Junie B., First Grader: One-Man Band

by Barbara Park

  I sat there a minute.

  ’Cause I never even thought of that problem before.

  All of a sudden, my shoulders felt very slumping.

  I put my head on my desk. And I hid under my sweater.

  ’Cause now I would never be the star of the kickball tournament.

  And that had been the happiest daydream of my life.

  After I got done writing, I heard talking in the front of the room.

  I looked up.

  Lucille was standing at Mr. Scary's desk.

  Camille and Chenille were standing there, too.

  All of them were blabbering at the exact same time.

  Mr. Scary covered his ears.

  Finally, he said whoa, whoa, whoa at them. And he pointed for them to sit back down.

  After that, Mr. Scary stood up. And he walked to the front of the room.

  “Boys and girls … it has come to my attention that not everyone in Room One wants to play in the kickball tournament,” he said.

  His eyes glanced over to Camille and Chenille.

  “It seems that two of our classmates would rather be cheerleaders,” he said. “And another one would like to be—”

  This time, his eyes glanced at Lucille.

  “—homecoming queen,” he said.

  Lucille sprang right up.

  “No, no. Princess!” she called out. “I want to be homecoming princess, Mr. Scary! Not queen! Princesses are way cuter than queens. Plus princesses aren't old.”

  She looked at the children and fluffed herself.

  “Wait till you see me, everyone. I'm going to have a beautiful float made out of pink rose petals,” she said. “And there will be a golden throne for me to sit on.”

  She looked all around the room.

  “Maybe a few of you girls might like to be my attendants,” she said. “But my nanna will have to look you over first.”

  Mr. Scary went to the sink in the back of the room. And he took an aspirin.

  Room One started buzzing about Lucille.

  Then some of the children started thinking about different jobs that they could have in the tournament, too.

  “Hey! Maybe I can be the game announcer on the loudspeaker,” said Roger. “And after the game I can pour root beer on all the winners!”

  “Yeah,” said Shirley. “And I could sell Rice Krispie Treats! My mother says those things are all profit.”

  Just then, May jumped up.

  “And I could do crowd control!” she called out. “’Cause I already have a badge at home. And so all I'll need is a big stick to poke people with. And a gas mask.”

  Mr. Scary took another aspirin.

  Then he walked back to his desk. And he took a deep breath.

  “Okay. Here's the best I'm going to do for you guys,” he said. “I'll give everyone in here two choices of jobs. You can either play in the game as part of the team. Or you can be a cheerleader. But that's it. That's my best offer.”

  Lucille stood up at her desk. She flounced her dress very upset. Then she plopped back down again.

  After that, Sheldon stood up, too. And he pointed to his Band-Aid.

  “But what about this, Mr. Scary? Have you forgotten about my injury?” he asked. “I can't play in the game, remember? And cheerleading is just for girls.”

  Mr. Scary frowned. “Well, that's not actually true, Sheldon. Lots of colleges have male cheerleaders,” he said. “But since you and Junie B. both have injuries, I'll let you two pick different jobs to do in the tournament. Okay? That would only be fair.”

  Sheldon looked relieved.

  “Yes!” he said. “I was hoping you'd say that! Because I already know what I'm going to do!”

  He quick climbed on his chair and made a 'nouncement.

  “I'm going to do a halftime show! I'm going to do a halftime show!” he shouted.

  Mr. Scary grabbed him and put him back in his seat.

  “A halftime show?” he asked, kind of curious.

  Sheldon nodded real fast.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” he said. “’Cause my dad used to play the cymbals in his high school band! And he already taught me how. Plus he still has his band uniform! So my mother can fix it to fit me! And then I can march and play the cymbals like a real professional band guy!”

  Sheldon clapped his hands together.

  “And wait! Here's another idea! Maybe I can sing, too! ’Cause I learned some songs at Christmastime. And my dad says I can almost carry a tune!”

  Mr. Scary smiled.

