One Man Show (11 page)

“Hey, early bird!” Pepper yelled, waving to me from the
sidewalk, where she was surrounded by an audience of squirrels. She rounded the fence and ran over to me, chomping on a drippy
breakfast burrito. “Jeez, squirrels’ll eat anything. What’re you doing here at this ungodly hour?”

“I need to talk to Miss Honeywell about the stupid piano,” I said, yawning. “What’s your excuse?”

“My stepdad dropped me off, like, ten minutes ago - he has to do inventory at the factory. I don’t even think they unlock
the school’s main doors till around eight, do they?”

“Probably not,” I said, checking my watch.

Pepper hopped up onto the swing next to me. “Oh, gawd!” she yelped. “These are all dewy. Our butt cheeks are gonna have rings
on them.”

“We’ll live,” I said. I pushed off from the ground to start the swing going. “So why were you calling me last night?”

“Oh, right - and thanks for
not
getting back to me. I just wanted to warn you, that’s all,” she said, shoving the last of the burrito into her mouth. “Wally’s
on the warpath.”

“Uh-oh. Tell me.”

“He’s not speaking to you.”

I swung higher, afraid to ask for the grimy details. Pepper finished swallowing her food and tossed the burrito wrapper into
a nearby trash can. A perfect shot.

“Why not?” I finally asked.

“He told me that you flat-out lied to him about your grandmother’s party being canceled.”

I dug my heels into the dirt to stop the swing and nearly fell off.

“I guess his mother was driving by your house and saw a bunch of cars parked in front,” she said, turning around and around
in her swing so that the chains twisted. “Wally took his bike over to your house to check it out. I think he said he saw you
and Jeremy sitting on the back porch or something.”

“Oh, man,” I said.

“Is that true?” Pepper said, still turning and twisting. “Did you lie?”

I didn’t answer.

She lifted both feet off the ground and spun like a tornado, with the swing chains jangling. Her short red hair stood straight
out, then fell flat again when she came to a stop.

“‘Cause that’s a slimy thing to do if it’s true,” she said, jumping off the swing and grabbing onto a pole. “Oh, I think I’m
gonna puke.”

“Miss Pew! Mr. Grubbs!”

It was Mrs. Sternhagen, calling from the parking lot. I guess we must’ve missed her flying in on her broomstick.

“Speaking of puke,” I said.

“I need your assistance, please,” Mrs. Sternhagen said, snapping her fingers.

I knew it. As soon as Pepper and I got to the parking lot, Mrs. Sternhagen handed us two shopping bags each. One of mine was
filled with boxes of macaroni and glue, so either
she’d be making a mighty nasty lunch, or her second-graders would be making some mighty ugly pencil holders.

“I understand Principal Futterman had a word with you about the piano in the auditorium, Mr. Grubbs,” she said, leading us
toward the school’s side entrance. “And that nothing has come of it.”

“Yes, ma’am - or no, ma’am.”

“And your teacher apparently doesn’t feel it’s her responsibility. I’ve been heartsick ever since that play of yours, when
the accident happened.” She stopped and looked directly at me. “My family donated that piano to Buttermilk Falls Elementary.
It belonged to my grandfather at one time.”

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s such a lovely instrument,” Pepper said, rolling her eyes in my direction.

“And graduation is not too far away.” Her high heels were clacking again. “I don’t know how we’re going to have a proper graduation
without me at the keyboard, playing the traditional
Pomp and Circumstance.”

That would be the end of civilization as we know it.

She kept on yammering as we walked up the stone steps and through the teachers’ entrance at the side of the school. On our
way to her classroom, I spotted two heads bobbing around the desk in Nurse Opal’s office. One was golden blond with loose,
bouncy curls. It definitely belonged to Miss Honeywell. She must’ve parked on the street for some reason,
’cause her car wasn’t in the lot. And the other head belonged to - Jeremy? I wasn’t 100 percent sure.

After we dropped off the shopping bags (without so much as a thank-you - or a tip), Mrs. Sternhagen recruited Pepper into
helping her shelve a stack of easy readers. I escaped with a story about having carpal tunnel syndrome and sped back to the
nurse’s office to peek through the glass in the door.

It
was
Jeremy. He was squirming behind an open textbook. There was oral reading. Nodding. More reading. It looked as though some
sort of private lesson was going on.

