by Judy Cox
“We can’t go yet!” cried Hayley. She couldn’t make up her mind. Should she get the jar of old buttons? Or the half-used tablet of drawing paper? Neither one seemed like much of a deal. And then she saw something she hadn’t seen before.
It was in a dark corner on top of a dusty old refrigerator. She could just see the handle sticking out. She jumped, but she couldn’t reach. Too short, again!
“Need a hand, honey?” asked the lady in the orange dress. Hayley nodded, and the lady took it down and handed it to her.
It looked like a miniature guitar. Brown wood, with a palm tree and a hula girl stenciled on the front. Curly script read, “Souvenir of Hawaii.” Hayley ran her fingers lightly across the strings. They twanged unpleasantly.
She wanted to ask the price but felt too shy. “How much?” she finally squeaked.
The lady put her cat’s-eye glasses down on her nose. She took the instrument and blew off the dust. “Oh, that old thing, Gramps’s ukulele. Let’s see now. How’s five dollars sound?”
Hayley felt her face fall. Five dollars! Too much. She remembered Mom’s advice about bargaining. The lady in the orange dress was still looking at her. She couldn’t possibly ask for a lower price. But, oh! She wanted the ukulele more than anything.
She looked around for Mom and Dad for help, but they were already in the driveway. Could she do it herself? Could she bargain? She took a deep, steadying breath. “Well, I don’t know,” she said. “It’s awfully old. It might not work anymore.”
“Four-fifty,” said the woman, with a smile.
Hayley touched the money in her pocket. “Four dollars?” she asked.
“Done!” said the woman. She took the money and handed Hayley the ukulele. The ukulele was hers! That hadn’t been so hard after all.
Hayley wrapped the uke in the jeans Mom had found. She tucked the bundle into Dad’s new soup kettle. Tilly put Bun-Bun on top and held the whole thing on her lap in the bike trailer. They rode their bikes home like they were in a parade.
Dad was pleased because he had saved money and had a soup kettle big enough to cook a meal with plenty of leftovers.
Mom was pleased because she’d saved clothes from the landfill.
Tilly was pleased because the bunny was pink, her favorite color.
But Hayley chewed her lower lip. She only had eleven cents left now. And for what? The uke was old. It was dusty. It twanged.
Was it a genuine hidden treasure? Or a waste of money?
Ruby and Her Ragtime Rascals
“What did you buy?” asked Dad when they got home. Dad took the soup kettle from Tilly, unfastened her seat belt, and picked her out of the bike trailer. “I didn’t have a chance to look at it.”
Hayley pulled the ukulele out of the kettle.
“You spent your hard-earned money on this?” said Mom doubtfully. She plucked the strings. Twang!
But Dad was more encouraging. “A ukulele!” he said. “Say, I think one of your great-great-aunts played the ukulele in a band of some kind. We’ve got a photo someplace.”
“A band? Really?” said Hayley. Maybe the uke wasn’t a waste of money after all. “Show me the picture.”
But first there was dinner to make. Lengua de res turned out to be pretty tasty, even if it was tongue. And then the kitchen had to be cleaned up. Then it was time to bathe Tilly and time for Hayley to study her spelling words. Then it was time for Hayley’s bath, and then storytime, and finally bedtime. And somehow, the ukulele stayed in the garage, forgotten.
Hayley didn’t remember the uke again until Monday night. After dinner, Dad pulled the family photo album off the shelf. He sat on the couch. Hayley curled up next to him. She liked looking through the old black photo album at the old cars and old clothes and funny haircuts. Dad told good stories about the people of long ago.
“Here it is,” he said, pointing to a faded black-and-white photograph. “Great-great Aunt Ruby.” A 1920s flapper posed for the camera, holding a ukulele. Ruby wore a short dress and a hat that covered most of her short hair. A long beaded necklace hung almost to her knees. Four young men with slicked-back hair surrounded her. They also held ukuleles—some big, some small.
“Ruby and Her Ragtime Rascals,” said Dad. “They traveled all around the country playing music.”
