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  Because Iggy, good old Iggy, did it anyway.

  I am sure you will be glad to learn that Iggy did not get hurt. This is because he did a really important thing with the skateboard as he was flying off the roof. I can’t tell you what it was. Why? Because I have signed a contract promising that nothing in this book is dangerous. Every author has to sign this thing. Otherwise, our books don’t get published. Of course, what Iggy did was not dangerous. It would have been dangerous if he hadn’t done it. But if you read it and then tried to do it yourself, you would probably do it wrong, and your head would go bouncing around the lawn.

  No! That was a joke.

  Whew.

  Let’s get back to the story.

  Iggy lay on his back on the trampoline, happy to be alive.

  Jeremy, who was still halfway up the ladder, was looking down at him with his mouth hanging open. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “It was great,” said Iggy. This was true, although the greatest part was still being alive. He looked at Jeremy’s mouth-hanging-open face and added, “I do it all the time.”

  This was the first actual bad thing Iggy did. First, he was telling a lie, since he had never done it before and hoped never to do it again. Lying isn’t good. But lying wasn’t the very bad part. The very bad part was that Iggy said it to make himself seem cool and Jeremy seem not cool. This was not only bad, but also mean.

  Plus it caused something else to happen.

  “Let me try it,” said Jeremy.

  This was not what Iggy intended. Iggy intended to make Jeremy feel bad that he wasn’t as brave as Iggy. It was a mean intention, but it wasn’t a dangerous, head-bouncing-around-the-lawn intention. Jeremy skateboarding off the roof onto (if he were lucky) the trampoline? Yow. He’d never make it. He’d break his bones. He’d never play the cello again. And it would be all Iggy’s fault.

  “Nah. Better not,” said Iggy. “You have that recital.”

  To Iggy’s surprise, Jeremy’s face got stubbornlooking. “I don’t care. I want to.”

  Iggy thought fast. “You can’t just do it. You’ve got to practice. Try jumping off the ladder first.”

  Jeremy’s face was still stubborn. “But—”

  “Try it,” Iggy said.

  So Jeremy did.

  Some people might say “Oh, that Iggy is a terrible boy! He told Jeremy to jump off a ladder onto a trampoline.” But those people would be wrong. Iggy was being a good boy, because jumping off a ladder onto a trampoline is a lot better than skateboarding off the roof of a shed onto a trampoline.

  Also, it was fun. Jeremy had fun, jumping from the ladder to the trampoline. Boing, boing, boing. He loved it. You could even say that Iggy had been a good host by suggesting a fun thing for his guest to do. Really. You could say that.

  After Jeremy had jumped six times from the middle rung of the ladder, he climbed up to the top rung. “Okay! Watch this!” he shouted, leaning forward for a dive.

  The ladder wobbled.

  “Hey!” yelled Iggy. “Don’t do that!”

  “What?” said Jeremy. He gave Iggy a try-to-stop-me face. Then he dived. And he landed right in the middle of the trampoline, safe and sound. He was laughing when he climbed off. “Cool! Now I’m going to do the roof.”

  “No! Don’t. Really. It’s super dangerous,” said Iggy, grabbing the ladder to get it as far from Jeremy and the shed as possible.

  “Give it!” said Jeremy, grabbing it back. He was stronger than Iggy expected (cellos are heavy). He yanked it out of Iggy’s hands. “Like you could stop me anyway,” Jeremy said. “You can’t even keep food in your mouth.” He set the ladder beside the shed and pretended he was spitting food. “It’s like you’re in preschool or something.”

  “Don’t jump off the roof, Jeremy,” said Iggy, ignoring Jeremy’s extreme rudeness and trying to get close enough to pull the ladder away. “It’s hecka dangerous, and you’ll break something—” He put one hand on the ladder.

  And Jeremy Greerson kicked him. “[Thing nobody is supposed to say]!”

  “Hey!” Iggy fell over, holding his shin.

  Jeremy made a snort-laugh and hurried up the ladder to the roof of the shed. He stood on the edge of the roof and made the food-spitting face again. “Iggy the Piggy!” he called.

