Dogs Don't Tell Jokes (Someday Angeline 2)

Angeline came straight to the point. “Don’t do your act in the show tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Something terrible is going to happen,” she said. “A disaster.”

“Aw, c’mon,” said Gary. “I know my jokes may not be funny, but no one’s ever called them a disaster. Ha. Ha.”

Angeline didn’t laugh. “I’m serious, Gary. I started feeling it right after dinner, and then I started crying and couldn’t stop. I can still feel it.”

Gary could hear her fighting back tears now.

“Please don’t do it,” she begged. “Just quit the talent show.”

“Why? What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” said Angeline. “I’ve never felt something like this before.”

“Are you sure it’s bad?” he asked. “If you’ve never felt anything like it before, then how do you know it will be a disaster?”

“I know,” said Angeline. “If you break your leg, you don’t need a doctor to tell you you can’t walk.”

Gary took a breath. “It’s all memorized,” he said.

They stayed on the line for another minute or so without speaking. Then each said goodbye.

Gary gently hung up the phone. He took a breath and turned to see Mrs. Snitzberry, in her green pajamas, sitting cross-legged on the counter, between the sink and the stove.

“Who was that?” Mrs. Snitzberry asked Gary.

“Angeline,” said Gary.

“What’d she want?”

Gary thought a moment. “Nothing,” he muttered.

“Who are you talking to?” asked Gary’s father.

Startled, Gary turned. He hadn’t noticed his father reading the paper at the kitchen counter. He looked back at Mrs. Snitzberry, who slowly faded away before his eyes.

“Nobody,” he said.

There was still time to quit. There was always time to quit. Right up to the last minute. He didn’t have to tell anyone he was quitting. Just not show up.

“Well, if it’s a disaster, th

en it’s a disaster,” said Gary as he walked across the schoolyard. “Like Miss Longlegs said, I can’t keep signing up and quitting, and signing up and quitting. Besides, I already called Gus.

“If it’s a disaster, then it’s a disaster,” he said again. “There’s nothing I can do about it. Besides, how bad can it be?”

22.

It was time.

“Do you need to use the bathroom before you go?” asked his mother.

“No, I don’t have to use the bathroom!” he snapped. He was twelve years old, and his mother still asked him that.

She smiled at him. “You look very handsome,” she said. She sounded surprised.