by Mary Amato
“What news?” he asked.
I danced around the room. “Ben & Bree are coming to the Hamil Theater this Saturday! Going to a concert would put so much pep in my step, and I know you love that. Can I please go? Please? Please?”
My dad smiled. “I saw an ad for that in the newspaper,” he said. “I know you like them, but the tickets cost too much. Sorry, Lucy.”
The pep in my step went kerplop.
I’ve heard that money is the roof of all evil. I’m not sure what that means. I just wish everything was free.
I stomped into the kitchen. Not a good beginning, but it wasn’t over yet. My dad always said McGees have grit, which means we don’t quit. I would show him!
On the kitchen table was the newspaper. There, on the second page, was an ad for the big Ben & Bree concert. Next to the ad was an article about all the reasons why adding vegetables to your diet makes you healthier. It was written by an expert.
That gave me an idea.
I grabbed my notebook and wrote my own article, and then I taped it into the newspaper. By the time I went back into the living room, Leo was asleep and my dad had his eyes closed.
“Dad,” I whispered. “There’s an interesting article in the newspaper. Can I read it to you?”
My dad opened his eyes. “Sure, Lucy.”
I read my article, only I didn’t say it was my article.
TOP THREE WAYS TO BE THE BEST PARENT
If you want to be the greatest dad or mom, here are three things that experts say you can do:
1. Buy your child a ticket to see a wonderful music show. Music is good for children and good for the world. If your child asks you for a ticket, that’s even better. Just think, you could have a kid who wants money to buy junk food. Instead, you have a good kid who wants to hear her favorite act. So pat yourself on the back and buy that ticket!
2. Being the best parent means being cool. How do you get cool? The coolest parents take their kids to music shows. If you do this, everybody will think you’re cool even though you wear clothes that make you look old and funny sometimes.
3. Be full of surprises! Let’s say your daughter’s birthday isn’t for a while. Surprise her by getting her a birthday present right now. Wow! That would make you the best parent ever.
I closed the newspaper. “What do you think?”
“I read the paper today,” my dad said. “I must have missed that article.”
“I thought it had some good advice,” I said.
He smiled. “Lucy, that was very creative. But I’m still not going to get you a ticket.”
I stomped off to my room and sat on my pillow in my closet. If you know me, you know that I do some of my best thinking in my closet. And some of my best writing.
Dear Dad,
You’re always telling me to “think before I leap,” but I feel like you’re leaping to NO without thinking at all. Have you thought about the terrible things that will happen if you DON’T get me a ticket to the Ben & Bree Show?
1. If you don’t, I will cry so much my face will be red and puffy and I will no longer be a cute daughter, and every time you look at my face, you will be sad and embarrassed.
2. If you don’t, you will feel guilty because many, many other parents are saying yes, and everyone will know you’re cheap.
Please think about these things and let me know when you’re ready to talk.
Your good daughter,
Lucy
I folded the letter in half. Usually Leo delivers my letters for me. He pretends he is an owl and grabs them in his beak. I missed Owl Leo. Turtle Leo isn’t as useful. I gave my dad my letter, ran back into my closet, and made up a new song. It went like this:
Please, please, please, please, please, please, please.
Please, please, please, please, please.
With sugar on top.
Chapter Six
MEMORIES OF BEES AND A HUG FOR ME
“Knock, knock.” My dad’s voice came through my closet door.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
“Dad,” he said.
“The kind of dad who makes dreams come true?” I asked, crossing my fingers.
He opened the door, holding Lily in his arms. Lily had a sleepy after-nap look, and she was sucking on her pacifier.
“Lucy, come on out,” my dad said. “Let’s talk.”
Thud. That was the sound of my heart falling down. “Let’s talk” is not good news. Parents don’t say “let’s talk” before they give you what you want.
I crawled out of the closet, sat on my bed, and hugged my pillow. He pulled up my desk chair and sat in it with Lily. “Lucy, here’s why I’m still saying no. First of all—”
“But—”
“Let me finish. First of all, threats don’t work. You can cry all you want, and it’s not going to make any difference. That doesn’t make me a bad parent, and it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Second, I don’t care what other parents do. Third, no means no. So that means no more begging. Do you get it?”
I looked at the pillow in my lap.
“And don’t ask Mom when she comes home,” my dad said. “No from either of us means no. Do you remember what happened when you kept begging for a puppy?”
How could I forget? They told me that I had to stop begging, and I got mad at them and stomped outside in the backyard and plopped on the ground, except I landed on a bee! Ouch!
“Are we good?” my dad asked.
I didn’t move.
My dad pulled away the pillow. “Lucy, say something. I can’t have two turtles in the house.”
Lily took her pacifier out of her mouth and pointed it at me and said, “No Tutta.”
I felt a song coming on. I sang:
I’m sad and squashed like a poor, ugly bug.
What I need right now is an itty-bitty hug.
