Chapter 3

ABHI NORMAL

“No!” Janie shook her head. “Absolutely not! You’re talking about the classic holiday-time feel-good film, A Christmas STORY, nineteen eighty-three, starring a bespectacled Peter Billingsley,” Janie, the movie and play expert, explained. “A Christmas CAROL has been made into multiple movies and TV specials far too numerous to name. But I can say this with certainty: A Christmas CAROL is far, far older and more dramatic than A Christmas STORY. In fact, in twenty seventeen A Christmas Story was performed live on TV.”

That’s right, Janie. Keep talking, I thought. Everyone would forget all about El’s humiliating drone attack on me.

“You mean like old from when Mrs. Library Lady was a kid?” José popped his head toward Mrs. Darling.

“I guess,” Janie squinted, trying to do the mental math.

For a few seconds, everyone looked Mrs. Darling up and down, from her swooped-up-like-a-tropical-storm red hair to her lime-green jumpsuit, ready for space travel. Her fingerlike toes struggled to free themselves from their gold sandal prisons. The finger-toes looked like tentacles, with their painted orange heads reaching for the library carpet, undulating like the pink squid in the science video we saw in Mr. Stankowitz’s class.

“Wooow!” the shocked class sighed. Nobody could wrap their heads around a time so ancient as when Mrs. Darling was a kid.

Abhi walked up, all smiles. “A Christmas CAROL is the play about a cheapskate named Ebenezer Scrooge.”

Finally! When Abhi talked, I listened. I loved the way she said the character’s name: Ebenezer Scrooge. It sounded poetic, like when she said my name, too: Zack Delacroooz.

Blythe barged in between Abhi and me, holding a blue notepad like a reporter in an old-timey movie. “When did you say the auditions were again, huh?”

“I didn’t.” Mrs. Darling cleared her throat. “But so glad you asked, Blythe. Auditions—tryouts for the play—are tomorrow after school.” Mrs. Darling glided toward the bulletin board with a red sheet of paper.

The class rushed behind her to see what the sheet said. Mrs. Darling stuck white and green pushpins into each corner.

Blythe shoved her way to the front and began reading the bulletin aloud, even though nobody had asked her to—or wanted her to.

AUDITIONS FOR

The Davy Crockett Actin’ Alamos’

Annual Production of

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

By Charles Dickens

November 12th

After School in the Cafetorium

Adapted, Produced, and Directed by Judith K. Darling, MIS

Blythe stood so close behind Mrs. Darling that she was unable to step away from the sign. “What do you need me to be in charge of? I’m student council representative for sixth grade, so of course you want me to do something that requires upper management skills.” In her white cardigan, Blythe looked like a life-size pushpin, pinning Mrs. Darling to the bulletin board.

Mrs. Darling struggled to free herself. Wiggling herself free, she grunted, “So very helpful.” But it didn’t sound like she thought it was helpful at all.

“I used to fancy myself an actress in my day.” Mrs. Harrington, our English teacher, pulled her hair behind her ears, stepping away from her guard post at the checkout desk. “If it helps, I’ll give extra credit to anyone who works on the play.”

“Wonderful idea, Mrs. Harrington,” Mrs. Darling said, breathing easier now that she wasn’t pinned to the bulletin board like an announcement. “Every little bit helps. Huzzah! Team library and language arts unite!”

“Seriously?” José walked up to Mrs. Harrington. “Because I need whole lot of points for not turning in my at-home reading log.”

“I turn in two reading logs every week, don’t I, Mrs. Harrington?” Blythe announced, eyeing Mrs. Darling so the woman could see what she was missing.

“Yes, you do,” Mrs. Harrington answered. “I always enjoy having extra papers to grade.” But it didn’t sound like she meant it.

Extra credit changed everything for sixth-graders. Even I was curious now. Extra credit was the cherry on top of the play audition sundae. In middle school, teachers only need say two words, extra credit, and students are in the palm of their hands. Kids will do more for extra credit than for any other kind of credit.

“Do you still get credit if you stay backstage?” Blythe asked.

