Emerson! Jake thought suddenly. Emerson would understand that Jake’s backpack could not, under any circumstances, be left unattended.
Jake tried to catch Emerson’s eye. But he was too busy practicing his Jackie Robinson batting poses. He never looked at Jake—not even once. Jake had no choice but to leave his backpack behind and hope that Ms. Turner’s talk would be fast.
The hallway was surprisingly quiet compared to the chaos of the classroom.
“How are you feeling, Jake?” Ms. Turner asked.
Ms. Turner’s smile was so kind. For the first time, Jake let himself say the word aloud. “Nervous,” he admitted. “Really nervous.”
“Well, I’d be nervous if you weren’t nervous,” Ms. Turner told him.
Jake’s face scrunched up in confusion. Had he heard her right?
“The fact that you’re nervous tells me that you’ve taken this assignment seriously,” she continued. “I thought your note cards looked great. I love the creative angle for your introductions!”
“Really?” Jake asked.
“Really,” Ms. Turner said. “You’re going to be an incredible Benjamin Franklin. Everybody’s rooting for you!”
Aiden’s mocking face flashed before Jake’s eyes for a split second and he thought, Not everybody.
Then something surprising happened. Jake thought of Emerson and Hannah. Elizabeth and Marco. Clara and Sam. Principal Barron and Coach Carlton. And Mom and Dad and Julia and even, Jake realized, Ms. Fitzgerald and Mr. Franklin. They were all rooting for him—just like Ms. Turner said.
And Jake realized that maybe Aiden didn’t matter so much after all. When he smiled at Ms. Turner, his smile wasn’t wobbly anymore.
Ms. Turner glanced at her watch. “Fifteen minutes to go. Is there anything I can do for you before the show starts?”
“I don’t think so,” Jake replied. For the first time, he felt ready. Almost ready, anyway.
Jake followed Ms. Turner back into the classroom. It was still a jumble of activity. Jake could hear his classmates practicing their speeches all at once.
“All right, everyone,” Ms. Turner said loudly over all the commotion. “You should be on your last practice. Now is a good time to go to the bathroom. We’re going backstage in ten minutes!”
Suddenly, Jake’s eyes focused like a laser on the window. It was open, just a crack.
But the classroom windows were never open.
Especially not at night.
There was a rumble of thunder, loud enough for Jake to hear it clearly over all the noise in the classroom.
Oh no, Jake thought.
He had a very bad feeling that Mr. Franklin was about to make history—all over again!
Jake forced himself to cross the room slowly, instead of racing to the window in a panic. He didn’t want to attract any attention—especially since he didn’t know how difficult it would be to coax Mr. Franklin inside.
Jake leaned against the wall and glanced outside. It was almost too dark to see, but Jake could just make out Mr. Franklin’s and Ms. Fitzgerald’s silhouettes against the sky—and Mr. Franklin’s tiny kite, bobbing in the breeze!
A bolt of lightning flashed in the distance. The key on the kite string glinted.
Jake inched the window open a little more and whispered, “Mr. Franklin! You have to come in! This is incredibly dangerous!”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him!” Ms. Fitzgerald said.
Flash!
Crack!
Boom!
That bolt of lightning—and rumble of thunder—was even closer.
“Not much longer now!” Mr. Franklin said gleefully. “Thor is wielding his mighty hammer tonight!”
“What are you talking about?” Jake said. “Get inside!”
“Not until—”
Mr. Franklin didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to. At that moment, the flash of lightning blazed so brightly that Jake was momentarily blinded. Thunder boomed, rattling the windows. The lightning hit the kite, transforming it into a tiny blazing fireball in the night sky. Then the crackling bolt zipped down the kite string.
The key blazed—
Mr. Franklin’s hair stood on end—
His glasses smoked—
And then something even worse happened. Jake wasn’t quite sure what—
Or how—
But the lightning was unstoppable in its search for metal—a conduit, Jake remembered somehow—
Boom!
The explosion—and it was definitely an explosion—scattered sparks high into the air.
Then the entire school was plunged into darkness!
