Play It Again

by Laura Dower

  “Thanks, Mr. Gibbons,” Madison replied sheepishly. She was pleased that at least her stage manager duties were working out. She wished doing good prop work would translate into an automatic A on all of Mr. Gibbons’s English assignments. That would be something else.

  “Gotcha!” Aimee shrieked as she came up behind Madison during the rehearsal break.

  Madison nearly leaped out of her sneakers.

  Aimee threw her arms around Madison’s waist. “Where have you been?”

  “Where have you been?” Madison asked.

  “Me? You’re the one who’s so busy, you can’t call me.” Aimee poked at Madison’s side. “I wanted to play you that song again from my new CD. It is so awesome, I can’t stop listening to it.”

  “You called? When?” Madison asked.

  “Last night. Before I walked the dog.”

  “But—”

  “I left a message with your mom, but she said you were busy. I wanted to see if you wanted to walk Phinnie, too.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah!” Aimee was dancing around while she talked.

  “I didn’t get any message,” Madison said.

  “What? Did you think I blew you off or something?”

  “No. Of course not.” Madison paused.

  “So what else is new?” Aimee asked, twirling around.

  “I heard you doing that duet with Ivy yesterday.”

  “Oh yeah? What did you think? Pretty good, huh? Mrs. Montefiore is a big pain, but you know what? Ivy has a good voice, so it’s actually working out,” Aimee seemed pleased by the whole thing.

  “Are we talking about the same Ivy? Poison Ivy?”

  “Yeah, Poison Ivy. But she’s really not so bad as far as the show goes. You know, when we’re singing. She has a high voice. We were practicing today together during lunch.”

  “Oh?” Madison looked up at Aimee. “You had lunch with Ivy? Alone?”

  “No,” Aimee said. “Fiona was there.”

  “I wondered where you guys went.”

  Suddenly Aimee saw the sad, left-out look on Madison’s face.

  “I’m sorry,” Aimee said. “I should have told you. I forgot. Things are busy since The Wiz….”

  “You really had lunch with Ivy?” Madison said for a second time.

  “It’s just ’cause of the play, Maddie. We’re in the play. You know how it is.”

  Madison realized she didn’t know how it was.

  From across the auditorium, Mrs. Montefiore and Ivy motioned for Aimee to go over to the piano. Everyone was standing there: Egg, Hart, Fiona, Lindsay …

  Everyone.

  “Why don’t you come over too, Maddie?” Aimee said.

  Madison thought about it. If she went over to the piano, she’d be right there, crammed together with all the other seventh-grade singers, even Poison Ivy. Maybe around that crowded piano, she’d really and truly feel like a part of the cast.

  Madison put down her stage manager clipboard and started to walk over.

  “Uh, Madison,” Mr. Gibbons called out. “I need you to run down to the basement and get me some small props. Here’s the list. Can you do that for me, please?”

  “Right now?” Madison asked.

  “Of course. We need to do a little set painting later on, and I want to get things ready. Just ask Mr. Boggs for the key to the basement space. He’ll help you.”

  “But I have to—” Madison started to say, looking over at the piano. Mrs. Montefiore had already started to play.

  “Maybe Drew can help you,” Mr. Gibbons suggested. “He’s up working on the lighting board.”

  “Forget it,” Madison said, walking out of the auditorium. “Just forget it. I’ll be fine by myself.”

  She turned around once at the auditorium doors to look back and see everyone singing at the piano.

  Not even Aimee seemed to notice she had gone.

  Chapter 7

  The Wiz

  Rude Awakening: Why do they call it a play when it’s so much work?

  Friday Mr. Gibbons made me go into the hideous dark dungeon that is our school basement. It was like walking into a bad movie. Mr. Boggs, the janitor, wasn’t around, so I started looking through boxes on my own.

  BIG mistake.

  There was a spiderweb near the boiler room that was bigger than my head.

