I have a job to do, and the entire class is depending on me.

Me. Samantha O’Day.

No one has really depended on me for something before. Daddy usually pays people so we can depend on them.

It’s a scary feeling. But it’s sort of a nice feeling, too.

People say that money can’t buy everything. You never hear rich people saying that.

Still, maybe there’s something to it.

Mr. Wolcott sits in his lawn chair in front of the Old-Timers’ Joint. (That’s not my best name for the place, I admit. I’m distracted by all these good-deed thoughts.) He’s wearing the same brown three-piece suit and wide, striped ascot he always wears.

I hang back. I’m a little nervous to ask him for a favor. What if he says no to me? Then what happens?

That’s the problem with having lots of people depend on you. You might have to let them down, even if you try your hardest.

I’m surprised that I care so much about helping out. Usually I don’t think about the other kids in class at all. But now I find myself really, really, really wanting to help them.

“Franny!” Mr. Wolcott shouts, pulling me out of my deep thoughts. “In black ink my love may still shine bright!”

“Uh, right,” I say, coming closer. I have no idea what that means, as usual. “My name is Samantha, remember?”

“Of course, of course. Have I told you of my one true love, Franny Bree? She was as lovely as a spring meadow, a delicate bloom on a hill of luscious green.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “Her bounty is as bouncy as the sea. Or you are the boundless sea. Or something like that.” I need to get to the point. “Mr. Wolcott, I need a favor.”

“A favor?” he repeats, his index finger caressing his chin. His eyebrows lift. He stands up, places one hand on his heart, and stretches out the other arm, as if addressing a queen.

His eyes had a sad look the other day, but I don’t see any of that now. They glimmer, full of life. I wish my eyes twinkled like that. Fashion magazines don’t tell you how to get your eyes to light up.

“Being your slave, what should I do but tend upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, nor services to do, till you require,” he says.

I’m not sure, but I think he’s offering to help. Excellent. I might not be someone who gets invited to birthday parties, but I won’t be someone who lets everyone down. “We’ve got a problem at school. We’re going on a class trip, and we need an adult to go with us. You’ll have to pretend you’re our teacher.”

“Pretend? Like acting in a play?”

“Exactly.”

“It’s been so long since I have acted in front of an audience.” He says this quietly, to himself. I worry that he won’t agree to help us. Then what? I feel antsy, and I keep myself from tapping my foot impatiently.

I suppose that’s why good deeds feel good. Because they feel horrible when you don’t know if they’ll succeed.

Mr. Wolcott clears his throat, and when he speaks, he speaks louder and gestures, his arms sweeping with enthusiasm. “Yes! I shall do it! For all the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.” Then he smiles, a bright smile with white, gleaming, and nearly perfect teeth. His eyes twinkle so brightly I have to look away.

I grin as widely as he does.

I really don’t think anything feels better than having a good deed get done. Not even buying shoes.

“But an actor needs his props!” exclaims Mr. Wolcott, whirling around in a circle, his arms swirling up, down, and around. “Costumes! Makeup! Should I wear a fake mustache or long, flowing wig? How about a top hat and tails? A walking cane? Perhaps I could go as the Prince of Demark, old Hamlet himself.”

“I was thinking you could just act like a teacher.”

Mr. Wolcott pumps his fist. “A splendid idea. Why, this will be the greatest role of my life! Still, I’ll need a name. A character without a name is like a play without an act.”

“Pick whatever name you want.”

“How about Macbeth, Thane of Glamis!”

“Um, maybe you want to work on that?” I suggest.

He nods. “Perhaps.”

“But thank you! Thank you for helping us!” He could call himself anything and I’d be super-excited. Well, he could call himself almost anything. I want to give him a giant, grateful hug, but instead I pat him on the shoulder. We work out all the other details, and I bid him farewell. I actually say, “I bid thee farewell.”

Talking to Mr. Wolcott for a while will make you speak like that.

As I wave good-bye and head toward my building, all I can think is: I did it! I found our pretend teacher. Me! Samantha! And Daddy had nothing to do with it.

Winter break starts next week, and we’re going to Hawaii. It’s been over a year since we were last there, which seems like forever. The warm tropical sun will feel great, but I doubt it will make me feel any warmer than I do now.

I’m walking on a ray of sunshine, even though it’s a cold and cloudy day.

Our doorman George smiles at me and I scurry past him into the lobby. “Welcome home, Miss Samantha.”

“Fare thee well, George!” I say as I rush past, and then bite my tongue, trying to shake the Mr. Wolcott sayings from my mouth.

I head straight to the elevators. I need to change clothes for dance class and I’m running late. Mrs. Flatly, our teacher, said that we might start our dance for the end-of-year recital today. She’ll likely pick parts right after winter break.

Last year, Penelope Poppers was the lead dancer in our class recital. She’s the best dancer, sure, but I’ve been practicing really hard. Maybe I’ll get a solo this year. If not, I’m sure Daddy can help fix that.

Doing things by yourself feels great, but sometimes you still need your parents to take care of things for you. It’s a lot easier, anyway.