Like Carrot Juice on a Cupcake
Page 3
with someone else
was not the same
as singing all by myself
on the school stage
in front of an enormous crowd.
As the day went on,
I hated my role more and more.
Because every time Nicholas walked by my desk,
he said,
“Hey there, Mama!”
And
when Ainsley sat down for lunch with me and Pearl,
she said, “How’s your little baby?”
So everyone at the table laughed at me.
Including Pearl!
And then,
in the middle of history,
Nicholas passed me a note.
He’d drawn a picture of me
wearing an apron and saying,
“Would you like a fresh carrot, dear?”
That was the first picture of Nicholas’s
that I ever ripped up.
After all that,
I thought my day had to get better.
But then
Mrs. Quaid handed out
the script.
“I think you’re going to love this,”
Mrs. Quaid kept saying
as she gave the script to each cast member
at the very end of school.
So I thought I’d love it!
As soon as I got home,
I lay on my bed
and read it all the way through.
And
I did not
love it.
It got worse and worse
with every page!
As soon as I’d finished,
I ran to the living room
and shook that script at my parents.
I’d already told them about being cast.
Now I told them,
“I can’t be Mama Rabbit!”
“Of course you can,” my mom said.
“You were born to be a star,” my dad said.
Then he asked to see the script.
I handed it to him and said,
“Look at page nine!”
He opened to the first page instead.
“You have the very first lines!” he said.
Then he laughed and read them aloud:
“‘It was the best of carrots,
it was the worst of carrots.’”
My mom laughed, too.
“Why is that funny?” I asked.
“It’s a spoof
of A Tale of Two Cities,” my mom said.
“Do you know those opening lines?
‘It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times.’”
“Of course I don’t know them!” I said.
“I’m in fourth grade!”
“See how great it is to be in a show?” my dad said.
“You’re learning already!”
“You were supposed to turn to page nine!” I said.
He turned to page nine, and I pointed
at the horrible solo Mama Rabbit sings.
All alone, onstage.
In front of the whole audience.
My parents knew how I felt
about singing in front of people.
But they still grinned when they saw that solo.
“We’re so proud of you,” they said,
for the millionth time that afternoon.
And then my dad said,
“It’s to the tune of ‘Oh My Darling, Clementine’!
Don’t you love that song?”
“Not really,” I said.
But my parents paid me no attention.
They each held up one side of the script,
and then they sang one verse of my solo together.
They sang:
“‘Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my darling, Bunny mine.
I am lost without you by me.
How I miss you, Bunny mine.’”
They grinned and clapped for themselves
when they’d finished.
I glared at them.
“What a sweet solo,” my mom said.
“You’re not even trying to understand!”
I said.
“I don’t want any solo.
And I definitely don’t want a sweet one!”
“You’d rather have a mean solo?” my dad said.
“Yes!” I said. “Look at the words!
Mama Rabbit is separated from her son,
so her heart is broken.
The whole play,
she longs for her bunny!
I have to long for Nicholas Rigby!
And at the end of the play,
I have to hug him!
I am not doing that!”
“Nicholas Rigby,” my mom said.
“He’s the really good artist, right?”
I shrugged.
I didn’t feel like saying anything nice about Nicholas.
And then the phone rang.
I stomped away from my frustrating parents
and picked it up.
A voice I loved said,
“Hello?”
“Pearl!” I shouted,
so glad she’d called.
She’d understand why I had to quit the play!
Even if she’d gotten me into it in the first place.
I wanted to tell her everything.
Plus,
I was hoping she’d say
that she shouldn’t have laughed
when Ainsley asked about my baby.
Instead,
she said,
“Eleanor?”
And I said,
“Yes, of course! It’s me.
Did you think it was my mom?”
She laughed a little and said,
“Oops!
I meant to call Ainsley!
I forgot to tell her something!
I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?
Mom said I could only make one call before bed.”
And then she hung up.
I stared at the dead phone.
Why wasn’t Pearl calling me
with her one call?
Why was she practically hanging up on me,
lightning-fast,
instead?
My dad walked by then,
whistling my solo.
“This is the worst of times,”
I told him.
