Puppet Pandemonium (6 page)

“Directing?” she asked.

I didn't know whether she'd laugh if I told her about the puppets. Good thing I'd left Waldo in my room.

“I, uh, helped her move equipment.”

She shrugged. “Whatever.” Before I realized it, she was out the door.

Hannah had whirled in and out so fast, I felt like I had been hit by a Texas tornado. But at least I had learned a little something about my new school.

I speed-dialed Sam's number. The answering machine picked up.

“Hey, Sam,” I said, trying to talk fast. I didn't want to use up all my minutes already. “You're never going to believe this. There are hitching posts stuck in the streets here! So, that's cool. And you know what? I met this girl who never stops talking.” I took a breath. “I'll send you a picture of our house when I find my camera. It's a fixer-upper, only it's falling down. Do you know what a painted lady is? Bye!”

T
he pizza had given Mom a burst of energy. She was ripping open moving boxes like a madwoman. She stopped to grin at me. “We've only been in town for a couple of hours and you've already met a new friend. How cool is that?”

“It helps to know one person before I go to school,” I said. “Even if it is a girl.”

Mom smiled. “Girls can be good friends too, Baker. And after meeting Hannah, I'd say she's a perfect new friend.”

“Yeah. She's okay. She's bringing her best friend
over later. His name is Murray.” I ran up the stairs to unpack my stuff. I looked at Waldo.

“Listen, Waldo. Guess what? We are living across the street from a girl who knows everything about everything.” I opened up a box. It was filled with Mom's purses. Thank goodness Hannah hadn't seen this box with my name scrawled across the top of it with Mom's red marker.

It was getting late when I heard the doorbell ring again. I looked over the banister and saw Hannah's bright red hair bobbing next to a cowboy hat in the entry hall. I jogged downstairs.

“This is Murray” Hannah said.

“Hi,” I said.

Murray smiled and said hi back. His brown cowboy hat was bigger than he was. His hair matched his hat. It was as dark as a mud puddle. So were his boots. He looked like the cowboys I'd seen in movies. I wondered if he owned his own horse.

The three of us went out onto the front porch. I was glad that Dad wasn't there to mention Murray's boots.

“Flip on the porch light,” Hannah told me. “It's getting dark out here.” I went back into the house, but I had no idea where the switch for the front porch was. After looking around for several minutes, I gave up. Hannah popped back into the entry hall.

“The switch is over there,” she said, pointing to a switch plate across the room. “Mr. Miller had it moved.”

“Why would he do that?” I asked.

“Who knows? Mr. Miller changed lots of things. He didn't like those doors that folded back into the wall in the dining room either, so he nailed them shut. My dad nearly blew a gasket over that one,” Hannah said. “People are supposed to restore these old houses. Not destroy them.” She rubbed her hand along the wood that framed the front door.

“C'mon,” she said. We headed outside. “What should we tell him first?” Hannah said to Murray, plopping onto the porch swing. “He needs to know everything.” She popped a red sucker into her mouth. “Suckers are my trademark.” She pitched a red one at Murray and an orange one at me. “Red's my favorite.”

Did it mean anything that she gave me an orange one? I decided not to worry about it. Instead, I wondered if maybe I needed a trademark. Tootsie Rolls? Hershey's Kisses?

“Let's start with the play,” Murray said, interrupting my thoughts.

“What's so important about a play?” I asked.

Hannah yanked the sucker out of her mouth and dragged her sandals across the wooden porch to stop the swing.

“Not
a
play,” she said. “
The
play.”

“Okay
the
play” I said. “Tell me about it.”

“Every year the citizens of Franklin and Buffalo Gulch put on a fall festival,” Hannah began. “It started a hundred years ago. Everyone gets involved.”

“It used to be just ranchers selling things like pies and cakes and homemade quilts and stuff,” Murray said. “And they showed their cattle, too. But over the years it turned into a huge celebration.”

“We alternate hosting. Last year it was Buffalo Gulch. So this year it's us,” Hannah said.

“What about
the
play?” I asked.

Just then Mom came out with some Oreos. “I found these in the linens box,” she said, handing me the package.

“Thanks!” Hannah said, reaching for a handful.

“Double Stuf. Cool,” Murray said as he and I dived into the cookies after Hannah. She took an Oreo apart and started licking the white frosting off. Then she ate the cookie.

“Why do you do that?” Murray said.

“What?” she said.

“Eat the frosting first.”

“That's the way I like to eat an Oreo.”

I had a feeling Hannah had a way to eat everything.

