Laugh Till You Cry Read online

  Praise for

  Laugh Till You Cry

  “A fine addition to Nixon’s long and distinguished career.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “A fast-moving, suspenseful story.”

  —KLIATT

  “Cody is a lovable character who could be ‘anybody.’ ”

  —Voice of Youth Advocates

  “Readers will spend time sympathizing with the kid who gets into trouble that’s not of his making.”

  —Booklist

  Books by Joan Lowery Nixon

  FICTION

  A Candidate for Murder

  The Dark and Deadly Pool

  Don’t Scream

  The Ghosts of Now

  Ghost Town: Seven Ghostly Stories

  The Haunting

  In the Face of Danger

  The Island of Dangerous Dreams

  The Kidnapping of Christina Lattimore

  Laugh Till You Cry

  Murdered, My Sweet

  The Name of the Game Was Murder

  Nightmare

  Nobody’s There

  The Other Side of Dark

  Playing for Keeps

  Search for the Shadowman

  Secret, Silent Screams

  Shadowmaker

  The Specter

  Spirit Seeker

  The Stalker

  The Trap

  The Weekend Was Murder!

  Whispers from the Dead

  Who Are You?

  NONFICTION

  The Making of a Writer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2004 by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Cover photographs © 2005 by Andy Katz/Indexstock (top); © 2005 by Roxann Arwen Mills/Photonica (bottom)

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published in hardcover by Delacorte Press, New York, in 2004.

  Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 978-0-385-73027-3 (trade) — eISBN: 978-0-307-53697-6 (ebook)

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  My gratitude to my teenage grandson, Matt Nixon, who served as my advisor and creator of the best of the humor in this book. Matt, who plans a career in cinema, made his debut as a stand-up comic at the age of twelve in West University police officer Mike Peterson’s class. Next stop? Hollywood!

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dodging low tree branches, leaping over dips and cracks in the sidewalk, Cody Carter ran harder and faster down Chimney Rock than he had ever run in his entire life. Someone was chasing him and quickly closing the short gap that lay between them.

  The person yelled something, but fear and his own loud gasping for breath blocked Cody’s ears, and he couldn’t make out what was said. The only words that bounced through his brain were his: I’m only thirteen years old. I’m too young to die.

  Ahead of him lay San Felipe, with cars backed up, waiting for the stoplight to change. In the nearest lane was a blue and white cop car, and Cody aimed for it, knocking on the passenger-side window. As he stared into the wide, surprised eyes of the uniformed policeman behind the wheel, Cody managed to croak, “Help!”

  The officer flipped on his hazard lights and jumped from the car. Cody was bent over the fender, wiping rivulets of sweat from his eyes and gulping air.

  “What’s the matter, kid?” the officer called as he walked around the front of his sedan. He placed a firm hand on Cody’s arm. “Are you okay?”

  Cody twisted to look over his shoulder. His cousin Hayden Norton had drifted back and was standing behind some of the solid, broad-limbed oak trees that lined the street. Hayden’s buddy Bradley Lee was with him. They were both at least five inches taller than Cody, even though they were all the same age and in the same grade at school.

  Hayden and Brad watched Cody warily, practically sniffing the air like a couple of dogs as they waited to see what would happen next. But Hayden’s other sidekick, Eddie Todd, shorter and even sneakier, was quietly edging his way back along the street. It was just like Eddie to leave the others, Cody thought. If there was going to be trouble, Eddie wouldn’t be in it, even though he probably started it.

  “Those guys want to kill me,” Cody told the officer. He straightened, able now to breathe more easily.

  The officer smiled. “Take a poke at you, maybe, but are you really sure they want to kill you?”

  The humor in his voice made Cody flinch. “They do,” he insisted. “They said they were going to drag me back to school and stick my head in a toilet. Drowning somebody is killing them, isn’t it?”

  For the first time Cody craned his neck upward to take a good look at the policeman beside him. The man had to be at least six feet three, with broad shoulders. His dark eyes were crinkled at the outer corners, as if he were trying hard not to smile.

  “What did you do to make them so mad at you?” The officer turned briefly, and Cody could see him sizing up Hayden and Brad. Eddie was long gone.

  “I moved here,” Cody answered. He pointed at Hayden, who was still peeking out from behind the trees. “That tall kid with the yellow hair and the big gut is my cousin Hayden. He just plain doesn’t want me to be here.”

  “Where’s here, besides Houston?”

  “My grandmother’s house. Hayden lives right next door. Mom and I came here to live with my grandmother because she’s really sick.”

  “What’s your grandmother’s name?”

  “Dorothy Norton.”

  “And where does she live?”

  “On Longmont. I don’t think it’s too far from here.”

  The officer glanced back at Hayden and Brad. Then he opened the passenger-side door of his sedan. “Hop in,” he said. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

  Gratefully, Cody picked up his backpack and scrambled into the car, closing the door tightly behind him. He sneaked a quick look at Hayden, but the two boys had turned around and were strolling in the opposite direction.

