Clark Sparks had a problem. Despite the frosty, blue sky, he couldn't enjoy his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Why? Because he'd locked himself out of his house. So there he was, drooling, looking through the window, with his PBJ mocking him on the kitchen table.

"Ha ha ha," it laughed. The peanut butter exploded from the cracks between the bread like flowing hills of snow. The jelly stained the top of the bread where it'd been cut. Clark Sparks cut his PBJ into eight triangles. And now they sat there, a mini-citadel.

"Ha ha ha," continued the PBJ, each triangle laughing louder than the next.

Clark Sparks sat down in the backyard and folded his legs Indian-style. He extended his arms straight out, looking up to his god. He closed his eyes. Clark Sparks believed he could read the future. After a moment, he saw a dark tunnel with a white river gushing through it. Little PBJ rafts shot down it. There was Clark, using a bendy straw as a paddle.

"Ah," he sighed. He opened his eyes. Mr. Berryweather stood above him. Not quite god, but not quite human either.

"You lock yourself out again, Clark? You've been looking through that window for 45 minutes."

Mr. Berryweather was the next-door neighbor. When Mrs. Sparks went to town and didn't bring her son, Mr. Berryweather did things like let Clark into the house.

"You are not my god," said Clark. "My god is named Doo-da-doo. He is from a planet named God."

"Whatever you say, Clark. Hey, I got things to do. Your mom'd be mighty happy if you'd just go in. I could make you a peanut butter and jam sandwich."

"It's laughing at me. I hate it. They're so good, though. I just want to eat it and eat it and eat it and eat it and eat eat eat eat eat eat eat. Ha ha. I said 'eat eat eat eat eat eat eat.'"

Mr. Berryweather led Clark to the back door, opened it for him, and walked away. Clark was now inside.

Clark Sparks. Age: 38. Height: 5'7. Weight: 223. Favorite Movie: Mighty Ducks. Favorite Food: Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich (cut into eight triangles). Favorite Song: "Who Let the Dogs Out?" Romantic Interest: No way. Disorders: A medley. Religion: Dooism. Favorite Daytime Television Show: Live With Regis and Kelly.

Michael Douglas was on Regis today. The television sat on an old cardboard box in the corner of the damp living room. Michael Douglas waxed poetically about his new movie. In the new movie, Michael would uncover a grand government conspiracy with a blonde 22-year-old grad student who saves the world when not tanning or running seven miles on the treadmill. Clark did not think he'd like the movie.

"They never put you in the movies, Regis. You are the best actor in the world. You and Emilio."

Clark looked down at his lap to the five triangles of PBJ. He popped one into his mouth, then another, another, another, another. Five triangles of PBJ crammed into one factory-issued mouth. Clark took the glass of milk with both hands and guzzled. To this very loud swishing and clucking Mrs. Sparks walked in.

"Mama, Regis is going to be in a movie with Michael Douglas."

"Honey," said Mrs. Sparks, "if I've told you once, I've told you a million times: Regis ain't gonna be in no movies."

Mrs. Sparks was fat. Fat face, fat gut, fat legs, fat eyes, fat hair, fat fingers, fat heart. In fact, Mrs. Sparks had such a fat heart that she only thought of killing Clark twice, and only once did she get the chloroform out from the cabinet.

Clark watched a commercial. In it, the same grad student from the Michael Douglas movie was riding her bike up a winding hill. It was her, right? At the top, she said how she was going to live her life the way she wanted to. Nothing would stop her. Then, she suggested that Clark ask his doctor if Herpolite was right for him. Then, a voice said to watch out: (difficulty breathing; closing of the throat; swelling of the lips, tongue, or face; hives; nausea; vomiting; diarrhea; constipation; abdominal pain; headaches; dizziness; and tremors all might happen).

"Mama, is Herpolite right for me?"

Mrs. Sparks smiled. "I think you'll be okay, Clark."

Clark closed his eyes. He saw balloon bullets zipping at him.

"Mama, do I have a volleyball game tonight?"

"Volleyball season has been over a while now, Clark."

Clark Sparks's volleyball team had a record of 0-0-6. In his league, nobody wins and nobody loses. In his league, everyone gets a trophy.

His toes barked at Clark. Barked like a pack of dogs. Clark wiggled his toes to shut them up and smiled. Clark knew he was a god to the dogs. His toes always obeyed.

A wave rippled through his stomach, and Clark knew what would come next. He heard them charging, yelling-a horde of PBJ Vikings storming up his insides. Until...

"Oh, God, Clark. Not now," said Mrs. Sparks.

Liftoff. The PBJ mush splashed to the floor. After it had all landed, Clark could not stop laughing.

"Another miracle, Doo-da-doo," he laughed, bowing five times.

Clark ran out the front door to the porch as Mrs. Sparks got the mop from the kitchen. There was still water in it from the morning. On the porch, Clark plopped onto the rocking chair. Across the street, the Baker boys laughed. Clark waved.

"Spaaaarkks," yelled Bobby Baker.

"Sparks, Sparks, Sparks, Sparks," chanted Teddy Baker.

The seven-year-old twins started to dance. Bobby broke into a hip-hop dance while Teddy did his own ripoff Macarena.

Here comes Clark Sparks.

Across the street he ran. When he arrived at the front lawn of the Baker house, he began to do his own dance, somewhat of a march-in-place. The Baker boys stopped.

