One Man Show (21 page)

“Here’s to everyone who made this night possible,” he said, raising his mug. “Miss Van Rye, Miss Honeywell… and Dustin Grubbs,
our MVP!”

Camera flashes went off in my face. Major head rush. My scalp was tingling.

“So, raise your goblets high, good folk!” Wally shouted. “To Dustin Grubbs - the biggest star
ever
to hit Buttermilk Falls!”

Well, I’ve never used the word
flabbergasted
before, but I was totally flabbergasted - especially when Felix told me what
MVP
stood for.

“Could somebody get the door?” Aunt Birdie called from the bathroom. “I’m not presentable.”

“I’m on the phone!” I said with my hand covering the receiver. “Sorry, Dr. Devon. Yeah, Granny’s just fine. Uh-huh. My mom?
I think she’s swamped in our kitchen right now, upstairs. Can you call back in, like, a half hour? Okay, nice speaking to
you again too. Bye.”

The doorbell rang three times in a row.

“Is someone gonna get that?” Granny hollered from her bedroom. “Or are you waiting for an engraved invitation?”

“I’ve got it, Gran!” I yelled.

Jeez, I officially live upstairs. How do they cope when I’m not here?

I opened the door and saw Aunt Olive’s rear end. She was bent over, digging through her purse and mumbling. LMNOP was next
to her, sitting on a stack of newspapers.

“Oh, thank goodness,” my aunt said, looking frazzled. “I must’ve forgotten my keys. But look what the cat dragged in.”

“Hi, Dustin Grubbs,” LMNOP said.

“Hi.”

I hadn’t spoken to her since that day with the posters when I chewed her out. Not one of my best moments. I knew I owed her
an apology for acting like a gigantic goober, but steering clear of her was a lot easier.

“I was just going to leave these papers on your porch, but then your aunt came and - well, anyway, you’re in print again!”
LMNOP said, flipping through one of the newspapers. “Page eight. Two whole paragraphs.”

She handed me a copy of the
Penny Pincher,
a free local paper containing mostly grocery coupons and advertisements -

LOCAL BOY SAVES SHOW!

- and fascinating articles! My name had already appeared in bold type in last Sunday’s
Willowbridge Gazette.
I wasn’t letting it go to my head or anything, but in the week since the play I’d been treated like a celebrity in Buttermilk
Falls. I was glad I had Jeremy Jason Wilder as a role model - of how
not
to behave.

“In or out?” Granny said, sneaking up behind me. “You’re letting mosquitoes in the house.”

“This is so excellent!” I said, skimming the article.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite your little friend in,
Dustin?” Aunt Olive said, hanging her jacket on the coat stand. “After she went through so much trouble for you?”

“Sure, come on,” I said. LMNOP followed us inside. “Our channel five upstairs is all fuzzy, so we’re watching
Show-Biz Beat
down here. They’re doing a follow-up on
Whatever Happened to My Favorite Celebrity Kids?
and Jeremy might be on.”

Aunt Birdie hurried out of the bathroom with gigantic curlers in her hair and a green face. “Did I miss the program?” she
asked.

“Alien abduction!” I yelled, diving onto the sofa. “Hide your organs!”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Aunt Birdie said, patting her face. “I’ll crack!”

Everybody found a seat, and I read the article out loud. It mainly talked about the huge turnout we had for the show and how
I’d switched roles at the last minute. Then it said, “The adroit Mr. Grubbs reveled in delightful antics as the Jester, skillfully
providing comic relief.” Aunt Olive said
adroit
was a good thing, that it meant I knew what I was doing.

“You’re a hit!” Aunt Birdie said, and Granny kissed me on the head.

“Dustin’s not the only big shot around here,” Aunt Olive said. “Turns out Ellen’s got a serious case of the smarts. Won second
place in the National Science Fair. Show them your ribbon, honey.”

LMNOP took off her backpack and spun it around. A yellow ribbon with shiny gold writing was pinned next to her
I’m Terrific!
button.

“All this time we had a genius living next door,” Granny said, examining the ribbon. “Who’d have guessed?”

Not me, that’s for sure.

“Well, aren’t you going to congratulate her?” Aunt Olive said to me.

“Congratulations,” I muttered. “What was your project on?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know,” LMNOP said.

I would’ve left it at that, but my aunts egged her on.

