"Should we start the rehearsal now?" I asked Kristy.
"Let's wait a few more minutes," she answered. "If we do, maybe everybody will show up." So we waited. Karen and her friends Nancy Dawes and Hannie Papadakis made up a dance to the "Little Girls" song. Then they surrounded Nicky Pike, hands on hips, singing, "Little girls! Little girls!" Nicky broke out of their circle and ran to David Michael. "Save me!" he cried.
The drum players - and there were quite a few of them - grouped together near the swing set, beating away happily.
Marilyn and Shea sat at the keyboard and played a duet.
"Claudia?" said Jackie, tapping my arm. "Can I make an announcement?" "We're waiting for a few more kids to arrive," I told him.
"But I can't wait." "He might as well go ahead," Dawn whispered to me. "I think the only kids who aren't here now are the Lowells." I nodded. "Okay, Jackie. What's your announcement?" "Shea, help me," said Jackie. "Help me get their attention." Shea crashed out a chord on the keyboard. The kids gathered around him.
Jackie stood on an overturned plastic crate. "Everybody!" he said loudly. "I have an idea." "Another one?" asked Vanessa Pike.
"Yup. It's about our show. I think we should play the songs from Fiddler on the Roof, not Annie." "What's Fiddler on the Roof?" asked Becca Ramsey.
"I know!" cried Linny Papadakis. "We saw that show in Stamford." It turned out that a lot of kids had. And many of them owned the music and were familiar with the songs. Still, not every kid knew what Jackie was talking about, so I said to him, "Tell them the story of Fiddler on the Roof." "Okay," answered Jackie, pleased to have been trusted with that task. "See, there's this family with all these girls - " "More girls?" protested Nicky.
" - living in Russia a long time ago," Jackie continued. "And their father wants them to get married, only he wants this lady called a matchmaker to choose husbands for them. But the daughters fall in love with other men. Also, a war is coming, and the family is in trouble because they're Jewish . . ." Jackie trailed off and glanced over his shoulder at me. "I'm not sure why that got them in trouble. I mean, why the soldiers didn't like them. Well, anyway." Jackie turned back to the kids. "And the soldiers want to make the family - and all the Jewish people in town - leave the place where they've been living. It's called Anatevka. And they have to pack up their stuff and find another home and it's very sad. But the songs are good and Shea knows how to play some of them and I think our program should be called Fiddler on the Roof instead of Annie," Jackie finished up.
The kids who had seen Fiddler on the Roof, which was more than half of them, agreed. Our entire program had changed.
"Shea? What song do you and Jackie want to teach the kids first?" I asked.
Shea considered this. "How about 'Tradition'? I like that one. It has a good beat. And we know most of the words." "Okay. Let's start." Soon after we began, the Lowell kids showed up. Mrs. Lowell was with them.
"Tradishu-u-u-u-un! Tradition!" the singers were belting out.
I glanced at Mrs. Lowell, then down at the ground. "Hi," I said. I wondered what she saw when she looked at me. Slope-eyes? That was why I couldn't look at her.
"Hello," replied Mrs. Lowell. She was gazing around the yard at the kids, who'd stopped playing and singing. Then she approached Dawn.
Caitlin, Mackie, and Celeste ran to the children.
"Are you one of the baby-sitters?" Mrs. Lowell asked Dawn. (She ignored the rest of us. You'd never have known that Mary Anne and Kristy and I had taken care of her kids.) "Yes," Dawn answered warily.
"Are you in charge here?" "Actually," said Dawn, straightening her shoulders, "Claudia is in charge. The band was her idea." "Oh." Mrs. Lowell looked at me, then back at Dawn. She cleared her throat. "There certainly is an assortment of children here." "Oh, yeah," said Dawn. "All ages. The youngest one is - " Dawn stopped speaking. She realized that wasn't what Mrs. Lowell had meant. She also realized Mrs. Lowell was right. The children were "assorted." Becca is African-American. Linny and Hannie are Greek. Nancy Dawes is Jewish, but Dawn didn't see how Mrs. Lowell could tell that just by looking at her. The Hsu boys are Asian. And did Mrs. Lowell know that the Rodowskys are Polish? Frankly, Dawn didn't care. "I guess," she said.
"What songs are the children learning?" asked Mrs. Lowell.
