Almost Starring Skinnybones

  Then Scrooge is supposed to say, “I choose not to see them, Jacob.”

  What a stupid thing to say! No one would be that calm! We’re talking about ghosts here!

  That’s why my audition was so much better than anyone else’s. When Jacob Marley told me about the spirits, I made Scrooge let out this giant, bloodcurdling scream.

  “Ghosts! Oh no! Not ghosts!” I shrieked. “Come on, Jake! I hate stuff like that!”

  It was great. More convincing than anything. That’s why I could hardly believe my ears when Mr. Tilton stood on stage on Friday and announced the parts:

  “People, may I have your attention please?” he began. “You all did an absolutely marvelous job, and I take great pleasure in announcing the cast of this year’s Christmas play: Ebenezer Scrooge will be played by …”

  I stood up.

  “Albert Ruppert.”

  My knees caved in and I fell over.

  Albert Ruppert? Was this a joke? That big show-off from my English class was actually going to be Scrooge? The kid who stands on his chair like a palace guard and announces the arrival of Mrs. Ballentine each day?

  On stage Mr. Tilton was proceeding. “Skylar Fox will be Bob Cratchit; Cynthia Huggins will portray the Ghost of Christmas Past; Alexander Frankovitch will play Tiny Tim; Tyrone Hayes will be …”

  Tiny Tim! Oh God, no! Not Tiny Tim! I hate Tiny Tim. I’ve always hated him! Ever since the first time I saw A Christmas Carol on television. Talk about unnatural. There he was, all pale and sick and skinny, walking around on that little crutch of his, and instead of whining and complaining like any normal kid would do, Tiny Tim spent his days smiling and “God blessing” people. He made me want to spit up.

  Besides, he had no lines! A couple of quick prayers and a “thank you sir.” What kind of acting do you call that?

  I just couldn’t figure it out. Albert Ruppert’s audition had been the dumbest thing you ever saw! He was so nervous and twitchy, it made you squirmy just watching him.

  Also, when he read his lines, he tried to make his voice real deep so he’d sound more grown-up. It’s the way you make your voice sound when you’re crank-calling someone and you want to sound like a man. It never works though. No matter how old you think you sound, as soon as you say, “Hello, is your toilet running?” people slam the phone down right in your ear.

  After Mr. Tilton made the announcements, a lot of the cast started clapping for themselves and going crazy. It was like they had just won an Academy Award instead of a dumb part in a stupid school Christmas play. Albert Ruppert ran up on stage and started bowing. He wasn’t doing it to be funny either. That’s just how he acts. He’s always telling you how great he is.

  Annabelle Posey was the most obnoxious of all. Even though she hadn’t showed up for tryouts until Friday, she still got the part of Mrs. Cratchit. I don’t know how she did it, but she did. You should have seen her. She started strutting around the stage like she was Jane Fonda or somebody.

  Meanwhile, I just sat there with my knees caved in, shaking my head in disbelief. I felt angry and disappointed all at the same time. I had been so sure, so sure I’d get the part, I even memorized most of Scrooge’s lines!

  What had gone wrong? Hadn’t Mr. Tilton seen me flow? Hadn’t he noticed how natural I made Scrooge seem? Geez! If he’d wanted me to use my crank-call voice, he should have said so.

  The more I thought about it, the sicker I got. After all, people were counting on me. Take the kids at the lunch table, for instance. They’d just started believing I was somebody special.

  I covered my face with my hands. It wasn’t fair. I’d probably be eating my lunch sideways for the rest of my life.

  After a few minutes Annabelle Posey spotted me sitting alone in the back of the auditorium. She couldn’t get there fast enough. Before I knew it, she was hovering over my seat, waiting for me to look up so she could laugh in my face.

  I didn’t do it though. I just kept my head bowed and pretended not to notice her. That didn’t stop old Annabelle, of course. She laughed right at the top of my head.

  “Ha ha, Alex,” she taunted. “I bet you thought you were going to get the lead, but you didn’t. Too bad. What a shame. Guess you’re just too skinny to be anyone but Teeny Tim.”

  That’s how stupid she was. She called Tiny “Teeny.”

