“What do you say before a show?” Maggie May wondered nervously. “I know you’re not supposed to say, ‘good luck.’”
“Yeah,” Mary said, wide-eyed, twirling her tuba mouthpiece between her fingers. “What do we say?”
“We say, ‘Break a leg,’” Mal said with a grin. “Come on, guys. We have a captive audience of furry-feathered patrons. My mom once performed for a hall of angry seniors with broken hearing aids and the show started right after they ran out of pudding. THIS is no problem. We can do this! On three? One. Two. Three.”
“Break a leg!” everyone whisper-cheered in unison.
Annabella Panache took the stage first, having changed into a pair of silver pants and a top made out of what looked like pink baseball gloves. Waltzing into the spotlight, she tapped the microphone at center stage.
“Honored guests, good griffins! YES! Marvelous! And now, in the grand and eclectic tradition of the Lumberjanes stage, I present to you a premiere performance of a brand-new musical, for your viewing and listening pleasure.”
Act 1.
Molly and Mal walked through the curtain. Mal carried her guitar and Molly her accordion.
Rosie, crouched on the edge of camp, waited and watched.
“Ahem,” Mal said, stepping up to the microphone.
A spark of static reverberated through the sound system, ruffling feathers all around.
CEERRRAAAARP!
CEERRRAAAARP!
CEERRRAAAARP!
The stage, no matter the size of the audience, can be a surreal place. A separate world, with its own light and atmosphere. It feels important and intimidating to be onstage, to have yourself be suddenly so heard, so loud, especially if you aren’t used to that.
Molly looked at Mal. Her feet suddenly felt very far from her head. “I’m scared,” she mouthed.
Mal smiled. “We’re going to be great,” she mouthed back, bringing her fingers down against the strings of her guitar in the opening chords to the opening song of the musical.
Molly took a deep breath.
How do you know you can do something? Whether it’s singing onstage, or rescuing someone, or climbing a big mountain, or eating the most ice cream anyone has ever eaten, the answer is always the same.
You take a deep breath . . . and try.
Molly pressed the opening chords as Mal began to strum.
Then they both leaned toward the microphone and started singing.
You’re so furry
Silly creature
Hard to say
What’s your best feature
From the side of the stage, Jen watched with all the pride a person could possibly have crammed in her heart as her two scouts sang together onstage. Jen kept her hand over her mouth in case, being that close to a stage, her nervous laugh fell out. It had always seemed an amazing thing to Jen, what other people could do on a stage, stuff like singing and dancing. Just the thought made her tremble.
It is not a convenient thing when the things that make you scared make you laugh. Especially when it is a thing that, deep inside your heart, you kind of love.
The griffins stirred. As the sweet notes of Mal and Molly’s song swept into the air and wafted into the camp, the griffins clucked. Stepping down from their perches, they drew closer—like moths to a flame, or griffins to a song, as the saying also goes—and clustered in front of the stage.
Because while it is true that griffins do not, DO NOT, generally, like humans, it’s also true that they love music.
Especially musical theater.
Don’t need to see past
Scales and fur
To make this love last
Molly closed her eyes.
I just need to seeeee you as you aaaarrrre
(Once again, songs do not have to rhyme.)
Rosie was hoping this would be just enough distraction, just enough time for her to find Ripley and the rest of the scouts, help retrieve the egg, and get back to camp.
“Keep up the good work, scouts,” she whispered, slipping off through the trees, unseen, or so she thought.
CHAPTER 26
It is unfortunate that there was no one around to film Barney’s performance as the unimpressed member of the Omaha Order of the Golden Egg, because it was pretty spectacular.
A close second to Abigail Albatross Assander’s turn as the star of Jane Wagner’s The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe, which played at Miss Qiunzella Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet’s Camp for Hardcore Lady-Types several years before Barney arrived.
As April did her best to conceal her glee, Barney kept Order egg-nappers Eugene and Egberta running in circles with endless egg trivia. All the while, Jo, up in the tree, sawed through the golden ropes in Eggie’s sling with her handy multi-tool.
