by Meg Cabot
I was totally hoping the announcement would be about my mom, because that would make Cheyenne sorry for what she’d done out on the playground. I could just picture how badly Cheyenne would want to come over to my house once she found out my mom was a TV star. Not that I’d ever let Cheyenne come over to my house. Not after the way she’d treated me and my friends. Cheyenne didn’t like to play fun games like super spy (pretending to be a spy by seeing how quietly you could walk around the house and spy on the people in it without getting caught) and science experiment (mixing up all the different cleansers you find under the bathroom sink to see how many it took before you could make an explosion…something we’d never managed successfully so far. But we’d made some really bad smells).
Cheyenne only liked to call boys and ask them if they liked her. Cheyenne is officially boring. That’s a rule.
Still. It would be very satisfying to say, “I don’t think so,” when Cheyenne begged to come home for lunch with me (Cheyenne thought going home for lunch was the height of dorkiness and that getting a hot lunch, like she and Marianne and Dominique did, was the epitome of cool).
What I didn’t want the announcement to be was that Mrs. Hunter was going away on vacation and that we were going to have a substitute teacher. Mrs. Hunter had made an announcement like that once before and it hadn’t worked out so well. At least, not when the substitute, Mr. White, showed up, since some of the boys in the class had decided it would be a good idea to change seats for the week and pretend to be each other. Stuart Maxwell had given Rosemary and me five boxes of Nerds each in exchange for not telling.
“Children,” Mrs. Hunter said as we all sat dreading the return of Mr. White. (It’s embarrassing to watch a grown man cry.) “It is the time of year when all the classes begin preparing for the presentation they’re going to put on for the Pine Heights Elementary School open house. That’s when we invite your parents here to school one evening and put on a little performance to show them what we’ve been learning this semester. Each grade gets a separate night, and each class within that grade does something different. Mrs. Danielson’s class, for instance, is going to put on a presentation about early settlers to this area, which, as you know, we’ve been studying recently.”
I nearly threw up when I heard this. Not because I was nervous about putting on a presentation. But because putting on a presentation about early settlers to the United States sounded so boring. No offense, but if I had been an early settler to the United States, I’d have gone back to where I came from. First of all, you had to go to the bathroom in an outhouse. That is a bathroom that is outside of the house, if you know what I mean.
And all the grades in the whole school were in one room! Which would have meant I’d have had to be in the same room as my little brothers all day.
It’s bad enough having to live in the same house with my brothers outside of school! I’m not spending all day at school in the same room with them.
I was getting a very bad feeling about what we were going to have to do for our presentation. Because I did not want to have to put on some old-timey clothes and stand up and give a speech about walking nine miles to get to the mercantile. No thanks.
Then Mrs. Hunter said, “I thought since all of you have shown so much creativity this year in your essays and drawings on the issue of the environment and what we can do at home to think green, we might do something a little different than the other classes.”
I leaned across my desk to look over at Rosemary, who sits down the row from me, separated only by Stuart Maxwell. Rosemary hunched over her desk to grin at me. I could tell she’d been thinking the same thing about the one-room schoolhouse. Rosemary had had even more reason than me to be afraid of the settler thing. She hates wearing dresses more than any girl in our class. And if we’d had to dress up in old-timey clothes, for sure Rosemary would have had to wear a skirt…a long one. That would have just about killed her.
“For our presentation,” Mrs. Hunter continued from the stool where she always sits when she reads to us from a Madeleine L’Engle book (although now she’d moved on to The Hobbit, by someone else, which wasn’t nearly as good because so far there are no girl characters in it, although sometimes I pretend Bilbo Baggins is a girl, and his real name is Jill, as in Jildo), “I was thinking it would be nice for us to put on a play.”
Everyone in class gasped. Then started chattering excitedly. You could tell right away that the whole class thought the idea of putting on a play was a really, really good one. A much better idea than Mrs. Danielson’s idea about giving a presentation on settlers.
