Take Two!

by John J. Bonk

  “I dunno, she still looks pretty hot in makeup. You’ve gotta give her that.”

  “Get real!” Pepper yelled, shoving me. Hard. “You serious?”

  “Sure, why not?” I steadied myself and set the soda down on the rim of a giant planter. “Listen, I really should get back to work. I’ve got this whole box of fliers left.”

  Pepper took her sweet time bending my crooked wings back into place before heading toward Bergmann’s. The next half hour dragged by as I handed out five fliers at a time to whoever would take them, and most wound up in the trash can by Borders Books. This job really bit. My costume was starting to smell like the inside of a bowling shoe – and people didn’t even know what I was supposed to be. So far I’d been mistaken for a butterfly, a moth, a bee, a wasp, Lord of the Flies, and the Sugarplum Fairy.

  “Here. Take. Save.” I bent over to grab my final handful and saw Wally and his bassoon approaching. Friends are coming outta the woodwork! And that wasn’t just the termite in me talking.

  “Hey, Wally! It’s me – Dustin. What the heck are you doing here?”

  “Opus Five is performing,” he said with a steely tone. “It’s our first real gig.”

  No wisecracks about me being dressed up in a bug suit – with wings?

  “Wow,” I gushed. “That’s huge! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I tried.”

  “You did? I don’t remember.”

  Members of his quintet paraded by dressed in matching black pants and white shirts with shiny red ties, carrying their instruments. The Oxymoron gave me a quick smirk.

  “Whatever,” Wally grumbled. “Gotta go.” And he rushed to catch up with the others.

  Out of habit I almost hollered, “Call me later!” but the words got stuck in my better judgment. I knew at that exact moment that we weren’t best friends anymore – that we hadn’t been in a while. Artistic differences? Could be. I guess it was time to face the music. But when the strains of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” started flowing out of Opus Five, I just wanted to escape. Little by little SLUDGE-wearing passersby appeared, making things worse. Can this day get any weirder?

  “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of the mall?”

  Yes, it can. It was Pepper, dripping in goopy glamour makeup, primping in the mirrored pillar next to me. Maybe there was something in the Hinkleyville water.

  “Fairest of the mall?” she repeated, batting her eyelashes so fast she was about to take flight. “Get it?”

  “You’re a regular riot. But what the heck happened to your face?”

  “I’ve been glamourized. So whaddya think?” she asked with a lick of her varnished lips. “Am I – hot?”

  “C’mon, Pep, quit goofin’ around.”

  “What makes you think I’m goofin’ around? What if I’m serious?” She moved closer and closer until I was pinned up against the pillar. I swear, she was ogling me like Wally does bacon-double-cheeseburgers. “I wanna know for real. Do you, Dustin Grubbs, think I’m hot? Yes or no? Honest answer.”

  “Umm… uhhh…” I could feel it in the pit of my stomach – this was no joke! Pepper closed her eyes, like she was coming in for a smooch. Freak-out time! I took a gigantic step backward and – “Argh!” – stumbled into a dense forest of potted palms.

  “Are you all right?”

  I was frantically trying to untangle myself and find my balance, fighting through rigid stalks and pointy palm fronds. Finally I managed to rip my way free, scrambling out the other side. And wouldn’t you know it? Zack was standing right there, fuming – practically foaming at the mouth. I attempted to ignore him as I straightened out my scrunched-up antennae – until I realized he was aiming something right at me. Red. Shiny. Lethal? It looked exactly like a supersize can of Extra Strength

  “Raid!”

  Chapter 18

  An Oliver Twist!

  If I hadn’t shielded my face in time, I might’ve ended up looking like the Phantom of the Opera. The last I saw of Zack he was escaping through a Baby Gap with Pepper chasing after him. I hope he ends up in mall-jail. It almost all seemed worth it, though, when I was paid my seventy-five dollars salary in cash! Unfortunately, it was gone before I hit the exit. There was this “Give Peas a Chance” sweatshirt I had to have. Oh, and I bought a real neat wedding present for Aunt Olive: a silver dragonfly pin with blue crystal stones. The saleslady said it was crafted in the style of some dead Russian named Faberge, and that I had “exquisite taste.”

