My Life as a Cartoonist (20 page)

Ms. McCoddle insists we suffer through our punishment in her classroom instead of with Ms. Loughlin, who usually runs detention. Ms. McCoddle must know that Ms. Loughlin is always so focused on her knitting that kids can usually get away with pretty much anything while she's in charge. Instead, Ms. McCoddle grades papers in the front of the room while Umberto and I sit in our usual seats to begin our cartoon partnership.

We go through our own notebooks, ignoring each other for at least ten minutes before Ms. McCoddle interrupts the silence.

“If I don't have a comic you came up with TOGETHER by next week, detention will be extended to TWO weeks. Am I clear?”

Whatever happened to the happy, sing-songy kindergarten teacher Ms. McCoddle used to be? Umberto and I finally grunt out an acknowledgment and she turns back to her work.

“You think you have all the original ideas,” Umberto says. “Why don't YOU start?”

“That's exactly why YOU should be the one to go first—to show you actually can create an original character on your own.”

“That's easy,” Umberto continues. “I could do it in my sleep.”

“Then take a nap and come up with something.” I put my arms behind my head as if I have all day.

It might be my imagination but it seems that Umberto's finally at a loss for words. He scans the room nervously.

“Come on,” I taunt. “I'm waiting.”

Umberto picks up his marker and draws the first panel. My confidence falters a bit when I see that he doesn't need a ruler to make a crisp, straight line. He fills the first panel quickly and neatly, then pushes the paper across the desk.

I stare at his artwork and then laugh. Ms. McCoddle looks up with a smile, probably thinking we're enjoying ourselves. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“You drew a penguin.”

“No kidding,” Umberto says. “If you're so good at animal identification, maybe you should be a zoologist.”

I hold up the paper and point to the wall behind me. “Now you're just copying from the bulletin board. I helped Ms. McCoddle put up that penguin myself.”

Umberto leans back in his wheelchair. “I didn't see that penguin. Your big head must've been blocking it.”

“There are millions of animals on the planet, and you just happen to come up with a penguin?”

“What's the big deal? You came up with a baby seal.” He smiles as he gestures toward the seals in the corner of the board.

“I came up with my baby seal character BEFORE this bulletin board went up.”

“Are you sure?” Umberto seems to really be basking in our argument. “Because I seem to remember this board being up first.”

“You're lying!” I feel my cheeks flush, then watch as Ms. McCoddle rises from her desk.

“Is there a problem?” she asks.

“Umberto is copying someone else's ideas—AGAIN.”

Umberto shrugs. “My colleague here isn't happy with the character I created. I was just trying to jump-start the creative process. I'm happy to try again if this one doesn't work for him.”

Ms. McCoddle examines the drawing. I pray for her to hate it but she smiles instead. She holds the page up to me. “I think this penguin is endearing. Isn't this something you can work with, Derek?”

I want to tell her of COURSE I can work with a penguin. Who I CAN'T work with is Umberto. Instead I tell Ms. McCoddle I just have so many ideas I'm not sure which one to use first. She nods and returns to her desk.

“You stick your tongue out when you concentrate, do you know that?” Umberto asks. “I used to do that—back when I was two years old.”

I ignore the insult and hand him the finished panel.

He studies the paper for a few moments. As much as I dislike Umberto, all I'm thinking while he's examining it is
Do you think it's good? Do you like it?
I hate myself for wanting his approval.

“A flamingo?” he finally says. “How are we supposed to create a comic strip about two birds who can't possibly exist in the same location?”

“Exactly,” I answer.

Just like the two of us.

Detention Spy

While waiting for Umberto at our next monotonous detention, I draw a cartoon about a prisoner of war in solitary confinement with nothing to entertain himself but bugs and leaves. I know I'm not the first kid in the history of the world to say this, but detention STINKS.

When Umberto wheels up to his desk, he doesn't seem as chipper as usual. If it were any other classmate, I'd ask what's wrong but because it's Umberto, I don't.

“Let's try to get a chunk of this done today,” I suggest. “'Cuz I don't want our punishment to get extended.”

“Oh, like I do,” Umberto snaps.

He shoots me a look like I just punched his grandmother in the face.

“What's your problem?” Although I don't want to seem interested, curiosity has gotten the better of me.

Umberto rubs his left leg. “I've had a hard time sleeping, that's all. It's no big deal.”