  I let her get away with it too. For the first time in my life, I didn’t even feel like defending myself. Not even to Annabelle Posey.

  Just then Mr. Tilton started speaking from the stage.

  “Your attention again, please.…

  “First I must thank everyone who tried out for the play. You were all wonderful, and the choices were very difficult to make. If you didn’t get the part you wanted, I apologize. It doesn’t mean you weren’t good enough. It simply means there weren’t enough good parts to go around.

  “Also, if you didn’t get a part and would like to work on scenery, on makeup, or on lighting, please see me and I’ll sign you up. Believe me, working behind the scenes can be just as exciting as being on stage.

  “The rest of the cast is dismissed. I’ll see all of you right here at three o’clock on Monday afternoon.”

  The room continued to buzz with excitement as cast members congratulated themselves all the way out the door. A few kids who hadn’t gotten parts stayed and signed up for other committees. I guess I should have felt grateful that I’d gotten any part at all, but I didn’t. Mostly I just felt pale and weak and sick.

  Also I felt tired. Not sleepy tired though. More like my brain was tired or something. Tired of trying to believe in myself. Tired of letting myself down.

  Finally I stood up, lowered my head in despair, and began shuffling slowly down the aisle. I felt like I weighed a million pounds. I know this sounds dramatic, but that’s how I felt.

  Mr. Tilton heard me shuffling. He looked up and waved.

  “Ah, our Tiny Tim. You’re going to be wonderful. I knew it as soon as I saw you on stage. A perfect Tiny Tim!”

  I winced. That was me. That was who I was now. Tiny Tim Frankovitch. Weak, pale, skinny Tiny Tim Frankovitch.

  I looked up and gave Mr. Tilton the feeblest of smiles.

  “Godblessyousir,” I mumbled pathetically. Then I plodded through the door.

  My parents wouldn’t let me quit the play. I begged all weekend, but they wouldn’t even listen.

  At first my father tried to shame me into it. He took me firmly by the shoulders, looked me in the eye, and said, “You’re no quitter, are you, son?”

  I nodded eagerly. “Yes, I am, Dad. I’m a quitter. Accept it.”

  He let go of my shoulders. “You finish what you start, Alex,” he said sternly. “It’s as simple as that.”

  My mother nodded in agreement. “You’re going to see the job through to the end, Alex.”

  Geez, they were making me sound like a carpenter! This wasn’t a real job. Why couldn’t some other little, weak, pale, skinny kid see it through to the end?

  By Monday afternoon at three o’clock I’d hardly settled down at all. I showed up at rehearsal, but only because I had to. I guess you could say I had an attitude problem. And believe me, watching Albert and Annabelle strut around like superstars didn’t help it one bit. In English class Albert told Mrs. Ballentine she could call him Ebenezer.

  Mr. Tilton spent the first half-hour getting everyone organized. He handed out rehearsal schedules and explained them very carefully.

  “People, do you all understand how this is going to work?” he called from the stage. “While one group is practicing scenes on stage, other groups will be going over their lines in different areas of the auditorium. Each day we will alternate so everyone gets plenty of stage time.”

  From two rows back I heard Annabelle giggle with anticipation. I turned around and stuck my finger down my throat like she was making me sick. What made me even sicker was that she and I were in all the same scenes.

  Mr. Tilton walked around the auditorium
and got each group started. Ours was first.

  “Let’s begin rehearsing the scene where the entire Cratchit family sits down to Christmas dinner,” he suggested. “This is a very tender scene where Tiny Tim says grace. Work on it a while, and I’ll be back to see how it’s going.”

  I waited until I was sure he was gone. Then I opened my script, gritted my teeth, and solemnly began to read.

  “Thank you, Lord, for giving us this fine goose for our Christmas feast. Please bless us all—even Mr. Scrooge.”

  “Why, thank you, Tiny Tim,” said Annabelle as Mrs. Cratchit. “That was quite a lovely thought.”

  I looked up. That’s when it hit me. An idea so great I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it before.

  I smiled. “You’re welcome, Mumsy,” I said simply.

  Annabelle jumped up out of her seat and whapped me in the head with her script. “It doesn’t say that!” she growled. “I’m not Mumsy. Tiny Tim never called his mother Mumsy.”

