Scott: You were great up there today. You nailed it. I know you were all super-scared, but it was good. And funny.
Me: (You’re just saying that ’cause you like me.) You’re just saying that.
Scott: No way. I mean it.
Me: You mean it? Really?
Scott: Look, I’m out here in the hall with you, aren’t I?
Me: So?
Scott: So, I’m not in there. (Nods toward theater.)
Me: So . . .
Scott: Duh. I didn’t get a callback either.
Me: Oh, sorry! I’m such a jerk face! I was only thinking about myself, and I forgot —
Scott: No biggie. Don’t sweat it. I really screwed up a couple times on the cold read and had to start over. Maybe I should have tried out for Dauntless, like you said.
Me: How come?
Scott: He’s a doof; I’m a doof . . .
Me: Not you, too. What a pair, huh? (Squeezing out a hunk of wet hair.)
Scott: Hey, got an umbrella? You’re dripping on me!
Me: (Doing it again, on purpose this time.) Well, don’t worry. You’re going to make a great Sir Harry.
Scott: Thanks. (Stares at floor.)
Me: (Glancing toward door.) What do you think they’re doing in there? I mean, what is my sister doing in there? Besides stealing not just my shirt but maybe the lead away from me!
Scott: OK, Princess Freakerella. You have got to get a grip. How could Mr. C not pick you?
Me: Um, because I can’t sing?
Scott: Yes, you can. Stop saying that. You’re fine. And besides, who else is brave enough to get up there in pink pj’s? (Grinning, teasing.)
Me: (Punches Scott on arm.) Thanks a lot.
Scott: OK, how about this? For real. (Looking mischievous.) The opening scene is the swamp princess all dripping wet, right? So . . . Mr. C already knows you look cute wet.
Me: (Turning ten shades of red. Enter Stevie. Saved by the door!)
Stevie: (Sees Alex in pj’s.) Hey. Sorry it took so long — I see it’s past your bedtime.
Me: Ha, ha. Very funny.
Scott: (Grinning at Stevie’s joke.) Hey, Steven. You sang great in there today. Seriously.
Me: (Frowning.) What happened in there anyway? After we left, I mean.
Stevie: Singing. Lots more singing. You know, Me-me-my-mo-moo and all that.
Me: Well, anyway, Dad’s probably here to pick us up. But I have to go get my clothes and stuff. I left them backstage.
Scott: I gotta get going, too. Bye, you guys. Later, Alex.
Me: See you tomorrow. (Goes back inside theater. Walks down aisle to stage and climbs stairs.)
Mr. Cannon: Good job today, Alex.
Me: (Shielding eyes to look out into audience.) Oh! Mr. Cannon. I didn’t see you there. I thought everybody was gone.
Mr. Cannon: Just gathering up my things. Making a few final notes so I won’t forget.
Me: I forgot my stuff. I’ll just grab it — can’t exactly go home in my pj’s, you know. (Laughs nervously and disappears behind stage.)
Me: Got it! (Comes down off stage.) You didn’t by any chance find a silver charm, like one of the drama masks? Or did anybody turn one in? It’s kind of important.
Mr. Cannon: Nope, sorry, but I’ll keep an eye out.
Me: Thanks.
Mr. Cannon: Your sister, Stevie? I remember when she stepped in for you, in Beauty. That’s some voice, huh?
Me: (Dropping stuff and picking it up.) Yeah. Who knew?
Mr. Cannon: I don’t know if you had anything to do with it, but I’m certainly glad she decided to try out. We can always use a good soprano.
Me: (Twisting and untwisting pajama top.) Well, we weren’t sure she would. She’s pretty busy.
Mr. Cannon: Oh?
Me: (Go ahead, tell him.) Yeah. She cooks. (Just say it!) I mean, she’s been baking a lot, cupcakes and everything, because um . . . (Spit it out!) she’s entering the Cascade County Bake-Off, I mean Cake-Off. It’s coming up in a couple months, and it’s like a really big deal. (Traitor!) What I mean is, it takes a lot of work and time and practice and everything.
Mr. Cannon: I see.
Me: (No turning back now.) So, like I said, we weren’t sure she’d really try out, because of all the time, I mean (Stop saying “I mean” . . . ), because she has this other commitment, I mean.
