The Sassy Collection Page 14

  “Uh, I might stick around and watch,” I say real casually.

  “Okay. My mom can take us both home, then,” she says.

  “So,” I say as we are waiting for our nails to dry, “when Mr. Wood calls people onstage for tryouts, what part do you want?”

  Jasmine smiles. “I’d love to sing the ocean song. It makes me think about the wind blowing on the sails of a boat when we sing it in class.”

  “You’d be great for that part,” I tell her honestly.

  “But what about you, Sassy? Won’t you get tired just sitting there listening to other people sing?”

  “I want to watch the tryouts because maybe I can figure out a way to be in the show.”

  “Doing what? And how does this figure into the silver secret that you won’t tell me about?” She’s getting upset again.

  “I’m not sure yet, but there’s got to be something I can do so I can be onstage.”

  “What about your secret?” Jasmine asks.

  “It’s cool, but I don’t think it will get me a part in the musical,” I tell her sadly.

  “So when are you going to tell me?”

  “Soon,” I say. “I promise.”

  Just then Sabin’s dog trots into my room.

  “Sabin! Come and get Zero! He smells like old fish!” I cry.

  A brown beagle jumps up on my bed and smears the silver polish on my little finger.

  “Sabin! Hurry! He’s messing up my nail polish!”

  “When did Sabin get a dog?” Jasmine asks. She jumps up so her nails are out of the dog’s way.

  “A couple of weeks ago. Sabin’s friend Raphael moved to New York. His family is living in an apartment and he couldn’t keep the dog. So my brother begged Mom and Daddy to let him adopt Zero.”

  “Zero?”

  “Yep. I think that’s his IQ score. I’ve never seen a goofier animal.”

  “Your parents actually agreed to let Sabin have a dog? Parents always say no to that kind of stuff.”

  “I know. Mom and Dad told Sabin they’d give him a month to see if he does what he promised about feeding Zero and taking him outside.”

  “What about bathing him?” Jasmine covers her nose.

  “Dream on.” I fix my polish while the dog sniffs under my bed.

  “Haven’t you been asking for a cocker spaniel since your last birthday?”

  “I sure have. But Daddy says Zero will be the family dog if he fits in. That’s just so not fair!”

  Sabin rushes into my room. “C’mon, Zero! It’s time for your bath!”

  The dog bounds out with an old pink sock in his mouth. He runs down the hall as if he understands what Sabin said.

  “Come back, Zero!” Sabin calls after him.

  “Maybe he’s not so stupid after all!” Jasmine says with a laugh.

  “Oh, yes he is. He eats socks.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know how socks always get lost in the wash?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, ever since that dog got here, we don’t have that problem. Zero eats them before they have a chance to get lost.”

  “That’s the funniest thing I ever heard!”

  “I’ve watched him do it. He starts at the toe, then unravels it and pulls it apart and gobbles it a chunk at a time.”

  “What else does he eat?”

  “Besides socks? None of that dry brown food my mother buys. He likes fruits and veggies. Stuff like broccoli, lemons, onions, and tomatoes.”

  Jasmine is rolling on the floor with laughter.

  “And then, of course, he throws up.”

  “Oh, yuck!”

  “Yesterday Zero threw up in the living room. Blue socks and green peas and red pizza sauce.”

  “Disgusting!”

  “Yep, a multicolor mess. Zero ran and hid under the sofa. And Sabin had to clean it up!”

  Jasmine is holding herself, giggling uncontrollably. “Has the dog eaten anything silver?” she asks. “Maybe that’s your silver secret.”

  “Not hardly,” I reply with a smile. “My secret is super special. It’s going to make me shine!”

  Jasmine is still laughing when her mother comes to pick her up.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Sassy,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes. “And I’m not going to let you keep that secret much longer!”

  We have choir the last period of the day. The choir room is really just a small classroom with the chairs pushed to the wall. The risers we stand on are ancient and wobbly.

  Everybody in fourth grade takes choir, even if they can’t sing. We don’t have an orchestra. Mr. Wood, our music teacher, would love to have one, I think. But he says our school doesn’t have enough money to buy instruments.

