The Sassy Collection

“What’s your name, sweetie?” Mrs. Starr asks. She picks up a yellow pencil.

  “Sassy,” I manage to say. “Sassy Simone Sanford.”

  “And what grade are you in?”

  “Fourth.”

  Mrs. Starr continues to write. “And you say you lost your purse? Can you describe it?”

  Of course I can describe it! Grown-ups ask the silliest questions.

  “It’s purple,” I say in a small voice. “And pink, magenta, and silver. It’s made of lots of different fabrics. And it’s got sparkles on it — sequins and gems.”

  I touch the place on my hip where my sack should be. I almost feel naked without it.

  Mrs. Starr looks up. “I’ve seen you in the halls with that bag, dear. I’ve always admired it. I thought you’d lost an ordinary purse.”

  “My grandmother made it for me. There is no other purse like it in the whole world.” I gulp.

  Mom puts her arm around my shoulders again. “We’ll find it, Sassy,” she assures me.

  “Can you tell me what was in it?” Mrs. Starr asks.

  “A million things,” I tell her. “Gum, pens, nail polish, lotion, lip gloss, jewelry, glue, batteries, mirror, tape.” I pause. “Everything I need is in there.”

  “And everything anyone else needs as well,” Mom adds. “Sassy’s sack seems to hold the perfect solution for whatever is needed. It’s a treasure trove.”

  “Was there any money in the bag?” Mrs. Starr asks.

  “I think I had two quarters and a nickel in my change purse. I care more about the purse. It has my name on it.”

  Mrs. Starr smiles. “Was there anything of value in the bag, Sassy?”

  “Well, I’m the stage manager for the spring concert, and I had several mini iPods in there. Mr. Wood takes them out of the cabinet and gives them to me. I give them to the performers and we put everything back after practice. But we had to leave early. So the music players are still in my bag.”

  “Hmm,” says Mrs. Starr as she scribbles. “Is there anything else in the bag that you want me to be aware of?”

  “Yes,” I say slowly. “My instrument is in my bag. I’ve already missed one lesson. I don’t want to miss another.”

  I feel sniffly and I need a tissue, but, of course, my tissues are in my sack.

  “What musical instrument is small enough to fit into a purse?” asks Mrs. Starr.

  “I play the piccolo. It’s little, just like me.”

  Mom says, “What else can be done to help locate the bag, Mrs. Starr?”

  “I’ll ask all the custodians if they’ve seen it, and I’ll send an e-mail to everyone on staff,” she tells Mom. “Your bag will turn up, Sassy,” Mrs. Starr says in a kind voice. “As soon as it does, I’ll call you down to the office, okay?”

  “Okay.” But I’m still feeling pretty scared. Where could it be?

  Mrs. Starr gives me a pass to get to class, and Mom hugs me once more before she leaves.

  The day drags on. I can’t laugh at Travis even though he bumps into a wall with those wheeled shoes. I can’t concentrate on my math. And I sure can’t eat lunch.

  When it’s time for choir, I walk in slowly and sadly.

  Mr. Wood says, “I got the e-mail Mrs. Starr sent this morning, Sassy. I went back and searched the auditorium again. I’m so sorry, but I could not find your bag.”

  My shoulders slump.

  “What about the iPods?” I ask him.

  “We’ll do without them today. I have all the music saved on a zip drive, so we’ll be okay until your bag shows up.”

  “You think it will?”

  “I sure hope so,” he says.

  He continues, and I go over my notes on my clipboard. But my heart is not in it. I listen to the songs, but they sound gray to me today instead of bright and colorful.

  No construction sounds interrupt us today.

  It’s almost time for the bell. Mr. Wood is giving directions. The door opens, and Bike walks in.

  “Hello, Bike,” Mr. Wood says. “Thanks for the peace and quiet today.”

  Bike grins. “After all the problems caused by the fire yesterday, my boss said we work in student areas only after every child has left the building.”

  “Great idea. That probably should have been the rule from the beginning,” Mr. Wood says.

