“Mr. Cheney, I would really like another chance to be in the play. Please. This is important to me. I know I haven’t treated it as if it’s important but it is. Could you give me another chance?”
“Do you think I should?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m usually responsible. I don’t know what got into me, but it won’t happen again. And because you’re usually fair,” Logan added.
“All right. You are back in the play, Logan.”
“Thanks!”
“But you are on probation. One more problem with you — if I so much as have to think about speaking to you like that again — and you really will be out of the play. Now could you please tell Jason Henderson I need to talk to him as soon as possible?”
“Sure,” said Logan eagerly. “And thanks again. You won’t be sorry.”
Yes! I said to myself. All right, Logan! Good one!
I put down my script. I looked at my watch. Five more minutes until Charlie would arrive. Or maybe longer. I decided to get a drink of water. But no sooner had I stood up than I heard someone else onstage say, “Mr. Cheney?” The voice was not nearly as timid as Logan’s had been.
It belonged to Cokie Mason.
“Hi, there,” replied Mr. Cheney. “What’s up?”
“I have to ask a favor.”
(By this time I was eavesdropping shamelessly. No way was I going to leave for a drink of water.)
“Shoot,” said Mr. Cheney.
“Well, I was wondering,” began Cokie sweetly, “if later on I could have my own private dressing room.”
Mr. Cheney coughed. “Your what?”
“My own dressing room.”
“Cokie, no one has a dressing room.”
“I know. But I’ve been watching all these little kids, and, well, backstage gets sort of zoo — I mean, crowded. Everyone is running around and everything, and I just don’t know how I’m going to be able to put on my makeup when the time comes, and do it well. I’ll need peace and quiet.”
Oh, my lord! What an incredible prima donna. I held my breath, so as not to miss a word of Mr. Cheney’s response.
“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t count on anything. As I said, no one has an actual dressing room. But later on, if you really think this is going to be a problem, maybe we can find someplace other than backstage where you can get ready for dress rehearsals and performances.”
Brother. Cokie had practically gotten her way again. I stalked off for the water fountain after all. And on my way back to the auditorium I had another one of those brainstorms for which I’m becoming famous.
I ran backstage, hoping Cokie would still be around, and there she was. “Hey, Cokie!” I called. “Cokie, come here!”
Cokie looked at me suspiciously. “What?”
“Well, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” I said, “but I’m waiting around for my brother to pick me up and I heard you ask Mr. Cheney about a dressing room. I couldn’t help it. Anyway, I have an idea. I thought of the perfect dressing room for you. In fact, I don’t know why Mr. Cheney didn’t think of this. Want to see it?”
“Kristy, why are you being nice to me?” asked Cokie.
Good question. Cokie had been mean to me all afternoon, and we both knew it. Furthermore, we don’t like each other anyway. I thought fast. “I’m not being nice to you. I was just thinking. If you really are going to have trouble with your makeup with all the kids around and all the noise, then you should have your own dressing room. We have to do the ‘Ugg-a-Wugg’ song, and I don’t want you looking bad when we’re onstage together. Besides, I want you out of my hair.”
“Well, at least you’re honest,” said Cokie. “Okay. Where is this place?”
“Out in the hall. Come on.”
I led Cokie into the hallway.
I led her straight to a mop closet.
“Here you go,” I said.
“Kristy Thomas … you are a cretin,” was Cokie’s reply.
“Thank you,” I said. I started laughing and couldn’t stop.
Cokie got all huffy and walked away.
That night, I telephoned every single one of my friends and told them what I’d done. They were proud of me.
* * *
Two days later I was on my way to the next rehearsal and I passed the mop closet. A gold star had been stuck on the door.
I paused, gaping, and the door opened and Cokie came out. When she saw me, she grinned. “It’s all mine,” she said, and I knew she meant the closet. “Mr. Halprin said I could use it.” (Mr. Halprin is the SMS janitor.)
I vowed revenge on Cokie Mason.
