Almost Starring Skinnybones Read Online Free PDF Page B

and hoped for the best.
    Annabelle Posey was already seated at her desk behind me.
    I spun around and grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant little grin either. It was one of those big, wide, annoying grins that makes you look like a jack-o’-lantern.
    Annabelle Posey turned her head and pretended not to see me. I knew she would. Whenever I grin at her, she pretends not to notice. It was just the chance I was looking for. Before she could stop me, I took my pen and wrote my name on her notebook.
    Alex “The Greatest Star of All Time” Frankovitch
    “My autograph,” I explained nicely when she finally turned back around.
    Annabelle made this face like she was going to be sick. Then she ripped open her purse, spit on a Kleenex, and started trying to rub my name away.
    I widened my grin. “Sorry. Waterproof.”
    Annabelle Posey’s face got so red, I thought she was going to boil over in her seat.
    “You big jerk! I didn’t want your stupid autograph! Turn around! Just turn around!”
    She screamed it so loud, our teacher, Mrs. Ballentine, stopped taking attendance and started glaring at me. Mrs. Ballentine has one of the deadliest glares in the business. There’s a rumor going around that a few years ago she actually glared a hole in a kid’s head.
    “What’s going on there?” she asked at last. “What’s all that racket about?”
    Annabelle held her notebook over her head. “He scribbled his stupid name all over my stuff!” she declared loudly. “He’s ruined it!”
    “Alex?” said Mrs. Ballentine, raising her eyebrows.
    “I’m deeply insulted,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face. “An autograph is not scribble.”
    Mrs. Ballentine seemed puzzled. “Why are you calling it an autograph?”
    Ahhh. The moment I’d been waiting for. I stood up.
    “Well, I wasn’t going to mention it, Mrs. B. But since you brought it up, I might as well talk about it. The national television commercial that I made in New York last summer was shown for the first time yesterday.”
    Mrs. Ballentine frowned. It was the kind of frown teachers do when they think you’re lying. “You made a national television commercial?” she asked doubtfully.
    “It came on during
Gilligan’s Island
,” I informed her. “I swear. You were probably still here at school making up those test questions nobody can ever answer.”
    Her frown got deeper.
    “Ask anyone!” I insisted. “I bet a lot of kids saw it.”
    I turned around and scanned the room. “How many in here saw it? How many saw my commercial?”
    No one answered. Not one person.
    I started to sweat.
    “Oh, come on, you guys,” I persisted. “You did too.
Think. Gilligan’s Island
! The new Kitty Fritters commercial! I was the kid running away from home with the cat.”
    Suddenly, in the back of the room, a hand shot into the air.
    “That was you?” blurted Raymond Vellenburg, astonished. His eyes were as wide as saucers. “You were the kid in the coonskin cap?”
    “Yes! Yes! That was me!” I exclaimed. “That was me!”
    “I saw it too!” said Cynthia Kendall excitedly. “I didn’t know it was you, though, Alex. I didn’t recognize you.”
    I felt so proud I almost burst. I stuck out my chest and nodded eagerly. “Yeah! It was me all right! Did I say that I made it in New York?”
    Raymond continued to stare at me in disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You mean the kid who fell on the floor trying to lift the cat food bag into the wagon—that was you?”
    I bobbed my head up and down some more. “Yup! He was me! I was him!”
    Suddenly Raymond dropped his head and began slapping the top of his desk with his hand.
    “That was the
stupidest
commercial I’ve ever seen! What a weakling! You looked about four!”
    Giggles started across the room.
    Beads of sweat popped out all over my forehead. Oh no. It was happening! My worst nightmare was coming true.
    Why wouldn’t they stop laughing?
    “Oh yeah?” I blurted, trying not to show the hurt.