One Man Show

by John J. Bonk

  Oh, who am I kidding? The school wouldn’t even be doing the play at all right now without his star power.

  The locker room was filling up with the other boys from my class, who were laughing and locker slamming. I lined the piece of Chubby Bubble across the room.

  “Grubbs!” Coach Mockler said, coming out of his office. “Use the trash receptacle.”

  He blew his whistle. Class was starting, so I followed the rest of the boys into the gymnasium. Mockler had us stand in one long line while he took attendance and divided us into teams. Jeremy was a head taller than the rest of us - not to mention almost old enough to vote. I squeezed in next to Wally.

  “Thanks for the note,” I whispered. “You might be right.”

  “What note?” Wally snarled.

  “C’mon, ‘former friend,’ I know it was you. In my locker -the note, the sneakers -”

  “I’m still not speaking to you, so quit making me speak.”

  “Okay, listen up!” Coach Mockler said. “I’m scouting new recruits for next year’s Fireballs, so I’m going to be watching you guys like a hawk today.”

  The Buttermilk Falls Fireballs was our seventh- and eighth-grade boys’ basketball team. Everybody called them the Butterballs.

  “Okay, guys, count off by twos, starting with Plunket.” Mockler blew four short whistle blasts to set the tempo.

  “Jeremy just dropped a bomb on me,” I told Wally. The line was shouting “one, two, one, two,” so I didn’t need to whisper anymore. “He wants to trade parts.”

  “So?” Wally said. “Shut up or we’ll get in trouble. One!”

  “He’s such a - two! - face. And what’s the deal with him and Travis?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Okay, listen up!” Mockler said again. “It’s the Shirts against the Skins. The ones are the Shirts; the twos are the Skins. Got it?”

  “I forgot what I am,” I said.

  “I’m Shirts,” Wally said, “so you’re Skins. Too bad, so sad.”

  “Oh, man!”

  Me and the other Skins stripped down and threw our T-shirts on the bleachers. Being forced to play sports was bad enough, but having to be half-naked at the same time was just “adding insult to injury,” as Aunt Olive says.

  Mockler tossed the basketball into the air and everyone went for it like lions to fresh kill. Let the fun begin! The sounds of the ball bouncing and sneakers squeaking echoed off the gym walls while I ran into the outfield, or the end zone, or whatever it’s called. I’d learned from experience that it was best to steer clear of the kids who actually knew what they were doing.

  Jeremy was the first to try for a basket. He leaped three feet into the air, heaving the ball clear across the gym. It missed.

  “Ha-ha!” I said. I think Jeremy heard, ‘cause he shot me a dirty look.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that he’d been setting me up the whole time. “The Prince is a juicy role - the most well written in the whole play.” The tabloids were right - he really was a spoiled brat.

  Some idiot threw me the ball. Somehow I caught it. I was going to toss it right back, but Mockler was looking my way, so I danced around a little and grunted. Suddenly I was drowning in a blur of armpits and grabby hands.

  “Dribble!” someone yelled as I charged across the floor, gripping the basketball. “Dribble!”

  I wiped a hand across my mouth, but I wasn’t drooling. What is he yelling about?

  “Bounce the freakin’ ball!” Reggie MacPherson, one of the Skins, shouted.

  Okay, I can do that. I bounced it once. Twice. Couldn’t keep it going. A clump of Shirts was attacking, so I closed my eyes and hurled the ball up toward the orange hoop.

  I heard cheering.

  “Did I make it?” I asked, opening my eyes. “Did I score points?”

  “Yeah, two,” Reggie said, “for the other team! Wrong basket, meathead!”

  Okay, that was it - back to the sidelines. Can’t say I didn’t try. After a lot more jumping around, some kids started yelling, “Foul! Out of bounds!” Mockler gave his whistle a sharp blast.

  “Free throw!” he shouted. “Plunket, you’re up!”

  The game came to a standstill. All eyes were on Felix, who stared up at the basket, holding the ball as if it were made of precious glass.

  “Don’t freeze up, Felix!” someone shouted.

  “Yeah, d-d-d-don’t freak out like you did in that stupid p-p-p-p-play!”

