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  TOTALLY JOE

  Other Books by

  JAMES HOWE

  Bunnicula Books

  Bunnicula (with Deborah Howe)

  Howliday Inn

  The Celery Stalks at Midnight

  Nighty-Nightmare

  Return to Howliday Inn

  Bunnicula Strikes Again!

  Bunnicula and Friends

  The Vampire Bunny

  Hot Fudge

  Scared Silly

  Picture Books

  There’s a Monster Under My Bed

  There’s a Dragon in My Sleeping Bag

  Teddy Bear’s Scrapbook (with Deborah Howe)

  Horace and Morris but Mostly Dolores

  Horace and Morris Join the Chorus (but what about Dolores?)

  Kaddish for Grandpa in Jesus’ name amen

  Tales from the House of Bunnicula

  It Came from Beneath the Bed!

  Invasion of the Mind Swappers from Asteroid 6!

  Howie Monroe and the Doghouse of Doom

  Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb II

  Bud Barkin, Private Eye

  The Amazing Odorous Adventures of Stinky Dog

  Sebastian Barth Mysteries

  What Eric Knew

  Stage Fright

  Eat Your Poison, Dear

  Dew Drop Dead

  Pinky and Rex Series

  Pinky and Rex

  Pinky and Rex Get Married

  Pinky and Rex and the Mean Old Witch

  Pinky and Rex and the Spelling Bee

  Pinky and Rex Go to Camp

  Pinky and Rex and the New Baby

  Pinky and Rex and the Double-Dad Weekend

  Pinky and Rex and the Bully

  Pinky and Rex and the New Neighbors

  Pinky and Rex and the Perfect Pumpkin

  Pinky and Rex and the School Play

  Pinky and Rex and the Just-Right Pet

  Novels

  A Night Without Stars

  Morgan’s Zoo

  The Watcher

  The Misfits

  Edited by James Howe

  The Color of Absence: Twelve Stories about Loss and Hope

  13: Thirteen Stories That Capture the Agony and Ecstasy of Being Thirteen

  Atheneum Books for Young Readers

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2005 by James Howe

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Book design by Kristin Smith

  The text for this book is set in Jante Antiqua.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3

  Howe, James, 1946-

  Totally Joe / by James Howe.— 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  “Ginee Seo Books.”

  Summary: As a school assignment, a thirteen-year-old boy writes an alphabiography—life from A to Z—and explores issues of friendship, family, school, and the challenges of being a gay teenager.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-689-83957-3 (print)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4424-4943-5 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 0-689-83957-X

  [1. Gays—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction. 4. Family life—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.H83727To 2005

  [Fic]-dc22 2004022242

  CONFIDENTIAL

  To Mr. Daly

  (All Other Eyes KEEP OUT!)

  Contents

  Part 1: October

  Chapter 1: A is for Addie

  Chapter 2: B is for Boy

  Chapter 3: C is for Colin

  Chapter 4: D is for Dating

  Chapter 5: E is for E.T.

  Chapter 6: F is for Family

  Chapter 7: G is for The Gang of Five

  Chapter 8: H is for Halloween

  Part 2: November

  Chapter 9: I is for Instant Message

  Chapter 10: J is for Joe

  Chapter 11: K is Not For Kissing

  Chapter 12: L is for Leftovers

  Part 3: December

  Chapter 13: M is for Merry Christmas

  Part 4: January

  Chapter 14: N is for Names

  Chapter 15: O is for Oy

  Chapter 16: P is for Popular (Not)

  Chapter 17: Q is for Questions

  Chapter 18: R is for Religion

  Part 5: February

  Chapter 19: S is for Surprises

  Chapter 20: T is for Thirteen

  Part 6: March

  Chapter 21: U is for Underwater

  Chapter 22: V is for Victim (No More)

  Chapter 23: W is for Writing

  Chapter 24: X is for Xylophone

  Chapter 25: Y is for Yesterday

  Chapter 26: Z is for Zachary (Of Course)

