How is your vacation going?
What are your favorite subjects in school?
What’s your favorite football team?
What’s your favorite food?
Who is your favorite singer?
What’s your favorite movie?
Now that I think about it, maybe I should use these questions the next time we’re in the library working on our science project or before the student council meeting begins.
Or maybe, if I could really go back in time, I would go back to the football game against Cedarbrook. I can still picture running into the end zone for the winning touchdown. If I could go back in time, then I would know that there was a defender coming at me from my left who was going to strip the ball from me, causing me to fumble at the goal line and lose the game.
God, it’s killing me just thinking about that loss.
Thanks a lot for reminding me about it.
Duke Vanderbilt Samagura
11 January 2016
English 8A
Mr. Minkin
Suggested Writing Prompt: If you could relive any day or moment in the last year, what would it be? What exactly would you change? How could that change affect you in the present?
Sir:
If I could go back in time, I would return to the first day of school. I would have taken one look at my schedule and walked into the office and demanded to have my English class changed. How is doing a writing prompt almost every day going to help us in English? Do you even read these? Do you notice that half the class does nothing when we have “Freewriting”? Are we getting credit for doodling? Can we meditate? Did you ever stop to consider that fifteen minutes of “Freewriting” is a waste of valuable teaching time? It’s Monday morning and this is the best you can come up with for a lesson?
Of course, if I really could go back in time, I would go back one week, back to the first day of the semester, to science class, then maybe things would be very different. When Miranda Mullaly looked into my eyes after pulling the thumbtack from my chair, I would have taken her by the hand and led her from the room. I would have taken her away from this school filled with ignoramuses and dolts. We would’ve gone for a walk in the park, where we could simply be together, away from our indolent classmates.
6
Tryouts & Auditions
SAM
I can’t understand this obsession Lichtensteiner has with toilet paper, but it’s starting to get on my nerves. Again, here I am strolling the hallway on my way to class, the epitome of a model student who is turning over a new leaf, and Lichtensteiner comes out of nowhere and stops me and starts talking about toilet paper. I’m starting to get sick of it.
Anyway, I rush off to the auditorium for these tryouts or auditions or whatever they’re called. Mr. Wexler, who’s a little bit too excited about the whole thing, if you ask me, tells me and Chollie we can audition first and then head off to basketball practice. Why Chollie wants to be in the play is beyond me, but who cares.
So anyway, here I am up on the stage. Of course, I don’t really know what they expect me to do. I’m thinking maybe it won’t be that bad. It can’t be worse than the student council speeches. But since I lost my chance to be on student council with Miranda Mullaly, I really have to get into this play, even though, like I said, it’s not my thing. I mean, who really wants to be in the play with nerds like Duke and Ralph and my sister? But when I see Miranda sitting out there in the audience, I figure I can hold my nose and go for it.
Even though people don’t think I get nervous, since I fool around in class sometimes, my knees are shaking. I’m nervous and I know I look nervous, too. And unlike Duke Samagura, who probably dreams all the time about dancing and singing, I haven’t been in anything since elementary school, which is when they make everyone go up onstage. And you don’t have to try out in elementary school. So, to tell the truth, I’m fairly nervous.
Sharon is no help, either. She gave me the lyrics but she didn’t help with the melody or tune or whatever it is. And of course I’m not going to spend my night singing with my sister. She did say to “wow them,” but even that doesn’t make much sense to me.
But it all doesn’t matter because there I am, up onstage, and everyone’s waiting for me to sing. Mr. Wexler, who’s wearing this weird red hat, and Miss Kerrigan, an English teacher who’s a real nut about English class and big words, are sitting out there with legal pads, serious as can be.
I channel my inner Andy Samberg and rap out “Hey There” to the tune of “Lazy Sunday.” It’s harder than it looks, but I think I do a pretty good job, rapping like I’ve been rapping my whole life and trying my best to “wow them.”
By the time I’m done, I’m sort of out of it. Sometimes, when I’m really nervous, things kind of slow down and my vision gets blurry. Weird, right? So as I’m rapping I can’t see too far in front of me, which is a good thing because I really don’t want to do it in front of the whole school anyway.
Slowly, everything starts working again. My vision gets clear and sounds become sharper and the world goes back to regular speed. And what do I see? Mr. Wexler, the old bugger, has a big smile on his face and he’s clapping. So is Miss Kerrigan. She’s clapping along with him.
So all in all, I guess it went pretty well.
But just in case, I jump off the stage and rush off to basketball practice, keeping my eye out for that lunatic Lichtensteiner.
What a day.
Duke
I skipped out a little early from art class to toss some toilet paper on the walls of the second-floor bathroom. No one saw me, and the world’s worst art teacher, Mr. O’Reiley (a huge joke who thinks the garbage my classmates create should hang in the Louvre11), never even noticed I left class.
I was the first to get to the auditorium, but good old Mr. Wexler, who’d donned a red beret (a nice touch, I thought), was already there, sitting in the middle row alongside Miss Kerrigan.