When the last rope was split, holding her breath, Jo pulled Eggie through the hole in the netting and lowered it into Wren’s waiting hands.
“We really are going to have to call the Order and withdraw your credentials if you all can’t get this one,” Barney scoffed, tugging on their scarf.
“What kind of EGGsample are you setting for your fellow members?” April groaned.
“It’s the EMU,” Eugene said, tugging on his gold hat. “I know it is!”
“It’s really not,” Barney chuckled. “Goose down, are you serious?”
“How UN-EGG-ducated!” April sniffed.
“EUGENE!” Egberta screeched, tearing at her hair. “What is wrong with you?”
“Goose down it, why don’t you answer some of these, then?” Eugene griped, slamming his safari hat down farther on his head.
Meanwhile, taking quick and quiet careful steps, Wren sped-walked the egg to Ripley.
From her hiding spot, Ripley watched Wren approach. Her palms were sweating, waiting for the moment her arms were wrapped around Eggie.
Meanwhile, as quietly as she could, Wren huffed and hustled through the grass. Sweat was running down the sides of her face; her knees felt like rubber.
Quiet and quick, Wren thought to herself. Quiet and quick.
Also, she thought, Holy Clara Hughes this egg is HEAVY.
Wren’s arms ached keeping their grip. Holding Eggie and walking fast made it hard to concentrate on where she was going and on the ground beneath her and suddenly . . .
Wren’s stepped down, smack in the center of a large stick lying in the grass, snapping it in two.
Crack!
Wren froze.
Everyone looked up at once. April and Barney. Jo peered down from the tree.
Ripley stayed crouched, her heart banging like a gong.
“EGG!” Egberta screeched, waving her hands over her head. “OUR BEEEEAUTIFUL EEEEEGGGGG! EDGAR! EDGAR! EEEEEGGGG!”
Edgar? April thought.
Who’s Edgar? Barney wondered.
The third member of the Order, Jo thought, is . . .
Edgar.
And just then, Ripley thought of the tracks they had followed from the nest into the woods.
A narrow tire track.
Which Barney had thought was a wheelbarrow.
But was not.
ZOOOOOOOOM!
Edgar zipped out from the trees, astride a glittering gold unicycle.
In true Golden Order style, he looked like he’d been dipped in gold. He was six feet tall—on the unicycle he was eight feet—with a thick gold moustache and big bushy gold beard that swallowed up the bottom of his face. He was wearing a full gold pantsuit, with a long train of gold fringe that fluttered in the breeze. On top of his head was a very small (one might say, two sizes too small) gold top hat with a tiny gold pom-pom perched on the top, like a tiny canary.
“GET ’ER, EDGAR!” Egberta screeched.
A unicycle, Jo thought. So that’s what that track was.
Wren gasped.
“EDGAR! GET THE EGG THIEF!” Egberta screamed, clearly unaware that she was also an egg thief.
Eugene hopped up and down and pointed. “She’
s over there! THE GOOSE DOWN EGG THIEF with the PURPLE HAIR!”
Wren swallowed hard, and bolted.
Ripley pressed her fingers into the ground and watched Wren’s feet approaching. When she got close, Wren crouched slightly, dipping just enough to pass Eggie into Ripley’s hands before standing up straight and running off to the left, her back to the Order as she broke into a sprint.
April crossed her fingers. Did it work? It looked like Wren, now running northward, still had Eggie in her arms.
Ripley paused a second, squeezed Eggie tight, then stood up and started running.
Egberta, who had what’s called “a good eye,” which meant she had great eyesight (not great taste), spotted Ripley immediately.
“THERE’S TWO OF THEM!” Egberta screamed, jogging up and down, waving her arms in the air. “Eugene, follow purple hair! EDGAR, GET THE LITTLE ONE!”
“Oh no,” Barney moaned.
