He decided against calling.
Midmorning he made himself ask his mother if he could go to Ethan’s house. “He asked me yesterday if I could sleep over.”
She hesitated.
“I won’t watch any TV while I’m there, if you don’t want me to.”
His mother sighed. “Oh, honey, that’s not the issue. Of course you can go, and if Ethan’s family is watching TV, you can watch it with them. I really don’t want to be an evil ogre here. It’s just that cartoons are such a waste of time. They’re a complete and utter waste of time. I want you to use your time better than that this summer. And I think turning off the TV here at home is going to help.”
She brushed back his hair from his eyes. At least she didn’t seem mad anymore.
“You’re not mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you,” she said, with an attempt at a smile.
But he knew that even if she wasn’t angry at him, she wasn’t happy with him, either. By now Julius thought he understood how his mother’s mind worked. When she was upset about one thing, it acted as a magnet in her mind for all the other things she had ever been upset about. So he was sure she was walking around thinking: My son likes TV better than reading. My son got three C’s on his last report card. My son got nothing at the sixth-grade awards assembly.
* * *
Sunday evening, back at home, he remembered to make up his goals list for the coming week. Needless to say, he hadn’t made much progress on A Tale of Two Cities at Ethan’s house, though he had taken the book along with him. Still, carrying it around wasn’t the same thing as actually reading it.
Reviewing his other goals: Julius had made some progress on toilet-training Edison, though so far nothing had been deposited in the potty besides cars and pinecones and sand. He hadn’t humiliated himself a single time in French class, if you didn’t count missing half of the class-trip lunch as humiliating. And he had had money with him when he invited Octavia to have ice cream in Denver. The week wasn’t a total loss.
Goals for the Week of June 30–July 6
1. Get Edison to make pee-pee in the potty. Or at least to try.
2. Cheer up Octavia. If she still needs cheering up. And if she’ll let you be the one to cheer her.
3. Keep up the good work in French class (ha ha).
4. Read Chapter 1 of A Tale of Two Cities. Read it or die!
On Monday morning Alex was quieter than usual. He must have minded missing the class trip more than he’d let on. He spent the first half of the morning staring down at his desk instead of spouting his usual wise-cracks.
At the break, he became more himself again, coming up to Julius to say, “I hear the Cow had a cow on the dumb class trip. Give me five, man.” Alex held up his hand; reluctantly, Julius high-fived him. You couldn’t leave somebody’s hand up there in the air, waiting for nothing.
“It wasn’t like that,” Julius said then. “I didn’t mean to upset anybody. I just saw this friend I had to talk to.”
“Yeah, yeah, but first the Lizard gives the Cow the slip, then you.”
But Madame Cowper hadn’t seemed all that flustered after either incident on the trip. The class trip from hell, Julius knew, would have been one with Alex Ryan on it.
And this morning Madame Cowper seemed positively exuberant. “Il est temps, mes amis, it is time, my friends, for us to plan la présentation spéciale, the special presentation, which we will give to your families and friends on the last day of class, a week from this Friday.”
Was the last day of class coming so soon? Julius had the surprising thought that he would almost miss French class, miss the sight of Madame Cowper adjusting her funny-looking glasses. Since the class trip, when she had been so understanding, Julius had begun to forgive her for the private tutorial in le Hokey Pokey.
“So,” Madame Cowper went on, “we will sing for your families, yes? And show them our collection of French paintings? And dance le Hokey Pokey. And we will give a performance together of Cendrillon.”
Julius didn’t recognize the name.
“You know it, I believe, as Cinderella.”
Cinderella! Seventh graders acting out Cinderella! The last time they had acted out a fairy tale, Julius remembered, was when they did Thumbelina back in second grade. Lizzie was Thumbelina because she was then, as now, the shortest girl in the class.
Apparently oblivious to the horrified silence that had fallen over the room, Madame Cowper began handing out copies of the French script for Cendrillon.
