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“I’m totally great with life. I can do this, Darius.”

  Darius shook his head and closed his eyes. “You’re just so full of shit, dude. You kind of make me sick.”

  “What?” I asked.

  Darius deflated. He spoke really quietly. “Seriously. I really don’t want to talk to you for a few days, okay? Just stay away from me.” He left my room.

  I had to tell myself, like, ten thousand times, “Today is the best day I’ve ever had,” because I’ll tell you, after that weird display, I had fear in my heart for sure.

  When Dad went up north to the mine, it wasn’t so he could marry some puffy-coat-wearing lady. It was so he could earn extra money to keep me floating until I was adult enough to float my own boat.

  And the reason Darius stopped going to tech school and took a full-time job driving a Pepsi truck and then working full-time at Captain Stabby’s was so he could keep me afloat until I could float my own boat.

  But Dad floated into Miz’s hot sack, and Darius sunk himself all the way to the bottom of the ocean. And Dad wouldn’t call me back, and Darius told me to stay away from him. There was no one to float my boat but me, and I didn’t even have a boat because, according to Darius, I was full of shit and also I was in high school and I had homework and musical rehearsals and I had to work for Nussbaum for free and… Holy balls, dingus. I had a baby in my girlfriend.

  “Today is the best day I’ve ever had? So is tomorrow?”

  How could I believe it?

  Whatever. I kept repeating it to myself.

  “Tomorrow will be even better than today.”

  And it worked. That night I dreamt that my mom was watching out for me like a big, bald Tibetan baby-head sun rising over the grocery store.

  The next day was my seventeenth birthday.

  Chapter 22

  It was a Friday, the last day of school before winter break. My birthday!

  Not that I cared. My job was to get my shiz together, not get excited about school vacation or birthdays or whatever. But dingus, nobody remembered my birthday. Not Darius (who wouldn’t talk to me). Not Dad (who didn’t call). Not Maggie Corrigan (who, for reasons that are completely understandable, was wrapped up in her own self). Not Ak Sharma. Not even my oldest pal, Brad Schwartz. Not one single human being.

  Except Emily Cook. Sort of.

  She caught me in the commons. She was wearing her shirt buttoned all the way up to her collar and her circular plastic nerd glasses. “Hey, Taco! Are you seventeen?” she asked.

  I stared at her. I nodded fast. “I am! Today!”

  “Oh…sooo…happy birthday?” Emily said.

  “Yes! Exactly! It’s my birthday,” I said. “Thanks for saying happy birthday.” I think the word birthday sent me into some kind of super awkward info puke because I started talking fast. “When my mom wasn’t dead, she used to give me birthday cake first thing in the morning, and then we’d go for breakfast at Country Kitchen. Like I needed any more food, right?”

  “Right?” Emily asked. “Uh…are you okay?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I took a deep breath. Nobody had talked to me all morning, you know? “Probably not.” I shrugged and smiled at Emily. “Hey, why do you care if I’m seventeen? That’s pretty weird.”

  “Oh yeah,” Emily said. “One of the college kids who works the desk at the emergency room quit, so we need to hire someone. You have to be seventeen, so I figured I’d ask. I know you’re a busy guy, but…”

  “Yeah, I really don’t have time.”

  Emily looked down. “I know. Lecroy makes such a big deal out of a musical. It’s like he’s putting on a real Broadway show, not a rinky-dink high school production.”

  “That’s not it. I need a real job.”

  Emily shook her head slightly. “Didn’t I just mention a job at the hospital?”

  “I already volunteer at Nussbaum’s law office, so I can’t do more charity work.”

  “What kind of charity work does Nussbaum do? My dad says he’s a scoundrel,” Emily said.

  “Really?” I asked. “Nussbaum?”

  “Doesn’t he spend all his time gambling at the VFW?” Emily asked.

  “Really?”

  Emily stared at me a second and then shook out the cobwebs. “Taco, you’re kind of an airhead.”

  “Me?”