Ripley looked back just long enough to see the crazed face of the wheeling dervish that was apparently Edgar heading right for her.
“EDGAR, GET THE LITTLE ONE!”
“RIPLEY!” April screamed. “RUUUUUUUUUN!”
CHAPTER 27
A piece of cake” is a phrase people use when describing something that is relatively easy to do.
For a Lumberjane, the Piece of Cake is an event that takes place near the end of the summer, when scouts are tasked with the challenge of carrying three bowling balls in a basket while running on a complex obstacle course made mostly out of frosting, Victorian sponge, and wood.
And so there is, actually, a strong tradition in the Lumberjane world of carrying heavy things across long distances with many obstacles in the way.
Running with a giant egg across a field is also not a piece of cake.
For the first time in her life, Ripley thought maybe her lungs would burst.
As she huffed and puffed and strained to keep her grip on Eggie, she could hear the whizzing of Edgar on his unicycle behind her and his cackling voice calling out, “I’ll get you, goose down egg thief!”
Farther behind her, Ripley could hear the shouts of her cabinmates, now dashing to catch up.
Jo and April were in the lead, but Ripley was so far ahead it would be impossible for them to be of any help in the run for her life that Ripley now had in front of her.
Ripley tried to remember where it was she was supposed to turn. Because April’s plan did involve a turn. She wanted to close her eyes and picture the map April had drawn in her notebook, but she was afraid of what she would bump into if she did.
Her hands were getting hot. Eggie was hot. That had not been factored into the plan.
First her palms, then her fingertips started to sweat, and slip. Eggie sank farther and farther to the edge of her grip. Ripley pressed her fingers into Eggie, feeling the bumps of Eggie’s shell.
She could hear Edgar panting, hear his unicycle’s whirring wheel. He was gaining on her.
Ripley tried to wrap her arms tighter around Eggie.
She took a shallow breath.
And squeezed.
And just then.
Eggie. Slipped.
It was only for a second. Eggie dropped through the ring of her arms, and Ripley watched in horror as Eggie hit the ground.
And then . . .
. . . sprang back up.
As she caught Eggie in her arms, Ripley’s mouth dropped open.
Did that just happen?
Did Eggie just . . . bounce?
And for just that second, Ripley stared at Eggie, still running so fast she missed the very turn she’d been trying not to miss. A turn that was the difference between running to Hes and Jeremy and running up a hill, a steep hill, along a road that was about to end . . . abruptly.
“Where is she going?” April cried as she watched Ripley veer to the right, toward the path that led up the side of the mountain on the edge of the forest.
“The wrong way,” Jo said.
“YES!” April groaned. “I mean . . . NO!”
Edgar the unicycler grinned a gold, toothy, Order of the Golden Egg grin as he leaned forward and closed in on “the little one.”
CHAPTER 28
Back at camp, the griffins—who had been enjoying the musical theater stylings of Mal, Molly, Malka, Maggie May, and Mary, including a very moving scene in which the five scouts gave the Lumberjanes oath an upbeat musical adaptation—were getting restless.
Which is to say that griffins, who enjoy music and musical theater, are also very picky. And finicky. And, well, they like what they like.
And this says NOTHING about the quality of The Scout and the Beast. Truly it does not, but the griffins were rapidly losing interest in this five-piece performance.
The cries of “CERRAARP! CERRRAAARP!” which had started low, like a rumble, were getting louder, with a hint of what Mal thought sounded like frustration.
Annabella Panache murmured encouragingly at the performers from the side of the stage, but at some point, you have to wonder, as Molly did, when a person should take a hint from their audience.
It should be noted that the griffins’ behavior was incredibly impolite and not in any way acceptable behavior at a theatrical performance. Even if you’re watching a show you don’t particularly enjoy, you don’t make a fuss. You don’t flap your wings and you don’t interrupt the singing with growls and CERARPs. This is also why griffins perform so few musicals for other griffins.
Because of stuff like this.