  Iggy forgot how much his shin hurt. He forgot that and everything else.

  “Is that your real name, Iggy the Piggy?”

  Iggy was on his feet.

  “Think you can stop me?” Jeremy gave a giant pig snort.

  Iggy was tearing up the ladder.

  “Dream on, Iggy-Piggy.”

  Iggy was screeching, “You’re dead, Jeremy Greerson!”

  And at this moment, all three parents came outside to see what the boys were doing.

  CHAPTER 7

  WHAT THE PARENTS SAW

  Here, in order, is what the parents saw:

  Jeremy standing on the edge of the roof of the shed

  Iggy storming up the ladder, screeching, “You’re dead, Jeremy Greerson!”

  Jeremy looking over his shoulder in terror as Iggy reached the roof

  Iggy lunging for Jeremy

  Jeremy leaping wildly into the air, screaming, “Hellllllp!”

  CHAPTER 8

  THE UNDEAD

  Jeremy didn’t die. This is a children’s book. Kids never die in children’s books.

  No. Wait. There is one where a kid dies.

  I hate that book. I would never write a book like that. So. No need to worry. Jeremy is not dead.

  Now you’re probably guessing he broke his arm.

  Wrong! He didn’t break his arm either.

  In fact—he was fine. Certainly he was scared, as anyone would be if he plunged through the air and boinged off the trampoline and slammed into the ground. But he was fine. He even played at his recital that afternoon. It wasn’t his best performance ever, but maybe he hadn’t practiced enough.

  I want to say it one more time: Jeremy Greerson was one hundred percent A-okay!

  Think about that.

  Here is some time for you to think:

  . . .

  . . .

  Now think about what you know about extenuating circumstances. If necessary, go back and look at chapter three.

  . . .

  . . .

  Now think about Iggy.

  Iggy, who had been called Iggy the Piggy plus a thing that nobody is supposed to say plus being sent outside for accidental spitting plus not getting foods he liked plus being smiled at in a pitying way plus being kicked. Think about all that.

  Now look back to the last chapter, to the list of what the parents saw.

  . . .

  . . .

  Put all of these ideas together, and I think you’ll agree with me that the big problem was timing.

  The big problem was all three parents coming out on the back porch at the exact moment that Iggy was rushing up the ladder screaming “You’re dead, Jeremy Greerson,” and Jeremy made the choice—the choice—to leap from the roof. It looked bad. It looked as though Iggy had chased Jeremy off the roof.

  But here is an important point: What seemed to be happening was not happening. Iggy had been trying to stop Jeremy from jumping off the roof. If Iggy had caught Jeremy on the roof, he might have hit him, but he would not have pushed him off the roof. Jumping off the roof had been Jeremy’s own idea. Iggy hadn’t made him do it.

  Iggy did his best to make this clear to the parents.

  They didn’t believe him.

  Jeremy stood next to his mom, still a little pale and sweaty, not saying much. He could have helped Iggy by telling the truth, but he didn’t. However, he also didn’t mention the thing that Iggy had done with the skateboard. If he had, Iggy’s parents would have
given him one of their famous make-him-regret-it-so-much-he’ll-never-do-it-again punishments. Iggy was almost grateful that Jeremy said nothing.

  Of course, there were some bad minutes. There was a minute with Dad pointing his finger at Iggy’s face. A minute with his mom looking sad. An even worse minute when there were tears sparkling in her eyes. (But after that, she hugged him and whispered that she just wanted him to think for once in his life, think!) There was a series of bad minutes when the punishment was being explained.

  Then the door to Iggy’s room closed behind his dad.

  Iggy heard his mom and dad whispering in the hall. He didn’t feel good. How could he? His parents thought he was terrible. They were probably wishing they had a son like Jeremy Greerson. He could almost hear them say “If only Iggy were like Jeremy, we would be so happy.”

  Was that what they were saying?

  He pressed his ear against the door, but all he heard was “Rrrmm-uh!” from his dad and “Ss-huh, ruh-suh” from his mom.

  Then their shoes on the stairs.