  March 10

  Dear Mr. Daly,

  Okay, I admit it. When you first gave us this assignment, I thought it was lame. Write about yourself from A-Z? Bo-ring. (No offense.) Besides worrying that I wouldn’t know what to write for every single letter (Hello, does anybody know an x-word other than xylophone? And does anybody play the xylophone? And if they did, would anybody care?), well, I was also thinking, Can I really tell the truth about myself? I’m not ashamed of my life or anything. I’m only thirteen (twelve, when I started writing this), so I doubt I’ve gotten to the really embarrassing stuff yet, but, let’s face it, I’m not exactly your average Joe and I get called plenty of names because of it. And then there was all the stuff that happened this year. I mean, was I really going to write about all that? And when you said we had to end every chapter with a Life Lesson to share with others, I thought: Oh. My God. That is so Oprah.

  But I got the point. You wanted us to think. You wanted this to be about something. But if it’s about the real stuff—you know, the truth and all—well, I have to ask: Mr. Daly, did you think this one through? I mean, hello, we’re in the seventh grade. Every single thing anybody knows about us is ammunition. And have you thought about the fact that we would end up talking about other people in our “alphabiographies,” as you call them? I mean, we could be sued for libel. I know about this stuff. I watch Court TV.

  Well, anyway, here it is. I started it in October and finished it last week. You’re the first person to read it—other than me, I mean. I haven’t even shown it to my best friends, who all shared what they wrote and were, like, “We’re never speaking to you again” when I wouldn’t let them read what I wrote—especially Addie, who doesn’t know the meaning of “It’s none of your business.” Well, actually, Bobby was okay with my not sharing. He respects privacy. But the others were, like, “Joe, it’s not like we don’t know everything about you, anyway.” But the thing is, I wrote stuff in here that I’ve never written down before. Some of it I didn’t even know until I wrote it down. It’s kind of personal (and some of it is seriously private). I had to decide if I should take some stuff out before handing it in, but I liked writing it and it’s all the truth—and that’s what you said we should go for, right?

  But the thing is, Mr. Daly, if you wouldn’t mind keeping what I’ve written to yourself, that would be okay with me. Really. Whatever you do, please don’t ask me to read any of it in front of the class, even if you think it’s the best alphabiography you’ve ever read. I mean, I wouldn’t want to betray other people—a
nd the thing with my mother’s high heels is not something I need everybody to know about. Ammunition, remember?

  Yours truly,

  OCTOBER

  A is for

  ADDIE

  IT MIGHT SEEM FUNNY TO START AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY BY WRITING ABOUT somebody else, but there’s a simple reason: Addie is one of my first memories.

  I was four years old when I moved to Paintbrush Falls, right next door to this tall, skinny girl named Addie Carle. I found out later her real name was Addison. I made that number six on the “Weird Things About Our Neighbors” list I had going in my head. I remember the list:

  1. These people don’t eat meat. Not even hot dogs. They eat something called Tofu Pups instead. (Gross.)

  2. The mother doesn’t shave her armpits. (Gross.)

  3. The father likes to be called by his first name. (Graham.)

  4. The girl (Addie) is my age and knows how to read. Or says she does.

  5. Addie thinks my favorite movie star has a stupid name and that there must be something wrong with her.

  6. Addie’s real name is Addison, which is a lot stupider than Cher, and I think there must be something wrong with her.

  In case you’re wondering, I had never seen Cher in a movie. I was only four. But I had seen her on an infomercial once, and, I don’t know, it’s like we instantly bonded. This is something that Addie, to this day, does not get. I love Addie—as a friend—but she can be so dense. Honestly.

  So here’s what I remember: this tall, skinny girl picking her nose while eating a peanut butter sandwich. It’s not pretty, but I can’t help what my first memories are, can I? And think about it: Wouldn’t that make an impression on you?

