Jon Scieszka - Guys Read: Funny Business

E rnest was a nerd, but it was fourth grade: we were all nerds. Even the best of us were shackled to some fatal flaw. James, who was the fastest kid in the class, was also the last one to carry a lunch box. Jean-Pierre had already started cutting the sleeves off his gym shirts, but he hadnt yet started going by J.P.: even little Tim Houston wasnt afraid to put on a French accent and say Jean-Pierre, oui oui when they stood next to each other in line. And me? I was terrible at sports, last picked for everything. At recess I hung out on the sidelines of the basketball court and bet kids quarters that they couldnt make free throws. (I usually cleared a few bucks a week.) It was there, on the sidelines, that I would sometimes talk to Ernest.

Ernest looked more ninety than nine. He had thick-lensed glasses that were attached snugly to his face by a cloth band that wrapped around his head. Our school had uniforms, and he was the only kid to opt for the cardigan instead of the sweater. Twin deposits of dried spit lined either side of his mouth; he always looked like he had just eaten lots of vanilla frosting.

Sometimes youd feel bad for Ernest, but hed always do something to mess it up. Example: in kindergarten Id let him sit next to me in art. One day I was drawing a picture of a veterinarian, and in the middle of our conversation, Ernest leaned over and drew a long oval in between the guys legs. I was dumbstruck.

And so I missed Ms. Maxwell coming up behind us.

Lovely picture, Ernest, she said. Hed drawn Freddy Krueger battling Jason battling a Ninja Turtle underneath a fleet of stealth bombers. All the guys in his drawing had too many musclesit looked like they had three biceps on each arm.

And then: Dean, whats that?

Ms. Maxwells tone was strange, like her throat was tight.

I tilted my head straight back so I was looking right up at Ms. Maxwells chin. She was looking down at my paper.

Its a veterinarian? I said. You know, a vet? Someone who takes care of animals?

I know what a veterinarian is, Dean, said Ms. Maxwell. Whats that? She frowned and pointed to Ernests contribution to the piece.

Oh, I said. He dropped a hot dog.

A hot dog?

Yeah, he was eating a hot dog and he dropped it. So now its falling to the ground. I started to draw a hot dog bun in the hand that wasnt holding a stethoscope.

Oh, said Ms. Maxwell. Thats very silly. She believed me, but I think only because she didnt want to believe the alternative.

Ms. Maxwell moved on to another table. Ernest collapsed onto folded arms, giggling. As he shook with laughter, the end of the cloth band wriggled like a tadpoles tail on the back of his head.

Ernest.

Things hadnt changed much since then. That was the thing with Ernest: as soon as you tried to be nice to him, he made you regret it.

But before I keep going about what Ernest did, I have to tell you a little bit about the first-best television commercial that year. In case youre wondering, the third-best television commercial was for some sort of G.I. Joe watercraft. The kids in the commercial had an elaborate system of aqueducts in their room that basically looked like a real miniature swamp, and the ad made it seem like the toy was self-propelled. Joes boat slammed into and capsized Cobra Commanders hover-craft and then jacked up onto a sandy beach, at which point two kids popped up from behind a line of miniature man-grove trees and shouted, Go, Joe! I didnt even like G.I. Joes, but I wanted a swamp in my room.

The second-best commercial of the year was for a board game called Crossfire. It started with two kidsone with an edgy, spiky haircutentering a futuristic gladiator arena. At the center of the arena was the Crossfire game board, which looked like a tiny plastic version of the same arena the boys were standing in. The kids started playing Crossfire, which involved shooting silver ball bearings at a ninja star in the middle of the arena. There were five intense seconds of stuff flying around and colliding while some invisible guy just shredded on an electric guitar and screamed Crossfire! over and over. Finally the spiky-haired kid threw his hands in the air and said, I win! This commercial was notable not just for being heart-spasmingly intense but also because it was pretty much the only board-game commercial I ever saw where the winning kid didnt have a dorky bowl cut.

But the number-one best commercial of the year was so much better than these two runner-ups. The competition wasnt even close. It was an ad for Nesquik Chocolate Syrup, and it was the kind of thing that would make you drop your Pop-Tart and run in from the kitchen if you heard it come on in the other room. The ad took place in the Nesquik factory. It started with an establishing shot of the building that looked like it was taken from a helicopter or maybe from a powerful camera attached to a satellite orbiting Earth. A voice invites you to see whats going on inside. The camera zooms in fast until it passes through the walls, and then we see a rapid-fire procession of scenes from the factorys belly. Conveyer belts sending an endless parade of chocolate candy to be melted into chocolate syrup, shiny metal instruments spewing liquid chocolate like geysersthat kind of thing. It was amazing, exactly what you hoped a chocolate milk factory would be like. But the best part, the part that got stuck in your mind until it was melted and processed into the stuff of chocolate daydreams, was the ending. A kid in swim trunks leaps into what seems to be the mouth of an ordinary waterslide but turns out to be a huge, twisty-straw-shaped waterslide. He plummets around and around the straws dizzying red-and-white-striped spirals until he lands, delighted, in a giant pool of cool, delicious chocolate milk. Other kids are in the pool with him, laughing and splashing around. A guy from the Nestl corporation with long blond hair and a whistle is there to act as a lifeguard, but you can tell by the way hes smiling that hell pretty much let you get away with anything.