Puppet Pandemonium (9 page)

“Sounds great,” Gram said, smiling at Mom. “Where do we start?”

It hadn't really occurred to me that my parents might miss some of the things back in Seattle too. I left them to their garden talk and headed to my room to do my homework. My parents and Gram were excited about my ideas for our play, and I had agreed to take Waldo to school on Monday with Gram and her puppets. “Maybe I'll do a show with you,” I'd said to Gram. “I'll think about it.”

I needed to spend most of the weekend looking over the notes Mr. Sims had made for me about the rehearsals, and completing an English assignment. Hannah and Murray were riding bikes later, and if I planned on joining them, I had to finish my homework first.

We had cast everyone in the parts they wanted and chosen the technical crew. Everyone had something to do but Bubba. He had decided against being Mr. Drew. When he auditioned, he was wrapped in Scotch tape, and he couldn't get loose. Everyone laughed. I knew he was embarrassed and I felt sorry for him. No one likes to be embarrassed in front of their friends.

“Waldo,” I said. “What do you think we should do
about a guy who wants to fit in and doesn't quite know how to do it?”

“You should know,” he said.

Then it hit me like a bulldozer. That was it. I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it sooner. We should get Bubba involved. Make him feel a part of the group. Give him responsibilty Wasn't that what Hannah had done for me? Encouraged me to get in the middle of things? We should make Bubba the stage manager.

I picked Waldo up and sat him on my lap. “Thanks for the help,” I told him. Waldo blinked his eyes and spun his head around in circles.

M
onday morning arrived sooner than I wanted it to. When I woke up, Waldo was sitting in the corner of my bedroom. I had worked with him the previous night until my eyes were blurry and my throat burned. Why I had agreed to take him to school in the first place, I'll never know. I wanted to tell Gram just to do her show and we could get on with rehearsals after school, but she would be disappointed in me if I went back on my word. I put Waldo in his case and started down the stairs. Dad was at the breakfast table. Gram's big suitcase and tote bag sat in the corner of the kitchen. I
could almost hear Ricky begging to get out. Mom put a glass of juice at my place.

“I hear you're making your puppet debut today” Dad said. The rest of the juice wouldn't go down after he said that.

“Uh,” I said. “Yep. That's the plan. But I don't think Waldo feels up to it. He really doesn't know the kids well enough yet.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Dad said. “He won't always know his audience. I bet he'll do just fine.” Dad folded his morning newspaper and went into the living room to catch up on the latest news on TV before work.

I grabbed a breakfast bar and picked up my backpack and Waldo's case. “Where's Gram?”

“Out in the garden,” Mom said. “She wanted to get a head start on planting before it gets too hot.”

“Tell her I'll see her later.” I ran out the door to meet Murray and Hannah and we started for school.

“What'd you do yesterday?” I asked them.

Murray had gone to a cousin's birthday party.

“My mom and I cleaned my room. But mostly I just practiced the piano,” Hannah said.

“I didn't know you played,” I said.

“She only knows one song,” Murray said.

“That's not true and you know it,” Hannah said, in a huff. “You're just jealous because you're all thumbs.” She started walking ahead of us.

“Maybe you could play the piano in our play” I called out to her.

“No way. Betsy Ross has enough to do, thank you very much.”

Hannah had decided to be Betsy Ross. She liked that Betsy Ross had fought for causes she believed in. That, and the fact that Hannah's mother already had the costume. Somehow Betsy Ross was also our play's narrator. No one was complaining, though—we all knew Hannah would do a great job. I'd settled on Babe Ruth. And Murray was Neil Armstrong, of course.

When we walked into class, everyone was putting their backpacks away and getting ready for warm-ups. Mr. Sims came in early. He set his morning cup of coffee down on his desk. “Students, we are going to have a guest today. I think you'll find her very interesting.” There was a knock at the door.

“There she is now,” Mr. Sims said. When he opened the door, it was Gram.

After Mr. Sims introduced her, she took a few minutes to set up. Then Gram stood in front of the class.

“As most of you know, Baker is my grandson, and when he lived in Seattle he was the director of my Ricky Raccoon puppet shows. We're going to give a short show for you now, and then you can get back to your schoolwork.”

Everyone began to talk excitedly as Gram cut the
lights, then handed me Dad's large flashlight to use as a spot. The music teacher had lent a portable stage.

I started to get up, but I felt like my feet were nailed to the floor. What if I messed up? “Baker?” Gram motioned me forward.

“Baker, Baker, Baker,” the room chanted. Gram went behind her stage. Then Mom slipped into the room. I was glad I hadn't eaten a big breakfast. I would have lost it for sure.

Somehow I managed to get up and turn on the spotlight.

Ricky Raccoon immediately popped out from behind the curtains. He was his usual feisty self, and the kids liked him. Gram had cowboyed him up—he wore a red and white bandana around his neck. Ella Pearl was no different in Texas than she was in Seattle. She was still looking for a crocodile husband, and nipped at everyone who came near her. Gram was in her element, bringing out one puppet after another. Everyone was laughing and having the best time. I had to work really fast to keep the light shining on their faces. I wished Sam was there to help me. Then, without warning, Ricky called for Waldo.

“Waldo, where are you?” I froze. “Waldo, Waldo, where are you?” Ricky said again. There was nothing to do but get him out of the suitcase. I walked over to the stage and pulled up a chair. I was as nervous as an amateur skydiver. I sat down and put Waldo on my lap.