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
The screams weren’t just coming from Ms. Turner’s class; they were coming from every kid in school, and they echoed down the halls and through the classrooms.
“It’s just a power failure! No need to panic,” Ms. Turner was saying, but no one was listening.
Flash!
Crack!
Boom!
Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky. It illuminated Mr. Franklin and Ms. Fitzgerald, who were miraculously still on the ledge. Jake lunged forward, thrust his hand through the window, and grabbed them both.
“Are you okay?” he asked frantically. “Can you hear me? Say something! Anything!”
Flash!
In the brief glow of lightning, Jake saw Mr. Franklin, singed and soaked, grin up at him. “Anything!” he quipped.
Ms. Fitzgerald couldn’t quite stifle her laugh. But Jake didn’t think it was funny.
Crack!
“I hope you’re happy,” he snapped. “My school got hit by lightning, and now the power’s out, and—”
Jake stopped talking abruptly. What would happen if the lights didn’t come back on? Would Living History Night be canceled?
BOOM!
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” everyone screamed again.
“Children. It’s just a thunderstorm,” Ms. Turner said. “Please stay calm.”
In the dark, Jake could hear a rustling noise. Then Ms. Turner held up her cell phone like a flashlight. It provided just enough light for Jake to see everyone in the room.
There was a bzzz—bzzzzzzzz—
Then, in a sudden whoosh, the lights blazed on. Jake blinked in the sudden brightness, then shoved Mr. Franklin and Ms. Fitzgerald in his backpack before anyone could see them.
“Oh, good,” Ms. Turner said. “The emergency generator kicked in—and not a moment too soon. Class, please line up at the door. It’s almost time for Living History Night to begin!”
But—the last practice, Jake thought frantically. He glanced around, but everyone else was already moving toward the door. He’d missed his chance for one final run-through.
“Make room for Benjamin Franklin at the front of the line!” Ms. Turner announced.
A sick, swooping feeling came over Jake as his classmates cleared a path for him. It was a cross between riding a roller coaster and missing a step on the stairs. Jake tried to squash it down as he moved to the front of the line, the heels of his Franklin shoes clattering on the linoleum.
“Lead the way, Ben Franklin,” Ms. Turner’s voice rang out.
It was all happening so fast—too fast, Jake thought, but there was no way to slow it down. The other fourth-grade classes were filing into the hall, too. Whenever someone saw Jake in his Franklin costume, though, they moved out of the way. The last thing Jake wanted to do was lead—but he had no choice.
When the fourth graders reached the auditorium, they crowded backstage. Nobody was messing around now. Even though the curtains were closed, Jake could hear the muffled voices of the people who’d filled the auditorium—his family, and Emerson’s family, and all his other friends’ families …
Jake closed his eyes as another wave of nervousness washed over him.
Then he felt someone tap his shoulder. It was Ms. Turner.
“Ready?” she mouthed.
No! Ja
ke wanted to yell. But he knew that wasn’t an option. So he nodded and followed Ms. Turner to the side of the stage, where he tucked his backpack in the corner. The lights over the audience went out—on purpose this time. A bright spotlight lit up the stage.
It was time.
Jake took a deep breath and began to walk onstage.
Jake would never know exactly how it happened, but his shoes—those stupid shoes, with their dumb buckles and ridiculous heels—somehow snagged the stockings on his right leg. He hopped, trying to loosen it—knowing as the audience giggled that he must look so foolish—
And then something even worse happened.
Ka-thunk-thump-THUD.
Jake went flying in a spectacularly disastrous, skid-across-the-stage, land-flat-on-his-face fall. He actually heard the audience gasp as his spectacles flew one way and his wig flew the other. Jake would’ve gasped, too, but his fall had knocked the wind out of him.
A terrible silence followed. Then Jake heard it. Laughter.
People were laughing at him.
Jake grabbed the wig, scrambled to his feet, and rushed offstage. He huddled in a dark corner, behind the curtain, where he was sure that no one would find him. He rubbed his side. His ribs were really sore, and his elbow killed, but that’s not why hot tears filled his eyes.
