“A dress rehearsal?” Ms. Fitzgerald asked brightly. “Why, that sounds like the cat’s pajamas!”
The theater where Emerson’s mom worked was a short bike ride from Jake’s house. Emerson led Jake around back to a plain black door with an intercom next to it. Emerson pressed the buzzer and said, “Hey, Mom! I’m here! With Jake!”
Bzzzzz!
“This is the stage door,” Emerson explained. “It’s for the actors and crew.”
Jake had never been backstage before. The walls were cluttered with posters from past shows, and a few different offices jutted off from the narrow, twisting hallway.
Mrs. Lewis briefly looked up from her computer to wave. “Good luck shopping, boys,” she joked.
Jake grimaced. He hated shopping. The sooner they found his Ben Franklin costume, the better.
“Where is everybody?” Jake asked Emerson as they went down to the basement.
“Mom says the theater is for night owls,” Jake said. “That’s when the actors show up for rehearsal and the crew builds the set, and it can get really loud and fun and crazy. The quiet behind-the-scenes work happens during the day. Come on, the costume shop is in here.”
Jake followed Emerson into a cavernous room filled with sewing machines, tall mirrors, tables, dressmaker forms, and bolts of fabric in every color and pattern imaginable. The walls were lined with racks of costumes, shelves of hats and wigs, and boxes of shoes.
Jake helped Ms. Fitzgerald climb out of his backpack. She looked around, confused. “Where’s the stage?”
“We’ll go there next,” Jake said.
Emerson yanked some pins out of a tufted pincushion. “Would you like to have a seat?” he asked Ms. Fitzgerald.
She perched on the edge of the pincushion, but even Jake could tell how eager she was to get to the stage. “This will just take a couple minutes,” he promised. Then he turned to Emerson. “Where do we begin?”
Emerson glanced at a list on the wall. “What time period would Benjamin Franklin be?” he asked.
“Um … colonial, I guess?” Jake said.
“Row C, rack 12,” Emerson replied.
Jake and Emerson sifted through all sorts of old-fashioned clothes—from vests and breeches to tricornered hats and floppy bow ties. Jake pulled on a brown velvet vest. The matching pants looked like they would end just above his knees, with small bows on each side. There was a ruffled, lacy tie attached to an even more ruffled shirt. Jake even found a pair of shoes with stacked heels and shiny buckles. It all looked right, but after Jake tried everything on, he had a strange sinking feeling.
“I don’t know about this,” Jake began.
“What’s the matter?” Emerson asked.
“I—don’t get me wrong, these costumes are incredible,” Jake began. “But … isn’t everybody going to laugh at me?”
Emerson shrugged. “You have to wear a Benjamin Franklin costume,” he pointed out. “This is what they wore back then, I think.”
Jake sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. And you’re lucky. I wish I could just wear a baseball uniform.”
“Old-fashioned baseball uniforms were dumb-looking, too,” Emerson pointed out. “I have to wear my mom’s knee socks … and tuck in my pants so that the top part is all poofy and baggy!”
“So you’re saying I look dumb?” Jake said, smiling so Emerson would know he was joking. He felt a little better, at least, knowing that he wouldn’t be the only one all dressed up.
“What do you think, Ms. Fitzgerald?” Jake asked, peering into the mirror.
But there was no response. And that was when Jake realized that Ms. Fitzgerald had been silent for several minutes now. That wasn’t like her. He spun around … and realized that the pincushion was empty.
“Emerson—she’s gone!” Jake exclaimed.
“What do you mean—gone?” Emerson yelped.
“What do you think I mean?” Jake said. “Ms. Fitzgerald is gone—disappeared—vanished! Come on! We have to find her!”
Jake and Emerson scoured the entire costume shop, peeking behind sewing machines and searching stacks of fabric. There was no sign of Ms. Fitzgerald anywhere. She had disappeared without a trace.
“She’s not here,” Jake finally said.
“We have to find her before anyone else does!” Emerson exclaimed. “If my mom … or the crew … oh, man, the actors have rehearsal soon!”
“Stay calm,” Jake told him. “Let’s think it through. If you were Ella Fitzgerald, and you found yourself in a theater, where would you go?”
