My Life as a Cartoonist (14 page)

Tommy and Terry each take out stacks of wrinkled pages from their packs. I try to grab the reins of the class back by asking how they originally came up with the idea. When I spy Umberto out of the corner of my eye, he's not as unsettled as I'd hoped, but instead listens to Terry with full attention.

Tommy talks about how the cat character has evolved since they first started drawing him but Terry interrupts him. “What about you, Derek? Show us some of your illustrations.”

I reluctantly spread my
Super Frank
panels across the desk.

“These are great!” Matt says, as if it's the first time he's seen them. “Super Frank looks like a real monkey.”

Susan takes one of my drawings and compares it to Umberto's. “Your monkey has much better fur,” she tells him. “The face is more realistic, too.”

“Yeah, and the lettering's really professional,” Tommy adds.

“I worked hard on them,” says Umberto proudly.

Starting a cartooning club suddenly seems like the idea of an imbecile—namely, me.

“I think Derek's are more original,” Carly says. “Having a baby seal as a bad guy is totally unexpected.”

Just about as unexpected as a classmate in a wheelchair trying to ruin your life
, I think. But the other kids want to hear more about Umberto's process. I admit defeat and give up trying to manage the club, at least for this session. Umberto has conquered me fair and square. I sit down next to Matt, who shrugs. He's right—Umberto's won this round; it's up to me to win the next one.

Water on the Brain

After the fiasco with the cartoon club, all I want to do is hole up in a cave, but Carly won't have it. She convinces Matt the best medicine is for me to go surfing. She arranges for Heinz to give us lessons at an introductory rate. Matt's wanted to try surfing for a long time and immediately says yes for the two of us.

Matt's brother, Jamie, drops us off in Santa Monica, where Carly, Crash, and some other kids are already getting ready to go out. It doesn't take a genius to guess which one is Heinz. The guy's so tan and his hair so bleached from the sun, he looks like he hasn't spent a minute of his life indoors. He calls Matt and me over to his truck and throws us each a wetsuit.

“You guys are totally getting up today,” Heinz says. “I guarantee it.”

Matt and I explain that we're skateboarders who've never been surfing before.

“Skateboarding will really help with your balance,” Heinz says. “But it's all about the pop-up.” He explains that the most important thing is going from a paddle position to a standing position—fast. He chooses two surfboards from several in his van and tells us to meet him by the water.

As Matt and I walk down the beach, I look around to locate Carly, but she and Crash have already paddled out.

“You think we'll really catch a ride today?” Matt asks. “That would be awesome.”

I try not to get my hopes up; if surfing turns out to be anything like the cartoon club, I'll end up tangled up in my leash, spit up on the shore with a face full of sand.

When my parents asked me last night how the club went, I told them it was amazing, that the other kids got a lot out of it too. I may have gone a bit over the top, animatedly describing the club's camaraderie. Dad seemed proud that the information he'd shared had been useful; I didn't want to spoil his good feelings by admitting Umberto had undermined my comics as well as my authority.

The truth is I couldn't just blame Umberto; I LET my authority as the club's leader be undermined. I could've guided the club back on track after Umberto tried to take over but I didn't, choosing the easier path of surrender. And that was the part that hurt more than Umberto staking claim to my comic book ideas.

Thankfully, I can't spend the morning dwelling on past mistakes because Heinz has us in the sand practicing pop-ups. Going from lying down to standing as fast as you can isn't a skateboard skill. But after twenty minutes of practicing, Matt and I seem to get the hang of it. When I look out on the horizon to find Carly in the water, she and Crash are sitting on their boards talking, framed by the morning sun.

“Today's a good day to learn,” Heinz says. “Not a lot of wind and nice, easy waves.” He motions for us to grab our boards and follow him out.

When Carly sees us, she yells some much needed encouragement.

“I knew those two would hit it off.” Heinz gestures to Carly and Crash. “They're like two peas in a pod.”

Matt shoots me a “what is he talking about?” look. I could tell him I've got a different perspective on Crash but I don't, letting Matt continue our game of Trash Crash. “Crash and Carly made for each other—as if!” he says.

“Yeah, what do we know? We're only her best friends,” I add.

The water's cold at first. Heinz walks alongside us as Matt and I paddle out. With new sets of waves coming at faster intervals, getting outside-the-break is more difficult than it looks. It's hard to imagine Carly's gotten so good so fast; she breezes by us effortlessly.

“Okay,” Heinz says. He's standing chest-deep in the water between us. “It takes a while to learn how to read the waves. So for now you'll have to trust me on which waves are the best ones for you to catch.”

I'm not sure how advisable it is to put your faith in a guy who got his nickname chugging a bottle of ketchup, but that's what Matt and I do.

“Not this one,” Heinz says when Matt impatiently starts to go. He brings Matt's board parallel to mine. “Sometimes the most important skill to have out here is patience.”

After a few minutes, Heinz turns to me. “This next one—go!” And before I can ask a single question, he pushes my board, with me on it, toward the shore.