by H. N. Kowitt
“Save it for tonight. We’re short on time.” I hid behind my clipboard. The other performers elbowed each other and whispered. Ty left the stage quietly and sat down.
People were still talking. “Ha ha ha … OMG … did you see his …”
I sank low in my seat. Seeing Ty get laughed at wasn’t as fun as I’d hoped. It was more uncomfortable. And this was just a preview. What would it be like tonight, with the whole audience watching a full performance?
Too late to think about that.
Eager to move on, I called Quinn Romanoff, a burly bassoon player. Since the show was heavy on yo-yo tricks and squirt guns, I figured he’d add a little class. When Quinn lugged a big gray metal box onstage, I was surprised. He plopped it down and uncoiled a long extension cord.
“What’s in the box?” I asked.
“Fog machine,” he said.
I was confused. “For a bassoon solo?”
“Yeah.” Quinn nodded. “My brother said to liven it up. Make it more like a Jay-Z concert. It’s going to be epic. Fog, plus some sniper fire sound effects.”
While Quinn went to get his bassoon, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Danny?” It was Asia!
“Hey.”
“Sorry to bother you,” she whispered.
“’S okay.” I always liked having an excuse to talk to her. She was wearing a baseball jacket, rolled up jeans, and work boots.
“I’m so glad you’re doing this fund-raiser,” Asia said. “The playground renovation is a great idea. During the show, I want to give a pitch for doing more projects.”
“Sure. Okay.” I kept my voice level, but inside I was doing a fist pump. Yes!
“There’s a problem, though….”
I looked at her. I suddenly realized she was really nervous about something.
“I’ve never given a speech before,” she said. “All those people out there —” She did an exaggerated shiver. “I don’t think I can do it!”
I could sense Ty listening from a few seats over. Please don’t interrupt right now, I begged him silently. This was a unique moment — Asia asking my advice. It will never, ever happen again.
“Yes, you can,” I said in a low voice. It felt weird — me telling someone to relax onstage. “Think of it as something you’re doing for other people. It’s not about you. It’s for a bigger cause.”
Wow — where did that come from? Asia smiled, and my stomach dropped like I was on the Scrambler at Wild Wayne’s Amusement Park.
I looked over at Ty, who seemed lost in thought about something.
“Hey, Danny.” Quinn came up to me, breaking the spell. Holding his extension cord, he pointed to an electric socket on the side of the lighting board. “Okay if I plug in my fog machine here?”
Jasper wasn’t around, and I didn’t know the answer. The socket already had about five cables plugged into it. Should I try and find Jasper? Crud! I didn’t want to look un-confident in front of Asia. Putting on my Talent Show Director’s voice, I turned to Quinn.
“Sure,” I said. “Plug it in.”
About 10 seconds later, fog rolled through the auditorium, along with Bach’s Étude #4, and then —
THWOK! HISSSSS! POPPITY POP! POW!
Sparks shot up from the lighting board. Asia and I jumped back. “Fire!” someone shouted. The board crackled and popped. Did the fog machine overload the circuit?
Amundson ran around the room frantically.
Then all the lights went out.
A burly, red-haired fireman was on his walkie-talkie in the school lobby. “Yeah, we got a 731 at Gerald Ford Middle School, corner of Main and Dodge. 10-4.”
A shorter, chubby fireman with a droopy mustache came out of the auditorium. “Who’s in charge here?”
Amundson extended his arm for a handshake. “Maurice Amundson, Assistant Principal.”
“We’re putting on a talent show,” I explained. “The lighting board must have overloaded.” Guiltily, I remembered telling Quinn he could plug in his fog machine. I looked around for Asia, but didn’t see her.
“We’ll take a look,” said the red-haired fireman. “Right now, everyone stays out here.”
The performers were crowded into the lobby. We looked like some kind of crazy circus, carrying batons, tubas, rubber chickens, and a cage with a live snake.