Jake had barely asked the question before the answer occurred to him and Emerson at the same time.
“The stage!” they yelled.
The boys clambered up the stairs as fast as they could, their footsteps clattering through the nearly empty theater. As they went backstage, Jake strained his ears. Was that … singing?
Emerson pulled the curtain back a few inches. The boys peeked out at the pitch-black house, where a single spotlight sliced through the darkness, illuminating a perfect circle in the center of the stage.
In the middle of it stood itty-bitty Ella Fitzgerald.
Even though she was only three inches tall, Jake recognized the pure star power that radiated from her. Jake stood perfectly still, not fidgeting, not whispering. Just listening. Just marveling that anybody in the whole wide world could have a voice like that.
When Ms. Fitzgerald’s song ended, the very last note hung in the air, quivering. Jake started applauding wildly. It was the only thing to do.
At the sound, Ms. Fitzgerald glanced over to the wings. “Hello, boys,” she called, waving. “I thought I might as well start rehearsing. Great space, isn’t it?”
“Ms. Fitzgerald,” Jake said, “that was—you were—wow.”
“Incredible,” added Emerson.
“The stage!” Jake continued. “It was like you owned it!”
There was a mysterious quality to Ms. Fitzgerald’s smile, as if she knew a secret. “Well, right then, I felt as if I did,” she said. “That’s called stage presence. And you don’t need to be a singer to have it.”
“Can you teach me?” Jake asked. With Mr. Franklin’s first-person advice and a fraction of Ms. Fitzgerald’s performing skills, the Living History project suddenly seemed a lot more manageable.
“It would be my honor,” Ms. Fitzgerald replied.
Just like that, the rest of Jake’s Living History project fell into place. He used his now-dry note cards and Mr. Franklin’s inventions to connect Benjamin Franklin’s life to the other historical figures in the show. He practiced his speech every night before bed. He didn’t even mind the itchy wig for his costume. It was a lot better than the thunky, clunky, thick-heeled shoes he had to wear. Best of all, Ms. Turner had reviewed everyone’s note cards … and given Jake’s a big red check-plus. It was the first check-plus he’d ever received.
On Thursday morning, Jake woke up even before his alarm clock. He stared at the ceiling in the gray light of early morning, wondering what had awakened him. Then Jake heard it—a long, low rumble in the distance.
Thunder.
Jake sat up in bed. He wasn’t scared of electrical storms—that was Julia’s fear—but he had a heavy feeling of foreboding. Like something was coming. Something … bad.
And that’s when Jake remembered: Living History Night was in a few short hours. Soon it would be over. Soon it would be just a memory. Soon Jake would never have to wear that silly-looking Benjamin Franklin costume again.
But right then, at that moment, it loomed large and terrifying. There was another rumble of thunder, and Jake ducked his head under his pillow. If only he could sleep through the next twelve hours and wake up when it was all over.
“Arise and shine, young lad!” Mr. Franklin called out gleefully. Ms. Fitzgerald’s voice, singing up and down the scales, drifted from the dollhouse. Jake sighed. There was no way he could go back to sleep now. And, as he glanced out the window, he saw the sun peeking out from
behind the clouds.
Hopefully, that was a good sign!
* * *
At school, all the other students seemed louder and more excited than usual—except for Jake. He got quieter and quieter as the day went on. Then Jake noticed that Emerson seemed pretty unhappy, too. “You okay?” Jake said. “You look kind of worried.”
“You bet I’m worried,” Emerson said. “My dad is teaching his classes about Ella Fitzgerald’s music today. I left the house before he packed up his albums, but there’s no way he hasn’t seen her autograph by now. No way. My life is basically over after Living History Night.”
“Maybe not,” Jake said. “Maybe you’ll just get grounded for a couple days.”
Before the final bell, Ms. Turner had an important announcement. “Remember, we’ll be meeting in the classroom at six o’clock tonight,” she said. “Wear your costumes! And don’t be nervous. I know you’re all going to do a great job.”
The quivery feeling in Jake’s stomach was getting worse. At least he had baseball practice to distract him from his nervousness.
