“Why can’t I be a soldier?”
“Because you fight like a girl, that’s why!” Luther Bowers hollered.
“Shut up!” Myra stuck her tongue out at him.
Orlando Chávez asked, “Can we use fake blood in the play? I still have an almost full bottle of it left over from Halloween when I dressed up as Dracula. We could smear it all over our faces and on our clothes when we get shot. It washes off pretty easy.”
“See, Mrs. Frymire?” Myra said. “That’s why I want to be a soldier.”
“No, Orlando, we are not going to use fake blood in the play. And I’m sorry, Myra, but you cannot be a soldier.”
“Aw, man.”
“How many boy speaking parts are there?” Andy LaFleur wanted to know.
Mrs. Frymire glanced down at her notes. “We have twelve speaking parts on the Texans’ side, plus three other male speaking parts for Mexican Number One, Mexican Number Two, and Mexican Number Three.”
Izzy Peña stood up. “I want to play Mexican Number One. ‘Cause I’m the Number One Mexican!” He pointed proudly to his chest.
“Sit down!” Billy Ray yelled. “You’re the Number One Mexican, all right. The Number One Mexican idiot!”
Marco Díaz wheeled around.
“Oops, sorry,” Billy Ray snickered. “I didn’t know your girlfriend was with you.”
Mrs. Frymire read through her notes. “We’ll also have six narrators, and I would prefer that they be girls.”
“That’s sex discrimination!” Luther Bowers shouted in a high voice, imitating Myra Coonrod.
Mrs. Frymire ignored him. “There’s also one female character with a speaking part. Susanna Dickenson.”
Agatha Hornbuckle waved her hand wildly in the air. “Ooh! Ooh! I want that one!”
Mrs. Pruitt craned her head and scowled at her.
Agatha dropped her hand and sank in her seat. “Sorry.” Then she sat up. She clasped her hands together like she was praying. She looked up at Mrs. Frymire and mouthed the words: “Please, pick me! Please! Please! Please!”
Mrs. Frymire smiled at her, then looked away.
Allen Gray asked, “What about costumes? What are we going to wear?”
“Thank you for bringing that up, Allen,” Mrs. Frymire said. “I would like for most of you to wear western clothing. You know, jeans, western shirts, cowboy hats, that sort of thing. But we’ll need uniforms for the Mexican army. Do any of your parents sew?”
Izzy’s hand went up. “My mom sews. She can sew anything.”
“Then maybe we can get her to sew your mouth shut!” Billy Ray taunted.
“Billy Ray!” Mrs. Frymire cried. “Try to conduct yourself in an appropriate manner.” Then to Izzy, she said, “I’ll call your mom and ask her.”
She explained the process for the auditions. She also placed a sign-up sheet on a table for those who wanted to be involved in nonspeaking roles.
The students were separated, boys on the left and girls on the right.
Karen Ingram was the first to read. She climbed up onstage where she was handed a sheet from the script.
“Start at the top and read the part of Narrator Number One,” Mrs. Frymire told her.
Karen read: “In 1836, Texas was part of Mexico. Large numbers of American settlers moved there in search of a new life. These Texans, as they called themselves, agreed to accept and obey the laws of Mexico, and most of them even learned to speak Spanish in an effort to live in harmony with the Mexican people.”
While Karen read, Raquel Flores slipped into the auditorium through the rear doors. She motioned for Marco to scoot over, then sat next to him.
Marco was surprised to see her. “You change your mind?”
Raquel narrowed her eyes. “No.” Then she gave him a half smile. “I thought I’d come by and throw tomatoes at you and Izzy while you’re up there.”
Marco didn’t understand why Raquel was so adamant about not being in the play. He wanted to ask her, but after the way she snapped at Izzy, he decided against it. Maybe she just didn’t like being onstage. Somehow, though, he didn’t think that was it.
When Karen finished, Mrs. Frymire said, “Good job. You read with lots of expression.”
Arlene Furr read next, followed by Judy Welch, Norma Herrera, Sylvia Gonzales, and Alma Crowthers.
When it was Agatha Hornbuckle’s turn, she told Mrs. Frymire, “I’m here to audition for the part of Susanna Dickenson.”