“Over here,” Waldo said. “What do you want?”

“Who are all these kids?” Ricky said. “Introduce me.”

“Not today” Waldo said. “Too busy studying.”

“Studying what”

“I … uh, I … nouns.”

“I hear you're going to have a play in this class. A wax museum. Right?” Ricky said.

“I'm not going to be in a wax newsim. What do you think I am, a dummy?” I guessed I was doing okay. The class was in an uproar. It was puppet pandemonium— chaos and confusion all over the place.

It was the most fun class ever! Ricky called everyone up to the front and asked a million questions. You could tell who had studied over the weekend and who had goofed off. Then an idea hit me.

Waldo called Bubba to the front of the class. At first Bubba refused, but after lots of urging, he reluctantly came forward.

“Listen, Bubba,” Waldo said. “Baker can't do his job alone. He needs a good stage manager. Someone he can count on to keep the prop and scenery kids in line. Think you could do it?”

“Huh?” Bubba said.

“Baker needs help big-time,” Waldo said.

“Well …”

“You'll be the boss,” Waldo said. “They'll have to listen to you.”

This made Bubba's eyes widen. “Maybe. I'll think about it,” he said, and sat down.

When Gram left, everyone clapped and clapped. They had laughed in all the right places. Waldo spun his head around and blinked his eyes. “Not bad for my first time out,” he said. “Not bad at all.”

T
he first day of the festival finally arrived. Franklin was overflowing with visitors. There were people everywhere. There was a parade that night, and fireworks, too.

“Hey, Dad!” I yelled over the noise of the Franklin High School band marching down the street. “This is awesome!” He nodded and waved to people he'd grown up with as they rode on floats down the center of Main Street. They were whooping and yelling like wild cowboys.

“Look over there,” Dad said, pointing. A cowboy rode a longhorn steer with only a rope around its neck
to guide it. “That's old Bull Corn,” Dad said. “There has been a longhorn steer in this parade for as long as I can remember.”

Gram was having a ball too. She loved a parade.

“Maybe Ricky can be in the parade next year,” Dad said.

“I don't know,” Gram said, shaking her head. “Seems to me they should invite Waldo. He would really like it.” She winked at me.

Buffalo Gulch's band was just as loud as Franklin's, and Murray and Hannah were waving to everyone they knew, which was a lot of people.

“Look,” Murray called. I looked up and was startled to see a real buffalo being led by two men from Buffalo Gulch. Cheers went up as he passed. He had a blanket draped over his back that said in big purple letters,
GO BUFFALOS!
I had never seen a real buffalo before!

My dad gave me a wad of cash, and Murray and Hannah and I took off for the rides. The Ferris wheel went up higher than the treetops. I felt like I could see for a million miles.

“No!” I yelled when the wheel climbed to the very top. My stomach did double flips. We rode it five times until I felt dizzy. The carousel blared out music from the calliopes. There were a million lights covering it, and the line of people wanting to ride stretched all the way to the courthouse. The music reminded me of the
organ music that had played back in Seattle at the Wonderful World of Puppets.

We rode the Tilt-A-Whirl and went through the haunted house four times. Finally, we were ready to eat. Kids from our class were walking around the festival together. Hannah introduced me to some people from Buffalo Gulch.

“C'mon,” Hannah said. “Let's get some food.” Every food booth we passed looked and smelled delicious. We tasted everything from corn dogs to cotton candy to candied apples. The vendors served Frito pie, funnel cakes, fried potatoes, jumbo onion rings, fried Twinkies, ice cream, sodas, apple pies, corn on the cob, Texas barbecue, turkey legs, and buttered popcorn. They even had fried Oreos.

“Let's see you try your Oreo method on that,” Murray told Hannah.

She patted her stomach. “I just might.”

Big tents were scattered on the courthouse lawn. Inside were all the contest entries. “There are your mom's cakes!” Hannah cried, running over to a table covered with a red-checked cloth. Mom had entered three desserts in the competition. For the past two weeks, our house had smelled like the corner bakery on the square. I think she'd even slept in her apron. Murray, Hannah, and I had stopped by the kitchen every afternoon to sample.

“Keep this up, Carole, and you might get elected mayor one day,” Gram had told her after taking a bite of her chocolate volcano cake.

Mom had laughed, her cheeks dusted with flour. “If I win enough blue ribbons, I might run.”

I'd become one of the most popular kids in the fifth grade. My dad didn't need to buy a movie theater after all. I was the guy with a different dessert every day.

We checked everything out. There were homemade quilts, polished rocks, Indian jewelry, leather boots and saddles, and a million other things that people had made to sell. There was even a guy dressed up like an old-time cowboy handing out pens that said,
Don't Mess with Texas
.

Hannah had to go off with her family, so Murray and I wandered around the rest of the exhibits. We even saw the gigantic stage that had been constructed for the play and that would also serve as the platform for the awards ceremony.

“Want to have that guy over there draw our caricatures?” Murray asked.

“Yeah!” I said. We told the artist we wanted us both in the picture. The guy drew us riding bucking broncos. It was hilarious.

“Let's give this to Hannah,” I said.

“She'll probably pencil herself in,” Murray said with a grin.

Soon I found my parents and Gram, and we all sat in the yard chairs that Dad had brought for us and watched the sky fill up with a million colors.

Gram leaned over and whispered to me, “These small towns sure know how to put on a party, don't they?”