Chapter 10

BEHIND THE CURTAIN

As soon as the final bell rang, hopeful auditioners swarmed the cafeteria like ants. “Technically,” Mrs. Darling had explained earlier, “even though we call it the cafeteria, it’s actually a cafetorium. It’s a combination of a cafeteria and an auditorium.” A full stage setup with lights and everything hides behind thick curtains. It’s been a cafetorium all this time. Who knew? Smells of Comet cleaner and burritos mingled as I sized up my competition. El Pollo Loco was the only one who had been committed to the part of Scrooge the whole time. Committed like I’ve never seen him. I wondered if anyone else wanted to be Scrooge. Most of the sixth grade roamed around, chatting in front of the stage, waiting. My stomach tightened and I forgot to breathe for a second.

I probably should have taken it as a bad sign that no seventh- or eighth-graders showed up for the audition. What did they know that we didn’t? That’s called foreshadowing. We learned about that literary element in Mrs. Harrington’s class the other day. Foreshadowing is a hint in a story that something bad or good is going to happen later in the story. Thing is, my life is full of foreshadowing—little hints of what’s to come. An overcrowded audition. No adult supervision as yet, and my stomach gurgling. Again. But I wasn’t listening to the bad signs—or gurgles. I chose the odd path—the path of the opposite. I flipped the switch on my fear and plowed forward, thinking positively, a walking motivational poster.

“This is so exciting,” Abhi stood next to me.

“I kn—” I began.

“Everyone quiet down!” Blythe ordered, pushing up her cardigan sleeves, walking around like she was Coach O. in gym. “This isn’t chitchat time; it’s show time.”

“But that’s my job,” Chewy whined.

“Well, like my daddy always says, ‘Blythe steps in when leadership is lacking.’” Blythe opened her eyes wide and clicked her pen.

Chewy gripped a clipboard and a sharpened yellow pencil with a new pink eraser. At least he had his supplies. That was an improvement.

“Please take a seat,” Chewy said firmly.

Abhi sat first. I sat on her left and El on her right. Cliché and Marquis filled in the table.

“Where’s Janie?” Cliché asked. As we looked around in the momentary silence, my stomach gurgled and bubbled like an unclogging drain. Gluuuuuuf. It stopped and everyone looked around, wondering what they’d just heard. I felt my bowel growl erupting again. My conflict: burrito vs. stomach.

Abhi’s face pinched. “What was that?”

“Sounds like little D has the big D.” El Doctoro Loco diagnosed. I waited for him to add “justkidding.” But not this time.

“Uh,” I said, a mist of sweat beading on my forehead. My stomach interrupted: Glurf, glurf, glurfupple. Blub, bluppht . . . .

“Wait for it,” El Pollo Loco said.

Glug.

“And uh one more time!” José stood, pointing at my stomach.

Glug.

“I think we all better turtle up.” El pulled his shirt collar up over his mouth and nose. “Zack’s tummy is foreshadowing a fart.”

Even Marquis burst out laughing.

“Do you need to go to the restroom, Zack?” Abhi asked, being helpful.

“Yeah, Zack, do you need to pinch a loaf, or is it still baking?” El asked, NOT being helpful.

Marquis changed the subject from my bubble guts. “So, I am trying out for Bob Cratchit. Who’re y’all trying out for?”

“I’m going to be Scrooge!” José announced. Then he began chanting, “Diarrhea, Diarrhea! When you’re walking through the store, and there’s cleanup on aisle four . . . ”

My eyes scoured the cafetorium for a sign of Mrs. Darling. Glurf, glurf.

“Diarrhea, Diarrhea!” Chewy joined El’s chant, beating out a rhythm on his clipboard with a pencil.

El continued, “When you have to change your stance, cuz cottage cheese just filled your pants . . . ”

Suddenly, Chewy dropped his clipboard on a table and ran.

In Chewy’s absence, Blythe attempted to direct the crowd by turning the cafetorium lights on and off. But they got stuck in the OFF position. From the dark backstage, Blythe yelled, “Never fear. I shall give you light!” But you could hear a frustrated doubt in her grunts. The darkness swallowed us up.

Suddenly, the metal doors burst open. A shadowy figure appeared. Light bled in from the windows, revealing a white blobbish figure. The unidentifiable mass inched toward us.

“It’s a ghost!” Cliché screamed.

Marquis screeched and dropped to the floor with a thud.

“It’s a ghost, not a tornado!” Cliché shrieked.

All at once, we realized that the ghost was creeping toward us. “AHHHHHH! GHOST!”

“What’s that horrible scraping noise?” Cliché cried.

Chains dragged behind the whitish mass. We backed away, inching toward the other side of the cafetorium, the doors, and escape.

“OUT, spirit!” Cliché threw her hands up and spoke with conviction like a preacher. “OUT! In the name of all things holy!”

The white blobby ghost lurched toward us.

“Please, Blythe!” Marquis yelled. “Turn on the lights before it’s too late!”

“People, what do you think I’m trying to do?” Blythe barked. “Sheesh!”

“TURN ON THE LIGHTS!”

“I’m not turning the lights back on until you’re all quiet!” Blythe screamed. “I’m the stage manager, people!” Her voice deepened. “I will not be ignored!”

The blob scraped closer.

A blast of light burst from above, blinding us. Mountains of sheets covered a moving figure trudging toward us. The lights only helped us see the approaching horror. The Ghost dragged a big black bowling ball on a chain. Half of the auditioners poured out the emergency exits at the back of the cafetorium, screaming bloody murder.

“Wait! Mr. Akins, please tell the buses to wait!”

“We’ve gotta get out of here, man!”

“Theater club is weird!”

The exit doors slammed. An arm reached from beneath the cloth and ripped away the sheet that covered its head. But instead of a skinless skull, Janie Bustamante’s head appeared.

“The ghosssstsss have arrived,” Janie announced to the few students remaining. She took a deep and dramatic bow. “I’m here for the audition.”