“Canceled? That’s ridiculous,” Ms. Fitzgerald replied. “Everyone knows that the show must go on—no matter what.”
“But … it can’t,” Jake said helplessly.
Ms. Fitzgerald, however, wouldn’t budge. “Young man, I must insist,” she said. Her voice was polite but firm. “I know for a fact that it’s a sold-out show. The house must be packed. I’m all warmed up and ready to go!”
Ms. Fitzgerald started to sway in time to music that only she could hear. She snapped her fingers as a smile spread across her face. Then she opened her mouth and started to sing a bunch of quick, bright sounds—“Doot-n-du-du-du-de-dow-dah”—snapping her fingers to the jazzy beat.
Jake was completely captivated by the spontaneous performance from one of the greatest singers of all time. He didn’t notice that he was tapping his foot along. He didn’t even notice the change in Flapjack’s barking … or the knock at the door … or the creaky hinges as his bedroom door swung open.
But Jake did notice when there was a loud crash in the doorway. He turned around just in time to see Emerson standing there, a look of pure shock on his face and a pile of books scattered on the floor around his feet.
Jake stood up so fast that his chair toppled over. “Emerson!” he exclaimed. “When—what—”
Emerson’s eyes were wider than Jake had ever seen them. “Is that Ella Fitzgerald?” he gasped.
Jake scrambled over to Emerson, pulled him into the room, and slammed the door. “Listen,” Jake began in a panic. “You have to swear that you won’t—”
“I can’t believe this!” In his excitement, Emerson was practically yelling. “Lady Ella! The First Lady of Song! The Queen of Jazz!”
Ms. Fitzgerald chuckled as she acknowledged Emerson with a slight curtsy. “The pleasure is all mine, young man,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Emerson! Lewis! I mean, Emerson Lewis,” he replied, crouching on his knees to get a better look at the miniature singer. Then he glanced back at Jake in astonishment. “Is she for real?” he asked. “Like, really real? Why is she so small?”
“Shhh!” Jake tried to hush his friend. “She can hear you, you know. And so can the rest of the world. Would you please lower your voice?”
“Excuse me!” Ms. Fitzgerald’s voice rang out. “If you could just point me in the direction of the stage …”
“Sorry,” Jake apologized. “There’s been … uh … an unavoidable, ah, delay …”
Ms. Fitzgerald frowned.
“But if you’d like to wait in the green room,” Emerson suddenly spoke up as he gestured to Julia’s dollhouse, “I’m sure we can straighten everything out.”
“Thank you, Emerson,” Ms. Fitzgerald said in a dignified voice as she entered Julia’s deluxe dollhouse.
Jake stared at Emerson in astonishment. How had he known just what to say to Ms. Fitzgerald? And perhaps more important …
“How do you know so much about Ella Fitzgerald?” Jake asked.
From the dollhouse, the boys could hear Ms. Fitzgerald warming up her voice. “Shu-bu-sku-ba-du-dwee-zee-dee!”
“Lady Ella, scatting,” Emerson marveled. “I can’t believe it.”
“Scatting?” Jake asked. “What’s that?”
“It’s like musical improv, and it’s really, really hard to do—even for the best jazz singers,” Emerson explained. “The way she’s singing—that’s not a song that exists, you know. Ms. Fitzgerald is just inventing it, right here, right now, in real time! And we get to listen!”
“Wow,” Jake said. “That’s pretty cool.”
“Understatement of the year,” Emerson said. “Jake. Buddy. Tell me everything.”
Jake glanced over his shoulder at the dollhouse. Since Ms. Fitzgerald was completely engrossed in her song, he pulled Emerson over to the far corner of his room.
“If I tell you …” Jake began slowly, “then you have to promise me you won’t tell anybody else.”
“Sure, I promise,” Emerson said. “But why are you so upset? This is the coolest—craziest—most incredible thing ever!”
Easy for you to say, Jake thought—but he realized he wasn’t being very fair to Emerson. After all, Emerson had no idea what Sir Isaac and Miss Earhart had put him through.
“Before the science fair, I made a wish at the Wishing Well,” Jake explained. “I wished for extra help, and I threw in my Heroes of History—”
Emerson made a face. “The Heroes of History set was your most special belonging?”