I feel like I have been Michael Darling for most of my life. We have been rehearsing and rehearsing and rehearsing. Mr. Cheney says we are being professionals because this isn’t just some little class play. It is a production, a musical with costumes. And we are going to give several performances, including two at night. And people all over our town are going to pay to see the play. I have been to a few plays in Stamford, so I know this is a big deal. I understand why we have to rehearse so much.
The first rehearsals did not feel like rehearsals at all. I told Mary Anne so. She said, “Be patient, Jackie.” And I tried to be.
Now the rehearsals are more like what I expected. When we rehearse a scene, everyone in that scene is onstage at the same time. And no one is allowed to read from the scripts anymore. We hardly ever say the whole scene from beginning to end, though. Mr. Cheney is always calling out, “Stop! Try that line again!” Or, “Wait! Go back to Peter Pan’s last line!” Or, “Okay, here’s where the musical number begins.”
I do not mind that too much.
This is what I do mind: I do not get to fly. No one does. Not even Peter Pan. “It is too dangerous,” Mr. Cheney said. “We will have to simulate flying.” He uses that word “simulate” a lot. He says Karen Brewer has to simulate being a fairy, too.
How boring. When Mom and Dad took my brothers and me to see Peter Pan, Peter and Wendy and Michael and John got to fly all above the stage. I could kind of see the wires and of course I knew they were not really flying, but so what? And how come flying wasn’t dangerous for them, but Mr. Cheney says it’s dangerous for us? Grown-ups worry too much. Also, they are no fun.
This is how we are supposed to simulate flying: run across the stage with our arms outstretched, crying, “I’m flyyyyy-ing!”
I’m sure I can think of a better way. Maybe when we have our costumes.
We still do not have our costumes. Just pieces of them, like the pirates’ eyepatches and John’s tall silk hat. I don’t care too much. My costume is a nightshirt, and I bet my friends will laugh when they see me in it. It looks more like a nightgown than a nightshirt. A girl’s nightgown. So does John’s nightshirt, but then he gets to wear that hat, and carry a black umbrella. Like a man. So I do not think kids will laugh at him.
Anyway, even though we cannot fly over the stage, and even though my costume looks like a nightgown, I am still having fun playing Michael Darling. My brothers and I have always thought we should be in show business. Mary Anne Spier has been helping me with my part. She is a good helper. She is a good baby-sitter, too. She only did one thing wrong. She never told me about the crocodile. And that is what led to the trouble.
* * *
“Hi, Jackie!” called Mary Anne. “Ready to work?”
At each rehearsal, Mary Anne first helps all the little kids backstage. She has to since she’s the backstage baby-sitter. Then when everyone is doing whatever they are supposed to do during the rehearsal, Mary Anne calls to me, and we work together. We are a team.
“Ready!” I called back.
“Mr. Cheney is running through Act One today,” Mary Anne told me. “And I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise? What is it?”
“The costumes are here. Mallory just told me. She said Mr. Cheney’s going to stop the rehearsal a little early today so everyone can try on t
he costumes. We have to be sure they fit. If they don’t there’s plenty of time to fix them. Okay, you’re due onstage now. Remember, I’ll be watching you from the wings most of the time. And if I’m not in the wings then I’ll be nearby. Always let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Mary Anne,” I said.
Mary Anne worries way too much, but I am glad she is my coach.
Mr. Cheney gathered together me and Dawn and Kristy and everyone who is in Act I. “Beginning to end,” he told us. “Musical numbers, too.”
I have to pay attention a lot when I am acting. I do not have as many lines to say as Kristy and Dawn do, but I am always supposed to be doing a certain thing in a certain place while I am on the stage, so I cannot daydream while the other characters are speaking.
This is my favorite part of Scene One in Act I (and by the way, there is only one scene in Act I, so I do not know why they bother to call it Scene One, since there are no other scenes): Wendy and John and I are lying in our beds in the nursery, waiting for Peter Pan to come. Well, not waiting, because in the play we do not know he’s coming, but in real life we do. Anyway, once Kristy comes — I mean, once Peter Pan comes — then the flying begins. Peter teaches us to fly while we’re singing “I’m Flying.” This is after we have woken up and gotten out of our beds, of course. But we are still in the nursery. Peter keeps telling us to “think lovely thoughts.” When we are thinking lovely enough thoughts, then we can fly. (But we also need to have a little pixie dust sprinkled on us.)