“Now, as Cendrillon has beaucoup de lines à dire, to speak, we must choose a Cendrillon who has shown herself an outstanding pupil of French, n’est-ce pas? Is it not so? Mademoiselle Archer, you will be our Cendrillon.”
Lizzie flushed with pleasure. At the compliment? Or at the thought of starring in the play?
“Now we must choose our prince,” Madame Cowper went on.
Julius shrank back in his seat to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. He knew that every other boy in the class was doing the same.
As Madame Cowper’s beady eyes surveyed the room for possible princes, Alex called out nastily, “How about Ethan? He’d make a great prince. He and Lizzie are both short, and besides…” He let his voice trail off meaningfully. It was clear that he meant to say they liked each other. Alex had been merciless in teasing Ethan about Lizzie’s crush on him last winter.
“Monsieur Winfield,” Madame Cowper said approvingly, “will you serve as our prince?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Julius would have defined true misery as the look on Ethan’s face when he heard his fate.
Marcia was chosen as the wicked stepmother. Two other girls volunteered to be wicked stepsisters. A pretty girl named Alison was the natural choice as fairy godmother. Julius felt lucky that there were so many more major speaking parts for girls than for boys in Cinderella.
“Now we need a rat who will turn into a coachman.”
Julius shrank back again, but not far enough, for Madame Cowper said, “Monsieur Zimmerman, will you be our rat?”
At least the rat would have few, if any, lines to speak, unlike the royal trumpeter, who had more lines to speak than any boy except the prince. That part went to a tall kid named Joey. Alex was picked to be one of the mice who became horses. Other boys became pages at the royal court.
As they began laboriously reading through the play, Julius suddenly thought of Octavia. He and Ethan hated being in plays, but Octavia loved it. Or had loved it. Was she really through with acting? She couldn’t be. If only he could find some way to make her see that. The question was: How?
12
By Wednesday, Julius was getting worried. He hadn’t caught even a glimpse of Octavia since last Friday’s encounter in Denver. He sat on Edison’s wooden swing, gazing gloomily at the potty, which that afternoon was filled with erasers. Edison loved erasers, though he didn’t use them to erase anything. He just liked clutching them, and lining them up in rows, and, now, putting them in a white plastic potty and then taking them out again.
Julius and Edison were at a stalemate regarding pee-pee in the potty. So far that week they’d had the same conversation about it every day.
“Say ‘Pee-pee is wee-wee,’” Edison would demand.
“I’ll say it when you make some pee-pee in the potty,” Julius would reply.
“No!” Edison would shout.
And Julius would turn away, trying to act as if he didn’t care what Edison decided, either way.
Maybe he should call Octavia. Or knock at her door. It would be so easy to walk next door with Edison and ring her doorbell. Edison could even push the button for him. Little kids loved pushing buttons.
No, there was nothing at all hard about it. Except taking the first step. And the next step. And the step after that.
“I have to make wee-wee,” Edison announced suddenly. Julius leaped up as if stung by a bee. Edison had never made an announcement about his pee-pee/wee-wee before. He had just mad
e it, with no preliminary discussion.
In one swift motion, Julius scooped the erasers out of the potty. “Here?” he asked, his voice practically squeaking from excitement. “Do you want to make it in the potty?”
Maybe he shouldn’t ask it as a question. “Here,” he said, forcing his voice lower. “You can make it in your potty.”
Edison looked at the potty uncertainly.
“Let’s take off your diaper,” Julius suggested. Edison could hardly make pee-pee in his potty while he still had his diaper on.
Julius was kneeling down beside Edison to help him undo the sticky flaps on his diaper when Edison said, “I don’t have to go anymore.”
“Sure you do.”
“No I don’t.”
“You will in another minute.”
“No I won’t. My wee-wee already came out.” Julius groaned. “In my diaper.”
More disappointed than he had thought he would be, Julius resumed his seat on the swing. He made a mental note to tell Mrs. Blue to buy Edison those diapers that pulled up and down like underpants. How did any kid in the history of the world ever get toilet-trained when toilet training was so hard?