  “You know what, Sheldon? I think that's a fine idea,” he said. “In fact, I think a little halftime entertainment would be excellent.”

  Sheldon clapped some more.

  “Yay! I'll start practicing as soon as I get home!” he said.

  Mr. Scary smiled again.

  Then he raised his eyebrows. And he looked back at me.

  “So … Junie B.? What do you think? If Sheldon does a halftime show, would you like to be in it, too?” he asked. “I bet playing an instrument wouldn't be too hard on your sore toe. And I'm sure Sheldon would be happy to have another band member.”

  I did a loud groan.

  Then I put my head back on my desk.

  And I covered up with my sweater again.

  After school, Mr. Scary called Mother at her work. And he told her that I got disappointed about the tournament.

  That's how come—for dinner that night—Mother made my favorite meal of pasketti and meatballs. Plus she and Daddy tried to be extra nice to me.

  “I know you're upset about not being in the kickball game,” Mother said. “But everyone has disappointments in life, honey.”

  I was still in a bad mood.

  “I hate disappointments. I hate them,” I said.

  Daddy patted me. “Yes, well, we all hate being disappointed, Junie B.,” he said. “But Mr. Scary said you can still do something fun in the tournament.”

  I did a mad breath. “I hate that dumb tournament. I hate it,” I said.

  Daddy squinted his eyes at me.

  He said to please stop saying hate.

  “I hate saying hate. I hate it,” I said.

  After that, Daddy picked me up. And he carried me to my room for a time-out.

  It was not unexpected.

  I waited till he was gone.

  “I hate time-outs. I hate them,” I whispered to my stuffed elephant named Philip Johnny Bob.

  I hate them, too, Junie B., he said back.

  I hate everything you hate. You and me hate everything exactly the same.

  I hugged him very tight.

  I love that guy.

  After that, both of us flopped on my bed. And we calmed ourself down.

  Pretty soon, Mother came and got me. And she took me back to the table.

  I did not talk to Daddy.

  Also, I did not talk to my baby brother named Ollie. ’Cause he is just learning words. And all he keeps saying is moo.

  Mother tried to be nice some more.

  “Are you sure you wouldn't like to be a cheerleader, Junie B.?” she said. “I know you couldn't jump up and down on your sore toe. But you could still yell and shout for your team.”

  Daddy did a chuckle. “And yelling and shouting are right up your alley,” he teased.

  I did not laugh at that remark.

  Daddy poked me. “Oh, don't be so glum,” he said. “Being a cheerleader wouldn't be so bad, would it? Every little girl likes cheerleading.”

  I rolled my eyes at the ceiling.

  “But I'm not every little girl, Daddy. I am just me. Junie B. Jones. And I don't want to be a cheerleader. I want to be on the kickball team.”

  Just then, my nose started to sniffle very much.

  “I even had a daydream about it,” I said. “I was the star of the whole entire game. And it was very wonderful. Only now that is never going to happen.”

  Mother gave me a hug. “Well, no one can be a star all the time,” she said. “It's just like I said e
arlier. Everyone has disappointments sometimes.”

  “Right,” said Daddy. “And when life hands you lemons, you have to learn to make lemonade.”

  I looked weird at that man.

  “Huh?” I said. “What's lemonade got to do with this?”

  Mother smiled. “It's just a saying, Junie B.,” she said. “It means that when life goes a little bit sour, you need to find a way to sweeten it up a bit.”

  Just then, Daddy went to the refrigerator. And he took out three lemons.

  “Here, look. I'll show you,” he said.

  He held up the lemons for me to see.

  “See what I have here?” he said. “They're just three sour old lemons, right?”

  I did a shrug. “I guess so.”

  Daddy grinned. “Ahhh … but maybe these sour lemons are more fun than they look,” he said.

  Then, one by one, he threw each lemon into the air.

  And WOWIE WOW WOW!

  HE STARTED TO JUGGLE THEM!

  I mean it!

  He did!

