Of Mice and Nutcrackers: A Peeler Christmas (8 page)

End of the last period of the day, and my brother’s class is leaving the gym. Through a crack in the stage curtain, I see his friend David – at least I assume it’s David. He’s the only one in the class who wears one of those beanies. The gym class leaves echoes of their shouts and giggles behind them, like a trail of audible litter.

Miss Gonsalves gave me the period off to prepare the stage for our first real rehearsal. Mr. March carried the tall chest of drawers back up from the basement. The big cardboard clock face had fallen off, so I stuck it back on. It’s sitting upstage center, under the hanging backdrop. I’m making little crosses out of masking tape and sticking them to the stage floor. These crosses are called marks. The actors are supposed to end up standing on them after their big dance number. I check the chart Miss Gonsalves and I made a few days ago.

The gym class is gone. Time passes with a big broom, sweeping away the litter of noise. I finish taping
down the crosses. I’m at the back of the stage now, hidden in darkness. The gymnasium is quiet. I can hear a whisper from across the room.

“So don’t
you
think she’s a bit too –”

“Uh-huh.”

The whispered voices echo like cathedral bells. I know at once whose they are, and who they’re talking about. It’s Patti and Brad, and they’re talking about me. Don’t ask me how I know this, I just do. I’m not at all surprised to hear Patti’s next line.

“Jane’s my best friend, so I have to be nice.”

“Uh-huh,” says Brad.

“And, really, it’s not her fault her dad’s sick.” “Uh-huh.”

“She can’t help being a bit of a pill right now.” Hey. What’s this?

“Uh-huh,” says Brad again. A very slick talker.

“Funny, isn’t it, that we both feel the same way about her. She just loves to give orders – and tell you that you’re doing something wrong.
Talking too soft
– don’t you hate it when she says that? Or,
too fast.
Or,
you’re moving too awkwardly.
Or,
you’re looking too bland.
What does that mean, anyway? Don’t people like to look at me? Don’t you like to look at me, Brad?”

There’s a pause. I wonder if he’s looking at her. My skin feels like a flashing light – now it’s red, now it’s not. Now it’s red again.

“She doesn’t tell
me
I talk too fast,” says Brad.

“No, of course not. You have a beautiful speaking voice.”

“And she doesn’t say I move awkwardly.”

“Oh, no. But … she did say you had to pay more attention to your cues. Remember? It was the rehearsal before last, and you were late coming in a couple of times when the Toy Soldier speaks to you. Remember? The rest of us were standing around, and Jane told you not to hold the whole company up.”

I can hear them clearer than ever. They must be leaning against the side of the stage. I smile to myself.

Understand me, please. I’m mad and upset, and I feel betrayed. I haven’t told too many people about Dad. I’ve known Patti since kindergarten. I guess she likes Brad, and is acting stupidly because of that. Her words are mean, and I feel hurt.
But,
it’s also kind of funny. That’s why I’m smiling. Patti is trying to get Brad to say he likes her, and he won’t. Not yet, anyway. I’m hurt, but fascinated. It’s like finding a huge pimple. You could forget about it, but you don’t. You pull back your hair, and stare into the mirror at the big ugly red blotch.

Right now I should leave. I should go out the door at the back of the stage, and walk down the hall and come back in the gym by the regular door. They’d stop their whispering and say hi, and we could all talk together. I should do that. I shouldn’t be listening. But I can’t help myself.

“So, you’re saying I was holding everyone up?” asks Brad. “Oh, no.”

“Slow on my cues? Did
you
feel I was letting the company down?”

“No, no, no. I’m saying that’s what Jane said. Jane, not me.”

“I wasn’t slowing anyone down.”

“No! Not at all. It was great. Wonderful timing. The way you, um, paused before your line was great. Very … dramatic.”

“Paused?”

“I mean –”

“I didn’t pause. I was right on my cue.”

Now I’m not red anymore. In fact, I’m trying not to laugh. Poor Patti. She’s making things worse with Brad. Maybe he really doesn’t think much of her. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m too bossy. Maybe he even, sort of, likes … me?