Mr. Cannon: Well . . . good to know. Thanks, Alex.
Me: (Flees up the aisle for the second time that day, bolting for exit.)
At dinner that night (which I did not have to cook, thank you very much), I had not even tasted one bite of Dad’s famous peanut-butter noodles because I was so excited, chattering on about the audition to my family.
“Then Mr. Cannon asked for callbacks, and I couldn’t believe my ears when he called my name. He had us sing twenty-four bars of ‘Opening for a Princess,’ then something from ‘Shy’ and one I didn’t know. Then he asked me to sing parts of ‘Happily Ever After’ by myself.” I stopped chattering when I saw that Alex had closed her eyes and was breathing hard. But Joey said it for me.
“That’s Winnie’s song!” said Joey. The lead.
Alex’s fork clattered to her plate. Eating stopped. Chewing stopped. Dad paused his napkin in mid-wipe. It was like church on Thursday, the room got so quiet. Everybody stared at Alex.
“What? So I dropped my fork.” She picked it up, stabbed her noodles, twirled them in a mini-tornado, then stopped halfway to her mouth. “Can we please just talk about something else?” she pleaded.
I fell silent, biting back my enthusiasm. I looked hopefully from Mom to Dad and back. Nobody seemed to know what to say. I guess it was up to me, Stevie the Peacemaker, to say something, anything, that might break the tension.
“Alex was great today. You should have seen her. I don’t know how you can get up there, in your pajamas, and not feel self-conscious. And the song, with the shampoo thing —”
“Yeah, right. My voice was literally shaking.”
“I couldn’t tell. It sounded like you had some good vibrato.”
“I said [stab], can we please [stab] not talk about it [stab-stab-stab]?” She was attacking her noodles again.
“How’re things going at the station?” Dad asked Mom, careful not to cause any more noodle deaths.
Mom looked relieved for the change of subject, but it wasn’t good news. “Ratings are still down. We’re going to finish taping the spring season, but I think it’s only a matter of time till Fondue Sue gets the ax. I’m sure they’re not going to renew for fall.”
“Why not?” Joey asked.
“There’s been such an explosion of cooking shows lately, it’s hard to compete.”
“I like that funny guy who goes ‘Bam!’” Joey flicked her napkin over her shoulder, imitating the guy.
“Iron Chef is my favorite, hands down,” said Dad. “That Morimoto is one lean, mean cooking machine.”
“What about the woman who does all the thirty-minute meals? I like her Crunchy Chicken Toes. Yum!” I added.
“See? My own family. You’re all traitors,” Mom teased.
“You can say that again,” Alex mumbled, squinting at me.
“And the latest is,” Mom continued, “the Bus-Riding Gourmet.”
“He cooks on a bus?” Joey asked.
“If you can believe it, it’s a guy out of Portland who rides around on a free bus, stopping at restaurants along the city bus line to interview chefs and cook with them.”
“All you need is a bus,” I joked.
“The Fondue Sue–mobile,” said Joey.
“Mom,” I said, “maybe if you thought up a way-good original idea, the station wouldn’t be able to say no, and they’d have to let you do some more shows.”
“You need a slogan,” said Dad. “You know, a trademark, like Joey’s guy. ‘Bam!’ or ‘It’s a good thing.’ Something catchy.”
“Aren’t those just gimmicks?” Mom asked.
“I got it!” I said, suspen
ding a forkful of noodles in midair. “You could do weird family meals like Dad’s peanut-butter noodles.”
“Gross,” said Alex. Everybody stared at her again. “No, I mean, yours aren’t gross or anything, Dad, but they might be to other people outside this family, I mean.”
“I’m afraid Alex may be right,” said Dad.
“How about cupcakes?” said Joey. “Stevie could hook you up with like a million recipes.”
“Thanks, honey, but the country’s so health-conscious these days. I’m afraid they’d have to make them with spinach, or carrots, or beets.”
“Spinach cupcakes! Bluck!” said Joey.
“When Olivia went to New York, they ate at this really fancy restaurant where the grilled cheese cost like fifty dollars. Maybe you could do something with fancy grilled cheese?”
“Great idea, but I’m afraid the Bus-Riding Gourmet already beat me to the grilled cheese idea. That’s his first show.”