My dad smiled. Lily crawled out of my dad’s arms and gave me a hug. Her little body was warm and smelled like peanut butter and sleep.
When nothing is going your way and your heart has fallen onto the floor with a thud, there’s one thing that can make you feel at least a little lucky: a hug.
I hugged her back. She put her face really close to mine and looked at me with big serious eyes like she was trying to understand how I felt. And then she took out her pacifier and tried to put it in my mouth.
My dad and I both laughed. “No thanks, Lily,” I said. “But it’s nice of you to want to share.”
Chapter Seven
CRUNCH FOR LUNCH?
It took all my strength, but when my mom came home from work last night, I did not ask her for tickets. I knew that begging would send my dad exploding through the roof of all evil.
I think he appreciated me because guess what he put in my lunch this morning?
Potato chips!
I was still sad that I wasn’t going to the concert. And I was still worried about the missing ukulele. But on the way to school, a thought popped into my head. Maybe, just maybe, one of the other kids would get tickets and invite me. There were ten people in our Songwriting Club. That meant I had a one-in-ten chance of getting a ticket.
Phillip was waiting for me by the fence. His back was to me, so I couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad.
Please be happy. Please be happy. Please be happy.
I ran up, and he turned around. He looked like a sad puppy.
“No luck?” I guessed.
“Too expensive,” Phillip said.
Resa came running up.
“Is your mom letting you go?” I asked her.
“She said yes,” Resa said.
“What?” I started jumping up and down.
She rolled her eyes. “She said yes, I can go when I’m a teenager. What about you?”
I
stopped jumping. “My dad said no.”
We heard a squeal. Scarlett was running toward us.
“I got tickets!” she said.
Victoria and Mara heard her and ran over, too.
Scarlett danced around, and I started dancing, too. She said “tickets,” not “ticket.” This was good news!
“My mom said the show was very expensive, but she knew how much I wanted to go.”
“How many tickets did you get?” I asked.
“Four,” she said. “One for me. One for my mom. One for my sister, Brandy. And one extra—because my dad said he doesn’t want to go. My mom said I can pick somebody from my class to go with me.”
I dropped to my knees. “Please take me, Scarlett! Please. Please. Please.”
“What about me?” Victoria asked.
“I’m the one who told everybody about the show,” Phillip said.
Resa coughed. “You have to give it to me, Scarlett. I’m dying, and this is my last wish.”
“Ha ha,” Scarlett said.
“If I get picked and win the uke,” I said, “I promise I’ll share it with everybody.”
“I don’t care about the uke,” Phillip said. “I just want to see them play.”
“Everybody wants the ticket,” Resa said. “This could get ugly.”
Scarlett looked at all of us and smiled. It wasn’t exactly a nice smile. It was more like the kind of smile a queen would give when she knows everybody wants to try on her crown. Then she said, “Giving away a ticket to one of you would be a very nice thing for me to do, so whoever really wants the ticket will probably want to do something very nice for me.”
Victoria reached into her backpack and pulled out a glitter pen. “Here, Scarlett. I know you like these.”
“Thank you, Victoria! I do like glitter pens.”
Mara pulled off her bracelet. “Here, Scarlett. I know you like bracelets.”
Scarlett put it on.
“Oh brother,” Phillip said. “I can’t win.”
I checked my backpack. Besides homework, all I had was a dirty tissue, an empty candy wrapper, and my lunch. No way I was giving my potato chips to Scarlett.
Phillip tapped me. “Let’s go see if anybody else from the Songwriting Club got tickets.”
“I’m coming,” Resa said.
The three of us ran over to where the fifth graders were lining up. Pablo, Natalie, and Saki all said no luck. We found Riley and asked him. His parents had said no way.
“This is horrible,” Phillip said. “We have to bribe Scarlett. But she probably won’t pick us anyway.”
He and Resa started looking through their backpacks to see what they could give Scarlett. I looked at my lunch again.
The bell rang for school to start. As we were walking in, I said, “Scarlett, I have something for you.”
And then I gave her my potato chips. My salty, crunchy, lovely potato chips.
“A crunch for your lunch,” I said.
Not even the rhyme cheered me up.
Chapter Eight
THE PRICE OF BEING NICE
On the way to the classroom, Mara carried Scarlett’s backpack for her.
“I’m thirsty,” Scarlett said, and when she stopped for a drink, Victoria turned on the drinking fountain.
As soon as we got to the classroom, Phillip rolled his eyes and said, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Then he handed his brand-new pencil to Scarlett. Phillip loves new pencils.
“If you can’t beat them, join them,” Resa said. And then she added, “Let me sharpen that for you, Scarlett,” and she grabbed the pencil and ran over to the sharpener.
Scarlett sat at her desk and said, “I think I have a little dirt on my shoe.”
Mara ran to the tissue box, and Victoria raced to the paper towel holder. And then they both polished Scarlett’s pretty pink shoes.
