Charlie Bumpers vs. His Big Blabby Mouth Page 2

  “No running!” Samantha called out, shooting her hand up and answering before I could say anything.

  “I was going to say that,” I muttered. What did Samantha Grunsky know about my job? She was just Majestic Gardener.

  “Fine, Charlie,” said Mrs. Burke. “I think you’ll make a great Messenger. As long as you remember the rules of your job.”

  I walked over to the job chart, took my card down, and put it in the Master Messenger slot.

  “Don’t forget, Charlie,” Mrs. Burke said. “No flying. And no running, either.”

  I nodded.

  While other kids chose their jobs, I thought about being Master Messenger for the next two weeks.

  Stupific. Completely stupific.

  “We’ll change over to the new jobs on Monday,” Mrs. Burke announced. “And now, there’s one more thing before we go home.”

  I wasn’t thinking about one more thing. I was thinking about being Master Messenger.

  “We have to talk about Career Week,” Mrs. Burke said. “Thanks to all of you who took home the forms I gave you the other day. And a special thank-you to everyone whose parents are coming in for Career Week. But I still need one more parent.”

  Before anyone else could speak or think or raise their hand, Alex leapt out of his seat.

  “Charlie said his dad could come!” Alex said. “He’s a genius!”

  “Alex, please,” Mrs. Burke said. “Sit down. He’s Charlie’s dad, not yours.”

  Ellen, who sits in front of me, turned around, smiled, and nodded her head. Robby was looking at me, too.

  Before I knew what was happening, my hand went up all by itself.

  “Yes, Charlie?” Mrs. Burke said.

  “Um, my dad is an accountant. Maybe he could come in and talk about numbers.”

  “Okay, Charlie. That sounds great.” Mrs. Burke beamed.

  “Ugh,” whispered Cory Filkins. “Not numbers!”

  I ignored him. “Yeah. He’s really good with numbers and he knows all kinds of tricks you can do with them. And he’s really important in his company.”

  “Like a president?” Joey Alvarez asked.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “But almost.”

  “Did you take the form about the Career Week visits home to your father?” Mrs. Burke asked.

  “Um, no, not yet.”

  “Well, have him read the form right away. Tell him to e-mail me if he’s interested.”

  “Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure where the form was, but I thought I could find it.

  “That can be your first message,” Mrs. Burke said.

  When we lined up to go to the buses, Alex asked me, “Charlie, do you think your dad could really bring in calculators for the class?”

  “Calculators?”

  “Yeah. You said he could do tricks with calculators. Remember? Maybe he could bring some in for us.”

  “Oh, right.” I nodded. “Don’t worry. He’ll bring in something cool.”

  “I hope so,” Robby said.

  “Me too,” Dashawn said.

  “Awesome,” Alex said. “I hope it’s calculators.”

  I wasn’t worried about the calculators yet. First, I had to get Dad to come.

  4

  Parent Persuasion Strategy

  “I don’t know, Charlie,” Dad said. “Things are pretty hectic at the office right now.”

  I had waited until after dinner to ask Dad. He was in the family room reading a magazine, with no one else around. Sometimes when your brother and sister and mother get involved, things get complicated.

  “Please, Dad? Mrs. Burke really needs another parent to volunteer.”

  “I don’t think so, Charlie,” Dad said. “And I don’t think your friends would really want to hear me talk about my job anyway.”

  “Yes they would, Dad,” I said. “They’d love it! You could show them how important numbers are.”

  He tilted his head and frowned.

  “Please?”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Burke can find someone else,” he said. Then he looked back at his magazine, like he was finished talking to me.

  “Come on, Dad, please!”

  He lowered his magazine again. “Charlie, not now.”

  I could tell Dad was getting annoyed.

  “Could you just think about it?”

  “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

  “Great,” I said. “Just let me know when you decide.”

  “Charlie,” Dad said, putting down the magazine. “Enough.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. I could wait until the morning for his answer.

  As long as it was yes.

  Parents take FOREVER. I asked Dad the next morning whether he had decided. He said he hadn’t.

  “When will you decide?” I asked.

  “When I decide!”

  He said it in a way that let me know he wasn’t going to decide right then.

  “Hey, Charlie,” Matt said, looking up from his cereal. “Never ask anybody anything before 8 a.m. You’re being a pest.”

  I figured there was no use asking Dad again, at least not while Matt was in the room. I ate my cereal as fast as I could, grabbed my backpack, and headed to the bus stop.

  On the bus, I explained my problem to Tommy. “I asked my dad, and he almost said no. Then he told me to stop asking him. But everybody in my class thinks he’s coming.”

  Tommy thought for a moment. “Getting parents to agree to something they don’t want to do is almost impossible. You need a plan.”

  It was surprising for Tommy to say that. I didn’t think Tommy ever planned anything.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Get out a piece of paper and pencil. We need a ‘Parent Persuasion Strategy.’”

  “What’s that?”

  “A way to make them to do what you want.”

  That sounded good to me. I took a notebook and pencil out of my backpack.

