Like Carrot Juice on a Cupcake (7 page)

By the next morning, I’d decided for certain.

I’d quit the play that day.

My parents kept trying to talk me out of it.

“It’s such an honor to be cast,” my dad said.

And my mom said, “You’ll have

a
wonderful
experience.

I’m certain of it.”

But I said, “It’s
my
decision, right?”

And they both said, “Yes.”

So I threw my clothes on.

And they dropped me off at school early.

I wished they’d called Mrs. Quaid

to quit for me.

She won’t care
, I kept saying to myself

as I walked down the hall to the music room.

I slowly passed bulletin boards

and cubbies

and trophy cases.

Until,

finally,

I reached the music room door.

I took a deep breath

and knocked.

“Come in,” Mrs. Quaid called.

She was sitting behind her desk, reading,

when I walked in.

She looked at me,

then held up her book for me to see.

“
A Tale of Two Cities
!” she said.

“I was just considering tweaks to our show.

Did you know the book ends with a beheading?”

“What’s a beheading?” I asked.

“When someone’s head gets chopped off,” she said.

“Very dramatic and moving.

But I don’t think Principal Nill would want us

chopping off heads.

Do you agree?”

I did agree.

But I wished I didn’t.

Because rolling heads were definitely better

than longing for Nicholas Rigby.

“I’m so glad you came in,” Mrs. Quaid said.

“I wanted to tell you something.

Our Mama Rabbit was originally a papa.

But you surprised me, Eleanor!

You have a
terrific
tone to your voice.

I don’t know how I missed it before.

I’d like to help you develop it

and show it off.”

“Uh …,” I said. “Thanks.”

I was glad she liked my tone.

But

I wondered,

did we have to develop it in the
play
?

Couldn’t we develop it in class?

Before I could ask that, Mrs. Quaid said,

“There’s one other thing I’m happy about.

The Mama Rabbit role requires maturity.

I know there’s lovey-dovey language in the play.

Not every fourth grader could handle that.

But I’m sure you can.”

“You are?” I said.

She nodded and said, “I am.”

Then she gave me a big smile.

“I’ve been going on and on,” she said.

“I almost forgot to ask—

why’d you stop by?”

“Uh …,” I said again,

trying to think.

I couldn’t exactly tell her

that I
wasn’t
mature enough

for lovey-dovey language.

I picked another problem.

“I don’t want to sing all alone onstage,” I said.

Mrs. Quaid beamed at me.

“Of course you don’t!” she said.

“You’re just like me,

when I was your age,

and so many other kids I’ve helped.

Don’t you worry.

I’m a stage fright pro.”

She waved that problem away with her hand.

And then the warning bell rang.

“Off to class you go!” Mrs. Quaid said.

“And
no more worrying
!”

So off to class I went.

But I didn’t stop worrying.

Because I could tell—

there would be no quitting now.

I was stuck in the show.

“Where have you
been
?” Pearl whispered to me,

when I hurried into class.

“Tell you later,” I whispered back.

Because Mrs. Ramji was already talking.

“Time for science, everyone,” she said.

“Today, we’re making bouncy balls!

Please divide into groups of three.”

I raised my eyebrows at Pearl,

who smiled and nodded.

Then,

before I could say a word,

Pearl smiled and nodded at Ainsley, too.

So Ainsley was in our group.

I wished Pearl had checked with me first.

But Ainsley looked so happy

walking over to us.

I couldn’t really get mad.

“All groups, find a lab station,” Mrs. Ramji said.

“You’ll see a powder there

and a liquid

and a sheet of directions.”

At our lab station,

we had a box of powder

and a jar of liquid,

but no sheet of directions.

Because

right before we sat down,

Nicholas Rigby reached over and grabbed our sheet.

“That’s ours!” Pearl cried.

She tried to grab it back, but she couldn’t.

Because Nicholas was holding it very high

and folding it very tight.

“You’re going to get us in trouble!” I told him.

He ignored me

and pulled a pair of scissors from his jeans pocket.

“Don’t cut it!” Pearl said.

“Why does he have scissors in his pocket?”

Ainsley said.

“He likes art,” I told her.

Nicholas cut and cut,

still holding the sheet high in the air,

then unfolded a people chain

of girls in dresses.

He handed it to me.

It was pretty impressive,

so I had to stop being annoyed at him.

But Pearl didn’t stop.

“We can’t read our directions!” she said.

“They might as well be in
braille
!

I’m going to tell Mrs. Ramji.”

She marched off.

“Uh-oh,” Nicholas said.

Then he got very busy,

pretending to work on his lab.

Ainsley and I waited together

for Pearl to get back.

We were both quiet for a while.

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

And then Ainsley said to me,

“I heard your parents are sending your dog away.”

“You did?” I said.

She nodded.

“Pearl told me,” she said.

“They’re not ‘sending him away,’” I said.

“That sounds like he’s going forever.

It’s only for two weeks.”

She looked serious and said,

“Pearl said you’re having trouble training him.”

“She
did
?” I said.

Ainsley nodded again.

But that didn’t make sense.

Pearl and I had been training Antoine together.

So Pearl knew—

we were doing so well!

“We’re not having
trouble
,” I told Ainsley.

“It’s just that he’s a puppy.

He has a lot to learn.”

“I know,” Ainsley said.

“I had to train our dog,

Jo Jo,

when she was a puppy.

At first I was too nice to her.

I had to get very strict

before she really learned.

Maybe you’re too nice to your puppy?

Pearl said you probably are.”

“
Pearl
said that?” I said.

I was starting to imagine

Pearl and Ainsley with their heads together,

talking and talking,

all about
me
.

“What else has Pearl said?” I asked Ainsley.

“Nothing,” she said.

But before I could even start feeling relieved,

Ainsley said,

“Pearl’s really happy you’re in the musical.

She says you sing like a heavenly angel.

And that your mom has a nice voice, too.

But your dad sounds like a garbage truck

when he sings!

That’s so funny.”

I didn’t think that was funny
at all
.

“Pearl called my dad a
garbage truck
?” I said.

I forgot all about the nice compliments

about me and my mom.

I focused only on my dad.

My face was
burning
!

Pearl should
never
say mean things about my dad,

even if he doesn’t sing well.

He was always very nice to her.

He made up songs about her!

He thought of her as
ours
!

And she wasn’t allowed to talk bad

about how I trained my puppy, either.

I got madder and madder,

thinking about what she’d said.