  Bike turns to leave, then says, “Oh, I almost forgot!” He removes a leather backpack he’d been wearing. “Did anybody leave this in the auditorium yesterday?” He looks directly at me and grins. “I found it after everyone left, and I locked it up for safekeeping.”

  From the backpack he pulls my beautiful, incredible bag. I squeal with excitement and run over to him.

  “My sack! You found my Sassy Sack!”

  “Sure is a pretty thing,” Bike says as he hands it to me. “I bet my daughter would love to have one just like it.”

  As I take it from him, I touch it gently. I breathe deeply as I sling it over my shoulder and across my chest. I peek inside. Everything is still there. Including my piccolo. And the iPods.

  “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you so much.”

  Saturday morning, instead of sleeping in, I head to my makeup piccolo lesson. Mrs. Rossini looks alert and ready, not sleepy like me.

  I take the piccolo out of my sack, but I leave the bag on. After yesterday, I’m not going to separate myself from it anymore. I even slept with my Sassy Sack last night!

  I carefully remove the piccolo from its case. I’m still amazed at how lovely it is. I slip the two pieces together and shine it a little with the soft cloth I keep tucked in my sack.

  “I understand your piccolo went missing for a day or so,” Mrs. Rossini says.

  “I was really scared,” I admit. “My purse got locked in a storage cabinet by the construction workers at our school.”

  “I’m glad you found it,” Mrs. Rossini says. “Have you had time to practice?”

  “Yes, I did,” I tell her. “I really like the new song you gave me.”

  “Let’s begin with our warm-ups then, shall we?” Mrs. Rossini says.

  I place the piccolo very close to my bottom lip.

  “Relax your facial muscles, Sassy. Let’s aim for an easy, light embouchure.”

  I take the instrument away from my lips for a moment. “That sure is a funny word,” I tell her. “Every time you say it, I want to giggle a little.”

  “Me, too,” she admits. “The word is French. Bouche means ‘mouth,’ so embouchure simply refers to how you shape your lips to the mouthpiece.”

  “I know,” I tell her. “My friend Holly takes ballet and she knows lots of French words from dance class.”

  “Are you stalling, Sassy?” Mrs. Rossini asks as she tilts her head to one side.

  “A little,” I admit. I smile and place the instrument to my lips once more.

  “Let’s begin with long tones,” she says.

  I blow softly and easily.

  “Let the air do most of the work. Blow across the mouthpiece.”

  I do as she tells me.

  “Now short, quick notes,” she instructs.

  This is so much fun! I love the squeakiness of the instrument, the lightness of the tones.

  “Can you make it sound like a chirping bird?”

  “I think so,” I reply. I pause for a moment, place my fingers on the tiny silver keys, and trill.

  “Very good!” Mrs. Rossini says, clapping her hands. “Now let’s hear your piece for this week.”

  I place the sheet music on the stand in front of me and play a song called “Trees in the Valley.” The music really does sound like wind blowing through leaves.

  “You know, Sassy,” Mrs. Rossini says when I stop to take a sip of water. “You certainly do show true talent for the piccolo. It’s not an easy instrument to learn.”

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  “Let me try something else,” she says. She goes to the piano and plays a simple tune — “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” br />
  “Can you play this?”

  “Sure.” I play the song without a hitch.

  “What about this?” She plays a much harder piano piece.

  I listen, think, then play it back for her on the piccolo.

  “Amazing!” she says. “Very few children as young as you have the ability to listen to a song and then play it by ear. You are truly gifted.”

  Gifted? Me? The thought makes me smile broadly.

  Mrs. Rossini starts to say something else, but she starts coughing. “Excuse me,” she says. She sips some water but continues to cough.

  I reach down into my sack and pull out a cough drop. “Will this help?” I ask her.

  “Thank you, dear.” She takes it, and her coughing eases up.

  We continue the lesson. I like the way she pushes me to catch the right note and create the perfect sound.

  Near the end of the hour she says, “Here is your assignment for next week. I’m looking forward to hearing you play this new piece.”

  As I tuck everything back into my sack, I discover the bundle of tickets for our show. Each student is supposed to sell five tickets. That’s easy for me, because with my parents and brother and sister, as well as Grammy and Poppy, I’m already at six. But then I have an idea.