  Now, I love animals of all kinds and I don’t really mind spiders, either. Most people don’t even realize how good spiders are because they eat all the bad bugs. But that web freaked me.

  Mr. Gibbons keeps sending me around the school building to get all these things he needs. Most of the time, I bring these “props” up, and the box just gets shoved in the corner of the stage. He isn’t even using all of them!!!

  I thought being stage manager was important. And fun. But it’s mostly just hard work. And I’m running around doing all this stuff like I’m invisible or something while everyone else sings and dances. The show feels like a nightmare sometimes—with the spiders and without.

  But I didn’t give up on the school election Web site, I didn’t give up when I fell off a horse at camp two summers ago, and I won’t give up on The Wiz.

  MADISON COULDN’T REMEMBER A weekend that whizzed by faster than this one. All day Saturday she worked to cross off items on the prop and costume list.

  Mom was a huge help. Madison was luckier than lucky to have a mom with connections through Budge Films. Mom called a few friends from a costume company, and they agreed to loan Far Hills some of the more complicated costumes like the Lion suit and the Tin Man’s limbs, even in smaller “junior high” sizes.

  Saturday night, Mom had to run over to the Tool Box hardware outlet at the mall to buy lightbulbs and a new broom. Madison tagged along.

  “Look at all this stuff,” Madison said as they walked in the store. Madison’s brain nearly blew a fuse when she saw an entire wall with just hammers and spied paint cans piled into pyramids. There was even a special aisle just for nails.

  Normally, a hardware store would make Madison say “Boring.”

  Something was different today. Being stage manager made her think differently.

  Against one wall were samples of floor tiles. A sign on one bin read SALVAGED LINOLEUM. Madison plucked out some yellow squares. They glistened when the light hit them the right way.

  “Mom,” she said. “Do you think we could use these for the yellow brick road?”

  Mom gasped. “What a great idea, Maddie.”

  In addition to the tiles, Madison found a bowl that looked like a fortune-teller’s crystal ball when you turned it upside down, a tin can for the Tin Man, and a clear plastic rod that could double as a magic wand for Glinda.

  “You could decorate that, too,” Mom suggested.

  “With glitter glue, maybe,” Madison said. Every new idea she had was leading to two or three other new ideas.

  The Finn living room turned into a prop room once they got home and unpacked the bags.

  “Just think, Maddie, two weeks ago you weren’t even going to be a part of the show, and now look.” Mom pointed to piles.

  Later on, Madison went online to surf the Internet for even more brilliant ideas. TweenBlurt.com had a search link on its home page. She plugged in some key words to see what interesting sites would turn up.

  When Madison entered the word wizard into the search engine, it gave her the addresses to an odd assortment of destinations. One link sent Madison to a Wizard of Oz fan club page, while another page linked up to a role-playing game page on magic. She even found the hyperlink for a page on “Muggles Who Like Harry Potter and Other Wizards.” She was having so much fun surfing the Net that she lost complete track of time.

  More than half the items were crossed off her prop and costume list now. Was she finally mastering this stage manager thing?

  Sunday afternoon Madison couldn’t wait to tell Dad about all the props. She went over to his place, but they didn’t do as much talking as she’d hoped.
Madison might be sailing along with work on the show, but she had gotten way behind in her homework. Once Dad found that out, he sat her down in his dining room to finish. Dad couldn’t believe that Mr. Gibbons would load up his students up with homework during rehearsals for The Wiz.

  But he had.

  She spent two whole hours reading Diary of Anne Frank and writing a short essay at Dad’s dining room table.

  When Monday morning rolled around, Madison was still working on her diary assignment. She’d just about finished when Mom asked her to help load the car to bring the yellow brick road tiles and other props to school.

  “I’m sooooo stressed out!” Madison said as they motored over to Far Hills. Rushing in the mornings usually meant rushing all day long, too. She would be a little late to Mrs. Wing’s first-period computer class.

  Luckily Mom had written an excuse note. Mrs. Wing was cool about the whole thing. Mrs. Wing was usually cool about everything.

