Comedy Girl by Ellen Schreiber Read Free Book Online Page B

future.”
    â€œAnd what would that be, Ms. Shapiro?”
    â€œRefrigerator repair.”
    He tried to hold back a smile.
    â€œEveryone has one. And the ice maker always goes on the fritz just before a party. That’s when I come in. Only I’ll wear a dress with a pink tool belt—not those horrible jeans those men wear that keep falling down when they bend over.”
    â€œIt seems you’ve thought this through.”
    â€œI’ve liked refrigerators ever since I can remember.”
    â€œJazzy explained that she signed you up for stand-up. She thought she was doing you a favor.”
    â€œNow audiences all over the world will get a favor—my early retirement!”
    â€œShe feels horrible.”
    â€œShe can tell it to her therapist. I think she gets a discount if she goes over an hour.”
    â€œWhat would you say if I said I thought you were funny?”
    â€œI’d say something I’m not supposed to say to a teacher.”
    â€œThree hundred people can’t be wrong. Didn’t you hear them laugh?”
    â€œIt was hard to hear them over the sound of my heels hitting the floor in flight. Besides, they were laughing at me, not with me.”
    â€œYou accomplished the assignment. You were supposed to stand onstage alone for several minutes and hold the audience’s attention. And since you chose stand-up—or since it was chosen for you—you wanted the audience to laugh. Which they did. I gave you an A.”
    â€œI don’t deserve to pass, much less get an A. I didn’t deserve that laugh!”
    â€œYou improvised a line that got you out of a desperate situation. Everyone is afraid to do what you did. To go onstage, to tell a joke. A lot of popular kids who think they own the world take my class. But they turn into big marshmallows when I ask them to perform in front of their peers. You have the dream and passion inside you, and you have guts. No one can take that away. Talent Night was your first experience, not your only experience. And if you always remember that you passed instead of failed, then you can look back on it with pride.”
    â€œI’ll never look back on Talent Night with pride.”
    â€œThen look at your report card with pride.”
    The dark clouds that were hovering over my world started to drift away. I almost felt the sun peeking through.
    â€œThanks for coming over. I think my stomachache will go away now.”
    â€œFabulous! But I do have just one request before I go.”
    â€œYou changed your mind about that HoHo?”
    â€œIt’s another assignment. But this one’s just for you, strictly elective.”
    â€œOh no,” I cried, panic setting in, imagining another Talent Night just for me.
    â€œI signed you up for Open Mike at Chaplin’s.”
    I began to feel flu symptoms coming on again.
    â€œEach amateur gets five minutes. These people have never been up on a stage before in their lives. You’re farther along. You can use the material you were planning for Talent Night. You can even read your jokes from cards. There’s no pressure. It’ll be fun.”
    â€œBut, I can’t do this, don’t you understand?”
    â€œYou can’t not do this. I’ll see you tomorrow night at Chaplin’s. I’ll sit in the back so I won’t make you nervous,” he said, letting himself out.
    â€œOh no,” I sighed, feeling my forehead. “I think now I really do have a fever!”

OPEN MIKE
    I crept into Chaplin’s for the hundredth time, but tonight my stomach turned as I walked the hallway of fame—instead of being an audience member sitting safely behind an appetizer list and a haze of smoke, I would be a performer, alone onstage, delivering jokes, with a spotlight shining straight down on me.
    â€œI’m here for Open Mike,” I whispered to a chain-smoking woman checking off names on a sign-in sheet.
    â€œHi, I’m