Free The TV Kid by Betsy Byars Page B

the way he, Lennie, did.
    It seemed to him suddenly that every TV person he had ever seen wasn’t real, not the girl in danger of skinning her knee again, not the women who had just given up their soap for an experiment in white clothes, not the man who had eaten enchiladas and gotten an acid stomach.
    Lennie went on, even including his favorites. Not Hoss, who had just won a Chinese girl in a poker game. Not Lassie, who had rescued a colt from a burning barn. Not Gentle Ben, who didn’t really kill the chickens. Not the Brady Bunch, who had to go on a talent show and sing a rock song to get money for their parents’ anniversary gift.
    That wasn’t life. It was close enough to fool you, Lennie thought, if you weren’t careful, and yet those TV characters were as different as a wax figure is from a real person. Lennie imagined you had to come up against life hard to know what it was all about.
    He looked at the TV. He smiled slightly. On the screen Hoss was saying, “But, dagburnit, Pa, how was I to know Ming Lee was a girl?”
    Lennie watched Pa for a moment. Pa Cartwright was the kind of father that would make you think—if you had a father—that your father wasn’t good enough. Or Lassie pulling a newborn colt from the burning barn made you think your dog wasn’t good enough. Or Mother Nature-type forests ruined real forests for you, made them seem dirty and empty. Or the Waltons or the Brady Bunch made you think there was something wrong with your family, when really, Lennie thought, his own family—just him and his mom—was a hundred times realer than the Bradys or the Waltons or the Cleavers or any other TV family you could name.
    Lennie shifted on his hospital bed. After his mother brought his supper, he thought, he would turn off the TV for a while and work on his report. It was the only thing that really interested him. His teacher, Miss Markham, had come to see him in the hospital and had suggested that he do a report on rattlesnakes and rattlesnake bites. She would, she had said, give him extra credit for it. It would make up for his last Science test.
    He had wanted to start the report right away, but he hadn’t felt like it. Now, suddenly, he did.
    Lennie looked at his clock. He decided he would work on his report during Let’s Make a Deal. For a second he had a feeling of betrayal. All those people in their farmer suits and banana costumes would be in place, waiting. Monty Hall would be coming down the aisle. A great cheer would go up. Signs would wave. People would beg Monty to choose them. And Lennie would dial them all down to a small dot and start working on his report.
    And after that he would betray the celebrities on Hollywood Squares who were waiting with their funny answers.
    And after that ...
    Lennie’s mother came in the door with a tray. She was smiling. “The nurse says no hamburgers or pizza today.”
    “What is it?”
    “It’s Jell-O and broth, but she says you can have something else tomorrow if you’re feeling better.”
    “A hamburger?”
    “We’ll see.” She sat by his bed, spooned up some broth and fed it to him. She said, “What happened on Bonanza while I was gone?”
    “I don’t know,” Lennie said. “I was thinking.”
    “Oh?” She fed him some more broth. She dabbed at his face with a napkin. “What about?”
    “My report.” The broth felt good and warm inside him. “I’m going to work on it after supper.”
    “Now, the doctor says you shouldn’t do anything you don’t feel like doing.”
    He nodded, took another spoonful of broth. “I feel like it,” he said.

Chapter Twenty
    L ennie stood in front of the Fairy Land Motel. He was beside the wishing well. One hand was on Humpty Dumpty’s head. He leaned forward and looked down at the painted water below. There were still seven pennies and one nickel, but the Mounds wrapper was gone.
    Lennie eased himself down on the edge of the well. His grandfather had made this well, Lennie thought, and painted