  Mrs. Wing

  My English essay is DONE! I feel so happy being in technology class now. Not just because I get my work done so much faster than everyone else and can go into my own files like now, but because of my teacher. Being around Mrs. Wing just makes me feel smarter.

  Great news! Mrs. Wing told me at the start of class that she would help me make the programs for The Wiz. I told her I wanted to design the cover. It’ll be like making a collage, and I love making collages. I never know when I start, what words and pictures will end up together. Mrs. Wing couldn’t believe it when I told her I kept all my files on and off the computer. She says if I make a collage she’ll scan it and use it as the play program cover!

  I told Mrs. Wing she should open a guest account on funkyfotostudio.com and post pictures online for everyone to see after the show ends. She thought that was a “stellar” idea, but she thinks we need to have The Wiz page on the seventh-grade Web site.

  So many projects for me!

  When rehearsals end, I’ll be working more and more on the Web pages in my free time. Principal Bernard told Mrs. Wing he wants Far Hills to be tech connected. (That’s what he calls it, anyway.) So next semester we’ll be doing even more “cybrarian” work, like logging information and making homework databases.

  Mrs. Wing had on the most excellent scarf with orange polka dots today, and she doesn’t even know that’s my favorite color! Mom would say that’s good karma. She believes that

  “What are you writing?” Egg asked.

  Madison clicked off her monitor. He was giving her the evil eye.

  “Nothing,” Madison said. “Nothing … except an e-mail to Rose saying you think she’s HOT.”

  “You what?” Egg said.

  “Shhh!” Madison warned. She didn’t want to get in trouble. Luckily Mrs. Wing hadn’t heard or seen them. “Egg, I was kidding. Relax.”

  “Tell me what you wrote NOW,” Egg said. He gave Madison an Indian sunburn by grabbing her forearm with both hands and twisting….

  “Owwwwch,” Madison squeaked. She looked down at her now beet-red forearm. “That hurt.”

  The bell rang and Drew walked over to Madison and Egg.

  “Are you singing today, Tin Boy?” Drew asked.

  “Hey, quit the Tin Boy jokes,” Egg said. “I’m working on dance steps with Aimee, I think.”

  “How’s Aimee doing with all that?” Madison asked. “I haven’t really seen much of her choreography.”

  “She’s wicked bossy,” Egg huffed.

  “She is not,” Madison defended her.

  “All girls are bossy,” Egg shot back.

  “I’m going to tell your sister you said that.” Madison pinched him.

  “Like she would even care,” Egg said, rolling his eyes.

  The boys hustled out of the computer lab with Madison behind them. She was on her way to see Egg’s sister at that very moment.

  Mariah and Madison had been excused from their second-period classes so they could meet about the play. It wasn’t a big deal since Madison’s second period was Mr. Gibbons. He said she could make up the work later. Mariah had her second period free.

  Madison couldn’t wait to tell Mariah how she and Mom had collected so many key props over the weekend.

  She was prouder than proud.

  “Buenos días!” Mariah said when they met up in the newspaper room.

  “Buenos días,” Madison answered back. “I love the new hair color.”

  Mariah had painted streaks of red all over her head. She liked to change the color just enough so she made an impression—but didn’t get sent to Principal Bernard’s office. In addition to a dress code, Far Hills Junior High had rules about dyed hair, pierced body parts, and even tattoos. The rule was: DON’T. One time Mariah had a henna tattoo on her shoulder and she’d been sent home to change into a shirt with longer sleeves.

  “It’s fuchsia, actually.” Mariah ran her fingers through her hair. “Madison, you would look awesome with blue—or maybe even green streaks. Ya wanna try?”

  Madison chuckled. “Uh … NO.”

  She was daring with her ideas, but when it came to her hair, Madison wasn’t brave at all. She didn’t even like getting a haircut.