  My daddy juggled those lemons way high in the air! And I didn't even know that he had that talent!

  I clapped and cheered very thrilled.

  Ollie clapped, too.

  Also, he said moo.

  Then all of us started to laugh.

  And Daddy did a bow.

  “Do you see what I mean now?” he asked. “I turned three sour lemons into something more fun.”

  “And you can do the same thing, Junie B.,” said Mother. “All you have to do is think of something fun to do in the kickball tournament. And then your sour situation will turn happy, too. Understand?”

  I nodded very fast.

  “I do, Mother! I do understand,” I said.

  “And guess what else? I think I already know what I'm going to do!”

  I jumped down from my chair. And I picked up the lemons from the counter.

  “I think I'm going to juggle!” I said very joyful. “I'll juggle in Sheldon's halftime show! And then everyone will clap and cheer! And I will be the star of that whole production!”

  After that, I stood in the middle of the kitchen, just like Daddy did.

  And one by one, I threw each lemon into the air.

  I kept my eyes on them very perfect.

  Only too bad for me. Because two of them crashed into the table. Plus the other one hit Ollie in the head.

  He started to cry.

  I patted him real fast.

  Then I quick picked up the lemons. And I hurried up to my room.

  ’Cause juggling was going to take a little practice, apparently.

  And there were only three days left until Friday!

  As soon as I finished writing, Mr. Scary walked to the front of the room. And he asked us to put away our journals.

  “Boys and girls, there are a few more things I need to tell you about the kick-ball tournament on Friday,” he said. “For one thing—today and tomorrow—we'll be taking extra-long recess periods to get ready.”

  He looked around the class.

  “Those of you playing on the team will be practicing on the softball field. And those of you who are cheerleaders will be practicing on the sidelines,” he told us.

  Camille and Chenille jumped right up from their seats.

  “Mr. Scary! Mr. Scary! We have good news!” said Camille.

  “Yes, we do!” said Chenille. “Our mother was a cheerleader in college. And last night she taught us some cheers!”

  “Right!” said Camille. “And so today Chenille and I can teach them to the other girls!”

  Mr. Scary smiled very pleased.

  “That's excellent news, girls,” he said. “I'll put you two in charge of teaching the cheers. Then I will have more time to work with the kickball team and the halftime show.”

  He looked back in my direction.

  “Oh … and speaking of the halftime show, have you made a decision about what you want to do yet, Junie B.?”

  I started to nod real happy.

  Then, all of a sudden, I stopped.

  On account of what if I told Room One that I was going to juggle in the halftime show? Only I still couldn't learn that talent by Friday?

  Then some of the children might shout BOO at me. Plus others might laugh and laugh.

  I tapped on my desk very thinking.

  BUT—on the other hand—maybe I should just tell my class the whole entire truth. ’Cause Mother says the truth is always best. Only that is not the truth, of course. But maybe this one time, the truth might be the easiest.

  “Junie B.?” said my teacher again.

  I stood up at my desk. And I looked at Room One in their eyes.

  “Okay … here is the whole entire truth,” I said. “I am trying to learn how to juggle for Sheldon's halftime show. Only please do not get your hopes up, people. ’Cause I maybe might not learn it in time. And so—if I don't juggle at halftime—there is no laughing or booing allowed. And I mean it.”

  I quick sat back down again.

  Lennie and Herb turned around in their seats.

  “Whoa! You're learning to juggle?” said Lennie. “That's cool.”

  “Yeah, it is cool,” said Herbert. “I wish I could juggle.”

  May rolled her eyes.

  “I don't,” she said. “What's so fun about throwing stuff in the air? And anyway, juggling is only for the circus. Who ever heard of juggling in a halftime show?”

  I wrinkled my eyebrows very serious.

  “Hmm … that's a good question, May. Let me think,” I said.

  Then I leaned real close to her face.

  “ME! THAT'S WHO!” I said.

  Lennie and Herb laughed very hard.

