Short

by Holly Goldberg Sloan

  “Thank you, Dr. Brinkman!”

  I’m probably a little bit too loud for the small room, because she turns around and raises her right hand. It’s the sign someone would use for stop. I get it. I then whisper, “Thanks a lot. And tell your brother I said hello.”

  I think that Dr. Brinkman’s going to leave, but she says, “El Frank Bomb. What a man.”

  I nod as if I feel the exact same way. I raise my fist and pump it like the two of us just scored a run and won a big baseball game.

  Once she’s gone I think to myself, Who exactly is El Frank Bomb?

  In the car I tell Dad the great news, and I have to say that he’s very happy for me. He says, “Julia, you have the power of persuasion.”

  I think this is funny, because my argument didn’t work with him. But I nod anyway. I then move on to thinking about El Frank Bomb. I decide he must be special.

  Maybe he’s someone Dr. Brinkman wants to date.

  We’ve had some Spanish at school, so I know that El means “the” or else “he.” I’m pretty good at speaking with the accent of the Spanish language, but I’m not great at remembering what the sounds mean. Also, I have trouble with the rules of how to change the verbs.

  I guess this is the reason to keep going to school. It’s not like I have a choice, but Mrs. Vancil said that education is the key to unlock all doors.

  Once I’m back home I go to the computer and search around, and I discover that it’s not El Frank Bomb.

  It’s L. Frank Baum.

  It’s hard to understand a name when you’ve only heard it.

  Here is what I learned: L. Frank Baum was actually born Lyman Frank Baum, but he didn’t like the name Lyman and wanted to be called Frank. I don’t know why he kept the L, but I’m guessing it was because his parents made him.

  This is the big news about L. Frank Baum: He wrote fifty-five novels, including The Wonderful Wizard of Oz!

  So that’s why Dr. Brinkman brought him up. She knows more than how to straighten teeth!

  I’ve worked on a production of a famous play and I’ve been with college students and professionals in the field of theater, but it’s the first time I’m hearing the name of the person behind all of this: L. Frank Baum.

  I now feel certain of one thing: Writers get the short end of the stick.

  I’m thinking this is another expression that isn’t great. And not just because it uses the S word.

  There’s not a short end and a long end. There could be a pointy end and a dull end, and that might mean that there was a good end and a bad end, especially if you wanted to toast marshmallows or poke an enemy.

  But a short end?

  There would have to be two sticks for the saying to make sense. A long stick and a short stick. So then the saying should be: “They got the short stick.”

  I would think about this more, but I don’t want to get a headache. That can happen when I concentrate on things that don’t make sense.

  I go back to feeling bad about L. Frank Baum.

  More people know the name Judy Garland and think of her with The Wizard of Oz than the man who wrote eighty-three short stories and over two hundred poems.

  He even moved to Hollywood and wrote scripts for movies, but not the script for the famous movie that was made out of his book. When he went west they hadn’t yet figured out how to put sound on films, so I’m glad they waited.

  Here is maybe the most important thing I discovered from what I read about L. Frank Baum: He was a daydreamer kid who was sick a lot!

  I love that he was a daydreamer.

  I was thinking that maybe he wasn’t tall, and so he invented the Munchkins because he cared about people who were smaller than average. But then I found out he was six foot one.

  I next decide to search online for writers who aren’t tall, and I find that J. M. Barrie, who wrote Peter Pan, was five feet two inches tall. Maybe this is the reason he wrote about not wanting to grow up.

  It’s interesting to uncover these clues about writers. I’m going to tell Shawn Barr that I’ve been researching L. Frank Baum. He says that a play unfolds as we make it and we learn more every day about the material.

  What this afternoon unfolded for me was the idea that there was a person and in the beginning this person had an idea and this person wrote it down, and that led to this day and to me talking to a dentist about changing the schedule of my teeth straightening.

  This first person was a writer.

  I feel good about this new knowledge. And I’m excited to share it with Shawn Barr.

