“Fine,” I say. I know from spending the whole summer with her that there’s no point arguing with Mare. I have to fight the important battles, and let her win the small ones. “Okay, so who wants to read the directions?”
Ander jumps up, opens the box, and grabs a note taped to a smaller box inside.
Hey team . . .
Inside this box you’ll find my preceptor project, a game called SKIT MIXERS. I’ll be presenting it to the Piedmont Committee at the Global Championships. You’re my test subjects—lucky you! But don’t be worried. You’ll like it. Just remember our team mantra as you play:
Be Curious. Be Creative. Be Collaborative. Be Colorful. Be Courageous.
Seraphina
I twist the silver band on my wrist, the one with the same message engraved on it, and see my teammates are all doing the same thing.
“Okay,” says Ander. “Here’s the sheet that goes with the game.”
SKIT MIXERS is an activity kit designed for kids who like to act out imaginary tales. It contains everything needed to create a short play, complete with characters, settings, and problems to solve. With hundreds of card combinations to mix and match, the skit possibilities are endless. SKIT MIXERS is a fun way for kids to portray characters, work as a team, brainstorm ideas, creatively solve unique problems, and perform for an audience!
Kit includes: 25 character cards, 25 descriptor cards, 25 setting cards, 25 problem cards, instructions, planning pages, and script pages
Instructions:
• Gather your friends and siblings! SKIT MIXERS can be played with 2 or more performers.
• Mix up the green (character) cards and scatter face down. Each performer chooses one card. This card indicates what character he or she will portray.
• Mix up the purple (descriptor) cards and scatter face down. Each performer chooses one card. This card gives a description of the performer’s character.
• Mix up the red (setting) cards and scatter face down. One performer in the group chooses a card. This is the setting for the group’s skit.
• Mix up the blue (problem) cards and scatter face down. Another performer chooses a card. This is the problem the group will solve in their skit.
• Next, the group must work as a team to create a short story (in the form of a skit) that demonstrates the setting, descriptions of each character, the problem they face together, and the solution they create together.
• Use the planning pages to plan it out.
• Use the script pages to record each character’s lines.
• Practice and perform!
Ander sets down the instruction sheet. “Wow, Seraphina’s game sounds professional.”
I feel a smile breaking across my whole face. “I like this game already!”
“I wish we could make costumes for it,” says Jillian. “Maybe supplies are hidden on the aero-bus someplace.”
“I doubt it,” says Mare. “Let’s just play it like Seraphina’s instructions say.”
Jax opens the box and pulls out the four decks of cards. But in a flash, our chairs move us away from the table. The table spins and grows to the height of a tall counter top. The chairs tip forward and pop us out of them. The floor opens and the chairs get sucked somewhere below the aero-bus.
What just happened?
“What the—” says Ander.
“Okay . . .?” says Mare.
We stand against the round counter, our elbows propped on top. “This is weird,” I say.
“I guess no lounging for you, Ander,” says Jillian.
“I don’t care,” he replies. “I do my best thinking while I’m standing anyway.”
“While standing on chairs, you mean,” adds Jax.
“Why yes, Jax. Yes, I do.”
Jax shakes his head and laughs.
“Break out the character cards,” says Mare, twisting her hair into a bun. “I don’t want to stand all day.”
I shuffle the green and purple cards and place them face down on the table. “Okay, everybody choose one of each.” We take turns picking our character cards and descriptor cards. I look at mine. “Hmm, I’m a fairy who has x-ray vision.”
Jillian pouts. “I’m a clown who hiccups while she talks.”
“I guess I’m a superhero who snaps her fingers all the time,” says Mare.
“Well,” says Ander. “I’m a pirate who crawls instead of walks.”
Jax frowns. “At least you’re not a farmer who picks things up with your elbows.”
I laugh and shuffle the red cards. “Okay, someone pick a setting card.”
Mare reaches over and chooses one. “In a dance studio.”
Ander rolls his eyes. “Great, our skit takes place in a dance studio.”
I shuffle the light blue cards. “Now someone choose a problem card.”
Jax turns over a card and shows it to the rest of us. “The crayons have come to life.”
Mare flips over her cards. “So what do we do now? Make up a play about a bunch of characters who go into a dance studio and see a box of crayons come to life?”
“Yup,” says Ander, tapping his fingers on the table. “But I’m starving. I think we should eat before we start.”
“Where?” asks Jax.
Ander points to a tin box high above the table. A sign in block letters reads: SNACK CHOOSER.
“How did you notice that?” Jillian asks.
“I always notice snacks. So KK, since you were the last one to get to the table, you have to pick the snacks.”
I start to reach up to the Snack Chooser, but then I realize how stupid his request is.
“Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“You’re just as close to the Snack Chooser as I am.”
“But you choose better snacks than I do.”
“You’ve got to be the laziest person on the planet.”
Ander grins and leans back in his seat.
I jump to pull down a tin container suspended above the middle of the table. It spins in a circle, flashing pictures of pastries, crackers, cheese, and fruit.