  As the officer started his patrol car, he said, “My name’s Jake Ramsey. What’s yours?”

  “Cody Carter.” Quickly he added, “Thanks for helping me out, Officer Ramsey.”

  “No problem. And call me Jake. It’s easier to remember. Where are you from, Cody?”

  “California. Santa Olivia.” Cody heard the glumness in his voice and realized he was frowning.

  Jake threw him a quick look. “I take it you’d rather be there right now than in Houston.”

  “Right,” Cody answered. “My grandma’s got something wrong with her heart. It beats out of rhythm, so
my mom took a leave of absence from teaching kindergarten and came here to take care of her for a while. I had to come, too.” Cody wiped sweat from his forehead and leaned back, thankful for the blast of cold from the air conditioner. “Texas is a lot different from California.”

  Jake nodded. “Sure, it’s different, which is probably a good plan.”

  Cody shrugged. “If there was a plan, then Texas must have been Plan B.”

  Jake laughed. “You don’t like Texas? I’m surprised. Most people like it. We get a lot of visitors. I read the other day that if you laid all the people who came to visit the Alamo end to end, the line would stretch around the world.”

  “And if you laid all the people who brag too much about Texas end to end …” Cody paused. “They’d deserve it.”

  Jake laughed again as he turned onto Longmont. “That’s a good joke. Where’d you get it?”

  Cody turned to him, surprised. “I didn’t get it anywhere. I made it up.” He pointed to an older, cream-trimmed one-story brick house, sandwiched between two large, more recently built two-story homes. “That’s my grandmother’s house.”

  Jake parked in front of the house and pulled out his wallet. “I’d like to buy your joke,” he said.

  “What do you mean, buy my joke?”

  “I play sax and sit in with a combo most weekend nights at a club over on Richmond,” Jake told Cody. “They usually have a stand-up comic for entertainment, and once a month they hold open-mike night, when anyone can try out a routine. I love my police work and I love playing music, but I’ve always wanted to be a comedian. The thing is, comedians need material. Good material. Jay Leno and David Letterman don’t come up with their opening monologues on their own. They pay a whole bunch of writers to make up those jokes.”

  Cody was interested. He wasn’t allowed to stay up late on school nights, but on Friday he stayed up long enough to hear the Top Ten List on Letterman, and on Saturdays his mom let him watch Saturday Night Live. “How come you want to be a stand-up comic?” he asked. It was hard enough for him to think of a cop as a musician. It was really stretching it to imagine a cop making people laugh! And Jake didn’t look like a comic. He looked like what he was—a big, tough police officer.

  “It’s just something I’d like to try. I’ve always been a comedy fan. But I didn’t realize how hard it would be to find good material. And even when you think you have good material, you might get a dead audience. I’ve seen it happen with some of the people who’ve taken a turn at open-mike night. I tried out a routine for some of the other officers, and I bombed. They told me I needed some new jokes.”

  He pulled a five-dollar bill out of his wallet. “I can’t pay as much as the pros, but will this do?”

  Cody smiled. “Sure. Thanks!” he said. It was five dollars more than he’d had five minutes ago. He put a hand on the door handle, but before he opened it he said, “I’m going to be a lawyer when I grow up, but I guess you could say I’m kind of a stand-up comic, too. At least, I was back home.”

  Jake’s eyebrows rose, and Cody quickly said, “Not at a club or anything—just in school. Sometimes I’d get into trouble when I started joking in class, but I always made my friends laugh. Being funny was the only way to get through some of those classes.”

  Jake still looked skeptical. “But sometimes you got into trouble?”

  Cody shrugged. “Sometimes the teachers laughed, too. But there were a few who never did.”

  “There’s a time and a place for humor,” Jake began. “When your teachers—”

  Cody didn’t let him finish. “I know that now. I haven’t told any jokes here,” he said.

  “Not even to your friends?”

  Cody slumped against the seat. “I don’t have any friends in Houston.”

  “You do now,” he said as they shook. “Here’s my card. Call me if you want to talk.” He picked up a notepad and pen. “And give me your grandmother’s phone number so I can get in touch with you if I need more material. It’s tough to put a good act together.”

  Cody left the patrol car feeling the best he’d felt since arriving in Texas. He’d not only found a new friend in Texas who laughed at his jokes, he’d even sold one of them! He liked making up jokes, and he’d never imagined he could make money selling them. Maybe he’d start typing his jokes on the computer and then printing—

  His good feeling quickly left as he saw Hayden rounding the corner. Cody dashed the rest of the way into the house, slammed the door behind him, and dropped his backpack on the floor.

  His mother appeared. “Cody! Please don’t be so noisy. Your grandmother is sleeping! How many times do I have to remind you to come in quietly?”