  Mr. Smashum dropped me off and I jetted up to my room to avoid the “so how did things go?” question. There was a note taped to my door. McKenna Casting, Inc. had called! My last-ditch effort with Ballads-to-Go had paid off! I knew it was genius! An earlier time slot had become available – 12:55, and I was supposed to call them back ASAP to confirm or cancel. I was psyched at first, but then I realized – Switching my callback from 1:40 to 12:55 isn’t gonna help. The wedding is at two! I wanted to self-destruct.

  “Mom!” I called out into the hall. “Hey, Mooom!” No answer.

  Still loopy from bug spray, I threw myself across my bed, crumpling the note into a hard wad. Things were back to square one. Indecision throbbed inside me as I watched the falling leaves skittering past my window – dried up and dead, like so many missed opportunities. I thought about fall turning into winter and Aunt Olive turning into Mrs. Smashum. I thought about Wally’s friendship turning sour – and Pepper’s turning just plain weird. I wondered how many more people would blow out of my life before I even made it to high school.

  “Knock, knock. So how did things go?”

  It was Aunt Olive standing in my doorway, munching on a celery stick. I grabbed the dragonfly-pin box that was sitting on my bed and slipped it under my pillow.

  “Great. I had a blast.”

  “I knew you would. Listen, I just had a crazy thought. Kind of a favor, actually. You don’t have to say yes, but I have to ask.”

  Now what? Selling used cars in a bumblebee costume?

  “It dawned on me this morning that I didn’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle. Granny’s certainly not going to do it – she may not even show up at all. I thought of Gordy, but – I know that’s not exactly his cup of tea. So, whaddya say? Are you up for the task?”

  Well, there it was. Smack-dab in front of me. The moment of truth.

  “I – I –”

  “You don’t have to give me your answer right now.”

  “I think that’d be awesome.”

  She tried not to let me see the tear zigzagging down her cheek – and I tried not to let her see mine. My aunt crunched her way out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her. That’s when my water main broke. I must’ve sobbed quietly for a solid hour, practically drowning Cinnamon, who was snuggled up under my chin. The next thing I remembered was someone snapping one of those Hollywood clapboard things in my face and shouting, “Action!” Suddenly I was lying in a termite-filled bathtub wearing nothing but my coconut swim trunks and a furry Russian Cossack hat. When the ringing phone woke me up, I was gritting my teeth with the cat curled up on my head.

  “Siberia Hilton,” I murmured into the receiver.

  “Dusty?”

  “Dad?”

  He was calling to let me know that his agent had called McKenna Casting on my behalf, but there wasn’t a thing she could do. I told him it was officially over; that I was throwing in the towel and canceling my callback. I kind of got sloppy in the middle of it and fell apart all over again. Couldn’t help it. Dad seemed to take it even harder than me.

  “Man, oh, man, I’m so sorry, kid! Are you sure something can’t be worked out?”

  “I tried. Believe me. Ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Wow. I know how disappointed you must be. But you’ll have plenty more opportunities, no doubt about that. At least you’ve got your school musical to look forward to, right? Still – Jeez, Louise, I wish there was something I could do to make you feel…”

  Lo
ng pause. Cinnamon was vibrating the whole bed as I stroked her head. A pity purr. I guess she wasn’t so bad for a cat.

  “I’m still here. Let me run something by you. How do you think your aunt Olive would react if I showed up next Saturday – to her wedding?”

  “Are you kidding?” I sat upright. “Omigod, it’d make her day! It’d make everyone’s day. Almost.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about your grandma. Her bark is worse than her bite.”

  “Especially when she’s not wearing her false teeth.”

  “It’s about time I showed my face – cleared the air,” Dad said in a serious voice, not even noticing my joke. “But keep it under your hat, okay? ‘Cause I want it to be a surprise.”