  Then Sheldon looked back at me. And he gave me a happy thumbs-up.

  I smiled.

  ’Cause what do you know?

  This time, the truth worked beautifully.

  At recess, Mr. Scary got the kickball team started on their practice.

  Then he came over to Sheldon and me. And he helped us with our halftime show.

  First, he gave me a woodblock from the music teacher's room. Plus also, he gave me a drumstick.

  “If you hit this woodblock while you march, you and Sheldon will be able to stay in step,” he explained.

  I smiled very thrilled. ’Cause hitting stuff is right up my alley.

  I whacked that thing with my drumstick.

  Then Sheldon crashed his cymbals together.

  And ha! That was beautiful music!

  After that, Mr. Scary told us to form a line behind him. And then all three of us marched around and around the playground.

  And guess what? My woodblock kept us in step very perfect!

  After a while, we marched over to a microphone. It was on a stand in the grass.

  “This is where you're going to sing, Sheldon,” Mr. Scary said. “When you sing into this microphone, the whole audience will be able to hear you.”

  Mr. Scary smiled. “We won't turn it on yet. But you can still practice your song, okay?”

  “Okay!” said Sheldon real thrilled.

  Then he stood up straight and tall.

  And he walked over to the microphone.

  And he started to sing “Hark! Harold the Angel Sings.”

  He played the cymbals while he sang.

  It was very lovely, sort of. But Mr. Scary's face did not look delighted.

  He held up his hand. “Uh … could you hold it a second there, Sheldon?” he called. “Could you stop singing for a minute, please?”

  Sheldon stopped.

  Mr. Scary walked over to the microphone.

  “Okay. Well … that's a very nice Christmas carol, Sheldon,” he said. “And you were singing it beautifully. But the trouble is … it really isn't Christmas, is it? So I'm wondering if maybe you know a different song.”

  Sheldon thought for a minute.

  “How about ‘I Have a Little Dreidel’?” he asked. “I know that one.”

 
Mr. Scary ran his fingers through his tired hair.

  “Yes, well, that's sort of the same problem, isn't it?” he said. “It's not really Hanukkah, either.”

  Mr. Scary bent down next to him.

  “Do you know any songs besides holiday songs?” he asked. “Or is there some other talent you have, Sheldon? Like can you whistle, maybe? Or do a magic trick?”

  Sheldon thought some more.

  “I can blow milk bubbles out of my nose,” he said. “But that mostly only happens when I'm choking.”

  Mr. Scary started rubbing the sides of his head. He was getting another headache in there, I think.

  Then, all of a sudden, Sheldon's whole face lighted up.

  “Hey! Wait! I just thought of another song I could sing!” he said. “‘Happy Birthday,’ Mr. Scary! I know all the words to ‘Happy Birthday’! And that isn't even a holiday song!”

  Our teacher stood there a second.

  Then he nodded his head. And he said “Happy Birthday” would be just dandy.

  Sheldon started his performance all over again.

  He sang the song and played the cymbals very good.

  After he got done, he did a somersault.

  I do not know why.

  Then hurray! Hurray! It was finally time for me!

  I quick put down my woodblock. Then I reached into my pocket. And I took out my pretend lemons. And I started to pretend I was juggling.

  Juggling for pretend is way easier than juggling for real.

  I skipped and twirled and danced.

  Mr. Scary and Sheldon clapped and clapped.

  I did a bow.

  Then I picked up my woodblock again. And I hit it with my stick. And me and Sheldon marched off the field.

  We jumped all around and did a high five.

  Then Sheldon picked me up and tried to twirl me around. Only he wasn't actually strong enough. And so mostly I just dragged on my toes.

  His face turned reddish and sweaty.

  He put me down and wiped his head with his sleeve.

  “Whew. You weigh a ton, girl,” he said.

  I did a smile.

  I like that odd boy.

  I really, really do.

  I closed my journal. And I watched the clock for the rest of the afternoon. ’Cause I just wanted to get home and practice some more.