  Who knew that another kid besides me was still suffering from the aftereffects of the play? Poor Felix was standing there, sweating buckets, just like when he was the Prince. But he shut everyone up when he made the basket.

  “Way to go, Felix!” I shouted.

  Reggie shoved me.

  “I know, I know, he’s on the other team.”

  Mockler called a break, and everyone crowded around the water fountain.

  “Nice shot,” I said, catching up to Felix. His sweat smelled like chicken soup.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “I can’t believe people are still teasing you about the play.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said, wiping his face on his T-shirt. “I was practically guaranteed a spot in the F-F-Fireballs next year, but I think I blew it when the coach saw me freeze up on that stage. Now he knows I crack under pressure.”

  “That’s not fair. You’re a great basketball player.”

  “Even though that play was the worst thing that ever happened to me, I wish I had another shot at it,” Felix said. “A do-over.”

  Wally was sucking the water fountain dry, and Brian Flabner gave him a poke.

  “C’mon, Tubbo,” he said. “Save some for the fish.”

  Wally turned around and squirted a mouthful of water at him - only it hit Jeremy instead.

  “Hey, watch it!” Jeremy yelled. His sneakers were soaked. “These cost a fortune. Jerk!”

  “Jeez, lighten up, it’s only water,” I said.

  “They’re brand new, okay?”

  “Sorry,” Wally said. “I’ll get some paper towels.”

  “Too bad Mr. Hollywood can’t buy himself a little coordination,” Reggie said to Brian. “Maybe we’d be winning.”

  Mockler blew his whistle. We all took quick slurps of water and rushed back onto the gym floor.

  As soon as the game started, Mockler disappeared into his office and Jeremy took off with the ball. I don’t know what got into him, but he was spinning the ball on his finger, bouncing it through his legs backward, sideways, really going nuts.

  “What’s he trying to prove?” I said loud enough for Jeremy to hear.

  I couldn’t stand to watch anymore, so I crouched down to retie my laces. Something slammed into me. Hard. The next thing I knew, Jeremy was on the floor, tangled up in himself like a broken umbrella.

  “Hey, man,” I said. “Are you all right?”

  “Do I look all right?” he yelled. “My leg! Ohh, my leeeg!”

  “Let’s help him up,” Wally said, reaching for his arm.

  “No!” Felix said, pulling Wally back. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to move somebody after they’ve f-f-f-fallen? You could do serious damage.”

  “I turn my back for two minutes!” Mockler said, jogging over to us with a first-aid kit. “What the heck happened here?”

  “It was an accident,” I said.

  “Or not!” Jeremy snapped.

  “MacPherson, run and get Nurse Opal,” Mockler said. “Pronto!”

  “I don’t want that cow touching me!” Jeremy hollered. “Get my cell phone from the locker room - I’m paging Evelyn.” Then he pointed at me and said, “And get him outta my sight!”

  It looked as if he was showing his true colors - and they weren’t just black and blue.

  I was pretty miserable until the next day, when Miss Honeywell told me that something “scrumptious” was waiting for me in the main office. I thought the secretary had baked her nonf
at lemon bars again, but it was even better. It turned out to be a telegram addressed to Mr. Dustin T. Grubbs, “Star!,” c/o Buttermilk Falls Elementary. The only telegrams I’d ever seen were in old backstage movie musicals. I didn’t even think they existed anymore.

  “I’m there, son. STOP” was all it said.

  That was enough. I was psyched.

  Chapter 18

  The Royal Flush

  The cast of the play was in a wide-eyed clump hanging out of the first-floor windows of Miss Van Rye’s kindergarten classroom - and hanging on every word that was being said outside. Even though I was stuck playing the stupid Prince, it was still the most exciting night of my life. Heck, Hollywood was in our own backyard!

  “This is Show-Biz Beat special correspondent Callie Sinclair, reporting from the steps of Buttermilk Falls Elementary School in the quaint midwestern town of the same name. Tonight we’re kicking off our weeklong series Whatever Happened to My Favorite Celebrity Kids? in which we’ll be conducting interviews with child stars who have disappeared from the spotlight. We’re here at a special performance of a play called The Castle of the Cracked Crowns, a fund-raiser featuring Jeremy Jason Wilder -”

  Screams gushed out of a crowd of girls surrounding Callie.

