by N. Griffin
“It does smell good,” said Charlene. “It’s an excellent product. Me and my mom invented it together. She’s a professional hair sculptor, and she’s striking out on her own to start up a business. She said I could bring a jar in to show everybody. This goop is the secret to our sculpting success! It lengthens and molds the hair into shapes!”
“Permanently?!” said Smashie, clapping her hands on her head.
“No! It washes out. Let me show you what it can do.” Charlene got to work. She smoothed the goop into Smashie’s hair. She molded and tugged. She whipped and twisted. And after a few minutes, she leaned back to look at her handiwork.
“There,” she said. “Done.”
And immediately, the two classes, who had been sitting uneasily, worried about what acts they would be forced to perform, burst into grins and excited chatter.
“Wow!” cried Alonso Day.
“Amazing!” shouted a Room 12 child.
“Smashie,” said Dontel, “you look A-plus.”
Charlene beamed.
“Can I see?” said Smashie. One of the children handed her one of the tiny mirrors the class used when it worked on symmetry and experiments with light. Smashie took a good look at herself. She gasped. Not only was her hair not sticky-outy in its normal way, it was molded into the shape of a music note! What had once been an awful mess on the top of Smashie’s head was now a beautifully formed sixteenth note, flags beamed sharply to the side.
“A lucky note,” explained Charlene. “To go with the musicale. I was thinking it would give us some ideas.”
“It gives me an idea!” shouted a Room 12 child. “Especially if I get a hairdo like that!”
The two teachers exchanged glances. “Charlene,” said Ms. Early, “you do have a talent. And that talent is hairstyling.”
Charlene blushed. “Thank you,” she said. “My mom has been teaching me.”
“Well, it is a wonderful gift,” said Ms. Early.
“Yes,” said Miss Dismont.
“But it’s not one you can perform,” said Charlene.
“But it gives me an idea,” said Ms. Early, her eyes sparkling. “Charlene, would you like to design and make special hair sculptures for all the people who agree to perform in the musicale? We would even call the event the Third-Grade Hair Extravaganza and Musicale!”
“Ooh!” breathed some of the children.
“Yes!” said Charlene. “I’d love to.” She beamed.
“And do you know what?” Miss Dismont said purposefully. “I bet everyone would enjoy a hair sculpture like that.”
“Yes!”
“I would!
“Me too!”
“Hurrah!” cried Charlene. “I just know I can help us all look great!”
“Hold on a second, Ms. Early and Miss Dismont,” said John. “Are you all saying that we can only get our hair sculpted into a cool shape if we agree to participate in the musicale?”
“That,” said Ms. Early firmly, “is exactly what we’re saying.”
Several members of the two classes exchanged frantic glances. Smashie knew some children still felt too shy to perform. But the idea of having their hair sculpted into something amazing to match their act . . .
Then Smashie remembered. She wouldn’t have her own act. She would be swaying in the background while Alonso or somebody else sang. And as glad as she was that Charlene felt better, Smashie wasn’t sure that even a musical hair note could make up for that kind of disappointment.
“Will Alonso and I get neat hair sculptures like that, then?” asked Lilia eagerly.
“You bet,” said Miss Dismont.
“I could do Tatiana’s hair in a roller skate,” cried Charlene. “To go along with her song! I can do anything!”
So can I, thought Smashie. Singing-wise. But the teachers won’t let me. Maybe she could talk to Ms. Early privately, after the meeting.
Tatiana squirmed with happy anticipation. “Ms. Early, can Charlene do roller-skate hair on me right now?”
“She certainly can,” said Ms. Early with a smile in Miss Dismont’s direction.
Rubbing her hands with the purple goop, Charlene got to work. And now Tatiana was the one who was transformed. Where there had once been a tumble of dark curls there was now a perfect roller skate of hair sitting atop Tatiana’s head.
“Wow!”
“Amazing!”
“Ms. Early,” asked John desperately, “what if we just can’t do it? I just can’t stand performing in public!”