“Okay. It started out as a basic soil characterization study,” she said, poking up her glasses. “I took sand, silt, and clay
samples from all over Buttermilk Falls. Then I set up rain gauges and wind vanes, and measured pH levels so I could evaluate
the harmful effects caused by acid rain. Oh, I’m boring you guys. I can tell.”

The whole room was staring at her as if she were speaking in Japanese.

“No, go ahead, sweetie,” Granny said. “We’re listening.”

“Well, that’s it, really,” LMNOP said, winding down. “I wanted to expand my research to the effect of acid rain on the aquatic
ecosystem, but there wasn’t enough time. There’s always next year.”

And all the while I thought she was making mud pies and burying doll parts.

“That’s wonderful, Ellen,” Aunt Olive said. “You keep at it and you’ll go far.”

“It’s six o’clock,” I said, clicking on the TV with the remote. “The show’s on.”

“What do they put in these facial masks anyway?” Aunt Birdie said with stiff lips. “Cement?”

“That looks like French clay,” LMNOP said, studying her. “Montmorillonite.”

“Oh, uh-huh,” Aunt Birdie said. “You should try some, Ma. It’s supposed to make your skin as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

“You stay away from me with that stuff.”

“Shhhh, it’s on!” I said, turning up the volume.

Jeremy’s face flashed on the TV screen. He and Callie Sinclair were sitting across from each other in brown leather chairs
- definitely a step up from his last interview. We caught the tail end of Callie’s question.

“… a far cry from doing school plays and living at the Dew Drop Inn on the outskirts of Buttermilk Falls. What’s it feel like
to be back in Hollywood?”

“The Dew Drop Inn?” Aunt Birdie muttered. “That place is a dump.”

“Shush!” Granny swatted her.

“It’s great, Cal,” Jeremy said. “With the
Double Take
lawsuits and stuff, my family was going through a pretty rough time moneywise, so we moved to Buttermilk Falls. It was a
lot cheaper to live out in the middle of nowhere.”

They were broke?

“Plus, my parents thought it’d be the best thing for me -and them. But they were wrong.”

“I understand they’re going through a divorce now,” Callie said with a sorrowful head tilt. “That must be tough on you, huh?”

Looks like we had a lot more in common than I thought. Jeremy didn’t answer, but ran his hands through his hair. He had a
lump-in-your-throat look on his face.

“On an up note,” Callie said in a cheerier voice, “I hear that the school has dropped the charges for that whole box-office
mishap. Now it seems your bad-boy image has turned out to be a real career booster.”

“Unreal, right? Yeah, I just signed on to play the son of a Mafia hit man in Francis Capelli’s fall movie project.”

“Quite a comeback! Before we go, is there anything you’d like to say to your friends back in Buttermilk Falls?”

“Nothing I can say on TV.”

“There must be somebody you’d like to give a shout-out to.”

“Well, there is one guy. We started out as pretty good friends, but things got screwed up in the end.”

“Okay,” Callie Sinclair said, “look right into that camera.”

The camera panned in on Jeremy.

“We should be taping this,” I said, leaning forward.

“Yo, Travis,” Jeremy said, making a weird hand signal. “Hang tough, dude.”

I grabbed the remote and clicked off the television.

“Well, wasn’t that a slap in the face?” Aunt Olive said, opening the
Penny Pincher.

That’s just what it felt like. But what did I expect?

“Is it over already?” Granny asked, struggling to get off the couch. Aunt Birdie helped her, and they both headed toward the
bathroom. “That boy on the TV looked familiar.”

“It figures,” LMNOP said to me. “I always knew they were in cahoots.”

Cahoots?
I stared at her, blinking my way back in time.

“So,
you
left me that note. How’d you get into the boys’ locker room, anyway?”

“Easy. The janitor leaves the door wide open when he’s mopping up on Fridays.”

“And did you plant that tabloid article in my script too?”

“Guilty,” LMNOP said. “I kept seeing Travis and Jeremy hanging out together, and I knew they were up to no good. You were
furious with me, so -”

“Sorry about that whole thing,” I mumbled. “I was mad about something else and took it out on you.”

It actually felt good to finally say the S-word. It’s kind of like trapped gas. You can live with it for so long, but then,
when it finally belches its way free - relief!

“Oh, well,” LMNOP said, grinning. “Everything turned out okay.”

“All’s well that end’s well,” Aunt Olive said. “That’s Shakespeare, isn’t it?”

