by Lisa Wingate
“Yeah!” the kids screamed, throwing their hands in the air and starting to clap in unison with Keiler.
“A-a-all right!” he cheered. “I see some familiar faces out there. How many of you were with us at a Jumpkids camp last year?”
About half of the kids raised their hands into the air, vibrating up and down in their seats.
“All right, then, you’re gonna know this song!” The lyrics came up on the screen behind him, and he started playing his guitar along with the music. “Let’s get the rest of the Jumpkids mentors to come up and help with the hand motions, O.K.?”
“O.K.!” the kids cheered, and the counselors deserted me as Keiler announced their names like they were celebrities taking the stage.
“We’ve got Too-Tall Paul!” he said as the basketball player bounded forward. “You’ll be seeing him at the baseball field out back.” He pointed to the clean-cut kid in the button-down shirt. “And Marvelous Marvin! Don’t let the look fool you. He’s a wild man, and he knows his way around a box of crayons. You’ll be seeing him in the art and set-design room!” Pausing while the kids cheered, he motioned to the counselor with the Afro. “And Mojo Joe, you’ll see him in the dance studio, along with Lim-ber Linda!” He indicated to the leggy blonde with the ponytail, then waited while she took the stage and the kids cheered again. The girl with the nose ring headed up, along with the boy with the buzzed hair. “And Magnificent Mindy and Dynamic Dillon, your acting coaches!” The children bounced up and down in their chairs, screaming like they’d just seen the Backstreet Boys. Keiler motioned to the last two counselors, and they jogged up the aisle. “And Harmonious Heather and Tune-Time Tina, your vocal music instructors—that’s singing, in case you didn’t know!” Keiler swept his arms toward the crew on both sides, motioning for the cheers to continue, then suddenly slicing his hands back and forth to cut off the noise. The kids cooperated, as if they knew the routine, and the room filled with little voices whispering Ssshhhh, ssshhh, ssshhh!
Keiler lowered his voice, sounding serious, “And of course, we have Jammin’ Jason on sound, and Way-Cool Keiler, in instrumental music.” He motioned to himself, then pointed to the audience. “And for a special limited engagement, Crazy Karen, queen of the ivories!”
I noticed that he was pointing at me.
Kate and Jenilee turned around in the front pew, gaping. My young cousin gave me the thumbs-up, and my sister mouthed, “Woo-hoo!”
I didn’t know what to do but shrug helplessly and wave to the legion of cheering fans.
“Come on up, Karen, let’s do the Jumpkids song!” Keiler motioned for me to join the rest of the crew on stage.
Dell threw her hands into the air, cheering wildly and standing halfway out of her seat. All of a sudden, her piano teacher was a minor celebrity.
Sinking against the wall, I shook my head. I couldn’t think of anything more mortifying than trying to sing and dance onstage with a bunch of college kids. Imagine what the people at Lansing would think if they could see that. Karen’s lost her mind. . . .
Keiler gave a big, exaggerated frown that made him look like a longhaired clown. Motioning for the sound engineer to pause the music, he surveyed the crowd. “She’s a little shy,” he lamented, and the kids started to moan and groan as he pointed a finger at them. “Are we supposed to be shy at Jumpkids camp?”
“No-ooooo!” the kids squealed.
“Right!” Keiler cheered. “Should she be afraid to get up here and sing the Jumpkids song?”
“No-ooooo!” The crowd sounded ready to riot.
“Does it matter if we mess up?”
“No-ooooo!”
“Does it matter if we’re not perfect?”
“No-ooooo!” All of a sudden, I sensed what Keiler was up to. I was being used as an example, or a guinea pig, depending on how you looked at it.
He waved a hand in the air. “It only matters that we”—then he pointed at the crowd, and they hollered—“Try!”
“That’s right! Let’s help Karen out. Let’s give her some encouragement!”
As if on cue, the college kids, the very same kids whose rears I had pulled out of the noose earlier that day, mutinied on me and started chanting my name. Before I knew it, the entire crowd, including my sister and cousin, were chanting, “Ka-ren, Ka-ren, Ka-ren!”