  “Cut! Cut!” A short man in a Show-Biz Beat jacket made a throat-slashing gesture. “They keep drowning you out every time you say Jeremy Jason -”

  “Jeremeee!” the crowd squealed.

  “Okay, you maniacs, work with me here!” the man shouted.

  “Take it easy, Phil,” Callie said. “It’s only a dry run.”

  “But we’ll be taping it next time around!” He turned to the swarm of girls. “Okay, ladies,” he said, switching to a sugary voice. “I’m the director, so I’m going to give you a little direction. First, can everyone take a giant step backward? Good. Super. Brilliant. Now I need all of you to be perfect little angels and shut up!”

  A lady wearing a Show-Biz Beat jacket rushed over to Callie and fogged her with hair spray.

  “There’s a typo in the copy, Cal,” the director said. A guy holding an open notebook was whispering in his ear. “It’s Crooked Crowns - not Cracked. Okay, clear it, Flo! Cal, whenever you’re ready.”

  “Three, two - This is Show-Biz Beat special corr-”

  “Sorry,” another guy in headsets interrupted. “We’re picking up the wind.”

  The techie slipped a spongy blue cover over Callie’s microphone while she glanced through the pages in her hand.

  “Okay, you’re good to go!” he said.

  “The Double Take star will be performing tonight in spite of a recent leg injury. The irrepressible” - Callie looked at the crowd, then back at her pages - “the irrepressible you-know-who was quoted as saying, ‘A little thing like a fractured tibia and some torn cartilage ain’t gonna stop me from helping my school.’ What a remarkable young man!”

  The director made a spinning motion with his hand.

  “This is certainly a turnaround for hmm-hmm-hmm, whose rumored tantrums on the set forced network execs to cancel his popular ‘hitcom,’” Callie said, picking up the pace. “We’ll be backstage later on for an exclusive interview with Jeremy Jason Wilder. Oops!”

  The crowd screeched even louder than before.

  I closed one of the windows halfway, careful not to get soot on my Prince costume. It was the one Felix had worn, which was way too long but a heck of a lot nicer than the pillowcase tunic that Mrs. Dorkin had made me. I decided to wear the belt I’d made from Dad’s neckties with it too.

  “Come on, you guys,” I said to the cast, “you’d better get ready for the show.”

  “You’re not in charge anymore,” Wally snapped, still acting like a wiener.

  “It’s not even six o’clock,” Darlene said. She went back to brushing her wig on its Styrofoam head. “We have hours before the curtain goes up.”

  “Callie Sinclair looks a lot older in person,” Cynthia said, still peering out the window. “Don’t you think?”

  “She’s still babe-alicious,” Wally said. He shoved a stack of potato chips into his mouth and followed them up with a fistful of gummy worms.

  “Gross!” Darlene said.

  “I can’t help it.” Wally sucked in a dangling worm. “When I’m nervous, I eat.”

  “Hey, Dustin, are we gonna be on TV?” Pepper asked.

  “I doubt it. They’re just here for the interview.”

  “But it is a possibility,” Darlene said, setting down her brush. “Omigod, all of a sudden I can’t breathe!”

  Jeremy appeared in the doorway leaning on an old man cane. Flung over his shoulder was a garment bag with Hollywood Costume Cavalcade printed on it. I thought that after his injury he’d drop out of the play for sure and I’d get my part back. No such luck.

  “Hi, Jer. How’s your leg?” I forced myself to say. I was making an effort to be as friendly as possible to him for the sake of the play. He just ignored me.

  “Where did that mob out there come from?” he asked.

  “Willowbridge, Lotustown, Hinkleyville,” Millicent said, taking a break from chewing her hair. “We don’t get many live celebrities in Buttermilk Falls.”

  “We don’t get many dead ones either,” Wally said, snorting.

  “Good news, kiddles!” Miss Van Rye announced, prancing into the room. In her sparkly silver dress and matching turban, she looked like the world’s largest disco ball. “Tonight’s performance has been sold out since two o’clock - and now we’re selling standing room to the Johnny-come-latelies. The box office is in such a tizzy. They’re taking in money hand over fist!”

  “They want me in costume for my interview,” Jeremy muttered, looking unimpressed. “So, where do I get dressed?”