“This is fun,” Scarlett said. “You know what? I have cage cleaning duty this week, and I hate that.”
“I’ll do it for you!” I ran over to Mr. Chomper’s cage. Mr. Chomper is the hamster who lives in our classroom. When Mrs. Brock first got him, Resa brought in a dollhouse toilet to put in his cage, but Mr. Chomper still goes wherever he wants to go. We all like Mr. Chomper, but nobody likes cleaning his cage.
“Lucy,” Mrs. Brock said. “Isn’t it Scarlett’s job this week?”
“Yes,” I said. “But I’m doing it. It’s just something nice I want to do for Scarlett.” I looked back at Scarlett and smiled.
After the morning routine, Mrs. Brock told us to get out our math books.
“I forgot mine,” Scarlett whispered.
When one of us forgets a book, Mrs. Brock allows us to borrow one of hers from the shelf. So Victoria, Mara, Resa, Phillip, and I jumped up and ran to get a book for Scarlett, and…BAM! We all crashed into each other. Victoria and Mara knocked heads. Phillip fell down. And I tripped over Resa and landed in Jeremy Bing’s lap!
“What is going on?” Mrs. Brock exclaimed.
I jumped up.
Jeremy was speechless.
The other kids in our class started laughing.
“Sorry, Mrs. Brock,” Victoria said quickly. “I just wanted to get a book for Scarlett.”
“My friends were all just trying to be nice to me,” Scarlett said.
Mrs. Brock gave us that look. “I’m sure Scarlett is able to get her own book. Everybody sit down and get to work.”
I was kind of happy about getting to work. Being nice to Scarlett was way harder than math. Then came lunch, which was terrible because I had to watch Scarlett crunch every single one of my crispy-wispy potato chips.
Finally, recess came. Phillip, Resa, and I wanted to play a game called Steam Run. But Victoria and Mara kept doing nice things for Scarlett, and it was driving us crazy. We wanted to have recess, but we didn’t want to lose our chance at getting picked by Scarlett.
“Scarlett,” Phillip said, “Please pick somebody so we can all get on with our lives.”
Scarlett thought for a minute. Then her eyes lit up. “Let’s have a contest. Whoever wins gets my extra ticket.”
“What’s the contest about?” Victoria said.
“Handstands!” Resa said, and she dove into a handstand. She can walk on her hands for ten seconds.
“Juggling!” Phillip said. He picked up three pinecones and started to juggle.
Oh no! I didn’t have a trick. I was starting to panic when Scarlett said something sweeeeet.
“The prize is a music ticket, so the contest should be about music,” she said. “I’ll give everybody one minute to write a song. Whoever’s song is the best wins.”
I started jumping up and down. “I love writing songs!”
“One minute isn’t enough time to write a whole song,” Victoria said.
“Write a short song,” Scarlett said. “I’ll count backwards from sixty to one. Go!”
“Not fair!” Resa said. “Give us time to think.”
“Sixty…Fifty-nine…” Scarlett counted. “Fifty-eight…”
I needed peace and quiet. I ran behind a tree. Think. Think. Think.
Chapter Nine
MY CRAZY BRAIN STRIKES AGAIN
“Can the song be about anything?” I heard Mara ask.
“Yes,” Scarlett said.
As Scarlett continued counting down, my thoughts started arguing with each other. It was like I had two brains in my head, and they were fighting.
You have to win this contest. Write a song now, Lucy!
—Be quiet! I’m trying to think of an idea!
How about a song about school?
—Boring!
A song about Mr. Chomper?
—Worse.
How about a song about Scarlett counting down?
—Be serious
! This is your big chance.
You come up with an idea!
—Okay, how about a song about dirt?
Oh. Lovely.
—You’re wasting time, Lucy! Just pick an idea and go with it.
I would if you would be quiet.
—Me? You’re the one making all the noise.
“Time’s up!” Scarlett said.
Sixty seconds had flown by. I was doomed.
Scarlett sat on the picnic table like it was a throne and held out her arms and said, “Let the songs begin! Victoria, you can start.”
Victoria got a look on her face that made me think she’d had trouble writing her song, too. “I wanted to make a longer song,” she said. “But a fly kept bugging me, and I couldn’t concentrate.” And then she sang:
Scarlett is my best friend.
She’s pretty and she isn’t twitty.
Scarlett. Scarlett. Scarlett.
Scarlett. Scarlett. Scarlett.
Scarlett clapped. “That was beautiful.
Who’s next?”
Mara sang:
Everyone loves Scarlett.
She’s a girl who is so nice.
Everyone loves Scarlett.
Even little mice.
“Aw,” Scarlett said. “That’s cute. Thanks, Mara.”
I should have written a song about Scarlett. I didn’t like their songs, but Scarlett did. Victoria and Mara were smart.
“Who’s next?” Scarlett asked.
Resa stood up. “I’ll go next. I didn’t write about you, Scarlett. I wrote about a bird.”