  “I’m ad-libbing, Mumsy,” I explained calmly. “Please pass the goose.”

  “Mr. Tilton!” screamed Annabelle. “Tell Alex that we’re not allowed to ad-lib! Tell him to just read his lines like they’re written!”

  Mr. Tilton was busy with the people on stage. He waved his arms and told Annabelle to quiet down.

  I just grinned. This was working out better than I could have imagined.

  After that, I started ad-libbing more and more each day. Never in front of Mr. Tilton, of course. Only in our little groups. But it was especially fun to do it when Albert Ruppert was practicing with us. The kid was really beginning to get on my nerves. He acted like he was running the whole show.

  “Okay, gang. Listen up,” he said one day as he sat down to read lines with us. “In this scene I’m knocking on the door with my arms full of presents. Turn to page eighty, and let’s take it from the top.”

  I rolled my eyes. Take it from the top. That’s the kind of stuff he’d say. Like he was conducting an orchestra or something.

  “Knock, knock, knock,” said Albert.

  Skylar Fox, who played Bob Cratchit, pretended to open the door. “Please do come in, Mr. Scrooge. What a surprise this is!”

  “Surprise, yes, I’m full of surprises,” said Albert, pretending to set the packages down on the seat as he looked around. “Why, look here, Cratchit! These must be your fine children!”

  “Yes, sir, they are. Let me introduce you, Mr. Scrooge. This is Tiny Tim, my youngest.”

  Albert held out his hand to shake. “And how are you this glorious Christmas Day, my boy?”

  I took out a Kleenex and honked into it. Then I wadded it up and put it in his hand. “Could you throw this away please?”

  Albert blew up. “Tiny Tim doesn’t say that!” he yelled.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “What’s he supposed to do? Throw it on the floor?”

  “Knock it off, Frankovitch,” growled Albert. “If you don’t knock it off, you’re going to mess up the whole play.

  “Now let’s take it from the top again,” he ordered, “and this time get it right.

  “Knock, knock, knock.”

  “Please do come in, Mr. Scrooge,” repeated Skylar, trying not to laugh. “What a surprise this is!”

  “Surprise, yes, I’m full of surprises,” said Albert, again. “Why, look here, Cratchit! These must be your fine children!”

  “Yes, sir, they are. Let me introduce you, Mr. Scrooge. This is Tiny Tim, my youngest.”

  Cautiously, Albert held out his hand again. “And how are you this glorious Christmas Day, my boy?”

  This time I shook his hand. “How do I look? Do I look healthy to you? Does this look like a healthy little body?”

  Albert’s face got red, but he decided to ignore me.

  He turned to Annabelle. “And you, gentle lady, you must be Mrs. Cratchit?” he continued.

  Annabelle curtsied. “Pleased to meet you, sir. Bob has told us a great deal about you.”

  I tapped Albert on the arm. “Her father’s a clown, you know,” I informed him pleasantly.

  Skylar Fox started laughing. The rest of the kids sitting there did too. Everyone but Albert and Annabelle, that is. Albert and Annabelle practically exploded right out of their chairs. Then the two of them ran to the stage to tell Mr. Tilton.

  You could hear Albert’s voice echoing all over the school. “He’s going to mess it up! I know he is! He’s just waiting to mess it up!”

  I sat back and grinned.

  9

  My mother invited the entire world to the play. She bought fifteen tickets and gave them away to anyone she could think of. She even gave one to my cousin Leon. The one with the grubby paws.

  I guess I should have cared—all those people seeing me in such a humiliating part—but I didn’t. I think I was past caring. And besides, I had Albert and Annabelle so nervous, it was almost worth the humiliation.

  On the night of the play I hadn’t even put my stuff down before Annabelle started making her stupid threats.

  “I’m warning you, Alex,” she blurted, standing there in her dumb Mrs. Cratchit outfit. “If you ruin this play, my father will see to it that you never work in show business again.”

  I looked her over. “Nice costume, Annabelle. The city dump will surprise you sometimes.”

  She stomped her foot.

  “I mean it, Alex! I’m not kidding!”

  I winked. “Neither am I, Mumsy.”

  Annabelle stormed away in such a frenzy, she didn’t even notice Albert Ruppert coming through the door.

