Set the Stage!

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Set the Stage! Page 3

by Megan E. Bryant


  Suddenly, Flapjack tugged at his leash and started to whine, yanking Jake out of his baseball daydream. Jake stopped, too, and looked around.

  He’d walked right to Emerson’s house—as if he were on autopilot.

  “Come on, Flapjack,” Jake said urgently, nudging his dog along. If Emerson glanced outside and saw Jake lingering on the sidewalk like a weirdo, what would he think?

  Jake didn’t want to run the risk of ambling past Emerson’s house again, so he and Flapjack took the long way home. Almost an hour had passed by the time Jake was climbing the stairs back to his room. Right away, he noticed that something wasn’t right. His bedroom door was ajar, and Jake was certain—well, almost certain—that he’d closed it before he left.

  He had closed it, right?

  Suddenly, Jake wasn’t so sure.

  If Ms. Fitzgerald had left the room and was wandering around the house somewhere … or if Mom had gone in to put away laundry …

  Then Jake heard it: the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

  Jake’s palms were suddenly very sweaty. He slowly pushed open the door, wondering what he would find.

  Ms. Fitzgerald wasn’t alone anymore.

  In fact, she was singing a duet with Jake’s little sister!

  “Julia!” Jake yelled as loud as he dared. “You know you’re not supposed to go in my room without asking!”

  The song stopped abruptly as Ms. Fitzgerald and Julia turned to Jake. It was obvious that Julia had raided Mom’s closet in an attempt to dress like Ms. Fitzgerald. She was wobbling around the room in a pair of too-big high heels, trailing Mom’s long bathrobe behind her. Julia had even wrapped a feather boa around her shoulders and was warbling into a hairbrush like it was a pretend microphone.

  Julia took a few shaky steps toward Jake, holding the edge of the desk for support. She made a face. “Wet, yuck,” she said.

  “What do you mean, wet?” Jake asked suspiciously.

  That’s when Jake noticed that his glass of water had shattered, leaving a pool of liquid that had spread over his Franklin research. Luckily, Mr. Lewis’s books were dry—but Jake’s note cards were floating in the puddle!

  “My notes!” Jake yelped. He dashed across the room and started frantically mopping up the mess with his baseball jersey. The jersey wasn’t very absorbent, though; it splashed the water around as ink stains spread across the slippery fabric.

  “Coach is gonna kill me!” Jake said through gritted teeth. Then he spun around to confront Julia. “You know you’re not supposed to be in here!”

  Julia wasn’t intimidated. She pulled herself up to her full height and yelled back, “You didn’t tell me about Ms. Fitzgerald! That wasn’t very nice!”

  “You didn’t need to know!” Jake shot back. “I can’t believe this is happening again. Ms. Fitzgerald is here to help me with my project, and you’ve just barged in and distracted her … just like you distracted Sir Isaac … I bet you tripped in those dumb heels and spilled my water all over my notes!”

  “I did not!” Julia said indignantly.

  Ms. Fitzgerald stepped forward, her hands up. “That was my fault, and I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve checked the room for glass. Sometimes those high Cs sneak up on me.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jake said. “You broke a glass with your voice?”

  “It happens,” Ms. Fitzgerald said sheepishly.

  “And Ms. Fitzgerald’s going to teach me how to do it!” Julia said gleefully.

  Jake shook his head. “That’s exactly what I was saying,” he said. “When I left, Ms. Fitzgerald was working on my history project. But when I came back, she’s giving you singing lessons! My presentation’s not finished, I don’t have a costume, I don’t have any props, I don’t have any intros. At this rate, not only am I going to fail, I’m going to be the worst Franklin in the history of Franklin Elementary School!”

  “No, you won’t,” Ms. Fitzgerald spoke up. “Jake, I’ve got just the thing for your gig.”

  “Really?” Jake asked. If there was any progress on his project—even just a little bit—maybe he wouldn’t be doomed to failure after all.

  Just then, Mom’s voice floated up the stairs. “Jake! Someone’s at the door for you!”

  “You two—don’t do anything,” Jake said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Jake ran to the stairs, then slid down the banister to the first floor. Mom was standing in the front hall, barely managing to hide her smile.

  “What’s going on?” Jake asked.

