The feeling that came over Max was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. This was it — his destiny, pinpointed by a single guided missile of chocolate and saliva. He reached out a trembling hand.
Big Byrd patted Max’s shoulder. “Let it go, man. The custodians will clean it up.”
“Not the chocolate!” Max exclaimed, tearing off an entry form. “The poster! The contest!”
Sydni gave the poster a disinterested once-over. “You know somebody who’s going to enter?”
“Me!” Max almost bellowed. “I’m the funniest kid in America!” There was a lot of hemming and hawing. “Oh, come on! Who do you know who’s funnier than me?”
“My cousin Cyril,” Big said readily. “He once went down a bobsled run on a Frisbee.”
“Is he under sixteen?” Max demanded.
“I don’t think so. He drives a station wagon. And he has grandkids.”
“Look, Max,” said Sydni kindly. “It may be that everybody laughs at your jokes around here. But this kind of contest is going to attract kids from all over. And some of the teenagers are bound to be better than you.”
“Besides,” added Maude, “you think your mom’s going to let you go to Chicago? Keep dreaming.”
But that evening, for the very first time, Max performed his act in front of a live audience: Olivia and two of her friends, also age four.
Nobody laughed; one of them actually cried.
“I need practice if I’m going to get good enough to win the contest!” Max groaned aloud.
“What contest?” came his mother’s voice from over his shoulder.
The thing about Ellen Plunkett was that she never paid full attention to anything or anybody. She was a devoted mom, but when she talked to you, she was always doing something else at the same time — folding laundry, cooking, tidying up, or dealing with her freelance P.R. clients. It was an annoying trait, but it had its advantages. Sometimes she was so distracted that it was possible to blow something right by her.
Today was not one of those times.
From Maxx Comedy. Copyright © 2003 by Gordon Korman. All rights reserved.
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