  Nothing makes an adult happier than knowing a kid is looking up something without being told.

  EIGHTEEN

  Olive comes over to the house.

  She’s my first adult friend.

  Teachers or family or the parents of my friends don’t count because they are forced into being nice by the rules of society. These are things that aren’t written down, but that people do.

  An example of this would be getting a haircut.

  There is no law telling you to do this. But you should.

  The same is true of changing your underwear.

  These kinds of rules are different as time marches on. I hope they are getting better, but what do I know?

  I wish that Piper and Kaylee could see Olive when she walks up to the house. She’s wearing a very stylish outfit, which is not how she dresses at rehearsal. She has on a sundress that is bright yellow, and she is also wearing pale blue shoes with cork heels that must be four inches high.

  I have no idea how Olive can walk in these things.

  I’m not saying she now towers over me, but it does feel as if she grew overnight and I got left behind. With the shoes and the sundress and the gold hoop earrings she’s wearing, she has transformed into much more of an adult.

  I can’t help but stare, which is not polite. I say, “Oh my gosh, Olive.” (But in a very positive voice.)

  Olive smiles and I realize that she’s also wearing red lipstick. Her mouth stretches across her face in a very athletic way, and by that I mean it’s very strong.

  I say, “Do you want to come in?” Olive looks down at her phone as she says, “Gianni’s already there. He just sent a message. He’s waiting down the street.”

  Of course this means we don’t have time to hang around my house, so I shout over my shoulder, “I’m going to Mrs. Chang’s.”

  No one answers.

  My mom is on a call with the sales manager and she is always very focused during those conversations. Randy is bowling. I have no idea where Tim is. Dad is getting his car washed. Ramon’s not alive anymore but it goes through my head to wonder where he is. Dog heaven, I guess, wherever that is.

  I shut the door and I point to the left. “She lives down the block.”

  Olive must have a lot of practice with these cork-stilts, because she’s able to walk faster than I am, and I have on my most comfortable sandals.

  It doesn’t take long before we see Gianni. He’s sitting in a pickup truck, which is parked in front of Mrs. Chang’s garden. He leans out the window and says, “Hello, ladies.”

  He’s wearing his hair pulled back in his man-bun. I’m glad, because I think it makes him look more organized.

  Olive slows down, and I’m happy about that. Before, we were sort of speed walking. She lifts her hand and waves at Gianni. I do the same thing.

  Mrs. Vancil said it was important to have role models. I think she was talking about Eleanor Roosevelt, because she had a real soft spot for that woman, who was married to a president a long, long, long time ago. Eleanor Roosevelt was an activist who wore bad-looking hats and helped people who were ignored by everyone else. This is something we learned during history.

  Mrs. Vancil had a photograph of Mrs. Roosevelt on the wall near her desk, and I spent a lot of time last year look
ing into her black-and-white eyes when I was not following the lesson plan, especially if it was math.

  Once you’re lost in math, it’s better to just give your mind a break from the numbers, since they can pile up like paper cups in the recycling container in the lunchroom.

  Before I met Olive, Eleanor Roosevelt was my role model.

  But that has all changed.

  I’ve learned it’s much better to have a role model who is alive and who you know, because you can pick up so many more tips. I still like Eleanor Roosevelt, but she can’t compete with Olive.

  No one can.

  By the time we reach the pickup truck, Gianni is on the sidewalk. He’s wearing blue pants and a white shirt with a collar. It’s very professional. He has a notebook under his arm and he holds a bag. I see this and remember that I didn’t bring my pictures of the flying monkeys. I’m hoping that he did.

  “You two look beautiful today. Olive, great dress. Baby, nice socks.”

  Olive smiles and I do too.

  The sundress Olive’s wearing is an obvious thing, but pointing out my socks is a big compliment to me. I got the socks almost two months ago from a bookstore using a gift certificate from my parents’ friends Anne and Ben. I was probably supposed to get a book. But bookstores can have things besides books, and some of the stuff makes good presents.

