Dogs Don't Tell Jokes (Someday Angeline 2)

Gary had heard the expression “a cold sweat,” but he had never before realized there actually was such a thing. His hands were sweating, yet felt ice-cold.

“Marsha N. Posey,” announced Miss Langley.

Gary looked at his program. It was going too fast! After Marsha was Alex Roth, then him!

Marsha already had on her roller skates. She skated around in circles, forward and backward. One of the benches had been brought to the center of the stage, and Marsha jumped over it, first forward, then backward.

She approached the end of the bench, jumped on it, then skated on one foot the length of the bench and jumped off, still on one foot. She turned around and skated the length of the bench the other way, this time using her other foot.

“I can’t even skate on two feet,” said Fred Furst.

“Me neither,” said Leslie Ann Cummings, behind him.

“Alex Roth,” said Miss Langley.

“Oh, God, I’m next!” Gary moaned.

“Relax,” Fred whispered. “Have fun.”

That was easy for Fred to say. Fred was done. He was lucky. He got to go first.

The piano was rolled to center stage. Alex played two short pieces by Bach: Invention No. 1 in C Major and Invention No. 8 in F Major. Again, it was music, so Gary didn’t know if he played well or not. Alex didn’t seem to make any mistakes, but only Bach knew for sure, and he was dead.

Gary took several more deep breaths. It was supposed to help him relax, but instead, it made him lightheaded and dizzy.

“I know it’s been a long night,” said Miss Langley, “but we have one more talented contestant: Gary W. Boone.”

He wet his pants.

24.

Gary held the grocery bag full of props in front of his pants as he made his way to center stage. He had no idea how big a spot he’d made, or if it even showed—though he was wearing white pants, so it probably did—but he wasn’t about to drop the bag and look.

“Gary will tell jokes,” said Miss Langley.

He heard cheers from Abel, Gus, and Melissa, but he couldn’t see them because the bright lights were shining on him, and the audience was in the dark.

“Thank you, Miss Longlegs,” he said.

The audience laughed.

“Why, Gary!” said Miss Langley with mock embarrassment. “I never thought you noticed.”

The audience laughed again.

It took him a moment to realize what he had said. “I’m—I’m s-sorry,” he stammered. He heard his voice boom over the speaker system. Like Fred Furst had said, it was almost as if he heard his voice coming from the speakers before he even said the words.

He stared out at the audience. His mind froze. He couldn’t remember how he was supposed to begin.

“My friends call me Goon,” he said, “and you are my friends.” He didn’t know why he said that. He sounded like a politician, not a comedian. “See, you take the G from Gary and the ‘Boone’ from ‘Goon,’ and then—No, wait, did I say ‘Boone’? I mean—Okay, let me start over. Well, no, I won’t start over—you should never start over. I guess I shouldn’t have eaten a dead skunk for breakfast, ha ha.”

It was all coming out wrong. He wasn’t supposed to say that yet. “And we didn’t have any maple syrup, ha ha!”

He heard Abel laugh loudly. Nobody else joined him.

“Reminds me of that rude policeman, Rudolph the—”

At that moment Ryan Utt and Paul Wattenburg rushed the stage. Instinctively, Gary dropped the paper bag, grabbed his hat with both hands, and held it firmly on his head as Paul smashed a cream pie in his face. Ryan sprayed him up and down with a seltzer bottle. Then the two boys disappeared from the stage as quickly as they had come.