Fourth-Grade Disasters (12 page)

“Do they all have shoes in them?”

“No, they’re all about talented children following their dreams.”

“Are any of them about ordinary, nontalented children who don’t have any dreams?” Mason hadn’t meant for his question to come out sounding so bitter.

“Oh, Mason, you’re only in fourth grade. There’s still plenty of time for you to find your talents and your dreams. Anyway, there’s Jane in
Movie Shoes
. Her talent is loving her dog. Really.”

“Then why is it called
Movie Shoes
and not
Dog Shoes
?”

“Because Jane does end up being in a movie. She plays the part of Mary in a movie version of
The Secret Garden
. But what she really loves is spending time with her dog, Chewing Gum.”

That was a strange name for a dog, in Mason’s opinion. But he guessed all dogs couldn’t be named Dog.

His mother kissed Mason goodnight and dropped a kiss on Dog’s head, too.

“Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s your big day!” she said as she turned off Mason’s light and closed the door.

Mason wished she hadn’t said it.

Mason was surprised, at the dress rehearsal before school on Friday morning, to find that the Platters were only part of the Beulah Brighton Belvedere School for the Arts celebration concert. First the fifth-grade handbell choir performed, and then some kid—a third grader!—played a showy piece on his violin, and a group of girls did Irish step dancing. The Platters performed last, beginning with “America!” and then “Summer Storm,” and finishing, of course, with “Puff the Plainfield Dragon.”

The Platters’ portion of the rehearsal was a disaster, from start to finish. It took forever for the singers to find their places on the risers, even though they’d sung on risers every day that week. Four letters were upside down in the finale of “America!” One kid came in too soon for the first “Drip, drop” of the raindrop song. The mike didn’t work for Brody’s solo.

Worst of all, Mason was so fascinated by the spectacle of all these mistakes and mishaps that, standing at the light switches by the side door of the gym, he forgot to flash the lightning until the storm was almost over. Not that anyone could see the flashing lights in broad daylight. But he knew he had failed miserably.

Mrs. Morengo tried to be encouraging. “Now, Platters, you know what they say in the world of theater, don’t you? The worse the dress rehearsal, the better the show!”

Mason was sure that saying had been invented only to give false hope after terrible dress rehearsals.

“I would be worried if the dress rehearsal
hadn’t
been like this,” Mrs. Morengo insisted.

A lie if Mason had ever heard one.

All day, Coach Joe’s students were unable to settle down to division, Native Americans, the life cycle of a crayfish. Finally he gave up and took them outside for extra recess.

Mason, Brody, and Nora found a cool spot at the edge of the blacktop, sitting at a picnic table under an enormous oak tree.

“Are you nervous?” Nora asked Brody.

“No!” Brody appeared shocked by the question. “We’ve been singing ‘Puff’ since kindergarten! And if the mike doesn’t work, I’ll just belt it out.”

He stood up on top of the picnic table, as if preparing to demonstrate his show-stopping technique.

“That’s okay,” Nora said. “We believe you.”

“Plus, no one else will have seen my costume yet, so think how amazed they’ll be.”

The plan was for Brody to slip off the risers during the applause following the raindrop song—assuming that there was any applause—and dart offstage to zip into his costume, while the last fifth-grade speaker announced the final number of the program.

Mason hoped the zipper didn’t get stuck.

Or break.

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking things like that.

But he always did.

“When they see me?” Brody continued. “When the audience sees me? They’re going to go like this:
Awwwwww
.”

He imitated the audience again, their long, slow sigh of awestruck appreciation at his outstanding cuteness:
“Awwwwwwww.”

Nora swatted him, and Brody sat down next to Mason on the picnic bench, his eyes still shining from his anticipated glory.

Mason hoped Dunk didn’t push anyone off the risers during the concert, though at least this time it wouldn’t be him.

He hoped the piano didn’t break right in the middle of a song—that Pedro would decide to wait a little longer before going on strike and refusing to play.

He hoped all the letters for “America!” would be right side up.

He hoped he remembered to flash the lights.

Most of all, he hoped his mother would think it was okay that he was flashing the lights instead of singing with his voice-lesson voice.

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking things like that.

But he always did.

The students were supposed to be at school at 6:15; the concert was set to begin at seven o’clock. There was really no reason why they all had to arrive forty-five minutes early. Mason figured the early time was Mrs. Morengo’s way of making sure that even her straggler Platters wouldn’t be late.

Even though he wasn’t going to be singing with the others, Mason wore his Platters T-shirt, the one that had originally been Brody’s, before they traded shirts. So his parents still had no clue about the stage-crew surprise.

The gym was packed, each folding chair occupied by a proud parent, a squirming sibling, or even a teacher. At his post by the light switches, Mason saw Coach Joe, who gave him a big thumbs-up, and Mrs. Prindle, who shook her head warningly at him for no reason at all. In the back of the gym, the cameraman from Channel 9 News was staggering under the weight of the largest camera Mason had ever seen.