I was excited, too. I had never been in a play before. Well, except for a little baby play in the first grade in which I played the letter A, because my name started with the letter A. But that didn’t count. This would be a proper play, I was sure, in which I would have more lines than A is for apple…and for Allie!
And hopefully I wouldn’t trip over my own feet as I came onto the stage, like I did in first grade, either.
“Oooh, Mrs. Hunter,” Cheyenne cried, throwing her hand into the air, eagerly begging to be called on, as always. Rosemary called Cheyenne a suck-up, a word she’d learned from her older brothers. “Mrs. Hunter!”
Mrs. Hunter looked over at Cheyenne. “Yes, Cheyenne?” she asked.
Cheyenne put her arm down. “May I suggest Romeo and Juliet as the play we put on as a class?” she said. “It is a very moving drama written by a man named William Shakespeare about two teenagers who, even though they are very deeply in love, are kept cruelly apart by their families.”
As Cheyenne said this, she turned her head a little and looked at Patrick Day, who was sitting next to Rosemary in the last row, drawing a picture of James Bond’s car with a periscope coming out of the roof, racing stripes down its sides, and fire coming out of the exhaust pipe.
Rosemary and I exchanged horrified glances, and I saw Stuart Maxwell, who was sitting next to me, make a face, while on my other side, Joey Fields squirmed excitedly. I think he was the only person in the whole class, besides Cheyenne and M and D, who liked Cheyenne’s idea. Everyone else was totally disgusted.
Shakespeare? Romeo and Juliet? I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure there’s kissing in that.
The thing is, a few months ago, Mrs. Hunter had made a rule that there was no kissing in fourth grade. Also, no “going with” people, or any kind of boyfriend-girlfriend stuff.
The only person who’d been upset about that had been Cheyenne (and Joey Fields, who I think sort of secretly dreams about someday having a girlfriend).
Now, I could tell Cheyenne was trying to find a way to get around Mrs. Hunter’s rule, by having us all put on a play with kissing in it. No doubt she wanted to play Juliet…
…and she probably wanted Patrick Day, the boy with whom she wanted to run off to the Brooklyn Bridge when she turned sixteen, to play Romeo.
Ew!
I could tell the same thought had occurred to Rosemary since she had wrapped her hands around her own neck and was pretending to strangle herself, with her tongue sticking out. It was kind of hard not to laugh. I mean, it’s not like Patrick Day is as cute as Sophie’s crush, Prince Peter, or anything. I have actually seen Patrick pick his nose. And eat it.
“Thank you for that suggestion, Cheyenne,” Mrs. Hunter said, and for a minute I was worried she was actually considering it. Then she added, “But I’m not sure we’re ready for the Bard just yet.”
Cheyenne looked super disappointed. I guessed from her expression that the Bard must be Romeo and Juliet, and felt super happy. Yay! We weren’t doing Cheyenne’s play!
“Instead,” Mrs. Hunter went on, “I took the liberty of writing my own play…one with a part for every single person in this class. Allie, would you mind passing out the scripts you’ll find on my desk?”
I got up and went to Mrs. Hunter’s desk (I sit in the last row with all the worst boys in our class—with Rosemary to help me manage them. Our desks are right next t
o Mrs. Hunter’s desk, so Mrs. Hunter can help supervise the bad boys. So Rosemary and I end up passing things out all the time. It’s completely routine for us).
“The play is called Princess Penelope in the Realm of Recycling,” Mrs. Hunter explained (which I could already tell because I was reading the title as I passed out the scripts). “It’s about a princess named Penelope who runs away from her father’s castle after he dies and Penelope learns that her stepmother, the evil queen, is going to try to kill her so she can inherit the throne instead of Penelope. While trying to reach the home of her beloved fairy godmother, with whom Penelope knows she’ll be safe, she wanders through a strange and wonderful land, the Realm of Recycling. There she meets many odd creatures, such as compact fluorescent bulb fairies, public transportation elves, recycled paper dragons, water conservation mermaids, unplug-when-not-in-use unicorns, and reusable water bottle wizards, who teach Penelope all about ways she can help save the environment so that her father’s kingdom, which has begun to be destroyed by pollution and her stepmother’s wasteful habits, will be able to be enjoyed by many generations to come. The creatures of the Realm of Recycling then help Penelope escape from the evil soldiers her stepmother sends to kill her.”
Wow! This play sounded way better than Romeo and Juliet. Elves and dragons? Fairies and wizards? And a princess? I totally wanted to be in this play. It sounded fantastic! I couldn’t believe Mrs. Hunter had written it. It seemed like something a professional writer would have come up with.
And I could tell the rest of the class was excited about it, too, if the way people snatched the scripts out of my hands as I passed them out was any indication. Not just the girls, either. The boys, too.
“Of course,” Mrs. Hunter went on in a warning voice, as if she could feel the tremor of delight that was going through Room 209, “this isn’t going to be an easy play to put on. There are a lot of lines that will have to be memorized, and a set that will have to be built, and costumes to make, and stage lighting to design, and…well, it’s going to take all of us pulling together if we’re going to make this work. We’ll be spending all of our art and music classes from now until the open house working on Princess Penelope in the Realm of Recycling.”
Cheyenne raised her hand again. She had a copy of Mrs. Hunter’s script in front of her, because I’d already passed them out to her row.
“Oooh, Mrs. Hunter,” Cheyenne said. “Mrs. Hunter!”
Mrs. Hunter looked over at her. “Yes, Cheyenne?” she said in a sort of tired voice.
“Mrs. Hunter,” Cheyenne said, putting her hand down. “I just want to say, on behalf of the class, that I think this play sounds really, really good. And I would like to volunteer to play the part of Princess Penelope.”
The minute she said the words “Princess Penelope,” about half a dozen other hands went flying up into the air, all belonging to other girls in Room 209. Every single girl whose hand was up wore an expression that showed she felt outraged over what Cheyenne had just done.
All the girls in our class, practically, wanted to play the part of Princess Penelope.
“Girls,” Mrs. Hunter said. “Put your hands down. You’ll all get a chance to audition for the parts you want. That’s why Allie is handing out the scripts now. I want you to take them home and give them a read-through tonight. Figure out which parts you’d like to try out for, and then I’ll hold auditions tomorrow and make the announcement of who got what part on Friday. We’ll start rehearsals on Monday.”
Well! This was a much better way to do it than just giving the part to whoever asked for it first. Everyone had to try out, and whoever did the best job got the part. Kind of like the way my mom had gotten the job of film reviewer for the show Good News!
Except that she’d been the only person who’d applied. At least according to her.
After I’d finished passing out all the scripts, I went back to my desk and picked up the one I’d set down for myself. Mrs. Hunter was still talking about the play, but I wasn’t paying attention anymore. I was too busy reading.
Wow. Princess Penelope had a lot of lines. As I read through them, I could sort of see that Princess Penelope was the star of the play.
Well…her name was in the title.
Hmmm. It would be kind of cool to play a princess in the class play. Especially if it was the main part. I mean, it would be a lot of lines to memorize.
But think how proud my parents would be when they showed up at the open house, and we put on Princess Penelope in the Realm of Recycling, and I was Penelope! Good News! might even have me on their show as a guest to talk about my performance—I’m the daughter of one of their stars, after all.
Even better, I wouldn’t have to work too hard on my costume, because I already had a princess gown: the flower-girl dress I’d worn for my aunt Mary’s wedding last summer (if it still fit). It would be perfect! It was a long dress, and made out of shiny gold fabric (Aunt Mary got married in a fancy restaurant at night). It totally looked like something a princess would wear (if I got my mom to do my hair in a bun or braids wrapped around my head).
The problem was, I wasn’t the only girl in my class who wanted to play Princess Penelope.
But whatever. I’d figure out a solution to that problem when the time came.
In the meantime, figuring out how I was going to beat Cheyenne for the part we both wanted? That was going to be a pleasure.
RULE #3
It’s Rude to Tell Someone They’re Only Going to Get Something Because No One Else Wants It, Not Because They Earned It
I was so busy poring over my copy of the script, I didn’t even hear the bell for recess ring. So I didn’t have any idea what was going on until I noticed Caroline, Sophie, Erica, and Rosemary all standing around my desk, holding their coats.
“Oh,” I said, looking up. “Hey, you guys.”
“Aren’t you coming outside?” Erica wanted to know.
“Yeah,” Rosemary said. “Are you just going to sit there all day?”
“Huh?” I said, embarrassed I’d been so absorbed in what I’d been doing. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t hear the bell.”
“I guess not,” Sophie said with a laugh. “You must really like that play.”
But I noticed she was still holding her copy of Mrs. Hunter’s script as well. Even though we were supposed to be going outside to play.
“I do,” I said, getting up and going over to the coatrack. “It seems really good. Right? I mean, did you get a chance to read it?”
“I did,” Caroline said. Caroline is one of the fastest readers in our class. She read each of the Harry Potter books in a day. Even the really long ones. “It’s good.”
“Which part do you think you’re going to try out for?” I asked as I put my coat on.
“I’m going to try for the fairy godmother of reusable cloth shopping bags,” Erica said. “Because I’ve always wanted to be one. A fairy godmother, I mean.”
I wasn’t actually surprised to hear this. After all, Erica loves doing nice things for people. She’s always breaking up arguments and telling everyone how nice they look, even when they look awful (that’s actually one of my rules: that you should always tell people they look nice, even when they don’t. This makes people feel good, so they’ll like you better. Erica is very good at this rule).
“You’d be really good as the fairy godmother,” I said to Erica.
“Wouldn’t she?” Sophie said. “That’s what I told her! But she doesn’t think she’s going to get the part.”
“Oh, I’m not a good enough actress,” Erica said. “I tried out for The Sound of Music when they did it in the community theater last year, and my sister, Missy, made it to callbacks, but I didn’t.”
“You’ll get it,” I told her. “I just know you will.” I couldn’t imagine anyone else in our class getting the part of the fairy godmother. Mostly because I couldn’t imagine anyone else wanting that part. I mean, who would want to play the fairy godmother when she could be
a princess?
But I didn’t say that out loud, because it’s rude to tell someone they’re only going to get something because no one else wants it, not because they earned it (that’s a rule).
“Oh,” Erica said, her eyes filling up with tears of gratitude. “Thanks, Allie!” She reached out and gave me a hug. I hugged her back.
See? Just like I said. Total fairy godmother. Or godmother, anyway.
“I want to play one of those evil soldiers,” Rosemary said, her dark eyes flashing with relish. “Maybe I’ll get to carry a sword! And kill Princess Penelope for trying to escape the Castle of Plastic Doom.”
“Princess Penelope doesn’t die at the end,” Caroline said as we went down the stairs to the playground. “The evil queen does.”
“Oh.” Rosemary looked disappointed. “Well, I still want to play an evil soldier. Maybe I can stab Patrick. What about you, Caroline?”
“I’ve never really been interested in acting,” Caroline said, to my surprise. “I’ll maybe try out for the unplug-when-not-in-use unicorn or something, if we have to be in it. But I’m more interested in running the lights or set design or something.”
I was shocked. I couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to be in a play. Who wouldn’t want to be up onstage, wearing a costume, pretending to be someone else in front of everyone? That seemed insane to me. The only thing better, if you asked me, would be to be a veterinarian and save baby animals.
Then again, Caroline is a very practical kind of girl. And acting isn’t the most practical kind of thing.
“Who do you want to try out to be, Sophie?” Caroline asked.
To my surprise, Sophie looked shy.
“Oh,” she said. “I don’t know.”
“You do so know,” Rosemary said. “Spill it.”
“No,” Sophie said. “I don’t have any idea. Really. There are so many great parts, it seems like.”
Which was when it hit me:
Oh, no! Sophie wanted the role of Princess Penelope!
Of course! That’s why she was acting so shy…She didn’t want to admit it, because she was too modest to say she thought she was a good enough actress to get the lead role.