  So Mr. Wood has to listen to us sing. All of us. Carmelita probably has the most powerful soprano in the school. Even Travis, who once got his head stuck in a chair, has a strong tenor voice. Jasmine could probably make it on one of those singing-contest shows on television.

  Me? I croak. I gobble. I squeak.

  Mr. Wood says to me, “Just hum, Sassy, and enjoy the music.”

  That’s a nice way of saying, “Sassy, keep your mouth shut. If you sing, your voice might trigger the fire alarm and we’d never learn the song!”

  So I stand on the risers with everyone else. I learn the words and the music to every song, but I don’t sing. I don’t really mind. I know how bad I sound.

  Today, however, everybody is excited about the tryouts for the musical.

  “Do we get to wear costumes?” Jasmine asks as soon as class starts.

  “Yes, indeed!” Mr. Wood replies. His body is round like a drum. Even his head is round and bald. When he laughs, his voice sounds like deep bass music.

  “What kind of costumes?” Holly asks.

  Mr. Wood goes over to his desk and picks up two large blue packages.

  “Listen up, children. Instead of our usual singing class today, let’s talk about the upcoming show, the tryouts, and all that goes with it.”

  Everybody cheers at that, and we take our seats instead of standing on the risers.

  “Hey, Sassy,” Holly whispers as we sit down. “Do you have a nail file? I broke my fingernail and I keep scratching myself!”

  “Sure, Holly,” I whisper back. I reach down into my Sassy Sack, pull out a pink emery board decorated with flowers, and hand it to her.

  “Thanks!” She quickly fixes her nail and hands the emery board back to me.

  Mr. Wood clears his throat to let us know he wants us to be quiet. “This is the first time I’ve attempted to do such a show, but I want to put on something special this year. Even though we don’t have an orchestra, I think we can have a very fine musical.”

  “What will we use for background music?” Travis asks.

  “I’ve got five thousand songs on my iPod!” Mr. Wood responds with a chuckle.

  “I bet you have nothing but oldies!” Rusty says, teasing.

  “The older the better!” Mr. Wood tells him.

  Rusty and Travis groan.

  “You never told us what we would be wearing,” Holly reminds him.

  Mr. Wood opens the first blue package. “The boys,” he begins, “will wear white shirts, dark blue slacks —”

  “That sounds like our school uniforms!” Travis complains, interrupting.

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Mr. Wood replies. “They will also wear these vests!” He pulls out a bright purple vest covered with sparkly sequins from the package.

  All the girls say, “Ooh, wow! Awesome.”

  All the boys just say, “Ooh, wow.” It’s like they aren’t sure if they like them or not.

  “Try it on, Travis,” Mr. Wood suggests.

  Travis takes the vest, puts it on over his shirt, and buttons it up. “Hey, man, I look too good!” he boasts to Rusty.

  Mr. Wood lets Rusty and Clarence and Todd all model the sparkly vests. They strut around the room like they’re movie stars or something
.

  “I really like them,” I tell Jasmine.

  “For real,” she replies.

  “What about the girls?” Carmelita asks. “What will we wear?”

  Mr. Wood collects the vests, folds them, and tucks them carefully back into the package.

  “The girls,” Mr. Wood says slowly and with a big grin on his face, “will wear these!”

  He opens the second package and pulls out the most beautiful dress I have ever seen in my life. It’s a pale purple — absolutely the first on my list of favorite colors. It almost shimmers in the afternoon sunlight that streams through the classroom window. It has purple and silver sequins all over it, a tiny waistline, and a full, twirly skirt. I gasp.

  “That is just too beautiful,” Jasmine gushes.

  All the rest of the girls nod in agreement.

  “Can I try it on?” Carmelita asks. “Please?”

  Mr. Wood checks the tag to see if it’s her size, then gives her the dress. Carmelita grabs the hall pass and rushes to the bathroom to try it on.

  “That dress sure will make me pretty!” Holly says.

  “Me, too,” Jasmine adds. “How can you sing ugly when you’re wearing an outfit that gorgeous?”

