by John J. Bonk
It was Jeremy. He was squirming behind an open textbook. There was oral reading. Nodding. More reading. It looked as though some sort of private lesson was going on.
“Spying, Mr. Grubbs?” Futterman barked.
I hate it when people sneak up on you like that.
“Just wondering if the nurse is here yet,” I lied - again. I think I was becoming addicted. “Pepper said she was gonna puke.”
That part was true, but she didn’t really mean it, I don’t think. “The truth cleverly told is the biggest lie of all.” That’s what Granny says. What was happening to me?
“Do yourself a favor and put your energies into something useful,” Futterman said, steering me away from the door with a firm hand on my shoulder. “Like coming up with a way to raise funds for the piano, perhaps?”
He was wearing me down to the nub with this piano thing.
“Funny you should mention that, ‘cause that’s why I’m here so early - to talk to Miss Honeywell about it.”
“Miss Honeywell’s ‘well’ seems to have run dry on the subject.” His fat face said that he was proud of that little “un-pun.” “I want to know what you’ve come up with.”
“Uh, I don’t know. A PTA bake sale? Candy drive? Car wash? Bike-a-thon?”
“Nickels and dimes, Mr. Grubbs,” he said. “You can do better than that. You’re supposed to be a creative kid - so create!”
Out of desperation I mentioned LMNOP’s stupid suggestion: Jeremy + Play = $$$. Futterman didn’t answer. But I swear I saw dollar signs ka-ching in his eyeballs.
First thing Tuesday morning, after the usual buzzing and burping of our classroom loudspeaker before daily announcements, our beloved principal’s voice came bellowing through.
“Good morning, students! This is Principal Futterman. Judith, is this working? I just hear crackling. Testing, testing. Batter up, batter up. Okay. And can you get me some strong black coffee? Good morning, students.”
It was usually our vice principal’s voice that we heard, announcing crossing-guard schedules, menu changes in the cafeteria - that sort of thing. Futterman rarely came on unless he had something important to say. My class stopped blabbing and actually paid attention when they heard that it was the head honcho.
“Just a few quick announcements,” he said. “Number one: the National Science Fair applications have to be turned in no later than noon tomorrow - and I’d like to see Buttermilk Falls well represented this year. We haven’t had any entrants since Andrew Glickman blew the competition away two years ago with his wind generator.”
He laughed at his lame joke.
“So I strongly urge all you budding scientists to participate. (Throat-clearing.) Item number B: The gym floor is being revarnished, starting today. Nobody’ll be allowed near the gymnasium for a solid week.”
I silently cheered against the class’s groans.
“But gym classes will still be held at their usual times, on the playground.”
I silently groaned against the class’s cheers.
“Just put it right there, Judith, thanks. I really need it this morning. And I could use some sugar too. More. More. (Slurp.) Oooh, hot, hot, hot!”
Even Miss Honeywell cracked up at that.
“And last, but not least, there will be a meeting of the sixth-grade cast and crew of The Crook in the Crowded Castle. Huh? Oh. The Castle of the Rookie Clowns - Crooked - uh, the play. It’ll be held in the auditorium this Thursday at three-thirty sharp. Be on time. That’s it. Have a productive day! Judith, how do you turn this -?” Buzz. Crackle. Click.
Chapter 13
Peeling the Onion
The cast and crew (stinky Leonard Shempski) of The Castle of the Crooked Crowns filed into the first two rows of the auditorium. Wally was doing his thing where he pretends I don’t even exist. He sat as far away from me as possible. Sitting on the edge of the stage, next to the tarp-covered piano, was a large, round woman wearing a scarf headband, a black sweat suit, and pink ballet slippers.
“Welcome, kiddles!” she bellowed. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Miss Regina Van Rye. I’ve been the kindergarten teacher here for the last year.”
She talked really loud and was shaped just like the piano. I couldn’t believe I’d never noticed her before. You’d think she’d be hard to miss.
“Now, let’s put on our quiet faces and settle down.”