Hayley read the caption. “Ain’t she sweet? Ruby, 1926.” She noticed something else. Ruby wore a leg brace. “What’s that?” asked Hayley. “Did she break her leg?”
“Disabled by polio,” said Dad. “She got the disease as a young girl.”
“She performed anyway? Wow. She must have been talented.”
“And determined,” said Dad. “In those days, people with disabilities were sometimes treated as if they were invisible. But that didn’t stop Ruby.”
Hayley studied the photo. In spite of the leg brace, Ruby was smiling.
“I want to do that too,” said Hayley. She ran to the garage. Where had she put that ukulele? She finally found it under her bicycle helmet.
She raced back inside. She cradled the ukulele in her arms and spun around the room, singing loudly. Tilly grabbed her stuffed, one-eyed bunny and twirled too. Hayley came to a stop in front of her parents.
“I have a great idea!” she exclaimed. “I’ll play the ukulele in the school talent show! Ukulele Hayley and Her Ragtime Rascals! That can be my hidden talent!”
Mom smiled. “Some of your plans don’t work out,” she said gently. “Remember when you wanted to be in the summer camp skit?”
Hayley shuddered. “Don’t remind me.” She had learned her lines, rehearsed, even made her costume. But when it had come time to go onstage, she’d frozen. Olivia had to take her place.
“That was way back in first grade!” she pointed out. “I’m much braver now.”
“First, you have to how learn to play.” Dad patted the top of her head. “If you put half as much energy into learning to play as you do making big plans, you’ll have no problem!”
At least they didn’t say she was too little. Never mind, thought Hayley. If Ruby could do it, so can I.
On Top of Spaghetti
Hayley took the uke to school, wrapped in a bath towel and buried in her backpack. She wanted to show it to Mr. Y. If only she could work up the courage to talk to him. He was still new, practically a stranger. Maybe Olivia or Skeeter could come with her. They never seemed to be afraid of anything!
Skeeter was in the hall, trying to walk on his hands. “I’m going to juggle with my feet for the talent show!” he said.
“What happened to burping ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’?” asked Hayley.
Skeeter flopped over and stood up. “Couldn’t hit the high notes.” He eyed the bump in her backpack. “What’s that?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out!” Hayley replied, proud of her snappy comeback. Really, Skeeter was so annoying. Following her around and bugging her. As bad as Tilly!
She begged her friends to come with her, but Olivia had Chinese Culture Club and Skeeter had to stand by the wall for jumping off the swings. So at lunch recess, Hayley got out the uke. She took it down the hall to the music room. Mr. Y was at his desk, eating a sandwich. Hayley took a deep breath. I can do this, she thought.
“Hey!” said Mr. Y. “A vintage like.” Hayley told him how she’d found it and bargained for it.
“Can you teach me to play?” she asked shyly. “Can I be in the talent show? Can we start a ukulele band at school?”
“Not so fast!” Mr. Y laughed. “I can get you started playing. But you’ll have to practice every day if you want to be in the talent show. That’s only two months away. As far as starting a band—lots of schools have uke bands. But I’m pretty busy teaching band. And choir. And general music. Plus the talent show and winter concert coming up.” He scratched his goatee thoughtfully. “Does anyone else play the uke?”
Hayley shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Mr. Y smiled. “First things first, then. Let’s get
you started. We need to tune. Because you can tune a uke, but you can’t tuna fish!” Hayley laughed. She liked Mr. Y’s jokes. Really, talking to him wasn’t so scary after all.
Mr. Y wiped the dust away with a soft cloth. “Not bad,” he said. “Solid wood. You paid four bucks? You got a good deal.”
Hayley glowed. She hadn’t wasted her money after all.
Mr. Y clamped a small gadget on to the top of the uke. “This is a digital tuner,” he said. “You can buy one at a music store. Each string is tuned to a different note.” He plucked each string and twisted the tuning pegs until the light turned green.
Mr. Y strummed the uke softly. A chord rang out. It sounded like music now, not plunk, plunk, twang.
“Good cooks eat a lot,” Mr. Y said.
“What?” said Hayley, surprised. What did cooking have to do with playing the ukulele?
