Even though I read through the entire script of Princess Penelope in the Realm of Recycling when I got home from school that day (after ballet lessons), I couldn’t find a single character in it that I liked better than Princess Penelope.
Oh, there were other parts for girls. There was a fairy queen (she was the leader of the fairies who lived in the Realm of Recycling. The fairy queen teaches Penelope how much better it is to use compact fluorescent bulbs over regular bulbs, because they last longer and use less energy. Then she helps Penelope find her way to her godmother’s house).
And there were a couple of mermaids who teach Penelope the importance of water conservation, like taking shorter showers and turning off the water while you brush your teeth.
And then there were some girl elves who teach Penelope how she should always walk, bike, carpool, or take public transportation instead of using a car, since that will lessen her carbon footprint. And a unicorn who advises Penelope to unplug appliances when they aren’t in use, as this will save energy as well.
And then of course there was Penelope’s fairy godmother, and her horrible evil stepmother, the queen, who lives in a plastic castle and doesn’t believe in recycling, and just wastes valuable resources and litters every chance she gets, because she believes the scientists are wrong about global warming and that we don’t need to save our environment for the next generation (and since she’s going to kill Penelope, anyway, I guess her reasoning kind of makes sense).
But why would I want to play a fairy or an elf when I could be Penelope, who was so important that her name was in the title of the play?
On the other hand, I didn’t want to make everyone angry with me. I had said I was going to audition for some other part. So I couldn’t just go try out for the part Sophie wanted.
Could I? I mean, wouldn’t that be wrong?
I was sitting in my favorite reading spot after dinner—on my window seat, with Mewsie curled up next to me—trying to decide what to do, when the door to my room suddenly burst open.
At first I thought it was the aliens, who’d come to tell me my ride to planet Voltron was ready.
But it turned out it was just my uncle Jay playing tackle football in the hallway with my brother Mark (even though Mom said not to play tackle football in the hallway outside the kids’ rooms anymore. That’s a rule). He had dived for a pass and crashed into my door, causing it to fly open.
The loud noise made Mewsie spring to his feet, all his long fur rising up to stand on end, so that he looked like a little gray-and-black-striped ball of hair with legs as he stalked around, hissing angrily.
He didn’t mean it, though. He calmed down right away as soon as he saw who it was.
I didn’t calm down right away. I was really mad.
“Stop it,” I yelled when Uncle Jay went rolling all over my floor, with Mark chasing after him, trying to grab the ball away. “You know you two aren’t supposed to be doing that up here!”
“Well, well, well,” Uncle Jay said. He lay collapsed beneath Mark, who had both hands on the ball, trying to pry it out from Uncle Jay’s fingers. “What’s eating you?”
“What’s eating me is that I would like to have some privacy once in a while,” I said, stepping over them just as Kevin appeared in the doorway to see what all the commotion was about (he’d been in his room practicing the song “It’s the Hard-Knock Life” from the musical Annie, which he didn’t even need to know for the open house. The kindergartners were just singing a song about rainbows. Kevin sings so loud you can hear him all over the house. His main regret in life, besides not having velvet pants, is that he can’t be in Annie because he’s a boy and there are no boy orphans in Annie).
“What’s going on in there?” Kevin wanted to know.
“Nothing,” I yelled, and slammed the door closed. Not in his face, exactly. But almost.
“Hey,” Kevin yelled from behind the closed door. “I’m gonna tell. You aren’t supposed to slam your door in people’s faces! That’s a rule!”
“Well, I’m gonna tell on these guys,” I yelled back. “They aren’t supposed to play sports up here!”
“No one is going to tell on anyone,” Uncle Jay said, handing the ball to Mark and getting up. “Because your parents aren’t home. They went to that movie your mom has to review. So I’m in charge.”
Uncle Jay opened my door and revealed Kevin on the other side, looking upset because he wasn’t in on the action.
“Now, Allie,” Uncle Jay said, turning around to face me, “what’s really wrong?”
“Nothing,” I yelled. “I just want some privacy, like I said!”
Instead of giving me some privacy, Uncle Jay walked over to the window seat, where I’d left Mrs. Hunter’s script lying facedown. He picked it up and started to read it.
“Oh, sweet,” he said. “A play. Are you in this, Allie?”
“Not yet,” Kevin said, coming into my room to look over Uncle Jay’s shoulder at the script even though (a) I hadn’t given him permission to, and (b) he can barely read, being a kindergartner.
“She has to audition,” Kevin explained. “It’s the play her class is putting on for the open house. I heard Allie and her friends talking about it as they walked me home from school.”
Seriously. I have no privacy whatsoever.
Whenever possible, try to be born into a family with no little brothers. That’s a new rule I just made up.
“This is great,” Uncle Jay said, flipping through the pages of the script. “What part are you going to audition for, Allie?”
I sank down onto the window seat beside him. I had pretty much given up on the idea of ever getting any privacy.
“Well,” I said, “I want to audition for the part of Princess Penelope. But the problem is, one of my best friends is going out for that part. And I’m afraid if I try for it, too, she’ll be mad at me. And so will all my other friends.”
Uncle Jay kept flipping through the script. “Why would they be mad at you?” he wanted to know. “When I was a drama major, we all lived by the rule that everyone could try for the part he or she wanted, and may the best man—or woman—win.”