I will not cry, Jake thought fiercely. I will not cry.
Suddenly, Jake felt someone tug on his Franklin coat.
“Jake! What are you doing?” Ms. Fitzgerald asked urgently. “You’ve got to get back out there! The audience is waiting.”
“Can’t,” Jake said through gritted teeth.
Ms. Fitzgerald pulled herself up to her full height—all three inches. “And why not?” she demanded. “Because of a little stumble?”
“Little stumble?” Jake repeated. “It was a total wipeout! I blew it—without even saying a word, I ruined Living History Night!”
“The only way you’ll ruin Living History Night is if you leave it without a host,” Mr. Franklin spoke up, his forehead deeply furrowed. “I have long said, ‘Do not fear mistakes. You will know failure. Continue to reach out.’”
“Jake. Listen to me,” Ms. Fitzgerald said. Her voice, usually so melodious, was now lower and urgent. It commanded attention.
“I didn’t have an easy start,” she began. “There was a time when I didn’t even have a place to live, or any family to speak of. But I did have a dream, and I figured dancing at Amateur Night at the Apollo Theater was a good way to make it come true. When I got up onstage, my knees knocking and my heart hammering, well, I couldn’t dance a lick. So I opened my mouth to sing instead—but only the worst, warbling, chicken-scratch sound came out of my throat! And the audience booed. Jake, my moment was almost over before it had even begun.”
Jake was holding his breath.
“Then the emcee said, ‘Give her another chance, folks.’ That was it, Jake—my chance. And so I sang. In a tattered dress and old men’s boots and after my bad start, I sang anyway. This time, it came out right. And the audience? They begged for more. That was the moment Lady Ella was born.
“So the question I think about sometimes, late at night,” Ms. Fitzgerald continued, “is not, ‘What if I didn’t go on that stage?’ It’s, ‘What if I didn’t try again?’”
Jake nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “I understand. Thank you.”
He paused for one more moment—one more deep breath—before putting on his wig and spectacles and straightening his coat. Then Jake strode onstage with purposeful strides, remembering what Dad had said: Make ’em laugh.
Jake turned to the audience. The spotlight was so bright in his eyes that he couldn’t see, which almost made it easier. He remembered Ms. Fitzgerald’s stage presence tips from their afternoon at the Wonderland Stage and planted his feet firmly, pushed back his shoulders, and grinned at the audience.
“Who’s ready to fall into history with the fourth grade of Franklin Elementary School?” Jake said in his loudest, clearest voice.
A beat.
And then—laughter! The good kind! And applause—lots of it!
Jake’s smile grew even bigger. The audience was cheering for him not just because he’d made a joke but because he had tried again. A fall wasn’t going to keep him down—and they loved it.
They loved him.
“Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was a famous composer—but imagine how much more famous he’d have been if he’d written music for an instrument I invented, the Glass Armonica,” Jake said in his best Ben Franklin voice. “No, your ears aren’t playing tricks on you. I said armonica, not harmonica. Who needs the extra ‘h’ anyway?”
The audience was chuckling as Lila, wearing a wild-looking Mozart wig, walked onto the stage.
When Lila finished, Jake glanced at the side of the stage. He spotted Sebastian wearing his Jacques Cousteau costume—complete with rubber fish—waiting for his cue. “Everyone knows about the famous ocean explorer Jacques Cousteau,” Jake announced. “But did you know that I invented the swim fins? It’s true—except I designed them to be worn on the hands, not the feet!”
One by one, Jake’s classmates approached the side of the stage, awaiting their introductions. With every line, every joke, Jake felt stronger. More confident. He almost wondered why he had ever dreaded Living History Night.
All too soon, the end of the show arrived. Jake took a deep breath and faced the audience for the last time.
“Some people call me a Founding Father because I signed the Declaration of Independence and helped write the Constitution of the United States of America,” Jake announced. “Millions of people around the world wear one of my inventions, the bifocal glasses, every single day. And if you’re really lucky, you may have even seen me on the hundred-dollar bill.”
