Like Carrot Juice on a Cupcake
Page 7
“I am as happy
as a puppy gulping down
a whole bag of treats.”
And I thought,
That’s my best friend, Pearl.
She’s going to be a famous poet someday.
I just know it.
The next week flew by.
Rehearsals lasted longer and longer,
and Ainsley and Pearl both started teasing me.
Because I kept humming bunny tunes during class,
and pretending to be one of the Beatles,
and muttering my lines.
But then,
Friday came.
The day of the show.
The only thing I muttered that day was,
“I feel sick.”
I wasn’t going to be able to do my solo.
I knew I wasn’t!
I couldn’t pretend to be a Beatle!
They were men! And they were ancient!
Some of them were even dead!
That idea had been ridiculous.
I felt even sicker and shakier after school,
as the cast got ready for the show.
Nicholas burped a few lines of my solo for me.
I knew he was trying to make me laugh,
so I’d be less scared.
But still. It was disgusting.
So it made me feel worse.
And I couldn’t eat one of the delicious
golden vanilla cupcakes
decorated with bunny faces
that Mrs. Quaid gave us, as a pre-show treat.
Maybe if they’d been brookie cupcakes—
which I’d never gotten to try—
I could’ve overcome my feelings of sickness.
But they weren’t.
So I wrapped my bunny cupcake in napkins
and set it on a table backstage, for later.
I did not save
the carrot juice
that Mrs. Quaid also handed out.
“What drink could be better for rabbits?”
she kept saying.
And I thought,
Who would want carrot juice
anywhere near
a yummy cupcake?
What if it spills?
That would be a tragedy!
After snack time, I zipped into my bunny suit.
Which made me sweaty and shaky.
And then Mrs. Quaid said, “Everyone, backstage!”
So,
wearing our furry costumes,
we all crammed into the little space
behind the curtains at the back of the stage.
It was crowded and loud back there.
Mrs. Quaid kept shouting things like,
“Check the props table!
Make sure you have what you need!”
Finally she checked her watch and shouted,
“Quiet down! It’s time!”
We all rushed to peek through the curtains.
Kids and parents were filling up every seat
in every row!
Suddenly, I had to pee.
But there was no time!
Mrs. Quaid was calling,
“Places, everyone! Places!”
And then she said,
“Where’s Eleanor?”
I raised my hand and said, “Here.”
“The audience lights will go down in a second,”
she told me.
“And then you’ll step onstage.
Don’t forget your carrot!
Do you have your carrot?”
I didn’t have my carrot!
I had to shove my way to the props table then,
saying, “Excuse me!
Carrot emergency!”
as I pushed other bunnies aside.
Then I shoved my way back to Mrs. Quaid.
And before I could tell her anything about peeing,
she said,
“Remember: loudly and clearly!”
She opened the curtain for me.
And I had to step onto the stage.
I heard Mrs. Quaid say, “Shhhh!” behind me.
And then I was standing in silence.
I blinked a few times.
It was hard to see
with the stage lights bright in my eyes
and the houselights off.
But then, right in the middle of the third row,
I saw Pearl and Ainsley grinning up at me.
And my parents, grinning, too.
Pearl started waving and waving,
and I almost waved back!
Then someone coughed, and I realized
I had to act.
I stood a little straighter and said,
not very loudly or clearly,
“It was the best of carrots,
it was the worst of carrots.”
My voice was shaking.
But still,
I heard grown-ups laugh.
Then Nicholas came onstage.
I think he gave me a thumbs-up,
but it was hard to tell,
because his hands were covered with furry paws.
I spoke louder and clearer after that.
And
for some reason,
my early scenes with Nicholas
were especially easy.
But whenever I was offstage, I kept thinking,
Solo, solo, solo, solo.
My heart was beating to that sound!
Finally,
when that solo was thirty seconds away,
I pushed my way to Mrs. Quaid
and I said,
“Can Nicholas sing with me?
Like at our audition?
I can’t do it by myself!”
She put her hands on my shoulders
and looked in my eyes
and said,
“You can do it.
You’ve worked so hard.
Just remember—do not be Eleanor!