"They're learning music from Fiddler on the Roof. They just - " "Fiddler on the Roof?" Mrs. Lowell's jaw tightened. Her lips were pressed together so firmly they were turning white. "Caitlin? Celeste? Mackie? Come here, please. We're going home." "But Mom - " said Mackie.
"I mean it. Right this instant." "We want to play" wailed Celeste, banging her sticks together.
"You can play at home." Mrs. Lowell meant business. Reluctantly her children made their way to her. Celeste's lower lip was trembling. As they pushed past me, Mrs. Lowell made a face. It was the sort of face you'd make if you opened up a package of meat and discovered it was moldy.
Stacey put her arm around me.
I wanted to cry, but I looked at the grinning members of All the Children. They didn't know what had happened and they were ready to play again. Shea started at the beginning of "Tradition" and worked slowly through the song while the children tried to memorize the melody.
"What was that all about?" Mary Anne whispered to me.
My friends and I stepped away and clustered together at the edge of the yard. Kristy was fuming. Her face was beet red.
"I guess they didn't like our choice of musicals," said Jessi.
"Because it's about Russian Jews?" asked Mal.
"That's a bad combination for Mrs. Lowell," I said. "Foreigners and people of a different religion." I attempted a smile. Kristy just shook her head.
"Hey, come on. You were the one who was able to laugh before," I said to her.
"I didn't have to face Mrs. Lowell then," Kristy answered. "I couldn't see how much she dislikes me because my sister is from Vietnam. It's a little different when you're actually looking at her." "What do you think we should *do now?" asked Stacey.
"What do you mean?" replied Dawn.
"About our program." "Go ahead with it." "What if other parents don't approve of the idea?" "What other parents? None of them is like Mrs. Lowell. And half of them have already taken their kids to see Fiddler on the Roof. We can't change the program because Mrs. Lowell doesn't like it." "1 guess," said Stacey. "But you know what? When you get right down to it, we're just kids. We might be good baby-sitters - " "We are good baby-sitters," interrupted Dawn.
" - but we're still just kids. And these kids, the ones in the band, are other people's children. Not ours. Their parents think they know what's best for them. So we have to go along with that." Stacey was right. Who were we to think we could change the world?
"Wait a sec, you guys!" said Dawn. "You are worrying about a problem we don't even have. As I just said, the rest of the parents are nothing like Mrs. Lowell. As far as we know, they love the band and they love the songs their children are playing. So Caitlin and Celeste and Mackie can't be part of the band anymore. That's too bad. It really is. But there are a couple of dozen other kids" - Dawn spread her arms, indicating the crowd of children in the yard - "who still want to make music. Right?" "Right," agreed Stacey. "Okay, Shea. Take it away!" Chapter 12.
My friends and I tried very hard to be cheerful after that, especially when we were around the kids. Still, I don't know about the other BSC members, but when I was alone, I brooded. Not so much about the music our band was playing. It didn't take me long to realize that not too many people would find fault with performing music from a show as long-running and as popular as Fiddler on the Roof. No, I brooded about my awful revelation. (By the way, Janine was the one who told me about revelations. She says a revelation is like a discovery, only more dramatic.) The thing is, I'd never thought of myself as different until I met Mrs. Lowell. I mean, everyone is unique. There is no other Claudia Lynn Kishi, no one who looks just like me, and loves art and junk food and is poor at school but good with kid
s, and so forth. I learned that when I was little enough to watch Sesame Street. What I hadn't learned is that there are people - in my very own neighborhood - who don't value me or find me worthwhile, just because my ancestors happen to have come from a particular country.
Plus, the Lowells and my revelation were so tied up with the band that for awhile the band left a bad taste in my mouth. I didn't enjoy it anymore. I didn't look forward to rehearsals.
But Karen Brewer changed that.
One Saturday afternoon I went to Kristy's house to baby-sit for her little brothers and sisters - David Michael, Emily Michelle, Andrew, and Karen. As usual, the rest of Kristy's family had scattered. Her mother and Watson had gone off for an afternoon of peace. Nannie was at a meeting. Kristy was with Mary Anne at the library, working on a school project. Sam was at the high school for a dress rehearsal of the drama club's latest play (he had helped write the play). And Charlie had gone off in his car, the Junk Bucket. I wasn't sure where, but it didn't matter. (In case of an emergency I had decided to call my own parents. They're usually pretty easy to find.) "Well," Karen said to me as soon as Charlie and the Junk Bucket had driven off. "That's the last of them." "Last of who?" I was sitting on the front steps of Kristy's house. Andrew, Emily, and David Michael were fooling around in the yard. But Karen had plopped down next to me.
