Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Not Growing Up by Tommy Greenwald Page A

thought you said this was a middle school tournament,” I said to Mr. Radonski.
    â€œIt is,” he said. “These kids are going into sixth grade.”
    I couldn’t believe it, and neither could Katie. They practically looked like toddlers. “No way,” she said.
    Mr. Radonski laughed. “Yup. Incredible how young they seem, isn’t it?”
    â€œThey’ve probably never even heard of high school,” said Megan.
    Suddenly I heard a familiar voice. “CHARLIE JOE!”
    I turned around and saw Timmy McGibney’s little brother, Michael, running up to me. He seemed upset.
    â€œHey, dude!” I said. “Are you playing in this tournament?”
    â€œI was, but this bratty kid over there said I can’t play!”
    â€œWhat bratty kid?”
    Michael didn’t answer. Instead, he took my hand and walked me over to the table, where a scrawny little kid was running around with the air hockey paddles, yelling, “Who thinks they can beat me? Who thinks they can beat me?”
    I tapped him on the shoulder. “I think I can beat you.”
    The kid looked up at me and laughed. “Forget it, Grandpa.”
    â€œWhat did you just call me?”
    â€œHow old are you?” the kid said.
    â€œOld enough that you should be afraid of me, and not calling me Grandpa!”
    The kid didn’t look scared at all. “Whatever,” he said.
    â€œWow, I like this kid’s nerve,” Megan said.
    â€œReminds me of someone,” Katie said.
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” I said, but Katie just smiled.
    Michael tapped me on the shoulder. “His name is Gerald, and he’s the best air hockey player in our grade,” he whispered.
    â€œOh, is that right?” I said, turning back to Gerald. “Well kid, it looks like you’re about to get schooled by Grandpa.”
    Gerald blinked. “Wait, you really want to play me?”
    â€œThat’s right.”

    He blinked faster. “That’s not allowed. You’re not in sixth grade. Unless you’ve stayed back, like, sixteen times.”
    I leaned over until my face was about four inches from his. “Watch it.”
    By now, a bunch of other kids had gathered around to see what was going on. Mr. Radonski came running over. “What’s all this about?”
    I pointed at Gerald. “It’s about this little twerp here, thinking he can bully my little buddy Michael off the air hockey table, and calling me Grandpa.” I grabbed one of the air hockey paddles out of Gerald’s hands. “So now we’re going to play a quick game.”
    Mr. Radonski shook his head. “Now hold on a second, Charlie Joe, you’re a little bit too old—”
    â€œWill everyone stop worrying about how old I am?” I snapped. Mr. Radonski looked a little shocked, so I took a deep breath. “Besides, it’s my birthday. One quick game?”
    â€œFine.” Mr. Radonski clapped his hands together. “Okay, listen up, we’re going to put the tournament on hold for a minute while Gerald and Charlie Joe duke it out. First one to five wins.”
    Pretty much everyone at Jookie’s was watching us by this point, and believe it or not, I started to feel a few butterflies in my stomach. You’re going against a sixth grader! I said to myself. Relax!
    I took a deep breath and we started playing. Two seconds into the game, I knew where his confidence came from. Thirty seconds later, I was losing, 2-0.
    â€œWassup, Grandpa?” Gerald crowed. “Lost your reflexes over the years?”
    His classmates started a chant: “Gerald! Gerald! Gerald!” But I managed to block his next five shots, score on a couple of my specialty ricochet bouncers, and win the next three points.
    â€œI was Jookie’s air hockey tournament champion two years in a row,” I told my pint-sized opponent.
    â€œWhoop-dee-doo,” he