  “See for yourself,” she said, stifling a laugh before returning to her office.

  Jake opened the front door—and nearly burst out laughing himself. Emerson was standing on the doorstep, wearing a funny-looking wig that was part bald head, part flowing gray hair. A pair of old-fashioned half-moon spectacles was perched on the tip of his nose.

  “Emerson?” Jake asked incredulously.

  “I went to work with my mom today,” he replied. “And she said that we could raid the costume department for our presentations. I think you’ll be all set … if you want to be … I mean, the wig and glasses were from the Ebenezer Scrooge costume, but I don’t think anybody will know.”

  “They’re perfect,” Jake said. “Thanks. I didn’t know what I was going to do for my costume! Do you, uh, want to come in?”

  “Sure,” Emerson said.

  The boys stood in an awkward silence for a moment. Jake had a feeling that Emerson didn’t know what to say, either. Then they spoke at the exact same time.

  “So, I’m—”

  “I’m really—”

  “Me, too,” Jake said. Then he and Emerson exchanged a grin. They didn’t need to say anything else.

  Emerson followed Jake upstairs. “How’s it going with Ms. Fitzgerald?” he asked. “Do you think she’s mad at me about the other day?”

  “Nah,” Jake replied. “I don’t think she understood why you were so upset, though. I mean, everybody else she’s ever met is excited to get her autograph. Has your dad noticed yet?”

  Emerson shook his head. “But it’s only a matter of time,” he said fretfully. “Every day I wonder—is it today? Sometimes I wish he knew just so I wouldn’t have it hanging over my head.”

  “It was so tiny,” Jake said. “Maybe he’ll never notice.”

  “Maybe,” Emerson replied. But he didn’t sound convinced.

  When they walked into Jake’s room, Julia took one look at Emerson and burst out laughing. “You look silly!” she said.

  “Hey, don’t be rude,” Jake told her. “Emerson’s helping me with my project.”

  But Emerson was already pulling off the wig. “I don’t even know why I’m still wearing this thing,” he said. “It’s kind of itchy.”

  “Great,” Jake said. He held the rubbery bald part between his thumb and forefinger like it was an old banana peel. Then he turned to Ms. Fitzgerald.

  “You were just about to tell me your big idea,” he reminded her.

  Ms. Fitzgerald’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes!” she replied. “I wrote a little song—”

  “A song?” Jake interrupted her. “Ms. Fitzgerald—I can’t sing.”

  “Nonsense! Everyone can sing,” she said. “Show me what you’ve got, Jake, and when you’re done, I’ll give you a few pointers.”

  She held out a tiny scrap of paper. Jake was about to take it when Ms. Fitzgerald spoke again.

  “Best put on your costume first,” she told him. “That’ll really help you get in the groove.”

  Jake slipped on the glasses and draped the wig over his head. Emerson was right. It was itchy.

  “You look like you’re feeling it already!” Ms. Fitzgerald said as she handed over the lyrics. “It goes a little something like this … Doot-n-doot-n-du-du-dow-dow! Hit it, Jake!”

  Jake took a deep breath and started to sing.

  “Benjamin Franklin!

  We all oughta thank him!

  He could turn a phrase

  Print pap
ers for days

  Kite-flying, catch-lightning,

  Constitution-signing

  Founding Father

  Mmmm, yeah!”

  Somewhere downstairs, Flapjack howled unhappily. There were two more verses, but a funny snorting sound in the room interrupted Jake. He glanced up to see Emerson with his hands over his mouth, shaking with silent laughter. Julia’s face was bright red from trying to hold it in. Ms. Fitzgerald was the only one who wasn’t laughing as she snapped her fingers to the beat.

  “Swing it, Jake!” she cheered.

  “I, uh, I don’t think this is going to work,” Jake said. “I really appreciate it, Ms. Fitzgerald. You’re a great songwriter. But my presentation’s supposed to be first person … you know, something like ‘I’m Benjamin Franklin and I was born in seventeen-oh-six.’”

  “Well, that’s not a problem,” Ms. Fitzgerald replied. “I’ll just make a few adjustments.”

  Jake grimaced. There was no way he would sing this song in front of the entire school. No way.

