Bobby the Brave (Sometimes) (4 page)

B
obby was having a good time in fourth grade, even if sometimes he got a stomachache from the stress of PE. There were any number of ways he could embarrass himself there, like missing an easy catch during softball, or shooting an air ball in basketball, or playing football. But then, he reasoned, that always made it even nicer to come back to Mrs. Carlson's class. She hardly ever raised her voice; plus she smelled a lot better than Mr. Rainerhaus.

“Class,” Mrs. Carlson said. She was wearing Halloween pumpkin earrings. Recently, she had also worn a pair that looked like happy ghosts. “I want you to be silent as we walk to the auditorium. We will be rehearsing the musical on the stage today.”

A murmur ran through the room. Up until now they had been practicing on the playground. Even though they weren't doing the entire production of
Annie
, like the professionals did on Broadway, there was still much to learn. Rehearsing on the stage took everything to a whole new level.

As the students walked down the hall in a single-file line, Bobby peered into the classrooms. When he saw Mrs. Woods, his third-grade teacher, he shuddered. One look from her could stop a herd of wild buffalo in its tracks. The second graders were doing math. It looked so easy that Bobby laughed. In the first-grade rooms the kids were making Halloween masks. Bobby couldn't tell what the kindergartners were supposed to be doing — they were all running around the room screaming, except for a boy clutching a bowl of fake fruit and crying in a corner. Casey would be in kindergarten next year.

Mrs. Carlson had her students sit in the audience as she stood on the stage. “We won't be rehearsing our musical from the beginning yet. That will come later. Today we are going to focus on dancing. Please be aware that this stage is not that big. I don't want anyone falling off and getting hurt.”

Bobby felt someone poke him. “I'm going to fall off on purpose!” St. James promised.

“Orphans, please,” Mrs. Carlson called out. “I need all the orphans and Miss Hannigan onstage now.”

Swoozie raised her hand. “Am I an orphan?”

Mrs. Carlson nodded. “Yes, Annie's an orphan.”

“Duh,” St. James whispered to her. “Little
Orphan
Annie. Orphan. Annie. Orphan. Duh.”

Swoozie ignored him. The girls were experts at ignoring St. James.

Bobby and St. James sat back and relaxed. Daddy Warbucks and Sandy weren't in this scene. It looked like a lot of fun dancing on the stage, and even Jackson and Chess were laughing. Some of the girls were really good dancers, including Holly, who had studied at Mrs. Cusak's School of Ballet and Tap for three years. When they were little, Bobby and Holly had taken Mrs. Cusak's Bitsy Baby Bounce-Bounce class together, and Bobby had won the Itsy-Bitsy Bouncer Award. He hoped that Holly would never ever tell anyone about this.

Finally, it was time for Annie, Sandy, and Daddy Warbucks to practice their big number. It was exciting standing on the stage. The kids sitting in the audience looked so small. As Swoozie and St. James tried out their dance, Bobby ran around on all fours barking. It felt great making everyone laugh.

“Sandy! Sandy, be careful not to trip Annie or Daddy Warbucks,” Mrs. Carlson cautioned him. “Daddy Warbucks, you're looking a little stiff. Can you loosen up a bit? Annie, you're doing a wonderful job, but make sure you don't step on Sandy.”

Dancing and dog romping were way more complicated than they looked, Bobby learned. Before he could try out his barking again, the rehearsal ended.

“Tomorrow we'll put the songs and the dances together. That's when this will really start turning into a musical,” Mrs. Carlson said enthusiastically. “Now, here are letters to your parents. Each of you will be responsible for your own costumes. If you can't bring one in, talk to me privately about it and I'll make sure you get whatever you need.”

Bobby looked at his letter. It read:

On the bottom of the letter, Mrs. Carlson had added in her neat cursive,
P.S. Bobby is doing an excellent job as Sandy!

Bobby read the letter a couple of times. He was proud to have been selected to play Sandy, and was determined to be the best Sandy ever.

 

“Wilbur could be Sandy,” Chess mused as they walked home after school. Wilbur was Chess's dog and the finest canine Bobby had ever met, even if his breath smelled like sneakers and his fur was always matted in odd patches. They stopped at the ice-cream truck. Chess bought a strawberry Popsicle and Bobby dug around his pockets for quarters to buy his usual AstroPop. “Sandy's a mutt and Wilbur's a mutt,” Chess continued as he unwrapped his Popsicle.

Bobby nodded. That was true. He hoped Chess wouldn't mention this to Mrs. Carlson or else he might be replaced. However, he thought it would be totally cool to have a real dog onstage.

“Hey, Chess,” Bobby said, “can I come over and watch Wilbur? You know, to see how he walks and runs. It's research.”

“Sure,” said Chess. “But don't touch Wilbur. Remember what happened last time.”

How could Bobby forget? He had given Wilbur a huge hug and that triggered a particularly bad asthma attack. Still, he loved dogs, so it had been worth it.

Bobby knew that famous actors always researched their roles. His sister Annie had told him that when Mike Marvel played the rugged surfer spy in the movie
Missiles Over Maui
, he had eaten nothing but coconuts for a month to prepare for the role.

Dog biscuits didn't taste any worse than his dad's homemade cookies. Bobby knew this for a fact. Maybe he'd eat dog biscuits the week before the show, or at least the night of it.

