Read Online One Man Show by John J. Bonk - Free Book Online

isn’t exactly going to be - a slam dunk.”
    For someone who used to think that a quarterback was change from a dollar, I was off to a pretty good start.
    Futterman looked peeved. “Well, you or your teacher will just have to think of a way to resolve this situation. That’s all
     there is to it.”
    The
tap-tap-tap
of his hairy fingers on the desk sounded like a ticking time bomb. Did he think I would come up with something on the spot?
    “In our defense, sir, we hardly had any time rehearsing on the set,” I finally said. “A rookie mistake. It won’t happen next
     time.”
    “Next time?” Futterman growled, lunging forward. “There’s not gonna be a next time!”
    “Why not?”
    “Why do you think? It was a disaster!” He pounded on his desk. “I’m just glad no one got seriously hurt. The last thing we
     need is a lawsuit.”
    Out of bounds! I’ll sell one of Gordy’s kidneys or get a job after school declaring cats to pay for the stupid piano. Anything
     it takes. But there has to be a next time!
    “We’re ready to step up to the plate now, sir. If you just give us another chance, I know we could really - uh, knock it out
     of the park.”
    “You had your chance.”
    He swings, he misses.
    “Oh, and another thing,” Futterman said, narrowing his demon eyes.
    Now what?
I needed a time-out. A seventh-inning stretch.
    “That graffiti in the bathroom stall. The cartoon of me in red ink, looking like Frankenstein - I know you did it.”
    Whoa!
That one came out of left field.
    “Don’t even try to deny it, Grubbs. You were caught red-handed. Literally.”
    “You’re way off base, sir. The graffiti was already there. I was using my red pen to pry open the lock. I fumbled, and it
     broke.”
    “Uh-huh. Not to mention lying to me about smoking. You came out of that stall waving a cigar around.”
    “That was bubblegum! It was purple!”
    “Save it, Grubbs,” Futterman said, shooting up from his desk. “You’re lucky I don’t suspend you.”
    “Kill the ump,” I mumbled to myself.
    “I’ll let the other stuff slide, but as far as the piano is concerned, I’m not letting you out of the dugout. You get me?”
     He held the door open, waiting for me to leave. “You’d better come up with something - and soon!”
    Stee-rike three! And you are outta there!
    I walked into the hall and did an actual double take. Jeremy Jason Wilder was sitting on the bench, fidgeting. He couldn’t
     have been in trouble already; there were probablysome new-kid forms he had to fill out. Or maybe Futterman wanted his autograph.
    “I’ll be right with you, Mr. Wilder,” Futterman said, and closed his door.
    “I heard yelling,” Jeremy said.
    “Yeah. Don’t ask.”
    “So what’s he like?”
    “Godzilla on steroids.”
    Jeremy laughed at that. I was going to just say “see ya” and head home, but something told me to stick around. The blue striped
     cap that was sitting on his jacket next to him looked familiar.
    “Hey, I know that cap,” I said.
    “You a Yankees fan, Justin?”
    “Dustin,” I said. “A die-hard fan.”
    “Really?”
    “No! I’m kidding,” I said, snorting.
He should only know how much.
“Just a huge fan of
Double Take.
Didn’t you wear a cap just like that on the show, when you were Buddy?”
    “Yeah, this is it,” Jeremy said. He spun the cap on his finger and let it fly off in my direction. “Catch!”
    Naturally I missed and had to pick it up off the floor. I’d never laid my hands on real Hollywood memorabilia before.
    “Keep it,” he said. “It’s yours.”
    “No way! For real?”
    “Why not? I have, like, five of them. I walked off with a bunch of cool stuff from the show. Wasn’t really supposed to, but,
     hey - let ‘em sue me, right?”
    “Right. Thanks!”
    I put the cap on - backward, like Buddy used to wear it. I got such a rush, I think I was vibrating.
    Futterman poked his head out the door. “Phone call. Just give me five more minutes, okay?”