  I am quiet and don’t say anything. But I know I just have to be in that show. One of those dresses is going to be mine!

  Carmelita returns wearing the dress. She looks like a princess. She sparkles. She glows. She twirls for us and bows, and then she sings the first line of a song about feeling pretty, just to show how much the dress helps her voice.

  She’s right. The dress makes her sing even better than she usually does, and Carmelita can throw down a song.

  Everybody claps.

  She takes a bow and then hurries to change out of the wonderful outfit.

  When she gets back, Mr. Wood says to us, “I showed you the costumes so you can know what you’ll look like onstage in the show. That was inspiration. Now comes the hard work.”

  “Work?” Rusty says.

  “Yes, it’s a hard job to put on a show. We need lots of people to help. Every job is important.”

  “Can’t I just show up and look good?” Travis asks with a grin.

  “No, Travis. It’s not that easy,” Mr. Wood tells him. “Let me explain how the tryouts will go. If you want a featured singing part, you will sing for me after school. I will choose the best voices.”

  “Will there be dancing parts?” Holly asks. She takes dancing lessons twice a week.

  “Yes, Holly, I think there will be a couple of parts for dancers in the show.”

  “Yay!” She jumps up and does a little ballet twirl on her toes.

  “What about people who can’t sing or dance?” Rusty asks. I’m glad nobody looks at me when he says it.

  Mr. Wood replies cheerfully, “We need people to make the sets and decorate the auditorium. We’ll also need ushers and people to operate the curtain. So there will be something important for each person to do.”

  When the bell rings, instead of packing up and leaving for home, most of the kids go to the auditorium for the tryouts. Our school is real old, and our auditorium is pretty beat-up. It has a thick, dark curtain that rises, but it’s got holes in it. I can see where it has been patched and sewn many, many times.

  We have real stage lights that glow in different colors, but lots of times they won’t come on, or the bulbs are blown out. The auditorium has rows of seats that could use some cushions. The wooden seats sometimes scratch the legs of the people who are sitting in them.

  But it’s an awesome place anyway. It’s always cool and dark and a little mysterious. We only go in there for assemblies, like when my grammy came to do her storytelling show, or for special events like choir performances and sixth-grade graduation.

  Mr. Wood sits in the front row and reads names off a sheet in front of him. “We’ll start with the singers,” he says. “Carmelita!” he calls out.

  “I need background music,” Carmelita says.

  “No problem,” Mr. Wood says. “Let me plug my iPod into the player.”

  He gets up, slips it into the slot, and pushes PLAY. Nothing happens.

  “What’s up, Mr. Wood?” Carmelita asks.

  “Well, it seems we’re in a bit of a pickle.”

  “What do you mean?” asks Travis.

  “Well, I left the power plug at home, and the player’s battery is dead. Plus, it seems I forgot to charge my iPod last night.”

  “You’re losing it, Mr. Wood,” Travis tells him with a smile, “and the show is just getting started!”

  “I’m going to need help to keep organized,” our teacher answers. “But right now, what are we going to do? Neither the iPod nor the player will work!”

  He scratches the top of his bald head.

  I reach down into my Sassy Sack and pull out a handful of size C batteries. “Are these the right kind?” I ask him as I walk over to where he is standing.

  “You’re the best, Sassy!” Mr. Wood says as he plops the batteries into the machine that can now power the iPod. “You’ve got the most amazing things in that bag of yours. How can I ever thank you? I’ll replace these tomorrow — promise.”

  “That’s okay,” I say quietly. There’s no way I can tell him that he can thank me by letting me be in the show. I go back and sit down in my seat.

  The player powers on, the music belts out, and Carmelita sings like a canary. Well, not exactly like a bird, but real pretty. Everybody claps.

  “Travis!” Mr. Wood calls next.

  Travis runs up to the stage, clears his throat, and blows everybody away with his solo.

  “Wow!” Mr. Wood says. “That was powerful!”

  “I’ve been practicing in the shower,” Travis replies with a grin.

  I’ve been practicing, too. But I still don’t say anything.

  Jasmine and Rusty and the other kids all go up and take their turns trying out for singing parts. Mr. Wood does not call my name because I didn’t sign up. It would have been a waste of time.