  I say to Gianni, “What’s in the bag?”

  I am curious, but also I asked this question to fill the silence. I can see that Olive is looking sweaty, and I’m thinking that she really shouldn’t have walked so fast in the tall shoes.

  Gianni answers, “I brought a flying harness to show your friend.”

  This reminds me that we have a job to do, which is to talk Mrs. Chang into making costumes. I turn and start up the walkway to her front door.

  I say, “I’ll do the talking.”

  I have no idea why this comes out of my mouth. I’m just a kid. I guess I’m trying to be part of things.

  Behind me, I hear laughter.

  I’m glad I’m at least entertaining.

  I push the doorbell, and it rings at the same time as the door swings open.

  Mrs. Chang is right there.

  She’s dressed in a flying monkey costume.

  All of us just stare, but Gianni and Olive look the most surprised. I’ve had some experience with the woman, so I say, “I guess you know why we’re here.”

  Mrs. Chang holds the door open wide and says, “Welcome. Please come in. I was expecting you.”

  I head straight into the house. Olive and Gianni follow.

  Olive can’t stop looking at Mrs. Chang. She doesn’t have monkey makeup on her face, but otherwise she’s in the full outfit, so obviously it doesn’t matter that I forgot the pictures from the movie.

  Olive says, “Your costume is just amazing.”

  Mrs. Chang says, “Thank you. I didn’t have much time, but I think it turned out.”

  Gianni says, “That’s an understatement.”

  We go to the living room, where Mrs. Chang has set out snacks. There are purple teacups next to a lavender teapot, and black paper napkins with gold stars. I see little crackers alongside a swirl of soft-looking white stuff that’s streaked with blue and green.

  The cheese (if that’s what it is) looks like the skin on the tops of Grandma Mittens’s legs when she’s in her swimsuit. She never gets any sun.

  There is a small bowl filled with the tiniest pickles I’ve ever seen. Next to this is a plate of candy wrapped in shiny pieces of colored tinfoil, and round cookies that are covered with dark seeds. Maybe they aren’t cookies. They could also be crackers.

  Grandma Mittens would call this all “festive.”

  I call it “confusing.”

  But Mrs. Chang and her costume are a much bigger deal than the stuff she’s gathered together to serve.

  I take a seat in one of the mint chairs, and I’m happy when Mrs. Chang finds herself a place in the matching chair at my side. This leaves the furry orange couch for Olive and Gianni. I wait for them to get a load of the furniture, and I’m not disappointed. Gianni says, “What an amazing table.”

  Mrs. Chang nods and says, “Thank you. I made it.”

  I add, “She also created all the puppets on the walls and pretty much everything you see.”

  Gianni and Olive look around the room, and Gianni says, “I’m truly impressed.”

  Olive’s head moves up and down in a very excited way.

  All of this makes me feel really good. Somehow I feel part of Mrs. Chang’s greatness because I brought my new friends here.

  Mrs. Chang being interesting must make me more interesting.

  I’m going to think about this later at home to see if I can find ways to continue to get this feeling (without actually doing anything interesting myself).

  Gianni then says, “So tell us about your flying monkey costume.”

  Mrs. Chang looks down at her outfit and says, “The wings come off. I don’t know how you are handling the rigging.”

  Olive then asks, “Are you a professional costumer?”

  I like this word: “costumer.” And I’m excited for the answer to the question. I wish right now that I’d worn my Munchkin shoes or the flowerpot hat.

  Mrs. Chang says, “I’ve had some training. I started as a seamstress many years ago. I was a ballet dancer, a choreographer in London, a clothing designer in New York, and finally I did some visual effects work in Los Angeles.”

  It takes everything I have in me not to jump up and shout, So what are you doing growing daisies on Oak Street in our little town?

  Luckily, I don’t have to, because Olive says, “How did you end up here?”