But by the time Jake and Emerson arrived at Franklin Field, the sun had disappeared behind a thick wall of dark clouds. Coach Carlson was waiting by the gate. “Sorry, guys,” he said. “We’re in the middle of a severe thunderstorm warning. Practice is canceled.”
“Okay,” Jake said, trying to hide his disappointment. It wasn’t even raining yet, so the forecast must’ve been really bad.
Suddenly, Jake gasped.
Severe thunderstorm warning.
This was the opportunity Mr. Franklin had been waiting for—and Jake had left him all alone!
Coach Carlson and Emerson both gave Jake funny looks. “Everything okay?” asked Coach.
“My—window,” Jake replied, thinking fast. “I left it open! Gotta go—close it—before the rain!”
Then he took off running, all the way home.
Sure enough, Mr. Franklin was standing on the windowsill, puttering with the wire on the top of his kite. “Halloooo, young squire!” he called when he saw Jake. “We’ve been blessed with a hearty gale, and if those clouds are any indication, we shall soon be the recipients of a most wild and fearsome squall!”
Jake somehow managed not to groan. “Mr. Franklin,” he began, “I know I told you that you could … do your experiment if we got a thunderstorm. But the truth is, it’s extremely dangerous. Besides, we already know that lightning is electricity.”
“Ah, ah, ah!” Mr. Franklin replied, waggling his finger. “We don’t know it, we suspect it, and therein lies a world of difference! Besides, as I wrote in The Way to Wealth, ‘Never leave that till tomorrow, which you can do today’!”
“Be-bop-ba-ba-deet-deet-deet-daa!”
Ms. Fitzgerald was scatting again. There was too much going on—Jake shook his head, as if that could help him focus—
Knock, knock, knock!
“No!” Jake yelled.
“Excuse me?” Mom’s voice carried through the closed door.
“Um—I’m changing into my costume,” he called back. “Just a minute!”
“Oh, good, I was checking to make sure you’re getting ready,” she replied. “Come down when you’re done; I made some sandwiches to tide you over. Dad wants to go out to dinner after the show. We can invite Emerson’s family, too.”
Mom said it so lightly—“after the show”—like it was no big deal, but Jake wasn’t sure he’d survive that long. Just during the last minute, Mr. Franklin had nudged the window open wider.
“Stop!” Jake yelped as he ran back across the room. He had to convince Mr. Franklin that this was a terrible idea. If Mr. Franklin attracted a bolt of lightning with his special kite, the whole house could burn down!
“There’s, uh, too many trees in the backyard,” Jake said, thinking fast. “Your kite could get tangled. Plus, lightning could strike the trees—instead of your kite.”
Discouragement passed over Mr. Franklin’s face like a fast-moving cloud.
“But if you come with me to Living History Night, there’s a big field behind the school,” Jake babbled. “Plenty of space to fly a kite and catch a lightning bolt …”
Jake crossed his fingers, hoping Mr. Franklin would agree. With any luck, the storm would blow over by the time they got to Franklin Elementary for Living History Night.
Mr. Franklin thought about it for a moment. Then he nodded his head. “Very well,” he replied. “I’ve waited this long. There’s no harm in waiting a bit longer.”
Then he turned to Ms. Fitzgerald. “My dear lady, may I impose upon you to watch the heavens for me from here?” he asked. “I shall make a kite of your very own, and should the conditions look favorable—”
“Nope. No way. Absolutely not,” Jake interrupted. “You can’t ask Ms. Fitzgerald to do something so dangerous.”
“I wouldn’t mind helping,” Ms. Fitzgerald spoke up.
Jake looked at her, aghast.
“But I’m coming to Living History Night, too,” she continued.
“You’re—what?” Jake asked.
“Why, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Ms. Fitzgerald declared. “I’m sure there will be a full house. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very well-attended event.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. Was Ms. Fitzgerald thinking that she might perform, too?
“Jake! Sandwiches!” Mom called from downstairs.
Jake had to make a decision—fast. “Okay,” he said. “You can both come. But for the last time, you’ve got to stay out of sight!”