I’d been psyched ever since Futterman’s announcement. This meeting was definitely a good sign - still, nobody knew for sure what it was really about.
“Why are you smiling, doofus?” Darlene hissed, elbowing me. “I bet they make us all pitch in to pay for the stupid piano!”
“I know you’re all curious as kittens, so let’s dive in headfirst,” Miss Van Rye said. “The Castle of the Crooked Crowns is up and running again! Hallelujah!”
“Woo-hoo!” I howled. Confetti shot out of a tiny cannon in my head.
“Principal Futterman has decided to present it to the general public as a school fund-raiser,” she continued, “for one performance only. And since he’ll be charging ‘dough-re-mi’ for the tickets, he thinks the play could use a little tweaking. Enter moi!“ Miss Van Rye’s arm flew over her head and she posed like a Spanish dancer. “I will serve as your new director!”
“What happened to Miss Honeywell?” I asked.
“Well, uh - Principal Futterman thought your teacher had too much on her plate right now to take on this project.”
What a crock! It was her project to begin with.
“This is going to be thrilling, tadpoles,” Miss Van Rye said. “The roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd!”
All I smelled was a rat. And Leonard Shempski. Well, at least the play was on its feet again - and with a real audience, coughing up the bucks.
“Of course, I’ll understand if anyone wants to drop out of the play for any reason,” Miss Van Ryé said. “But let me know ASAP, so I have time to replace you.”
Darlene Deluca and Millicent Fleener both raised their hands.
“Oh, before I forget, there’s already been one small cast change,” Miss Van Rye said, scanning the seats. “Hmm, I don’t see him.”
Just then Jeremy Jason Wilder pushed through the auditorium doors. I gasped, along with everyone else.
“Speaking of the devil,” Miss Van Rye said. “Right on cue!”
“Sorry I’m late,” Jeremy mumbled.
“What’s he doing here?” Pepper whispered to me.
LMNOP’s harebrained idea must’ve worked!
“Jeremy will be replacing Felix Plunket as the Prince,” Miss Van Rye said. “Much to the relief of Felix, by the way.”
The cast applauded while Jeremy collapsed into an empty seat. He looked about as thrilled as a criminal just sentenced to five hundred hours of community service.
“Welcome, Jeremy!” Miss Van Rye said. “You’ll definitely add some real star power to our production.”
Now I hated her. The Prince isn’t the star; the Jester is the star. Did she even read the script?
“So who were the young ladies who had their hands up?” Miss Van Rye asked.
“Never mind,” Darlene and Millicent said, eyeballing Jeremy as if he were dipped in chocolate.
“Good answer. Okay, just so you don’t think Principal Futterman has completely lost his marbles by putting the kindergarten teacher in charge of the production, I’ll fill you in on a little of my background in the theater.”
Miss Van Rye dug into her giant straw tote bag and pulled out what looked like an old scrapbook.
“Now, I’m not one to toot my own horn - oh, who am I kidding?” She laughed a musical laugh that covered a full octave. “But seriously, kiddles, after college I studied acting at the renowned Actor’s Loft, in New York. That was followed by two straight seasons at the Harmonies ‘n’ Hash Dinner Theatre in Pittsburgh, where I got stellar reviews,” she said, hugging the scrapbook. “If anyone’s interested, I made copies.”
/> I sort of liked her again. She reminded me of my aunt Olive - times ten. I glanced at Jeremy to see if he looked impressed and caught the tail end of an eye-roll. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be there, and I wondered why he was. Futterman must’ve scared him into it somehow.
“Okay, fellow thespians, put your scripts away. You’re not going to need them just yet,” Miss Van Rye said, rolling onto her feet. “Everybody onstage for some warm-up exercises. Come on, up, up, up! Quick like bunnies!”
On our way up to the stage, I heard Wally ask Pepper, “What’s a thespian?”
She shrugged.
“Another word for actor,” I said, without looking directly at him. He pretended not to hear me, record-breaking grudge holder that he was. I guess I deserved it, though.
The cast spread out, taking up the whole stage. Wally went somewhere stage left. A bunch of girls were racing for a spot near Jeremy and ended up shoving me right next to him.