With great excitement and enthusiasm, I took a seat to their right. But I waited and I waited and I wasn’t sure what was going on. Being a man of action, I approached the two so they would know I was not playing games. You really don’t want to go into an audition not ready to go. And I was ready to go.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wexler. I’m ready when you are.”
“Great, Duke, super. Just take a seat and we’ll call you.”
This was not the reaction I was expecting. Still, Mr. Wexler was in charge, so I took my seat. More and more students trickled in. After a few minutes it was obvious Mr. Wexler was waiting for someone.
“What are we waiting for, Mr. Wexler?” I asked.
“I told some of the basketball players they could audition before practice began. Oh, here they are now.” Mr. Wexler smiled as Chollie Muller and Sam Dolan walked down the aisle. It was disgusting.
Mr. Wexler turned to Miss Kerrigan. “Isn’t this fantastic?”
If I were a vengeful person I would return to Penn Valley in five years and put sugar in Mr. Wexler’s gas tank. What a moron. No, Mr. Wexler, it isn’t fantastic. Theatre is not something one just throws oneself into for a lark or on a whim. It’s a passion. It’s a way of life.
I had no choice but to sit and watch these two massacre the great lyrics and melodies from a timeless work of art. For a person with a brain and respect for theatre, it was torture, pure torture.
At first I was so angry my hands were shaking. But once I saw Chollie Muller try to audition, I laughed it off.
“From the top,” Mr. Wexler said, handing him the lyrics.
Chollie just stood there with the stupid “Huh?” expression he wears every second of the day.
“From the top,” Mr. Wexler repeated, a little too kindly, in my opinion. This was an audition, for heaven’s sake.
“The top of what?” Chollie managed to ask.
It took every
ounce of self-control to not yell out, “Fraud! Fraud! He doesn’t love musical theatre. He doesn’t even know what it is. He has no respect for the art or the artist. Get that bum off the stage!”
Somehow I kept control. It helps to have class. And Knuckles and Moose.
“We need to hear your voice. Can you sing that song?” Mr. Wexler asked.
“I don’t know how it goes.”
“Can you sing something?” Mr. Wexler asked, leading him along.
Chollie shrugged. You would’ve thought Mr. Wexler had asked him a question about nuclear physics.
“How about ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’?” Mr. Wexler asked.
Like a three-year-old, Chollie nodded. Mr. Wexler pointed to Mrs. Lambert, and she accompanied Chollie as he sang “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”
Everyone thought it was great fun. I couldn’t believe it. Even Ralph Waldo, my chief rival for the role of Sid, yelled, “Encore!” and meant it! And when I looked back, Miranda had a smile on her face. Incredible.
Mercifully, Chollie was done. Next up was Sam Dolan.
Unlike Chollie, Sam was ready to go. “I’m going to perform ‘Hey There,’” he told Mr. Wexler, as if he’d been auditioning his entire life.
Mrs. Lambert started to play the accompaniment on the piano.
“Oh, I won’t need the piano,” Sam said.
Mr. Wexler raised his eyebrows as if he was very impressed. I was about to be sick.
Then Sam snapped his fingers and started rapping the lyrics to “Hey There” as if he were one of Cassandra and Neal’s subjects.12
I was shocked, utterly shocked. This is how civilizations crumble.
Personally, I thought Sam Dolan should have been tossed from the auditorium, and I smiled to myself imagining Knuckles and Moose dragging him off the stage. But my revelry ended when I saw Mr. Wexler applauding, eating it up like a pig at a trough.
“Well done, Sam! Well done, indeed. Very interesting interpretation,” Mr. Wexler gushed.
Sam left and the travesty was over. And I left as well, needing a moment to collect my thoughts, breathe deeply, count to ten, and shake the disgraceful auditions from my mind.
After pacing the halls and mentally preparing for my audition, I walked back to the auditorium to the sound of the mellifluous voice of Miranda belting out “I’m Not at All in Love.” A smile broke over my face, my anger receded. At last, true talent! I was ready once again for the audition of a lifetime.
It was quite a shock, however, to see that the heavenly singing came from Sharon Dolan, Sam’s younger sister. She finished and the crowd cheered as I searched for Miranda. But she was gone.
No matter, for we would be onstage together soon enough.
I was called up next. And I proved I am not made of sugar candy,13 nailing my audition with a crowd-pleasing rendition of “Once a Year Day.”
Yours truly, in my opinion, single-handedly restored some sanity to the asylum otherwise known as Penn Valley Middle School.
CHOLLIE
Boy, do I feel really good about everything.
Trying out for the play isn’t easy. I’m really sweating up there onstage with everybody watching. And it’s weird sweating when you’re not running around. I sort of feel like I’m in trouble, but all I really have to do is sing a song. There are tons of people watching and waiting for their turn to try out, but it’s all okay when I see Miranda Mullaly in the back. And what’s so hard about singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb”? Mr. Wexler even has someone playing the piano for me. If you haven’t ever sung a song like that out of the blue, a little background music helps a lot.
Billy says it’s because I’m in love, and he teases me a bit when I tell him. But I don’t care at all because I feel so good.
