Alamo Wars

by Ray Villareal

  “I’d like to be in the program. Sounds like it’s going to be a lot of fun. The Texans vs. the Mexicans, guns blazing, cannons firing, the whole works. But the Golden Gloves Tournament’s coming up, and I’ve got to get ready for that.” He turned to Raquel. “How about you? Are you going to try out?”

  “No,” she answered bluntly.

  Izzy propped himself up on his elbows. “Why not?”

  Raquel shook her head and muttered, “Not interested.” She picked up a rock and threw it as hard as she could.

  Clang!

  She hit the middle can, sending it and the others scattering like pigeons.

  “I’m sure there’ll be lots of parts for girls,” Izzy persisted. “Maybe you could be … ”

  Raquel whipped her head around and shot him an icy stare. “No!”

  Izzy reeled back. He didn’t know why she had answered so angrily, but he’d been around her long enough to know that when she got that tone in her voice, you didn’t argue. To change the subject, he told Marco, “You take that boxing stuff pretty seriously, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess. My grandpa thinks I’m going to be the middleweight champ some day.”

  Izzy nodded. “I wish I had the guts to get into boxing. I wouldn’t mind it as long as I didn’t have to get hit.”

  Marco punched him on the arm. “Well, you’re going to get hit, Iz. That’s what happens in boxing.”

  “Hey, watch it.” Izzy pulled away and massaged his arm. “But you want to know what the best thing about being a Golden Gloves boxer is, Marco? It’s that jerks like Billy Ray Cancer are scared of you. You’re the toughest guy in the whole school. Everybody knows it, even Billy Ray.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Marco said, dismissing the compliment. “Anyway, that’s not why I box. Sure, I want to know how to defend myself, but I really don’t want to have to fight anybody, except in the ring.” He rose and dusted off the back of his pants. “What you really need to do is stay away from Billy Ray. Then you won’t have to worry about whether or not you can beat him in a fight. And you don’t do yourself any favors by calling him names.” He threw a rock, striking one of the fallen cans.

  Izzy had a rock clenched in his hand ready to throw, but let it drop. “Are you telling me you don’t think Billy Ray Cancer sounds funny? How about Billy Ray Can’t Learn? That better?” He got up and brushed his pants. “Anyway, I didn’t hit him with my tray on purpose. Like I told you guys, it was an accident.”

  Raquel looked at Izzy with concern. “Marco’s right. Stay away from Billy Ray. Him and his gang. They’re bad news.”

  “But I didn’t even say anything to Billy Ray Canker Sore. That idiot’s the one who stopped in front of me when he should’ve kept walking. It was his stupid fault, not mine. What do you …?”

  Something caught Izzy’s attention. “Marco, Raquel, look,” he whispered.

  Near the fence, Blanca inched her way toward a white furry animal.

  “That’s the cabbit she was telling you about.”

  Marco glanced at the feline creature. Its ears were long and pointy. It looked like it was wearing a pair of snowcone cups on its head. Its hair did seem to resemble rabbit fur. The animal was tailless; it only had a stump. A bunny tail, Blanca had called it. Still, Marco had his doubts. “Looks like a cat with long ears to me.”

  “I told you.” Izzy picked up a rock. “Watch this.”

  Blanca stealthily crept up on her prey. She stretched out her hands.

  Slowly.

  Slowly.

  Suddenly a large rock whizzed by her and struck the ground near the animal. Alarmed, the creature tore off and scrambled under the fence.

  Blanca spun around. “Izzy! Why’d you do that? I almost had him.”

  Izzy laughed hysterically.

  Raquel scowled at him. “Yeah, why’d you do that?”

  Izzy stopped laughing. “Why are you taking her side? I was just having a little fun with her.”

  “Oh, Blanca’s having a lot of fun, isn’t she?” Raquel said sharply.

  Blanca tried to suppress the tears that had begun to seep from her eyes. “Why do you always have to be so mean to me?”

  “‘Cause that’s what little sisters are for,” Izzy snickered. “I don’t know why you’re trying to catch that dumb cat, anyway. You know Mami’s not going to let you keep it. Remember last year when she accidentally ran over Pulgas? She said we’d never have another pet.”