“Spying, Mr. Grubbs?” Futterman barked.

I hate it when people sneak up on you like that.

“Just wondering if the nurse is here yet,” I lied - again. I think I was becoming addicted. “Pepper said she was gonna puke.”

That part was true, but she didn’t really mean it, I don’t think. “The truth cleverly told is the biggest lie of all.” That’s
what Granny says. What was happening to me?

“Do yourself a favor and put your energies into something useful,” Futterman said, steering me away from the door with a firm
hand on my shoulder. “Like coming up with a way to raise funds for the piano, perhaps?”

He was wearing me down to the nub with this piano thing.

“Funny you should mention that, ‘cause that’s why I’m here so early - to talk to Miss Honeywell about it.”

“Miss Honeywell’s ‘well’ seems to have run dry on the subject.”
His fat face said that he was proud of that little “un-pun.” “I want to know what you’ve come up with.”

“Uh, I don’t know. A PTA bake sale? Candy drive? Car wash? Bike-a-thon?”

“Nickels and dimes, Mr. Grubbs,” he said. “You can do better than that. You’re supposed to be a creative kid - so create!”

Out of desperation I mentioned LMNOP’s stupid suggestion: Jeremy + Play = $$$. Futterman didn’t answer. But I swear I saw
dollar signs
ka-ching
in his eyeballs.

First thing Tuesday morning, after the usual buzzing and burping of our classroom loudspeaker before daily announcements,
our beloved principal’s voice came bellowing through.

“Good morning, students! This is Principal Futterman. Judith, is this working? I just hear crackling. Testing, testing. Batter
up, batter up. Okay. And can you get me some strong black coffee? Good morning, students.”

It was usually our vice principal’s voice that we heard, announcing crossing-guard schedules, menu changes in the cafeteria
- that sort of thing. Futterman rarely came on unless he had something important to say. My class stopped blabbing and actually
paid attention when they heard that it was the head honcho.

“Just a few quick announcements,” he said. “Number one: the National Science Fair applications have to be turned in no later
than noon tomorrow - and I’d like to see Buttermilk
Falls well represented this year. We haven’t had any entrants since Andrew Glickman blew the competition away two years ago
with his wind generator.”

He laughed at his lame joke.

“So I strongly urge all you budding scientists to participate.
(Throat-clearing.)
Item number B: The gym floor is being revarnished, starting today. Nobody’ll be allowed near the gymnasium for a solid week.”

I silently cheered against the class’s groans.

“But gym classes will still be held at their usual times, on the playground.”

I silently groaned against the class’s cheers.

“Just put it right there, Judith, thanks. I really need it this morning. And I could use some sugar too. More. More.
(Slurp.)
Oooh, hot, hot, hot!”

Even Miss Honeywell cracked up at that.

“And last, but not least, there will be a meeting of the sixth-grade cast and crew of
The Crook in the Crowded Castle.
Huh? Oh.
The Castle of the Rookie Clowns
-
Crooked
- uh, the play. It’ll be held in the auditorium this Thursday at three-thirty sharp. Be on time. That’s it. Have a productive
day! Judith, how do you turn this -?”
Buzz. Crackle. Click.

The cast and crew (stinky Leonard Shempski) of
The Castle of the Crooked Crowns
filed into the first two rows of the auditorium. Wally was doing his thing where he pretends I don’t even exist. He sat as
far away from me as possible. Sitting on the edge of the stage, next to the tarp-covered piano, was a large, round woman wearing
a scarf headband, a black sweat suit, and pink ballet slippers.

“Welcome, kiddles!” she bellowed. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Miss Regina Van Rye. I’ve been the kindergarten
teacher here for the last year.”

She talked really loud and was shaped just like the piano. I couldn’t believe I’d never noticed her before. You’d think she’d
be hard to miss.

“Now, let’s put on our quiet faces and settle down.”

I’d been psyched ever since Futterman’s announcement.
This meeting was definitely a good sign - still, nobody knew for sure what it was really about.

“Why are you smiling, doofus?” Darlene hissed, elbowing me. “I bet they make us all pitch in to pay for the stupid piano!”

“I know you’re all curious as kittens, so let’s dive in headfirst,” Miss Van Rye said.
“The Castle of the Crooked Crowns
is up and running again! Hallelujah!”