Indeed, faint cries of unwilling children were heard here and there throughout the meeting area. But even more were looking at Smashie’s and Tatiana’s heads, and Smashie knew they were on the edge of changing their minds. And she was right. Suddenly, lots of kids had ideas for acts. Several children volunteered to be backup dancers for the performers. Siggie, changing his mind perhaps the most abruptly of all, offered to do an act wherein he alphabetized some items very quickly.
“Can you do a cool hair sculpture to match that?” Siggie asked Charlene.
“You bet!” said Charlene. “I could make your hair into an ABC!”
“Yes!” said Tatiana. “And his backup singers could sing the alphabet in English and Spanish!”
“And I could alphabetize the objects in both languages!” cried Siggie.
“Terrific!” said Miss Dismont, scribbling madly on a piece of chart paper.
“This is not terrific!” It was John, and his face was stormy. “I feel blackmailed! I want cool hair, but I have to perform to get it?”
And here’s me not even going to get to belt out a single note, thought Smashie sadly.
But before either teacher could respond, Charlene held up her hand.
“It’s not just the teachers that are setting a limit, John.”
“What do you mean?”
“The ingredients that my mom uses to make this stuff are really expensive. She told me last night that she only has enough left to make about two more jars. Each jar has enough goop for about fifteen heads. Both our classes have nineteen students in them. With the two jars she can make, plus this one I have here, there is just about enough to do everyone’s hair for the musicale. And there’s a little extra for me to practice with — or in case I mess up.”
“Why doesn’t your mom just buy more ingredients?” asked Siggie.
“Because” — Charlene bit her lip — “because it’s hard starting your own business. We can’t afford to buy more ingredients right now.”
“Oh,” said Smashie. “That makes sense.”
Jacinda gave Charlene’s shoulders a side hug.
“I’ll speak a piece,” Dontel volunteered. “There’s a passage I love from one of my favorite astronomy books.”
Smashie looked at him, betrayed. He gave her a meaningful look back. “Better to volunteer now,” he whispered to her, “before they find out what we can really do.”
And Smashie, shocked, subsided. For she knew Dontel was right. She hadn’t even thought about their secret talent, and by that unfortunately she didn’t mean investigating. Even if she wasn’t allowed to sing, anything was better than being forced to do their secret talent. Smashie had better think fast if they were going to come up with a surefire way to avoid that. Dontel looked at her and they nodded once, together. They were agreed.
One eye on John, who had fled to his seat, Ms. Early said, “I’m so pleased some of you children are getting excited. Charlene, we will buy all three jars from your mother. We can pay for them out of the funds we’ve raised so far for our class trip to the planetarium.”
Smashie and Dontel exchanged alarmed glances. They had been looking forward to the field trip to the planetarium for some time. It was the spark they were hoping for to start that unit on astronomy.
“We can have some kind of bake sale and re-raise the rest of the money later,” Ms. Early said, and Smashie and Dontel breathed sighs of relief.
“I bet our musicale will be great for your mom’s new business
, Charlene,” said Smashie.
“Yes,” agreed Dontel. “I bet people will see our hairdos and hustle right over there.”
“Do you really think so, Dontel?” asked Charlene, some of the worn look fading from her face.
“Well, I do,” said Jacinda. “Who wouldn’t want hair sculptures like ours?”
“My mom’s are even better!” cried Charlene. “If business picked up, she could afford to make more of the special goop, and her new company would be off and running.” Charlene was positively smiling now.
“That’s what we mean, Charlene!” said Dontel.
“I can’t wait for next Wednesday!” Siggie was as enthusiastic about the musicale now as he had been suspicious of it before.
“None of us can,” said Ms. Early. “And I mean that literally as well as figuratively. We only have nine days to get ready, including the weekend. That means that you children should choose to perform things that you already know well, since our rehearsal time is so short.”
“Does the goop work on all kinds of hair, Charlene?” asked Willette.
“Yes,” said Charlene. “My mom made sure while we were inventing it. It works on all kinds of hair.”