“Hey,” Jeremy said to me.
“Hey,” I echoed.
It felt uncomfortable - just like that first conversation we’d had in the cafeteria.
“All righty, let’s begin by warming up our mouths,” Miss Van Rye said. “Really work ‘em.” She paraded in front of us, distorting her face and flopping her tongue way out like a dog chewing gum. “Mwah, mwaaah, blaaah, bloooy, yah-yah-yah!” Little by little we followed her lead. The thought crossed my mind that she might’ve been putting us on and she’d have a good yuck about this when she got home, but I decided I was wrong.
“Now repeat what I say,” she said. “The lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue.”
A tongue twister. My favorite! We repeated it, getting faster and faster, like a speeding train; then Miss Van Rye held up her hands to stop a train wreck from happening. She reached into her tote bag, removed a plastic container, and handed it to Jeremy.
“Here, take one and pass around the rest,” she said. “One to a customer.”
I didn’t have a clue what was in the container until Jeremy passed it to me. Wine-bottle corks? I wonder if she polished off a crate of wine last night, just so we’d have enough.
“Okay, all eyes on me,” Miss Van Rye said. “Oh, I just love it when all eyes are on me! Now take your cork and place it between your front teeth, like so.” She bit the cork, and her hand circled beneath her chin. “The lips. The teeth. The tip of the tongue.”
“Excuse me, Miss Van Rye,” Darlene said, “but why does Leonard have a cork? He’s crew. Should the crew have a cork?”
She ignored Darlene and started us on our next tongue twister, “Unique New York.” It sounded more like “Oooh-neee noo yor,” and we all had long strings of spittle dangling from our chins.
“No, no, no,” Miss Van Rye said, removing the sloppy cork from her mouth. “You’re dropping the last consonant. It’s ‘New York-k-k’! Try it again, and I want you to splatter the back wall of the auditorium with k’s.”
“This is too hard,” Darlene said, massaging her jaw. “And icky.”
“It ensures proper enunciation,” Miss Van Rye said. “It just takes practice.”
“But it hurts!”
“Show business isn’t for wimps, dear. You have to suffer for your art.”
“When are we gonna get to the play?” Darlene whined. “I’m getting lockjaw!”
“Oh, stick a cork in it,” Miss Van Rye said, giggling at her own joke.
Wally snorted and the cork shot out of his mouth, whacking Darlene above her ponytail. She screamed so loud, you’d think somebody had slammed a piano lid on her knuckles.
“Idiot!” she yelled. “You did that on purpose!”
“Did not!” Wally said, laughing. “I swear.”
“It was a total accident,” I said, laughing too. “I saw the whole thing.”
“It’s not funny!” Darlene said, holding up a fist. “He could’ve knocked an eye out!”
“Just the one in the back of your head!” Wally said.
“Kiddles, kiddles!” Miss Van Rye clapped her hands. “Save these raw emotions for your performances. Maybe we’ve done enough tongue twisters for today.”
Ya think? My tongue was in knots, and the stage looked like swampland.
“In fact, why don’t we take a well-earned potty break? Ten minutes, everyone.”
“Potty break”? You can take the actress out of the kindergarten teacher, but you can’t take the kindergarten teacher out of the actress.
Wally walked right past me and out into the hall, even though I’d just stuck up for him. That’s gratitude for you. I noticed Miss Van Rye take a Jack Sprat Donuts bag out of her tote and inhale two French crullers. I wondered if she’d run into Mom at the Donut Hole - she’d better not have spilled the beans about my being in the play.
A loud squeak came from the back of the house. Jeremy was sitting in the last row, wearing headphones. We’d barely said a word to each other since the party, so I didn’t know what his deal was. I was dying to know how Futterman had worked his evil genius and persuaded him to be in the play. There’s no law against acting friendly, even if you’re not feeling friendly - after all, acting is what I do. Plus, the Prince and the Jester have three scenes together. I don’t want any tension between us mucking up my performance. I took the long way around the auditorium and sat one seat away from him. He was listening to a CD and staring at the cover of Celeb magazine. “The Fifty Sexiest Celebrity Belly Buttons” was splashed across the top.