  “Do you think I work at the emergency room all night long for free?”

  “Yeah. Volunteer work. Nerds love that crap, right?”

  “I may be a nerd, but I’m not a dolt. I get paid eleven dollars an hour.”

  I sort of gasped for air. Tibetan sun came flooding in from the commons area skylight. It was a total miracle. “What are you saying, Emily Cook?” I was getting tears in my eyes because I really didn’t know how to get a job and here was somebody giving me a shot.

  “Uh…you’re seventeen, so you should apply for the job at the hospital. That’s all.”

  “Really? I could work at the hospital? For money?” It just seemed so far out of my league, dingus. Such a dream.

  “I mentioned you to Dr. Anderson at our staff meeting last night, and he knew your mom really well because they worked together. She was a nurse, right?”

  “Yeah! But in Cuba City, not in town.”

  “He works there too. Anyway, he told me to talk to you because he also heard about how you calmed down that sorority girl when she arrived in the emergency room.”

  “Yes!” I said. “I am totally at your service! I’ll take the job!”

  “Well, you have to apply for it first.”

  “I am a man who can float my own boat,” I said.

  “Okay. Is that a good thing?” Emily asked. “Can you come into the hospital tomorrow morning?”

  “You know it, Emily Cook,” I said. “I’ll be there.”

  I walked around the rest of the day with my head held high as a kite floating on helium winds. When the bell rang, I grabbed Maggie Corrigan and said, “I’m going to be a doctor or nurse!”

  She said, “Merry Christmas. I’m going to Ohio tonight. It’s going to suck.”

  “I’ll miss you, my lady. Safe journeys,” I said.

  She swallowed like she was about to barf. Then she nodded and left the school. We were definitely working our plan! No one could possibly tell that Maggie liked me at all, much less loved me.

  After school, I told Mr. Nussbaum with a no-nonsense voice like it was exactly what had to happen, “I’m going to be late coming to the office tomorrow because I have to go procure employment at Southwest Municipal in the a.m.”

  Mr. Nussbaum stood up from his desk and pulled on his shirt. He grabbed my hand and walked with me out of his office, through reception, and into the majesty of the law filing room. There, he showed me a pile of new files, which were piled on top of the old files I hadn’t yet finished filing. “You still going to have time to pay your debt to society?” Nussbaum asked.

  “I will. But I need money.”

  “Darius?” Mr. Nussbaum asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Darius and other stuff.”

  “Your pops not willing to give you a little extra?” Mr. Nussbaum asked.

  “Wouldn’t seem so,” I said. “He won’t take my calls.”

  “No other way?” he asked.

  “I mean, if you paid me for this work, then I wouldn’t have to get another job.”

  “That’s not our deal,” Mr. Nussbaum said. “I’m already doing my part.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He breathed in and out through his nose and squinted down at me. “Taco. Let’s talk about adult problems,” he said. He turned and walked back into his office. He waved that I should follow him, so I did. He sat down in his chair and gestured for me to sit across from him. “It has come to my attention that there are other issues too, aren’t there?” />
  “Beyond Darius and my dad?” I asked.

  “Troubles you’re not broadcasting to the public,” Mr. Nussbaum said.

  “What?” I knew what he was talking about, but I didn’t think he could possibly know what he was talking about.

  “Adult problems related to Maggie Corrigan? Related to her parents? Related to a meeting my friend Bill Bettendorf took earlier today, whereby Maggie’s parents want to remove your parental rights over the child she’s gestating?”

  “Oh shit,” I said. “I can’t lose my parental rights!”

  “Taco. Be real, amigo.”

  I felt like I was looking up at a giant waterfall that was blasting my face. “Okay. It’s all true. Gestating,” I said, barely able to get the word out.

  “Of course it’s true. All of it.” Nussbaum nodded at me.

  “But, Jesus, can the Corrigans really do that? Remove my rights without me agreeing?”

  “If we don’t fight them, they can,” Mr. Nussbaum said.