Then, still fully clothed,
I got in bed
and pulled my covers over my head
and tried to force myself
to sleep.
By the next morning, I’d decided for certain.
I’d quit the play that day.
My parents kept trying to talk me out of it.
“It’s such an honor to be cast,” my dad said.
And my mom said, “You’ll have
a wonderful experience.
I’m certain of it.”
But I said, “It’s my decision, right?”
And they both said, “Yes.”
So I threw my clothes on.
And they dropped me off at school early.
I wished they’d called Mrs. Quaid
to quit for me.
She won’t care, I kept saying to myself
as I walked down the hall to the music room.
I slowly passed bulletin boards
and cubbies
and trophy cases.
Until,
finally,
I reached the music room door.
I took a deep breath
and knocked.
“Come in,” Mrs. Quaid called.
She was sitting behind her desk, reading,
when I walked in.
She looked at me,
then held up her book for me to see.
“A Tale of Two Cities!” she said.
“I was just considering tweaks to our show.
Did you know the book ends with a beheading?”
“What’s a beheading?” I ask
ed.
“When someone’s head gets chopped off,” she said.
“Very dramatic and moving.
But I don’t think Principal Nill would want us
chopping off heads.
Do you agree?”
I did agree.
But I wished I didn’t.
Because rolling heads were definitely better
than longing for Nicholas Rigby.
“I’m so glad you came in,” Mrs. Quaid said.
“I wanted to tell you something.
Our Mama Rabbit was originally a papa.
But you surprised me, Eleanor!
You have a terrific tone to your voice.
I don’t know how I missed it before.
I’d like to help you develop it
and show it off.”
“Uh …,” I said. “Thanks.”
I was glad she liked my tone.
But
I wondered,
did we have to develop it in the play?
Couldn’t we develop it in class?
Before I could ask that, Mrs. Quaid said,
“There’s one other thing I’m happy about.
The Mama Rabbit role requires maturity.
I know there’s lovey-dovey language in the play.
Not every fourth grader could handle that.
But I’m sure you can.”
“You are?” I said.
She nodded and said, “I am.”
Then she gave me a big smile.
“I’ve been going on and on,” she said.
“I almost forgot to ask—
why’d you stop by?”
“Uh …,” I said again,
trying to think.
I couldn’t exactly tell her
that I wasn’t mature enough
for lovey-dovey language.
I picked another problem.
“I don’t want to sing all alone onstage,” I said.
Mrs. Quaid beamed at me.
“Of course you don’t!” she said.
“You’re just like me,
when I was your age,
and so many other kids I’ve helped.
Don’t you worry.
I’m a stage fright pro.”
She waved that problem away with her hand.
And then the warning bell rang.
“Off to class you go!” Mrs. Quaid said.
“And no more worrying!”
So off to class I went.
But I didn’t stop worrying.
Because I could tell—
there would be no quitting now.
I was stuck in the show.
“Where have you been?” Pearl whispered to me,
when I hurried into class.
“Tell you later,” I whispered back.
Because Mrs. Ramji was already talking.
“Time for science, everyone,” she said.
“Today, we’re making bouncy balls!
Please divide into groups of three.”
I raised my eyebrows at Pearl,
who smiled and nodded.
Then,
before I could say a word,
Pearl smiled and nodded at Ainsley, too.
So Ainsley was in our group.
I wished Pearl had checked with me first.
But Ainsley looked so happy
walking over to us.
I couldn’t really get mad.
“All groups, find a lab station,” Mrs. Ramji said.
“You’ll see a powder there
and a liquid
and a sheet of directions.”
At our lab station,
we had a box of powder
and a jar of liquid,
but no sheet of directions.
Because
right before we sat down,
Nicholas Rigby reached over and grabbed our sheet.
“That’s ours!” Pearl cried.
She tried to grab it back, but she couldn’t.
Because Nicholas was holding it very high
and folding it very tight.
“You’re going to get us in trouble!” I told him.
He ignored me
and pulled a pair of scissors from his jeans pocket.
“Don’t cut it!” Pearl said.
“Why does he have scissors in his pocket?”
Ainsley said.
“He likes art,” I told her.