  Mr. Wood, like everybody else, does not know my secret. But even I have no idea how my secret will help me get in the show.

  * * *

  When Mr. Wood calls for dancers, lots of kids try out, but I’m sure Holly will get the lead. She moves like water is flowing in her arms and legs.

  I don’t try out for a dancing part, either. I’m not as bad at dancing as I am at singing, but I’m no Holly. I don’t think I’m good enough to dance in the show.

  When the tryouts are over, Jasmine’s mom comes to pick her up, and she takes me home as well. We usually giggle and make jokes in the car, but I’m still very quiet. Jasmine looks at me funny, but she does not ask about the secret again. When we get to my house, I wave good-bye and hurry up the driveway to my door.

  I don’t want to be behind the scenes, making sets, or standing at the door, handing out programs. I want to be in the show. I want to be in the spotlight. I must wear one of those sparkly dresses.

  I want to be a star!

  At dinner, Sabin eats all the dark meat from the chicken platter — as usual. Sadora eats only green beans and carrots — as usual. Sabin rarely eats vegetables and Sadora hardly ever eats meat. I eat whatever Mom cooks. I just hope my family doesn’t gobble it all before the platter gets passed around to me.

  Daddy is in a good mood, cracking jokes and eating his peas with a knife.

  “Sampson, what’s got into you?” Mom asks, but she laughs at him anyway. “You’re setting a bad example for the children!”

  “I’m just showing them how people eat peas on the island of Boo.”

  “There’s no such place,” I say to Daddy, giggling a little.

  “Yes, there is. I saw it on the Travel Channel. Everyone on the island of Boo eats their vegetables with a knife. It’s a law made by the king.”

  “You’re silly, Daddy,” Sadora says.

  “When I visited there, they made me champion of the veggie eaters! Nobody could eat more gr
een beans or corn or peas with his knife than me!” He slides a few more vegetables onto his butter knife, then slurps them up.

  Sabin, of course, tries to outdo what Daddy does and gobbles mouthfuls of peas and carrots.

  Zero sits by Sabin’s chair and snatches anything that falls from my brother’s plate.

  “I can get more peas on my knife than you can, Dad,” he boasts.

  “Not in a million years!” Daddy replies. “I have a gold medal from the island of Boo to prove it!” He gulps more carrots.

  Sabin eats more.

  “I beat you, Dad!” Sabin finally says, raising his arms like he’s a winner.

  “Yes, and I made you eat your vegetables,” Daddy says as he picks up his fork.

  Sadora and Mom and I crack up. Zero yips as if he understands the joke.

  Sabin makes a face. He knows he’s been outsmarted.

  I check the clock on the wall. “It’s almost time, Mom. I don’t want to be late for my lesson.”

  “Okay, honey. Let’s go,” she says to me. “Sadora, please do the dishes while we’re gone, okay?”

  She starts to groan, but Daddy gives her a look, so she starts to clear the table.

  “And, Sabin, after you walk the dog, don’t forget to take out the trash.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  “Don’t forget to separate the plastics and stuff for the recycling bin!” I add.

  “Now I have to take orders from Sassy, too?” Sabin crosses his arms across his chest.

  “Yep. You do,” Daddy says in a voice of authority.

  I give Daddy a quick hug to thank him, then hurry for the door. I grab my jacket, my instrument, my Sassy Sack, and rush to the car.

  Yes, my instrument. I play the piccolo, and nobody knows. Except my family. And I love it.

  * * *

  I’m already sitting in the car with my seat belt on when Mom comes out with her keys. I check my change purse hanging from the key chain on my sack — it’s purple and says SASSY on it — simply awesome — to make sure I have enough money to buy a soda when my lesson is over. Blowing that instrument makes me really thirsty.

  I also pull out of my sack a small container of breath spray and squirt some into my mouth. I hate to have bad breath. My piccolo teacher, Mrs. Rossini, sometimes gets very close as she is helping me get a section of music just right. She’s a nice lady. I’m sure she doesn’t want to smell garlic breath for an hour.