“How do you do a cover story on belly buttons?” I asked. “Do they, like, divide them into innies and outies? Fuzzy and bald? Pierced and bejeweled?”
Nothing. Maybe he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he didn’t feel like slumming it at the moment.
“You can have your Yankees cap back if you want,” I said.
Still nothing. I repeated it with more oomph.
“Huh?” He took off his headphones. “Why would I want it back?”
“Dunno.”
Jeremy put his feet up on the armrest in front of him and started thumbing through the magazine.
“Nice shoes,” I said.
“Yeah, they’re the new Bruno Vitale suede loafers. Three hundred bucks.”
All the clothes in my closet weren’t worth three hundred bucks.
“Cool,” I said.
I could tell he wasn’t in a talky mood, but at least he was saying something.
“I’m sort of surprised you’re doing the play,” I said, getting right to the point. “I mean, you being you and all. Oh, I’m glad you are, though. Really, really glad.”
“Really, really glad”? I can’t believe what passes through these lips sometimes.
Long silence. I was losing him. I had to change the subject - stat!
“So, celebrity belly buttons?” I said, pretending to be interested.
“Yep.”
“What does it say in the small print under ‘Navel Academy Awards’?” I asked, leaning in. Jeremy gave me one of those annoyed sighs, as if I’d asked him to sort fish heads or something. But he picked up the magazine and began reading out loud.
“‘East Coast or West, casual or glam, the beee-’” He stopped. Blinked. “’Casual or glam, the -’” He tossed me the magazine. “Here, you read it.”
“The beguiling belly button is back.’ I didn’t know it was missing.”
Jeremy ripped the magazine out of my hand and put his headphones back on. Conversation over.
What did I say? What did I do? Now who was acting psycho? To quote Aunt Birdie, “That was the straw that broke the cannibal’s back.” Suddenly I wanted to knock those headphones off his inflated head and shake him. I invited you into my home, dude! I lost my best friend because of it, Mr. Hollywood hotshot! I made a mental note to beat up his baseball cap the minute I got home.
After the break we still didn’t take out our scripts. We did what Miss Van Rye called the mirror exercise. She had us sit face to face with different partners, copying each other’s exact movements in
slow motion. Jeremy got stuck with Darlene first. I could see her making pucker lips an inch from his face. He looked as if he were being tortured, but he was forced to make the same lovey-dovey faces right back at Darlene. Ha!
When it came around to Wally and me as partners, we could barely even look at each other. It was intense. I thought I might break through his wall of hate by making blowfish cheeks and pig snouts. But no such luck.
“Oh, I can’t believe it’s six o’clock already!” Miss Van Rye said. “Tonight I want you all to think about what makes your characters tick. Find the different layers. Peel the onion.”
“I don’t get it, Miss Van Rye,” Wally said. “Why do we have to peel onions?”
“That’s just a figure of speech,” she explained. “I want you to dig beneath the surface of your characters. Really delve.”
“Oh, man, that sounds like homework!” Wally complained.
“Yeah,” Darlene said. “I wouldn’t mind delving if I was playing Princess Precious - the role I was born to play.”
“La-la-la-la-la.” Miss Van Rye stuck her fingers in her ears.
“Fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee!”
I chimed in with “I think this is great, Miss Van Rye. What kinds of things are we looking for?”
“Now you’re talking! For example, what are your character’s hopes and dreams, likes and dislikes? Down to the smallest details, such as, What does he eat for breakfast?”
“Or if he’s an innie or an outie,” I said.
“Exactly!”
I glanced at Jeremy. My brilliant belly-button reference went unnoticed.
Millicent Fleener stopped scribbling in her notepad and raised her hand.
“Yes, Millicent?”
“I only have two lines. Do I still have to delve?”
“It couldn’t hurt,” Miss Van Rye said. “Remember, there are no small parts, only small actors.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Millicent looked disappointed.