“Pick something good,” says Mare.
I turn the knob to chocolate covered cookie dough in honor of Seraphina. It’s only been three weeks since we left Camp Piedmont, but I miss her already—especially her platform shoes, purple nail polish, and chocolate snacks.
I touch the button, the tin box flies back up, and the snack tray pops up from an opening in the center of the table.
“What the heck?” says Ander. “That was cool.”
Jillian adjusts one of the upside-down cookie dough pieces. “There, that’s better.”
When we’re done devouring the cookie dough pieces, we break out the planning pages and scribble down ideas.
“What if one of us is a dance instructor for a class full of unusual characters, not real dancers?” suggests Mare.
“Okay,” says Ander. “And since I don’t walk, I only crawl on my hands and knees. The instructor hates me.”
“Me too,” says Jax. “Because I pick up everything with my elbows.”
“And she’s mad at me too,” says Jillian. “Because I keep hiccupping during class.”
“That’s good,” I say. “And what if I’m the one who notices a box of crayons in the corner of the room? Since I have x-ray vision, I can see inside the box. I warn everyone that the crayons are coming to life and planning to escape their box.”
Ander jumps on the couch. “Yes! And when they leap onto the floor, Jax and I surround them—with me crawling and him trapping them with his elbows.”
I turn to Mare. “Why don’t you be the superhero dance instructor?”
“Yeah,” says Jillian. “And once the crayons are surrounded, I can scare them into surrendering with my hiccups.”
“Right into my cape,” says Mare. “I’ll snap, scoop them up, and force them into their box.”
“I like it,” says Ander. “Are we all on board?”
Jax nods. Mare stands there stone-faced with her arms crossed in front of her.
Are you kidding me?
“What, Mare? You don’t like it? It’s not like anyone’s going to watch us perform it.”
Mare laughs. “You’re so paranoid, Kia. Let’s write our lines.”
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “I’m just used to you—”
“What? Not liking your idea?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did say I was outspoken.”
I bite my lip. “That reporter made me say that. I had to say something.”
“So now I know your true feelings about me. Why didn’t you just call me bratty? That’s what you really meant.”
I point to Jax. “Well he said I was intense.”
His face burns up. “I just meant to say that you’re kind of energetic—in a good way.”
“Energetic?”
Jillian steps in between us. “Why are you guys picking a fight? Mare said I was messy. So what? I am messy. Most creative people are.”
“And I’m good at being in charge,” says Ander. “If that means I’m bossy, I don’t care. And Jax doesn’t say much, but that means he’s a deep thinker. That’s not news.”
Jax stares at Ander. I look at Mare. She stares at me. None of us says anything for way too long. This is not good. If we start fighting, no one will want to practice for the competition.
Mare shakes her head. “Principal Bermuda is an idiot.”
“He was totally trying to make us fight or something,” says Jillian.
I let out a breath. “Well, it’s not going to work.”
“Nope,” says Ander.
“Okay,” I reply. “Let’s start writing our lines.”
We sink onto the couches and brainstorm our lines. When we’ve finished, we toss our pencils and pages back into the box.
“Can we practice it later, like after lunch?” asks Mare. “I’m hungry again.”
“Yeah,” says Ander. “I definitely need a break.”
Jax pulls down the tin box, but instead of seeing the snack choices, we somehow drop through the floor.
THE HOT AIR BALLOON
We land with a plop onto red, white, and blue chairs inside a restaurant decorated like the American Flag. The walls are lined with red and white stripes and blue stars, and our table is covered with pictures of important people from American history—most of them we learned about in Human history, the most boring category in the world. But if I could learn about them by hanging out here, maybe that category wouldn’t be so bad.
“It feels like the Fourth of July in here,” says Jillian.
A small robotic creature zooms out from behind a counter. It looks sort of like a monkey, and then I realize what it is—our robotic monkey assistant from Camp Piedmont!
“Mabel!” I call. She stops next to my chair, and her dress lights up.
“Aww,” says Jillian. “She’s dressed up like the American flag.”
I lean down to pet her, and when I do, a voice projects from her robotic ear:
Mabel has been programmed to tell you that your lunch will be ready shortly. Mabel believes you will each be eating a hot dog with a bun, macaroni and cheese, a garden salad, and a slice of warm apple pie. Mabel will also bring you a tall glass of lemonade. Mabel is happy to see you. Mabel will be right back.
“She’s our waitress!” I exclaim.
Ander leans back in his chair. “Awesome, I’m starving.”
Mabel rolls away but soon returns pulling a cart behind her loaded with our trays. We take them as another voice message blasts from her ear:
Hi girls, it’s Swissa. I’m back at school now. No more room cleaning or flower deliveries from me! But I wanted to send a message to you and the boys, and Mabel helped me do it.
Ander leans over to me. “Wasn’t Swissa your chambermaid at Camp Piedmont?”
“Yes,” I say. “She was so nice.”
Mare looks at me like daisies just popped out of my throat.
“Well maybe she wasn’t so nice at first, but after a while she was.”