  He was being so quiet, I almost missed him myself.

  His Scrooge costume was in his hand. But instead of putting it on, he sat down in the closest chair and doubled over like he had just been punched in the stomach.

  The expression on his face looked familiar. It’s the same one you get when you’re eating over at a friend’s house and the kid’s mother makes you try a new vegetable. It’s usually brownish green, and it tastes so gross you can’t swallow it; and you can’t talk, and you can’t spit it out. So you just sit there with this horrible expression until you figure out what to do with it. Usually I pretend to cough and spit it in my napkin. If I don’t have a napkin, I put it in my pocket.

  Anyway, the night of the play I watched Albert for several minutes before it finally dawned on me what was wrong.…

  Albert Ruppert had stage fright! The more I watched his face, the more positive I became. Old Albert Ruppert wasn’t as sure of himself as he pretended to be.

  A big grin began to spread across my face. Hmmm, I said silently. Should I, or shouldn’t I? Does Albert deserve a little teasing, or doesn’t he?

  I thought back to that day in English class, the day after my commercial, when Albert had stood up and pretended to play the violin while everyone laughed. My grin got bigger. I had my answer.

  Slowly, I sauntered over to where he was sitting and smiled down at him. Casually, I stood there cracking my knuckles.

  “How’s it going, Ebenezer?” I asked, rocking back and forth on my heels. “Pretty exciting, huh? Being the big star of the Christmas play. All those lines to remember in front of all those people. I was just counting the audience a minute ago. Five million and seven. I hope that doesn’t make you nervous.”

  Albert was purple.

  “I hope you don’t forget your lines or anything, Al,” I went on unmercifully. “In second grade, Bubby Greene forgot his lines and everyone started laughing their heads off. Bubby wet his pants. I hope something like that doesn’t happen to you, Albert.”

  Albert’s eyes opened real wide. It was a new worry he hadn’t thought of before.

  “Oh, by the way, Al. I’ve come up with a few little surprises for you during the play. You know, just to keep you on your toes. I think you’ll really get a kick out of them.”

  That did it. Albert shot from his seat like a bullet. The next thing I knew he was heading down the hall toward the boys’ bathroom.

&nb
sp; It sort of surprised me, if you want to know the truth. I didn’t know he’d react like that. I was just messing around, that’s all. Where was his sense of humor?

  Mr. Tilton saw him leave and rushed after him. Meanwhile, the clock on the wall kept ticking away. Six thirty … six forty-five … six fifty. Most of the cast members already had on their costumes and makeup. The play was scheduled to start at seven thirty.

  I couldn’t put it off any longer. I went into one of the little dressing rooms and came out with my sissy suit on. Little brown shorts, knee socks, a white shirt with a wide circular collar, and a big fluffy black bow tied at the neck. The bow was the worst. Tiny probably picked it out himself. He probably thought it looked sharp.

  After I was dressed, I walked into the hall. The boys’ bathroom was down at the end, around the corner. I checked my watch. Five minutes after seven, and still no Albert.

  I opened the auditorium door a crack and snuck a peek at the audience. It was packed. The whole city was in the auditorium, and Scrooge was in the boys’ lavatory afraid he was going to wet his trousers.

  Suddenly there was some commotion in the hallway behind me. I spun around just in time to see Mr. Tilton come screeching around the corner. He was charging in my direction with this crazy wild expression on his face. His hair was sticking out in all directions.

  He was alone, too. Albert Ruppert wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  Mr. Tilton was really cruising now. He hurdled a mop and bucket and never even broke stride.

  “Quick! Quick! Quick!” he shouted at me as he screeched to a halt. “Do you know Scrooge? Do you? Do you know Scrooge?”

  I took a few steps backward.

  “Uh … do I know Scrooge?” I began cautiously. “Er, ah … yes. I know Scrooge, Mr. Tilton. Scrooge is Albert. Albert Ruppert. You know him too. Remember? Kind of a tall kid with—”

  Mr. Tilton jumped up and down. He seemed to be having some sort of breakdown.

  “No, no, no!” he yelled. “I mean, do you know Scrooge’s lines! His part! He said you might. Do you?”