There was nothing to do but either go forward or make a run for the door, so I dragged myself off the wall, making an exaggerated display of how much trouble it was. The kids went wild, squealing, cheering, clapping, screaming my name.
Dell was on her feet, clapping and cheering, “Go Karen!” as if this were some sort of sporting event.
I walked to the front, giving the college kids an evil look, which only served to pump them up. They were having a good time making a patsy of the old lady.
When I reached the stage, the crowd started chanting my name even louder, and Keiler whipped it up, presenting me like a sacrificial goat and saying, “Let’s have a big hand for Mi-i-iss Karen!”
The next thing I knew, I was grinning from ear to ear and taking a bow. I’d never felt so popular in my life. It was good, euphoric in spite of the fact that I didn’t know the song and was about to make a fool of myself.
Keiler spied Brother Baker at the back door showing the plumber out. “Hey, look, everybody, there’s our host, Bad-out Brrrother Ba-ker! I think he ought to help us with the Jumpkids theme song, too, don’t you?”
The kids went absolutely out of their minds. Three of them latched on to Brother Baker, dragging him toward the front as he shook his head and good-naturedly put up a fight. When they deposited him on stage, he tried to escape. The front row stood up and herded him back, like a mosh pit of munchkins.
I laughed so hard that my stomach ached and I doubled over, out of breath, tears of pure exuberance streaming down my face. In the front row, Kate had mascara running down her cheeks, and Jenilee was rocking back and forth, holding her ribs. They waved when they saw me looking and I waved back, then held my hands up helplessly as the theme song started again.
“The grown-ups have left the building!” Keiler cheered. “There’s no one here but Jumpkids! So let’s do the Jumpkids song! Are you ready?”
“Yeeessss!” the kids screamed.
Caught up in the enthusiasm of the crowd, I felt ready to do the Jumpkids song. The lyrics began, and I started right along with the rest of the counselors, singing, “Jump, jump, jump, Jumpkids! Jump, jump, jump, Jumpkids!” bending lower and lower on the first three “jumps,” then throwing my hands up and bounding into the air on “Jumpkids!” After the first round, I figured out that slacks and heels were not the right attire for a Jumpkid, so I kicked off my shoes and went barefoot. I glanced over at Brother Baker, squatting lower and lower, his ample stomach hanging out one end and his wide behind hanging out the other, wiggling a little just before he bounded into the air on the second round of “Jump, jump, jump, Jumpkids!”
So far, we weren’t doing too badly. Even the audience seemed impressed.
The song went into the first verse, and the rhythm changed, gaining a backbeat that sounded like rap music. The college kids began a series of hand motions and spins that looked like a combination of rap movements and contortionism. Mojo Joe and Limber Linda fell on the floor and started spinning on their backs, and Mindy did the splits, then popped back up with amazing speed. Brother Baker and I just stood there looking at each other, doing a poor job of mouthing the words “When you’re afraid to start a new day, you gotta reach inside you all the way. It ain’t hard, when you know who you are. You’re no ordinary Joe. You’re a star. . . .”
Suddenly, Brother Baker gave up on the rap movements and started doing, of all things, the chicken dance, in perfect time to the rap beat. The kids in the audience stopped following Keiler’s hand movements, pointed at Brother Baker, squealed, and started flapping their wings and shaking their chicken feet right along with him. The next thing I knew, I was doing the chicken dance, too.
>
The back door opened, and James stepped in, carrying his guitar case, then just stood gaping at Brother Baker and me doing the chicken dance together. I could only imagine what was going through his mind. Of all the ways to survive my first day out of work, he probably never pictured me doing the chicken dance, barefoot, with the Baptist preacher, in front of a room of screaming children, with nine gyrating college kids.
I couldn’t remember when I’d ever had so much fun on a Monday.