Congratulations on getting to the Global Championships. I heard that despicable principal of yours isn’t allowed to have any interaction with the Piedmont Organization. Good! What kind of person forces another to destroy the hard work of kids? He sounds like a monster. But here’s the thing. He stopped at my Art Forms High School today and pulled me out of my theatre class. He asked a lot of questions about your team—he said it was for the news coverage. I just wanted to let you know that you’re going to be a big deal in this state and maybe everywhere. He’s making sure of it. So I don’t know what you think about that, but I thought you should know I didn’t give him any dirt about the three of you . . . like how messy Jillian was, or how Mare pretended to hate me, or that Kia was secretly nice to me. Anyway, good luck in the competition. I know you’ll be great!
Mare shakes her head. “I wasn’t pretending to hate her. I did hate her.”
“But did you hear what she said? It’s like Principal Bermuda is stalking us,” I say.
“He is stalking us,” says Ander.
“We shouldn’t worry about him,” says Jax. “He’s back home and we’re headed out of the country. He can’t do anything to us anymore.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I bet he’s sitting in his office dreaming up ways to cause trouble.”
“But he wants us to win,” says Jillian. “What could he even do?”
“He wanted us to win last time and look what he did.”
Ander takes a giant bite of apple pie, leaving apple mush on his chin. “Relax, KK, and have some pie. This is almost as good as scrambled apples.”
My teammates aren’t that worried about Principal Bermuda, so maybe I shouldn’t be either. “Fine, let’s finish eating and then practice our Skit Mixers skit. Seraphina may want to see it when we get off the bus. We’ll still have time after that to rehearse our real skit for the competition.”
“I think we should explore first,” says Ander. “We don’t even know what else is on this bus. There was a movie theatre last time. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. Okay, but then we have to work on our skits.”
Mare rolls her eyes at me, but that’s nothing new. I kind of expect it now so I just smile back. It’s like our special game.
When we’re finished eating, we realize we don’t know how to get back up to the main part of the bus. But as we step away from the table, the floor lifts us back upstairs. None of us can figure out how it happened, but we’ve pretty much learned not to question everything. Anything’s possible when it comes to this competition—even secret passageways, I guess.
Ander looks around. “This stinks. I wanted to explore.”
“I guess there’s nowhere else to go on this aero-bus,” says Jillian.
“Well,” says Mare, “if we’re going to practice, we better do it now—then I’m napping.” She stands up, faces the rest of us with her feet in a first position ballet stance, and places her hands in a circle in front of her. She looks so perfect, like she really could be a ballerina. “Good afternoon, class. My name is Madam Bratty. Please take your places at the barre.”
Jillian (Messy the Clown) skips over to an imaginary bar next to the couch. I follow her and smile wide at Madam Bratty. “I’m Lightning the Fairy. I’ve never taken a ballet class before.”
“Wonderful,” snarls Madam Bratty.
“Arg! I’m ready,” calls Ander. “I’m Bossy the Pirate. I’ll take my turn first.”
“Only if you stand at the barre with the rest of the class.”
“I won’t, Madam Br
atty, and neither will my first mate, Brainy Farmer here. Crawling is the new walking.”
Madam Bratty snaps her fingers. “Oh get up. Both of you.”
“I’ll stand up, Ma’am, but if something falls on the ground, I’ll be fixin’ to pick it up with my elbows. It’s the law of the land,” says Jax.
“That’s a stupid law.”
“That’s not—hiccup—stupid,” says Jillian. “That’s just the way he does things.”
“Whatever,” says Madam Bratty. “We’ll start with a releve and pas de bourree.”
“Wait! Madam Bratty, we have a problem,” I say.
“What now?”
“The crayons—they’re planning to escape from their box. I can see it with my x-ray vision.”
“No!” she snaps. “That will not do. We cannot hold class if the crayons are coming!”
“But what—hiccup—can we do?”
“Oh swashbucklers!” shouts Ander. “It’s too late. Here they come now!”
Ander crawls toward the imaginary crayons rolling in a pack. Jax scoots down and pretends to trap them with his elbows.
“Madam Bratty, hurry!” says Ander. “Scoop them up with your cape. You must save the day!”
“I’m on it!” She snaps her fingers, pretends to scoop them up, and forces them back into their box.
“Now we can—hiccup—get back to the barre,” says Jillian.
“She saved the day! She saved the day!” I cry, twirling around the room.
“Arg! That was the best dance class I ever took!” says Ander. “The End!”
We burst out laughing and fall onto the couches. “That was fun,” I finally say. “But that was the worst skit ever.”
Jillian nods. “I think we should stick to the one we made at Camp Piedmont.”
Mare turns over on her side. “Well, if we’re done here, I’m taking a nap.”
I shake my head. “I thought we were going to practice our real skit first.” But Mare is already in prime sleep position. “Fine, we can take a quick break, but there’s no way I’m going to sleep. I’m going to rehearse my lines instead. The Global Championships are in just two weeks, and I’m going to make every second count. I’ll wake you all up in a few minutes.”
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