“Of course not,” Jake said. “But the point is, two of them came to life to help with my science project.”
It took a moment or two for Emerson to grasp exactly what Jake meant. “But …” he began. “You … you won a ribbon. Second place.”
“It’s not like that,” Jake rushed to explain. “I didn’t cheat. Believe me, they were way more trouble than help. But they did inspire me … and point me in the right direction. The project was all my own work. I promise. I’m not a cheater.”
“I know,” Emerson said—a little too quickly. “I didn’t call you a cheater.”
“Anyway,” Jake said, “I wished for help with Living History Night and—poof! Ms. Fitzgerald showed up.”
When Emerson didn’t reply, Jake started talking really fast. “You don’t understand, Emerson; you wouldn’t believe how much work it is,” he said in a rush. “I mean, Benjamin Franklin? I don’t want to fail up there, in front of the whole school!”
“I do understand,” Emerson argued. “That’s why I came over. I brought you a bunch of my dad’s history books. To help you get started.”
Jake glanced over at the door, where the books Emerson had brought were still scattered across the floor. A rush of gratitude surged through him. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re a great friend.”
“Bop-buh-bah-bah-dah-deet-n-dee!”
Both boys glanced over at the dollhouse.
“Man. Ella Fitzgerald,” Emerson marveled. “Did you know she has perfect pitch? And she never took a single music lesson—not even one?”
Jake shook his head. “How did you know that?” he asked.
“My dad, of course,” Emerson replied. “He’s, like, her number-one fan.”
That made sense, Jake realized. After all, Emerson’s dad taught music at the high school. He even played in a local jazz band on the weekends. “Maybe that’s why Ms. Fitzgerald looked kind of familiar to me,” he said.
“My dad owns every single one of her albums,” Emerson said. “Want to come over and listen to her songs?”
“That would be great,” Jake replied. “I still haven’t figured out why Ella Fitzgerald appeared. I mean, a scientist for the science fair—that made sense. And Miss Earhart inspired me to research the science of flight. But I can’t figure out a connection between Ella Fitzgerald and Benjamin Franklin.”
Emerson shrugged. “I don’t know, either,” he said. “Maybe listening to her music will help.”
“Actually …” Jake began, “I should probably stay here. I shouldn’t leave Ms. Fitzgerald alone.”
“Just bring her,” Emerson said.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Jake tried to tell him. “Trust me on this.”
But Emerson had already walked over to the dollhouse. “Ms. Fitzgerald?” he called. “Would you be available for a sound check?”
* * *
A few minutes later, Jake and Emerson arrived at Emerson’s house. Mrs. Lewis was blasting some cool African music while she worked on a project for the Wonderland Stage, where she was the artistic director.
“Hey, Mrs. Lewis,” Jake said.
Mrs. Lewis looked up from her notebook and smiled. “Hello, Mr. Franklin,” she replied. “Congratulations, Jake! Emerson told me about your big role at Living History Night.”
Jake smiled weakly.
“Mom, can we hang out in Dad’s studio for a little while?” Emerson asked. “Jake wants to listen to some Ella Fitzgerald songs. He’s n
ever heard her music before.”
Mrs. Lewis clutched her chest and pretended to stagger backwards. “Be still my heart!” she cried. “Never heard Lady Ella? ‘A-tisket, a-tasket, la la la la la … ’”
“Mom. Stop,” Emerson groaned as Mrs. Lewis danced around the table, humming. But Jake was grinning. With her big personality and even bigger heart, Mrs. Lewis was one of his favorite people on the planet. No matter what was wrong, it didn’t seem quite so bad when she was around.
“Only Lady Ella could turn a nursery rhyme into a hit song,” Mrs. Lewis continued, like she didn’t even realize that Emerson was dying of embarrassment. “Jake, you are in for a treat. Go ahead, boys, but remember to be respectful of Daddy’s space, E.”
“We will,” Emerson promised. Then he led Jake through the house to a small room in the back, where Mr. Lewis kept all of his instruments. There was a trombone and a tuba, a steel drum, and a range of cool percussion instruments mounted on the wall. The opposite wall had framed sheet music on display, along with photographs of famous jazz musicians. Jake didn’t know where to look first.