“Maybe if you came up with a new name for your show,” I suggested. “Admit it, Mom, Fondue Sue is lame.”
“I got it!” Joey squeaked. “The Ultimate Extreme Food Makeover Show!”
We brainstormed more ideas for Mom, and soon the conversation turned to Dad and the magic flying carpet he was building for Aladdin. Joey nearly stood up on her chair, offering ideas of how he could get the magic carpet to fly without anybody seeing wires or anything.
“I think I’m going to take a field trip over to the Cascades Playhouse. They’re doing Sheherazade, and I figure there’s got to be a flying carpet in the story of A Thousand and One Nights. Maybe one of you kids would like to come along.”
“Me!” Joey piped up before anyone else had a chance.
I half expected Alex to chime in, making her case for being the Actor and how she should get to go. But she didn’t say anything. Not a word.
Which said an awful lot.
After dinner and homework, I stretched out on my bed, arms behind my head, humming happily to myself, rehearsing songs from the play in my mind, something I’d been doing a lot ever since I’d decided to try out. I kept going over the audition in my head, smiling and trying not to bite my nails.
Joey looked over at me. “You hum as much as Mr. Brooke when he started to fall in love with Meg.”
“A person can hum and not be in love, Joey.” Suddenly, I felt something. A lump. A bump. A hump, under my back.
I reached my hand down under the mattress and felt around. A rock. A LEGO. A pinecone? I yanked on one of Joey’s stuffed animals, pulling it out by the ear.
“Hey, Joey? Why is there a mountain of stuff under my bed?”
“Huh? What mountain? Where? I didn’t put a mountain under your mattress. It wasn’t me. Honest.”
“Jo-ey?”
“OK. I give up. I might have put a couple of things under there.”
“A couple of things?” I hopped off my bed and lifted up the mattress, pointing. Marbles and magazines. Rocks and sock balls and stuffed animals. “You call this a couple of things? There’s like a whole museum under there.”
Joey giggled. “You crumb bum — you weren’t supposed to find any of that stuff before you went to sleep tonight.”
“No kidding.” I pulled out two Scottie-dog magnets, a bag of squished potato chips, and a big, fat dictionary.
“Don’t take it out. Leave it.”
“I’m not sleeping on a junk heap. What’s going on?”
“OK, aren’t you dying to know who’s going to get the part of princess? You or Alex?”
“Yes. But what’s all this junk got to do with it?” I asked, tossing a pinecone, two sock balls, and a stuffed animal at Joey.
“It’s a test. A princess test. To see who’s the princess. The one who can’t get a good night’s sleep is the real princess. That’s who’s going to get the part.”
“Joey, you’re wack, you know that?” I stretched back out on my bed. This time it was smooth, not bumpy. No more pinecones.
“If it makes you feel any better, I did it to Alex, too.”
“Only a little better,” I said, taking aim at Joey with the stuffed chipmunk.
THE WEIRD SISTERS
Starring Alex
(But not as a Weird Sister)
Me: (Yawn. Stretch. Wakes to smell of pancakes on Saturday morning and comes downstairs.) Mmm! Pancakes!
Stevie: Oh, so you’re speaking to me for a change. Or do you just love me for my pancakes?
Me: Pancakes.
Joey: How did you sleep, Alex?
Me: Huh? Oh, great. Wonderful. Terrific. Like a princess! (Stevie coughs, and Joey spits a blueberry across the room.)
Me: What? What’s wrong with that?
Stevie: (Can hardly keep from laughing.) Nothing.
Joey: (Laughing.) Nothing.
Me: (Taking a pancake and drizzling it with syrup.) Well, I don’t see what’s so hilarious about getting a decent night’s sleep.
Joey: It’s just that . . . we thought you might . . . (Gets mad look from Stevie.) Never mind! (Cracks up some more.) It’s not like you had rocks under your mattress. Or marbles or pinecones or anything that would make it lumpy so you can’t sleep.
Stevie: Joey!
Me: No peas under my mattress. (Joey sprays the counter with spit from laughing again.) But Stevie, you look like you had some under yours.
Stevie: Not me. I took them all out.
Joey: (Mouths, “Shut up!” to Stevie and runs upstairs.)
Stevie: Doesn’t matter. I still couldn’t sleep at all last night. I kept tossing and turning and waking up with dreams. I can’t quit thinking about the play.
Joey: (Runs back into room, making funny faces at Stevie. Holds out hand and makes tiny circle with finger and thumb.)
Me: You guys sure are the Weird Sisters this morning. But who am I to guess at the strange minds of my little sisters?
Joey: The Weird Sisters. That’s a good one.
Stevie: No, it’s not, Joey. The Weird Sisters are the ugly hag witches from Macbeth.
Joey: Look out. She’s going all Shakespeare on us again.
Me: (Grinning, pleased with myself.) “We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.”
Stevie: You’re sure in a good mood this morning.
Me: And why shouldn’t I be? Look out thy window, little sisters, and behold a world so lovely it bringeth a tear to mine eye.
Stevie: It bringeth a gag to mine throat when you start making up Shakespeare.
Joey: What’s so great about today? Besides Stevie’s pancakes, I mean. How come you’re not all stressed about who’s getting the part?
Me: (I glance at Stevie. Stevie steals a look at me, then pretends to be concerned with pancake batter.) I just have a good feeling, that’s all. (Trying to sound casual.) Plus, today’s my first voice lesson.
Stevie: (Drops mixing spoon, which splatters to floor in a goosh of pancake batter.) What? (Pronounces the “t” like she’s spitting.)
Me: You don’t have to spit. I just wanted to work on my singing technique.
Stevie: Technique? How come you need a technique? Can’t you just open your mouth and sing like the rest of the people on the planet?
Me: I need to be ready for when I get the part. (Throws back head in glam pose, shaking hair.)
Joey: Not again, you guys. (Holds hands over ears.) Don’t forget about Beth. Chapter forty. Little Women. You promised.
Me: We didn’t promise.
Stevie: Give me back my pancake.
Me: (Stops mid-bite.) Are you crazy? I already ate half of it. What is wrong with you? (Stevie takes half pancake, and Alex grabs it back.)
Dad: (Enters room.) Girls! What’s going on here?
Joey: Tug-of-war. Over a half-eaten pancake.
Dad: Alex. Stevie. That’s enough. You know Mom and I don’t like you wasting good food.
Stevie: Dad, you told her she could take voice lessons? But I have to beg, borrow, and steal just to en
ter the cake-off?
Joey: You stole?
Dad: (Hands out as if to say “Slow down.”) It’s not voice lessons. It’s one lesson. And the first one’s free. Alex found a flyer at school for the Voicemeister and —
Stevie: And she gets voice lessons before she even gets the part? Why does everybody just assume Alex is going to get the part? I mean, what about — I thought I was the singer in this family.
Me: Maybe you should take some acting lessons, little sister.
Stevie: Yeah, and maybe you should take some sister lessons.
Dad: Girls. I said, that’s enough. You know we talked about this. (Looking at kitchen clock.) Alex, we leave in ten minutes, and you’re still in your pajamas.
Me: Yikes! (Grabs rest of fought-over pancake, flees upstairs.)
As soon as Dad and Alex were off to Voice Lesson Land, I took down a clean bowl and started in on a new batch of cupcakes before Mom could stop me from making more mess.
I was tossing and stirring, measuring and mixing, when Joey came back into the kitchen and peered at the dark batter in the bowl. “Those are way-really weird-looking pancakes.”
“They’re not pancakes anymore. They’re cupcakes.”
“Oh, no. Do they have a name this time?”
“Oh, you mean like My-Sister-Is-a-Number-One-Fink-Face cupcakes? I-Want-to-Rip-Her-Hair-Out cupcakes?”
“My-Sister-is-Bald cupcakes. That would be funny.”
“How about My-Sister-Is-Going-to-Take-Voice-Lessons-and-Learn-How-to-Sing-Better-Than-Me-and-Ruin-My-Life cupcakes?”
“Isn’t that kinda long?” Joey asked.
I kept stirring.
“Besides, it’s just one teeny lesson,” said Joey.
“Oh, yeah? Think about it. Dad will meet this Voicemeister guy. He’s probably some struggling actor, and Dad will want to help him out. Next thing you know, Dad’ll figure out some way to pay for Alex to take voice lessons and Voice Man will come over and help her night and day and she’ll be the star of the play and suddenly I won’t be the singer in the family anymore.”
The Rule of Three Page 6