By the time the theme song was over, the room was a giant chicken coop and the crowd was sufficiently energized. If some of the kids had been afraid of trying something new or worried about looking foolish in front of a group, they were now completely cured. Even Sherita and Meleka were on their feet, at least until the music died and Sherita realized she was participating. Looking around to see if anyone had noticed, she quickly replaced her scowl and plunked back into her seat as Keiler began to talk. Meleka sat down beside her as the other kids wiggled into their seats, anxious to see what kind of entertainment Keiler would offer next.
He stepped up to the microphone. The hum of little voices and the rustle of bodies stopped. “All right!” Keiler mopped his forehead and caught his breath, as psyched as the kids. “I can tell this is going to be an outstanding Jumpkids camp. Everyone out there looks ready to get started, so I’m going to tell you what you need to do. It’s really easy, so don’t anyone panic out there, all right?”
“All right!” the kids answered enthusiastically. Keiler and the chicken dance had clearly won their minds and hearts. He was the pied piper, and they would have followed him anywhere.
Never ever in my life had I seen anyone work a crowd quite like that. The same charisma that had caused me to tell him my life story on the plane was now holding the room spellbound. I made a mental note that when we had a quiet moment, I would encourage him toward seminary school. He had a special talent with people, a rare gift. It would be a shame to waste it bumming around ski resorts. Whatever the purpose of his life, it had to be something much greater than wandering musician. If there was a plan for any of us, there had to be a plan for someone like him.
I watched him as he directed the kids to move to different parts of the room, grouping them according to their name tags. Our bunch moved to one corner, with Caleb acting as temporary roundup leader.
Keiler carefully reintroduced each group to their leaders, then looked thoughtfully at Sherita and a few other nothings who were still sulking in their chairs. He assigned two to each group, and Sherita wound up in vocal music with Harmonious Heather and Tune-Time Tina. Unfortunately, Dell was in that group, as well.
Dell hurried over to us as the others headed for the vocal music room down the hall. “I wanna be in your group.” It was more of a plea than a complaint. There wasn’t an ounce of petulance, just fear.
Keiler smiled and patted her on the arm, then glanced at his watch. “You will be in about an hour and fifteen minutes. We’ll be rotating, and the vocal music kids will be coming to us, to see if anyone can play and sing at the same time.” By “anyone,” I could tell he meant her.
She knew it, too, and she started shaking her head. “I don’t like to sing.”
Keiler scratched behind his ear skeptically. “Well, hmmm, I heard you singing earlier when you were helping with the speaker cables, and I thought, Now, there’s a girl who really has a voice. She must sing all the time.”
Dell was flattered. A blush crept into her dark cheeks, but she fought the urge to smile. “I don’t like to sing in front of people.”
“Oh, now, that’s no problem.” Keiler was luring her in like a fish. “Heather and Tina have a little magic trick to help people get over that. Never fails. It’s a Jumpkids trade secret, so you can’t tell anybody, all right?”
“All . . . right.” Dell knitted her eyebrows doubtfully. On one hand, now she wanted to know the magic Jumpkids secret. On the other hand, she didn’t want to go with the vocal music group, who were just about to head out the door. Turning to me, she shrugged in their direction. “Sherita’s gonna make fun of me, and then she’ll knock my lights out.”
“No, she’s not,” I promised, but I glanced at Heather and Tina, who were busy chatting at the front of their line, and I wasn’t inspired with great confidence. What if they didn’t supervise closely enough and something happened to Dell? What if the delicate thread of confidence that had brought her here was broken? I was the one who convinced her to come. . . .
I chewed my lip, leaning close to Keiler. “Maybe . . .”
