Free Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Not Growing Up by Tommy Greenwald Page B

should be ashamed of him- or herself.

    My point is that I don’t like ties. But that didn’t matter. Birthday or not, I had no say in the matter. For extra special occasions, I had to wear a jacket and tie, no two ways about it.
    Which is why I was scratching, pulling, yanking, and otherwise doing whatever I could to separate my skin from the collar of my shirt, when I walked into the school auditorium at exactly 3:59 p.m.—one minute before the start of the awards ceremony.
    â€œYou’re going to stretch it past repair,” said my mom, walking behind me and trying to slap my hand away from my shirt.
    â€œI know. That’s the whole point.”
    I took a look around the auditorium. All the teachers were sitting in the front, on the right side. I saw Ms. Ferrell, my guidance counselor, and Mrs. Massey, my old art teacher—by old, I mean I had her last year, and also she’s actually very old.
    My Spanish teacher, Señora Cohen, was talking to Mr. Radonski, which was interesting, because Mr. Radonski had once annoyed all the Spanish and French teachers by claiming that foreign languages were overrated. I believe his exact words were, “We should be teaching the rest of the world to speak American, not the other way around!” I guess on graduation day, though, all is forgiven, and we’re all one big happy family.
    Jake waved. “Charlie Joe, come sit over here!” He and Nareem were saving me a seat. The good news was that they looked just as miserable in their jackets and ties as I did. The bad news was that Timmy and Pete weren’t there, because they weren’t getting awards. That wasn’t all that surprising. What was surprising is that I was there.
    â€œWhere are Katie and Hannah?”
    Jake shrugged. “Probably still in the parking lot, trying to figure out how to walk in heels.” We all laughed and shook our heads. The person who invented high-heeled shoes was as much of a sadist as the person who invented ties.
    â€œThere’s Hannah,” Nareem said, pointing. She was coming down the aisle with her parents, and yup, Teddy. He saw me and grinned.
    â€œAnother swim later, birthday boy?”
    I ignored him.
    â€œHey, that reminds me,” Jake said. “Are you mad that your birthday is on the same day as graduation?”
    â€œWell, I’m not overly thrilled about it, to tell you the truth.” I checked to see if my parents were looking, and then I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt. I can only describe the feeling as similar to what a person probably feels when they’re let out of jail after twenty-five years. “But I am having a separate birthday party next weekend, so we’re all good there,” I added. “It’s gonna be at Chow’s Palace.” I had recently developed an obsession with Chinese food, especially spare ribs. You haven’t lived until you’ve had Chow’s spare ribs.
    I was scanning the crowd, looking for Katie and her parents, when the lights dimmed and the crowd hushed. A light went up on the stage, and there was our principal, Mrs. Sleep, standing at the microphone.
    â€œIf I could have your attention, please,” she said, in that deep voice that had scared the heck out of me for years. “Welcome students, faculty, parents, family, and friends. On the day when our students will soon leave us to go on to bigger and better things, we pause to stop, and reflect, and honor those among us who have accomplished a special measure of achievement. Welcome to the thirty-ninth annual Eastport Middle School Awards Ceremony!”

    The program began, and the first batch of awards was handed out. Nareem won the Math Award, for solving some theorem that probably would have stumped Albert Einstein. Hannah won the School Spirit Award, which makes sense, since she was the most loved and admired student in the whole school (see, it wasn’t just me). Big Phil Manning won the