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Darling replied.

Maybe I could take on a behind-the-scenes role. Maybe I could raise and lower the curtain. I mean: extra credit. Who could resist that? And maybe I could spend some friend time with Abhi after school.

“I’ll do the makeup for the play,” Sophia said, pursing her lips at herself in a compact mirror. “But only if I don’t have to go to all the rehearsals.” She looked around the class, explaining to us with her wise, second-time-in-sixth-grade voice, “my boyfriend, Raymond, and I usually have tardy detention after school.”

“Well . . . ” Mrs. Darling knelt down to retrieve The Enormous Book of World Records from the floor. “I suppose so.”

Everybody really could have a role, it seemed.

“I still get my extra credit though, right?” Sophia peered over her mirror at Mrs. Harrington. I bet Sophia could be in The Enormous Book of World Records for least possible effort ever.

Mrs. Harrington glanced at Mrs. Darling. They both shrugged.

“I suppose so.” Mrs. Harrington and Mrs. Darling shared a look.

“Then I’m in.” Sophia snapped her compact closed and dropped it in her purse.

Then Mrs. D. slid the record book to its proper place on the shelf.

“Hey, what do you think, Zack?” Marquis asked. “Are you going to audition for the play or what?”

“Me?” I said, shaking my head. “No way!”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun,” Marquis added.

“Yeah,” said Cliché.

“That settles it,” Janie added. “We’re doing it.”

“So, Mrs. Darling, this whole you-being-the-director thing,” Blythe asked, “Is that like a done deal? Or—”

“For the love of Pete!” Mrs. Darling took in deep breath. “Yes, Blythe, it’s a very done deal. I will be directing the show.”

“How about assistant director?” Blythe suggested, putting her finger up to her lip. This girl never gets the hint. For sixth-grade representative, you’d think she would have people skills other than telling them what to do.

Mrs. Darling’s eyes quickly scanned the class, searching for anyone other than Blythe.

Her eyes landed on Chewy first, because he was lumbering toward her. “After careful consideration of all candidates, I’ve chosen Chewy . . . ” Mrs. Darling leaned in and whispered, “What’s your last name, dear?”

“Johnson?” Chewy looked surprised.

“Yes, Chewy Johnson will be the Actin’ Alamos’ assistant director. The first role is filled.”

“But I just wanted to go to the bathroom,” Chewy said.

“But . . . but, but . . . ” Blythe sputtered.

“If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a merry Christmas.” A smile spread across Mrs. Darling’s face. I think she was cracking herself up. At least grown-ups get to have a good time.

Blythe closed her notebook, swung around, and pouted at Fiction A–D, whispering something.

“Zack, are you going to try out for the part of Ebenezer Scrooge?” Abhi stood beside me again. “He’s the most important role in the play. I think you’d be great at it.”

“Yeah, Zack,” Janie said.

There Abhi was, saying my name again. A fragrance followed her everywhere she went, a fragrance as sweet as the spring breeze car freshener that hung from the air vent of Mom’s Honda.

Until that moment, I wasn’t even sure I wanted an onstage role, no matter what my friends said or did. And I still wasn’t. But now Abhi wanted me to play this Ebenezer Scrooge guy. I felt wanted—which was weird. But it felt good.

I don’t know if it was the way she stood right next to me, the way she said Ebenezer Scrooge, or the way her hair smelled like a spring breeze, but suddenly I was swept up in the moment. I was that guy who might say yes to life. In that one moment, I could be the kind of guy who auditioned for plays. I was about to spit out the impossible words, “Yes, I’ll try out for Ebenezer Scrooge.” But then I started thinking of all the trouble saying yes could get you into. Like the time I was in charge of the candy sale with El Pollo Loco, which led to the car wash, and then the dance. Or all the ways I messed up the last time I tried to spend more time with Abhi: ripped pants, choo choo chones, the dodgeball assassin incident. Once the snowball rolls, it picks up more snow whether you want it to or not, getting bigger and bigger.

Before I uttered a word, El Pollo Loco squeezed between Abhi and me.