  “But this isn’t a dog.” Blanca stared at the wooden fence, hoping the animal would reappear. “It’s a cabbit. And if I ever catch it, I know she’ll let me keep him.”

  “It’s just a long-eared cat,” Izzy said, exasperated. “Even Marco said so. Didn’t you, Marco?”

  Marco glared at him. “I said he looked like a cat with long ears. But I could be wrong.” He hoped Blanca would accept his explanation as an apology. He bent down and wiped a tear from her face. “I’ll tell you what, Blanca. If I see the cabbit, I’ll try to catch it for you, okay? I promise.”

  Izzy’s sister smiled. “Thank you, Marco. And once you catch it, you’ll see that it’s not a regular cat.”

  “That’s right,” Izzy said with irritation in his voice. “And after you catch it, maybe you can go after a ca-dog, too. Or a ca-rat, or how about a ca-monkey?”

  He walked away, mad that Marco was encouraging his sister. Worse, he was coming off as a hero, rescuing Blanca from her big bad brother. How come Marco had to be so nice all the time? Izzy liked it better when Marco faced down jerks like Billy Ray or the Bukowski brothers. Marco was tough. That was part of the reason he was friends with him. Izzy knew he could always count on Marco to protect him. But the way Marco acted toward Blanca. He treated her as if … as if she were his own sister.

  Raquel, too, was encouraging her. Why were they playing along with Blanca? They both knew it was a cat.

  He climbed up one of the girders of the building frame. “Hey, look up here,” he shouted. “I think I just saw a ca-bird!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The words, THE JOSEPHINE MCKEEVER MEMORIAL AUDITORIUM, in bright, polished, brass letters, welcomed the invited guests. Every seat had long been filled. The latecomers had to settle for standing along the walls.

  Mr. Jenkins, the scout master for Boy Scout Troop 232, opened the ceremony. He puffed out his chest like a rooster and marched to the front of the auditorium. “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the opening ceremonies!”

  The packed house stood.

  “Color Guard, advance!”

  Andy LaFleur and Moe Craddock, dressed in their Boy Scout uniforms, entered in step, down the outside aisles, carrying the American and Texas flags. When they reached the front, they turned and walked toward each other.

  “Color Guard, halt!”

  Andy and Moe stopped. They turned to the audience and raised their flags high in the air.

  “Please join us in the Pledge of Allegiance to the American and Texas flags.” Mr. Jenkins snapped three fingers to his brows. Then he led the audience in both pledges.

  After the flags were retired and everyone was seated, the seventh-grade choir performed “Journey’s End,” a song composed for the occasion by the choir teacher, Mr. Gewertz.

  Karen Ingram, a student, read a poem she wrote titled “In Remembrance.” It was followed by the Power Point presentation of Miss Mac’s teaching career, which had been shown at her funeral.

  Mr. Rathburn spoke. He began by acknowledging the PTA, thanking them for their generosity in paying for the lettering that spelled out Miss Mac’s name, both on the outside and on the inside of the auditorium. At times his voice cracked as he shared his recollections of the much-beloved teacher. “Although I was her immediate supervisor, I often found myself turning to her for advice,” he admitted as he closed his remarks. “She was truly my hero.”

  With that cue, Mr. Gewertz’s choir sang “Wind Beneath My Wings.”

  Loud sniffles echoed throughout the auditorium a
s the choir crooned, “Did you ever know that you’re my hero? You’re everything I wish I could be … ”

  When the song was over, Mr. Rathburn directed the audience’s attention to an easel standing on the right side of the podium. It was draped with a blue velvet cloth.

  “This will hang in the foyer at the entrance of the auditorium,” he told the audience, his eyes brimming with joy. Then, like a magician performing a magic trick, he pulled back the blue cloth, revealing a 24” x 30” portrait of Miss Mac. It was encased in an ornate gold frame. The audience responded with a rousing ovation.

  Rose Adderly, Miss Mac’s sister, addressed the crowd next. She expressed her deepest appreciation for the love the school and the community had shown toward her sister. “Right now, Josie’s watching all of this from heaven, and knowing her, she’s probably complaining to the angels about all the fuss being made over her,” she joked. “But I want you to know that as much as you loved her, she loved you even more.”

