No Clues to Anything
Actually, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. At first the boys were all calling me “Romeo” just as I figured they would. But when Peatmouse, Banana, and Creampuff reminded them that if anything happened to me one of them might get picked in my place, they quit. All except for Melvin Bothwick, who went on and on about it. Romeo-o-o. Romeo-do-do. Romeo, lay-ee-hoo. He wouldn’t let it alone. If you want to know my personal opinion, I think he wanted the part himself. But eventually, when he’d been told enough times by several boys to dry up, or cut it out, or go lay an egg, he finally gave up.
Then, once the flurry of tryouts was over with, even though the scene we were going to do couldn’t last more than a few minutes, Miss Blossom somehow managed to keep everyone busy It was amazing to me how such a small production required so many stage managers, costume consultants, set designers, and people in charge of props, not to mention doing double duty as “the audience” up onstage. Every sixth grader was made to feel that without his or her presence, the performance would be a flop. Of course, I could see the fine hand of Miss Switch behind the whole thing!
She even came up with the idea of having a musical introduction, so three sixth graders were kept occupied taking care of that. We had Harry Clipper on drums, Joanie Marks on the piano, and Billy Swanson on the harmonica. Music aside, it was my belief that this was a setup for Billy to have his mouth occupied so he couldn’t take time out to manufacture spitballs.
As for being Romeo, that turned out to be not too bad, either. Jessica Poole, who got the role of Juliet, wasn’t Spook, but rehearsals with her were actually kind of fun. On the home front, Guinevere was a good coach, just as Miss Blossom had said she would be. Of course, Caruso’s nose got put out of joint at not being asked to do the job, as he fancies himself quite the performer. But it got straightened right out again when Guinevere appointed him to play the role of Juliet. I’m not sure that Shakespeare ever envisioned a turtle in the part, but who am I to say? At any rate, all in all, things were going very smoothly. Except for two problems.
Mr. Dorking’s absence was problem number one. “I thought he’d be hovering around every chance he could get,” Miss Blossom said. “I haven’t seen him around once.”
“Heck, Miss Blossom,” I said. “If he hasn’t been hovering, I could have been lurking instead of being Romeo!”
“I haven’t noticed any suffering on your part, Rupert,” said Miss Blossom sharply. “You actually seem to be enjoying yourself. Furthermore, Guinevere’s efforts appear to be paying off. Your guinea pig should be proud of you, Rupert.”
“Thanks, Miss Blossom,” I said modestly. “And yes, she is. But do you really think I’m good enough to make Mr. Dorking think I got the part legitimately?”
“Oh, absolutely!” said Miss Blossom. “He won’t suspect a thing. That is, if he ever shows up. I’m beginning to get the terrible feeling that it won’t be until the actual performance at the PTA meeting. And we haven’t got a single clue as to what’s going to happen there. That blasted computowitch.com Web site of Satuma’s isn’t telling us a thing.”
And that, of course, was problem number two.
“So, what do you make of it all?” I asked.
“What I make of it,” replied Miss Blossom, “is that Saturna doesn’t have to tell her lamebrain brother anything because, amazingly enough, he is managing this on his own. And I now have to believe that whatever he has in mind is going to take place on the very night of the performance. It’s the worst possible situation.”
“And you still haven’t come up with any preventive measures, Miss Blossom?” I asked.
“Not a thing, Rupert,” said Miss Blossom. “And unless Mr. Dorking tips his hand in very short order, we are, not to put too fine a point upon it, in a big, fat mess!”
“Oh, murder!” I said.
“Precisely!” replied Miss Blossom.
“You look splendid!” exclaimed Guinevere.
“I look stupid,” I said. “You don’t have to be nice.” I had just returned from examining my image in the bathroom mirror. I was wearing the leotards my mother had dredged up for me from her brief fling with ballet lessons right after I was born. I also had on a cape she had made out of an old gray chenille bedspread, and on my head I wore something that, no matter how I tilted it to make it look cool, still looked like what it was: a red shower cap with a dyed pink ostrich feather stuck in it.
“I’m not just being nice,” said Guinevere. “I mean it.”
“I wish I could find a pair of leotards for me,” Caruso said wistfully “Think how I’d look in them doing Pagliacci!”
The picture of a turtle in leotards silenced us all for a few moments.
“Caruso, I don’t mean to be unkind,” said Fred patiently, “but that idea is about on a par with you riding around on Rupert’s shoulder in a basket.”
“Worse, I expect,” said Caruso glumly
“Never mind, dear,” said Guinevere. “You do have a beautiful voice.”
“It’s just a good thing I don’t have to sing for the show tonight,” I said.
“Have you had any sign yet of what Mr. Dorking has in store for you?” asked Fred. My pets, of course, had had detailed reports of everything that had been happening at school.
“Not a peep, Fred,” I said. “It’s going to be bad enough having to stand up there looking like an idiot, no matter how good my acting might be, without being scared stiff that I might evaporate or who knows what right there in front of my parents and the whole PTA.”
“Terrible!” said Guinevere. “And Miss Switch hasn’t come up with anything?”
“No eye of newt, or wing of bat, or anything else?” Caruso said. Like my other pets, he was as much into witch buzzwords as I was.
“Not a molecule of anything,” I replied.
By then I was pulling my jeans and sweatshirt over the leotards. I wouldn’t be caught dead walking into the school in that outfit.
“Well, gotta go now, pets,” I said.
“We’ll be anxious to hear all about it when you get back,” said Guinevere.
I hesitated at the door, “If I get back,” I said.
“You will,” said Guinevere.
“Miss Switch has never let you down yet,” said Hector.
“Witchcraft can accomplish anything,” Caruso chimed in.
I had to shake my head at this. “Not always. Not when it’s witchcraft versus witchcraft.”
“Well, we all have the greatest confidence Miss Switch will pull you through,” said Guinevere. “Now you just go on that stage and break a leg.”
Suddenly there was a huge flapping of wings in Fred’s cage. “What do you mean ‘break a leg’? Isn’t he in enough trouble as it is?”
I had to grin. “It’s all right, Fred. We’ve switched from witch to stage talk. ‘Break a leg’ is what you say to actors. It’s a good luck charm.”
“Live and learn,” said Fred. “I guess there’s more to learn in life than where to put the decimal point. Okay, then, break a leg for me, too!”
“Same from us!” said Hector and Caruso.
“Thanks, pets!” I said.
I knew they were sounding more cheerful than the way they really felt. So was I. I was just glad they couldn’t see the goose bumps rising under the leotards every time I thought of what might lie ahead!