  * * *

  I think I slept through most of Sunday. Come Monday morning, I headed for BMF Elementary an hour early, bruised but hopeful. The Oliver! cast list was supposed to be posted first thing, and I wanted to beat the crowds. It wasn’t the big-time, but at least it was something. Call me crazy, but I told myself that if I could make it all the way to school without stepping on a single sidewalk crack, my name would be listed after “Artful Dodger” – even after my rocky audition. I mean if my commercial thing hadn’t fallen through, Dad never would be coming to the wedding, right? So good things can come from bad – and miracles can happen when you least expect them.

  I clung to that thought as I ambled down Main Street. It was still semidark out so I couldn’t help noticing the light come on in Miss Pritchard’s Academy of Dance. The tops of Dad’s tap shoes were visible – sitting on the windowsill where I’d left them, like loaves of patent-leather bread. With no classes going on yet, I figured it was the perfect time to run up and get them. So I flew up the skinny stairway and through the reception area. When I pressed my nose onto the window of the dance studio door, I thought my eyeballs were playing tricks on me.

  “Check. It. Out,” I mumbled to myself.

  It was Zack. Kincaid! Even though I only saw him from behind, I’d know that blond bonehead anywhere. He had a leg stretched over the bar like a ballerina and Miss Pritchard was coaching him. “Flat back,” I heard her say. “Point your toes. Nice, easy stretch.” The room was empty except for the two of them. Talk about surreal. “Good. Now assume first position, and we’ll move onto demi pliés.”

  Zack spun around. I quickly ducked down, whacking a knee into the door.

  “Cripes!”

  “Is somebody there?” Miss Pritchard called out. “Can I help you?”

  In a crouched position I scurried toward the exit as quietly as possible, and flew down the stairs. Clomping footsteps were right behind me. Just as I was about to grab the outside doorknob I was yanked from behind and thrown into the banister.

  “Oow! My el-bone!”

  “You ain’t going nowhere, dude!”

  “It was a free country last time I looked. Whaddya gonna do to me this time, Zack – flush me down the toilet?”

  “Boys?” Miss Pritchard barked from the top landing. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothin’. We’re cool,” Zack told her. “Just gimme five minutes.” She lingered a little before disappearing and Zack turned his attention back to me. “You gotta hear me out, okay?”

  I looked up at him in his crusty ballet slippers, breathing heavily like an obscene phone caller. I definitely had the upper hand – why was I running off? “All right, you twisted my arm.” Literally. “So talk.”

  “I’m prob’ly just wastin’ my breath tellin’ you this, but… I wanna be a professional basketball player someday. Not wanna be – gonna be. And I’ll do whatever it takes.” His face was blotchy red except for his left eye, which was purple and swollen. He’d probably leaped when he should’ve twirled. “But my knees are kinda messed up, see. So my dad has me come here ‘cause the exercises help increase my flexibility – to prevent injuries, improve my jumps. Lots of pros do it.” Suddenly he pounded the wall with his fist. “Ah, you don’t understand!”

  “I’m not as dumb as you look. So what’s the problem?”

  Zack stared at the ground and took to knuckle-cracking. “If the guys found out about this ballet thing, the other Fireballs – I’d be dead meat for sure, I mean they’d really lay into me.” Then he looked me right in the face. “So what’s it gonna take, man – to shut you up? Make me an offer.”

  “For real?”

  Hmm, I’m glad I stuck around. I was going through a list of demands in my head – destroy all SLUDGE shirts; destroy petition to ban the Arts Committee and stop our musical; slip a thousand dollars in unmarked bills into my locker by noon tomorrow – when all of a sudden Zack started wheezing. Bad. Before I could get “You okay?” out of my mouth, he was bent over, clutching his chest, and gasping for air like a drowning man.

  “Miss Pritchard!” I yelled. “Come quick!”

  By the time she got to him, Zack was already taking hits off an asthma inhaler he’d dug out of his sweatpants. Miss Pritchard mumbled something about the dusty hall, and how this happened from time to time, and assured me he’d be fine. She helped Zack up the stairs and I exited onto the street, amazed at the scene that had just played out.