I had never thought of it that way. It sounded so…simple. And like a really great rule.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I still think if I did that they might be mad at me. Because Sophie…Well, she really wants the part. And besides, she just looks like a princess. And I don’t.”
“You can say that again,” Mark said. I leaned over to punch him in the arm, but Mark ducked just in time, so my fist hit air. Mark laughed.
“Who among us can say how a princess is supposed to look?” Uncle Jay asked, ignoring our fighting. “There’ve been many princesses from all over the world—Africa, Japan, Thailand, Hawaii—and I’m sure they haven’t all looked the way we in the West think traditional princesses should look. But does that make them any less royal? And besides, I’m sure your teacher, whom I’m assuming is directing this fine dramatic piece, has her own vision for how her characters should look. How do we know she wasn’t picturing you when she wrote the character of Penelope?”
I stared at him, feeling slightly less depressed about the whole thing. “Do you really think she might have been?” That would be incredible. The truth is, Mrs. Hunter once told my grandma I was a joy to have in the classroom. That was a little like being a princess. Sort of.
“All I’m saying,” Uncle Jay replied, “is that we don’t know. And neither do your friends. So you might as well try out for the role if you really want to, because otherwise a part of you will always wonder, ‘Could I have been Princess Penelope, if only I had tried?’ And you don’t want to go through life wondering what might have been, do you?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. That would be terrible. But not as terrible as Sophie and those guys being mad at me.
“And how do you even know your friend is going to get the part?” Uncle Jay asked. “Some other girl might get it—not you or your friend.”
I sucked in my breath.
“Cheyenne O’Malley wants to try for it, too!” I cried. “And if she got it, it would be awful! We all hate her!”
“It’s wrong to hate people,” Mark said automatically. But only because he’d heard it on TV, not because he actually knows Cheyenne O’Malley.
“So the fact is,” Uncle Jay said, “some other girl could get the part, some girl you don’t even particularly like. Wouldn’t your friend be happier if you got the part rather than some girl you didn’t like?”
I had never even thought of that, but Uncle Jay was totally right! I mean, what if Mrs. Hunter ended up giving the part of Princess Penelope to Cheyenne? How would Sophie and those guys feel then?
And it could totally happen! Because clearly Cheyenne wanted the part just as badly as Sophie and I did.
“You should totally try out for Princess Penelope, Allie,” Kevin said to me. “I’m sure Sophie will forgive you.” He added thoughtfully, “Someday.”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “And since you’re probably not going to get it, anyway, who even cares?”
“Hey,” Uncle Jay said disapprovingly. “Let’s not be unsupportive of one another’s dreams, okay? If we aren’t there for each other, who else will be?”
“Yeah,” I said, giving each of my brothers a dirty look.
“I have an idea,” Uncle Jay said. “Let’s show our support for Allie by helping her practice for her audition.”
“Okay! How will we do that?” Kevin wanted to know.
“We’ll take turns reading all the other lines, while Allie reads Princess Penelope’s dialogue,” Uncle Jay said. “That way she’ll be prepared for the audition tomorrow, because she’ll have an idea how the lines she says should sound.”
“I’d rather play indoor football,” Mark grumbled.
“Just for that you get to be the evil queen,” Uncle Jay said, smacking Mark on the top of his head with the rolled-up script.
So we spent the next hour doing what Uncle Jay had suggested. He and Mark read all the other lines in the play, while I read all of Princess Penelope’s. Occasionally, Uncle Jay let Kevin “read” a line (meaning that Uncle Jay whispered the line into Kevin’s ear and Kevin said it aloud with great dramatic flair).
“‘Americans used fifty billion plastic water bottles last year,’” Kevin read out loud (or repeated what Uncle Jay whispered to him). “ ‘Seventy-six percent of which were not recycled. It will take over one thousand years for them to decompose!’”
“‘Oh, no, reusable water bottle wizard,’” I cried. “ ‘I had no idea!’”
“‘Yes,’” Kevin said. “‘That’s why you should reuse your water bottles, or better yet, just drink out of a glass!’”
By the time we’d finished the whole play, I felt like I had a real grasp of Princess Penelope’s character, like I knew what made her tick, as Uncle Jay put it. He said it was important for any thespian (which means actor or actress) who knows her craft to have such a feel for her character that she could tell the director what kind of cereal that character had for breakfast.
I decided that Princess Penelope would eat Count Chocula, because she’s a princess and can have whatever kind of cereal she wants (we aren’t allowed to have sugary cereals in our house, because Mom says sugar makes us hyper).
We’d finished the play and were getting ready for bed when I asked Uncle Jay why, if he knew so much about acting, he’d decided not to stay a theater major.
“Oh, that’s easy,” he said. “Because as a career, it’s totally cutthroat. I prefer the gentler climes of creative writing. And now, because I don’t have rehearsals, I have my evenings free to hang out with you guys.”
Awww!
As I drifted off to sleep that night, I couldn’t help feeling like I was way better prepared for the audition than either Sophie or Cheyenne. I mean, I had rehearsed the part I wanted with a semiprofessional actor! Or at least a former theater major. I highly doubted the two of them had done the same.
And even if they had, had he given them such good advice as: figure out what your character ate for breakfast?
Probably not.
I was going to be the best Princess Penelope Mrs. Hunter had ever seen. And if my getting the part hurt Sophie’s feelings, well, that would be okay. She’d get over it, just like Uncle Jay had said.
Probably.