My Life as a Cartoonist (15 page)

I pop up immediately, completing phase one of today's lesson. All I have to do now is stay on the board, which I do for approximately half a second before I fall off and get sucked under the water.

I don't worry about losing the board—it's connected to my ankle by a leash—just getting clobbered by it. After being tossed around by the ocean for several seconds, I break through the surface and take a deep breath of fresh air.

Even though I've just been flung around by the waves and didn't ride more than a few inches, it's obvious how people can get addicted to this sport. Granted, I failed miserably in my first attempt BUT I LOVED IT.

I turn around when I hear Heinz yelling at Matt to go. Matt pops up like a champ—a little slower than I did—but unlike me, he stays up. My best friend rides his very first wave all the way into shore. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to feeling a tiny bit envious.

When he emerges from the water, I'm right there waiting for him.

“You were amazing!” I shout. “You rode it all the way in!”

Matt lets out a yell and tugs the leash to bring his board closer. “Let's go again!”

Heinz calls us back out. Even though he's probably fifty yards away and we have to fight the wind and waves to get to him, neither Matt nor I complain as we paddle back out. It takes me four more attempts before I finally ride a wave all the way to shore.

“You guys were great!” Carly tells us afterward. Her hair falls around her face in little blond spirals.

“Not bad for your first time,” Crash says.

Matt and I exchange glances. The fact that Crash is even talking to us—never mind giving us a compliment—is almost more than either of us could hope for.

“I'm going to stay,” Crash tells Carly. “Why don't you go with your friends?”

“I can stay too.” Carly looks at him expectantly.

Both Matt and I dig around in our packs for money to pay Heinz, trying to ignore the private conversation going on around us.

“Freddy just texted me,” Crash continues. “I'm going to meet him at the shop later.” He gives Carly a quick kiss, then heads down to the water.

I can tell by the way her face falls that Carly doesn't want Crash to leave. She looks out over the parking lot, unsure of what to do.

“Hey, let's get some of those famous chicken wings you keep talking about,” I tell her.

She nods and follows us as we bring our boards to Heinz's truck. But the usual chatty Carly doesn't say a word.

“You should definitely come with us,” Matt adds. “In case Derek didn't bring enough money.”

A part of Carly looks like she wants to laugh, but most of her still looks sad. “I just thought Crash and I would spend the day together, that's all.”

“Sorry we're such a lame second prize,” I respond.

She elbows me in the side. “I didn't say THAT.” She takes off, sprinting up the hill, daring us to catch up with her.

It's hardly a contest, but Matt and I hold ourselves back so Carly can win.

An Empty Club

At the next cartoon club, I'm appalled that the only other member there besides me is Matt. I knew Carly had an eye doctor appointment and wouldn't be here. But where is everyone else?

“Was the first class that bad?” I ask Matt. “Is that why no one's here?”

Ms. Ramirez answers for him. “Attendance usually drops off after the first session. Happens in all the clubs. Kids get bored so easily nowadays.”

“Bored with CARTOONS?” The concept hardly seems possible.

I begrudgingly go to the class outline, putting a smile on my face as I tell Matt we're going to talk about creating characters. Like any good best friend, he listens attentively, even when I lose my place twice.

Half an hour into the meeting, Tommy and Terry show up.

“Sorry,” Tommy says. “There was a band meeting we couldn't get out of.”

As they grab their seats, I feel a bit relieved. Why do I always think everything's about me? The other kids who aren't here probably have good excuses too. With new vitality, I go back to today's topic, using examples from my own notebooks to share. My drawings cover the desk like a cartoon tablecloth. Everything's going well … until Umberto wheels himself in.

“I didn't know today was show-and-tell,” he says. “Or I would've brought copies for everyone.” He reaches for the pack slung on the back of his chair. “Oh wait. I did!”

He takes a stack of homemade comic books out of his bag and passes them around. In two seconds flat, Umberto has completely deflected the group's attention from my work to his. I flip through his handout with the lame, unoriginal Super Hank until I spot his copycat hero capturing two terrorists who just happen to be … baby seals.

I can barely control my anger. “Are you kidding me? This is a total rip-off!”