"Get away, retard," said Bobby.

"My dad said you're a retard," said Teddy.

Mrs. Baker came around the side of the house.

"Boys! You get inside right now. What did I tell you about using language like that? Have some respect. You two are going to get more chores."

Not once did Mrs. Baker look at Clark. She followed the kids inside, so Clark sat down in his best Dooism pose and looked into the future again. He saw a castle with a moat surrounding it. The moat was frozen. Hockey players skated around, shooting pucks at the castle gate, which was guarded by a goalie knight. A car drove over the drawbridge and smashed through the gate, knocking over the goalie knight, and the armor crashed into the moat. Inside, Mrs. Baker was throwing dishes at Mr. Baker.

Brakes screeched, and a horn blared through the air.

"What the hell ya doing?" yelled an old man at Clark, who was now in the middle of the road.

"How did I get here, Doo-da-doo?"

"Clark, get in here," yelled Mrs. Sparks.

Clark walked around the old man's car and into the house.

"Clark, you need to get changed. You know what today is, right? You know why I went to town, right?"

"Yeah, Mama."

Clark did not know what today was.

"Today is Jeopardy Day down at the bingo hall. I had to cash in our change at the CoinStar. I hope you know your stuff—we had twenty bucks."

"Quiz me, Mama. Quiz me."

"Okay, okay. Settle down. What's the capital of Alaska?"

"Juneau."

"California?"

"Sacramento."

"Who was the third president of the United States?"

"Thomas Jefferson, Mama."

"You're right, honey. We'll make a good team."

The bingo hall was cool. The fans overhead showered Clark with air, and Clark was happy because they were the first ones there. Even got there before the host, Mr. Poole. Clark was happy to sit right in front. By the time the Jeopardy game started, Clark was squirming in his chair. When he closed his eyes, Scrooge McDuck swam through the gold coins in his vault. In his Scottish brogue, he'd tell Clark, "Win, laddie! Win!"

Eleven people showed up by 1:30, the beginning of the game. According to the rules of Jeopardy Day, Clark was allowed to play with his mom, but they had to enter two entry fees. The bingo hall collected half of the entry fees, and the winners collected the other half. Mrs. Sparks and Clark had gone to Jeopardy Day 19 times and never won.

Mr. Poole stood behind a lectern and announced the rules. At the table next to Clark was the hated Boyle sisters. They both smoked and barked out answers that Clark never could've guessed. They knew everything. The Boyle sisters, especially Kate, had won tons of money at Jeopardy Day.

Mr. Poole wiped the cool perspiration from his head, adjusted his glasses, and took out his 4" X 6" index cards. "Question one: Who was the Lord Protector of England between 1653 and 1659?"

"Who is Cromwell? Obviously," smirked Patty Boyle, in between cigarette puffs.

"Keep in mind," said Mr. Poole. "Phrasing your response in the form of a question isn't necessary. This isn't the real Jeopardy. Question two: What is the capital of Kuwait?"

"Kuwait City," said Clark. He looked at Patty Boyle and mumbled, "Obviously."

"Correct. Tied 1-1. Question three: What jazz trumpeter was dubbed the "Prince of Darkness?"

"Louie Armstrong," said Mrs. Sparks.

"Incorrect."

Kate Boyle laughed. "Miles Davis. 1-1-1 now. I still don't know why we don't take points off for ridiculous guesses."

Mrs. Sparks, the bigger woman, said nothing.

"Question four: What sport used the term 'home run' long before baseball?"

"Cricket," blurted Clark.

"Correct. 2-1-1, with the Sparks family in the lead."

"Yeah. Thank you, Doo-da-doo."

By the final round, the Sparks team had 19 points, Patty Boyle had 17, and Kate Boyle had 15. Like real Jeopardy, the teams had to wager for the final round.

"We're gonna wager 16," whispered Mrs. Sparks to her son.

"No," snapped Clark. "19."

"You make no sense, Clark."

"19," said Clark, and he closed his eyes and saw Alex Trebek there fighting Regis Philbin. They wrestled on top of an elephant.

"Okay, honey," said Mrs. Clark, whose lips puffed out. She sighed.

"Final question: Who was the voice behind Woody, the cowboy doll in Toy Story?"

Kate Boyle held up her piece of paper, as per the rules, and showed Mr. Poole. Then, she announced, "Brad Pitt."

"That is incorrect," said Mr. Poole. "You've wagered 14, so you end up with one point."

Patty Boyle showed her answer. "Tom Cruise."

"Incorrect. You're now down to one point also, having wagered 16."

Mrs. Sparks let Clark hold up his sheet of paper.

"Tom Hanks," blurted Clark.

"That is correct. You've wagered 19, so you finish with 38 points. The Sparks family has won."

Mr. Poole gave them the 55 dollars and asked that everyone put the chairs on the tables before leaving.

On the way home, Clark walked next to Regis Philbin.

"I know Doo-da-doo," said Regis. "He's the one who helped you. Because of him, you're Jeopardy champion."

"Ya hear that, Mama?" asked Clark. "Jeopardy champion!"

The car horn blared.

"Get the hell out of the road!" yelled the bearded man from behind the wheel.

On the side of the street, Mrs. Sparks hid her face in her hands. Clark looked up to the sky and saw a toy cowboy on a horse. He then looked at the driver and threw up on the hood of the car. Then he smiled the smile of a champion.