"The last of the big people," replied Karen. "Now it's just us little guys and you. The fun can begin." I smiled. "What do you feel like doing today?" "Playing." "Playing what?" I was thinking I could tolerate anything except hide-and-seek, which I had played all afternoon the day before with the three Barrett kids. I was all seeked out. All hidden out, too.
"Our songs," said Karen. "Let's rehearse. Hannie and Nancy could come over. And maybe Linny." "Well . . . how about playing hide-and-seek?" I said, which just goes to show how I was feeling about the band that day.
"No!" cried Karen. "We need to rehearse. Please? I'll even let Emily play with us. I'll give her a pot and a spoon. She can pretend she's another drummer. That way she won't feel left out." How could I argue with that? Before I knew it, Nancy and Hannie and Linny had come over and the kids were performing "Miracle of Miracles." The tune came from Karen who was playing her kazoo, and Hannie, playing her harmonica. The other kids were playing cymbals, sticks, oatmeal drums, and the pot and spoon.
When the children had run through the song one time, Karen said, "Let's pretend we have a big audience. Here. Claudia, you sit on the grass and be the big audience. We will play on the steps. The steps are our stage." The kids arranged themselves on the steps. Then Karen came forward. "Welcome, ladies and - I mean, welcome lady. I'm very, very glad you could come to our show. My name is, um, Lucretia Marissa von Brewer and this is my band. I am your emcee this evening. Tonight, for your listening pleasure - " "Excuse me!" spoke up David Michael. "Excuse me, Miss von Brewer. How come you get to lead things, like always?" "Because this was my idea," Karen replied. "Now, as I was saying, tonight we will favor you with that ever-popular song 'Anatevka.' " Karen turned back to her band. "Places, everyone! . . . Emily, I said, places! That means you. Hey, are you in this band or not?" "Are you in this band or not?" Emily repeated. She was wandering around the yard, filling her pot with sticks and fallen leaves and flower petals.
"Claudia!" Karen complained to me.
"Why don't you go ahead and play without her . . . Miss von Brewer?" "Okay. Ready, guys?" said Karen, to her band. "And a-one and a-two!" "Anatevka" rang across the yard, accompanied by exuberant drumming. When the song was over, Karen took charge again. "Not bad," she said. "Not bad." She frowned. "Well, not great." She eyed the group on the steps. "You know what we need?" she said.
Hannie and Nancy perked up. "What?" "Uniforms! I bet we would play better with band uniforms." I smiled. I thought of the movie The Music Man, about this traveling salesman guy who calls himself Professor Harold Hill (he's really a con artist) and breezes into this little town, River City, Iowa, and convinces the parents there that a band is just what their kids need. He gets everyone to buy these expensive instruments and fancy uniforms from him, so the band looks really terrific. But Professor Hill never bothers to tell anyone that he's not a musician, he can't play a note, and he can't teach the kids to play their instruments. It doesn't matter. The kids gain self-confidence from the way they look and everything, so in the end they can play after all (or something like that).
I could understand why Karen wanted uniforms for our band.
"Hey, yeah! Uniforms!" cried David Michael unexpectedly. (He is not generally a fan of Karen's ideas.) "That would be way cool, right, Linny?" "Yeah!" "Okay," said Karen. "Then I will take charge. Allow me." "You're in charge again?" cried Andrew.
"I have lots of ideas," said Karen haughtily. "Come on, Nancy. Come on, Hannie. I want you guys to help me." Karen and her friends disappeared into the house. While we waited for them, Linny said, gazing into space, "I think blue uniforms would be good. With stripes up each leg. And blue hats." "We'd look like policemen," protested David Michael.
"I think we should wear boots and spurs and chaps and ten-gallon hats and carry lassos," said Andrew.
"We want uniforms, not costumes," David Michael replied.
"Oh. Well, what do band uniforms look like?" The front door to the house burst open then. "They look like this?' cried Karen. She and Hannie and Nancy tiptoed between the boys and pranced onto the lawn.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
The girls were wearing long slips, clumpy high-heeled shoes, and feather boas. Plus, Karen was wearing a straw hat, Hannie was wearing a motorcycle helmet, and Nancy was wearing a bride's veil.
