Dancing Dudes (8 page)

“Right,” Diane said, following Heidi and jumping over Graham. “You’re going to need a lot more than a maturation program to become a man.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m more mature than you guys,” Graham said.

“You? You’re only about half as tall as me,” Diane said, looking down at Graham.

“But I’m twice as tough,” Graham answered back, standing up.

“Oh, yeah? Prove it,” Diane said, pushing him in the chest. They both started jumping around trying to knock each other down. After being thrown down five times in a row, Graham just lay there and yelled, “You win! I give up!”

Heidi jumped up and grabbed Diane’s hand and lifted it high in the air. “And the new mature champion of the fourth grade is . . . Diane Dunstin!”

We all cheered and laughed, even Graham. Diane took a bow. Then we got up and all started jumping together. At four thirty, I had to leave. Graham left with me. As we walked down the sidewalk, I turned to him and said, “Diane really got you good. Maybe
she
should be my manly coach instead of you.”

Graham looked at me. I tried to keep a straight face, but I started to laugh. Graham just shook his head. “I could have taken her down if I’d wanted.”

“Right. See you tomorrow,
hermano
,” I said as we got to Graham’s driveway.

WHEN I GOT
to my house, I showed my mom the maturation-program invitation.

“Oh, how wonderful, my baby is growing up.” There it was again.
Baby
.

“Mom, do you really think I’m a baby?” I asked.

“You’ll always be my baby,” she answered, pulling me close and giving me a hug. That wasn’t what I’d wanted to hear.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” I said. My mom looked down at me.

“What’s the matter? Aren’t you excited about your maturation program?”

“No. I don’t really want to go,” I said.

“Of course you do, sweetie,” she said. “I went with your sister, and it will be nice to go with your father. After all, you will be maturing soon.”

“Mom! Don’t say that!” I yelled.

“Well, it’s true,” she said. “It’s just part of growing up. Don’t you want to mature?”

“Yes, I want to mature. I don’t want to be called a
baby
anymore. It’s just that I don’t want to discuss my maturing with my mom,” I said.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t be silly,” she said.

That night at dinner, my mom had to bring it up again. “Honey,” she said to Dad, “can you take off work a little early on Friday? Raymond has his maturation program at school.”

From the look on Dad’s face, he was more nervous than I was. “Oooh, I, uh . . . aren’t they a little young for this? Or isn’t this something you would like to go to, dear?” Dad said.

“No, I think this would be a nice father-and-son activity,” Mom answered.

“What’s the big deal?” Geri snorted. “They’re just going to tell you that you’re a little dork now and soon you’ll be a
big
dork.” Mom gave her a dirty look.

“I’ll be there, pal,” Dad said to me, smiling, though he still looked a little nervous. My dad’s a great guy. He loves to play catch with me, take me fishing, and all that fun stuff. But when it comes to having to talk about serious things, he’d rather leave that to my mom.

The week flew by, and in no time at all it was Friday. All day, Graham was excited about the maturation program and couldn’t wait for it to start. Deep down, I think he still thought that going to the meeting would make him more mature. We ended our dance practice early so we would be finished in time for the program.

We left the lunchroom where we practiced and walked quietly back to our classroom. I could smell old-lady perfume on my arm where Mrs. Gibson and I had to swing around.

Within a few minutes, parents started to arrive for the program. As they showed up, Mrs. Gibson had them stand in the back of the class until it was time to start. The girls were having their program in the library, and we were having ours in the auditorium. Within a few minutes, almost every parent was there, except mine. It was almost time to go, and my dad still hadn’t arrived.

“Okay, girls,” Mrs. Gibson said. “Why don’t you show your mothers down to the library?” They all stood up and filed out of the room.

I looked out the door and down the hall, but there was still no sign of my dad. This would actually be perfect if he didn’t show up. I could still learn all the stuff about being mature, but I wouldn’t have to sit next to my dad and be embarrassed.

“Okay, boys,” Mrs. Gibson said. “Your turn. You can show your fathers, or whoever came with you, to the auditorium.” We all got up and headed down the hall. I followed the pack and sat in the back row. Graham was pulling his dad up to the front so he wouldn’t miss anything. Graham’s dad was also short. He was bald on top with a thick ring of red hair around the sides of his head.

A lady in a white nurse uniform walked onto the stage. “Hello, I want to welcome everyone to the maturation program,” she said. “My name is Nurse Suzanne. I work for the school district. And today—”

“Excuse me,” interrupted a loud voice from the doorway. “Raymond, are you in here?”

I know that voice,
I thought to myself. It was Gramps! I couldn’t believe it. I stood up and waved to him.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” Gramps said, even louder than before. “Have I missed anything?”

“You’re just in time,” Nurse Suzanne said. “We’re about to begin.”

“Wonderful,” Gramps said, making his way to an empty seat next to me. “Raymond’s dad is stuck in a meeting, so his mother called me. She thought Raymond would feel more comfortable with a man—even an old man.” Gramps laughed. “Although I see you are a woman and you’re teaching the class, so maybe it would be fine if Raymond’s mother—”

“Gramps, just sit down,” I interrupted, pulling his arm. He stopped talking and sat down next to me.

