“Monday and Wednesday?” I said.
“Yes,” she said. Her voice was sad.
“No other days work.”
“But no other days work for us, either,” I said,
thinking of Pearl’s Hebrew school, and my art classes,
and Pearl’s weekend house upstate.
“I know,” she said.
We were both quiet for a second.
Then I asked, “When does the homework help start?”
I hoped she’d at least say, “Monday,”
so we’d have the next afternoon,
a Wednesday,
together.
Instead, she said, quietly, “Tomorrow.”
“For how many weeks?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“I don’t know when she’ll get caught up.”
“I hope she’s very smart,” I said.
I stood silently then,
holding the phone and wondering
how much time they’d spend studying together
and baking brookies together
and eating those crazy-delicious things together
while I was at home alone,
missing Pearl.
And then I almost dropped the phone!
Because I saw Antoine
hurrying happily by
with one of my mom’s fancy scarves
in his mouth.
“Antoine! Scarf!” I told Pearl.
She knew exactly what I meant.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” she said.
We hung up,
then I hurried
and found Antoine by the couch in our living room,
pulling and chewing on the scarf.
“No, Antoine, no!” I cried.
I got the scarf away from him,
but already
it was very slobbery.
And very ripped.
I knew that rip meant big trouble.
Just the week before,
Antoine had eaten one of my dad’s dressy shoes
and left bite marks
on one leg of our coffee table.
And, of course, he’d just vomited on my mom’s rug.
(Which was not his fault.)
I lay on my stomach then
and looked right into Antoine’s eyes.
“I forgive you,” I said.
“But Mom and Dad are going to be mad.”
Antoine licked my nose very sweetly.
“At least scarves aren’t poisonous,” I told him,
scratching behind his ears.
Then I shoved Mom’s scarf deep inside my pocket.
I meant to hide it in her scarf drawer
sometime before bed.
But I got distracted
by homework and bath time and sadness about Pearl.
And,
very
stupidly,
I forgot all about that scarf.
When I got to school the next morning,
Pearl and Ainsley were already in the music room,
waiting for class to start.
I stopped near the door to the room for a second,
watching them laugh together.
Pearl kept smiling
even after they’d stopped laughing.
And I could see
that she might be very, very happy
on Mondays and Wednesdays,
with Ainsley.
And without me.
The morning bell rang then,
and everyone started sitting on the music room rug.
I walked toward my usual spot,
where I’d sat every other day for the entire year.
But before I could get there,
Ainsley took it!
My spot!
Right between Pearl and our friend Katie.
Pearl didn’t try to stop Ainsley.
But she didn’t forget me, either.
She scooted over and made a space for me
between her and red-haired, freckly Ben.
I didn’t want to sit next to Ben,
who can be mean sometimes.
But I couldn’t exactly fight with the new girl
over a space on the rug.
So I sat.
And Pearl said,
“Listen to this joke Ainsley told me earlier!”
I leaned closer to her, to listen.
“Why should you close your eyes
when you open the fridge?” Pearl said.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“So you don’t see the salad dressing!” Pearl said.
“Isn’t that hilarious?”
Normally I would’ve laughed.
But I wasn’t in a laughing mood.
So I only smiled a little.
Pearl noticed.
“You’re sad,” she said,
losing all her laughter.
Then she said, “I bet I know why.
I’ve been worrying about this.
You don’t want to be alone
on Mondays and Wednesdays. Right?”
I nodded.
We both knew that I wouldn’t actually be alone.
I’d be with Natalie and Antoine.
But still.
I’d be missing my best friend.
Pearl frowned.
Then our music teacher, Mrs. Quaid,
clapped her hands to get our attention.
“Time to begin,” she said.
“And what a day we’re going to have!
As most of you know,
every year I write a springtime musical
about bunnies
for the fourth graders,
who perform it in front of the whole lower school
and fourth-grade parents.
Who remembers last year’s hit,
Mary Hoppins?”
Lots of kids raised their hands, including me.
I’d liked that show, about a magical bunny nanny.
“This year,” Mrs. Quaid said,
“we’ll put on
A Tale of Two Bunnies.
It’s very loosely based on a book for adults—
A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens.
Raise your hand if you’ve heard of it.”
Only nice Adam,
whose hair always sticks up a little in the back,
raised his hand.
“My mom loves that book,” he said.
“As well she should,” Mrs. Quaid said.