I waved my hands. “Hey, everyone,” I said. “Right now they’re working on the lights, so we can’t finish rehearsal. But don’t worry! Everything’ll go great tonight!”
Chantal and her crew were just coming down the stairs from the science lab. “Did you just say there’s no rehearsal?” she asked. “I must have heard wrong.”
“Little problem with the lights,” I said.
“Danny.” Chantal’s eyes were blazing. “What kind of amateur operation are you running? That dressing room is NASTY. Da’Nise almost got her hair caught in the hamster wheel —”
Her crew joined in. “Uh-huh.” “Yea-ah.”
The rest of the crowd gathered around excitedly. A showdown with Chantal was way more entertaining than a talent show.
“Then some nerds barge in and say they want to talk about spiders,” Chantal continued.
The Insect Club! I forgot they held meetings in the science lab. Were two more unlikely groups ever thrown together?
“Chantal.” My voice was low. “Let’s calm down and talk about it. By ourselves.”
“I don’t care who hears!” Chantal looked around. “You promised me food, drink, and a decent place to change. What’d I get? A dressing room with frogs! Nerds barging in on me!”
“We’re not nerds,” a guy in a reindeer sweater spoke up.
“Chantal —” I tried again.
“And now there’s no rehearsal?” Chantal’s voice rose even higher. “My dancers need to practice onstage. We’ve got complicated spotlight effects, and a light show.” She shook her head in disgust. “How are we going to do that if we don’t rehearse?”
“You and I —”
“I can’t work under these conditions.” Chantal sniffed. “I QUIT!”
Holy crud.
She whipped her cape around, put her nose in the air, and walked away, followed by her entourage.
“Ooooooooooooooh,” the crowd murmured.
Jasper and I looked at each other, stunned. Then we ran after her down the hall.
“Chantal! No! Don’t leave!” I shouted.
“Can’t we talk about it?” begged Jasper.
Ignoring us, she crashed through the main double doors, flanked by an army of angry followers. Chantal loved dramatic exits.
“This is a disaster.” I stood with Jasper at the double doors, watching Chantal disappear across the lawn. “This is huge.”
“Seriously.” Jasper nodded.
Even though Chantal was a pain to deal with, we needed her in the show — desperately. Why hadn’t we remembered to get her those stupid snacks? Why hadn’t we gotten her a dressing room …?
Ty came up behind us. “Sorry about Chantal,” he said. “I mean, especially because her picture is on the poster, and all.”
Thanks for reminding us.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s lousy.”
“But you’re still going to do the show.” Ty’s eyes widened. “Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know.” I looked at Jasper. “Should we?”
“Without Chantal, it’s not much of a show,” said Jasper. “When people find out she’s not performing, they will stay home,” said Jasper. “And maybe half the cast.”
“That’s terrible.” Ty shook his head. “I wish there was something we could do.” He slipped away to the hall, pulling out his phone.
Kirby Hammer came up to us. “What’s happening with the show? I’m ready to blow some bubbles.”
“How about my monologue?” Morgan pouted.
Jasper and I waited for the firemen to come out.
Finally the double doors opened. The red-haired guy was holding a toolbox, and
the droopy mustache guy was wiping his forehead with a bandanna. They called Jasper and me over.
“This lighting board’s fried,” reported Droopy Mustache. “No way it’ll work tonight, until someone rewires it. On Monday, the school office can call an electrician.”
On Monday? But …
“Could you fix it?” I asked Droopy Mustache.
“No.” The red-haired guy jumped in. “We can’t get tied up doing favors during work hours. They need us back at the firehouse.”
“So that’s it? The show’s off?” I asked. “There’s nothing you can do?”
“Sorry, kid,” he said.
Jasper and I looked at each other. That was that. I felt a wave of sadness, thinking about the moment at rehearsal when I’d felt proud of it all, seeing the show we’d put together. Now it would probably never happen.
With his phone in his hand, Ty ran up to us.
