Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [59]
“Okay, Ghooost in the Graveyard it is,” I say, doing my spooky imitation to get everybody in the mood. “The steps are the entrance to the cemetery like alwaaays.”
A coupla other kids have wandered over from the playground the way I wished they would. I don’t know all their names except for the boy with ringworm. Everybody calls him Yul now. His real name is Peter Von Knappen. He was my boyfriend before I liked Henry, so I hope his hair grows back someday.
Willie O’Hara throws his heftiness around and says, “Guess I’ll be it.”
Troo hops up off the step and goes toe-to-toe with him, or as close as she can get. “Guess again, lard butt. I challenge you.”
After Willie told that great Polack joke, I was pretty sure she would challenge him. Like a lotta other things that go on around here, this never happened when we lived out in the country. By the time we’d walk over to somebody else’s farm, we’d be too worn out to see who can jump from the top of the silo without breaking their leg or try to milk a cow blindfolded, but these challenges happen all the time in the neighborhood. One kid goes up against another kid to determine who’s the best at something. Anything. You can get challenged to steal pumpkins in October out of old man Moriarity’s garden or to say the Stations of the Cross in under half an hour. Sometimes the challenges can even be death defying. Like who can run in front of a car without getting hit or hold your breath and then blow on your thumbs until you faint and smash your head on the sidewalk. One time Timmy Maddox challenged Howie Teske to play something he called Rushing Roulette with his father’s gun and ended up getting shot in the elbow.
Even talent can be challenged. Like when they have battles of the bands up in the gym.
That’s what this one is. Comedian versus ventriloquist.
Willie fires the first shot. “So . . . ya heard the one about the Polack and the ventriloquist, O’Malley?”
Troo shakes her head and doesn’t put up a fuss. She knows the rules. If you don’t play along, the other kid automatically wins. Period.
Willie says, “Well . . . there’s this ventriloquist who tells a Polack joke during his supper club show. After he’s done for the night, a big drunk Polack comes up to the stage and tells him, ‘Ya know, I’m sick and tired of these jokes. I’m gonna knock the shit outta ya.’ The ventriloquist says, ‘I’m sorry, sir, it was all in good fun.’ And then the Polack says back to him, ‘I wasn’t talkin’ to you, mister. I was talkin’ to the little asshole on your knee.’ ”
It takes a couple of seconds for all of us to get that one, but when we do, we start chuckling like crazy. Even Troo.
She says, “Fine, you win,” and doesn’t even try to beat him. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. She’s laughing too hard to keep her lips closed.
“You’re a handful, O’Malley,” Willie tells her.
My sister grabs one of the jelly rolls hanging over his shorts and says, “Takes one to know one, O’Hara.”
“Go on, be the ghost, ya little pisser,” Willie says gruff, but he’s smiling.
His mean-sounding accent hurts my ears and he’s got pimples on his forehead that he insists on showing you on a daily basis, but being a bossy gentleman is also part of Willie’s personality. Most of the time I like the way he takes the bull by the horns, but not tonight. I don’t want Troo to be the ghost and run off into the dark without me. I want her to be by my side. Permanently attached. (I’m asking for a pair of handcuffs this Christmas just like Dave’s got.)
Willie and all the rest of us turn our backs and start counting, “One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock . . .”
I cover my eyes, but don’t join in because I can barely swallow my own spit. There is just no telling with Troo. What if she’s pulling a switcheroo? What if she runs right over to the Molinaris’ to search for Greasy Al? I turn and peek between my fingers. She’s not heading that way. She’s sprinting toward the Latours’ backyard, so that’s good. That means she