Play It Again (7 page)

When Madison entered the word
wizard
into the search engine, it gave her the addresses to an odd assortment of destinations. One link sent Madison to a Wizard of Oz fan club page, while another page linked up to a role-playing game page on magic. She even found the hyperlink for a page on “Muggles Who Like Harry Potter and Other Wizards.” She was having so much fun surfing the Net that she lost complete track of time.

More than half the items were crossed off her prop and costume list now. Was she finally mastering this stage manager thing?

Sunday afternoon Madison couldn’t wait to tell Dad about all the props. She went over to his place, but they didn’t do as much talking as she’d hoped. Madison might be sailing along with work on the show, but she had gotten way behind in her
homework.
Once Dad found that out, he sat her down in his dining room to finish. Dad couldn’t believe that Mr. Gibbons would load up his students up with homework during rehearsals for
The Wiz.

But he had.

She spent two whole hours reading
Diary of Anne Frank
and writing a short essay at Dad’s dining room table.

When Monday morning rolled around, Madison was
still
working on her diary assignment. She’d just about finished when Mom asked her to help load the car to bring the yellow brick road tiles and other props to school.

“I’m sooooo stressed out!” Madison said as they motored over to Far Hills. Rushing in the mornings usually meant rushing all day long, too. She would be a little late to Mrs. Wing’s first-period computer class.

Luckily Mom had written an excuse note. Mrs. Wing was cool about the whole thing. Mrs. Wing was usually cool about everything.

Mrs. Wing


My English essay is DONE! I feel so happy being in technology class now. Not just because I get my work done so much faster than everyone else and can go into my own files like now, but because of my teacher. Being around Mrs. Wing just makes me feel smarter.


Great news! Mrs. Wing told me at the start of class that she would help me make the programs for
The Wiz.
I told her I wanted to design the cover. It’ll be like making a collage, and I love making collages. I never know when I start, what words and pictures will end up together. Mrs. Wing couldn’t believe it when I told her I kept all my files on and off the computer. She says if I make a collage she’ll scan it and use it as the play program cover!


I told Mrs. Wing she should open a guest account on funkyfotostudio.com and post pictures online for everyone to see after the show ends. She thought that was a “stellar” idea, but she thinks we need to have
The Wiz
page on the seventh-grade Web site.


So many projects for me!


When rehearsals end, I’ll be working more and more on the Web pages in my free time. Principal Bernard told Mrs. Wing he wants Far Hills to be tech connected. (That’s what he calls it, anyway.) So next semester we’ll be doing even more “cybrarian” work, like logging information and making homework databases.


Mrs. Wing had on the most excellent scarf with orange polka dots today, and she doesn’t even know that’s my favorite color! Mom would say that’s good karma. She believes that


“What are you writing?” Egg asked.

Madison clicked off her monitor. He was giving her the evil eye.

“Nothing,” Madison said. “Nothing … except an e-mail to Rose saying you think she’s HOT.”

“You what?” Egg said.

“Shhh!” Madison warned. She didn’t want to get in trouble. Luckily Mrs. Wing hadn’t heard or seen them. “Egg, I was kidding. Relax.”

“Tell me what you wrote NOW,” Egg said. He gave Madison an Indian sunburn by grabbing her forearm with both hands and
twisting….

“Owwwwch,” Madison squeaked. She looked down at her now beet-red forearm. “That hurt.”

The bell rang and Drew walked over to Madison and Egg.

“Are
you
singing today, Tin Boy?” Drew asked.

“Hey, quit the Tin Boy jokes,” Egg said. “I’m working on dance steps with Aimee, I think.”

“How’s Aimee doing with all that?” Madison asked. “I haven’t really seen much of her choreography.”

“She’s wicked bossy,” Egg huffed.

“She is not,” Madison defended her.

“All girls are bossy,” Egg shot back.

“I’m going to tell your sister you said that.” Madison pinched him.

“Like she would even care,” Egg said, rolling his eyes.

The boys hustled out of the computer lab with Madison behind them. She was on her way to see Egg’s sister at that very moment.

Mariah and Madison had been excused from their second-period classes so they could meet about the play. It wasn’t a big deal since Madison’s second period was Mr. Gibbons. He said she could make up the work later. Mariah had her second period free.

Madison couldn’t wait to tell Mariah how she and Mom had collected so many key props over the weekend.

She was prouder than proud.

“Buenos días!”
Mariah said when they met up in the newspaper room.

“Buenos días,”
Madison answered back. “I love the new hair color.”

Mariah had painted streaks of red all over her head. She liked to change the color just enough so she made an impression—but didn’t get sent to Principal Bernard’s office. In addition to a dress code, Far Hills Junior High had rules about dyed hair, pierced body parts, and even tattoos. The rule was: DON’T. One time Mariah had a henna tattoo on her shoulder and she’d been sent home to change into a shirt with longer sleeves.

“It’s fuchsia, actually.” Mariah ran her fingers through her hair. “Madison, you would look awesome with blue—or maybe even green streaks. Ya wanna try?”

Madison chuckled. “Uh … NO.”

She was daring with her ideas, but when it came to her hair, Madison wasn’t brave at all. She didn’t even like getting a haircut.