  “Would you like to come to our school choir show?” I ask. “The tickets are only five dollars.”

  “When is it?”

  “Next Thursday.”

  “Are you singing?”

  “No. I can’t sing. Not even a little bit.”

  “But you have so much musical ability!”

  “Not in my vocal cords!”

  We both laugh.

  “I’m stage manager. But it’s going to be a really good show, and all the proceeds will go to help us with Earth Day projects.”

  “I’ll take a ticket, and if my schedule allows, I’ll try to see the show. Is Mr. Wood still the music teacher there?” she asks as she notices the name of my school. “He and I went to college together.”

  “Yes, he’s the choir director, and he hopes to start an orchestra in our school when the construction is finished and we have a room for it.”

  “What does he think of your ability on the piccolo?” Mrs. Rossini asks.

  “Oh, he’s never heard me play,” I explain.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, since we don’t have an orchestra yet there’s really no point,” I tell her.

  “Will you play for him when he gets his orchestra room?”

  “Should I?” I ask with a grin.

  “Absolutely!” she says. She gives me a high five.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say quietly.

  “Of course, dear.”

  “Do you know that song ‘What a Wonderful World’?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s one of my favorites,” Mrs. Rossini replies with a smile.

  “Can you play a little of it?” I ask her. I take my piccolo out of my sack and snap it back together.

  She plays the song that Carmelita and the others will sing in the show.

  “I want to see if I can play it on my piccolo,” I tell her. “It’s such a pretty song.”

  Mrs. Rossini smiles and plays the first few notes on her piano. I play them right after her on my piccolo. She plays more of the song. I follow her with the exact tune. Even though I don’t have the sheet music, I play it just by listening. We finish the song — piano and piccolo — at the same time. It was just so lovely.

  “Wow, Sassy. You rock.” She looks really impressed. I feel so proud.

  I grin at her as I put my instrument away once more.

  “I can’t wait until next year when we get our orchestra at school,” I tell her.

  “Mr. Wood will be glad to have you part of it,” she tells me with confidence.

  “I hope you can come to our show,” I tell her as I head out the door.

  “I’ll try. Have a great day, Sassy.”

  I think I just might do that! I wave to Mrs. Rossini, then I look up at the sunshine as I head to Mom’s car in the parking lot.

  I should be feeling really good. My Sassy Sack has been found. Mrs. Rossini says I’m pretty good on the piccolo. I’m going to the mall with Jasmine after dress rehearsal this afternoon. Grammy and Poppy will arrive here tomorrow morning. The show is tomorrow night, and it’s going to rock.

  Practice is going very smoothly. It really makes a difference with the workers not bumping and thumping around us.

  I hate that I’ll be backstage the whole time. Bummer.

  But I’m really good at this stage manager job. I know the words and tune to every single song. I know all the light cues. We’ve got green for Holly’s rain forest dance and blue for Josephina and Jasmine’s duet.

  Kids come to me with questions, and I actually know the answers!

  “Hey, Sassy, where is the portable mike?”

  “In the silver box on the left-hand side of the stage.”

  “Sassy, my mom wants to know how many feet of shiny blue cloth we’ll need to make the fake ocean,” Misty says.

  I take a calculator out of my Sassy Sack and punch a couple of buttons. “We’ll need six feet of cloth. Tell your mom we’ll need it first thing in the morning. And tell her thanks.”

  “Sassy, who gets to shake the two ends of the cloth? That’s a cool job,” Iris wants to know.

  “Why don’t you and Misty do that,” I suggest. “Your song is not until later in the show.”

  “Oh, thanks, Sassy!” they say. “You’re the best!”

  I can’t believe people think I’m cool.

  “Sassy, I can’t find my sunglasses!” Travis cries out, alarm in his voice.

  “You left them on the stage yesterday,” I tell him. I pull them out of my sack and toss them to him.

  “Thanks!”

  “Sassy, I gotta go to the bathroom!” Princess says just as we’re getting ready to start. She has her brush in her hand.