“Hooray!” shouted Rooms 11 and 12.
Carlos opened his mouth, then closed it. He blushed again. “Your hairstyles will be great, Charlene,” he said.
But Charlene was too excited to hear him. She bounced up and down happily. Smashie was glad for her. She knew how worried Charlene had been, and this new idea was bound to help — not only with the musicale, but with Charlene’s mother’s new business as well. But what could Smashie think of to do for the musicale besides sway, like Billy had said?
“May I see the jar of goop?” asked Jacinda. “I want to smell it up close.”
Charlene passed the jar over. “It’s called Herr Goop,” she said.
“Hair Goop?” asked John.
“No, Herr Goop. Herr means Mister in German, but it’s pronounced like we say ‘hair.’ My mom thought it’d be funny.”
“A homophone,” said Dontel. “But in a foreign language. It is funny.”
“My grammy calls that a double meaning,” said Smashie, and once again the children looked her way with her music note head. They beamed. Smashie beamed back. She had to admit, the hair music symbol did make her feel a little better.
“You can send the goop around the circle as we plan, so everybody can have a sniff,” said Ms. Early. “And we’ll write everyone’s ideas on this piece of chart paper.”
“I stink at singing and dancing,” moaned Cyrus. “I get all muddled up trying to keep with the beat. Can’t I just be in charge of refreshments?”
“You may certainly be in charge of refreshments,” said Miss Dismont. “But we expect every third-grader to take part in the musicale.”
At his seat, John raised his head from the table and let it clonk down in despair.
Smashie and Dontel exchanged concerned looks. Normally, John was one of the toughest, bravest kids in the class. But the idea of performing seemed to suck all the bravery out of him.
Joyce passed the Herr Goop jar to Dontel, who studied the bottle and breathed in the scent of its contents before he handed it to Smashie.
“Mmmm. This Herr Goop really does smell wonderful,” said Smashie. She looked up. Maybe if Dontel could speak a piece, she could be allowed to sing as well?
But before she could muster the courage to ask once again if she could sing, Billy Kamarski was already speaking.
“I have a great idea,” he said. “I’ll sing ‘Machine Gun Jailbreak’!”
“NO,” said both teachers at once.
“Absolutely not,” said Ms. Early.
“Completely inappropriate,” said Miss Dismont.
“Aw, come on,” said Billy. “Please?”
The teachers looked at him silently.
“Oh, fine,” said Billy. “Squash my dreams.”
Welcome to the club, thought Smashie.
The bell rang.
“Time for PE, Room 11,” said Ms. Early.
“And time for Room 12 to go back to our room,” said Miss Dismont. “I think we have a good head of steam going with this. I’m very excited!”
“We are, too!” said a couple of children.
“Can’t wait!” cried several more.
But John, once again, said, “Ugh.”
“Hey,” said Charlene, “can I have my jar of goop back?”
“Of course,” said Ms. Early. “Who has it?”
Everybody looked at everybody else. But no one had the jar.
“It must have rolled away, Charlene,” said Ms. Early. “Let’s have a quick cleanup now and see if we can’t uncover it. Speedy, now.”
The children tidied and looked, but no one found the jar.
“Maybe someone took it,” said Joyce.
“Darn,” said Charlene, her eyes scanning the room. “Thank you for looking, Ms. Early and everybody. That goop costs my mom so much to make I don’t want to lose any of it. She told me I could bring it to school only if I was real careful with it. Plus, we need it now, to have enough for the Hair Extravaganza and Musicale.”
“We’ll all keep looking for it,” said Smashie, who lost things often and knew how Charlene must be feeling.
“Thanks, Smash.”
“Now, let’s line up and file, children.” And Ms. Early led them to the gym.
Who knew that the missing jar of Herr Goop would set off a whirl of intrigue and mystery that would plunge Room 11 into chaos and suspicion not seen since the disappearance of Patches? Who knew that Smashie and Dontel would once again have to assume the role of investigators? Nobody.
Yet.
Grammy and Dr. Marquise were waiting at the open door when Mr. Potter let Smashie and Dontel off the bus.
“I wonder why your dad is at my house at this hour,” said Smashie.
“Me too,” said Dontel. Usually his father’s dental practice kept him at work until suppertime.
But not today. The children could tell that Dr. Marquise was bursting with news. So was Smashie’s grammy, standing beside him.
“Guess who just called?” asked Grammy as they entered the house.
“Bon Jovi?” asked Smashie hopefully.
“No,” said Dr. Marquise.
But Dontel knew.
“Ms. Early,” he said.
“Yes!” said Dr. Marquise. “How did you know?”
“Just a feeling,” said Dontel.
“And do you know what she told me about?”
Smashie drooped. “The musicale,” she said dully.
“Exactly. And she asked me if you had any other talents besides your singing,” said Grammy.
Smashie moaned in despair.
“Your wonderful, loud singing,” Dr. Marquise added hastily.
“And do you know what I told her?” said Grammy.
The children did not have to guess.
Smashie looked at Dontel. Dontel looked at Smashie. They knew the power of will their relatives had. There would be no choice. Smashie would not sing in the musicale. Instead, her teacher, her grandmother, and Dr. Marquise would force her and Dontel to perform what Grammy and Dontel’s dad had been teaching them since they were three. Their secret talent.
Sixties go-go dancing.
The music note on the top of Smashie’s head quivered.
“Sixties go-go dances are perfect for your musicale!” said Dr. Marquise, who was something of a dance historian on the side. “The other kids will have a blast when you teach them the easy moves and the fun names for the dances. Let’s get to it! We could do the Twist! Then the Pony!” Still wearing his white coat, Dr. Marquise rolled up his sleeves and was clearly set for action. He led them all into the living room. Smashie and Dontel drooped as they followed him. They knew what was coming next. Never mind the rolled-up rug and the record player ready to go; there were also pictures all over the walls: Smashie and Dontel in preschool with matching costumes an
d go-go boots. Smashie and Dontel in kindergarten, performing at a function for Dontel’s church in hats designed by Dr. Marquise. And there was one from just last year, as they performed, in sparkly jumpsuits, for their grandmothers’ detective-novel book club.
“It’s our worst fear realized,” said Dontel. “And to think I thought speaking a piece would forestall it.”
“Nope,” muttered Smashie. “Not if our teacher got to them. Nothing can save us now.”
“Come on, kids!” said Smashie’s grammy. “Let’s get going! Dr. Marquise came home early from work specially to rehearse! You two are going to be the hit of that musicale!” Her eyes were bright with excitement, for Grammy loved sixties go-go dancing. “Makes me relive my youth,” she always said. Go-go dancing had been popular in the 1960s, when Grammy was a girl.
“It’ll be great!” cried Dr. Marquise. “Every act is going to be punctuated by your specialty! So we better get going and get you kids back into form!”
Smashie blinked back tears. But Grammy, not noticing, pushed PLAY on the stereo. “We’ll start off easy. Get you warmed up.”
And she and Dr. Marquise began to do the Twist, twisting their torsos back and forth while their legs shifted in the opposite direction.
“Come on, Dontel! Put some life in it!” cried Dr. Marquise, kicking one of his legs to the side.
Dontel put some life in it.
“Smashie! Twist like you mean it.”
Reluctantly, Smashie tried to twist like she meant it. “Grammy,” she puffed, “Dontel and I have a lot of work to do. Can’t we practice later?”
“Yeah,” said Dontel. “We have to do some . . .” He caught Smashie’s eye. She knew that he knew how she was feeling about all this — the phone call, the not-singing, this forced dance rehearsal — “homework.”
“You can do your homework later!” shouted Dr. Marquise. “Come on, Sue, let’s give them a go at the Swim!” And, as the music changed, he began flinging his arms in swooping swimming motions and boinged about the room.
Dontel groaned. But he dutifully arm-swam across the room.