Nicholas cut and cut,
still holding the sheet high in the air,
then unfolded a people chain
of girls in dresses.
He handed it to me.
It was pretty impressive,
so I had to stop being annoyed at him.
But Pearl didn’t stop.
“We can’t read our directions!” she said.
“They might as well be in braille!
I’m going to tell Mrs. Ramji.”
She marched off.
“Uh-oh,” Nicholas said.
Then he got very busy,
pretending to work on his lab.
Ainsley and I waited together
for Pearl to get back.
We were both quiet for a while.
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
And then Ainsley said to me,
“I heard your parents are sending your dog away.”
“You did?” I said.
She nodded.
“Pearl told me,” she said.
“They’re not ‘sending him away,’” I said.
“That sounds like he’s going forever.
It’s only for two weeks.”
She looked serious and said,
“Pearl said you’re having trouble training him.”
“She did?” I said.
Ainsley nodded again.
But that didn’t make sense.
Pearl and I had been training Antoine together.
So Pearl knew—
we were doing so well!
“We’re not having trouble,” I told Ainsley.
“It’s just that he’s a puppy.
He has a lot to learn.”
“I know,” Ainsley said.
“I had to train our dog,
Jo Jo,
when she was a puppy.
At first I was too nice to her.
I had to get very strict
before she really learned.
Maybe you’re too nice to your puppy?
Pearl said you probably are.”
“Pearl said that?” I said.
I was starting to imagine
Pearl and Ainsley with their heads together,
talking and talking,
all about me.
“What else has Pearl said?” I asked Ainsley.
“Nothing,” she said.
But before I could even start feeling relieved,
Ainsley said,
“Pearl’s really happy you’re in the musical.
She says you sing like a heavenly angel.
And that your mom has a nice voice, too.
But your dad sounds like a garbage truck
when he sings!
That’s so funny.”
I didn’t think that was funny at all.
“Pearl called my dad a garbage truck?” I said.
I forgot all about the nice compliments
about me and my mom.
I focused only on my dad.
My face was burning!
Pearl should never say mean things about my dad,
even if he doesn’t sing well.
He was always very nice to her.
He made up songs about her!
He thought of her as ours!
And she wasn’t allowed to talk bad
about how I trained my puppy, either.
I got madder and madder,
thinking about what she’d said.
And by the time she came back,
holding a new instruction sheet,
I just wanted her to go away.
The only thing I said to her
during the whole rest of the lab was,
“You put in too much powder.
That’s why our bouncy ball won’t bounce.”
She tried talking to me later,
in and out of class.
The way she always did.
But I shrugged her off
or shook my head.
Until finally she stopped trying.
She just looked at me now and then.
Maybe waiting for me to talk first.
Only,
I didn’t.
Antoine peed
right in the middle of
my parents’ bed
the next night.
Even though he was already
very housebroken.
I think he knew
bad things
were about to happen.
I think he knew
doggie camp was going to begin
the very next morning.
“We’re never leaving our bedroom door open again,”
my mom told my dad
as they stripped the peed-on sheets off their bed.
“Don’t be mad,” I said.
“Antoine’s scared. That’s why he did it.”
“Maybe he could learn to bite his nails instead,”
my dad said.
“Do you think doggie camp teaches nail-biting?”
“Don’t joke about doggie camp,” my mom said.
“I’m counting on doggie camp.”
She shook her head at Antoine
as she gathered the dirty sheets and bedspread.
Then she and my dad left, to do laundry.
I knelt down beside my dog.
He lay flat on his belly, with his chin on the floor.
His ears looked even floppier than usual.
“Don’t be scared,” I told him.
“Camp is only two weeks.
Even if you hate it at first,
you’ll get used to it.
And the end will go by fast.”
For a second I wondered
if Pearl would think I was being too nice to Antoine.
But then I decided,
I didn’t care what Pearl thought.
I could be nice to my dog if I wanted to.
The next morning,
my mom asked me
to put together a big bag for Antoine,
with his food
and bones
and favorite toys
and the blanket he loves to sleep on.
I didn’t want to gather his things.
Because that would make it easier for him to go.
But I knew what he loved best
and what he’d miss most.
And I wanted to make sure he had everything.