He pretended not to hear. Handing me his guitar, he slipped an arm over Dell’s shoulders. “Now don’t forget,” he said, loudly enough that Sherita, who was trailing at the end of the vocal music line, could hear. “Being in a Jumpkids group is like being part of a family. Your job is to do your own personal best, but it’s also your job to help the other family members. If you see one of the singers not singing, you might need to slip in there and sing their part, so they can hear how it sounds when someone else does it. If you see someone not listening when your counselor is giving instructions, you might need to listen and repeat the instructions to them. In your group, you also have a couple of audience members—you’ll know them because of the big N on their name tags. If you see one of them frowning, or making fun, or moving around, or making noise, you might need to take their job and sit down while they get up and sing your part. That’s the way a Jumpkids family works together. We don’t criticize each other—if we see someone not doing what they should, we get in there and set a better example. If we can’t do any better or if we don’t want to switch places with someone, then we keep our mouths shut. That make sense?”
Dell nodded, and he deposited her at the back of the line. In front of her, Sherita didn’t even turn around. She just marched off like a little soldier. A sullen soldier, but a soldier. Part of the Jumpkids family, whether she wanted to be or not.
James crossed the room and stood beside me, smiling. “Boy, he’s good.” He nodded in Keiler’s direction. “Normally, when Dell gets that look on her face, she’s about to make some excuse and head for the hills.”
I nodded. “Keiler really seems to have a magic way with kids.”
“With adults, too.” James grinned. “He got you to do the chicken dance.” Then he turned around and introduced himself to Keiler.
Keiler shook James’s hand, taking in the guitar case. “That really a Martin?”
Laying the case down, James popped it open. “Nineteen seventy-five anniversary model.”
Keiler drew a breath, running a hand reverently over the smoothly polished surface. “Man, an antique.”
James and I winced in unison, realizing the guitar was born before Keiler. If it was an antique, then we were ancient artifacts.
“What a boss instrument,” Keiler remarked. “Those Martin strings?”
“Of course,” James replied. “Is there any other kind?”
“Nope,” Keiler replied. “You here for the day? Because I’d really like to get my hands on this old baby.”
James answered in the affirmative, and within moments, he had been elected honorary Jumpkids counselor, which wasn’t really fair because he never had to do the chicken dance.
Chapter 16
By noon, Jumpkids camp was moving along without a hitch. No one, including the bevy of silver-haired church ladies who showed up to serve lunch, would have guessed that the morning had started out with confused counselors and a septic system meltdown.
When we arrived in the fellowship hall for our sandwich lunch, the counselors were psyched and the children were chattering about everything they had done that morning in their primary classes. After lunch, they would rotate through several other stations.
“On the last three days of camp, we concentrate on putting the whole production together,” Keiler told me as we moved to a table where James was already unwrapping his sandwich. “By then, the kids have been in camp a week and a half, and they
know their individual parts pretty well. Then it’s just a matter of showing them how to work together as a group. Last year we did an adaptation of Cats, and this year, of course, it’s The Lion King. The Jumpkids Foundation is headquartered in New York, so they usually try to do things that are big on Broadway. It’s better publicity, and the kids like it.”
“You make it sound so simple.” I tried to imagine how they were going to turn so many squirming bodies into a musical theater group. “The Lion King is a pretty complicated production for a bunch of kids.”
“It’ll be tough without Shirley,” Keiler admitted. “She knew how to put a production together. She’s been doing it for—I don’t know—twelve years or something. She’s amazing. She runs the Jumpkids after-school arts program at Kansas City schools during the school year, and then in the summer, the Jumpkids camps.”
“That is amazing,” I agreed, trying to imagine maintaining this level of activity all the time. It was only eleven thirty, and I felt like I’d been run over by a bus. “And she’s been trying to do this while she was pregnant?”
Keiler nodded. “Yeah, but the doctors said she had to quit. Too much stress and her blood pressure’s up.”
Mindy set down her tray at our table and interjected into the conversation, “She’s, like, over forty and pregnant with twins.”
James and I both winced. Glancing at me privately, James gave Mindy a playful sneer, mouthing, “Over forty, naa, naa, naa.”
Keiler caught it and felt the need to bridge the generation gap. “Forty’s not that old.”
Mindy glanced up, embarrassed. “Oh, man, I didn’t mean . . . I mean, you guys don’t seem so old.”