Oh, my. Now, I’m red again.

The bell rings. The door at the back of the gymnasium slams open. Michael’s voice bounces around the gym like a rubber ball.

The place fills up with other students as they come in for the rehearsal. Miss Gonsalves will probably be along any minute. I creep back to the door at the back of the stage. I push the handle.

The door is locked from the other side.

Oh-oh.

I’m trapped on the stage. Now I can’t sneak out and walk around and come in the main door, pretending that nothing has happened. But how can I walk out onstage? How am I going to face Brad and Patti? They’ll know I was listening to their conversation. How can I do that?

“I wonder where Jane is?” asks Essa. “Have you seen her, Justin?”

“She wasn’t at our last class,” says Jiri.

Silence. Somebody – probably Michael – plays a few notes on the piano. Pretty soon they’re going to be climbing all over the stage. Got to think fast.

“Have
you
seen her, Patti?” asks Essa.

“No. Brad and I … I mean we were the first ones here.”

“She’s been more worried about Brad,” says Michael. “Ha-ha-ha.”

I sneak back toward the door at the back of the stage. If only it wasn’t locked! Or, if only I was outside, I could –

Wait a minute. They don’t know the door is locked. And doors are for coming in as well as for going out. I’ve told everyone that, at rehearsal.
It’s a door, Patti, don’t stand in front of it.

I grab my knapsack and rattle the handle of the door at the back of the stage. I make a lot of noise banging around, as if I was just coming in from the
hallway. Then I walk past the curtain to the edge of the stage and peer down. Patti and Brad are standing next to each other. She has her hand on his arm. She looks up at me, then away again.

“Hi, everyone,” I say. “Sorry I’m late.” I pull open the curtain and walk across the front of the stage. “Welcome to the seventh grade production of
The Nutcracker.”
I smile down at them all. “Let’s get started.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Miss Gonsalves?” asks Patti.

“She’s coming,” says Essa. “She wanted to talk to the principal about something.”

“Then let’s –”

A whistle blast cuts off my words. I stare across the gym floor at a big beefy man, with a whistle in his mouth and a clipboard in his hand. A ginger-haired man in sweatpants and a tight T-shirt, with little glasses that glitter in the harsh gym lighting.

Guess who?

He spits out his whistle. “Come On, You Guys!” he shouts. All the way across the room I can see the split veins and ruddy skin around his cheeks. Mr. Gebohm. Behind him the door to the locker room opens, and the first of the boys comes out. Tall skinny boys, with baggy shorts and vests, and expensive running shoes.

The boys’ basketball team. I recognize the third or fourth boy out. He’s the captain. Six feet tall – taller than my dad. He can dunk the ball. He doesn’t look
at us. None of the boys looks at us. They grab basketballs from the rack, and start dribbling around the court. The gym fills up with noise the way a bath fills up with hot water.

I don’t know what to do. “Stop!” I shout as loud as I can, but it’s like shouting at Niagara Falls. The bouncing noise continues. The boys are shooting layups.

The gym is ours! Gordon Gordon said so. That Gebohm is just a big bully. Where’s Miss Gonsalves? The class is staring at me.

“Maybe we should go,” says Brad. “Or else we’ll ….” I can hardly hear him over the noise.

“It’s
our
rehearsal,” I say. “And we’re having it here.”

I’m not mad. I’m determined. I get that way sometimes. I’m beyond mad. I’m
going
to get my way. It has nothing to do with being angry. It’s about not taking no for an answer. This is our practice period, and we are going to use the gym. No “or else.” We are. Period.

I don’t know how this is going to happen, but I know – I
know
– it will.

“Nobody move!” I call out to the cast, who are starting to pick up their gear.

I remember when I got my new earrings. This was around Halloween. Dad was working on Bernie’s costume. I told him how much the earrings meant to me. He nodded sympathetically, but said I couldn’t get them. “Sorry,” he said.

“So, what can I do?” I asked.

He had safety pins in his mouth and his hands full of toilet paper because Bernie was going to be a mummy for Halloween. “I don’t know what you can do,” he said. “I’ve made my decision. It’s no.”