  Mrs. Chang’s shoulders rise, and her mouth makes a small twist to the side. After a few sort of uncomfortable moments she says, “I came to be with my daughter.”

  I know her pretty well now, and I’ve never seen this face. She looks like she saw someone walk into the room with a plate of slugs.

  We feel awkward because we don’t hear any more facts.

  I want to say, “So how’s your daughter doing?” but I don’t. I’m hoping we will get some explanation, but Mrs. Chang just stares out the window.

  It looks as if Gianni and Olive have moved closer to each other on the couch.

  I decide to check out the floor.

  It’s the first time I realize that the carpet is covered with seahorses. I love these creatures. I say, “I’ve never seen a rug with seahorses.”

  Mrs. Chang says, “It’s very old. From Turkey.”

  I add, “Boy seahorses carry eggs in a pouch. Like a kangaroo. The men do all the work.”

  The good news is that the seahorse workload gets us all off the topic of Mrs. Chang’s daughter. We are able to move right from the egg-carrying seahorse back to the flying monkey costume, I guess because they are both animals.

  Olive and Gianni look at the stitching on the jacket, and Mrs. Chang takes off her hat to show us. They hold it as if it were a crown. They’re very excited about the feathered wings that come out of her back (but are really held by straps that tie together—the outfit has all kinds of hidden buttons and zippers and even strips of Velcro).

  I wonder where she got all the feathers, but I don’t ask.

  Gianni pulls the harness out of the bag he’s carrying, and the big surprise is Mrs. Chang has worked with these things. She shows us how she thought the straps could go on over the first part of the costume and then be covered by the monkey-waiter jacket. She has even made an opening in the back so that the hook can pop out.

  We’re all amazed.

  Then Gianni says, “Mrs. Chang—”

  She interrupts and says, “Please. Call me Yan.”

  I had no idea this was her first name. I never thought about her even having one. Adults ar
e better without first names because they can be awkward. I’m going to stick to calling her Mrs. Chang.

  Gianni continues, “Yan, there’s money in the budget for these costumes, and we’re here today to ask if we could hire you.”

  We all wait.

  I think maybe he should bring up Gowns by Adrian. But he doesn’t.

  Mrs. Chang pours tea into the purple cups. She places one of the cookie/crackers on the side of each saucer, and then passes the first teacup to Olive. I’m next and finally Gianni gets his. Mrs. Chang helps herself to a cup and then takes a sip.

  I wish she was serving us cold coffee, because I have experience with that. This tea doesn’t have sugar or milk or anything to cover the fact that it tastes like bitter flowers mixed with dirt. I want to spit it back into the cup, but that would be wrong.

  We are all still waiting. Finally she says:

  “I’m interested. But not in the money.”

  I swallow with a big gulp and say, “That’s so great! I knew you could help.”

  Mrs. Chang keeps her eyes on Gianni. She says, “I’ll make the costumes under one condition, and it’s not about being paid.”

  Gianni nods. “Of course.”

  Olive adds, “What do you need?”

  I want to be involved, so I add, “Just tell us what to do!”

  Mrs. Chang sets down her teacup and gets to her feet. She takes a few steps back from the table made out of silverware, and she stands in the full sunlight that’s coming in from the window facing the garden. She lifts both of her arms, and that makes her wings spread. Then she says, “I want to be one of the monkeys. I’d like to be in the show.”

  This is a shocker.

  No one says anything.

  I mean, really? How old is she?

  I wouldn’t put Grandma Mittens up on those wires, and Mrs. Chang might be older than she is.

  Olive looks at me and then at Gianni and then at Mrs. Chang.

  Gianni keeps his eyes on Mrs. Chang. His voice is firm. “I can’t speak for the director, but you have my support.”

  Mrs. Chang lowers her arms and comes back to her mint-green chair. She positions her wings over the back so that she can take a seat. She then smiles in a way that looks to me like she’s trying to hide a big grin.