“I have to meet with the eighth-grade prop person at the end of this period, so we better hurry.” Because she was president of the junior high art club, Mariah had extra responsibilities. She was always doing extra work for the club, for shows, and for teachers she liked. Sort of like how Madison felt about Mrs. Wing.

“Okay, let’s start.” Madison pulled out her list and named all the things she was able to gather.

“Check you out,” Mariah said. “Art club is painting the set backdrop after school today. I got four teachers to help and the shop teacher volunteered, too. Did I tell you? We’re painting it to look like Broadway. A New York City skyline.”

The tribute to Mrs. B. Goode would last three separate evenings, but they’d use the same backdrop for all three shows. The first performance was
The Wiz
selections. The following night, the eighth grade was doing selections from
Guys and Dolls.
The next night would be the ninth grade doing a medley of New York City tunes. Madison was pleased since a city backdrop made an ideal Emerald City.

“You’re so good at this,” Madison said. “And you’re so good at being an artist.”

“Well, I don’t know about
that.”
Mariah smiled. She pointed to her head. “I mean, I do paint my
hair.
You’re artistic, too, you know.”

Madison blushed.

“Anything bizarre happen at rehearsals yet?”

“Well …” Madison said softly. “Rehearsals are fine.”

“Come on. What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”

“Used to what?”

“Well, sometimes I don’t really feel like
I’m
a part of the show. I know I’m helping, but I still feel so helpless. Like every time we’re at rehearsal, Mr. Gibbons makes me go down to get something in the basement or tells me to go deliver papers to the administrator or has me sit and prompt lines all by myself in the audience. Meanwhile everybody else is goofing around and having a great time.”

“Being stage manager is hard,” Mariah said. “People think it’s way harder to stand up onstage and sing a song—”

“It
is
hard to get up onstage and sing,” Madison chimed in. “I know I get all panicky whenever I try to do that.”

“Yeah, but it’s still not as hard as what we do, right? Like planning costumes and making sure all the set pieces are where they should be. Where would Mr. Gibbons be without us doing all this?”

“It just makes me feel …” Madison wasn’t sure how to say it. “I feel so out of it.”

“I hear ya. Kids in my class think I’m out of it, too, just because of the way I dress—” Mariah joked.

“But you dress great,” Madison interrupted.

“Yeah, whatever.” Mariah shrugged it off. “The point is, they don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“It!
Wait until you get to be a freshman like me. Then it really starts to stink. You never know what’s happening. You’re like the oldest in some ways, but then you’re the youngest in other ways.”

Even though she was only two years ahead, Madison really looked up to Mariah. But was it really going to get
worse
as she went along in junior high?

Madison did NOT want to believe it.

“No matter what happens during the show,” Mariah said as she walked out, “just remember this. It’ll all go back to the way it was when the show ends. So don’t stress about the jerks. Like my brother.” She winked.

Madison sighed.

“Look, Madison, you’re the glue, right?” Mariah said.

Madison gave her a blank look.
The glue?

“Think of it like this,” Mariah tried to explain. “You’re the one holding
The Wiz
together, okay? So you’re the glue.”

It sort of made sense. Mariah’s words repeated like a recorded message inside Madison’s head.

You’re the glue. You’re the one holding it together.

Whenever rehearsals felt bizarre or she felt out of it, Madison could take that message and play it again.

Maybe being the glue could be her secret weapon against Poison Ivy?

Maybe it could even get Hart to notice her more?

That night, Madison wanted to talk about
The Wiz
and “being the glue.” Madison didn’t like how important ideas could happen when there was no one to share them with.

Mom was under a deadline, so she wasn’t talking much.

Aimee and her brothers were off at some family dinner in another town.

Fiona’s line was busy.

Madison checked her e-mailbox. She’d been unlucky in e-mail lately, but every time she opened it anew, she held her breath for an extra beat—just in case. It had been a few days since she’d checked. Madison didn’t like the idea of deleting messages even if they meant nothing.

But she had to eliminate some things.

Nothing in her mailbox made Madison feel any more “with it” than she’d felt hanging with Mariah at rehearsal. It was all e-junk, mostly.

There was a super T-shirt sale at one of her favorite online stores.
Nah.
DELETE.

Dad sent a lame joke about a duck,
DELETE.

Fiona’s brother, Chet, had written about a Net newsletter he wanted to create, reviewing Web sites and computer games he liked.
Not into it right now, maybe later,
DELETE.

TweenBlurt.com was starting up a new area of bulletin boards where kids could safely post messages.
Worth checking out.
SAVE.

Finally Madison saw an e-mail that was returned to her. She had originally sent it to Bigwheels last week. Even worse than getting no e-mail was learning that e-mail you sent didn’t arrive.

Madison would have to write another e-mail to Bigwheels right away.

Maybe
this
one would get delivered.

Bigwheels


So I sent Bigwheels this long, long, long e-mail that started out talking about boys and school and ended up talking about how I felt when Mom and Dad had the Big D.


Funny how that subject always comes up, isn’t it?


Bigwheels is feeling bad and I hope I can be helpful. So she IMed me back right away and we went to GOFISHY for a chat. I thought, here is the moment when I could make even more of a difference. Yes!


But she left in the middle of talking! She hasn’t e-mailed me again, she hasn’t IMed me either.


Do I give terrible advice?


Maybe having a friend online isn’t the same as having a
real
friend. Is that why I can’t help her?


Is Bigwheels a real friend?