“But you said you were sorry. So you don’t like the decision either.”

“What?”

I opened my eyes wide. “You can always do something, if you want to. That’s what you tell us!”

“Yes, but –”

“So what can I do about your decision? How do I get you to change it?”

He looked at me in a funny way. “You don’t. You – stay still, Bernie. If you wiggle, I’ll poke you with a safety pin and you’ll scream and then how will I feel?”

“Come on, Dad. You’re always telling us not to give up. You’re always telling us not to take no for an answer.”

“I am?”

“How, if we try hard enough, we can do anything.”

“That sounds more like your mother than me, Jane. Honestly, I believe in taking what fate dishes out. I’m a stoic. A moral pacifist. There, Bernie, you’re done.”

“I really want those earrings. And I’m going to get them.”

“What do you think I look like, Jane?” Bernie asked.

Well, he was a little kid wrapped up in toilet paper. Dark brown hair showed through. I didn’t want to tell him what he looked like.

“Very scary,” I said.

“I want to see.” Bernie ran to the hall, trailing paper behind him. He’s not tall enough to see himself in the hall mirror, so he pulled a stool over and climbed up.

“Honestly, Dad. I am going to keep talking until you do something. Until you go to the earring store and tell the lady what you think.”

“I want you to be happy, Janey. You know that. But –”

“One quick visit. Don’t do it for yourself. Do it for me.”

He smiled down at me. “Tell you what – I’ll call and make an appointment sometime. How’s that?”

“I’ve already made the appointment,” I said. “Adrienne is expecting us at her store at 7:30 tonight.”

“Tonight? What if your mom is late?”

“She won’t be late. I called her office to confirm her schedule.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He sighed, but with a smile on his face. “A chip off the old block,” he said. “Jane, you are going to make someone a wonderful boss.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Okay,” he said.

When Bernie saw himself in the mirror, he screamed. “A mummy!” he shouted. “Help, Daddy, there’s a mummy!”

That sounded kind of funny to me too.

“Nobody move!” I call out.

I walk across the floor to the coach. Mr. Gebohm. What a turnip-head. No, that’s an insult to turnips. What a Gebohm. “Excuse me,” I say, loud as I can. He doesn’t even look over at me. “Excuse me! This is our practice time.”

He can hear me. He looks down at me and then away. He blows his whistle, and the drill changes. Now the boys are feeding each other passes as they run toward the net for layups.

I march right up to him. I stand as tall as I can. I am not going to be shorter than I have to be. I still don’t know how I’m going to get my way, but I know that I have to start by getting him to admit that I am here.

“Hey, Mr. Gebohm!” I say. Over and over. I’m right beside him. I’m right next to him. I’m on his heels, yakking into his ear. He can hear me all right. “Hey, Mr. Gebohm! Hey, Mr. Gebohm! Hey, Mr. Gebohm!” He moves down the sideline. I follow him. He moves onto the court. I’m right there in his ear. “Mr. Gebohm! Mr. Gebohm! Mr. Gebohm!!” I’m like the water torture. After a minute or two of this, he can’t stand me. He simply can’t stand me.

“You!!” he says. Well, who did he think it was? “Peeler! What Is It?” he asks. The boys are in the middle of a passing drill. He turns to glare down at me. “What Is It? What Is It?” A vein is bulging high up on his forehead.

I smile brightly up at him. “This is
our
rehearsal period in the gym,” I say. “We’ve been waiting all week for it. The principal said we could have it.”

He ignores me.

“We’re putting on
The Nutcracker
at the winter concert on Tuesday. You know, the story with the toy soldiers and the Mouse King and the Candy Princess. It’s usually a ballet, but we’re doing it more like modern dance. You’ll have to send the boys home.”

“Go Away!” he roars. Like I’m a dog. “Go On, Get!” He curses for a while. I’ve heard all the words before, from Grandma.

“No,” I say. I look back across the gym. My cast huddle in front of the stage, looking lost and unhopeful.