When I got home from school, I plopped down on the couch. I was in a terrible mood.

Mia ran over to me. She jumped up and down and screamed, “I’m so happy! I won! I won! I won!”

I felt too cranky to ask what Mia had won.

Our dog, Waggles, plopped down next to me. He wore a pink T-shirt with red hearts on it.

I felt too cranky to even pet him.

Mia stopped jumping up and down. She asked, “Don’t you want to know what I won?”

I shrugged.

“Remember Zeke Meeks, the Pouting Crankypants? It’s the drawing I made of you. Remember I drew a picture of you with angry eyes and a giant frown?”

I felt too cranky to answer her.

“You were pouting like a crankypants. That’s why I named the drawing Zeke Meeks, the Pouting Crankypants. You looked weird. Your face was red, and you had spit on your lips. The spit was thick and bubbly and —”

I cut her off. “Okay, okay. I remember.”

She grinned.

“Good,” she said. “I entered the Zeke Meeks, the Pouting Crankypants drawing in a contest at the art fair. All the kids from my school and their friends and families got to see the picture of you looking like a pouting crankypants. You’re kind of famous. So is your spit. People said it was the most spit they’d ever seen on one person.”

I groaned.

“My drawing won!” Mia shouted.

That surprised me. Zeke Meeks, the Pouting Crankypants didn’t seem like a very good drawing. I asked, “How much money did you get for winning?”

“I didn’t get any money. But I got a nice piece of paper. It has my name on it.” Mia said.

Then she showed me the paper. It said, “Art Show Participant.”

That dumb piece of paper had made Mia scream and jump up and down. I wondered what she’d do if she ever won something good, like money. Her screams would be so loud that they’d ruin the hearing of everyone around her. She’d jump so high she’d hit the moon.

“Aren’t you upset you didn’t get a prize?” I asked Mia.

She shook her head. “My piece of paper is a good prize, even though it’s little. Princess Sing-Along taught me that.”

“No!” I cried. But it was too late. Mia had started singing.

Mom and Alexa came into the room just as Mia began her song. So they had to hear her too.

Mia screeched, “Some things are best when they’re little, la la la. Things like pimples, farts, and spittle, la la la.”

“You told me that song was about getting a piece of paper. But it’s not,” I said.

“Yes it is. The song says little things can be good, even if they’re pimples, farts, or spittle. So I’m happy about getting a piece of paper, even though it’s not a big first-place prize. I’m not grouchy like you,” Mia said.

“I’m not Grouchy anymore. I wish I were Grouchy. I’m a horse now,” I said.

“Huh?” Mia asked.

“Huh?” Mom asked.

“You have a long face like a horse,” Alexa said.

I stuck out my tongue at her.

“You also have a big tongue like a horse,” Alexa said.

“You have a big mouth,” I told her.

“Don’t be grouchy, Zeke,” Mom said.

“I’m not Grouchy. I’m a horse,” I repeated.

“Huh?” Mom repeated.

“My teacher changed my role from Grouchy Dwarf to the Evil Queen’s horse. Now I have an even smaller part in the play,” I said.

“There are no small parts, only small actors,” Mom said.

I crossed my arms. “You told me that before. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let me explain.” Mom sat next to me on the couch. “It means that even if you get a part with only a few lines, you should make the most of it. A good actor will shine in any role, even one where he doesn’t get to speak much.”

“What if he only gets to neigh?” I asked.

“He should neigh the best he can. And he should look and move as much like a horse as he can,” Mom said. “Everyone should try their best, even if they don’t have starring roles.”

Now I understood. I hadn’t tried my best. I had tried my worst. I had goofed off at rehearsals and hadn’t learned my lines at home. Danny had played the part of Grouchy Dwarf so well that Mr. McNutty had given him more lines and a cool fight scene.

He had behaved like a big actor with a big part, and his part had gotten bigger. I had behaved like a small actor with a small part, and my part had gotten smaller.

From now on, I was going to behave like a big actor with a big part. I wanted to make the most of my horse role.

I got off the couch and went to the computer to watch horse videos. I needed to see how horses moved and hear how they sounded. Then I would read the script a bunch of times and practice and practice and practice. I wanted to do a great job in the play.

I stomped my foot and neighed, practicing to play a horse.

“What the heck are you doing?” Mia asked.

Mom put her hand on my forehead and said, “You sound sick.”

“I was trying to act like a horse. I need to practice my part,” I said.

“I’ll climb on your back and ride on you all over the house,” Mia said.

“I’ll feed you hay for dinner and cover you with flies,” Alexa said.

I snorted like a very angry horse.