Being Teddy Roosevelt

by Claudia Mills

  “I can’t see my grade!” Sophie wailed when Mrs. Harrow placed Sophie’s report on her desk.

  As if Sophie needed to look to know she had gotten an A+.

  Riley’s own A–made him feel generous. “Do you want me to look for you?” he offered.

  She hesitated. “Okay.”

  Riley peeked. “A-plus.”

  Sophie sighed with satisfaction. “Thanks, Riley.”

  “Hey,” Riley said, since Sophie was being so friendly. “I have over forty dollars saved up so far, to buy your brother’s saxophone.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “The one I saw at your yard sale?” Riley said, to remind her.

  With her blindfold on, Riley couldn’t see Sophie’s eyes. But her mouth looked stricken. “He already sold it,” Sophie said.

  “No!” Riley couldn’t believe it. His one best chance at a sax, gone just like that.

  “Two days ago. I didn’t know you were saving up for it. I’m so sorry, Riley.”

  9

  “Famous authors, artists, inventors, generals, presidents, kings, queens, and all you contributors to the culture and civilization of our world,” Mrs. Harrow said in a grand voice, “please follow me to the library for our biography tea.”

  Numb, Riley stood up. He wasn’t Teddy Roosevelt anymore, just a kid who didn’t have a saxophone and would never have one.

  “Ow!” Sophie cried out crossly as she banged her shin into a chair. “I hate being blind!”

  “I hate wearing a loincloth,” Grant said, but Riley didn’t think he meant it. Grant still looked pretty pleased about the whole thing.

  “I hate wearing a dress,” Erika said. “If I really was a queen, the first thing I’d do is outlaw dresses.”

  To Riley’s surprise, Erika took Sophie’s arm and helped her walk in the procession to the library. Had she gotten nicer since becoming a queen?

  Riley fell into step beside Grant. “Sophie told me her brother just sold his sax,” Riley said, trying to keep his voice steady.

  “Bummer,” Grant said.

  It was more than a bummer. It was the worst thing that had happened to Riley since his dad left five years ago. “So where am I supposed to get a saxophone now?” This time his voice did wobble.

  “We’ll think of something,” Grant said. “Mahatma and Teddy will think of something.”

  Riley felt like giving up instead.

  All the tables in the library were covered with white tablecloths and set with china plates, cups, and saucers; stiff cloth napkins; and forks and spoons that gleamed like real silver. On each table stood a vase full of flowers, and two teapots. Every teapot was different. Riley saw one shaped like a little house and one shaped like a black-and-white cow.

  “Look for your name cards,” Mrs. Harrow instructed them.

  Riley searched for his. He was at a table with Gandhi, Queen Elizabeth, Napoleon, Abraham Lincoln, and Queen Victoria.

  “I thought the six of you might enjoy talking politics,” Mrs. Harrow said as she stopped at their table to pour tea.

  One of their teapots was fat and round and yellow; the other was shaped like Humpty Dumpty. Several of the mothers were going from table to table with plates of small sandwiches, pastries, and cut-up fruit. Sophie’s mom was there helping, but Grant’s mom and Riley’s mom had to be at work.

  “So, Queen Victoria,” Grant said to Mandy, the girl who was dressed up as Queen Victoria. “You conquered India to add it to the British Empire, but I liberated it.”

  Queen Victoria scowled. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to talk politics.

  What else could they talk about? All Riley wanted to talk about was how to get a saxophone. But he couldn’t very well ask Mahatma Gandhi, Abraham Lincoln, Queen Elizabeth, Queen Victoria, or Napoleon.

  Or could he?

  “I have a question,” Riley said.

  “Yes, Teddy?” Queen Elizabeth said.

  “Well, it’s not really a Teddy Roosevelt question. It’s just a question. If you wanted something more than anything in the world, and you didn’t have the money to buy it, how would you get it?”

  “Conquer it,” said Napoleon.

  “I guess I could behead anyone who wouldn’t give it to me,” Queen Elizabeth said, “but that gets old after a while.”

  “I’d go on a hunger strike until someone gave it to me,” Gandhi said, stuffing a huge cookie in his mouth.