“And I know you’ll all love the musical, too.
Now, our show must be cast!
To play a role,
you must be free for rehearsals Mondays,
Wednesdays, and Fridays.
Who will be the first to audition?”
Pearl leaned close to me then
and whispered,
“I have the most brilliant idea!”
Before I could say a word,
she was waving her arm in the air and yelling,
“Eleanor! Eleanor wants to audition!”
“What?” I cried.
I did not want to audition.
I did not want to sing in front of the class
or the whole lower school
and fourth-grade parents!
I started pulling down
on Pearl’s arm.
But she kept her arm up.
I had no idea she was so strong!
“You need something to do in the afternoons!”
she told me, in a very bossy whisper.
“Or you’ll be sad and lonely!”
“I don’t like singing in front of people!”
I whispered back. “You know that!”
“What’s happening over there?” Mrs. Quaid asked.
“Would you like to audition, Eleanor?”
“Yes!” Pearl said,
before I could open my mouth.
“She’s just scared of singing in front of people,”
Pearl said.
I glared at her.
I didn’t want her announcing that!
“Sorry!” she whispered. “But I’m doing it for you!”
“Ah,” Mrs. Quaid said.
“Stage fright.
It’s important to nip that in the bud.
It can become quite debilitating.
I have an idea.
Pearl, why don’t you audition with Eleanor?”
“I wish I could,” Pearl said,
sounding miserable. “But I can’t come to rehearsals
on Mondays and Wednesdays.”
“I’ll do it!” someone shouted from across the room.
I recognized that voice.
Sure enough, Nicholas Rigby
popped up from his place on the floor.
“You will?” I said,
shocked.
And Mrs. Quaid looked as surprised
as if she’d just seen a flying trumpet.
Because Nicholas had never done anything in music
except get in trouble
for burping to the tune of “God Bless America.”
(He’s a ridiculously good burper.)
“I’m ready,” Nicholas said,
walking over to Mrs. Quaid.
Then he asked me, “Are you ready?”
I still hesitated.
Pearl elbowed me.
And Mrs. Quaid said,
“Let’s conquer that stage fright, Eleanor.”
So I went to stand beside Nicholas.
“This is marvelous!” Mrs. Quaid said.
“What song will you two sing?”
“I’ve got one,” Nicholas said.
Then he sang, “You better watch out,”
and paused
and looked at me.
And waited
and waited
for me to sing the next line.
What else could I do?
“You better not cry,” I sang. Quietly.
“Yay, Eleanor!” Pearl shouted.
Other kids started laughing.
Maybe because we weren’t the greatest singers.
Or maybe because we were singing a Christmas song
in April.
Nicholas ignored them and kept singing.
So I did, too.
I got a little louder by the end.
And
after the last “Santa Claus is coming to town,”
everyone cheered.
“That was very brave, Eleanor,” Mrs. Quaid said.
“And very kind, Nicholas.
Now, who’s next?”
Nicholas and I sat back down.
Pearl hugged me
as nice Adam stood up and started singing
“Silent Night,”
very beautifully.
Then freckly Ben sang “Frosty the Snowman.”
And tall Nora, with her brand-new glasses,
sang “Jingle Bells.”
And short Kai sang
“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
When Kai finished, Mrs. Quaid sang out,
to the tune of “White Christmas,”
“I’m dreaming of a
different song theme.”
But kids kept singing Christmas tunes.
Our friend Katie started “The Little Drummer Boy.”
“You know what’s tragic?”
Pearl whispered to me
during Katie’s pa-rum-pa-pum-pums.
“What?” I whispered back.
“It’s tragic that Ainsley can’t be in the show,”
Pearl whispered.
“Since she can’t go to rehearsals, either.
Did you know she was Beauty
in her third grade’s performance of
Beauty and the Beast?”
I shook my head.
I wondered how Pearl knew.
I wondered if I’d ever be a Beauty.
Then I peeked around Pearl, to glance at Ainsley.
And I wondered if she was ever going to take off
that humongous bow.
I thought I’d have a happy dinner that night
with my parents.
I thought I’d tell them about the audition right away.
And they’d be so proud of me,
for overcoming my fears.
But it wasn’t a happy dinner at all.
When I walked into the kitchen,
they were both already sitting at their places.
They looked up at me.
But neither one of them smiled.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting at my place.