“Think lovely thoughts! Think lovely thoughts!” Peter Pan calls to us. And Tinker Bell, who is Karen Brewer, throws around some glitter.
We think our lovely thoughts. Wendy flies first, then John, then me.
“I’m flyyyyy-ing!” we yell as we run across the stage.
On that afternoon, I watched Kristy and Dawn and Barry Soeder run back and forth, their arms spread open. (Barry Soeder plays John. I do not know him at all. I mean, I didn’t before the play. He goes to Stoneybrook Middle School with Mary Anne and everyone.)
“Think lovelier thoughts, Michael!” Peter Pan called to me, since I was the only one who still could not fly.
Just as Kristy said that line, I got a really good idea. I stood up on my bed. Then I climbed onto a dresser. Then I climbed onto this very tall box that happened to be standing right behind the dresser. Something had been delivered in that box earlier in the day. The box wouldn’t be around when we were performing the play for real, but I’d figure out something else then. For now, I bent my knees and got ready to jump.
Mr. Cheney raced across the stage and caught me just before I was airborne. He set me down. “Jackie, what on earth were you doing?”
“I was going to fly. It would have looked very realistic.”
“You would have broken your neck. You were going to jump onto a hard floor from six feet up. Don’t ever do that again!”
“I’m sorry.”
“All right, start over from your last line, Kristy,” said Mr. Cheney.
“Um … I can’t just start in the middle like that. Where’s my script?” said Kristy. She looked offstage.
“You should know your lines by now,” said Mr. Cheney.
“Mr. Cheney? Can’t we please have flying ropes?” I asked.
“No.”
“How about if I just jump off the dresser?”
“No.”
“I want flying ropes, too, Mr. Cheney,” said Karen Brewer. “Tinker Bell has to fly, you know. All fairies fly.”
“NO FLYING ROPES!” yelled Mr. Cheney.
“Okay,” we replied.
I decided I would practice jumping off of my own dresser at home.
We finally made it to the end of Act I, and when we did, Mr. Cheney wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. Then he took a couple of aspirins. After that he said he needed a little rest. So he sat down in the auditorium and Miss Stanworth came on the stage. Miss Stanworth is the head costume lady. She called to the cast and everyone crowded onto the stage.
“Your costumes are here,” she announced. “I would like you to try them on, and I personally want to look at each one of you in your costume before you leave today. Savannah and Mallory will help you.”
I ran to Mary Anne. “How did I do?” I asked her.
“Fine, until you nearly killed yourself. Come on. Let’s get your costume.”
Backstage, Savannah and Mallory were calling out names and handing each kid a pile of clothes.
“Jackie Rodowsky!” call Savannah, and I ran to her.
She handed me a white nightshirt. Sure enough, it looked exactly like this nightgown my mom wears.
I sighed. I sulked.
Mary Anne made me put it on anyway.
The boys were changing in the wings off stage right. The girls were changing in the wings off stage left. Everyone who wanted to see how we looked was waiting for us in the middle.
I stepped out of the wings.
“Terrific!” exclaimed Mary Anne when she saw me. “You look just —”
“Like my mother?” I suggested.
“No, like Michael Darling.”
“Oh. Okay. Can I go take this — Aughhh!” I screamed. “Aughhh!”
I ran for cover. I hid behind a piece of scenery Claudia was painting.
“Jackie, what’s wrong?” cried Mary Anne when she found me.
“I saw a monster! Didn’t you see him?”
“A monster? Jackie —”
“Aughhh! There he is again!”
Mary Anne turned around. She smiled. “Jackie, that’s Pete Black. That’s the crocodile costume. Pete plays Nana and the crocodile, remember?”
“Yes.”
No matter who was in that costume, I didn’t like it. It was scary.