  Then Emerson tried to help. “Ms. Fitzgerald,” he began, “your song is great. It’s just that Jake … well … you and I both know he doesn’t have the chops.”

  Jake didn’t know what Emerson was talking about, but he had a feeling he was being insulted. “What does that even mean?” he demanded.

  Emerson turned around and gave Jake a look. “Play along,” he muttered under his breath.

  Ms. Fitzgerald, however, wasn’t convinced. “Jake has raw natural talent,” she declared. “Trust me, boys, I speak from experience. A song-and-dance routine is the way to get the audience on their feet.”

  “Yeah—they’ll be running for the doors,” Julia joked.

  Emerson snort-laughed again.

  “Ha ha, ha ha,” Jake said sarcastically. “Glad everybody’s so entertained.”

  “What did I tell you!” Ms. Fitzgerald crowed triumphantly. “It’s working already.”

  Jake shook his head and walked over to his desk. His note cards were still soaked, but maybe once they dried he could try reading them aloud. Maybe he could cobble them into something that sounded like a speech. It would be better than nothing. It would be a lot better than a disastrous song-and-dance routine.

  Emerson followed him over to the desk. “Jake, you’ve gotta try the song again,” he urged. “Ms. Fitzgerald is a total pro. If she says it will work—”

  “It won’t work,” Jake interrupted him. “Come on, dude. You were snort-laughing.”

  “I don’t snort when I laugh!” Emerson argued, looking embarrassed. “And I only laughed because I wasn’t expecting you to, uh, sing.”

  “Yeah, well, nobody else will be ‘expecting’ it, either,” Jake said. “I wish I could sing and dance. I wish it could be that easy. But it’s not. And I wish that somebody else—anybody else—could help me—”

  POP!

  “Fire!” Emerson yelled as he leaped back from the desk. He grabbed Julia and threw her to the ground. “Stop! Drop! Roll!”

  “Emerson! Chill!” Jake said, coughing on the familiar cloud of smoke. “It’s not—”

  “Get down and belly-crawl to the door!” Emerson hollered from the ground.

  Jake reached down, grabbed the neck of Emerson’s T-shirt, and dragged him to his feet. “It’s not a fire,” he repeated. “It’s magic. It’s the Wishing Well.”

  Emerson’s eyes bugged out. “You mean there’s a tiny genius right here? Who just appeared out of nowhere?”

  “I think so,” Jake replied. “That’s how it’s always happened before.” He hadn’t meant to wish for another helper—the words had just kind of slipped out—but Jake had to admit he couldn’t wait to discover who it would be.

  A miniature man stood on Jake’s desk, wearing a plum-colored silk suit with a long coat, short pants, and matching vest. His ruffled white shirt matched his stockings, and the shiny buckles on his shoes reflected the sparks that were still twinkling. The bald head, the wavy gray hair, the spectacles … it was all starting to add up.

  “Drat this blasted fog!” he grumbled, peering through his glasses. “Give me a lightning storm any day. With all its ferocity, at least it’s soon to clear.”

  That’s when Jake realized that the man was carrying a kite … and a tiny brass key! Now there was no doubt in his mind that the Wishing Well had finally sent Benjamin Franklin to help with his project!

  Jake’s triumphant fist pump sliced through the smoke. “Yes!” he cheered. With Benjamin Franklin’s help on his Benjamin Franklin project, Jake would get an A for sure!

  “Is that … ?” Emerson whispered.

  Jake nodded. “I think so,” he replied. “Excuse me … sir?”

  The man turned around. When he saw Jake, he gasped and stumbled backwards. His shoe slipped on a pencil, causing the man to fall into the puddle Jake still hadn’t cleaned up. But the man was so horrified that he didn’t even seem to notice.

  “My own self!” the man gasped. “Made large and terrible before my very eyes!”

  Too late, Jake remembered that he was still wearing the Benjamin Franklin wig and glasses. He whipped them off and hid them behind his back. “No!” he said. “My name is Jake and I am definitely not you.”

  Jake held his breath, worried that Mr. Franklin would think Jake was mocking him. Instead, the portly older man started to chuckle. “So it was just a jest. Very good, my lad, very good,” he said as he hoisted himself to his feet. Then he crossed his arm over his waist and bowed with a flourish. “Benjamin Franklin, at your service.”