CERRRAARP! CEEEEERRRAAAAAARP!
The griffins’ fluttering and squawking in front of the stage was getting louder.
Jen watched the ruckus building from her perch stage right.
Jen had seen Rosie slip off into the forest with that very determined Rosie-like look, a look not unlike the look April had when she had a plan. Which meant Rosie was off trying to help April and Jo and Ripley. Which meant Rosie would probably not want the griffins to notice she was gone.
And if the griffins continued to rumble, Jen thought, and lost complete interest in the performers onstage, then maybe that would happen.
That or something considerably worse.
Someone had to do something.
And that someone, right at that moment, was someone who would rather do pretty much anything other than get onstage.
But sometimes there is a part of a person, a small part at first, that is capable of great things.
And so it was—while the rest of the performers were paused between numbers, working up the courage to continue what seemed like it was going to be a very unpopular fifth act—that Jen stepped up onto the wooden stage, walked over to the microphone (which felt oh so far away), and—stifling the laugh tickling every fiber of her being—took it in her hands.
“Okay, um. This is my mom’s favorite song,” Jen said, her voice wavering and echoing over the sound system.
The griffins, once clucking and rustling, were suddenly still.
Cerrrarp? one clucked. Wary.
Jen closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and sang, “When I was young . . .”
“OH! I know this one,” Malka hissed from her drum kit, pointing at Mal. “C Major.”
CHAPTER 29
Suddenly.
Ripley was alone.
Alone.
And out of options.
Ripley was out of road to run on, literally.
The turn she’d taken to get to where she was had twisted and turned and twisted. As she ran, Ripley searched the horizon in vain for a sight of Hes on her moose, hands out and waiting for Ripley, but Hes never appeared.
And that was when Ripley got that feeling you get when you realize that you are not doing the thing you want to be doing, that you have taken a wrong turn. It is a feeling that would lead one to believe their actual insides are not inside them. That their insides are maybe at the spot where they were supposed to be. That their insides are waiting for them at the end of the left turn they did not take at least a mile back.<
br />
It is a complicated feeling.
Ripley had kept running through all that, until she actually couldn’t run anymore. Until the ground became the top of a cliff with a very long drop on the other side.
A very very long drop.
The good thing was that the last bits of the path were not easy for unicyclers, so Ripley had gotten ahead of Edgar. But now she was in what is sometimes called a pickle. For some weird reason.
Now, the only way to escape would involve flying.
And Ripleys cannot fly. Nor can eggs.
This is not to say Ripleys cannot do a good many things.
Because they can.
Sometimes it’s hard to know what those things are, of course. Because there are things people GIVE you to do or SAY you can do. Which makes it hard to think of all the many things you are capable of. Especially when you are all alone, and scared.
“All alone,” Ripley said quietly, to the wind.
The wind howled back, unhelpful. It whipped around her and chilled her skin.
Ripley wished there was someone around to tell her what to do. Maybe a Rosie.
Ripley sniffed and squeezed Eggie tight. It was not like squeezing Mr. Sparkles. It was barely a squeeze, really.
A little tear rolled off her cheek and sploshed on Eggie’s shell.
“If April were here,” Ripley sighed, “she’d know what to do.”
Ripley looked down at Eggie, heavy in her arms, and that was when Ripley had a very important thought.
She was not alone.
“Eggie!” she said. “I have Eggie!”
Not only did Ripley have Eggie, Ripley realized, she was responsible for Eggie. There was no one to help Eggie but Ripley! Eggie was depending on her to help it. Eggie needed Ripley!
And of the many things Ripleys can do, helping Eggie would have to be one.
Ripley pressed her lips together.
“I won’t let you down,” she whispered.
There was a gravelly skidding noise, and a panting, and there, through the grasses and leaves, appeared a very tired and very angry gold-wearing unicycler named Edgar, his head bright red and sweaty under his top hat, dragging a unicycle.
The Good Egg Page 9