Mrs. Frymire smiled. “I understand, Agatha, but right now, all I want to do is hear you read. Once we’ve made a decision as to which students are selected for speaking parts, we’ll assign specific roles. But I will take your request into consideration.”
Agatha hesitated. She started to protest, but changed her mind. Finally she took the sheet of paper from the teacher and stood in front of the microphone.
“Read with expression,” Mrs. Frymire encouraged.
Agatha straightened her skirt. She rubbed her lips together to even out her lipstick. She brushed her bangs over her forehead with her fingers.
“A … doctor …”
“A dictator,” Mrs. Frymire corrected her.
“A dictator named An-Anto-ni-o López de Santa Anna threw out the Mexican Continue of 1824.”
“That’s ‘Constitution,’” Mrs. Frymire said.
“Oh, sorry. The Constitution of 1824.”
Raquel laughed. “I don’t know why Mrs. Frymire’s letting Agatha try out,” she told Marco. “Everybody knows Agatha can’t read.”
“Then why don’t you get up there and show her how it’s done,” Marco teased.
Raquel crossed her arms and faced the front. “No, thanks.”
“He deneed … ”
“… denied.”
“… denied all citizens their rights and freedoms guaran-ted … ”
“… guaranteed.”
“… guaranteed under the … competition.”
“Constitution.”
“Constitution.”
“Thank you, Agatha,” Mrs. Frymire said. “You may step down.”
“But I’m not through reading.”
“That’s all right. Good try, though.”
Agatha’s face twisted in anguish. “Mrs. Frymire, I’m sorry I messed up a little bit, but that’s only because what I really want is to audition for Susanna Dickenson. Could I please read that part?”
“I’m sorry, Agatha, but we still have lots of kids we need to hear.”
“Please?”
Mrs. Frymire stared at her without responding.
Agatha’s chin sank into her chest. She shook her head and sullenly walked off the stage.
Raquel rose from her seat. “See you boys later.”
“Where are you going?” Marco asked.
“Al baño. I have to go wee-wee. I’ll be back,” she added in a deep, Arnold Schwarzenegger-Terminator voice.
Noticing her standing, Mrs. Frymire asked, “Raquel, would you like to read for us?”
She waved her off. “No, thank you.”
Ms. Martínez stood up and faced her. “Are you sure, Raquel? You do such a wonderful job in my class.” Ms. Martínez had been impressed that even though English was Raquel’s second language, she spoke it better than many of her students who were born in the United States. “Come up here,” she urged. “You’re a good reader. Let’s see what you can do.”
Raquel had no intention of being in the program. Still, Ms. Martínez had asked. She liked her. She was so different from Miss Mac. Younger, prettier, much easier to talk to.
Raquel ambled down the aisle.
Mrs. Frymire handed her the script. “Read the part Agatha just read.”
Raquel glanced over the page. Then she read: “A dictator named Antonio López de Santa Anna threw out the Mexican Constitution of 1824. He denied all citizens their rights and freedoms guaranteed under the Constitution. The Texans protested, but their concerns were ignored. Many Tejanos, Mexican natives living in Texas, wanted the Constitution of 18
24 restored. However, most Texans began to realize that they would not settle for anything less than complete independence from Mexico, and they were willing to fight, and die, if necessary, to gain that freedom.”
She read with clarity and eloquence. She paused between sentences for effect. She made a strong effort, as she always did whenever she read aloud, to conceal her accent.
“Wonderful, Raquel!” Ms. Martínez said. “You read it perfectly.”
Raquel beamed.
“We need good readers for the play,” Mrs. Frymire told her. “I’ll certainly keep you in mind.”
When she returned to her seat, Marco said, “You did pretty good up there. You sounded like a real gringa.”
Raquel nodded, although she didn’t like the “gringa” reference. Maybe this won’t be so bad, she thought. She quickly blocked out that idea from her mind. She’d never allow herself to be in the program, even if it meant letting her teachers down.
She could never be in a show that made heroes out of people who stole her land.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mrs. Frymire called several boys to read together. Moe Craddock, Andy LaFleur, and Marco Díaz were selected to read first.
Andy: “Colonel! Someone’s coming! Halt! Who goes there?”
Moe: “Put that peashooter away before ya hurt yourself, sonny. I’m looking for William Travis.”