"Dress ups!" cried Emily Michelle. She dropped her pot and ran to Karen. "I dress up! I dress up!" David Michael, Linny, and Andrew stood on the steps, their mouths open. They couldn't speak. They could only stare.
"How do we look?" Karen asked me.
"You look . . . beautiful." "Yeah, to Frankenstein," said Linny, recovering the power of speech.
"Do you really think those are band uniforms?" David Michael managed to ask. "Andrew's idea was better than this. He wanted everyone to dress as cowboys." "What's wrong with these outfits?" asked Karen.
"You expect boys to wear slips and high heels?" answered Linny.
"No. I guess not. . . . But we couldn't find band uniforms," admitted Karen.
"Hey, I know!" exclaimed Nancy. "How about if all the band members just dress the same? We could wear, like, jeans and red shirts. I bet everyone has a pair of jeans and a red shirt." David Michael opened his mouth, then closed it. Apparently he could find nothing wrong with the idea.
"I have jeans!" exclaimed Andrew. "And a red sweat shirt." "I have jeans and a red blouse," said Hannie.
"I have jeans and a red T-shirt," said Nancy. "The T-shirt says 'My parents went to Hawaii and all they brought me was this dumb shirt.' " We laughed. And Linny added, "Hey, maybe we could have red T-shirts made that say ALL THE CHILDREN on them. Then we would really look alike." Even David Michael liked that idea.
"Well," I said, "I'll find out how much the shirts would cost. Maybe we could raise money to buy them." "Or we could ask for donations at our first band concert," said Karen.
"You guys had better be really good then," I said.
"Don't worry. We will. Come on, let's rehearse, everybody!" And the kids played "Anatevka" with new enthusiasm.
For awhile that afternoon I forgot about the Lowells.
Chapter 13.
"How are we doing?" I asked.
"One more stack," Jessi replied. "And it's a short one." "Did we get rid of the fliers with those misspelled words?" Kristy wanted to know.
"Yes," I answered testily. The misspelled words had been my fault, of course. The first few fliers I had lettered had said things like "the Newtons bake yerd," and "every one is welcomb!" and "WE NEED BAD UNIFORMS!" Then Kristy had leaned over my shoulder and realized what I was doing. She'd given me a new job: decorating each flier. So what if I
can't spell? Drawing little instruments and designs on the fliers was much more fun than lettering them.
It was a Friday evening. I had invited my friends to stay after our meeting and eat a pizza supper. Now we were sprawled around my room, preparing for the first band concert. It was going to be held in a week. We needed time to distribute our fliers. We were hoping lots of people would be free on Saturday at 2:00. Our kids were looking forward to a big audience.
My friends and I planned to post the fliers the next day and to hand them out to our neighbors. But we wanted the kids to be involved with inviting guests, too, so at our next rehearsal we were going to hand each band member one invitation to give to someone special.
"Boy, I hope the kids are going to be ready for the concert," said Dawn.
"Oh, they will be," I assured her. "The ones who play the important instruments - not that the sticks and the oatmeal drums aren't important, but you know what I mean - the kids on the keyboard and the guitar and stuff have already learned the music. And the others follow along well. I think the concert is going to be great." "So what's our schedule this week?" asked Stacey.
"Short rehearsals on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday," I replied, "dress rehearsals - or whatever they're called - on Thursday and Friday, and the performance on Saturday." "I hope everyone can fit into the Newtons' yard," said Mary Anne.
"Oh, don't worry about that," I replied.
Mary Anne smiled. "What should I worry about?" "Oh, things like whether Jackie will knock over the keyboard while Shea and Marilyn are playing it - " "Or whether Claire will have a tantrum if she makes a mistake," said Mal.
"Or whether Karen will decide to perform in her bathing suit or something," said Kristy. "You know, she likes our band uniforms, and she especially likes the idea of getting T-shirts, but she still wants to perform in an outfit that's a little, oh, flashier." "Her bathing suit?" I said.
"Well, you know, for instance, in her bathing suit with a crown and high heels so she could be Miss Kazoo." "Oh, my lord. Miss Kazoo," I repeated, but I was giggling.
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