  “I have to meet with the eighth-grade prop person at the end of this period, so we better hurry.” Because she was president of the junior high art club, Mariah had extra responsibilities. She was always doing extra work for the club, for shows, and for teachers she liked. Sort of like how Madison felt about Mrs. Wing.

  “Okay, let’s start.” Madison pulled out her list and named all the things she was able to gather.

  “Check you out,” Mariah said. “Art club is painting the set backdrop after school today. I got four teachers to help and the shop teacher volunteered, too. Did I tell you? We’re painting it to look like Broadway. A New York City skyline.”

  The tribute to Mrs. B. Goode would last three separate evenings, but they’d use the same backdrop for all three shows. The first performance was The Wiz selections. The following night, the eighth grade was doing selections from Guys and Dolls. The next night would be the ninth grade doing a medley of New York City tunes. Madison was pleased since a city backdrop made an ideal Emerald City.

  “You’re so good at this,” Madison said. “And you’re so good at being an artist.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Mariah smiled. She pointed to her head. “I mean, I do paint my hair. You’re artistic, too, you know.”

  Madison blushed.

  “Anything bizarre happen at rehearsals yet?”

  “Well …” Madison said softly. “Rehearsals are fine.”

  “Come on. What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, nothing. I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”

  “Used to what?”

  “Well, sometimes I don’t really feel like I’m a part of the show. I know I’m helping, but I still feel so helpless. Like every time we’re at rehearsal, Mr. Gibbons makes me go down to get something in the basement or tells me to go deliver papers to the administrator or has me sit and prompt lines all by myself in the audience. Meanwhile everybody else is goofing around and having a great time.”

  “Being stage manager is hard,” Mariah said. “People think it’s way harder to stand up onstage and sing a song—”

  “It is hard to get up onstage and sing,” Madison chimed in. “I know I get all panicky whenever I try to do that.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still not as hard as what we do, right? Like planning costumes and making sure all the set pieces are where they should be. Where would Mr. Gibbons be without us doing all this?”

  “It just makes me feel …” Madison wasn’t sure how to say it. “I feel so out of it.”

  “I hear ya. Kids in my class think I’m out of it, too, just because of the way I dress—” Mariah joked.

  “But you dress great,” Madison interrupted.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Mariah shrugged it off. “The point is, they don’t get it.”

  “Get what?
”

  “It! Wait until you get to be a freshman like me. Then it really starts to stink. You never know what’s happening. You’re like the oldest in some ways, but then you’re the youngest in other ways.”

  Even though she was only two years ahead, Madison really looked up to Mariah. But was it really going to get worse as she went along in junior high?

  Madison did NOT want to believe it.

  “No matter what happens during the show,” Mariah said as she walked out, “just remember this. It’ll all go back to the way it was when the show ends. So don’t stress about the jerks. Like my brother.” She winked.

  Madison sighed.

  “Look, Madison, you’re the glue, right?” Mariah said.

  Madison gave her a blank look. The glue?

  “Think of it like this,” Mariah tried to explain. “You’re the one holding The Wiz together, okay? So you’re the glue.”

  It sort of made sense. Mariah’s words repeated like a recorded message inside Madison’s head.

  You’re the glue. You’re the one holding it together.

  Whenever rehearsals felt bizarre or she felt out of it, Madison could take that message and play it again.

  Maybe being the glue could be her secret weapon against Poison Ivy?

  Maybe it could even get Hart to notice her more?

  That night, Madison wanted to talk about The Wiz and “being the glue.” Madison didn’t like how important ideas could happen when there was no one to share them with.

  Mom was under a deadline, so she wasn’t talking much.

  Aimee and her brothers were off at some family dinner in another town.

  Fiona’s line was busy.

  Madison checked her e-mailbox. She’d been unlucky in e-mail lately, but every time she opened it anew, she held her breath for an extra beat—just in case. It had been a few days since she’d checked. Madison didn’t like the idea of deleting messages even if they meant nothing.

  But she had to eliminate some things.

  FROM

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  Wetwins

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