There was a big bowl of spaghetti and meatballs
on the table,
but they hadn’t served any onto our plates.
“It’s Antoine,” my dad said.
“Oh no!” I said. “Is he sick?”
Antoine had followed me into the kitchen.
As I looked down at him,
he put his paws up on my chair
and started wagging his whole body.
I touched his nose, to see if it was dry,
and he licked my hand.
He seemed fine.
But maybe I was missing something.
“Did he throw up again?” I asked.
“He’s healthy,” my mom said.
Then she pointed,
and I realized.
Her ripped-up scarf was lying near her plate.
“Oh,” I said,
and sank a little in my seat.
“I found it in your pocket,” my dad said.
“This morning, after you’d gone to school.
When I picked your clothes up off the floor
to put them in the hamper.”
I sank even lower.
Why didn’t I ever remember
to put my clothes in the hamper myself?
“I should’ve kept that scarf safe in a drawer,”
my mom said. “That was my mistake.
Still, we shouldn’t have to worry all the time.
Antoine needs to be trained.”
That got me mad!
“I am training him!” I said.
Hadn’t they been paying attention?
Pearl and I had been working so hard!
“Watch,” I said.
I pushed my chair back
and stood up tall over Antoine
and pointed at the ground
and said, loudly,
“Sit!”
He didn’t sit.
Instead, he wagged his tail a little
and barked back at me.
I felt mad at Pearl then.
She could always get him to sit.
Why couldn’t she be here now,
when I needed her?
She was probably on the phone with stupid Ainsley,
listening to hilarious jokes.
“Sit, Antoine!” I said again,
trying not to think about Pearl.
“Sit!
Sit!”
Finally, he sat.
“Good dog!” I said,
and gave him a hug.
“See?” I told my parents.
“He can lie down, too. And shake.
You know that.”
“We do know that,” my mom said.
“You’ve been working hard,” my dad said.
“But you need help,” my mom said.
“The chewing has been a problem for a while.
And as you told me, you tried to get him
to drop that chocolate-covered spoon,
but he didn’t listen. That’s not safe for him.”
I shouldn’t have told you! I thought.
“Also,” my mom continued, “he nips sometimes.
And jumps quite a lot.”
“He’s only playing when he nips,” I said.
My mom ignored that.
“I’ve done some research,” she said.
“There’s a doggie training camp in the country
that gets rave reviews.
It’s only two weeks,
and I think it’ll do a world of good.”
“Two weeks!” I said.
My sleepaway camp the summer before
had lasted almost two weeks.
So I knew:
Two weeks can take forever.
“Starting Sunday,” my mom said.
“We made the arrangements
after Antoine ate the coffee table.”
“You can’t send him away,” I said.
“The time will fly,” my mom said.
“And we’ll spend hours with a trainer at the end.
The camp’s staff will give him a strong foundation,
and teach us how to build on that foundation.”
I couldn’t believe it.
I’d already lost my favorite times with Pearl.
She’d started tutoring Ainsley that very afternoon.
Now I was losing Antoine, too.
“I’m going with him,” I told my parents.
“It’s for dogs only,” my mom said.
“I’ll hide behind Antoine,” I said, “and sneak in.”
“If only you were smaller than Antoine,”
my mom said.
“And if only you liked dog food,” my dad said.
“Because that’s all they serve at dog camp.”
I remembered then
hating the yucky food at my own camp.
And I knew my dad had a point.
Because I could tell,
just by the smell of Antoine’s meals:
Dog food
is even worse
than pickles.
Pearl met me in the school lobby the next morning.
As soon as she saw me,
she started jumping up and down.
“You’re a star!” she cried. “A shining star!”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
She took my hand and pulled me down the hall,
all the way to the bulletin board
outside the music room.
Mrs. Quaid had posted the cast list.
“Mama Rabbit: Eleanor Kane,”
the list said.
And,
“Bunny Son: Nicholas Rigby.”
Lots of other kids got parts, too.
Katie and Nora and Adam
were cousin cottontails,
which made me happy.
Because I could spend those afternoons with them.
But I was a little worried about my part.
“You don’t think I have a solo, do you?”
I asked Pearl.
“You might!” she said, very excited.
“Your part is the first one listed!
It must be big!”
“I don’t want a solo!” I said.
Because singing a Christmas song quietly in music class
Like Carrot Juice on a Cupcake Page 2