  Then it was quiet.

  Iggy lay on his old, hairy rug. He felt bad.

  If I could do it over, thought Iggy, I wouldn’t chase Jeremy up the ladder, and I wouldn’t yell “You’re dead, Jeremy Greerson.” I wouldn’t try to make Jeremy feel uncool either.

  Wow! That punishment was working!

  Then Iggy thought of Jeremy’s face when he’d seen Iggy reach the roof. He thought of Jeremy’s expression when he realized that Iggy was going to hit him. He thought of the precise moment when Jeremy decided that it would be better to jump off the roof. And in that tiny fraction of a second, Iggy could see that Jeremy Greerson regretted everything he’d done that had led to this moment.

  Iggy smiled. “Oh, yah!” he whispered. “I play the cello!” His smile grew bigger. “I have Megalopolis IX. That’s nine, you know.”

  Iggy snickered. He rolled over and buried his face in the rug so no one would hear him. And then he laughed and laughed and laughed.

  He laughed until he was tired. That was great, he thought. Too bad I got in trouble.

  CHAPTER 9

  WHERE IGGY WENT

  Do you remember the first chapter of this book? You do not! You’re a big faker. Just go back and read it.

  . . .

  . . .

  Hurry up!

  . . .

  . . .

  This chapter is about Number 2: Things we wish we hadn’t done quite as much as we did. Things that weren’t ever a good idea, but wouldn’t have been bad if we hadn’t gone too far. That’s what this chapter is about. In this chapter, Iggy goes too far.

  It began one day after school. Most afternoons, Iggy hung out with Diego or Aidan or Arch or somebody else he liked. Or he had soccer. Or he went with his mom to pick up Molly or take Maribel to dance class.

  But on this day, his mom had a meeting.

  Maribel and her friend Haley were going to walk Iggy home from school and watch him for two hours until his mom got home. Iggy didn’t like it. What did “watch” mean? Did it mean they were going to tell him what to do? They’d better not! Maribel was only two and half years older than he was! And Haley! The day Haley got her new cell phone, she’d dropped it in the toilet! What gave her the right to watch him? Nothing!

  Walking home from school, Iggy decided that he wouldn’t let Maribel and Haley boss him around.

  They might think they were in charge of him, but they weren’t. They might think they could ruin his afternoon, but they couldn’t. He’d show them!

  Actually, though, Maribel and Haley didn’t try to ruin Iggy’s afternoon. In fact, they seemed to be completely uninterested in Iggy or his afternoon.

  Iggy took three cookies for snack. Maribel didn’t say “You know you’re only supposed to have two.”

  She said, “Do you want me to pour you some milk, Ig?”

  “I can pour my own milk,” said Iggy firmly.

  “Okay,” said Maribel.

  He spilled a little.

  After his snack, Iggy said, “I’m going to play MonsterTrack!” Maribel didn’t say “You know you’re not supposed to play computer games in the afternoon.”

  She said, “Okay.” Then she said, “Ooh, Haley, look at this cute shirt!”

  Iggy played MonsterTrack. He played for an hour and ten minutes. He was only supposed to play on the computer for an hour, but nobody stopped him. He kept looking at the clock. Nine minutes. Ten minutes. Where were they? Iggy got up. He went to listen in the hallway.

  “So then she said, Kylie, you can’t wear those, it’s against the rules, and then—” Maribel paused. “Iggy, stop listening!”

  “I’m not!”

  “Go away, or I’ll tell Mom you bugged us.”

  What? “You call that watching me?” Iggy yelled. “I could be dead for all you know!”

  “Go away!”

  Iggy stomped as hard as he could into the nearest room, which was the bathroom, and slammed the door. He locked it too. Click. So ha. If they didn’t want him around, he’d stay in the bathroom! And when they had to pee, he wouldn’t let them in. So ha!

  Iggy flushed the toilet. Flush, flush.

  He draped toilet paper gently over the water to see if it would float. It didn’t. Flush.

  He put eight drops of shampoo in the toilet. Flush.

  Boring.