Now, go!”
And she practically pushed me onto the stage.
The piano started.
I thought,
I can’t breathe!
And then I thought,
I’m going to sound like a garbage truck!
I missed my cue from the piano—
I was supposed to be singing.
But instead I was thinking,
Garbage truck!
Then I knew what to do!
The piano started the song again.
I imagined holding a boom box high in the air,
and when I heard my cue the second time around,
I sang my solo right to my mom.
I just pretended I was my dad
outside her window.
As soon as I finished,
Pearl leapt to her feet
and shouted, “Yay, Eleanor!”
Ainsley jumped up, too, clapping and clapping,
and so did both my parents.
I bowed a tiny bit to them.
And then I hurried as fast as I could,
in my furry suit,
off the stage.
The next time I went on,
I had to hug Nicholas.
I’m a rabbit, I’m a rabbit, I’m a rabbit,
I told myself.
And then I hugged him as fast as I could
and stepped back.
Mrs. Quaid shouted out from backstage,
“The end!”
And the whole audience cheered and cheered.
Every bunny in the play came onstage.
Nicholas stood on one side of me
and Katie stood on the other.
We took one another’s paws,
and we all bowed together.
Then I heard someone yell, “Eleanor!”
I looked out at my row of fans,
and my dad started tossing flowers on the stage.
That was almost as embarrassing
as hugging Nicholas!
Still,
even with those flowers at my feet,
I was glad I hadn’t quit that play.
My parents let me eat my bunny-decorated cupcake
(with no disgusting carrot juice anywhere near it)
for breakfast the next morning
as a special treat.
“To celebrate your newfound stardom,” my dad said.
That cupcake was very delicious,
even though it wasn’t a brookie.
And that wasn’t even the best part of my day!
The best part came later,
when Pete Pain brought my dog home.
He parked the Yip-Yap U van
in front of our apartment,
and I ran to unbuckle Antoine.
I hugged that puppy tight.
Then I checked him all over,
for cuts and bruises.
And other signs of torture.
But he looked very healthy.
And he kept licking my face!
“I’m happy to see you, too,” I told him.
Pete Pain stayed with us for hours,
teaching us to shout “Ow!”
and stop playing, if Antoine nipped.
And to say “Sit!” instead of “No!” when he jumped.
And to yell “Leave it!” whenever he started to chew.
Pete told us over and over
to always use the exact same commands,
all three of us,
all the time.
I had to admit,
Antoine behaved very nicely
during that training session.
Still,
after Pete Pain left, for the whole rest of the day,
I kept Antoine away from my parents’ room
and all of their stuff.
I decided to do that
for the whole rest of my life, too.
Because I did not want my dog
sent away from me
ever again.
The next Monday in school,
just before the morning bell,
a wadded-up piece of paper flew through the air
and landed on my desk.
I knew exactly what that flying paper was.
I opened it up
and smoothed it out.
Sure enough, Nicholas had drawn me a picture.
But
it was a new kind of picture.
For the first time ever,
Nicholas had drawn himself
with me.
Just the two of us,
together on a stage,
in our bunny suits,
holding each other’s paws.
I stared at that picture for a long time.
My heart felt jumpy
and my face felt blush-y
as I looked at just the two of us,
together,
holding each other’s paws.
I couldn’t stop myself from thinking,
I might like that.
And suddenly, I felt very shy.
I could not turn
and look at Nicholas.
So this time, I thanked him
without turning.
He kicked the back of my chair,
not too hard,
like he always did.
Then I folded the picture neatly
and put it on top of the pile in my desk.
Like I always did.
But I already knew
that later,
I’d take that picture out
and put it in my backpack,
so I could carry it home with me
and do some more thinking
about Nicholas,
who’d drawn marshmallow Peeps for me
when I was sad.
And burped my solo for me
when I was scared.
And stood up for me,
twice,
when Ben was mean.
I knew, too,
that I’d sneak that picture into my backpack
when no one was looking.
Not even my best friend, Pearl.
Because
I wanted to keep that picture
and my thoughts about Nicholas
to myself.
At least for a while,
I wanted to keep a secret of my own.