“That’s how you remember the tuning,” Mr. Y said, laughing. He plucked the strings one at a time. “Each string has a name. This is the G string. Good. C. Cooks. E. Eat. A. A lot. Now you need to learn some chords. Once you learn a few chords, you can play a lot of songs.”
Mr. Yaeger strummed a few chords and then played “On Top of Spaghetti,” a song the third graders sang in class. She itched to try it for herself. She held out her hands and Mr. Y handed her the uke.
“Put your left thumb behind the neck,” he instructed. “Curl your fingers over the fretboard. Press the strings down with your fingers. Like this.” He showed her how to strum across the strings with the index finger of her right hand.
“Here’s how you play a C chord,” he said. He put the third finger of her left hand on the first string of the third fret. Then he showed her an F chord and a G chord.
“Practice those three chords and you can play hundreds of songs,” he told her. “Here’s a song sheet with the chords. It will show you when to change chords.” He handed her a piece of paper with the words to “On Top of Spaghetti” on it. Above the lyrics were the chord symbols—C, F, G.
Slowly, Hayley stumbled through the song. When she was done, she grinned. “I can do this!” she cried.
Mr. Y laughed. “Of course you can!”
The bell rang. Lunch recess was over. Time to go back to Mrs. McCann’s class. Hayley floated out of the music room on a cloud, still strumming. The strings quivered under her fingers. She loved the shivery feel.
“Hayley!” Mr. Y waved from the door. “I found a ukulele book you can borrow.” He handed her a small booklet. “This’ll help you get started. Good luck!”
As she left the room, she saw Mr. Penwick, the school board member, in the hall. He carried his briefcase, as usual. A short, dark-haired woman stood next to him, arguing. Hayley couldn’t hear the woman, but Mr. Penwick’s loud voice echoed down the hall.
“Money doesn’t grow on trees!” he insisted.
That’s funny, thought Hayley. That’s what Dad always says.
Hayley had to walk past him to get to class. She tried to make herself small and sneak by. Mr. Penwick glared in her direction, but she could tell he didn’t really see her. He was intent on making his point. He pounded his fist into his palm. “More cuts are absolutely necessary!”
Easier Said Than Done
Easier said than done. That’s what Dad always said when one of his recipes didn’t work out. Learning to play the ukulele was just like that—easier said than done.
At first, Hayley’s fingers got stiff and sore. It was too hard! When she got discouraged, she brought out the family album and flipped to Ruby’s picture. Her leg brace. Her smile. You could see Ruby wasn’t the kind of person who gave up easily.
I have to do this, thought Hayley. Am I a no-talent shrimp, or a shining star?
So Hayley practiced every day. She studied the ukulele book. She watched videos on YouTube too. Sometimes it was hard, but there was something satisfying about getting music out of that little wooden box. Hayley couldn’t seem to put it down.
“Come help me with my magic act for the talent show,” said Skeeter after school one day. “I’m going to saw a lady in half. You can be the lady.”
“I thought you were going to juggle with your feet,” said Hayley.
“I was, but my mom won’t let me have any more eggs.”
Hayley rolled her eyes. “No thanks. I’d rather play my uke.”
“Spoilsport,” said Skeeter. But he grinned, so she knew he wasn’t mad.
Hayley played when she was supposed to be doing homework. She played when she was supposed to be doing chores. She even played in bed when she was supposed to be sleeping, muffling the sound with her blankets.
“I’ve never seen you so determined!” said Dad.
But then Hayley’s report card came, and her parent teacher conference. “Hayley isn’t working up to her potential,” said Mrs. McCann. “Especially in math. She seems distracted. Is something going on at home?”
Mom and Dad looked at each other, and then at Hayley. “We’ll take care of it,” said Dad.
Hayley got a talking to when they got home. “No more ukulele until your homework is done. And no uke after bedtime. And you must get some fresh air and exercise every day.” Mom laid down the law.
“The key is balance,” said Dad.
“Like a balanced diet?” asked Hayley.
“Yes!” said Dad. “The uke is dessert.”
“And math is broccoli,” said Hayley sadly. She hated broccoli.