“Howdy, partner,” Gramps said to me in his whisper voice, which was just about as loud as his regular voice. Nurse Suzanne started talking about how we need to wash our hair every day and use soap whenever we shower. She also told us we were probably going to get some pimples sometime soon. She talked about a bunch of other embarrassing stuff, and finally it was almost over.

“Are there any questions?” she asked the audience.

“I have one,” Graham said, raising his hand. “When do you think I’m going to get taller and be able to grow a mustache?”

I couldn’t believe he was asking that. I felt embarrassed for Graham. However, not as embarrassed as I was about to feel for myself.

“Can I answer that?” my grandpa yelled out.

“Be my guest, sir,” Nurse Suzanne answered.

“Great,” Gramps said. “Now, where is the young man who asked that question?”

Graham stood up and waved at Gramps.

“Oh, you’re Raymond’s little friend,” Gramps started. “I thought you looked familiar. Well, let me tell you, both you and Raymond are still pretty small, and while the time will come someday for both of you to grow, judging from the size of you, it may not be for a long time. For instance, I was quite the late bloomer myself. I don’t think I had to shave until I was in the army. And I don’t know about you, but if Raymond here takes after his grandpa, he can count on being a late bloomer, too.”

I couldn’t believe this. Everyone in the whole auditorium was staring at us like we were crazy. David was laughing and pointing at me. His dad was also laughing. I started feeling dizzy. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom, Grandpa, I’ll be right back,” I said.

“Hey, not a bad idea,” Gramps said. “I’ll join you.”

We got up and made our way out of the auditorium. I was so embarrassed I thought I was going to die.

“Well, I’m glad I could be here for you, partner,” Gramps said, putting his arm around my shoulder. “I wouldn’t want you to have to sit through this alone.”

“Yeah, well . . . thanks, Gramps,” I said. By the time we made it back, the meeting was over and everyone was leaving. There was a big box by the door with a sign on it that said TAKE ONE. It was full of bags that had little bottles of shampoo and sticks of deodorant in them.

“Hey, do I get one of those?” Gramps asked Nurse Suzanne, who was standing by the door.

“Sure, help yourself,” she said with a smile.

We both grabbed a bag and left. Grandpa took me to get an ice-cream cone on the way home.

“One scoop for my grandson who just graduated from the maturation program,” Gramps proudly told the girl at the ice-cream counter.

“Congratulations,” she said, holding back her laughter. “What flavor would you like?”

“Chocolate,” I said.

“Very mature choice, partner,” Gramps said. “I’ll take the same.”

We ate our ice cream and Gramps dropped me off at home. I walked in, went straight to my room, and plopped onto my bed. What a lousy day.

I LAY ON
my bed for a while, not feeling any more mature than I had before the maturation program. There had to be more to not being a baby than shampoo and pimples. I thought about it for a few minutes. I got up and walked to the bathroom to wash my hands. They were sticky from the ice cream.

As I walked into the bathroom, something familiar caught my eye. I rushed up to the sink. There was my old Peter Penguin toothbrush. I couldn’t believe it.

Peter Penguin was my favorite cartoon when I was in kindergarten. I had Peter Penguin toys, shoes, clothes . . . everything. I even had Peter Penguin underwear. But by the time I was in the first grade, I had grown out of my Peter Penguin clothes and all of my friends stopped playing with Peter Penguin stuff.

I did, however, keep my Peter Penguin toothbrush. I thought no one could take that away from me. It was my all-time favorite. I don’t even remember what I brushed my teeth with before I had that. Anyway, one day my toothbrush disappeared and a new plain blue one showed up in its place. Mom said she had replaced it because it was worn out and too small.

Anyway, when I walked into the bathroom and saw my old friend Peter Penguin on the counter by the sink, it felt like a miracle. How else could my favorite toothbrush simply appear in the bathroom? I picked it up. It did look pretty worn out, but I didn’t care.

As I was examining my long-lost toothbrush, a terrible thought came over me. If Graham were here, I’ll bet he would say, “Rule number six: No cartoon character toothbrushes.” Maybe I was a baby after all. I mean, I cry when I get hurt, I’m embarrassed about the maturation program, and now I want to brush my teeth with a Peter Penguin toothbrush.
Why does being manly have to be so hard?
I thought to myself.

I walked over to the small garbage can next to the toilet and was about to throw it away. Then I thought to myself,
Maybe just one more brushing for old time’s sake.

Immediately, I rushed back to the sink and turned on the water. I usually don’t brush my teeth during the day, but this was a special occasion. My old friend Peter Penguin and I were reunited at last. I put a little water and a dab of toothpaste on the brush, and in no time at all, I was scrubbing like crazy. I looked in the mirror and it seemed like my reflection was six years old again. Memories of good times passed through my mind. After spitting and rinsing my toothbrush, I stuck my mouth under the faucet and got a drink. I looked in the mirror again and smiled. My teeth looked whiter already. Yes, there was something magical about that toothbrush. I decided to keep it. Who cares if there is a rule about cartoon character toothbrushes? I was never going to tell Graham anyway.

I ran out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. Mom was on the phone with Grandma. “Hey, Mom, I found my toothbrush! I thought you threw it out, but it—”

“I’m on the phone, sweetie,” she said. “Give me a couple of minutes.”