* * *
The second time I saw that crocodile was at our next rehearsal. We were running through Act II. We were wearing our costumes. The crocodile wiggled and slithered out of the wings. I turned around and he was right behind me. I could see all of his teeth.
“Aughhh!” I screamed.
I stepped backward.
CRASH!
I fell off the stage. (I landed on a pile of coats.)
“Jackie,” Mary Anne said to me later. “Are you still afraid of the croc?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“But he’s going to be onstage with you from now on.”
Uh-oh.
I stood before a row of little kids. Nicky Pike, Myriah Perkins, David Michael Thomas, and Bill and Melody Korman. Four of the kids were dancing. Nicky was standing still in the center of the row.
“Okay, hold it, you guys!” I said. “Nicky, what’s wrong?”
“I feel like a ballerina. I am not dancing in tights.”
“Nicky, you’ve had your costume for a week now,” I pointed out.
Nicky shrugged. Then he said, “I saw Peter Pan on TV. The Lost Boys were not wearing tights.”
“Maybe they weren’t performing in the middle of winter,” I said. “Miss Stanworth added tights to your costumes so you won’t freeze to death. It’s fourteen degrees outside.”
“And it doesn’t feel much warmer in here,” called Dawn from nearby.
“Anyway, boy ballet dancers wear tights,” I said. “And they aren’t called ballerinas. They’re just dancers.” Nicky scowled. “Take it from the top, kids!” I called. “You, too, Nicky.”
The Lost Boys started over again.
From onstage, I heard Mr. Cheney say, “Check your script, Kristy.”
We had been rehearsing forever. Well, I hadn’t been, since I’m not in the play, but you know what I mean. Anyway, we were now rehearsing in our costumes (most of the time) and opening night was just a couple of weeks away. I wondered if Mr. Cheney was getting tired of telling Kristy to check her script all the time. I wondered if he was getting nervous because he still had to do that. I wondered if he wished he had cast somebody else in the role of Peter Pan.
“Oh, Mrs. Darling! Mrs. Da
rling!”
Sam Thomas was running around backstage, looking for Stacey. He never called her Stacey anymore.
“Yeah?” replied Stace. She stepped away from a bunch of our friends.
“I can’t tie my tie, Mother,” said Sam, looking pathetic. (In the play, Mrs. Darling spends a good deal of time helping Mr. Darling with his tie.)
Stacey’s face turned red. She tried to smile at Sam, but she didn’t say anything. I don’t think she knew what to say.
I turned back to the Lost Boys. I turned back in time to watch David Michael. “Okay,” I said, “now step, step, cross-step, careful, careful —”
Thud.
David Michael cross-stepped, lost his balance, and sat down on his bottom. He did that absolutely every time we reached this particular point in the dance routine.
“BULLFROGS!” cried David Michael, with full lung power.
“It’s all right. Try again,” I said.
“But we’re tired, Jessi,” whined Nicky.
“Okay. Take a break.” I raised my voice. “Indians, get ready to dance!”
The Indians surrounded me. Before I could organize them, Kerry Bruno stepped over to me. “Jessi, Jessi,” she whispered urgently.
“What is it?” I asked. I led her away from the group.
Kerry stood on tiptoe, and I leaned over. She whispered to me, between cupped hands, “I want to be an Indian maiden.”
“You are an Indian maiden,” I whispered back.
“But I want to look like Tiger Lily. I just decided that. Tiger Lily is glamorous. The other Indians aren’t.”
“Tiger Lily is special,” I told her. “Only Tiger Lily can look like Tiger Lily. Besides, she’s supposed to be an Indian princess.”
“I want to be an Indian princess.”
“I think you’ll have to talk to Mr. Cheney about that.”
“Then I’m telling Logan!”
Out of nowhere Logan appeared. “Telling me what?” he said.
“That I want to be an Indian princess like Tiger Lily.”
“And I told her she’d have to talk to Mr. Cheney,” I said.
“Oh, Kerry, please don’t do that,” Logan pleaded. “The Bruno family has caused enough trouble already. Besides, I know what Cheney will say when you tell him you want to be an Indian princess.”