  He went to the sink part of the bathroom. He turned Maribel’s toothbrush upside down so the brush part was touching the yucky part of the toothbrush cup. So ha!

  He brushed his hair with Maribel’s brush. He wished he had lice.

  (Not really.)

  He turned the water on and waited until it got warm. Then he washed his hands. He turned the soap around and around until his hands foamed with millions of bubbles. He tried putting some on his chin, for a beard.

  It dripped off.

  It was too watery.

  Shaving cream would be better.

  His dad wouldn’t care if he used a little bit of shaving cream. Sometimes, when his dad shaved, he gave Iggy his own glop of shaving cream to smear around. This was the same thing, only without Dad.

  Iggy found the shaving cream. He shook it, the way he’d seen his dad do. Then he sprayed.

  Wow. That stuff really flew.

  He wiped it off the wall and put it on his face, patting it into a beard shape.

  He laughed. So this was what he was going to look like when he was an old guy.

  Better put on a mustache too.

  (This was when Iggy began to lose his mind.)

  And just a little bit in his hair. To make it white.

  (Did he ever think, Maybe I shouldn’t? Nope. He didn’t.)

  He needed more, to make it really white. Yeah. That was it. All over.

  (It was like he forgot there would be life after that minute.)

  Iggy looked in the mirror at his white beard and white mustache and white hair. He still looked like a kid. He needed wrinkles. He opened his mom’s makeup drawer. Yeah! The stuff she put on her eyes. Eyeliner. Cool. He gave himself a lot of wrinkles.

  “Arrrrr,” he mumbled, like an old guy.

  (Iggy’s mom’s car pulled into the driveway.)

  “Arrrr,” he groaned. He was really old.

  “Iggy?” called Maribel, outside the door. “Are you okay?”

  “Arrrr-rrr,” gasped Iggy softly.

  “Iggy! Did you hurt yourself?”

  What a great idea! Blood! And here was all the lipstick in the world, just waiting for him!

  (It was like his brain had gone on vacation.)

  Iggy drew a trail of blood down the side of his face. It seemed small. More like a trickle. He didn’t want to wreck the wrinkles or the white hair. But it was a shame not to be bloodier. Arms! Iggy pushed up
his sleeve and drew an enormous gush of blood on his arm. Whoa! It looked like someone had tried to cut his arm off! Chop! He drew a big circle of blood around his neck. Someone had tried to cut off his head! Fun! Too bad the top of the lipstick snapped off. He could have done his stomach!

  “Agggggggggggggh!” he moaned, staggering around the bathroom. “They got me!”

  “I’m home, kids!” called Iggy’s mom, coming in the front door.

  “Mom!” shouted Maribel. “I think Iggy’s hurt! He’s in the bathroom crying, and I can’t get in!”

  (Most of Iggy’s brain was on vacation. The only part still at work was the hand-moving part. Because what Iggy did then was flip the lock on the bathroom door, fling it open, and jump out into the hall covered in shaving cream, eyeliner, and lipstick.)

  “AGGGGGHHHH!” he bellowed.

  CHAPTER 10

  EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCES, PART TWO

  Actually, there are zero extenuating circumstances in that bad thing. At least, I can’t think of any. It wasn’t as if anyone had locked Iggy in the bathroom. It wasn’t as if Maribel and Haley were giving Iggy a hard time or bossing him. No. The truth is Iggy was bored and lonely, so he went into the bathroom, and while he was there, he lost his mind.

  However, I would like to point out that he didn’t do anything terrible. Anything amazingly terrible, that is. It was not so good that Maribel cried. But she only cried for a minute or two. It definitely wasn’t good that his mom dropped her coffee cup when he jumped out of the bathroom. But there was hardly anything in it.

  The worst thing was the lipstick. The lipstick was ruined. His mom was pretty upset about that. She wasn’t happy about the eyeliner either, but it wasn’t ruined. There was just less of it. The lipstick was bad. Iggy had to buy a whole new one with his own money. Iggy figured lipstick would cost the same as a marker, but it cost thirteen dollars! That was when Iggy wished a lot that he hadn’t gone too far.