Bobby perched on the front porch and watched Chess and Wilbur run around. One of Wilbur's legs was shorter than the others. Bobby wondered if all of Sandy's legs were the same length, and how he'd find out something like that. He wanted to get the part exactly right. To make sure he wouldn't forget anything, Bobby drew pictures on the back of his math work-sheet. Pictures of Wilbur running. Wilbur standing. Wilbur sitting. Wilbur happy. Wilbur sad.

Wilbur drooled a lot, so Bobby tried drooling like the dog, but quickly ran out of spit. Later, he decided it was best not to drool onstage because someone might slip, and Mrs. Carlson had specifically said that she didn't want anyone falling off the stage.

When it was time to go home, Bobby held off the urge to hug Wilbur. “Thanks for everything,” he told the mutt. Then, in Sandy speak, Bobby added, “Arf, arf … aaaaarf!!!”

“ARF!!!” Wilbur answered.

B
obby lay upside down on the couch and watched
Princess Becky's Planet
with Casey. Da-Da-Doo, the pint-sized dragon, was delivering a letter to the Terrible Teeny Tiny Trolls. That's when Bobby suddenly remembered his letter about the Sandy costume. When he emptied his backpack, there was a trio of craggy rocks, part of his lunch from last week, and a bunch of crumpled papers. He found the letter and held it out to his dad.

Mr. Ellis-Chan stopped dusting and sat down to read. “It looks like we're supposed to supply your costume for the class musical.”

“I'm the dog, Sandy,” Bobby said proudly. To show what a great Sandy he was going to be, he began to bark and romp around the room on all fours. Casey joined him.

“Really? Sandy the dog? I didn't know that,” his dad replied, even though Bobby had told him this before. “Well, I'll get started on your dog costume right away. I've always wanted to try my hand at sewing!”

Bobby froze midbark. “Dad, can't we just buy a costume?”

“Why bother to buy one?” Mr. Ellis-Chan said. He flexed his massive biceps, which, Bobby knew, helped his father think. “We have Grammy's old sewing machine in the attic. Bobby, I am going to make you the best darn dog costume in the world!”

Casey wrinkled her nose. “I didn't know Daddy could sew,” she said as Mr. Ellis-Chan ran upstairs.

Bobby picked up Mrs. Carlson's letter off the floor. “I'm not so sure he can,” he said solemnly.

 

After a dinner of Mr. Ellis-Chan's tuna casserole soup, Mrs. Ellis-Chan took the family to Burger Barn for a snack. Then they headed to Sew What, the fabric store.

Bobby had never been to a fabric store before. There were aisles dedicated to all sorts of yarn: thick, thin, fluffy, and fuzzy. Spools of thread in every color imaginable, even cerulean, took up an entire wall. And the knitting needles looked like the kinds of weapons that Mike Marvel, the action hero, might use when fighting off surfer spies.

As Bobby explored the store, he wished he had his skateboard. It would have been so cool to skate through Sew What, making sharp cuts around the end displays and running his hand over the rows and rows of colorful material.

“Can we go now?” Annie moaned. “I don't even know why I'm here!”

“How about this?” his mother said, pulling out a nice yellowish cotton fabric.

“I think Sandy is more sandy colored,” Bobby noted. He was staring at some black material with glow-in-the-dark planets on it. It seemed like that would be good for something. Maybe he could talk his mother into using it for new curtains in the living room.

“What about this?” Casey said, tugging on a bolt of fabric. It was pink and purple with hearts on it.

“Can we go now?” Annie said louder, this time with an exaggerated yawn.

Bobby wondered if all teenagers were like Annie, or if her moodiness was unique. He had asked her about it once, but after she screamed, “I AM NOT MOODY!” he thought it best not to bring it up anymore.

“Well, Bobby, what do you think of Casey's fabric selection?” his mother asked, smiling.

He smiled back, then said to Casey, “That's nice, but not quite right for a dog costume.”

“Can we go now?” Annie asked. “When can we go? Hello? Is anyone listening to me?”

“Annie, I told you, we'll leave once Bobby finds what he's looking for,” Mrs. Ellis-Chan said patiently.

“Hurry up, slowpoke,” Annie hissed to her brother.

Suddenly, a voice boomed, “I FOUND IT!” At first Bobby thought the store's loudspeaker was on, then he recognized his father's voice. “Bobby, get over to the Halloween create-a-costume aisle.”

Bobby rushed over to aisle number thirteen. His father was beaming and soon Bobby was too. Mr. Ellis-Chan held a bolt of fabric over his head as if he were lifting weights. It was exactly what Bobby was looking for. The fabric looked like real fur. It was light brown, and fuzzy, and perfect!

As soon as they got home, Mr. Ellis-Chan set up the sewing machine in the guest room where Grammy and Gramps stayed when they visited.

“Wow, it's pretty,” Casey said as she ran her hands over it.

“Be careful,” Mrs. Ellis-Chan warned. “The needle is sharp.”

“I know!” Casey said, nodding. “Snow White pricked her finger on a sewing machine and fell into a deep sleep until the Frog Prince saved her by giving her shoes that fit.”

“Casey, it was Sleeping Beauty, and she pricked her finger on a spinning wheel,” Bobby informed her. They had studied fairy tales in the second grade.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Casey said. “But I like my story better. Daddy,” she asked, “how does the sewing machine work?”

Mr. Ellis-Chan shrugged. “I'm not sure. But how hard can it be?”