by Cary Fagan
“Yes, he did.”
“Huh. Not as bad as I had expected.”
Wolfie got up from the floor, followed by Fly. As she pulled up her chair, she noticed her drums and cymbal behind her. Only they weren’t the ones from the big stage. They were the garbage can, the pot and the lid.
“What time is it?” asked Fly.
“It’s ten minutes to four,” said Wolfie’s dad.
“The talent show at school starts in ten minutes!” Fly cried, picking up his guitar. It had become a plastic guitar with four strings again.
“Are you going to be in the talent show? How nice,” said her mom.
“Wolfie—I mean Renata—is going to be in it too,” said Fly. “But we have to hurry.”
“That’s wonderful!” said her mom.
“I don’t know why I agreed,” Renata sulked. “I must have been feeling sorry for you.”
“Feeling sorry for me?” said Fly. “Why, that’s almost as good as liking me!”
“We better get going,” said her dad. “We don’t want to be late.”
Together, the four of them hurried out of the house and down the sidewalk. It took only five minutes to get to school. The front entrance was lit up and a homemade sign hung above the door: Talent Show Tonight!
They went in. There was a boy a little younger than Wolfie sitting at a desk with a clipboard. Fly went up to him.
“We want to perform in the show. Please put our name down on the list.”
“Here,” said the boy, handing over the clipboard. “Write it down.”
Fly picked up a pencil and wrote. He gave the clipboard back. The boy peered at the words.
“Wobber and Flish?”
“No, no! It says Wolfie and Fly.”
“Your handwriting is very messy. Okay, you’re the last act. You better get to the gym. They’re about to start.”
Through the doors of the gym they went. There was the gym teacher, Ms. Stuckley, standing at the front. A few rows of folding chairs had been set up. There were about twenty people sitting in the chairs.
“Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!” said Fly to two people sitting at the front. “Wolfie, these are my parents, Georgina and Abner Flott. Mom, Dad, this is Wolfie and her parents.”
Everyone said hello. Somehow she had expected Fly’s parents to look strange. But they just looked like regular parents.
“Those costumes are just so adorable,” said Mrs. Flott. Wolfie had forgotten that they were wearing identical rubber boots and overalls. Somehow they had managed to hold onto their pointy hats. Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Flott really were like regular parents.
“Let’s get started,” said Ms. Stuckley in a loud voice. “Would the contestants please sit in the front row? Thank you. Welcome, everyone, to the Hokum Street Public School talent show. Isn’t this exciting? Let’s plunge right in. First up is Arabella Snorr. It says here that Arabella is going to make the sound of a frog through her nose.”
People clapped. Arabella came up. She put her hand against her nose and blew. She really did sound like a frog. Pretty good, thought Wolfie.
Fly leaned over and whispered, “Ah, she’s got nothing on us.”
Next up was a boy named Tino Tisdale who recited a poem called “The Owl and the Pussycat” while balancing a glass of water on his head. He only spilled it on the last line. Pretty impressive, thought Wolfie.
Fly leaned over to whisper again, “He hasn’t got a chance.”
After him came Ms. Stuckley’s dancers. The dancers sometimes bumped into each other. But they all managed to bow together at the end. Then Joyce Golden juggled three balls. She only dropped two of them.
Fly gave Wolfie the thumbs-up.
“And now,” said Ms. Stuckley, looking at the clipboard, “we have one last performance. A singing duo. Please welcome Wobber and Flish!”
The two of them got up. Wolfie brought up her drum set.
“Renata!” called her mom. “You forgot these.”
Her mom held out the two wooden spoons. But when Wolfie took them, she saw that they weren’t spoons. They were real drumsticks.
“Where did you get these?”
“They were on the kitchen floor.”
This really was strange. Wolfie set up the garbage can, pot and cymbal. Not long ago she had seen two rows of stuffies somehow turn into a packed concert hall of screaming fans. Now the two of them were playing for a handful of parents and kids in the school gym.
“Hello, Hokum Street Public School!” shouted Fly. “Are you ready to rock?”
“I am,” said a little girl, raising her hand.
“Good. We are going to play an original song. That means we made it up ourselves. Let’s do it, Wolfie!”
Well, if she could play for a full house, she could play for a handful of people in the school gymnasium. She banged the drumsticks together, one two three four. Fly began to strum his plastic guitar. It sounded out of tune but he didn’t stop.
This is my song; it isn’t yours…
They sang four verses and then Fly called for a drum solo. Wolfie started banging on the garbage can, the pot and the pot-lid cymbal. One of the drumsticks flew out of her hand. It flew up in the air and she just managed to catch it as it came down. Then they sang the final verse and stopped. A good thing, too, because just then one of the strings on Fly’s guitar broke with a loud twang.
The clapping sure didn’t sound like it had in the concert hall. They went back to their seats.
“Well,” said Ms. Stuckley, coming up front again. “Weren’t all our student performers just wonderful? But now I am going to announce our talent contest winners.”
“I should have written a speech,” said Fly.
“Third prize,” said Ms. Stuckley, “goes to…the Hokum Dancers. Well done! Second prize goes to…Arabella Snorr for her excellent frog sounds. And the first prize in this year’s talent show goes to…”
Fly began to get up.
“…Tino Tisdale for his poetry recital and impressive display of balance. Congratulations!”
“Hey,” said Fly, “what do we get?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ms. Stuckley smiled at them. “I forgot to say that honorable mention goes to Wobber and Flish.”
“Honorable mention!” said Fly. “Pretty sweet.” He held up his hand to high-five Wolfie.
“What’s that for?” Wolfie said.
“Never mind,” said Fly.
CHAPTER 9
Celebration
Wolfie’s parents hurried up to them, followed by Fly’s parents. “We’re very proud of both of you,” said her dad.
“Yes, we are,” said Fly’s dad. “Especially those adorable costumes. And now we want to take you both out for ice cream to celebrate.”
“But we came in last,” said Wolfie.
“You have to look on the positive side,” said Fly. “We got an honorable mention. And now we get ice cream.”
They all walked to the ice cream shop together. Wolfie ordered vanilla—it was the only flavor she liked. But Fly dithered over all the choices. “I can’t decide if I should have raspberry caramel swirl or licorice chunky toffee.”
He settled on peanut butter raisin. Their parents went to a table while Wolfie and Fly sat on the step outside. “That was some day,” Fly said.
“I still don’t understand what happened,” said Wolfie.
“Some things just can’t be explained. And now here we are, Wolfie and Fly, eating ice cream together. That’s what I call a moment between friends.”
“I never said we were friends.”
“Okay, fine. But it sure is nice sitting here. You know what? I feel a song coming on.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“I don’t have to sing it if you don’t want me to.”
“It’s weird,” said Wolfie, “but I actually want you to sing it. I’ll see if you keep a steady beat without me.”
“Sweet,” said Fly with a grin as he gave Wolfie his ice cream to hold and picked up his guit
ar. “Very sweet.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks again to ace editor Samantha Swenson and the crack team at Tundra Books. A finer bunch I never met.