Jake rubbed his thumb and fingers together, making everyone laugh again.
“But if there was one way I’d want the world to remember me,” Jake-as-Franklin said, “it would be for always wanting to make it better. And I know I speak for all of us who’ve told you about our lives tonight when I say we hope we’ve made your world a little better, too.”
Jake crossed his arm over his waist and bowed with a big flourish, just the way Mr. Franklin had when they’d first met.
The lights dimmed to black.
For half a moment, there was silence.
And then—the roar of applause!
Jake’s heart was hammering again, but with excitement this time. He stood up as his classmates joined him onstage and the applause grew even louder. With the stage lights so bright, Jake couldn’t be certain, but he thought the audience had started to rise in a standing ovation.
And it was all for the fourth grade of Franklin Elementary School!
Jake’s smile felt like it had been stuck on with superglue. As his classmates crowded around, high-fiving him and slapping him on the back, he knew that he hadn’t let anyone down.
Ms. Turner and Principal Bannon approached.
“Well done, Jake,” Principal Bannon said in his big, booming voice as he shook Jake’s hand.
“I knew you’d do a great job!” added Ms. Turner. “I’m sure your family can’t wait to see you.”
That reminded Jake of someone else who probably wanted to see him, too. He slipped away to the quiet corner where he’d left his backpack—and Ms. Fitzgerald and Mr. Franklin.
“Oh, Jake!” Ms. Fitzgerald cried, clapping her hands together. “You really tore it up out there!”
“I couldn’t have done a better job myself of playing … myself,” Mr. Franklin announced.
“And I couldn’t have done it without the two of you,” Jake said.
A sizzling sound, like lightning tearing through velvet, filled Jake’s ears. He watched in astonishment as a section of the theater curtain burned away, creating a glittering hole. There was the sound of a faraway trumpet … the rat-a-tat of a drum set …
“That’s my cue,” Ms. Fitzgerald said, her eyes shining with happin
ess.
“Allow me, my lady,” Mr. Franklin said as he offered his arm.
Ms. Fitzgerald linked her arm through his, and together they disappeared through the enchanted rip in the curtain. With another burst of light, the hole sealed behind them. Just like that, there was no sign that Ms. Fitzgerald or Mr. Franklin had ever been there.
But they had been. Jake knew it.
“They’re … gone?” Emerson asked.
Jake spun around. He didn’t know that Emerson had come up behind him. “Yeah,” he said, a strange sadness creeping into his voice. “The Heroes of History aren’t really good at saying good-bye.”
“I guess not,” replied Emerson.
“Oh!” Jake said. “I almost forgot. My mom invited you guys out to dinner with us.”
“I hope my parents say yes—since it might be my last meal.” Emerson was trying to be funny, but his forehead was all scrunched up with worry. “When my dad sees what Ms. Fitzgerald did to his album …”
“You haven’t seen him since this morning?” Jake asked.
Emerson shook his head. “Might as well get it over with,” he said.
Together, the two boys walked out of the auditorium. Ms. Turner had been right—Jake’s family was standing right by the door, ready to pounce with hugs and high fives.
“That’s my boy!” Dad said.
“You were incredible!” Mom told Jake, kissing his cheek right there in front of everybody.
“Did you get a really bad boo-boo when you fell?” Julia asked anxiously.
Emerson’s family was standing across the hall, and Mr. Lewis was being really loud. I hope he’s not yelling at Emerson, Jake worried. He glanced over at them and was surprised to see that Mr. Lewis was beaming.
“How is it possible I didn’t notice it before?” Mr. Lewis was saying. “All this time, I’ve owned an autographed Ella Fitzgerald album! Can you believe it, E?”
“No, Dad,” Emerson said, choking a little as he tried not to laugh. “I can’t.”
“Her signature’s really tiny; that’s the only explanation I can think of,” Mr. Lewis continued, shaking his head in amazement. “My poor students—I couldn’t stop talking about it. Lady Ella signed my record! I can’t wait to show you!”
Set the Stage! Page 5