  “The girls are changing behind the upright piano,” Miss Van Rye said. She plopped down on the piano bench. “And the boys are behind the puppet theater.”

  Jeremy glanced at Wally’s head, which was bobbing up and down behind a giant dragon puppet, and grabbed his garment bag.

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” he said, hobbling toward the door. “I’ll be in the boys’ John.”

  “Okay, but don’t dillydally,” Miss Van Rye said. “We told Show-Biz Beat they could conduct your interview here at six-fifteen.”

  “Break a leg tonight, Jeremy!” Darlene called. The door slammed. “Oh, no - I meant that in a good way!”

  “Heavens to Betsy,” Miss Van Rye said, pumping the top of her dress for a breeze. Red blotches were sprouting up around her neck, forming a map of the United States. “I hope I don’t pass out from the excitement.”

  “Poor Jeremy,” Millicent cooed. “He can hardly walk.”

  “I wish he’d ditch the cane,” Pepper said. “The Jester is supposed to be limber.”

  “And the Princess is supposed to be beautiful,” Darlene said, turning on her.

  “Don’t start!” I yelled.

  “Besides,” Darlene went on, “the audience wouldn’t care if he did the whole show lying down. He’s Jeremy Jason Wilder!”

  All the girls screamed and jumped around, imitating the crowd outside.

  “Look! He forgot this,” Millicent said, holding up a small plastic bag that matched the Hollywood Costume Cavalcade garment bag.

  “Dustin, you’re in costume already,” Miss Van Rye said. “Why don’t you be a prince and take it to him?” She cackled suddenly. “I mean, you are dressed the part!”

  Don’t rub it in, lady. After taking my starring role away and giving it to what’s-his-face, she was definitely off my Christmas list.

  Millicent handed me the bag. I pulled out a pair of striped tights and two perfect curly-toed jester’s shoes with pompoms at the tips. When I was the Jester I wore my aunt Birdie’s old house slippers, stuffed with newspaper.

  “Quick like a bunny!” Miss Van Rye said, clapping. “And the rest of you should start getting dressed so we have time for a proper warm-up.”

  “No corks!” Dar
lene said.

  I checked the boys’ bathroom across from the kindergarten classroom, but Jeremy wasn’t there. Why would he hobble all the way to the bathroom at the other end of the hall? Crowds were already jamming the main entranceway near the auditorium. I tunneled my way through them and ended up smashed against the box-office door. While I was there I figured I’d pop in and do another quick check on my family’s tickets. Miss Van Rye was right - it was chaos inside.

  “Excuse me. Did my family arrive yet?” I asked politely. “Grubbs.”

  “You again?” one of the ladies barked. “Yes, yes, they just picked up the tickets.”

  “Great! Uh, did all the Grubbses’ tickets get picked up?” The seat I’d reserved for Dad was away from the rest of my family - to avoid possible bloodshed if he actually showed up. “See, there were six in one envelope,” I explained, “and then there was a single ticket in a separate -”

  “Young man, can’t you see we’ve got our hands full?” the lady said. “With you and that Jeremy Jason boy popping in and out every minute, you’re driving us batty!”

  “Sorry,” I said, edging toward the door. My elbow knocked a metal box off a table. I quickly picked it up, put it back, and slipped into the hallway.

  I decided to check for the gimp in the john at the deserted end of the hall. When I rounded the corner, I swear I saw someone who looked an awful lot like Jeremy running - not limping - into the boys’ bathroom. Bum leg, my foot!

  Just as I was about to barge in and accuse Jeremy of being a phony, I heard arguing coming from inside. Stop! I told myself. Just listen. I pressed my ear to the door.

  “Did you get it?” a muffled voice said.

  “Yeah, just now. It’s in the stall with me.” I could barely hear, but I thought it was Jeremy. “Listen, I don’t have time to [something] it right now. I have to get sweaty.”

  That could’ve been “ready.”

  “I knew you could pull it off,” the first voice said. “So fork it over.”

  “Listen, I’m not sure this was such a hot idea,” Jeremy said. “If you could wait [something-something-something] return it and pay you back with my own money. I’m good for it. But if I get busted [something-something] in big trouble, Gladys.”