  Finally, Mr. Rathburn announced that The Josephine McKeever Memorial Auditorium would soon host its first stage production. The seventh graders would present Thirteen Days to Glory—The Battle of the Alamo, an original play written by Miss Mac. This was met with thunderous applause.

  When the ceremony was over, the TEAM 3 teachers caught up with Billy Ray Cansler’s father.

  “Sure, I can build an Alamo for you,” Mr. Cansler said. “Not a problem. ‘Course, I’m just talking about a façade, mind you. I ain’t planning on building the real thing.”

  “No, of course not,” Mrs. Frymire said.

  “But I can add some steps on either side of the Alamo with a catwalk in between where the kiddos can stand.”

  “Sounds real enough to me,” Mr. Watts said. “I’ll be glad to help you in any way I can. I’m not much of a carpenter, but I can swing a pretty mean hammer.” He pantomimed hammering a nail.

  “Now, I’ll build it for you, but I ain’t no artist,” Mr. Cansler told the group. “Someone else will have to paint it for you.”

  “Sandy can do it,” Mr. Watts said. He turned to Ms. Martínez. “Can’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I can.” Then more confidently she said, “Sure. If Mr. Cansler will build the façade, it’ll simply be another canvas for me to work on. I can even get some of the students to help.”

  “Good,” Mr. Cansler said. “But, let’s be clear on this. I’m only loaning you the materials. I want whatever’s still usable back after you’re through. You know, for my business.”

  “We understand,” Mrs. Frymire said. “We won’t have any use for the Alamo once we’ve done the show. Besides, we don’t have any place to store it.”

  Mr. Cansler’s voice softened. “I think what ya’ll are doing for Miss Mac is a wonderful thing. She was a good teacher. Shoot, she was the only one who could keep Billy Ray in check,” he added with a shameless grin. He surveyed the stage area, taking mental measurements. “I know my boy can be a handful at times. But I think being in this play will be good for him. We’ll all look forward to seeing him up there.”

  He left after he saw his son and Joshua Bukowski trying to stomp on a kid’s feet.

  “Well, there you have it,” Mrs. Pruitt said. “There’s no way around it. We have to put Billy Ray in the play. That’s probably the only reason his father’s agreed to build the Alamo for us. And we won’t be able to hide him in the back, either.”

  “I’m sure we can give Billy Ray a speaking part,” Ms. Frymire said. “It’s only fair if his father is going to do all that work for us. Besides, he may surprise us and do just fine.”

  “I just hope he doesn’t end up ruining the show,” Mr. Watts murmured.

  Ms. Martínez turned to Mrs. Frymire. “I have a concern about the play. According to the script, Susanna Dickenson is the only female character in it. We don’t have anything else for the girls to do.”

  Mrs. Frymire smiled. “I’ve already thought about that. I spoke to Jay Gewertz and asked him if he would teach the kids Texas songs. The girls can make up most of the choir.”

  “We can also use girls to serve as the narrators,” Mrs. Pruitt said.

  Ms. Martínez nodded. Then an idea struck her. “You know, I could also teach a dance or two to add to the program.”

  Mrs. Pruitt looked at her warily. “What kind of dances are you talking about?” She envisioned Ms. Martínez teaching the kids some of those “hip-hop” things she sometimes caught on TV while she channel-surfed.

  “I was thinking about square dances. I have a copy of ‘Cotton-Eyed Joe’ as well as some other songs we might be able to use.”

  “That’ll be all right, I suppose,” Mrs. Pruitt said with doubt in her voice. She was not impressed by Sandy Martínez’s eagerness to become involved with the play. She’d never even met Miss Mac.

  “You betcha,” Mr. Watts said. “This sounds like it’s going to be a terrific show. I can hardly wait to get started.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  On Tuesday after school, over a hundred chatty, noisy, seventh graders gathered in The Josephine McKeever Memorial Auditorium for the Alamo tryouts.

  Marco still hadn’t decided about being in the program. He needed to find out if rehearsals would interfere with his training.