Marco: “I’m Travis. And you must be Davy Crockett.”
Andy: “The Davy Crockett? The famous Indian and bear fighter from Tennessee?”
Moe: “Well, I don’t know about the famous part, and I never much cared for fightin’ Injuns, but I just love scrappin’ with them b’ars. Why, I’ll have ya know that with Ol’ Betsy here, I once killed forty-seven b’ars with forty-six shots.”
Andy: “Forty-seven bears with forty-six shots? How was that possible, sir?”
Moe: “Well, two of ‘em was dancin’ the Cucaracha at the time.”
Marco: “Crockett, you’ve got to be the biggest naturalborn liar to come out of Tennessee. But you’re also the toughest fighting man I know. Welcome to the Alamo.”
Ms. Martínez leaned over and whispered to Mr. Watts, “They’re all such good actors.”
“Yeah. And I love the way Moe Craddock added that thick, country accent. I definitely want him to play Davy Crockett.”
Billy Ray Cansler, Herb Williams, and Allen Gray read next.
When they were through, Mrs. Frymire called Izzy Peña, Orlando Chávez, and Felipe Garza to the stage. “Izzy, I want you to read the part of Mexican Number One.”
“Yes!” Izzy cried.
“And Felipe, you’ll be Mexican Number Two. Orlando, you’re Mexican Number Three.”
Izzy glanced over his part. Then he frowned. “Mrs. Frymire, do I really have to read it like this?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
Izzy shrugged. “Oka-ay.” Then he read: “Jew are hereby ordered to leef dees meeshun at once. Eef dees order ees not obeyed, we weel deestroy de Alamo and all off de occupants een eet.”
Raquel laughed out loud and clapped her hands. She wished she’d brought tomatoes. She’d throw one right now.
“I knew you were the Number One Mexican idiot,” Billy Ray jeered from the audience. “Now you sound like it.”
Mrs. Pruitt whirled around and gave him a dirty look. “That is unacceptable, Billy Ray!”
“Yeah, you buck-tooth, bald-headed orangutan!” Izzy chimed in. “That is unacceptable!”
“Izzy!”
“Well, he started it!”
Izzy didn’t know why he called Billy Ray a bucktooth, bald-headed orangutan. It didn’t even make any sense. But it sure sounded funny. His classmates thought so, too. They hooted with laughter.
Billy Ray hopped out of his seat and spread his arms. “Come on down here and say that to my face, punk.”
Mr. Watts stood up. “Billy Ray, we’ve already heard you read. You may leave now.”
Billy Ray remained standing, glaring at Izzy.
Izzy wasn’t worried. Marco was with him. Billy Ray wouldn’t dare try anything as long as Marco was around.
“Come on, let’s go,” Mr. Watts ordered, pointing to the rear doors.
Billy Ray slipped out of his row, followed by Luther Bowers and the Bukowski twins. When he reached the top of the aisle, he shot Izzy the finger before leaving.
Orlando was called on to read next. “De time has come. We weel make plans to attack de Alamo for de las’ time.”
“Your part’s as bad as mine,” Izzy complained.
“You think that’s bad?” Felipe said. “Listen to this: Pardon me, bot woodent eet be better to wait onteel Gómez arrives weeth de beeg cannons?”
Raquel winced. She had laughed at first, but she didn’t find it funny anymore. Were they supposed to be playing soldiers? Or characters from a “Speedy Gonzalez” cartoon show? What were they going to do next? Put on big sombreros and run around the stage shouting Arriba! Arriba!
“Mrs. Frymire, these lines sound dumb,” Izzy said. “Why do we have to read them like this?”
“Because that’s the way the play was written,” Mrs. Frymire replied without elaborating.
After everyone had tried out, Mrs. Frymire announced to the group that a decision would be made in the next couple of days about the speaking parts, and she would notify them of it during class.
As the students exited the auditorium, Marco caught up with Raquel. “I hope you change your mind about being in the program. You’ll do a great job.”