  I pull a mirror out of my sack and hand it to her. “Use this instead,” I whisper. She smiles and hurries onto the stage.

  Carmelita is sneezing. “I don’t feel good, Sassy,” she says. “I think I’m getting a cold.”

  “You’re not allowed to get sick!” I tell her. “Not until the show is over.”

  I give her a handful of the cough drops I offered to Mrs. Rossini, and a full package of pink tissues.

  She keeps sneezing.

  Mr. Wood calls us all to the stage before we begin the final run-through.

  “This is it, children,” he begins. “Dress rehearsal. We’re going to run it like the real show. Costumes, lights, props — no stopping and starting. It’s going to be a wonderful show and I’m very proud of every single one of you.”

  I take notes as he talks. But at the corners of the paper on my clipboard, I’m drawing sparkly purple dresses.

  Travis raises his hand. “What if I forget the words?”

  “Fake it!” I say with a laugh. “Pretend you know what you’re doing.”

  Mr. Wood agrees. “Sassy will be backstage with a headset on. She knows all the songs and all the cues. Trust her. She knows what she’s doing.” He gives me a big smile. “Let’s all give Sassy a big round of applause for all her hard work and organization.”

  Everybody claps for me. I blush a little.

  “Now, costumes, everybody!” Mr. Wood calls out. “Let’s do it!”

  “We finally get to sing in those dresses?” Jasmine asks.

  “Yes, finally,” I tell her with a sigh as she and the other girls rush to change.

  Carmelita sneezes again as she heads to the dressing area.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her.

  Her nose is red, but she nods her head yes. She can’t talk because she’s blowing her nose. Again.

  I grab my clipboard, sling my sack across my chest, and head for backstage. Mr. Wood gives me a headset that lets me hear all the music through the earphones. It also has a small microphone so I can talk to Bill and
Tony — the guys who are running the lights and sound and video equipment. It is super cool.

  The rehearsal begins with the full group onstage on the risers. The song they perform is called “Save Our Earth.” The tune is a little like “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” and it sounds really beautiful as the choir sings in three-part harmony.

  “Save our earth and let it breathe.

  We all can help if we believe.

  Save our oceans, save our whales.

  Save the polar bears and snails.

  Save our earth and let it breathe.

  We all can help if we believe….”

  The choir sounds glorious. And those purple dresses really shine under the spotlights.

  Josephina and Jasmine’s ocean duet is terrific.

  “Next is ‘Carbon Footprint,’” I whisper into the mike. “Lots of bass.”

  “You got it, Sassy!” says Bill from the control booth.

  The audience is going to love that one.

  Holly’s ballet solo, which I’m watching from backstage, leaves me breathless. When she finishes, she bows to the empty auditorium, but I can see Bill and Tony clapping in the control booth. I give her a big hug when she runs backstage.

  The number that Misty, Basima, and Iris sing and dance is going to be great. Kevin, Abdul, and Ricky won’t have their helium balloons until tomorrow, but their song is funny just the same.

  After “Let’s Go Green” and “Purple Passion for Icy Blue Waters,” it’s time to practice the finale — “What a Wonderful World.”

  “Cue the video,” I whisper to Tony. I love saying stuff like that!

  The video comes on perfectly in the darkened auditorium. The choir sings pretty enough to get chosen for one of those TV singing competitions. Then it’s time for Carmelita’s solo.

  She sneezes.

  “I’ve got this,” she insists.

  “Take it from the top,” I say to Tony and Bill, and whisper, “Gee, I love all this!”

  The video begins again. The choir sings once more.

  Carmelita takes a deep breath and sings loudly and clearly and perfectly.

  She does not sneeze. She does not cough. Her voice is not wobbly. Everybody cheers.

  They finish the song and I finally relax.

  After all the costumes have been hung up and the props put away, Mr. Wood calls everybody around him. “Get some rest, my young singers and dancers. I’m so very proud of you. We are going to have a wonderful show! Remember, the show starts at seven tomorrow evening. You need to be in full costume with makeup and props by five o’clock sharp! Got it?”