“I think you’re going to love this,”
Mrs. Quaid kept saying
as she gave the script to each cast member
at the very end of school.
So I thought I’d love it!
As soon as I got home,
I lay on my bed
and read it all the way through.
And
I did not
love it.
It got worse and worse
with every page!
As soon as I’d finished,
and shook that script at my parents.
I’d already told them about being cast.
Now I told them,
“I can’t be Mama Rabbit!”
“Of course you can,” my mom said.
“You were born to be a star,” my dad said.
Then he asked to see the script.
I handed it to him and said,
“Look at page nine!”
He opened to the first page instead.
“You have the very first lines!” he said.
Then he laughed and read them aloud:
“‘It was the best of carrots,
it was the worst of carrots.’”
“Why is that funny?” I asked.
“It’s a spoof
of A Tale of Two Cities,” my mom said.
“Do you know those opening lines?
‘It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times.’”
“Of course I don’t know them!” I said.
“I’m in fourth grade!”
“See how great it is to be in a show?” my dad said.
“You’re learning already!”
“You were supposed to turn to page nine!” I said.
He turned to page nine, and I pointed
at the horrible solo Mama Rabbit sings.
All alone, onstage.
In front of the whole audience.
My parents knew how I felt
about singing in front of people.
But they still grinned when they saw that solo.
“We’re so proud of you,” they said,
for the millionth time that afternoon.
And then my dad said,
“It’s to the tune of ‘Oh My Darling, Clementine’!
Don’t you love that song?”
“Not really,” I said.
But my parents paid me no attention.
They each held up one side of the script,
and then they sang one verse of my solo together.
They sang:
“‘Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my darling, Bunny mine.
I am lost without you by me.
How I miss you, Bunny mine.’”
They grinned and clapped for themselves
when they’d finished.
I glared at them.
“What a sweet solo,” my mom said.
“You’re not even trying to understand!”
I said.
“I don’t want any solo.
And I definitely don’t want a sweet one!”
“You’d rather have a mean solo?” my dad said.
“Yes!” I said. “Look at the words!
Mama Rabbit is separated from her son,
so her heart is broken.
The whole play,
she longs for her bunny!
I have to long for Nicholas Rigby!
And at the end of the play,
I have to hug him!
I am not doing that!”
“Nicholas Rigby,” my mom said.
“He’s the really good artist, right?”
I shrugged.
I didn’t feel like saying anything nice about Nicholas.
And then the phone rang.
I stomped away from my frustrating parents
and picked it up.
A voice I loved said,
“Hello?”
“Pearl!” I shouted,
so glad she’d called.
She’d understand why I had to quit the play!
Even if she’d gotten me into it in the first place.
I wanted to tell her everything.
Plus,
I was hoping she’d say
that she shouldn’t have laughed
when Ainsley asked about my baby.
Instead,
she said,
“Eleanor?”
And I said,
“Yes, of course! It’s me.
Did you think it was my mom?”
She laughed a little and said,
“Oops!
I meant to call Ainsley!
I forgot to tell her something!
I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?
Mom said I could only make one call before bed.”
And then she hung up.
I stared at the dead phone.
with her one call?
Why was she practically hanging up on me,
lightning-fast,
instead?
My dad walked by then,
whistling my solo.
“This is the worst of times,”
I told him.
Then, still fully clothed,
I got in bed
and pulled my covers over my head
and tried to force myself
to sleep.