She furrowed her brows. “Gracias, meester. I’m hoppy jew tink so, bot I weel not be een eet,” she answered mockingly before she walked out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“That’s what she told them, Doris. Can you believe it? Now I’ve got a bunch of kids questioning my knowledge, my expertise. I’m telling you, she needs to stick to her subject and leave the teaching of Texas history to me.” Mrs. Pruitt’s face was pinched tight. Her pale cheeks had developed a purplish hue.
“I agree,” Mrs. Frymire said. “And did you see what she did to me onstage? She practically shoved me out of the way to get on the microphone. As if after twenty-seven years of teaching, I don’t know how to settle kids down.” She poured herself another cup of coffee. Mrs. Frymire kept a coffeemaker in her room. Every morning before school, she, Mrs. Pruitt, and Miss Mac had shared a cup of coffee before the students arrived. Though Miss Mac was no longer part of their morning breakfasts, Mrs. Frymire still made a full pot of coffee. Out of habit.
Mrs. Pruitt peered into the box of donuts and selected a chocolate one with sprinkles. “I really hate to confront her, Doris. You know me. I don’t like confrontations. If there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s confrontations.”
“It’s for her best, Claire. She’s young and inexperienced. She’s going to make mistakes. Sometimes, it’s necessary to admonish a colleague.”
Mrs. Pruitt bit into her donut. Some of the sprinkles flaked off and stuck to her chin. “I’ll talk to her after school. But I want you to be there as a witness. I don’t want this to turn into …”
There was a light tap on the frame of the open door.
“Good morning, ladies.” Ms. Martínez stepped inside. “I hate to disturb your breakfast, but I wanted to take a look at the list of students you selected for speaking parts in the play.”
Mrs. Frymire eyed Mrs. Pruitt. “Of course.” She picked up the sheet of paper from her desk and handed it to her.
Ms. Martínez smiled when she saw the first name on it. “Moe Craddock will be the perfect Davy Crockett. Barry and I were hoping you’d choose him.”
“Thank you. I’ll speak to his mom about buying him a coonskin cap,” Mrs. Frymire said. “Maybe she can also find a fringed jacket for him to wear.”
Ms. Martínez frowned as her eyes moved down the list. “Billy Ray Cansler as William B. Travis? I thought we agreed Marco Díaz would get that part.”
“No,” Mrs. Frymire said. “We
agreed to let him read for it, but I think Billy Ray will do a much better job than Marco. We picked Marco to play Jim Bowie. That’s almost as big a role as Travis.”
“But Billy Ray’s so unpredictable,” Ms. Martínez said. “We all know that. If he doesn’t show up on the evening of the performance, the whole program could be ruined.”
“Oh, he’ll be there,” Mrs. Pruitt assured her. “Didn’t you hear his father the other night? Billy Ray’s whole family will show up, I promise you. And I don’t think they’ll be happy having him stand in the background without a speaking part. Not after we’ve asked his father to build the Alamo for us.”
“Well, what about giving him a smaller part, like Captain George Kimball?”
Mrs. Pruitt snorted. “George Kimball? Kimball only has one line toward the end of the play.”
“I know. It’s just that Travis appears in just about every scene,” Ms. Martínez said, not at all happy with their decision.
Mrs. Frymire took her by the hand. In a motherly fashion, she said, “Sandy, let me give you a piece of advice from an old veteran. There are times when we have to do things we don’t necessarily agree with. Things that might not seem right or just. But we do them for the greater good. And if Billy Ray’s father is building the Alamo for us, like it or not, we owe it to him to give his son … ”
“Preferential treatment?”
Mrs. Frymire smiled ruefully. “Let’s just say that this is our way of compensating his father for what he’s doing for us.”
Ms. Martínez shrugged. “If that’s how you feel about it.” She read the next name. “Agatha Hornbuckle as Susanna Dickenson?”
Mrs. Pruitt straightened. “What’s wrong with Agatha Hornbuckle?”
Ms. Martínez looked at her in disbelief. She felt as if she was on the receiving end of a practical joke. “Well, for starters, Agatha can’t read.”
Mrs. Frymire shut the donut box. For a second, she thought about offering Sandy a donut but changed her mind. “Well, I agree that Agatha’s probably not the best reader in the seventh grade. But she has a certain stage presence. Besides, she won’t be reading anything. She’ll memorize her part.”
“What about Raquel Flores? She was very good.”
Alamo Wars Page 6