H
annah and Murray filled me in on everything else I needed to know about Franklin. Here's what they told me:

Two old-timers, Buffalo Gulch's Horace Jackson and Franklin's J. J. Whittington, had an argument over whose wife made better peach jam. One thing led to another, and soon their argument turned into a competition. And soon that competition turned into the festival.

There were lots of contests and lots of ribbons. The biggest ribbon went to the best peach jam, which Murray loved but Hannah hated (she liked raspberry).

It was a tradition for Franklin fifth graders and Buffalo Gulch fifth graders to stage plays. Students picked great American role models and dressed up like them in the play. Judges from Dallas voted on the best play actor, actress, script, costumes, scenery, and director. Franklin had lost Best Play for the last three years in a row. This was very bad.

Mr. Sims, the new fifth-grade teacher, didn't know anything. It was up to us to clue him in.

“I want to play Neil Armstrong,” Murray said.

I gave him a puzzled look.

“You know. The astronaut?”

“Oh. Right,” I said, remembering he was the first man on the moon. Hannah probably wanted to be the President.

This idea was making me a little nervous. My role models were Mr. Fox and Gram. There was no way I could dress up like them.

“I'm thinking of George Washington,” Hannah said. “Or maybe Betsy Ross. Or maybe a wildcat.”

“Huh?” I said.

“You can't be a wildcat,” Murray said.

“We're the Franklin Wildcats, and the kids in Buffalo Gulch are the Buffalo Hunters,” Hannah explained. Then without warning she jumped up and threw her arms in the air. She yelled even more loudly than I thought she could.

She did a flip off the front porch onto the grass.

“Ouch,” she said, picking prickers out of her jeans and sucking her fingers. “These things hurt.”

Laughing, Murray went to help Hannah up. Just as he reached for her hand, a water balloon hit him in the shoulder.
Smack!

“Bubba, I'm going to bash your face in!” he yelled. I heard laughter and saw three kids running down the street.

“Who's that?” I asked.

“Bubba LaBoon. He's only the worst kid in America.” Hannah scowled in his direction. “He lives down the street. Don't ever turn your back on him or his buddies, or you'll be zonked with water balloons.”

It was getting late. Hannah and Murray left, promising to pick me up for my first day of school the next day. It was getting even later in Seattle, but I had to call Gram and tell her what was going on in Franklin. I sat down on the porch steps and speed-dialed her.

“Hey, Gram,” I said when she picked up.

“Baker! I was just getting ready to call you. How's it going?”

“Okay, I guess. It's different, but I've met two friends so far. Tomorrow's my first day of school.” Before I could say more, I heard laughter coming from around the side of the house. “Uh-oh,” I said. “I better call you later. I think I'm about to get sabotaged.”

Gram laughed. “By whom? A Texas bandit?”

“The worst kid in America,” I said, keeping my voice low. “He lives down the street from me. Gotta go.” I clicked off and ran like a nervous sprinter into the house. Just as I got inside, I heard a big splat on the screen door.

I hadn't even been in Texas a week and I'd met a red-haired tornado, a cowboy hat-wearing sidekick, and the worst kid in America.

Like Dad said, not every kid gets to grow up in a small town.

“T
he school is only a couple of blocks away,” Hannah said as we headed down our street the next day. Dad had already registered me, so there was no need for my parents to show up. I was glad. When you're in fifth grade, you're practically an adult. “It's a nice walk,” she said, hoisting her backpack onto her shoulder.

“It's so hot,” I said, wiping the sweat off my neck.

“You're wasting time complaining about the heat,” Hannah told me. “It's always hot here. You'll get used to it.”

I sighed. “At least it's not raining. It drizzled all the
time in Seattle. It was like taking a shower all day long whether you wanted one or not.”

The school was two stories tall, with lots of trees around it and a great-looking playground out back. I was happy to see basketball courts, baseball diamonds, and plenty of gym equipment.

“This is the deal about Franklin Elementary,” Hannah said. “School starts at eight a.m. every day. We go straight to our classroom, put up our backpacks, sit at our desks, and copy the warm-up from the board. We work while Mr. Sims is in the teachers' lounge having his morning coffee with the other teachers. At eight-fifteen the tardy bell rings and you're counted late if you aren't in your seat.”

“What are warm-ups?” I asked, wondering if we had to jog around the school or something.

“Things we're studying,” Murray said. “Last week they were all about math. Mr. Sims says the whole world depends on good math skills. Like, John and Sarah go to the Whip-A-Dip every day. They eat five gallons of ice cream every three weeks. How many quarts of ice cream do they eat in a day?”