Basketball practice is a little different.
The big championship game is next week. This is it. It all comes down to this one game and we’re all sort of nervous. Even Coach. He’s really off his game, having us run drills, then changing his mind and having us run gassers, which is really just us sprinting back and forth on the court. Then he’s blowing his whistle again and having us break presses and run fast-break drills.
No one’s ever seen Coach this wound up, and he is the most wound-up guy in the school, at least whenever we play against Cedarbrook.
I think we’re going to be okay. We really need to just get out there and play.
Billy feels the same way I do. He tells me to relax, which is of course easier said than done. But actually, since I have Miranda in my life and the pressure of trying out for the play, I’m not thinking about basketball every minute of the day, which might be a good thing.
Miranda
To: Tom
From: Miranda
Date: January 11, 2016 8:46 PM
Subject: I Miss You!
———————————————————————————
Tom,
I can’t thank you enough for your words of encouragement last night about the auditions. You were right, I needed to have the right attitude. I was positive and confident and assured. And all because of YOU!
I sang “I’m Not at All in Love” and feel I hit the notes right about where I wanted. There’s a seventh-grader who nailed it. But I doubt Mr. Wexler would give her the lead. An eighth-grader deserves the role and I will be confident because that’s your advice.
I’m so happy you know so much about theater. You can’t believe some of the auditions that I had to sit through! I won’t bore you with the details besides telling you the “star” of the basketball team auditioned. He sang “Mary Had a Little Lamb” because he didn’t know anything else.
Ugh! I can’t wait to get out of middle school.
Why do you have to be so far away?!
Big big hugs!
Miranda
To: Erica
From: Miranda
Date: January 11, 2016 8:57 PM
Subject: Ugh!!!!!
———————————————————————————
E
I think today was the worst day of my life. I can’t believe I messed up my audition. How could I possibly forget the lyrics?!
BTW—am I crazy or was it totally unfair that Mr. Wexler had Chollie Muller and Sam Dolan audition before the real auditions began?!
I hope you know that you were awesome today. No matter what roles we get I know we’re going to have great fun. And we get to make fun of Mr. Wexler’s berets!
Also, sorry I haven’t been at lunch (science project!) but we’ll catch up in the cafeteria tomorrow. I promise.
M
7
The Cast Is Dye
CHOLLIE
Basketball. Basketball. Basketball.
The championship game is next week, and I think we’re ready to go. And as I’m walking down the hall I’m dribbling an invisible basketball, keeping my head up and spinning to avoid teachers and students. I can actually hear the roar of the crowd.
So I’m kind of shocked when Sam Dolan grabs my arm as I’m “dribbling” by the main bulletin board. I still have the roar of the crowd in my head, so I don’t hear what Sam is saying. But I follow his finger and he’s pointing to where they’ve posted the results of the play tryouts. I can’t believe it. I’ve been so busy I forgot all about the tryouts for the play, and that was only three days ago. Boy, time sure flies when you’re having fun.
My name is at the bottom of the list as Second Helper.
“What the heck is the Second Helper?” I ask Sam. His name is on top of mine as First Helper.
“I don’t know what it means,” Sam says with a big smile, “but if it’s on the board, it’s gotta be good.”
Sam is right. It’s really great that I made the play, especially since the whole lab partner thing with M
iranda has kind of not worked out. She’s one of these workaholic types, so when we’re together, it’s just work, work, work. But I get it, because whenever I’m practicing football or baseball or basketball, I’m in a zone. That’s the way Miranda is with science.
Miranda comes along to see where her name is. It’s not on top, which I figure is not a good thing. Sharon Dolan’s name is on top. And I think Miranda is upset her name isn’t on top. A huge part of me wants to go over to Miranda and tell her it will be okay, but we’re just not at that point yet.
Then Miranda goes over to Sharon Dolan and congratulates Sharon for having her name on the top of the list, sort of like shaking hands after a football game. It’s all really confusing, this play stuff, but I’m learning.
“Why do you want to be in the play anyway?” Sam asks.
I forget Sam is still standing next to me.
It’s weird that Sam wants to know why I want to be in the play. But he’s been acting weird lately. I see him at the library almost all the time, which is odd because I always thought Sam was like me and didn’t know where the library was.
“A guy can’t be too one-dimensional,” I tell Sam, dribbling my imaginary ball to science class.
SAM
This morning Sharon is in a rotten mood because she ripped one of her contact lenses and has to wear her glasses.
“Four eyes are better than two,” I say, trying to cheer her up.
Sharon holds up a spoon and waves it at me in a threatening manner. “Don’t push my buttons. Don’t.”
I look at Dad and he just goes on eating his toast. And Mom acts like nothing happened.
“Would you like some orange juice, dear?” she asks Sharon, as if she had not just threatened me.
So much for trying to lighten the mood.
But you see, this isn’t just this morning. When I really think about it, this type of thing happens almost every day before we even get a chance to rub the sleep out of our eyes. The day before, Sharon and Maureen were both mad at Mom because she said something about them not eating enough breakfast.
Me and Miranda Mullaly Page 4