  “Now,” Tommy said, “let’s put down the different things you can do to get your way. We’ll put them in order, according to how desperate you are.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, the first thing to do is just ask them really nicely.”

  “I did that already. It didn’t work.”

  Tommy nodded. “I know. But just write it down to show that you tried it. What’s next?”

  “I don’t know.” I scribbled down the words “Ask nicely.”

  “Yes, you do. After that, you leave hints around the house for them to see. Like if it’s Christmas and you want a bike, you draw a picture of a bike and put it up on the refrigerator. You don’t have to say anything. It’s just there.”

  “I don’t need a bike. I need my dad to come in for Career Week.”

  “You could ask for a bike for me,” Tommy suggested.

  “Wait!” I said. “Mrs. Burke gave me a sheet of paper for him to sign. I could leave it on the refrigerator, or on his bed or something.” I wrote down “Leave hints.”

  “Perfect,” said Tommy. “Now if that doesn’t work, what’s next?”

  I thought for a second. “Well, I could ask Mom and try to get her on my side.”

  “Excellent! Ask the other parent. Write that down!” Tommy was getting pretty excited, and I was, too. I’d never actually made a list of all the different ways to get what you wanted.

  “Okay, if the hints don’t work, I’ll talk to my mom. If she thinks Dad should do it, he doesn’t have a chance.”

  “Even more excellent. But you have to be careful. If they talk to each other, they might realize you were trying to trick them. That’s a disaster.”

  “Catastrophe,” I agreed.

  “Disastrophe,” Tommy announced.

  I laughed. “Disastrophe! Stupific!”

  “What’s next?” he asked.

  “I’m running out of things to write down,” I said.

  “All right,” he said. “I have the answer. If none of that works, I think you’re going to have to go for an all-out
attack.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bug him until he has to say yes.”

  “What if he doesn’t like being bugged?”

  “Write it down anyway. Sometimes parents just get tired of being pestered and give up.”

  I wrote down “Bug him” and looked up at Tommy. “That’ll be tricky,” I said. “If I bug him too much, he’ll get mad and I won’t even be able to talk to him.”

  “Right!” said Tommy. “Which is why it might be better not to say anything at all. That’s the next step.”

  “What?”

  “Sulking. The Silent Treatment.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t say anything. Just wander around the house pouting and sighing and looking really unhappy.”

  “I’ve done that plenty of times,” I said. “But they usually just tell me to stop pouting and sighing.”

  “I know,” Tommy said. “Which is why you shouldn’t do it unless you have to.”

  I added “The Silent Treatment” to the list. “Anything else?” I asked.

  “Well, there is one more thing,” Tommy said. “But only if nothing else works.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Get down on your knees and beg. Tell them you’ll die if they don’t say yes.”

  “I don’t think I’ll die.”

  “Maybe not,” Tommy said. “But you’ve got to sound really desperate. I recommend you do it like this …”

  He stood up just as our bus driver Mrs. Lima turned off the street into the driveway of the school. He got a really worried look on his face, like he was about to cry. Then he flopped over, slamming his hands and arms and face on the bus seat. “I beg you! I beg you!” he wailed. “I throw myself upon the mercy of the court!”

  Everyone turned and looked at us.

  “Tommy, sit down!” Mrs. Lima called.

  Tommy sat down.

  “What does that even mean?” I asked.

  “I saw it in a movie once, when they were going to put someone in jail. It worked for that guy. I tried it once when I wanted an ice cream. My dad laughed so hard that he bought it for me.”

  I wrote it down. We pulled into the school circle and I looked at the list.

  1. Ask nicely

  2. Leave hints

  3. Ask other parent

  4. Bug him

  5. The Silent Treatment

  6. Beg!

  At the top of it all I wrote in big letters:

  PARENT PERSUASION STRATEGY

  “Stupific,” I said. “Thanks, Tommy.”

  “No problem,” he said. “I am a parent expert. I’ve lived with two of them my whole life.”

  I felt better. Now I had a plan.

  5

  A Hopeless Dweeb

  As soon as I got home, even before I walked Ginger, I put the Parent Persuasion Strategy into action. I’d already tried the first step so I looked at the list to see what was next.

  Step 2: Leave hints.

  I knew Dad always went right to the refrigerator when he got home from work to get a glass of orange juice. I dug through my backpack until I found the crumpled-up sheet Mrs. Burke had given me about Career Week and smoothed out the wrinkles. The refrigerator door was plastered with family pictures, so I took a couple down and stuck the sheet right in the middle of the door with a magnet.

  Dad couldn’t miss it.

  After I walked Ginger, I just kind of hung around the house waiting for Dad to get home. Mom was out visiting a patient. Dad usually gets home early on Friday, so I was there when he came in the back door.

  “Hi, guys,” he said, then walked right to the refrigerator and opened the door. He poured his juice and put the carton back.

  He didn’t even notice the Career Week sheet! How could he miss it?

  When Dad went out to the garage, I grabbed the paper and took it up into his bedroom and put it on his chest of drawers. He always takes off his watch and puts stuff from his pockets on top of the chest, so I figured he would see it there.