“I solved your problem.” He held up his other hand. “High-five me.”
We turned to stare at Ty. The firemen raised their eyebrows.
“Forget Chantal.” Ty was out of breath. “You’ve got a new headliner: Skye Blue.”
“WHAT????” Jasper and I just stood there, openmouthed.
“Skye Blue says he’ll drop by the show tonight,” he said. “He’ll do a few tricks, make a special appearance, whatever you need.”
Was he serious?
“Ty. Wow.” My brain could barely absorb the news. Ty had the biggest stunt rider in the country starring in his show — and he was willing to lend him to us? “That’s amazing. But we just found out —” I looked over at the firemen. “The show’s cancelled.”
“Light board’s busted,” Jasper reported sadly.
Droopy Mustache whispered something to the red-haired fireman. The red-haired fireman whispered back.
“Did you just say … Skye Blue? The stunt bike guy on YouTube?” Droopy Mustache cocked his head.
We nodded.
“My kid loves him,” said Droopy Mustache.
“He rips it up,” agreed the red-haired fireman.
“So let me get this straight,” Droopy Mustache continued. “If someone did fix that board, Skye Blue would be here tonight?”
“Yup.” My heart leaped.
The two firemen looked at each other.
“Hand me that wrench,” said Droopy Mustache.
The firemen went back inside the auditorium, while Ty, Jasper, and I waited on a bench in the lobby. Jasper pulled out a Yoo-Hoo can, and we toasted the fireman’s son, for being a fan of Skye.
“So, Ty.” Jasper turned to him. “How did you get Skye to agree to drop by the talent show?”
“I told him it was a major fund-raiser.” Ty shrugged. “To renovate an inner city playground. I said the show was falling apart. He wanted to help.”
I rubbed my knuckles, trying to take in what Ty had done. Is he for real? I wondered. Nobody was that nice.
“Ty, that’s a great offer,” I said slowly. “Mind-boggingly great. But Green-a-palooza’s in two weeks. If kids see Skye Blue tonight, won’t that make your show less of a draw?”
“I don’t know.” Ty bit his lip. “Maybe. But — so what? They’re both good causes.”
“You would really do that for us?” I didn’t know if I’d do that for anyone. Ty’s unselfishness was unsettling. It was like he was from another planet.
Ty looked at the ground. “It’s funny,” he said. “I actually kind of got the idea from … you.”
“From me?” This was getting weirder and weirder.
“Yeah. I heard you talking to Asia,” he said. “Telling her she should relax about her speech. That it wasn’t about her; it was for something bigger.”
Jasper rolled his eyes.
“When Chantal quit,” Ty continued, “I thought I could help out.”
I looked at him. My stomach suddenly felt hollow, and my mouth went dry. A strange, terrible thought ran through me like a shiver:
Maybe I’d misjudged this guy.
Sure, Ty could be a pill sometimes. But now he had done the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me, and I was going to pay him back … how?
By setting him up to be a laughingstock.
Crud.
Crud.
Triple crud. “Hey, Mr. Producer!”
The main doors opened again and the firemen came out. Droopy Mustache was holding a wrench.
“Just want you to know.” He was out of breath. “We’re still working on the lights. But I can say this….”
His smile made my chest sink.
“The show is definitely on!”
I sighed.
“That’s great news,” I said glumly.
Jasper and I were backstage, sitting on a trunk marked PROPS. It was six o’clock and we could hear the firemen in the auditorium, working on the lighting board.
“You know we can’t let Ty go on tonight,” I said.
Jasper sighed. “I know.”
For a moment, we were both quiet.
“I couldn’t believe it when he offered to give us Skye,” said Jasper. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
So Jasper felt ashamed too.
“You saw the reaction to his rap in rehearsal,” I said. “And that was only singing a couple lines.”
“Yeah.” Jasper shifted. “Everybody kept saying ‘what’s wrong with that guy?’”
“He’s saving our butts,” I said. “We’ve got to save his.”