  “I want to fight! I want to be a dad, a family guy, the husband Maggie needs. I want to kick around a soccer ball with my kid.”

  Mr. Nussbaum squinted at me again. He kind of laughed. “So you want to get a job and work here and go to school and be a musical munchkin and be a dad?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Again, you want to be a dad and a typical teenager and a munchkin?”

  “Yes?”

  Nussbaum shook his head. He sighed. “I don’t think so,” he said. “You have to simplify, prioritize, or you’re in trouble. You’re already in trouble.”

  “Oh,” I said. Yeah, dingus, I got it. I just didn’t want to get it.

  Nussbaum laughed. He barked, “Wow!”

  “Wow what?”

  He laughed more. “I just can’t see how a good kid like you can get into so many messes! That Maggie Corrigan must be one hot tamale. Hard for you to think clearly with her around? Plus you don’t have a family to write home about. Not like there’s anyone to guide you or clean up your messes. They die or get drunk or run away with floozies up at the mines, don’t they?”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Wow.” The smile dropped off Nussbaum’s face. He exhaled and stared at me. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, like he was thinking hard. Then he nodded. “Okay, I’m it. I’m your guy, Taco. Listen to me. First things first. Get your priorities straight. You can’t quit school to go to work or your future will be ugly. Got it?”

  “I won’t quit school,” I said.

  “Good. Also, you can’t quit here until Mallory gets back or you’re in trouble with the law,” Nussbaum said.

  “Okay.” I wouldn’t quit.

  He leaned back, put his hands behind his head, and kept thinking and talking. “You need money. Your dad won’t support you the way you need to be supported.”

  “True,” I said.

  “Well, we could sue the shit out of him. You’re his responsibility.”

  “No!” I shouted.

  “But your brother is going to jail, and you need money,” Nussbaum said. “Why not get it from your old man?”

  “I don’t want to be connected to him…like indebted,” I explained.

  “But you need money,” Nussbaum said.

  “So?”

  “So you won’t become homeless. So you won’t starve.”

  “Also, so Maggie and my baby have food to eat when they come live in the house with me.”

  Nussbaum shook his head. Then he looked up and spoke to the ceiling, “But you’re just a kid.”

  “I’m not really a kid. I’m seventeen today,” I said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mr. Nussbaum said. “But you don’t need to have a kid.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked. “I’m the father of a baby.”

  Nussbaum leaned forward. “Taco. You forget that crap, amigo. Take a sizable cash settlement from the Corrigan family, give up your parental rights and all nonessential contact with Maggie, and go be a teen and a musical munchkin who lives in your own place and has enough to eat.”

  “No!” I shouted. There it was! What Maggie said they were going to do! They wanted me to sell my kid! “I won’t do that.”

  “You haven’t even heard their offer, Taco.”

  “I don’t sell children. I don’t sell my love.”

  “Oh boy,” Nussbaum said. “Will you just hear their offer?”

  I clapped my hands over my ears. “No, no, no, no!”

  Mr. Nussbaum shouted, “Stop it! Stop, Taco!”

  I put my hands down, glared at Nussbaum, and said, “So other than sell children for money, what do you think I should do?”

  “Go get a job. That’s all you can do,” he said. “Then between here, school, and your job, work yourself to death.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m on it.”

  Nussbaum glared at me. “Cut the deluded shit. You quit that musical because you have no time to be a damn munchkin. Focus, kid. You have school, my office, and whatever job you get, and that’s it. You agree to quit that musical and dedicate yourself, and I’ll fight off the Corrigans. Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said quietly. I needed help. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Nussbaum just shook his head.

  A few minutes later, I was back filing. My stomach hurt, and my chin trembled. For my birthday I got the gift of no longer being Mayor of Munchkinland.

  I got Nussbaum’s help though. That meant something.

  Chapter 23

  Here’s the deal. I have sometimes thought Danielle Corrigan was a mean witch and not a great mom (although I can see her point of view with regard to me). At the same time, I have always thought Reggie Corrigan was a righteous fellow.

  Thus, when Maggie told me that her parents wanted to pay me off, I figured it was all Danielle Corrigan’s doing. I imagined Danielle going through her purse, digging out a twenty, and saying in her very mean voice, “That scrungy little dirt ball can’t even afford protein. Let’s give him a twenty in return for his disappearance from our lives!” I figured Maggie overheard that conversation and got really mad and told me about it as part of her ploy to stop her mother’s evil ways.

  I also figured that Reggie’s clear and kind head would prevail. “We cannot purchase the fool’s rights, darling. Rights are unassailable. They’re intrinsic to being human.”

  But if their lawyer was telling my Nussbaum that the Corrigans wanted to buy my rights, Reggie had to be onboard too. That was another kick in the salad, another blow to my best day ever philosophy of life.

  But no. Hell no. The Corrigans couldn’t buy anything from me. No way! I wouldn’t sell them the shirt off my back, not for a million dollars, not even if they were naked in the snow. I wanted nothing more to do with the Corrigans.

  I needed money though, and that meant—per my conversation with Nussbaum—I had to do something about the musical. It weighed on me. It ruined my good times.

  That night Brad Schwartz (who remembered my birthday at the end of the day) picked me up from Nussbaum’s. Sharma met us over at Brad’s house, and his mom gave us each a cupcake. (Mine had a candle in it.) They sang “Happy Birthday,” and then Brad and Sharma played chess for a couple hours while I watched and ate 116 Geno’s pizza rolls (maybe not quite that many, but close).

  “Come on. You don’t want in on this game, birthday boy?” Sharma asked at one point.

  “Oh. No, my brother,” I said.

  He just shrugged.

  Even if I wanted to play chess, I couldn’t. I had all that munchkin weight on my mind. Mr. Lecroy. Witches, scarecrows, Dorothy, and flying monkeys.

  Before midnight, Brad drove me home. On the way he said, “You have anyplace to go for Christmas?”

  “No,” I said. “Maybe my dad will come down, but I d
on’t want to hang with him, so no, I’ve got no plans.”

  “Now you do,” Brad said. “Mom asked me to ask you to come over Christmas Eve and to stay overnight. We’ll eat cookies. Watch Elf and A Christmas Story. Sound good?”

  “Very, very, very good,” I said.

  “You hang tough, man,” Brad said when I got out of the car.

  The Schwartz family? They’re good people, dingus. But no, I couldn’t enjoy them.

  All evening, I’d been thinking about Nussbaum saying, “Cut the deluded shit.” Musical munchkins and the life of the typical American teenager were no longer within reach for this guy.

  When I got inside the house, Darius was either asleep or dead. (His shoes were at the top of the stairs, so I knew he couldn’t be out.) That he wasn’t drunk and disorderly certainly was good. I looked in the fridge because I was still hungry even after I had downed all those pizza rolls. The refrigerator was totally and completely empty, pal.

  Then I sat down at the table, cranked up the old computer, and sent Mr. Lecroy the following message:

  Dear Sir,

  It has come to my attention that I no longer have enough money to stay alive. Thus, I am sad to say that I will be backing out of my role as Mayor of Munchkinland. I am resigning from all responsibilities associated with this year’s production of The Wizard of Oz, which is certain to be magnificent. I do so with a heavy heart but also with an iron will to stand my ground and be the best Taco I can be. Thank you for your support. I look forward to cheering wildly at the curtain call of the final performance.

  Sincerely,

  William (Taco) Keller

  Mr. Lecroy was apparently awake at one in the morning. He responded immediately from his iPhone.

  Taco! Noooo! There must be other means of assistance? We need you.

  I sat back, took in a deep breath, and said out loud, “My problems are real. This is real.” Then I typed back to Mr. Lecroy:

  Dear Sir,

  It is time for me to take my responsibilities seriously. At times like these, the musical, although the greatest joy of my life (outside of making out with Maggie Corrigan), must take a backseat to providing for myself and my family.