Mom came trotting into the room, carrying a covered dish, with Gordy right behind. At least, it was someone who looked like
Gordy. He was wearing a navy blue blazer, a clean white shirt, and a tie. His hair was combed, his shoes were shined - and
I think he was wearing cologne.

“Now, this is the Gordy that does me proud,” Mom said, setting her dish on the dining-room table. “I couldn’t let him leave
without showing him off first.”

Mom was in a much better mood ever since she and Aunt Olive had cleared the air. I wasn’t supposed to be listening, but my
aunt basically apologized for telling me stuff about Dad behind her back. I was still glad she had, though.

“Very debonair!” Aunt Olive remarked. “What’s the occasion?”

“No big deal. Just a date,” Gordy said, futzing with his tie. “With Rebecca.”

Rebecca was his latest girlfriend. Miss May. Totally different from the others, though. A freshman in college majoring in
art history. Who knew what she saw in Scuzz-o? Opposites attract, I guess - just like Miss Honeywell and that lunkhead of
a deputy sheriff. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.

“So, where are the two of you off to, Mr. Fancy Pants?” Aunt Olive asked.

“The Willowbridge Opera,” he said. “We’re seeing something called
Carmen.”

Wait until he finds out it’s not a show about auto mechanics.

“That’s where I sang in my youth!” Aunt Olive cried out. “When it was just a fledgling company.
Carmen,
my favorite. Oh, the ‘Habanera!’” She la-la-la’ed around the room, clicking her fingers as if they were castanets.

“Hey, Freakshow,” Gordy said to me over Aunt Olive’s singing. “Rebecca can’t shut up about your stupid play. She’s dying to
meet you.”

“Really?” I said.
I knew that girl had good taste.
“Perhaps I can pencil her in to my busy schedule. But somebody’s gonna have to start kissing some major butt around here.”

“Yeah, dream on.”

Aunt Olive hit a high note and twirled into her armchair. “I just adore Bizet!”

“Oh, that was you, Olive?” Granny said, shuffling into the room with a scrubbed-faced Aunt Birdie at her heels. “I thought
the smoke alarm went off. And who is that handsome young man?”

“That’s Gordy, Ma,” Aunt Birdie said slowly. “Your graaandson.”

“I realize that, Birdie!” Granny snapped. “I wasn’t having a senior moment, you know.”

Gordy checked out his teeth in the hallway mirror, squeezed something on his chin, then headed out the door.

“Have a good evening, ladies,” he said. I thought he was including me in that, but he added, “Later, dweeb.”

“Bye, sludgeface,” I said.

That was probably the warmest, fuzziest conversation we’d ever had. I owed a lot to Rebecca. Heck, the world owed a lot to
Rebecca.

“Very spiffy,” Aunt Birdie said, peeking through the blinds. “The new Gordy certainly is a breath of fresh air.”

“True,” I said. “He actually started showering again.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Mom said. “I whipped us up a little treat. Who’s hungry?”

“I am,” LMNOP said, raising her hand as if she were in school.

Aunt Olive muttered, “I could use a little something.”

We all followed Mom to the dining-room table and watched as she uncovered her dish of rolled-up tortillas oozing goopy white
lumps. They smelled like the bottom of my hamper.

“I learned this recipe in the new cooking class I’m taking down at the high school,” she said. “’If at first you don’t succeed…’
Right, Dustin? Oh, we need plates.”

Mom disappeared into the kitchen and came back with plates and forks. LMNOP said that the food looked “spectacular” but she
really had to run. Then everyone else suddenly felt full and remembered important pretend things they had to do. Lessons or
not, nothing could clear a room quicker than Mom’s cooking.

“Try one, Dustin.” She looked disappointed. “I hate to see good food go to waste.”

“Uh, okay. I’m game.” I looked down at the plate, wondering if the emergency room was crowded on weekends. “Oh, yeah, Dr.
Devon called before to check up on Granny. He said he’d call back - to talk to you.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just did.”

Mom made a mad dash to the hall mirror and started poofing up her hair, like the doc would be able to see through the phone
or something. I picked up one of the drippy blobs, too grossed out to take a bite. Then I got to thinking that in a world
where LMNOP was a genius, Jeremy was a pauper, and Gordy was on his way to the opera of his own free will, anything was possible.
I closed my eyes and took a sloppy bite. It wasn’t half-bad.

“Mom, this is thpectacular!” I said, imitating LMNOP’s lisp.