But practicing isn’t always dessert, thought Hayley. Sometimes it’s oatmeal. Good for you. And you have to do it. But I’d really rather have Honey Charms!
Even with the limits, she could soon play “Happy Birthday” for Tilly’s third birthday in October. Dad made cherry cupcakes with pink frosting flowers. Hayley strummed her uke and everyone sang. Tilly banged along with her spoon. She had frosting on her nose and a bow from one of her packages stuck in her hair. Cute as a bug!
Pretty soon Hayley could switch chords without looking at her fingers. By Halloween, she could play “Skip to My Lou” and “Down in the Valley,” and a bunch of other songs.
She played for Mom and Dad. She played for Mango and Tango, though they slept right through it. But Tilly was her best audience. Tilly never got tired of hearing Hayley play. She’d put on her ballet tutu and her princess crown. “Play the ’lele!” she’d demand. Then she’d twirl and dance while Hayley played.
Hayley even found the courage to play for Mr. Y. He said she was coming along nicely and showed her some new chords. Encouraged by his praise, she played in the hall at lunch recess for Skeeter and Olivia, and anyone else who came by. Skeeter said he was going to get a uke too, but then he forgot. That was Skeeter!
“I might get one too,” said Olivia, thoughtfully. “I wonder if they come in pink.” But somehow, between ballet and Chinese Club, she never got around to it.
By Thanksgiving, Hayley could play a lot of three-chord songs. But she wanted to play something really cool for the talent show. Something new. Something different. Something amazing! Something to prove she wasn’t a no-talent shrimp any longer.
“You need a showstopper,” said Dad. He was in the kitchen, taking a pan of blondies out of the oven. Hayley closed her eyes and sniffed. Yum! She loved Dad’s brown sugar brownies.
“What’s a showstopper, Dad?” she asked. She licked her finger and rubbed it over the counter to pick up crumbs.
“A song that will astonish everyone. Make them stop in their tracks and open their mouths in surprise!” Dad demonstrated as he cut into the blondies. He handed Hayley a chunk. “Standing ovations! Cheers! Applause! Hayley brings down the house!” He swept his oven mitt toward her with a flourish.
A smile spread across her face. “Yes!” she said. “That’s what I need. A showstopper!”
December came, but Hayley couldn’t decide what would be her showstopper. She sat on the front porch swing. It was chilly, and Hayley was bundled up in her coat. She strummed her uke. She rocked back and forth in tim
e to her music.
Of all the chords she was learning, D7 was the hardest. She couldn’t squeeze all of her fingers into that small space and still press hard enough to make the strings sound. Buzz! That was the only sound she could get.
“Rats!” she grumbled.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” said a voice. Hayley looked up. Curtis Randall stood on the sidewalk. Curtis was a fifth grader. He’d just moved in down the street. Hayley didn’t know him well, and she didn’t want to. Curtis was always scowling. Olivia said he was cute, but Hayley thought he looked like a growly old bear.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “I’m doing it like the book says.”
Curtis clomped up the steps and held out his hand.
“Do you know how to play?” Hayley asked. She handed the uke over. Curtis grunted. He tucked the uke under his arm and strummed. He frowned and fiddled with the tuning pegs. Then he launched into a tune Hayley had heard on the radio. The song had about a zillion chords. Curtis’s fingers flew over the strings. He didn’t sing, but he didn’t have to. The melody was in the music.
Hayley’s mouth dropped open. Now that was a showstopper. “Wow,” she said. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”
Curtis ignored her. “There’s an easier way to play D7,” he told her. “Put two fingers here, like this. You can switch to the other chord when your fingers get stronger.” He handed the uke back. “That’s how we do it in Hawaii.” He started down the stairs.
“But wait!” cried Hayley. “You’ve been to Hawaii? How did you learn to play so well? Want to start a band? We could be in the talent show together!”
Curtis turned his head toward her. “No, I don’t want to play with you. Why would I want to play with a little kid?” He clomped back down the stairs and slouched away, hands in his pockets.
Hayley stuck her tongue out at his back. Too little! She never wanted to hear that again!
Talent Show