Mrs. Morengo gave Mason a signal. He flipped the three switches for the lights that lit up the seating area in the gym, leaving only the lights shining upon the stage.

So far, so good.

Mrs. Miller came out, to loud applause from the audience. She made a speech that went on too long about the great honor for Plainfield Elementary of being named a Beulah Brighton Belvedere School for the Arts. Mason still had no idea who Beulah Brighton Belvedere was or why she liked the arts so much.

The handbells chimed, and the violin prodigy played his violin, and the Irish dancers danced.

Mason could see the Platters standing in line in the wings, waiting for their moment to take the stage. Part of Mason thought it would be better to go first and get it over with. On the other hand, if you were last, there was always some chance of an earthquake or a tornado that would keep you from having to perform at all.

“And now,” Mrs. Miller said into her microphone, “last but certainly not least, our beloved Plainfield
PLATTERS
!”

The audience cheered as the Platters marched in formation up onto the stage.

Mason felt a teensy-weensy pang that he wasn’t with them. He knew his parents would be craning their necks for a first glimpse of him there on the risers and wondering why they couldn’t see him anywhere.

He concentrated on gathering his strength for his big moment as lightning guy. And hoping that the “America!” letters would all be right side up this time.

And they were! The first number was definitely fine, even better than fine. Maybe that old saying about the bad dress rehearsal wasn’t bogus, after all.

The raindrop song, too, was more impressive than Mason had expected.

Bang, crash
came the drums and cymbals.

Flash, flash went the lights.
Mason’s
lights.

He thought he could hear the audience give a small gasp of astonishment at the cleverness of this special effect. But, with all eyes on the stage, nobody—including his parents—would know that he was the one doing it.

The storm subsided.

“Drip. Drop. Drip.”

“Drip.”

“Drip.”

A moment of silence—would there be one last raindrop? No. Mrs. Morengo turned to face the audience, so they would know the song was over and it was time to applaud. And they did.

As Mason watched, Brody disappeared from the risers to put on his costume. Zia read her little speech from Mrs. Morengo’s index card:

“Our last song is dear to the hearts of all Plainfield Elementary students, parents, teachers, and staff. For twenty years, we have been singing about our love for our wonderful mascot, who inspires us to be our best every day in every way. Ladies and gentlemen, as our final number for this special evening, we give you ‘Puff the Plainfield Dragon’!”

A small green dragon walked slowly to the middle of the stage.

“Awwwwwww!” went the audience.

Mason could see Brody’s face poking through the face hole in his costume. Brody wasn’t smiling. Perhaps he had decided that Puff should have a more solemn expression, as befitted his sacred status as Plainfield Elementary’s tradition and treasure.

Mr. Griffith began to play.

Brody did not begin to sing.

Mr. Griffith smiled up encouragingly at Brody and kept the introduction going for a bit longer.

Puff the Plainfield Dragon stood silent, voiceless, motionless—paralyzed, Mason could see, by complete and utter terror.

Sing, Brody!
Mason willed with every fiber of his being.
Sing!

Brody continued to stand there, stock still, no sound whatsoever coming out of his mouth. He looked as if any second his face would crumple into tears and he would be crying in front of hundreds of people in the Plainfield Elementary gymnasium and tens of thousands more watching on TV.

Mrs. Morengo wasn’t facing the audience, so Mason could see the pleading expression on her face, and he could see her arms raised imploringly toward Brody.
Sing, Brody!

Somebody had to start singing—Brody, all the assembled Platters, or somebody else. If a few more seconds went by without any sounds coming out of anybody’s mouth, Brody would be known forever as the failed Puff at the most disastrous concert in Platters history.

Sing, somebody!

And then, to the amazement of Mason himself,
he
was that somebody.

More nimbly than he could have imagined, Mason walked out onto the stage and joined Brody at the mike.

Mr. Griffith came around again to the familiar opening cue, and Mason opened his mouth to prepare to sing, praying that this time he wouldn’t have a spasm of coughing. After all, if there was one song on this earth that he could sing, this was it.

“Puff the Plainfield Dragon,” Mason sang.

Brody joined in. “Lives at our school.”

“Puff helps us to do our work and follow every rule,” the two friends sang together. Brody’s voice was loud and confident now.

“Puff is loved by everyone because he is so cool! Every day we shout hooray that Puff lives at our school! Oh.…”

The Plainfield Platters added their voices to the next chorus. Mason couldn’t see them, but he knew that standing behind him on the risers, Nora and Dunk, Sheng, Julio, Alastair, and Bradley were all singing, too. Brody was belting out the song with all his big Brody heart, his face shining once again in its usual Brodyish way, as if it had been buttered with happiness.