Suddenly, Jake realized that his backpack was rustling. “Sorry, Ms. Fitzgerald,” he said quickly as he opened it up and helped her climb out. “Emerson’s dad loves jazz, too. This is his music room.”
“Why, he sounds like a friend I just haven’t met yet,” Ella declared. She peered up at the wall of photos. “What do we have here! Chick Webb, Dizzy Gillespie, Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday. That’s a real rogues’ gallery you’ve got!”
Jake and Emerson must’ve looked confused, because Ms. Fitzgerald started to laugh. “It’s a joke, boys,” she explained. “I’ve had the good fortune to perform with those fine musicians—and the even better fortune to count them as friends.”
“My dad collects autographed albums of famous jazz musicians,” Emerson told her. “He’s been hoping to add one of yours to his collection for a while now.”
Ms. Fitzgerald looked pleased. “Is that a fact?” she said.
Emerson leaned closer to Jake and said in a low voice, “I tried to get one for Father’s Day last year. But it cost a thousand dollars!”
“Are you kidding?” Jake asked.
“I wish,” Emerson said. Then he opened a cupboard. “Check out this old record player,” he told Jake. “My dad found it at a garage sale and spent a whole year fixing it up. He likes listening to old records better than MP3s.”
Emerson plucked a record from the shelf and carefully slid it out of the protective sleeve.
“Why, that’s one of my records!” Ms. Fitzgerald said. “Lullabies of Birdland, a personal favorite.”
Emerson placed the shiny black record onto the player and carefully aligned the needle with one of the grooves. The speakers crackled; then the music washed over Jake, and he closed his eyes to listen. There were bright horns and a catchy beat, a piano tinkling an upbeat melody, and then—
Ella Fitzgerald, the one and only Ella Fitzgerald, started to sing. Her voice was like nothing Jake had ever heard before, rich and resonant, joyfully belting out notes high and low.
As the song came to an end, Jake realized that Ms. Fitzgerald had been singing along to the recording. He and Emerson burst into applause.
“Wow,” Jake marveled. “That was incredible!”
Ms. Fitzgerald clasped her hands behind her back and bowed. “Thank you. Thank you very much,” she said. Then she turned to Emerson. “I have a little surprise for your father.”
Jake and Emerson leaned forward to take a closer look as Ms. Fitzgerald proudly showed them the album cover. There, on the corner, in tiny, looping letters, was her signature: Ella Fitzgerald.
“Now his autograph collection will be complete,” Ms. Fitzgerald said.
It took Jake a moment to understand. Ms. Fitzgerald had autographed one of Mr. Lewis’s records! Is that worth a thousand dollars now? he wondered. Jake was about to ask Emerson when he caught a glimpse of Emerson’s face. It was stuck somewhere between shock and horror as Emerson, unblinking, stared at the album cover.
“What … did … you … do?” he asked slowly. “Oh no! This is terrible—”
“Excuse us,” Jake said to Ms. Fitzgerald. Then he grabbed Emerson’s sleeve and dragged him into the hallway.
“Pull it together!” Jake said. “She didn’t mean—”
“Don’t you get it?” Emerson howled. “This is a huge disaster! She defaced one of my dad’s favorite albums, and he’s gonna think it was me, and Mom already warned me to be respectful of his stuff! He’s going to be so mad—”
“Maybe he won’t notice,” Jake said hopefully.
Emerson shot him a dirty look. “Won’t notice? Are you kidding? He loves his record collection. Believe me, he’ll notice.”
“Well …” Jake said, “she was only trying to help. I think you should apologize.”
“Are you kidding? She should apologize!” Emerson said hotly.
Jake’s temper started to rise, too. “This is what I tried to warn you about—but you wouldn’t listen,” he snapped. “You think it’s so cool to have these tiny geniuses running around, but news flash—they’re real, they’re not toys, and they get into all kinds of trouble and you can’t control them!”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have brought her here!” Emerson yelled. “Maybe you should’ve just stayed home!”
“Yeah, maybe I should’ve!” Jake yelled back.
“Well, you know the way out!” Emerson shouted.
Jake didn’t say another word as he marched back into Mr. Lewis’s music studio and opened up his backpack. “Come on, Ms. Fitzgerald,” he said. “We’re leaving.”
