Free My Life as a Cartoonist by Janet Tashjian Page B

you like it? I hate myself for wanting his approval.
    â€œA flamingo?” he finally says. “How are we supposed to create a comic strip about two birds who can’t possibly exist in the same location?”
    â€œExactly,” I answer.
    Just like the two of us.

Detention Spy
    monotonous
    While waiting for Umberto at our next monotonous detention, I draw a cartoon about a prisoner of war in solitary confinement with nothing to entertain himself but bugs and leaves. I know I’m not the first kid in the history of the world to say this, but detention STINKS.
    confinement
    When Umberto wheels up to his desk, he doesn’t seem as chipper as usual. If it were any other classmate, I’d ask what’s wrong but because it’s Umberto, I don’t.
    â€œLet’s try to get a chunk of this done today,” I suggest. “’Cuz I don’t want our punishment to get extended.”
    â€œOh, like I do,” Umberto snaps.
    He shoots me a look like I just punched his grandmother in the face.
    â€œWhat’s your problem?” Although I don’t want to seem interested, curiosity has gotten the better of me.
    Umberto rubs his left leg. “I’ve had a hard time sleeping, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”
    knead
    I watch him knead his leg the way my mom kneads dough when she bakes bread. “Does your leg hurt?”
    â€œI’ve kind of gotten used to it but last night was bad.” He grabs the paper from my desk. “But not as bad as your lettering. Did you write this on a bus with no shock absorbers? While going down a hill?”
    I grab the paper back and smooth it out on my desk. For a moment there I almost felt bad for Umberto. So much for being nice.
    The two of us work on our strip, a story of two birds with nothing in common. When Ms. McCoddle comes over to check on our progress, she studies the panels carefully, then waits a few minutes before speaking.
    â€œI’m not sure this is making any sense yet,” she says slowly. “And it seems a little negative. Then again, I’m not a cartoonist; you two are. I’m sure it’ll come together in the end.”
    I’m glad our teacher is confident in our collaboration because I’m sure not. I take the opportunity to ask for permission to use the bathroom.
    â€œYou have five minutes before I come looking for you,” Ms. McCoddle says.
    accelerate
    The thought of Ms. McCoddle throwing open the door of the boys’ room is enough for me to accelerate my pace down the hall. But I don’t head toward the bathroom; I hurry to Mr. Owens’s room to check on Matt’s movie club.
    crestfallen
    I stand on my toes and sneak a peek into the window of the door. I’m crestfallen when I see Matt in the front of the room laughing. The other kids are laughing too. My worst fears have materialized: The rest of the world is having fun while I have detention.
    materialized
    As I’m about to head back to the classroom, I hear something and at first can’t tell what it is. After a moment, I realize someone’s crying. I look around the corner to find Carly leaning against her locker in tears. I look between Ms. McCoddle’s classroom and Carly. Even with a five-minute deadline, I can’t ignore one of my best friends.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” I ask. “Are you okay?”
    She cries harder when she sees me. “Crash just broke up with me.”
    â€œWhat? Why?”
    She shrugs and wipes her tears with the edge of her sleeve. “I asked him but he wouldn’t tell me.”
    From over my shoulder I hear Ms. McCoddle’s voice. “Did I tell you I’d be looking for you, Derek?”
    â€œI’ll be right there.”
    corralled
    â€œI’m counting to three,” she says, as if I’m a baby who needs to be corralled back to his crib for naptime.
    â€œI’m done at four if you can wait for me,” I tell Carly.