  She was sitting on her front-porch steps. I walked over and stared at her picking her nose and eating her sandwich. Finally she said, “I thought you were supposed to be a boy. Why are you wearing a dress?” I told her that that was for me to know and her to find out. She said, “Oh, I will.” Then she offered me a bite of her sandwich, but because of the booger factor, I politely said no. I think we went up to her room after that and played with her Legos.

  Oh, I just remembered something else weird. It might have been #4½ on my list. Addie did not have any Barbies. I mean, what kind of girl doesn’t have any Barbies? I was only four and not even a girl, and I had seven Barbies, at least.

  The no-Barbies thing made me feel sorry for Addie for a while, but then I started to think that even without Barbies she was the luckiest person in the world. Why? Because she’s an only child! I couldn’t believe it when I found out. I was, like, “You’re soooo lucky!” And she was, like, “Nuh-uh, you’re luckier. You have a big brother.” Please. She had no idea what it was like having a brother who was totally different from you. I mean, Jeff is nice and all, but he’s this total guy-guy who’s all “yo” and “dude” and grabbing at his crotch and belching. (I don’t mean to be crude, but, honestly, that’s how it is.) Of course, when we were younger, Jeff wasn’t like that so much. But, still, he was always into sports big-time, while me, all I have to do is see a ball and I get a nosebleed.

  It’s funny. Even though we’re so different—and whatever the opposite of guy-guy is, that’s what I am—Jeff has never made fun of me. Even when I was going through my Easy-Bake oven stage (which lasted from my sixth birthday until the unfortunate incident with the lasagna when I was seven), he’d come home all sweaty from playing football or something and find me in an apron making cookies, and he wouldn’t say anything nasty like, “Nice apron, Martha Stewart.” The worst he’d do was grab a cookie and belch. Even when he was with his friends, he pretty much left me alone. (Except for grabbing cookies.)

  The point is, once we moved to Paintbrush Falls, Jeff and I never played together, which was okay with me because I had Addie next door to play with, and right off the bat Addie introduced me to her best friend, Bobby Goodspeed.

  Addie is really smart, as everybody at Paintbrush Falls Middle School knows. (I mean, it’s hard not to know, when she’s in your face about it 24/7.) But her being smart can be a good thing. Like when we first met, after she asked me about the dress and after I asked her to come over to my house to play Barbies and she said, “You have Barbies?” she pretty much had me figured out and stopped asking questions. I think it helped that she loved playing Barbies. Her parents were so anti-Barbie they probably would have sent her off to boarding school if they’d ever found out what was going on next door. Needless to say, she never told them. (I seem to recall that Addie liked Teacher Barbie best, which if you know Addie, will totally not be a surprise.)

  Still, over the years Addie’s smarts have gotten her into all kinds of trouble. Like what’s going on right now, with her refusing to say the Pledge of Allegiance because she says we don’t have liberty and justice for all in this country and she doesn’t like making empty pledges. I’m not sure how I feel about what she’s doing. I mean, I respect her for standing up for what she believes in (and I kind of agree with her about it)—and it’s totally cool that she and Bobby have gotten everybody in school talking about name-calling—but, I don’t know, I’ve got to be honest: Sometimes I wish she’d just shut up and sit down.

  She would so kill me if she knew I felt that way.

  So why do I feel that way? I guess it’s because when you’re a boy like me, you kind of get noticed all the time. You don’t need to have a friend who is always opening her big mouth and bringing even more attention your way. At the same time, Addie has always stood up for me. She’s never been afraid to tell Kevin Hennessey off when he’s called me names or tripped me or yanked my hair. I never thought about it before, but it was probably because of Addie that I learned how to tell Kevin Hennessey off myself. (Not that I always do. But at least I know the words I would say if I had the nerve to say them.)

  LIFE LESSON: Standing up for other people can help them learn to stand up for themselves.

