Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life Read online

  “Don’t worry. You’ve smeared it so much, no one can tell if it says ‘life,’ ‘turnip,’ or ‘Go Yankees.’ ”

  “Swear?”

  “Swear.”

  “Just for that, I’ll let you use my hula hoop when we get back to the inn.”

  “Very funny.”

  “No, you were really good.”

  I finish off the last bite of the Snickers, and toss the stick in the garbage. “Yeah, I know.”

  We spend the rest of the day practicing the routine, and most of the next day, too. Lizzy can catch that football with her eyes closed now. Maybe Grandma was right and the talent show won’t be so bad.

  The announcer clears his throat and booms into the mike, “You will be scored on stage presence, confidence, originality, and entertainment value.”

  Lizzy leans over to me. “What about my good looks? Don’t they count for anything?”

  “Shh!” We’re sitting in the front row along with the rest of the contestants. I don’t want any of the three judges to be annoyed with us before the show has even started. The announcer goes on to introduce the judges—a bald Broadway producer, a talent agent, and a guy who sings jingles in commercials. While everyone claps, I take a moment to check out our competition. The kid on the other side of me is picking his nose, and the girl next to him is chewing on her hair. At the end of the row, the three girls who pointed out Lizzy’s tattoo are dressed in matching leotards and glittery boots. I don’t think Lizzy has seen them yet, which is a good thing. She might say she’s not nervous, but she’s repeatedly pulling the strands of fake grass on her skirt.

  “And now, dancing to the classic disco hit ‘It’s Raining Men,’ we have the three Su sisters!”

  Everyone claps as the three girls climb up the steps to the stage. Lizzy’s eyes narrow, and she sinks a little in her chair. The music comes on, skips a little, and then plays normally. The girls have this whole routine with umbrellas, and they’re actually very good. People in the audience start singing along. I turn around to wave at Mom and Grandma in the third row. Mom’s all set with her video camera. I can’t believe I have to do this. I had made it to nearly thirteen without having to be on a stage. It goes against everything I hold dear. At least it will be over soon, and after all, Lizzy’s doing all the hard work.

  The girls finish, take a few too many bows if you ask me, and sit back down. Next up is a boy playing the violin, followed by a brother and sister singing a duet. The violin boy was pretty painful, but the singers weren’t bad. I nudge Lizzy. “We’re next!”

  She nods, her cheeks a bit pale.

  “And now, allow me to present Lizzy Muldoun, the best hula hooper in the East. She will be assisted by her friend Jeremy Fink.”

  The audience applauds politely as we climb up to the stage. I have all Lizzy’s props in my duffle bag, and I set it to the side. I look toward the center of the stage, where Lizzy is supposed to be. Except she’s not there. I whirl around to find her standing behind me, slightly offstage. She’s waving me over. I hold up a one-minute finger to the judges and hurry over to Lizzy. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “We’re on!”

  Lizzy shakes her head superfast. “Can’t go on,” she says, clutching her stomach. “Cramps.”

  “You have got to be kidding me!” I say. “How long does this thing last?”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, “I don’t know what to do.”

  The audience is getting restless. I can hear them murmuring. I lean closer. “But you worked so hard. Can’t you just push through it?”

  She shakes her head again. “You could go on in my place! I can’t hula, but I could still toss you the props.”

  “What? No way!”

  The Broadway judge comes up onto the stage. “Is there a problem?”

  I don’t know how to answer. Lizzy yanks off her grass skirt and shoves it in my hand. “Jeremy’s going on in my place. I’ll assist him.”

  The judge lifts one eyebrow, but says, “All right, but we need to get a move on. Ten seconds.”

  “Please do this for me, Jeremy,” Lizzy pleads. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. You know my whole routine. I’ll be right there with you.”

  “Five seconds,” the judge calls out.

  This is a prime example of why I hate surprises. I look wildly out at the audience to Mom and Grandma. They’re standing at their seats with stricken looks on their faces. I point to Lizzy’s belly. Grandma looks confused, but Mom whispers to her. Then Grandma starts chanting, “Jer-e-my! Jer-e-my!” To my horror, others in the audience join in. There must be a hundred people stamping their feet and shouting my name. It’s like a scene from a bad teen movie where the lovable loser finally runs for a touchdown or approaches the popular girl in school.

  Our music starts to play over the loudspeakers. Someone’s gotta go right round baby right round like a record baby right round, round, round, and apparently that someone is me. I pull the skirt up over my shorts. It barely reaches past my knees. I grab the hula hoop from Lizzy’s hand, and move into the center of the stage. I read somewhere that because of the spotlight shining in their eyes, a person onstage can’t see the crowd. I guess that doesn’t apply in a tent in the middle of the day, because I can clearly see everyone’s expectant faces. To my surprise the crowd cheers even before I start moving my hips.

  I take a deep breath, put the hula hoop in place around my waist, and get a solid rhythm going. I nod to Lizzy that it’s time to toss me the football. I catch it easily and toss it back. I’m only half-aware that I’m actually doing this, because most of my brain is occupied with what Lizzy could possibly do to make this up to me. I’m pretending I’m alone in the living room at the inn rather than doing the hula in a grass skirt in front of a hundred strangers. Otherwise I know I’ll freeze up.

  A minute later she tosses the banana. I begin to unpeel it and bring it to my lips when I remember that I hate bananas! I force myself to take a bite, then swallow quickly and make a face. I toss the rest of the banana behind me, and it hits the curtain. The crowd roars with laughter. I hadn’t meant to be funny.

  After what seems like forever, but is actually only one minute and fifty-three seconds, we reach the finale where I pop open a soda, drink some, and then reach down and rest it on the floor next to me, all while hula-ing. The hoop rotates around my knees until the music stops. Then I flip it up around my neck and bow. My head clears long enough for the applause to register. I admit, it feels kinda nice. The last time people applauded for me was when I won the sixth grade spelling bee by correctly spelling the word neurotic.

  Lizzy scrambles across the stage to pick up the props, and I pull off the skirt and run down the steps. Mom and Grandma rush up to greet us.

  I turn to Grandma. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to thank you?”

  “You were wonderful,” she says. “If you can do that, what can’t you do?”

  Mom pats her video camera. “And I got it all on film.” Then to Lizzy she says, “Are you okay, honey?”

  Lizzy nods. “I’m really sorry, Jeremy. But you were really, really good. Better than I would have done.”

  I know that’s not true, but the next act is starting, so we sit down to watch. Ten more acts follow. Most do singing or dancing routines, or play some sort of instrument, but one does a stand-up comedy act, and one girl plays the bongos with her feet. While the judges add up their scores, people keep coming up to shake my hand, and to tell me how much guts that took. The whole thing was such a blur. If not for the lingering feel of the hoop around my waist, I could almost believe I’d dreamt it. Never in a million years did I think I could have hula-hooped in a grass skirt in a talent show. I wonder what else I could do that I never thought I could.

  I try to convince Mom to let me run out for a fried-dough Twinkie, since there’s no way we’re going to win. She makes me stay. The judges finally announce they have a winner.

  Third place goes to the Su sisters, who don’t look thrilled when they go u