  Agatha Hornbuckle was there to audition for the role of Susanna Dickenson, the heroic survivor of the Alamo. Her sister Brenda had played Titania in the previous year’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Agatha had to endure listening to her mother prattle on about what a great actress Brenda was. How she had memorized pages and pages of dialogue in such a short time. Agatha would show her mom, her sister, everybody, that she, too, could act.

  When Mrs. Frymire announced that Susanna Dickenson was the only female character with a speaking part in the play, Agatha knew she had to have that role.

  She pulled out her compact from her purse and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She made a face when she saw that the pimple on her forehead was still there, protruding, she thought, like a third eye. The concealer her mother had given her to apply on it only partially hid the ugly growth. Agatha smoothed her bangs over it and hoped she could keep it hidden. She took out a tube of lipstick and recolored her lips. COTTON CANDY PINK, the label on the lipstick tube read.

  Mrs. Frymire stood center stage in front of the podium. “Let me have your attention!” she spoke into the microphone.

  The chattering continued.

  “Let me have your attention!”

  The voices grew louder.

  Mrs. Pruitt jumped up from her seat. “Hush!” she yelled. “You kids are getting out of control!”

  More talking.

  Ms. Martínez climbed up on the stage. She walked toward Mrs. Frymire. “May I?” She took the microphone from her hand. “Ring! Ring!” she said in a singsong voice. “Ring! Ring!” she repeated.

  The kids stopped talking. “Hello?” they answered in unison.

  They learned this routine on their first day in her classroom. It was Ms. Martínez’s way of getting their attention.

  “Buenas tardes,” she warmly greeted them.

  “Buenas tardes,” they echoed.

  Mrs. Frymire’s lips tightened. She shot Ms. Martínez a disapproving glare. Who does this little girl think she is? I can handle the kids just fine. I don’t need her help.

  Ms. Martínez pointed at her T-shirt. On it was a picture of the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz. “Can anyone tell me who this is?”

  “Mr. Rathburn?” Billy Ray Cansler cried out.

  The crowd laughed.

  Ms. Martínez’s short years of experience as a middle school teacher had already taught her not to become easily fazed by sarcastic comments from troublemakers. She glanced down at the picture of the Cowardly Lion.

  “Well, what do you know? He does sort of resemble our esteemed principal.”

  The crowd laughed again.

  “Actually, the reason I wore this shirt today is because, in an odd way,
it sort of reminds me of the story of the Alamo. Of the brave men, on both sides, who fought for what they each believed was right, displaying an incredible amount of courage. Which, as you all know, was the main thing this guy was lacking.” She jabbed a thumb at the Cowardly Lion’s face.

  “That, and good looks,” Agatha Hornbuckle said.

  Ms. Martínez grinned. “You’ve got a point there, Agatha. I certainly wouldn’t want him for a boyfriend. Wait a minute! I think I did date him. Once.”

  Myra Coonrod’s hand shot up. “Ms. Martínez! Ms. Martínez! I have the DVD of The Wizard of Oz. I can bring it to school if you want me to.”

  Ms. Martínez had also learned not to become easily fazed by clueless kids. She smiled appreciatively. “Thank you, Myra. I’ll let you know if we need it.”

  “I also have the sequel, Return to Oz,” Myra said. “Only it’s not really a sequel. I mean, it’s not a musical like the first one, but I can bring that one, too, if you’d like.”

  Ms. Martínez winked. “Thank you, Myra. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  She stepped away from the podium, smiled, and pointed to the audience with an outstretched hand. She told Mrs. Frymire, “It’s all yours.”

  Mrs. Frymire glared at her. “Thank you,” she said coldly.

  Then she opened a black binder and put it on the podium. “First of all, I want to thank all of you for wanting to take part in our play, Thirteen Days to Glory — The Battle of the Alamo. This afternoon, we will hold auditions for speaking parts. But there will also be a choir, plus a couple of dances you can be involved in, if you choose. In addition, we will need lots of boys to play soldiers. If you are not selected for a speaking part, I hope you will consider participating as a singer, a dancer, or a soldier.”

  Myra Coonrod raised her hand. “Can girls be soldiers?”

  “No, Myra. Boys only. Sorry.”

  “But that’s sex discrimination!” Myra protested.

  “You’re very welcome to be in the choir if you’d like, Myra. Or in a dance.”