  B is for

  BOY

  TODAY IN GYM KEVIN HENNESSEY CALLED ME A GIRL. I REMINDED HIM THAT WE’RE TRYING TO stop name-calling in our school, and he said, “I’m not calling you a name, faggot, I’m calling you a girl, which you are.” I didn’t even bother to point out that “faggot” is a name. What is the point? Kevin Hennessey has an IQ smaller than his neck size. Actually, he has a head smaller than his neck size. I’m so not kidding.

  Well, I’m used to being called a girl, but, excuse me, is that supposed to be an insult? What’s wrong with girls? Some of my best friends are girls! But I know what Kevin H. and all the other (um, no name-calling, so you’ll have to use your imagination here)___________s mean when they say it. They mean I’m not a boy.

  Okay, fine, I’m not a boy like them, but I’m still a boy. The thing is, boys—by which I mean guy-guys like my brother, Jeff—have always been a total mystery to me. I mean, how do they know how to do all that stuff, like throw and catch and grease car engines? Besides the fact that I don’t have a clue how to do any of those things, on a scale of 1-10 I have, like, below zero interest. Way below. Try negative a thousand.

  But when you’re a boy, people just expect you to:

  1. Make fart noises under your armpit and think it’s hilarious.

  2. Make real farts and go, “Good one!”

  3. Spit.

  4. Relate to other boys by punching and shoving and calling them “jerk” and “butthead” and other names I’d better not put down if I want a good grade. (Guy-guy Fact: Calling somebody “butthead”—or worse—is considered even more brilliantly hilarious than making armpit noises.)

  5. Relate to girls by teasing or ignoring them. (Except when you’re with other boys, and then you brag about all the things you’ve done with girls, even if you’ve never really done any of them and would probably pass out if you actually had the chance to kiss a girl.)

  6. Wave your hand around in class all the time until the teacher finally calls on you and then say, “I forgot.”

  7. Laugh at the other boys who wave their hands
around in class all the time until the teacher finally calls on them and they say, “I forgot.”

  8. Be an expert on

  a. video games

  b. cars

  c. sports

  d. fixing things

  e. acting tough

  9. Act tough.

  10. Use the word “faggot” at least twenty times a day.

  If they didn’t spend so much time trying to make my life miserable (at least fifteen out of every twenty “faggots” are guaranteed to be directed at boys like me), I’d actually feel sorry for guy-guys. I mean, they must get so tired of having to spit and fart and act tough all the time.

  Okay, here’s the part that’s hard for me to admit: As much as I don’t understand guy-guys—and sometimes actually feel sorry for them—I went through a period in my life when I wanted to be one. I kept thinking there was something wrong with me for not knowing how to, I don’t know, be a boy. It’s just so natural for Jeff to want to play football and know how to do it and enjoy watching it on TV. Sometimes Jeff and his friends are talking about some game, and it’s like they are speaking a foreign language. C’est vrai! (Culture Note: That means “It’s true!” in French.)

  The worst is on Thanksgiving, when we have all these relatives over and the guy-guys are down in the basement watching the Super Bowl or whatever it is that’s on TV on Thanksgiving (and what a football game has to do with Pilgrims and Native Americans is beyond me) (unless maybe at the first Thanksgiving the turkey got overcooked and the Pilgrims tossed it to the Native Americans and that’s how football was invented) (just a guess), and I’m in the kitchen with my mom and Aunt Pam and all the other female members of the family, and I keep thinking I should be down in the basement watching the game, but I don’t want to because I would shrivel up and die from boredom, and, anyway, I don’t speak the language. I do, however, speak “kitchen” fluently.

  Luckily, I have two best friends—Bobby Goodspeed and Skeezie Tookis—who are guys but not guy-guys.

  I also have Colin (see C).

  Bobby and Skeezie have been my friends for years. Still, even with them as best friends (along with Addie), it hasn’t always been easy. I don’t know why, but all of a sudden in the fifth grade I wanted to be a guy-guy so badly that I actually asked Skeezie to teach me how. Oh. My. God. It was pathetic.