Dogs Don't Tell Jokes (Someday Angeline 2)

The noise from the vacuum cleaner quieted down as Gary’s father moved from the hallway into the master bedroom, but Gary could still hear it. “Okay, where was I? Ducks. No. No ducks!

“Have you ever tried to brush your teeth with peanut butter?”

If he tried real hard, he could still hear the vacuum cleaner.

He didn’t make up any jokes the next day. He had to prepare his book report, and after that he just didn’t feel like it.

None of his jokes seemed funny anymore. He tried to remember some of the best jokes he’d made up over the last two weeks, and there wasn’t one that was really funny. There were none that would make Joe laugh.

“No wonder everyone thinks I’m a goon,” he said.

Friday morning he presented his report on the book about the pirate and the beautiful maiden. It wasn’t that hard. He simply finished reading the book, then told what happened in it.

“Very good, Gary!” Mrs. Carlisle said when he was finished. “I must say, I was pleasantly surprised.”

Gary was surprised too. In the old days he would have tried to think of a funny way to tell about the book, maybe even dress up like a pirate—or more like it, dress up like the beautiful maiden with a wig and a dress.

And why? Mrs. Carlisle wouldn’t have appreciated it. The kids in the class would have made fun of him. But he would have done it anyway. Why? “Because I’m a goon.”

He walked out of class shaking his head. “The funniest person in the world?” he asked out loud. “I’m probably the least funniest person in the world!”

“You’ve got the funniest butt in the world,” said Ryan Utt, who happened to pass by at that moment.

At lunch Joe Reed was hanging out with some eighth-graders, including Philip Korbin, the eighth-grade president who had forced Gary to eat the dirt-covered ice cream bar.

Gary walked right up to them. “Hi, Joe,” he said.

Joe turned and looked at him, then smiled. “What it is, Goon,” he said.

“Uh …” said Gary. He wasn’t sure what to say, or if he was supposed to say anything. If Joe had asked, “What is it?” then that definitely would have been a question. But “What it is”—Gary didn’t know if Joe was asking him a question or not.

“Hey, Goon! Want some ice cream?” asked one of the eighth-graders. Then they all laughed.

Gary shrugged. He was used to kids making fun of him but wished they wouldn’t do it in front of Joe.

Joe didn’t seem to notice. “Ice cream sounds pretty good,” Joe said. “I think I’ll get some.”

“I’ll get it for you,” Gary offered.

“Oh, that’s o—” Joe started to say.

“What ki

nd do you want?” Gary asked.

“Uh … ice cream sandwich,” said Joe. “Thanks, Goon.” He looked at the other boys and smiled.

“What is he, your dog?” asked Philip.

Gary headed to the vending machines. “Go fetch, Goon!” Philip called after him, but he pretended not to hear.

As he walked to the vending machine it suddenly hit him that he didn’t have any money. He kept going anyway—he didn’t know what else to do. He stepped up to the machine and reached into his pocket, but the pocket was empty, like he knew it would be. He tried the coin return. No luck. He pushed the button on the machine, hoping just this once it would work without money.

He stayed away from Joe the rest of the lunch period, and tried his best to avoid him as much as possible during gym.

Joe, for his part, didn’t say anything about it.

Friday night was supposed to be his last night to make up jokes. Then he would have a week to put it all together and rehearse before the talent show. He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling.