by Sally Warner
“Oh, good,” Cynthia says, being sarcastic, which is her big thing. “That means we can start.”
And her friend Heather snickers her approval of this put-down.
Fiona is inching up the sloping lawn as if each blade of grass is a hazard and her weak ankles might give way any second. She showed up! So her juggling raw eggs is out. Too bad.
“Who’s gonna do what for the tryouts today?” I ask, getting straight to the point. “Everybody has to say one thing, whether you think it’s any good or not. And then we can pick five acts.”
“DOINK, DOINK,” Stanley murmurs, fiddling with the imaginary crown on his floppy-haired head.
He’s the one pretending to be bossy to me this time, in case you didn’t get it.
“Quit doinking,” Emma says.
“Me and Emma are taking ballet together,” Annie Pat says. “We just started, but we can already do pliés and tendus. And sautés, because we’re really good jumpers.”
“We brought pretty music to play while we dance,” Emma chimes in. “But our act only lasts one minute.”
Cynthia does this huge pretend yawn, patting at her open mouth in a fake-ladylike way.
“Oh, yeah? Then what’s your great talent?” Annie Pat challenges her.
“I’ll sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ like superstars do before football and baseball games,” Cynthia tells us. “And Heather will stand behind me holding an American flag, because that’s not against her religion. We checked. And even if some people don’t love it, they won’t boo, because—it’s ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’”
“I didn’t know you could sing that well,” Kry says, sounding interested.
“Me and Stanley are gonna dance, too,” Jared informs everyone. “Hip-hop. That’s our talent. We brought music.”
Jared and Stanley dancing? They’re so big and clumsy that it would be like watching Frankenstein’s Monster and the Mummy trying to “bust a move,” as my dad still says. I would actually pay money to see that! If I had any money left, that is.
“Okay, good,” I say, writing it down. “Who’s next?”
“I can recite a poem for everyone,” Fiona says, peeping out the surprising words. “I write them myself. Mama likes me to say my poems when we have company. Only sometimes I cry, if it’s a sad poem like the one I brought today,” she confesses.
Fiona crying—while reading a poem—would be awesome. That would definitely not get in the talent show. I put a star next to her name. “Who’s next?” I ask.
“I’m learning to juggle,” Kry tells us. “But not eggs! And I’m not very good yet. I’m only up to two cotton balls at a time. You start with them because they’re so light.”
“Perfect,” I say, drawing another star. Juggling one cotton ball would be even better for failing the tryouts, and juggling no balls would be the best. Kry could just stand there pretending to juggle! But you can’t have everything.
“Okay,” I say. “Who’s left?”
“Kevin and Corey,” Emma says.
“I won’t be here Friday afternoon,” Corey reports. “I have practice.”
He works out almost every day at this swim center near San Diego. He does his homework in the car.
“You poor thing,” Emma says, her eyes wide with pity.
“I think the buzzer’s about to sound,” Annie Pat says, lifting her head as if she’s got some sonar device inside it, like a dolphin does. She hates that buzzer.
“Kevin?” I ask.
“Stand-up,” he says.
We all stare at him.
“You know,” he tells us. “Comedy. I’ll tell jokes. My dad helped me write some.”
“Okay, good,” I say, trying to hide my expression as I write it down. Because I like Kevin fine, don’t get me wrong. In fact, he’s still my half-best friend. But he cannot tell a joke. He always forgets part of it, sometimes even the ending. Or else he starts laughing in the middle of the joke and can’t finish it.
“I’m good enough to flunk the tryouts, anyway,” Kevin says, as if he’s just read my mind. “What about you, EllRay?” he asks, like he wants to get back at me for doubting his comedy skills. “What’s your talent, if you think you’re so great?”
“I don’t think I’m so great,” I protest. “But I could do some magic, I guess.”
“You don’t know any magic,” Jared scoffs.
“I know a little,” I say. “Two illusions, so far. Enough to look like I’m really trying, anyway.”
“So, what five acts do we have?” Annie Pat asks, still braced for the buzzer.
“I think Fiona’s poem, definitely,” I say. “The sadder the better. And Kry’s juggling act. And then maybe the hip-hop dance act?”
“Or ballet, only Emma and Annie Pat are probably too good not to get into the show,” Kry says, sticking up for them.
“We’ll skip it,” Emma says, after sharing a quick look with Annie Pat.
“So that makes three so far,” I say.
“DOINK,” Stanley whispers again, telling everyone how bossy I’m being.
“Quit it,” Emma tells him.
“You can’t leave out ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ or it would be unpatriotic,” Cynthia informs us, like she’s really hoping to make it into that talent show.
“Okay. ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ complete with the American flag,” I say.
“And EllRay’s magic act,” Jared says. “Because this I gotta see.”
“Me too,” Stanley says.
“Me three,” Cynthia chimes in.
“Maybe EllRay can saw a girl in half,” Corey says, staring her down. “We can vote on which girl.”
“You better not,” Cynthia says, narrowing her eyes.
“Believe me, I’m not that good,” I tell her—and everyone.
But at least I’ve now got our class’s five lame acts for the talent show tryouts. And they sound just lousy enough to fail—if I goof up my two illusions, that is.
“I want to tell my jokes,” Kevin says, giving me a look.
Uh-oh! And we were partway back to being friends again.
“Okay,” I say quickly. “We can probably have six acts. They sound short.”
BZZZ-Z-Z!
The morning buzzer sounds, and poor Annie Pat just about jumps out of her skin. She startles easily, Emma says.
And we all head for class.
9
THE TRYOUTS
“I’m impressed, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says after taking attendance. She is holding the list I just handed her. “You kids said you could get this sorted out by yourselves, and you did—with an act to spare, I see,” she tells us. And she reads the following list aloud.
1. Jared and Stanley dance very cool hip hop!
2. Fiona recites this really sad poem she wrote!
3. Kevin tells jokes that are so funny he could be on cable TV!
4. Kry juggles awesome cotton balls!
5. Cynthia sings the very patriotic ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ while Heather holds the American flag!
6. EllRay does two magic illusions!
“It sounds amazing,” Ms. Sanchez says. “And, mercy, so many exclamation points! I had no idea this class was such a hotbed of talent. And you all have your supplies with you? Music, magic tricks, and so on?”
Eight of us nod, suddenly solemn.
This is real.
I’ll need a little table, but everything else is in my lunch bag.
“Good. Our class’s tryout time is at eleven a.m., before lunch,” Ms. Sanchez tells us. “They’re giving us forty-five minutes, and the entire class is invited to attend. You’ll all go straight to lunch from there, so bring your cafeteria money or your lunch boxes with you. But no eating in the auditorium,” she reminds us.
What about throwing up in the auditorium, Ms. Sanchez? I ask silently.
Because—I’m nervous. I thought we’d just get turned down in private, with only a few witnesses, and that would be it. No talent show. Now, though, o
ur whole class will be watching the tryouts. And Ms. Sanchez. But I’m supposed to fail?
How embarrassing.
Is it too late to back out now?
A couple of the other tryout kids are looking as if they’d also like to change their minds, but it’s too late.
“Shhh,” Ms. Sanchez says at five minutes before eleven a.m. as she hustles us down the hall toward the auditorium. “Classes are in session, people.”
“It’s cool walking in the hall when no one else is here,” Emma whispers, and Annie Pat and Kry nod.
I agree, but my heart is pounding too hard for me to react to what she just said.
And—we enter the almost-empty auditorium.
The judges are sitting in the front row, on one side of the main aisle. First, there’s our bearded principal, Mr. James, whose name I usually forget—possibly due to the shock of having been called into his office twice this year.
Next to him, there’s the lady singing teacher who comes around to Oak Glen Primary School, but not as often as she used to, because of money. She has long gray hair and wears dangly earrings and swishy skirts.
Next to her are two strange grown-ups who are probably talented people who live in Oak Glen. The lady has big, fancy yellow hair, like one of Alfie’s dolls, but kind of an old-lady face. The man is almost an antique. He looks as if he’s wearing some bigger guy’s suit. His little white-haired head pokes out of his white, button-down shirt like a turtle’s head coming out of its shell.
I hope we can trust them to reject us from the talent show!
Ms. Sanchez seats us on the left side of the aisle and hands my list to the principal, who looks it over, smiles, and nods. Ms. Sanchez hurries around the row and takes her seat next to the turtle-man in the too-big suit.
The principal stands up. “Welcome, third-graders,” he announces. “These are our judges,” he says, waving at the people sitting in his row. “Let’s give them a rousing Oak Glen thank-you with a big round of applause.”
So we clap our hands as loud—and as long—as we can.
10
TO MAKE A LONG STORY SHORT
“And now,” the principal says, glancing at a piece of paper, “we’ll start with Jared Matthews and Stanley Washington, who are going to dance to ‘Big Ole—’” he pauses a second—“‘Bottom.’”
A couple of girls gasp, recognizing the song, and some of the boys start to CRACK UP, remembering its real title.
“You’ll change your music selection, please, if you happen to get in,” the principal says over the uproar as Jared and Stanley stomp up the stairs at the side of the stage.
“Okay. And we’ll wear different pants, too,” Jared says. “Bigger, lower ones.”
“We’ll see,” the principal says, raising his hairy eyebrows.
Stanley hands a CD to a lady standing near a table at the edge of the stage. “Not too loud, Miss Myrna,” the principal calls out to her, and she nods.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The music starts up, and then the dancing starts—with kick backs, heel hops, and a lot of swag and foot action. Who knew Jared and Stanley had it in them? They’re not like Frankenstein’s Monster or the Mummy at all! They must have been taking lessons or something. Is that cheating?
Stanley’s got the “Stanky Legg” down cold. He’s keeping his knees bent really low, and it looks like he’s skating, his legs seem so rubbery and smooth. His feet never leave the floor. He’s keeping those moves clean. He looks sharp. Stanley! Of all people!
And Jared’s “Dougie” is good, too. He’s down low, and his feet are shifting just right. His arms are pumping and pushing perfectly, swinging loose as they chop through the air. They move so far behind him they seem to be about to wrap around his body. But he’s not grabbing himself, which would mean getting rejected for sure.
Stanley ends by taking hold of one foot and hopping over it with his whole body—almost. He stumbles, but just a little.
At the same time, Jared ends with a little “Wheelchair” action, dropping, dropping his knees as he circles his arms. Then he falls to the stage and whirls around on one beefy shoulder for their combined big finish.
And “Yay-y-y!” we all cheer, clapping like crazy—partly because they were so good, and partly because we’re surprised. Stanley pulls Jared up off the floor, and they pretend bow and then shamble toward the stairs.
“Dude! Dude!” Kevin high-fives each of them as they take their seats again.
“All right. Settle down,” the principal says, smiling.
And we go on to our class’s next five acts.
To make a long story short, Fiona’s poem didn’t work out very well—though it started okay. “This is a poem I wrote called ‘The Death of Fuzzers,’ by Fiona McNulty,” she began. “Fuzzers was my hamster who passed away,” she explained, her eyes already filling with tears.
“Oh, darling Fuzzers, why did you have to go and die?
Are you now a furry angel way up in the sky?”
And that was about as far as she got before she started to sob.
I’ll admit that was entertaining for us kids, the boys, anyway, but I don’t think the judges liked it much. Miss Myrna had to go searching for some tissues, though.
Fiona and her weak ankles barely made it down the stairs. Cynthia and Heather rushed over to help her to her seat, though, and Fiona looked happy about that. They patted her shoulders and whispered her back to normal.
Kevin’s jokes didn’t work out, either. He kept saying stuff like, “No, wait! I forgot to tell you that the man was a clown, see.” That kind of thing. And he did start laughing during his last joke, which came at the end of the longest three minutes in our earth’s history. I felt so bad for him.
But we all clapped anyway, and Kevin looked like he thought it went pretty well. He was still laughing at his last joke when he sat down.
Kry’s juggling act—complete with these two cotton balls the size of marshmallows—turned into a comedy act, really, because she couldn’t keep even the two cotton puffs in the air. But she talked the whole time she was trying to juggle, and she was so funny that the judges were laughing their heads off, even the little old guy with the white hair, who almost fell out of his seat. Ms. Sanchez had to grab him! He looked like he hadn’t laughed that hard in fifty years.
Kry finished with the biggest curtsy you ever saw, and all us kids clapped hard as she came bouncing down the stairs.
The “Star-Spangled Banner” act was okay, except you could barely hear Cynthia’s puny singing voice over the blare of the CD Miss Myrna put on. And when Miss Myrna turned down the music, it got worse, because then you could hear Cynthia’s voice. Also, she kept repeating the same lines, which even I knew was wrong.
“And the rocket’s red glare!
And the rocket’s red glare,
And the ro-o-ocket’s red glare,
And the rocket’s red glare . . .”
The flag at the corner of the stage was too big and heavy for Heather to hold, so she stood behind Cynthia the whole time Cynthia sang, pretending to wave a flag, a serious and patriotic expression on her face. I was afraid she might cry, too, she was so into it.
“I’ll learn the real words for the show,” Cynthia announced to the judges after our polite spatter of applause was over.
But by that point, I was so nervous I could barely think straight.
Because I was up next.
I got an old red pencil case—for my magic supplies—out of my lunch bag with cold, numb fingers, and I prepared to climb those stairs. Part of me had changed plans and wanted to get into the talent show after all, and part of me wanted to flub my tricks and get rejected, as planned.
But all of me wanted to get it over with.
The principal stood again as we clapped for Cynthia and Heather, who looked pink and happy—as if they thought they’d done a pretty good job.
“And finally, we have the magic that is EllRay Jakes,” the principal said, giving me a too-big introduction, consi
dering what was in my little red pencil case. “So put your hands together for EllRay the Magnificent!”
Oh, great, I thought. Now I’m magnificent? Like I’m gonna be able to live that one down!
Man, I was hoping I wouldn’t drop those quarters or accidentally cut the string.
11
THAT SPECIAL BOOK
It is Tuesday morning, and the lady in our school office just posted the list for Friday afternoon’s talent show on the bulletin board next to her office door.
I GOT IN THE SHOW.
Oh. No.
Jared and Stanley got in, too. They are whooping and high-fiving each other like crazy in the hall, shouting “Dude” and “Dog!” while Kevin tells everyone who walks by the good news.
I feel numb from the top of my hair down to the end of my toenails.
See, I was so sure I didn’t get in. After I did my first trick, the lady judge with the blonde hair asked me if I could make my coin trick bigger, so people at the back of the audience could see it better. That’s when I lost the tiny piece of hope about getting in I had secretly been holding onto, because—what did that lady think? That since I had created two quarters out of a dime in front of her very eyes, why not make two Frisbees out of a little round plate so kids in the back row could see the illusion better?
Yeah, lady! I can do my coin trick bigger—when my hands grow giant-sized.
That’s what I should have said.
But I’m too polite, thanks to my parents.
Instead, I stared at my feet and shook my head no.
“Well, it was a wonderful trick anyway,” she said, trying to cheer me up.
Luckily, nothing went wrong with the “Cut String Made Whole” illusion. And the blonde lady didn’t ask me if I could do it with a rope and a hose instead, so everyone could see better.
I guess I could, if my hands were still huge, lady.
I was so sure I hadn’t gotten in!
“Congratulations, EllRay,” Emma says as Annie Pat smiles.