How did anybody ever do anything when life was so hard? Julius’s mother was still upset with him. She hadn’t made any more critical or nagging comments since Saturday; she hadn’t even asked him about A Tale of Two Cities, which he still hadn’t managed to start reading. But the way she wasn’t saying anything gave Julius the distinct impression that his mother had given up on him.
His mother had given up on him, Octavia had given up on acting, Julius was close to giving up on potty-training Edison. The only person who hadn’t given up on her projects was Lizzie. During rehearsals, when Cendrillon gazed adoringly at her prince at the ball, it wasn’t acting on Lizzie’s part, that was for sure.
Lizzie actually made a pretty good Cinderella. She didn’t have Octavia’s talent for acting, but she was great at memorizing lines. And being picked on by stepmother Marcia and being in love with prince Ethan both came naturally to Lizzie.
The biggest problem with the play right now was Ethan. The problem, to put it bluntly, was that Ethan couldn’t act. At all. To save his life. Especially not when he had to act as if he were in love with Lizzie Archer. During rehearsals Ethan forced out his lines as if they were being extracted by torture.
At that moment Julius had the best idea he had had in a long time. What Ethan needed was acting lessons. And the person he needed them from was Octavia.
Was she home? Julius whisked up Edison, whose diaper had the aroma of pee-pee/wee-wee about it, and hurried inside to the phone. From his weekend debates over whether or not to call her, he already knew Octavia’s number by heart.
She answered on the second ring. Cowardice overcame Julius. He hung up. But at least he knew she was home.
He called Ethan.
“What’s up?” Ethan asked, sounding nervous.
“Nothing,” Julius said reassuringly.
“Nothing?” Ethan’s voice cracked with relief. “Aren’t you at Edison’s?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I thought you might want to come over.” He’d better not mention the play. “Just to hang out for a while.”
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
No, he was sure it wasn’t okay. Mrs. Blue had told him distinctly that he wasn’t supposed to have friends over while he was babysitting. But she hadn’t told him he wasn’t supposed to go to a friend’s house while he was babysitting.
“Actually, we’ll come over there.”
“Over here? With Edison? You’re coming here?”
“Yeah. And … I’m bringing another friend, too. See you in ten.” And Julius hung up.
Now he had a reason to ring Octavia’s doorbell. Or, rather, to let Edison ring it. Five times.
“Oh, it’s you,” Octavia said ungraciously when she answered it. But Julius almost thought she looked happy to see him. He was certainly happy to see her. She didn’t look heartbroken or distraught, or in any way like someone who had shut herself off from the world forever.
“Would you do me a favor?” Julius asked, hoping he would have the nerve to finish the request.
“It depends on what it is.”
“You know that French class I’m taking? Well, we’re putting on a play, and…”
He saw Octavia’s face harden. “And?”
Julius made himself continue. “It’s Cinderella. Only they’re calling it Cendrillon.”
“You’re Prince Charming.”
He knew he blushed then. “No, I’m the rat who turns into a footman, but my friend Ethan is Prince Charming, only he’s not very charming. Partly because in real life Cinderella is in love with him, and in real life he’s not in love with Cinderella. Oh, and in real life she’s not Cinderella, she’s Lizzie. Edison, you can stop ringing the doorbell now.”
“And the favor is?”
“I think he needs acting lessons. Edison, that’s enough.”
“From me.”
Julius tried to offer a dazzling smile. “Who better?”
“‘Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.’ Is that the idea? I can’t act, so I can teach?”
Leave it to Octavia to twist everything around. “No! That’s not the idea. Edison, stop it! The idea is—” He broke off. He could hear the incessant ding-dong of the doorbell echoing through Octavia’s house. He was certainly glad her parents weren’t home.
“The idea is to butter me up and make me believe in myself as an actress again.” Octavia’s voice was weary now, instead of angry. “Nice try, Julius.”
“No! Or, rather, yes, but—anyway, Ethan really does need help. If the prince stinks, the whole play stinks. Couldn’t you give him a couple of pointers?”