The tiny geniuses didn’t hear him—or maybe they just pretended that they didn’t hear him. Mr. Franklin was already packing his kite as Ms. Fitzgerald’s voice filled the room once more, dancing up and down the scale.
Jake could only hope he hadn’t made a big mistake.
Going to school at the end of the day always felt wrong to Jake. The sky was darkening rapidly—not just from the setting sun but the gathering clouds as well. All the classrooms blazed with light, making Franklin Elementary School’s windows glow.
As Dad parked the car, Jake watched other families hurrying toward the school. He saw a couple other fourth graders in their costumes—including Jonah, who was dressed up as William Shakespeare with a big, ruffly collar around his neck. That made Jake feel a little less self-conscious about his Benjamin Franklin costume.
Before they walked into school, Mom gave Jake a fast hug. “Proud of you,” she whispered near his ear. “You’re going to be terrific!”
Jake wished he could be so certain. But even his smile felt wobbly.
“Go get ’em, champ!” Dad said, clapping Jake on the shoulder. “Remember, if all else fails, make ’em laugh. You’re a very funny guy, you know.”
“We’ll be sitting front and center,” Mom promised. “We don’t want to miss a thing!”
Are you sure about that? Jake wished he could ask. But all he said was, “See you after the show.”
“Break a leg!”
Dad’s voice echoed down the hall, following Jake as he went to his classroom. It was pandemonium! All the other students were goofing off like it was the last day of school, laughing loudly and messing around. Sebastian, wearing a wetsuit for his Jacques Cousteau costume, was pelting the other kids with rubber fish.
It’s easy for everybody else, Jake realized. They just have to stand up there and talk for a minute or two. Not the whole time, practically. Even if they were nervous, they knew their parts were small—and would be over soon.
Jake glanced around. No one was paying attention to him, so he slipped into a corner, unzipped his backpack, and peeked inside. “You two okay in there?” he whispered.
“Well …” Ms. Fitzgerald spoke up. “The air is rather close.”
“An understatement!” Mr. Franklin huffed as he hoisted himself up. “Your knapsack smells like a rancid cheese board.”
Then Mr. Franklin spotted his portrait on the wall. “Who is that handsome devil?” he asked. “W
hy, he looks so familiar, I almost wonder if he is a distant relation!”
“Yeah … you could say that,” Jake replied. But before he could tell Mr. Franklin that Franklin Elementary School was actually named after him, Jake heard a familiar laugh behind him. It wasn’t a friendly laugh, either.
Aiden, Jake thought in dismay.
“Wow, I didn’t know that Ben Franklin was the kind of nutcase who stood around talking to himself,” Aiden announced loudly. His fancy Napoleon costume, with all its medals and swoops of gold braid, seemed to make him even more unpleasant.
Jake clamped his backpack closed before Mr. Franklin had a chance to protest and make things a thousand times worse.
“I wasn’t talking to myself,” he told Aiden. “I was … practicing.”
Aiden laughed again, right in Jake’s face. “You? Practicing? Yeah, right!” he said. “Don’t worry, Everfail. Nobody will be surprised when you bomb. It’s not like you’ll be letting anyone down. We’re all expecting it.”
Jake’s face was on fire. He really wanted to tell Aiden exactly what he thought of him … It would feel so good …
Just then, Ms. Turner hurried into the room. Her arms were full of programs for the event.
“Oh, good, Jake and Aiden—just who I was looking for!” she said brightly. “Aiden, you look ready. Would you stand at the entrance of the auditorium to hand out these programs to our guests?”
Jake could tell Aiden was trying to smile, but all he could manage was a smirk. “Of course, Ms. Turner,” he said.
Jake was so relieved to see Aiden leave that he didn’t notice the flicker of light in the darkening sky.
“Now, Jake,” Ms. Turner said, turning her full attention to him. “I’d like to have a word with you in the hall.”
Jake grabbed his backpack, but Ms. Turner shook her head. “Just leave your props—this will only take a minute,” she said.
Leave my backpack? Jake thought in a panic. Slowly, he lowered it to the floor. A bad feeling washed over him.
Set the Stage! Page 4