  “I’d write a speech about it,” Abraham Lincoln said. “Four score and seven years ago, I wanted this thing.”

  Queen Victoria appeared to be thinking. “It would depend on what kind of thing it was,” she said wisely. “What would you do, Teddy?”

  What would Teddy do? Riley sighed. “I’d keep on working and working and never give up.”

  Riley was no closer to knowing what to do than he had been before. Conquering, beheading, going on hunger strikes, giving speeches—those weren’t really helpful suggestions. Working hard was helpful, sort of. But Riley had already worked so hard. He had worked hard enough on his Teddy Roosevelt report to get an A–. He had worked hard with Grant on the yard sale to earn $36. What was he supposed to do now? He could ask his mom again, but he had heard her complaining about bills just the other day.

  Suddenly from Sophie’s table there came a deafening crash. It was followed by a piercingscream. Riley could see a teapot—a pink one with red roses all over it—shattered on the floor. An enormous pool of tea was spreading everywhere.

  Sophie jumped up from the table and yanked off her blindfold.

  “I can’t do it!” she cried. “I can’t be blind. Helen Keller was blind and deaf, but I can’t be blind even for one hour!”

  Sophie’s mother gave her a hug as the other mothers scurried to get paper towels to soak up the tea and sweep up the teapot pieces.

  “It’s hard,” Mrs. Harrow told Sophie. “Being Helen Keller is hard. But, Sophie, no one expected you to really be blind this afternoon, at our tea. We expected you to pretend. We’re all just pretending, you know.”

  Riley was pretending most of all. He wasn’t Teddy Roosevelt any more than Sophie was Helen Keller. He couldn’t charge up a hill in a war, or be elected President, or dig the Panama Canal. He couldn’t even get himself a saxophone so he could do fourth-grade instrumental music.

  Maybe he should rip off his mustache, the way Sophie had ripped off her blindfold. Maybe he, too, should shout out, “I can’t do it! I give up!”

  He must have looked as bad as he felt, because Queen Elizabeth said to him in her new kind voice, “What’s wrong, Teddy?”

  Riley couldn’t keep it inside any longer. “I don’t have a saxophone.”

  Queen Elizabeth looked genuinely puzzled. “Did Teddy Roosevelt want to play the saxophone?”

  “No! But I do. Me. Riley O’Rourke.”

  Riley could tell she still didn’t understand. “So—can’t you get a saxophone?”

  “No!” He was in so deep now, he might as well admit the whole thing. “I don’t have the money to get one. I’ve been working and saving, and I still don’t have enough.”

  Gandhi reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

  “I wish I could help you,” Queen Elizabeth said, while Napoleon, Lincoln, and Queen Victorialooked on, gaping. “Queen Elizabeth was a patroness of the arts, you know. I helped Shakespeare, and now I want to help you.”

  “Help me how?” Riley didn’t know if he felt nervous or hopeful. Probably both.

  But he didn’t want Queen Elizabeth getting him a saxophone. He wanted to get one himself. The Teddy Roosevelt way.

  Not that it hurt to have a queen on your side.

  “I want to help, too,” Grant said.

  It didn’t hurt to have a brave bald guy in a loincloth on your side, either.

  “Let’s come up with a plan,” Riley said.

  10

  “Maybe,” Riley said, “I should talk to Mr. Simpson.” He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that before. But
he hadn’t had an A–on a report before, either.

  He could hear the sound of fifth-grade instrumental music coming down the hall from the cafeteria. The fifth graders had started already; the fourth graders were starting next week.

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Erika said.

  It felt good being praised by a queen.

  Erika went up to Mrs. Harrow and whispered something to her.

  “Now?” Mrs. Harrow asked, looking displeased.

  Erika whispered something else. Mrs. Harrowhesitated. Then she smiled. “Certainly, Your Majesty,” Riley heard her say.

  Back at the table, Erika tapped Riley on the shoulder. “We’re going to talk to Mr. Simpson.”

  “Now?” Riley sounded like Mrs. Harrow and not at all like Teddy Roosevelt. “I mean, now!”

  Grant jumped up. “I’m coming, too. This’ll be like the salt march to the sea. I’m good at salt marches.”

  Mrs. Harrow was busy at another table, so nobody stopped Grant as he followed Riley and Erika out the door.

  In the hall, they met Sophie, coming back from the girls’ room, where she had gone to calm down after breaking the teapot. She wasn’t wearing a blindfold anymore; Riley could see that her eyes were red from crying. She wasn’t wearing earplugs, either. Just her old-fashioned dress. It suited her better than regular clothes somehow.

  She said something to them with her hands. “That means ‘hi.’”

  “Hi,” Riley replied.

  “Where are you three going?”

  Riley explained.

  “Can I come, too? Teachers always like me …”

  But Sophie sounded uncertain. “I think they like me,” she said. “Except when I break teapots.”

  “Hey, it was an accident,” Grant said.

  “I broke the prettiest one. The pink one with the rosebuds. I helped my mom set up for the tea after school yesterday, when I wasn’t wearing a blindfold, and that teapot was the prettiest one. And now it’s ruined forever.”

  Well, it was definitely ruined forever. There was no way it could be glued back together.

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” Riley said.

  “I don’t!” Sophie said. “At least, I didn’t.” Her voice was getting smaller and smaller.

  “Look,” Erika said crisply, “the teapot is broken. It can’t be mended. Period. The end. Do you want to come with us to talk to Mr. Simpson, or not?”

  It was a relief to Riley to hear her sounding cross again.

  “I want to come,” Sophie said. She gave Riley a shaky smile.

  As they got close to the cafeteria, Riley could hear the fifth graders playing a lively march. It made him feel braver inside. Music could do that for you. It could change the way you felt. It could make everything better.

  The four of them approached Mr. Simpson as the march soared to its end.

  What if he said, “Why are you bothering me? I have no idea where you can get a saxophone. Stop wasting my time.”

  Instead he said, “What is this, Halloween a month early?”

  Riley had forgotten that they were dressed in their biography-tea clothes: red hair, crown, mustache, bald head, loincloth, and all.

  “I want to play the sax,” Riley said. “And my mom can’t afford to rent me an instrument. And I was working and saving to buy a second-hand sax—her brother’s sax.” He pointed at Sophie, who looked guilty and miserable again. “But he sold it to someone else. And I got an A–on my Teddy Roosevelt report, so that proves I can do instrumental music and keep up with my other homework. So my mom will let me do it. But I don’t have a sax.”

  There. He had said it.

  “Does the school have any extra saxes that students can borrow?” Erika asked in her best queenly voice.

  “Everyone needs to learn how to play an instrument,” Sophie said. Riley waited for her to list the instruments that she played, but she didn’t.

  “Well, everyone who wants to,” Grant added.

  Mr. Simpson studied the four of them, as if still unsure why Queen Elizabeth, Teddy Roosevelt, Mahatma Gandhi, and some girl in an old-fashioned dress had shown up in the middle of his fifth-grade instrumental music class.

  “So you want to play the sax,” he said to Riley.

  Riley nodded. His heart was in his throat.

  “In that case,” Mr. Simpson said, “welcome to instrumental music.”

  “So you do have a sax he can borrow?” Erika persisted.

  “Of course I do. You kids are right. Everyone should have a chance to learn an instrument. The school district has a few used instruments it can loan out to students who need them. It just so happens that I have an extra sax in the back of my van right now.”

  Riley grinned.

  Mr. Simpson tossed his car keys to Riley. “It’s the dented van right by the back door. The sax sitting on the backseat is yours.”

  Five minutes later, Riley had returned Mr. Simpson’s keys, and he and the others were back at the biography tea. Riley clutched the handle of his used, battered, beautiful case with his very own saxophone inside.

  Now the title of his biography could be Riley O’Rourke: The Boy Who Found a Way to Get Himself a Saxophone, After All. Or maybe just Riley O’Rourke: Sax Player.

  He gulped down a big sip of lukewarm tea, careful not to drench his mustache. It tasted awful. Riley didn’t care.

  Mrs. Harrow beamed at him. “Congratulations,” she said. “Bully for you, Teddy Roosevelt.”

  Gandhi lifted his teacup in a toast. At the next table, Helen Keller raised hers, too. And two queens, one president, and one emperor joined in.