  When he went up to his bedroom, I sat on the stairs, pretending like I was doing nothing. He came back out in his everyday clothes and walked past me on the staircase.

  “What are you up to, Charlie?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said, then headed down the stairs.

  I looked into his room. The note was exactly where I’d left it. He’d put his watch right on top of it!

  I took the sheet of paper downstairs and put it on the chair in the family room where he always sits.

  He’d have to see it there.

  But even that didn’t work! When he sat down, he just put the paper on the stack of magazines by his chair.

  I must have put the Career Week sheet in a dozen places that day. No matter where I put it, he didn’t seem to see it.

  Are dads blind?

  I was getting more desperate. It was time for the next steps in the Parent Persuasion Strategy.

  That weekend I went through the entire list.

  Step 3: Ask other parent.

  When I asked Mom for help, she said it was up to Dad and that I should talk to him.

  Thanks, Mom.

  Step 4: Bug him.

  I pestered Dad most of Saturday and he told me to calm down. Mom told me to leave him alone.

  Step 5: The Silent Treatment.

  All day Sunday I sulked. I was as silent as I could be. Wherever Dad was, I kept my head down and walked by him kind of slow, pouting and sighing. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything about it.

  Nothing was working!

  Sunday night I went up into my room and looked at the list Tommy and I had made. There was only one option left.

  Step 6: Beg!

  I stood in front of the mirror in my room and practiced what Tommy had told me to say: “I throw myself upon the mercy of the court!”

  It didn’t sound very convincing. I tried again, this time a little louder. “I throw myself upon the mercy of the court!”

  Then I knelt down and clasped my hands like I was pleading for my life.

  “I THROW MYSELF UPON THE MERCY OF THE COURT!”

  Matt opened my door. “What the heck are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “Leave me alone.” I knew Matt wouldn’t help me.

  “You are a hopeless dweeb,” he muttered, then went back to his room.

  I went in my closet where no one could hear me, closed the door, and practiced the line over and over again in the dark.

  I throw myself upon the mercy of the court!

  I throw myself upon the mercy of the court!

  I figured I was ready. It was getting late, and I had to get Dad to say yes before I went to bed.

  Matt’s door was shut. He was probably doing his homework. The Squid was in the bathroom brushing her teeth.

  It was time to beg for my life.

  I scooted down the stairs. Mom and Dad were in the living room, watching some boring movie with people talking too much.

  “Dad?” I said.

  He picked up the remote and hit Pause.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s about Career Week.”

  “Charlie,” Mom said. “I told you to stop asking your father about this.”

  It was now or never.

  “Dad! Please!” I went down on my knees and held my hands together in prayer. “Please, Dad, please! My life depends on it!”

  Mom and Dad just stared at me, then looked at each other.

  I collapsed on the floor.

  “I throw myself upon the mercy of the court!”

  I was facedown on the rug, not looking up. I said it again, as loud as I could.

  “I THROW MYSELF UPON THE MERCY OF THE COURT!”

  I waited for my dad to say something. That’s when I heard someone coming down the stairs. It was Matt.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” he hooted. “This is hilarious.”

  All Matt’s whooping brought the
Squid downstairs, too.

  I raised my head and looked around. Matt was in hysterics. Mom and Dad were looking at me like I had hatched from some prehistoric alien space egg.

  “What’s going on?” the Squid squealed, which she does when she gets excited.

  “Charlie’s begging for his life!” Matt said. “Why?” the Squid asked.

  Now Mom and Dad were laughing so hard they couldn’t answer.

  I felt like an idiot.

  Finally Dad spoke. “You two go back upstairs while we talk to Charlie.”

  “I think I should be here,” Matt announced.

  “So do I,” said the Squid.

  “Upstairs,” Dad said, pointing at the staircase. “Now.”

  “Rats,” Matt said.

  “Rats,” the Squid said, copying her bozo brother. They left the room.

  “Charlie,” Dad said. “What about my going to Career Week is so important to you?”

  “I just want you to be there,” I said, which wasn’t the complete truth but close enough.

  “It must be more than that,” Dad said. “Did something happen?”

  “Um, not really, it’s just that …”

  I didn’t want to explain. But Mom figured it out.

  “Charlie,” she said in her serious-mom voice (which I hate), “did you already tell Mrs. Burke that Dad would come?”

  “What?” I said, which is what you say when you don’t want to tell the complete truth.

  “Did you tell Mrs. Burke that your father would come in?”

  “Maybe. Kind of.”

  “And so she’s expecting me?” Dad asked.

  “Kind of. But mostly—” I stopped.

  “What else?” Dad asked.

  “Well …” I gulped. “I think the other kids are expecting you, too. Because I told them how good you were with numbers and everything. And how smart and funny you are. They really want you to come in so you can show them.”

  Dad rubbed his forehead like his brains hurt. I stood there, just wishing he would say yes.

  “Charlie,” Dad said in his serious-dad voice.

  I hate that voice, too.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “You shouldn’t say someone will do something without asking them—”

  “I know, but—”

  “Charlie, I’m tempted to say no just so you learn the lesson.”