  “Sorry, Mom,” Cody said sheepishly. He took a step toward her, expecting the hug with which she usually greeted him.

  But she was frowning. “Why did you come home in a police car?” she asked.

  It took Cody a moment to realize what his mother must have been thinking. He laughed. “Don’t worry—I’m not in any trouble!” he tried to explain. “Jake—that’s the officer’s name—gave me a ride home. He’s a musician and a cop, but what he really wants to be is a stand-up comic, and I told him a joke, and he liked it, and—”

  “Cody,” Mrs. Carter interrupted. “You’re not answering the question I asked you. Why did you come home in a police car?”

  Cody took a deep breath. “Hayden and his friends were chasing me,” he said. “They were going to put my head in the toilet at school and drown me.”

  Mrs. Carter sighed. “Cody, I don’t understand why you and your cousin can’t get along and be friends. If you have any disagreements, surely you’re old enough to talk things over with Hayden and work out the problem.”

  “While he’s stuffing my head in a toilet?”

  “He wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re letting your imagination get out of hand.”

  “My imagination? Mom, don’t make me laugh.”

  Mrs. Carter walked over to a sofa and dropped onto it. She rested her head against the high back and for a moment closed her eyes. “I know it’s difficult for you to be away from your friends and have to go to a new school. But, Cody, dear, your grandmother is ill, and I need your help and cooperation.”

  Cody sat next to his mother. “I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t mean to get you mad.”

  “I’m not mad, and I’m not the one to worry about,” Mrs. Carter told him. “It’s your grandmother, Cody. Please get along with Hayden. It’s important to Grandma. Do you understand?”

  “Sure, Mom,” Cody said. He tried to smile at her, but all he could think about was his cousin and what he could do to protect himself the next time he had to face Hayden. He was pretty sure Hayden didn’t care about what was important to their grandmother.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cody heard the light ring of the little silver bell on the nightstand in his grandmother’s room.

  His mother pulled herself to her feet and held out a hand to him. “Grandma’s awake,” she said. “I know she’ll want to see you. As soon as she’s ready, would you like a short visit with her?”

  “Sure, Mom,” Cody said. Living so far away, he had only seen his grandmother at holidays until this visit, but she had always been fun, and he loved her.

  Cody waited until his mother called to him, then walked quietly into his grandmother’s dimly lit bedroom. The bright-eyed, slightly plump woman, who had taken him on roller coaster rides at Astroworld, taught him about penguins at Moody Gardens’ aquarium, and helped him stand in the dinosaur footprints at the Museum of Natural Science, seemed to have shrunk into a smaller, paler copy of herself.

  Cody gulped and tried not to show what he was thinking. Every time he saw his grandmother, he felt the same sick jolt. Grandma shouldn’t look like this. Grandmothers were supposed to stay the same and not change.

  Dorothy Norton smiled from her bed and held out a hand.

  Cody tiptoed to her, carefully holding her paper-dry fingers as if they migh
t break. “Hi, Grandma,” he whispered.

  “Hi, Cody,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Why are you whispering? Is someone asleep?”

  Cody laughed. “I thought I had to be quiet,” he said.

  “That’s a change.” She giggled. “When you were little, you liked to jump up and down on my bed and yell.”

  “I remember!”

  She squeezed his fingers. “I’m sorry we’ve always lived so far apart. We didn’t get to spend nearly enough time together. I’d like to have taught you to play chess and to Rollerblade, as I did with Hayden.”

  Cody felt a weird twist in his stomach and knew it must be jealousy. Of course his grandma had spent much more time with Hayden, who lived right next door. And because she knew Hayden a lot better than she did him, she probably loved Hayden more, too. Being Hayden’s grandmother, she wouldn’t think of him as the snot-nosed bully he really was.

  “What happened today that was interesting?” Mrs. Norton asked.

  Cody sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. His grandma never asked things like “How was school today?” or “Did you have a nice day?” She asked questions that people wanted to answer.

  “I met this really neat police officer who’s also a musician and who wants to be a stand-up comic,” Cody said. Leaving out his reason for meeting Jake Ramsey, Cody found himself telling his grandma about the Texas joke and Jake’s paying cash for it.

  “You know what a stand-up comic is, don’t you?” he asked.

  Mrs. Norton laughed. “Of course! Jay Leno, Robin Williams, Chris Rock. Is this guy Jake Ramsey funny?”

  “I don’t know,” Cody said.

  “I’ve got some old Reader’s Digest magazines in the garage,” she said. “Maybe you can find some jokes he’d like in those.”

  “No, Grandma,” Cody explained. “Comics have to use original stuff, not somebody else’s material.”

  “Was that joke you told me about Texas original?”

  “Yes,” Cody said. “Sometimes I make up jokes.”

  “Wow!” Mrs. Norton said. “Not many people can do that. It’s a special talent.”