  I was on a power trip as I power-walked the rest of the way to school. Catching ballerina-Zack was like a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card – I could whip it out and use it the next time he bared his fangs. But the more I thought about it, the more I actually started admiring the jerk in spite of myself. Asthma and weak knees – yet still determined to be a professional basketball player. Talk about beating the odds. As soon as I’d set foot through the school doors, it hit me: I’d forgotten the stupid tap shoes again!

  “Congratulations, Dustin!” Stewy called out, then sputtered down the hall like a deflating balloon, shouting, “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it!” I made a beeline to the bulletin board outside the main office. There was a gaggle of girls stuck to it like paper clips to a magnet – the cast list had been posted for sure. I craned my neck to see through all the bouncing heads. The first name I spotted was

  Oliver Twist: S. Ziggler

  Stewy? That little Dickens! Couldn’t have happened to a nicer kid, but where the heck’s my name? I weaved my way to the front of the clump. Most of the adult parts had been given to high-schoolers, and there were pages and pages of orphans and pickpockets thanks to that no-cuts policy – just like with the Fireballs. I hunted for “Grubbs,” and landed on

  Artful Dodger: D. Deluca

  Say it isn’t so! They gave my part to a girl? No, that rare subspecies of girl known as Darlene Deluca. No fair – since when are girls allowed to play boys? It’s not like we’re doing Peter Pan! I took a second to get a grip. Okay, it’s not the end of the world. There are still a bunch of juicy roles left.

  My eyes shot up and down the page as if I were speed-reading in Japanese. Mr. Bumble… Mr. Sowerberry… Dr. Grimwig – not me, not me, not me.

  Finally, there it was: “Grubbs!” Hallelujah. After the role of Bill Sikes. “Yes!” I shouted, hugging the third-grader next to me. They’d actually given me one of the adult parts! But then I thought, Wait – Bill Sikes? The villain? That bear of a man who kicks his dog and beats Nancy to death at the end? That’s quite a stretch even for me. But I guess with some fake beard stubble and shoulder pads I could pass as a psychopathic brute. This will be my greatest acting challenge yet!

  The instructions said to initial the cast list to indicate that we’d accepted our parts. I was eagerly plucking a pen from my backpack, when a bloodcurdling scream came from behind. It was Darlene. “I’m guessing that was a scream of joy?” I asked as she butted her way next to me.

  “Omigawd, are you kidding? I got the best role in the whole show. Two great numbers in act one – what’s not to like? I didn’t know they were allowed to cast girls as boys.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Gimme your pen.” She swiped it out of my hand and initialed the list so enthusiastically she tore through the paper. I swiped it back and
was about to put my DG after the role of Bill Sikes when Darlene yanked my arm down.

  “What’re ya doin’, dork? Your name’s down there. See?”

  Megamouth was right. There it was – near the bottom.

  Noah Claypole: D. Grubbs

  “Noah Claypole?” I muttered. “I’m not even sure who that – Ugh! The pimply undertaker’s assistant? But he’s only in one short scene!”

  “And it’s a nonsinging, nondancing role,” Darlene happily reminded me. “Guess you can’t be the star of every show, huh?” I had a strong urge to tap-dance on her smugly face. But before I could even say anything, she turned her nose up and went skipping down the hall, rubbing it in with “Not everyone can be a triple threat!”

  Oh, the inhumanity! That meant I was practically in the chorus. One step away from being a freakin’ tree. My eyes zoomed back up the list. It really did say G. Grubbs after Bill Sikes – not D. Grubbs. G as in Gordy? As in my brother? Nuh-uh. No way. There had to be another G. Grubbs at Fenton High. Either that or demons are skating around in Hades catching snowflakes on their forked tongues ’cause it has definitely frozen over!

  “Hey, you,” I heard in my ear. Pepper had snuck up on me -smelling like a girly-girl.

  Riiing! Saved by the bell! Without a word, I took off sprinting down the hall.

  “What’s the rush?” she called out after me. I switched into second gear, passing Stewy, who was still whirling with joy. “Don’t you wanna find out what happened to Zack at the mall? Let’s just say my kickboxing lessons really came in handy!”

  “What?” I skidded to a halt and did an about-face. “Is that how he got that shiner? I don’t need you or anybody else to do my fighting for me.”