“When?”
“Now.”
Octavia suddenly smiled. “Ice cream afterward?”
Julius felt in his pocket; yes, he had enough money. “Ice cream afterward,” he agreed.
Julius pried Edison away from Octavia’s doorbell and ignored the howls as he strapped him into the stroller. They were off. Now all Julius had to do was explain to Ethan why he had shown up at his door accompanied by an acting coach who happened to be a gorgeous middle-school girl. But the hardest part was behind him.
* * *
They found Ethan shooting baskets in his driveway. Edison’s eyes widened when he saw Ethan. “Your mommy is Patty,” he said.
Ethan’s eyes widened when he saw Octavia. He didn’t say anything.
Julius figured he might as well jump in. “This is Octavia. Octavia, Ethan. Octavia is an actress. A really terrific actress. And I thought maybe she could…” It was getting hard to finish the sentence. Julius deliberately avoided Ethan’s eyes. “Maybe she could give us some help getting ready for the play.”
The us was a nice touch. Julius didn’t need any help being a rat who turned into a coachman. A rat was just a rat. A coachman was just a coachman. He had only two lines to speak, total.
“Um … sure,” Ethan said slowly. Julius kept his eyes elsewhere while Ethan led them around to the backyard.
Octavia broke the awkward silence. “Okay. Julius. Let’s start with you.”
Julius felt alarmed. He had said “us,” but he hadn’t meant “us.”
“Actually,” Julius said, “I only have two lines to speak. The rest of the time I don’t say anything.”
“That’s the hardest kind of acting,” Octavia told him. “Mime. All your thoughts and emotions portrayed without words.”
“I don’t think my characters have any thoughts and emotions.”
“Julius. I thought you brought me over to help you. Do you want my help or not?”
He had brought Octavia over to help Ethan—and to help her. But if Octavia was bent on helping him, he didn’t see any way out of it.
“Yes,” he said meekly. “I want your help.”
He unstrapped Edison from the stroller. Edison immediately began picking the gone-to-s
eed dandelions next to Ethan’s patio and blowing the wispy seeds, with all the breath he could muster, all over the next-door neighbor’s immaculate, manicured lawn.
“I’m ready,” Julius said.
“You are a rat,” Octavia said, fixing her eyes on him. “You have whiskers, and a long tail, and sleek gray fur, and a bad disposition.”
Julius stood there, waiting for Octavia to say more.
“Show me,” Octavia said. “I see Julius Zimmerman. I want to see a rat. Whiskers, tail, fur, general disagreeableness.”
Ethan chuckled. Julius would get him for that later.
“Um—am I … should I be on all fours?”
“How many rats do you know who walk on two legs?”
Cursing his long, awkward legs, Julius got down on all fours. He would take the Hokey Pokey over this any day.
“Your tail, Julius. Where’s your tail?”
Feebly, Julius twitched his rear end.
“Whiskers.”
Feeling the crimson surge into his face, Julius made an attempt at twitching his nose.
“That’s better. Good! Now look furtive.”
Julius wasn’t sure what the word meant.
“Sly. Sneaky. Used to darting behind the woodwork. Knowing that Cinderella’s stepmother will throw a shoe at you if she sees you. Looking for treasures to steal. Willing to bite if cornered.”
Julius tried to put an expression on his red, twitching face that would convey all those things. He didn’t need Octavia to tell him that he failed miserably. He didn’t need Ethan to tell him that he looked ridiculous.
“I’ll show you.” Octavia flung herself down on all fours. Before Julius’s eyes, she became a rat. How she did it, Julius didn’t know, but he saw her long, thin tail and quivering whiskers and beady eyes. As Julius and Ethan stared, Octavia constructed an elaborate pantomime, sniffing about for food, darting behind one of Ethan’s bushes at an imagined sound, greedily snatching up a stray morsel of cheese and devouring it with her sharp rodent’s teeth.
You're a Brave Man, Julius Zimmerman Page 8
