Star Time (3 page)

“There’s something worse,” Destiny said. “Today is Friday. We may be here for the whole weekend.”

Gina opened her mouth. A sound came out.

“Are you going to cry like a hyena?” Destiny asked.

Gina snapped her mouth shut. The hyena was trapped inside her throat.

In the auditorium, Mitchell was yelling again. “WATCH OUT! THE SPACESHIP IS GOING TO CRASH!”

“Bloop. Bloop. Bloop,” said Peter.

“Wow,” said Madam Ballantine.

“I guess that’s the spaceship crashing.” Destiny stood up. “I’m going in there.”

“You can’t do that,” Gina said.

“Mrs. Farelli wouldn’t want us to freeze to death. I think she just forgot about us.” Destiny banged open the auditorium door.

She went inside.

Gina thought about going inside, too. But suppose Mrs. Farelli came back?

She put her head against the wall.

Tonight her mother was making turkey with stuffing.

No dinner for her.

And bedtime was nine o’clock.

Would she still be here? Sleeping on the hall floor like a frozen ant?

“I WILL SAVE YOU,” someone said in a loud voice.

Thank goodness
, Gina thought. Then she realized. It was Destiny. She was trying to be the star.

Poor Grandma Maroni. Poor Aunt Suki and Uncle Tony. Poor meat man at Stop & Shop. What would they think if they heard Gina wasn’t a star?

She yanked on the pearls.

Snap!

They flew all over the place.

The hyena was escaping from her throat. She couldn’t stop it.

She began to cry.

Someone opened the auditorium door. It was Clifton, a kindergarten kid. “You sound like a—” he began.

Gina gulped. She hoped he wouldn’t say
hyena
.

He didn’t. “You sound like a sad girl,” he said.

That made her cry even louder.

Jake the Sweeper popped his head around the stairs. He swept some pearls toward her. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Now everyone came out of the auditorium. They crowded around her.

Gina squinched her eyes shut.

“What’s this?” a soft voice asked.

She opened her eyes again.

The used-to-be-famous actress was staring at her.

Gina knew she was a mess. Her hair was gooey. She looked down. Her shirt had … not a hippo, not a rhino, but—

A pair of elephants.

How had that happened?

“Perfect,” the used-to-be-famous actress said.

Gina wiped her eyes.

“You can be a poor lost alien in the play,” the actress said.

Gina stood up. “Is that the star?”

The actress shook her head. “No, but it would be a lovely part. All you’d have to do is cry.”

“Not the star?” Gina said.

“Well—” said Madam Ballantine.

“I’ll be the star,” said Destiny.

“What about me?” Beebe said.

Mrs. Farelli came along the hall. “What is all this commotion?”

“I don’t want to stay out here forever,” Gina told her.

“I forgot.” Mrs. Farelli slapped her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

Whew!

Outside, Ramón, the college helper, blew his whistle. “Time to get on the bus,” he said.

“Hurry,” Madam Ballantine said. “See you on Tuesday.”

Gina stopped to pick up some of the pearls. She put them in her pocket. Poor Grandma Maroni. What would she say?

But Grandpa Maroni could fix anything.

Maybe he could even fix the necklace.

She raced up the stairs. She’d have turkey with stuffing for supper. She’d sleep in her own bed.

She waved goodbye to Mrs. Farelli and to Madam Ballantine.

She’d worry about being a crybaby alien next week.

G
ina and Destiny looked in the auditorium.

“No play practice today,” Mitchell said. “Jake the Sweeper is painting the walls.”

“Tan,” said Destiny. “Yuck.”

“A lovely color,” Mrs. Farelli said behind them.

Yuck
, Gina thought. “Lovely,” she said. Stars were kind.

Mrs. Farelli tilted her head. “I have a dress the same color as the wall. I’ll wear it to Madam Ballantine’s play tomorrow.”

“Lovely,” Gina said again.

“Lovely,” Destiny said at the same time.

Too bad Destiny’s voice was louder than hers.

Gina headed for the music room. She hadn’t been there for a few days. Mr. Sarsaparilla, the music teacher, must miss her. After all, she was going to be an opera singer when she grew up.

She passed the gym. