Quack

by Anna Humphrey

  “T, R,” I read.

  He moved to another part: by Dennis Lee

  “E, E.”

  It took me a second to put it all together. “A poetree?”

  Shady nodded hard.

  “You think I should be a poe-tree. Like, a tree that talks in poems?”

  He grinned, then he pointed at himself, then back at me.

  “You think we should both be the poetree!”

  And that was it. We had it.

  The play was going to be saved after all.

  CHAPTER 15

  Egg Exhaustion

  Told by Pearl Summers

  After my aunt Shannon had my baby cousin Mitzi last year, she looked like she’d been run over by a truck. She had dark circles under her eyes from not sleeping. She wore pajama pants with baby barf on them all day, and she pretty much never washed her hair anymore.

  That was how I felt by the time the holiday play came around—minus the baby barf.

  If you think looking after an egg sounds easy, think again. According to the internet, a duck egg needs to be kept warm (but not too warm) all the time. The ideal temperature is 99.5 degrees Fahrenheit—which is about body temperature—and keeping that temperature constant is critical to the duckling’s survival.

  Unless you happen to have an incubator, you need a mother duck to sit on the egg. And since the only duck I had was still refusing to come down from the garage loft, the only choice I had was to fill in for her. That meant keeping the egg warm with my body heat twenty-four hours a day. Not to mention keeping it safe, which is hard to do when your gym teacher expects you to play dodgeball, your best friend gets all hysterical because you won’t tell her what’s inside the purse you’re suddenly carrying everywhere, and you’re supposed to wear a skintight elf costume with no pockets to hide an egg in.

  For four nights straight, I’d been up almost all night holding the egg. I was terrified I might roll over it if I fell asleep with it in my hand. I’d also been spending so much time in the garage trying to coax Svenrietta down that I hadn’t practiced my solo for the show once. I needed that egg—and that duck—out of my life, so you can imagine my relief when I overheard Pouya telling Jang Hu that Shady was coming to watch the holiday musical with his parents.

  Finally! Here was my chance to get the duck back to him. The idea had come to me at the dress rehearsal when the other elves had used the props—those empty boxes I’d wrapped to look like presents. To sneak the duck back into the school, all I had to do was wrap her up like one of those fake gifts.

  I could sneak it under Shady’s seat where he’d be sure to find it. It would be like the ultimate Secret Santa gift. He’d be thrilled to have Svenrietta back, and—best of all—nobody would ever have to find out that I’d taken her. Plus, I’d put the egg in the box. Like a bonus present!

  Everything was going according to plan too. I didn’t feed Svenri breakfast that morning, so when I got home, she was starving. She came down right away to get her after-school mega-sandwich, and I scooped her into the box, tucking Aggie in gently underneath her, and wrapped them up like a present.

  When it was time to get ready that night, I changed into my elf costume and put the duck box gently into the trunk of the car. And now that I was backstage, waiting for the show to start, all I had to do was keep a lookout to see where Shady and his family were going to sit so I could sneak over and deliver the duck-filled box.

  “Where’s my nose?!” Amber shrieked.

  “On your face,” Wendel answered.

  “No, idiot. My reindeer nose. It was here a second ago.”

  “Who still needs makeup?” Mrs. Carlisle was running around with a brush and blusher. Anthony and Daryn tried to dodge her, but she caught up with them. “Boys too! This is stage makeup!”

  I folded my elf hat in half and pressed it between my head and the wall like a pillow. If I could just get through this performance and get rid of the duck, I’d make it to winter break, and then I was going to sleep for two weeks solid.

  I closed my eyes for just a second, then opened them to peer out into the audience. Just then, Gavin walked up behind me.

  “Okay, I don’t want to put pressure on anyone, but remember, this is probably going to be the last show these people ever see. So we need to make it great.”

  “I, for one, am planning to do my best performance,” said Sara.

  “Well, duh,” Wendel said. “Nobody’s going to do a bad job on purpose. It’s not like we want to die with regrets.”

  “Oh, shut up!” I said. My head was aching. “If the world is really ending on New Year’s Day, I think people have bigger problems than whether or not the school play is good.” I—for one—definitely had bigger problems, like the fact that Shady and his family were still nowhere to be seen.

  I sighed, peered out through the side of the curtain one more time, and caught sight of the glint of mirrored sunglasses toward the back of the gym.

  “Thank God.” I glanced at the clock. Two minutes till showtime. I was going to have to move fast. “I need to—um—run to the art room and fix the tape on this box,” I said to anyone who was listening, then I bent down to grab the present, but…“Where’s my box?” I yelled.

  “What box?” Sara asked.

  “The one that was here a second ago!”

  “It’s probably with the rest of the props.” She motioned toward stage left, where a big stack of present props—all identically wrapped—was sitting. Someone must have grabbed it in the split second I’d had my eyes closed.

  “I need it!” I yelled. “I need it right now!”

  “Everyone, places, please!” Mrs. Carlisle announced.

  I thought for sure I was going to throw up.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Best Worst Play Ever

  Told by Manda

  I’d never seen our parents as proud as the day Shady asked to go see the school play.

  It was the first time he’d talked to anyone in our family since Svenrietta went missing—so that was a relief for Mom and Dad—although he wasn’t talking to me yet. I guess he was still mad about the muffin and the fit I’d thrown in his bedroom the week before. Every time I tried to apologize, he stared straight through me.

  “This is so exciting,” Mom said, settling into a plastic chair and looking around the gym in awe, like we were at a fancy opera. The fact that she’d barely left the house that week must have been affecting her brain. She was supposed to be homeschooling Shady, but I don’t think she was cut out for it. Three times I’d come home and caught her staring wistfully at her briefcase while Shady played video games upstairs.

  “Didn’t the kids do a great job decorating the gym, Shady?” She pointed out a few sad paper snowflakes. “It looks like a winter wonderland in here. That must have been a fun art class.” She all but winked at Dad. As I suspected, she was desperate for Shady to agree to go back to school after the holidays so she could go back to work.

  If Shady caught her hint, he didn’t react. Not that he’d usually talk to any of us anywhere near the school. (Someone might overhear.) But he didn’t seem to have his usual vacant stare either. Instead, he was watching the front of the room intently, like he was excited for the play to start. I didn’t want to burst his bubble, but based on the school’s track record, it wasn’t going to be outstanding. The music teacher, Mr. Consuela, always messed up the notes on the piano, and then there was the year Tabitha Shubert got so nervous that she threw up in Santa’s sleigh.

  “There are Lili and Mitra!” Dad said, waving Pouya’s moms over to the two seats we’d saved for them.

  Just then, the gym doors opened and about ninety kids dressed in red and green shuffled in and filled the spaces between the rows of benches in front of the stage: the chorus. Right away, cell phone cameras lit up.

  “Oh, look!” Mom pointed to a spot on the far side of the gym. “There’s Pouya.” She stood up and waved. So embarrassing. “What’s he doing in the chorus? I thought he was pl
aying the Christmas tree. Isn’t he the tree, Lili?” Mom asked, leaning across me and Shady to talk to her.

  “I think so, yes,” Lili answered, looking puzzled.

  I glanced over. Was that the barest hint of a smile on Shady’s face?

  The lights went down. Mrs. Mackie stepped up to the microphone to welcome everyone. And then the best and worst Christmas play in Carleton Elementary history got underway.

  It all began outside Santa’s workshop.

  “You guys!” Pearl Summers was standing center stage in a sparkly elf hat. She seemed kind of stunned, and for a second I thought she’d forgotten her next line, but then she blinked a few times and went on. “It’s almost the most magical time of the year again.”

  “You mean reindeer games playoff season?” another elf answered with a corny wink. The audience laughed.

  “No, silly! Christmastime,” Pearl answered. The other elves on the stage made cheerful agreeing noises, and I tried not to roll my eyes. I didn’t mean to be critical, but after watching so much classic cinema over the last few months, it was more obvious than ever that grade-school plays had rock-bottom standards.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I slid it out from under my program to check the text message—glad for something to pass the time.

  I have an idea for another film. Not as great as the last, but pretty good. Come back to film club?

  This was the first I’d heard from Pascale since last Thursday, when I’d told her we couldn’t do a duckless duckumentary and that I was quitting the club. She’d since passed me twice in the halls without saying hello, and I’d honestly never expected to hear from her again. Between her ignoring me and Carly and Beth continuing to ghost me, I was basically resigned to my new lunch-hour routine of eating all alone then hanging out in the library doing homework. It was a quiet, lonely existence, but at least it was drama-free.

  I hesitated a minute, then started typing.

  Really sorry, but I’m not coming back. Shady needs me home after school. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.

  Before I could send it, I felt a short, sharp nudge on my arm. It was Shady.

  “Shady’s right, Manda,” Mom whispered. “Put that away. It’s rude to text during a performance.”

  I turned my phone off and tucked it under the program on my lap. By then, the kids in the chorus were singing a song about Christmas cheer—loudly and off key.

  Mr. Consuela hit some very wrong notes, and half the kids got thrown off and forgot the words. I sighed. It was going to be a long hour. I was just starting to nod off when I felt Shady grab the concert program off my knee, and my phone along with it.

  He propped the program up for cover from Mom’s eyes, then started tapping the phone. I sighed at the unfairness but left him to it. He was obviously bored to death too. He was probably playing Woody Word Finder.

  “Manda.” Mitra was whispering my name, but I didn’t hear her at first. Not until Lili tugged at my sleeve and pointed down the row. Mitra was holding up her cell phone. “I want to send video to Pouya’s aunty, but my battery ran out,” she whispered. “Can you?” She wiggled her dead phone back and forth. “And send to me?”

  I nodded and took my phone back from Shady. At least it would give me something to do. The chorus had just finished their third holiday song—something about gifts from the heart—when I hit Record, and almost on cue, the commotion started at the front of the gym.

  “Ouch!”

  “Hey!”

  “Excuse me.” Pouya was standing on one of the chorus benches. “Excuse me. Coming through.” I watched through my phone screen, keeping him in the center of the shot as he stepped over people, making his way to the stage.

  Was this part of the play? Two of the reindeer had their mouths wide open, and Santa looked downright confused. Lili was leaning over, saying something to Mitra in Farsi. Meanwhile, Mrs. Carlisle was stepping forward like she was about to intervene.

  Before she could stop him, though, Pouya hopped onto the stage and stood directly in front of the kid who’d been playing the tree. “Can I have those for a sec?” Without waiting for an answer, Pouya took the branches the kid had been holding and shoved them down the sleeves of his shirt so just the bushy green tips stuck out.

  “A poem!” he announced loudly, facing the stunned audience. “Written by Shady Cook and recited by me, Pouya Fard.”

  Still holding the phone steady, I glanced over at Pou’s moms. They looked as surprised as I was. Shady, meanwhile, was busy tap-tap-tapping one foot against the floor. His long hair flopped down, hiding his face.

  “I am a tree. An old, gnarled tree,” Pouya began. “So very green and prick-ely.

  “And you might think that I’m not fit…for Santa’s workshop, ’cause I’m a bit…” He looked around at the audience. By now, Mrs. Carlisle was at the edge of the stage, giving him a death glare.

  “Ugly…and weird…and dripping sap.” Pouya pulled two little squirt bottles out of his back pockets, aimed them at the front row, and sprayed—I guess to symbolize tree sap? Someone’s grandma threw her hands up over her face, but a bunch of the little kids laughed.

  “But wait a second!” Pouya yelled. “Look at that!”

  He ran across the stage and retrieved something from behind the curtain. A huge, blinking, battery-powered star on a headband. He placed it on his head and returned to center stage.

  “I have a light that shines so bright.”

  He grabbed two of the kids playing reindeer by the hand and launched them forward.

  “It guides the reindeer through the night.”

  He paused dramatically.

  “And also, as you plainly see…” Pouya gave a little bow as he finished up.

  “I’m the world’s most epic poe-tree.”

  There was a hush in the room that lasted several seconds. Then someone in the front row started clapping. The person next to them finally joined in, and eventually, it spread through the gym.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Carlisle was gesturing furiously at Pouya to get down from the stage. He didn’t budge. Instead, he took another bow, then held one hand out toward the audience. “Shady Cook!” he said again. “The best poet in the fifth grade.”

  A few people sitting around us turned to look at my brother. I panned the cell phone camera over to catch his reaction. He was still looking down at the floor, but now I could see the corner of a smile through his hair.

  Finally, after the applause died down, Pouya handed the branches back to their rightful owner and jumped off the stage, but nobody seemed to know what to do next.

  “Pearl!” Mrs. Carlisle whispered loudly. Then she said it at full volume. “Pearl! Pick up from your next line.” But Pearl Summers was standing at the front of the stage blinking like she couldn’t quite remember where she was—let alone what she was supposed to be saying.

  “Maybe this old tree is just what Santa needs after all,” Mrs. Carlisle prompted, loud enough for the whole gym to hear.

  “Maybe this old tree is just what Santa needs after all,” Pearl repeated.

  “Exactly!” a reindeer said. “It only needs a few finishing touches! And I know just the thing.”

  Most of the audience had settled down again, but some of them were still watching Pouya, who was at the side of the room being told off by the principal in a hushed voice.

  The reindeer walked across the stage toward a pile of presents. She picked one up off the top and started to carry it back.

  “No! Wait!” Pearl yelled. “Don’t give Santa that one!”

  The boy who was playing Santa shot her a puzzled look, then grabbed the present from the reindeer anyway.

  “I said! Not that one!” Pearl yelled even louder. “The one with the star is marked with an X. Look for the X, stupid! She grabbed hold of the box Santa was holding and tried to tug it away. “Connor! Give it to me now!” But Santa wouldn’t let go.

  “What are you doing?” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Gi
ve. It. Here.” Pearl pulled harder on the box. Finally, she managed to tug it out of Santa’s hands, falling backward.

  “Oof!” She fell on her butt. The box flew out of her hands and landed with a thud on the stage.

  “You idiot!” Pearl yelled at Santa, as she scrambled onto her knees. “You might have killed them both!”

  I zoomed in to get a better shot. This was a thousand times more dramatic than any play Carleton Elementary had put on before.

  Pearl was ripping furiously at the wrapping paper, throwing bits of it everywhere. She opened the flaps of the box, took a shuddering breath, and sank back on her heels. “Oh, thank God,” she said. “They’re in another one.” Then she got up, walked over to the big pile of presents, and started lifting them up and shaking them gently, like an impatient kid on Christmas morning. The fourth box was the one that finally seemed to satisfy her. She ripped into the paper.

  Meanwhile, the audience, now thoroughly confused, had started to shift in their seats and mutter to one another.

  “She’s here!” Pearl yelled. “They’re both here. I think they’re okay!”

  Then all the kids on stage broke out in shouts as Pearl lifted a wriggling, flapping duck from the box.

  Svenrietta!

  Before my parents or I knew what was happening, Shady was on his feet, making his way down the row of crowded-in plastic chairs and straight to the front of the gym.

  When Svenri caught sight of my brother, she went quackers. Pearl could hardly keep hold of her because her back end was wiggling madly. Shady climbed onto the stage and took her from Pearl’s outstretched hands.

  The duck buried her beak deep in my brother’s armpit, her favorite place in the world. Meanwhile, he burrowed his face into her feathers, and they both stood there, oblivious to everyone around them as the gym broke into a flurry of confusion.

  It was only because I was still zoomed in, filming the remarkable reunion between a boy and his duck, that I happened to notice Pearl Summers reach into the box behind Shady, take something else out, and run from the gym crying.