Ms. Fitzgerald’s eyes were wide with worry as she hurried into Jake’s backpack. “I didn’t—” she began.
“I know. It’s okay,” Jake said. “We can talk about it later.”
As soon as Ms. Fitzgerald was safely stashed in the backpack, Jake stormed out. Was it his imagination, or did Emerson already look like he was feeling sorry?
Jake didn’t care. He left without saying another word.
Jake’s fight with Emerson left a gaping hole in his life. Walking to school alone, eating lunch at different tables, sitting at opposite ends of the bench during batting practice … nothing seemed normal without Emerson around. Jake and Emerson had never really had a big fight before, so Jake wasn’t sure what he should do next. He had a sinking feeling that he needed to apologize. He probably should’ve been watching Ms. Fitzgerald more closely. After all, Jake had learned the hard way just what could go wrong with Sir Isaac and Miss Earhart. It wasn’t Emerson’s fault that he didn’t understand.
But whenever Jake decided to tell Emerson that he was sorry, he remembered how angry Emerson had been. Maybe Emerson didn’t want an apology from Jake.
Maybe he didn’t even want to be friends anymore.
Jake pushed the thought from his mind and reached for Mr. Lewis’s Franklin books. They tugged at his conscience, a constant reminder of what a good friend Emerson was—and how much Jake missed him. At the same time, though, Jake knew that he had to get started on his Living History Night project. If he’d learned anything from the science fair, it was that waiting until the last minute was almost always a recipe for disaster. But as the days passed, Jake was painfully aware that he was falling behind. He’d made a good start on his stack of note cards with cool facts about Ben Franklin, but he needed a costume, and props, and introductions for all the other historical figures, too.
Jake flipped through one of the books, then glanced out the window. It was a teacher workday, so all the students had a special day off from school. But it didn’t feel like a day off for Jake, not with Living History Night looming over his head. If he and Emerson hadn’t had that big fight, maybe they would’ve been working on their projects together. Maybe they would’ve been taking a break right about now, and heading into the backyard to play catch.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Ms. Fitzgerald’s voice dr
ifted to him from the dollhouse.
“Huh?” Jake asked.
“It’s an expression,” she explained. “It means, what are you thinking about? Or, what’s wrong?”
Jake didn’t want to talk about the fight with Emerson. Instead, he decided to tell Ms. Fitzgerald about his assignment. “It’s a big project for school,” he began. “I have to give a presentation as Benjamin Franklin. With a costume and props and everything. And introduce all the other presenters. I’ll be onstage the whole time.”
Ms. Fitzgerald’s eyes brightened. “Why, Jake! You’ll be the star of the show!” she declared.
“That’s the problem!” Jake groaned as he buried his head in his hands. “I don’t want to be the star. I don’t even want to be in the show at all. But I don’t have a choice.”
“Maybe I can help,” Ms. Fitzgerald said.
Jake perked up a little. He hadn’t been able to figure out how one of the greatest jazz singers of all time could help him with a Benjamin Franklin project, but maybe Ms. Fitzgerald would know what to do.
Jake scrounged around in the mess on his desk until he found the special instructions for his role as Franklin. “This is the assignment,” he told her. “If you have any ideas, I’d love to hear them.”
“Oh, I know a thing or two about show business,” Ms. Fitzgerald assured him. “Lady Ella will do right by you, Jake. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
For the first time, Jake let himself feel a little hopeful. He had to trust that the Wishing Well had sent him just the right helper, even if he didn’t quite understand. After all, Sir Isaac and Miss Earhart had inspired the science project that had earned him a second-place ribbon and an A minus.
“Jake!” Mom called. “Flapjack needs to go out.”
“On my way,” Jake replied. He was grateful to have a reason to escape from his bedroom and the mountain of work on his desk. And maybe by the time Jake got back, Ms. Fitzgerald would have a whole list of ideas for him.
Taking Flapjack for a walk was just what Jake needed. It felt so good to be outside, in the beautiful sunshine. There was a baseball game after school the next day, and Jake was already counting down the hours. On the field, he’d be completely focused on the game—a much-needed brain break from the Living History project …
Set the Stage! Page 2