My Life as a Book Read Free Page B

sees my father’s face, but then her eyes widen. I follow her gaze to my hand and realize I am holding a permanent marker. My father rises and catches his reflection in the living room mirror.
    â€œDerek Martin Jeremy Fallon, you have gone too far!” Mom says.

    â€œI thought I’d help Dad keep up with the young guys, that’s all.”
    My father looks at the long, wide sideburns and half a mustache. “It’s actually not that bad.”

    â€œJeremy!” my mother yells. “Don’t encourage him!” She runs into the kitchen and comes back with a dish towel, but my father’s new facial hair isn’t going anywhere soon.
    She rubs his mouth with so much force, I wonder if he’s going to need dentures when she’s through with him. As I march up to my room, I make a mental list of all the cool stuff I could do with a set of fake teeth.

    The next morning when my father comes downstairs, I try to hide my laughter. He’s still got some of the sideburns I drew on him and he’s wearing a black T-shirt that’s too small. He combed his hair with my mother’s gel, so it’s sticking up in a million directions. As funny as my dad looks, his attempt at being cool makes me sad. Now it’s my turn to give advice.
    â€œYou shouldn’t worry about all those young guys getting all the jobs,” I say. “You’re a good illustrator. You just have to do what you told me—keep at it.”
    He looks at me like I’m actually saying something that makes sense instead of just regurgitating the same old stuff he always tells me. “You’re exactly right. We’ll both dedicate ourselves to our studies this summer.”

    And just like that, I realize that by trying to help my dad I’ve committed myself to even more work. You know that saying, “Nice guys finish last”? It’s 100 percent true.

Forcing My Parents to Admit the Truth
    I pick a bouquet of coneflowers from Mr. Parker’s garden for Matt’s mom to persuade her to let me go on vacation with them. I also help Matt sweep his sidewalk and water their container garden. I even help carry his mother’s six bags of groceries into the house. But when Matt finally gets an answer, his mom says no.

    Matt and I plug his sister’s old sunlamp into the outlet on the side of the house to try to set the grass on fire.
    â€œIs it because Massachusetts is so far away?” I ask.
    â€œNo. I think she decided against it after talking to your mom.”
    â€œMy mother told her I couldn’t go?”
    â€œI think so. Sorry, dude. I tried.”
    Matt’s sister Tanya comes running out of the house and asks if we’re insane—she says that it’s drought season and we could start a fire that might burn for days. In the middle of her speech, I tell Matt I have to leave. Ever since Tanya started babysitting around the neighborhood, she’s been impossible. Bodi runs alongside me when I skateboard home.

    As I slalom between the traffic cones I set up in the street, I imagine a giant-size sunlamp I could use to interrogate my mother. Since I don’t have one, I climb onto the roof of the garage with the croquet set instead. It takes a few swings before I nail the satellite dish with the green ball. Moments later, my father storms outside.

    â€œIf I miss a hole-in-one in this tournament because you’re messing around with the satellite dish, I swear to God, I’ll use that mallet on you! Put the dish back where it was and get down here this minute!”

    â€œI’m not coming down till I find out why you won’t let me go to Martha’s Vineyard.” I take another shot and hit the satellite dish again. My skill has definitely improved since I started doing this in third grade.
    My father screams for my mother, who comes outside with two pairs of reading glasses tucked into her hair like a headband, another on the neckline