I begin to tell him the whole story of Monkey Love Hot Sauce.
He reaches up to shut off his GoPro. “But your parents signed the release forms giving you permission to upload that channel.”
“I forged their name on the permission slip,” I confess. “I did a fake show for them—they just found out about Monkey Love Hot Sauce last week.”
Mr. Ennis lets out a low whistle. “So you lied to me AND your parents? That is harsh.”
“I knew it was wrong but I did it anyway,” I admit. “Like those people you warned us about, doing anything for more views.”
“One of my friends has a competitive-eating channel,” Mr. Ennis says. “You don’t want to know how many times he’s gotten his stomach pumped chasing after views. Finding that fine line of connecting with people without chasing your own tail is what this is all about.”
He pulls the GoPro off his head and rubs his prickly scalp. “I have to say, Derek, I’m really disappointed.”
“Join the club—it’s growing faster by the day.”
Mr. Ennis smiles. “When I was your age, there was no mistake I DIDN’T make. If there were a hundred things to choose from and ninety-nine of them were good, I’d make that one wrong decision every time.”
“That’s pretty much how I am,” I say.
“That’s why I’m a big believer in second chances.”
He shows me the latest video on his phone. “I was approached by a major sports drink company to make a series of YouTube videos. They want me to do my illusions but to bring in someone younger to appeal to their preteen market.”
Go on.…
“I’m headed to Dodger Stadium this Saturday. I need a kid to toss fruits to me so I can swing at them with a bat and make it look like I’m turning them into the different flavors of the sports drink. I was going to ask one of my friends’ kids, but how’s YOUR pitching arm?”
My mind flashes forward to me on the pitcher’s mound with a GoPro on my head, winding up a kiwi for Mr. Ennis to blast to smithereens. This could be gigantic! A national commercial! I take a breath and try—for once—not to get carried away. If Mr. Ennis is generous enough to give me a second chance, priority number one is to do a good job.
I tell Mr. Ennis I’d love to meet him at Dodger Stadium. “If my parents will let me,” I add. “I think I might be grounded for a while.”
“I just want to help you get back on the horse,” Mr. Ennis says. “It would be a shame to give up on being creative just because you messed up. You did some good work in this class.”
The tension in my chest releases a tiny bit. Maybe I can resurrect my YouTube channel into something good that I DON’T have to lie about this time.
After all, when it comes to YouTube, the possibilities are endless.
THE COMFORT OF FRIENDS
Matt must be worried that I’ll be lonely without Frank because he insists on coming over even though it’s a school night. First we do our homework together, which we haven’t done in years. Then we take Bodi to the park and throw him his chewed-up, soggy tennis ball until he collapses on the grass exhausted.
One of the things I love about Matt is that he never worries about looking stupid or immature; he just wants to have fun. So when the toddlers at the playground get off the slide, Matt and I take turns sliding until a mom we don’t know finally tells us to move on and give the little kids a chance.
Back at my house, Mom asks if we want something to eat.
“This may sound crazy,” Matt begins. “But I would LOVE a smoothie.”
“Sure,” Mom says. “Strawberry and banana? Chocolate and peanut butter?”
My mouth is watering just at the MENTION of Mom’s famous chocolate-peanut-butter smoothie but before I can answer, Matt suggests something else.
“I was thinking more along the lines of an apple-juice-maple-syrup-clam-chowder-bagel-lettuce-and-blue-cheese smoothie,” Matt says.
Mom grimaces and throws up her hands. “You two are on your own.”
I realize Matt’s staying at my house to make up for Frank not being here. I also realize Matt is one of the best friends on the planet. And as much as I’d TOTALLY prefer a chocolate-peanut-butter smoothie, I pretend that our gut-busting, disgusting concoction is exactly what I want too.
We take over the kitchen and start tossing things into the blender like two mad scientists. We have to press pulse instead of on because the container is so full.
My dad sees us and looks around the room for a camera. “Is this some kind of dare? Are you guys filming this?”
I shake my head and tell him that believe it or not, we’re doing this just for us.
Matt pours the brown goop into two glasses. He holds out his glass to mine. “To Frank,” Matt says.
We clink our glasses.
“To friends,” I say.
“To best friends,” he answers.
“I’ll drink to that.” My dad grabs the blender from the counter, holds the container to his lips, and takes a giant swig.
He immediately spits it into the kitchen sink. “That’s DISGUSTING!”
“I know,” I answer. “It’s the blue cheese.”
“Or the clam chowder,” Matt adds.
Whatever it is, Matt and I spend the rest of the night yakking at the kitchen table and finishing our horrible smoothie till it’s gone.
Not a bad way to spend a Monday night. Not bad at all.
My Life as a Book
Derek Fallon has trouble sitting still and reading. But creating cartoons of his vocabulary words comes easy. If only life were as simple!
My Life as a Stuntboy
Derek gets the opportunity of a lifetime—to be a stuntboy in a