“Well.” Jasper scratched his head. “We could tell him the truth.”
The truth?
“I don’t know.” I shook my head.
Jasper shrugged. “Something like, ‘Honestly, Ty — I don’t think rapping is your thing.’”
“Jasper, it’s not that simple,” I said. “If we tell him his rapping is lousy now, he’ll know we lied to him before.”
I imagined myself in Ty’s shoes. What if I’d showed someone my secret pastime, and he urged me to share it with the world? How would I feel later, finding out he’d plotted against me?
“He’d be really, really hurt,” I continued. Thinking about it, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
“Okay. Well,” said Jasper. “Got any other ideas?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Cancel the show.”
“WHAT?” Jasper’s neck snapped up. “After everything we went through today, you want to tell people the show’s off? What reason would we give?”
“I dunno,” I said miserably. “We could invent something.”
Jasper was quiet again. “I think you should be honest with Ty,” he said, shaking his head. “If you want to try to get the show cancelled, I’m not going to stop you. But I’m not going to help, either.”
I didn’t know how to cancel the show. But I knew how to make someone else cancel it.
The light in Principal Kulbarsh’s office was on.
He was a man of strong convictions. As I walked toward his door, I tried to think about things that made his nostrils twitch in anger.
* TOP FIVE BELIEFS OF PRINCIPAL KULBARSH
1. Pants shouldn’t be worn below the butt.
2. No pierced belly buttons
3. “Chillax” isn’t a real word
4. Students with 107 degree temperatures are faking, or dead.
5. It’s not a vacation if you don’t have homework.
He also believed in Setting an Example. When 12 dollars went missing from the Spring Carnival cash box, he wouldn’t let the event start until the money was found. Everyone was relieved when Kiki DeFranco admitted she swiped it, and the relay races could begin.
When I got closer to the door, I heard a strange, high-pitched trilling. “Odel-Ay, Odel-Ay, Odel-Ay-EEEE-Oooo.”
I waited for a break in the noise and then knocked.
“Come in,” Kulbarsh called out. When I walked in, I wasn’t prepared for the outfit he was wearing.
“Dr. Kulbarsh,” I began. “There’s … a thief on the loose!”
“Excuse
me?” he asked.
“Seventeen dollars is missing,” I said. “From the Discretionary Expense Fund!”
The “thief” was me. I had taken 17 dollars to buy Chantal snacks, and had already gotten permission for it. But technically, the money was “missing” until I produced a receipt.
“I see.” The principal frowned.
“We should stop the show,” I said. “Until the thief comes forward. You know, like at Spring Carnival.”
Kulbarsh stood up and walked around his desk. “That is a terrible, terrible crime,” he said slowly. “And punishment will be duly meted out …”
Yes!
He locked eyes with mine.
“… right after my performance tonight.”
Wait a minute. What?
Kulbarsh opened the door for me.
“It’s my day off, and I came to school to yodel,” said the principal, lifting his chin. “And yodel is what I intend to do. We’ll deal with the thief on Monday.”
His inconsistency was infuriating. I walked away, hearing his falsetto drift down the hall.
“Odel-Ay, Odel-Ay, Odel-Ay-EEEE-Oooo!”
Q. What’s the only thing harder than putting on a talent show?
A. Cancelling one.
As I left Kulbarsh’s office, I tried to think of more ideas. In the lobby, I stopped the school security guard, Mr. Robinson.
“What if I told you …” I paused and leaned on his desk. “That there might be a snake running around school?”
Mr. Robinson put down his newspaper. “Snake?”
“Becca Loomis brought it in for the show,” I said. As far as I knew, it was safe backstage, but I could undo the latch on its carrier.
“You mean Pretzel?” Mr. Robinson laughed. “Chill, son. Milk snakes are harmless.”
Another dead end.
I shot back to the auditorium, even more frantic. The firemen were gone. Inspecting the newly fixed lighting board, I had an evil idea: