May 9, 2017 5 min read

The story so far: Clay’s plans for making money backfire and his mother and grandmother see them at Jerry’s Super-Duper.

Clay’s mother abandoned her cart and ran toward them. “Clay!” she gasped. Nick saw her horrified gaze fix on Clay’s filthy T-shirt and bloodstained jeans. “What’s going on?”

“So you know these kids?” Mr. Jerry asked, smiling.

Clay’s grandmother sauntered up. “You might say so.”

“Don’t be shy, son. Show them your sign.” Embarrassed, Clay held up his piece of posterboard.

“As you can see,” Mr. Jerry continued, “these kids are raising money for the homeless and this young man is helping generous customers with their groceries. Open your purse strings. I’m matching them dollar for dollar. Would you excuse me? I need to call the newspaper.”

Nick felt uncomfortable as Clay’s grandmother stared at them with knowing eyes. “Helping the homeless, are we?”

They nodded.

Nick was relieved when Clay’s mother sighed. “I thought I got rid of those jeans. You’re just full of surprises, Clay. But how can I be angry when you’re doing something so nice?” She turned to Jazz. “What does your sign say, dear?”

Jazz held it up.

“You’re telling jokes for the homeless?”

They nodded. “People get their money back if they don’t laugh,” Jazz said.

“I hope it’s a whopper of a joke.” Nick could tell that Clay’s grandmother was trying not to smile.

Clay’s mother glanced at her shopping cart. “The ice cream’s melting,” she said. “Be a dear, Clay, and take the groceries to the car.”

“I’ll show him where it is,” said Clay’s grandmother, taking his elbow in her hand. “Do you get paid extra for helping an old lady walk?” She chuckled.

Clay’s mother turned to Nick and Jazz. “Does your mother know what you’re doing?”

Nick shook his head. We’re in trouble now! he thought.

“Should I call her?”

“I suppose,” Nick said. What would their mother think?

Clay’s mother hesitated as she turned to go. “One more thing. I don’t know where you kids came up with this idea, but make sure Clay gives every penny to the homeless. OK?”

Nick smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

•

Boomer’s owner, with Boomer in his arms, greeted them as they walked back to the Scudsy-Sudsy. “I knew you’d be back!”

Grateful, Nick smiled. “Just so you know, the dollar you gave us is going to help the homeless.”

“Wonderful! In that case you need more business!” Boomer’s owner disappeared into the Laundromat. Soon a loose line stood in front of Jazz and Nick.

The next couple of hours were busy. Starting with Boomer’s owner, Jazz whispered her joke over and over, trying not to laugh, her face funnier than the joke. Nearly everybody laughed for her. Only once did Nick and Jazz have to give money back. Whenever Nick glanced toward the Super-Duper, Clay was stretched out, pushing a loaded cart.

When the newspaper reporter arrived, Nick and Jazz could barely fit another coin or bill into their pockets. As if by magic, Mr. Jerry appeared, pulling Clay behind him.

The reporter got her pen and pad ready. She looked at the sign Jazz held. “Want to share your joke with our readers?”

Jazz held out her hand. “Got a quarter?”

The reporter laughed.

Mr. Jerry grinned. “Aren’t these kids something? When you’re writing this story, would you mention that I’m issuing a challenge to other business leaders in this community to match these kids dollar for dollar, just like me?”

“You got it,” the reporter said, taking notes. She looked up. “Here comes the photographer.” A car belching blue smoke pulled up. “Let’s get some photos! Then I’ll ask questions.”

“So much for being rich!” Clay grumped as they posed.

“But we’re famous,” Nick said. Curious people were gathered around. More people to tell Jazz’s joke to, he thought.

“I’d rather be rich,” Clay muttered.

Nick checked Clay’s pockets for lumps of money. He didn’t see many. The record was probably his. But just in case… He flashed a smile just before the camera clicked. “About my mom’s groceries. I don’t feel right taking your mother’s stuff. Give me the twenty-dollar bill so Jazz and I can shop before we go home.”

“Man!” Clay moaned. He frowned but reached into his pocket. “You’re wiping me out! I was too busy pushing carts to make much,” he whined. “What was your joke, anyway?”

Jazz cleared her throat, hunching her shoulders and speaking softly to keep new customers from hearing. “Why did the rooster cross the road?” Mr. Jerry, the reporter, and the photographer leaned close enough to hear.

Clay shrugged. “Should I care? OK. Why?”

“Because he wasn’t dead.” She wanted to laugh so much, her face must have hurt.

The reporter and photographer laughed. Mr. Jerry laughed.

“That’s the stupidest joke I ever heard!” Clay said, staring at Jazz. But then a burp-like, nervous giggle popped from his mouth. He tried to hold the laughter inside, but when he started laughing, he couldn’t stop for several minutes.

A world record? Naw. But maybe a record for Clay.

THE END