“Woo-hoo!” I howled. Confetti shot out of a tiny cannon in my head.

“Principal Futterman has decided to present it to the general public as a school fund-raiser,” she continued, “for one performance
only. And since he’ll be charging ‘dough-re-mi’ for the tickets, he thinks the play could use a little tweaking. Enter
moi!
“ Miss Van Rye’s arm flew over her head and she posed like a Spanish dancer. “I will serve as your new director!”

“What happened to Miss Honeywell?” I asked.

“Well, uh - Principal Futterman thought your teacher had too much on her plate right now to take on this project.”

What a crock! It was her project to begin with.

“This is going to be thrilling, tadpoles,” Miss Van Rye said. “The roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd!”

All I smelled was a rat. And Leonard Shempski. Well, at least the play was on its feet again - and with a real audience, coughing
up the bucks.

“Of course, I’ll understand if anyone wants to drop out of
the play for any reason,” Miss Van Ryé said. “But let me know ASAP, so I have time to replace you.”

Darlene Deluca and Millicent Fleener both raised their hands.

“Oh, before I forget, there’s already been one small cast change,” Miss Van Rye said, scanning the seats. “Hmm, I don’t see
him.”

Just then Jeremy Jason Wilder pushed through the auditorium doors. I gasped, along with everyone else.

“Speaking of the devil,” Miss Van Rye said. “Right on cue!”

“Sorry I’m late,” Jeremy mumbled.

“What’s he doing here?” Pepper whispered to me.

LMNOP’s harebrained idea must’ve worked!

“Jeremy will be replacing Felix Plunket as the Prince,” Miss Van Rye said. “Much to the relief of Felix, by the way.”

The cast applauded while Jeremy collapsed into an empty seat. He looked about as thrilled as a criminal just sentenced to
five hundred hours of community service.

“Welcome, Jeremy!” Miss Van Rye said. “You’ll definitely add some real star power to our production.”

Now I hated her.
The Prince isn’t the star; the Jester is the star. Did she even read the script?

“So who were the young ladies who had their hands up?” Miss Van Rye asked.

“Never mind,” Darlene and Millicent said, eyeballing Jeremy as if he were dipped in chocolate.

“Good answer. Okay, just so you don’t think Principal Futterman has completely lost his marbles by putting the kindergarten
teacher in charge of the production, I’ll fill you in on a little of my background in the theater.”

Miss Van Rye dug into her giant straw tote bag and pulled out what looked like an old scrapbook.

“Now, I’m not one to toot my own horn - oh, who am I kidding?” She laughed a musical laugh that covered a full octave. “But
seriously, kiddles, after college I studied acting at the renowned Actor’s Loft, in New York. That was followed by two straight
seasons at the Harmonies ‘n’ Hash Dinner Theatre in Pittsburgh, where I got stellar reviews,” she said, hugging the scrapbook.
“If anyone’s interested, I made copies.”

I sort of liked her again. She reminded me of my aunt Olive - times ten. I glanced at Jeremy to see if he looked impressed
and caught the tail end of an eye-roll. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be there, and I wondered why he was. Futterman
must’ve scared him into it somehow.

“Okay, fellow thespians, put your scripts away. You’re not going to need them just yet,” Miss Van Rye said, rolling onto her
feet. “Everybody onstage for some warm-up exercises. Come on, up, up, up! Quick like bunnies!”

On our way up to the stage, I heard Wally ask Pepper, “What’s a thespian?”

She shrugged.

“Another word for
actor,”
I said, without looking directly at
him. He pretended not to hear me, record-breaking grudge holder that he was. I guess I deserved it, though.

The cast spread out, taking up the whole stage. Wally went somewhere stage left. A bunch of girls were racing for a spot near
Jeremy and ended up shoving me right next to him.

“Hey,” Jeremy said to me.

“Hey,” I echoed.

It felt uncomfortable - just like that first conversation we’d had in the cafeteria.

“All righty, let’s begin by warming up our mouths,” Miss Van Rye said. “Really work ‘em.” She paraded in front of us, distorting
her face and flopping her tongue way out like a dog chewing gum. “Mwah, mwaaah, blaaah, bloooy, yah-yah-yah!” Little by little
we followed her lead. The thought crossed my mind that she might’ve been putting us on and she’d have a good yuck about this
when she got home, but I decided I was wrong.