair, I was
I stared at her. “And I should care about this because…?” I prompted.
“We can’t let him do all that work by himself,” Trudi reasoned. “It’s a big yard. And his dad doesn’t live with them, you know.”
“You don’t live with them either,” I reminded her.
I didn’t care that my dizzy friend was starting to believe Parker Schmidt’s article. Anybody with eyes could see how she laughed at Wallace’s jokes, hung around his locker, and even invited him to a cast party at her house (one guest: him. He stayed about forty-five seconds). No, what bothered me was that she was blowing me off, breaking our tradition, to do some jock’s yard work!
All day I simmered just below boiling. I looked longingly at the posters advertising this year’s fair as the biggest we’d ever had. I must have overheard twenty people from our play alone making plans to meet bright and early Saturday morning:
“Be at my house by eight-thirty. My mom’s giving us a lift.”
“We’ll meet at the Main Street bus.”
“Don’t be late. There’s so much to do.”
I thought it over. Why should I miss the fair because Trudi had gone crazy? I had other friends at this school.
I approached Leticia. “Hey, is it all right if I tag along with you guys on Saturday?”
“Sure!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm. “The more the merrier. Don’t forget to bring your rake.”
My rake ?!
Enter…
WALLACE WALLACE
I was a Giant again, in my usual spot on the bench. The halftime show was going on in the middle of the game. It was “Old Shep, My Pal,” starring Nathaniel Spitzner on Rollerblades, with musical guests Mr. Fogelman and the Dead Mangoes.
Rick took the snap, and whipped the ball over to Laszlo, who took off on his moped, mud kicking up behind the spinning wheels. But Everton Wu was a wizard with his remote control, and the stuffed dog made a beautiful tackle.
I was about to jump on the fumble when marbles and pepper and pancake syrup started raining down on the field. It was another attack on the play! My loyal wife Trudi had the culprit in a headlock. He wore a Giants’ uniform with a question mark where the number should be. His face was hidden by a cheerleader’s megaphone.
“Wallace!”
I knew that voice! Was it Rick? Feather? Kevin? Cavanaugh?
I pushed away the megaphone to reveal the face of…
“Wally!”
My mother was calling me from downstairs.
“I couldn’t see who it was!” I roared out loud.
“Wally, come down. Your friends are here.”
I sat up in bed. “Rick?” I asked hopefully. “Feather?” I couldn’t believe those guys were talking to me again after I’d quit the team.
I ripped open the curtains to see whose bike was here. I gawked.
It wasn’t Rick or Feather, but it seemed like everybody else I knew. Most of the cast and crew of Old Shep, My Pal was swarming over my yard, raking.
Laszlo stood guard over an enormous pile of leaves. Vito held open green garbage bags while Rory and Leticia were in charge of stuffing. They were so organized down there that they even had a twist-tie specialist, Everton, who was also responsible for piling the full bundles by the curb. It was like the Giants times a hundred. But I’d always invited the team. I hadn’t invited anybody for today.
I threw on some clothes, and raced downstairs. It was really nice of everyone, but I was mortified. I mean, the job was half done before I even opened my eyes to start the day.
Trudi was there to greet me as I burst out the side door. “Hi, Wallace! Guess what we’re doing!”
Like I wouldn’t notice forty people slaving on my lawn. “But why are you here? How did everybody know I was raking today?”
She looked mystified. “You told me.”
“ I told you?” But then I remembered. Ever since that moron Parker Schmidt reported that Trudi was the love of my life, she’d been trying to bamboozle me into acting like it was true. When she hit me up to take her to the fall fair, I was
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