  “It’s incredible to meet you,” Jake replied.

  Mr. Franklin leaned forward and spoke in a confidential tone. “Was there a passing thundershower?” he asked. “It’s just that my breeches are rather damp.”

  “Uh … no,” Jake replied. “It hasn’t rained for a couple weeks. Besides, we’re indoors.”

  “Oh yes, I see that now. The fog must’ve addled my brain,” Mr. Franklin said. “How are the skies, young sir? My boy, Billy, and I have been waiting for a proper thunderstorm for weeks. You see, my kite is not an ordinary kite, not in the least; I have specially designed it so that it will attract a bolt of lightning. A conduit, if you will.”

  Right, Jake thought, remembering how Mr. Franklin had made a world-changing discovery about electricity by conducting an incredibly dangerous, incredibly daring experiment. He’d flown a kite in the middle of a thunderstorm to prove his theory that bolts of lightning were actually electricity. Leaning down for a closer look, Jake was able to see that the kite had a piece of wire sticking out of the top and a shiny metal key tied to the string.

  “You’ve invented lots of things, haven’t you?” Jake asked, the words coming slowly since his brain was busy hatching an idea. Not just any idea, though. This idea was big. It might even be great.

  Mr. Franklin’s smile looked like the one in the portrait at school: tinged with pride and modesty at the same time. “Well, I daresay I’ve invented my fair share of items to improve the conditions under which my fellow man toils,” he said. “The Glass Armonica, the Long Arm, the Bifocals, the Franklin Stove …”

  Mr. Franklin was still talking, but Jake was no longer listening. Like a firework, his idea had exploded from one bright spot into dozens of glittering sparks. Maybe Jake’s Franklin presentation could focus on all the things he had created or invented! Maybe each introduction could connect one of Franklin’s inventions to one of the other historical figures!

  Maybe Jake was going to succeed after all!

  “Mr. Franklin, I need your help,” Jake said urgently. “Can you write down all your inventions for me? Not just the names, but descriptions … and maybe little drawings …”

  “A catalog of my life’s work?” Mr. Franklin asked.

  “Yes, exactly,” Jake said.

  Mr. Franklin’s brow furrowed. “I should like to help you very much, young man,” he replied. “Why, as I wrote in my autobiography, ‘As we benefit from the inventions
of others, we should be glad to share our own … freely and gladly.’ Alas, I am at the mercy of the weather. If a storm should arise …”

  Jake crossed the room and threw back the curtains. “The sun’s shining. There aren’t any clouds in the sky,” he said. “I don’t think it’s going to rain … and it definitely won’t be a thunderstorm.”

  “In that case, I would be most happy to help,” Mr. Franklin told Jake. “I appreciate your conscientiousness. As I’ve always believed, ‘By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.’”

  Jake hurried over to Emerson and explained his plan. “After Mr. Franklin writes down all the awesome things he created, I can turn them into my presentation!” he said excitedly.

  “Cool,” Emerson replied. “Since your report is under control, do you want to check out the costumes at Mom’s work? The costume manager isn’t working today, so Mom said we could pick out anything we want to borrow for our presentations.”

  “Yeah, I guess we should,” Jake replied. “But … I kind of don’t want to interrupt Mr. Franklin. He’s just getting started on that list.”

  “You could leave him here,” Emerson suggested. “He’s just writing down a list, right? How much trouble could he get into?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Jake replied. But he had a bad feeling that a field trip to the theater would distract Mr. Franklin from helping with his project.

  Jake leaned over to Julia. “Will you do me a big favor?” he whispered. “Would you stay here and make sure Mr. Franklin doesn’t get into any trouble?”

  “Like a babysitter?” Julia squealed.

  “Yes! Just like a babysitter,” Jake told her. He turned to Emerson. “Should we leave Ms. Fitzgerald here, too?”

  “Actually, maybe she should come with us,” Emerson said. “Maybe if you hang out with Ella Fitzgerald near a stage, you’ll understand why the Wishing Well sent her.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Jake said. He hurried over to the dollhouse, where Ms. Fitzgerald was practicing her warm-ups again. “Ms. Fitzgerald? Would you like to go to the theater?” he asked. “You could, uh, rehearse on the stage if you’d like?”

 

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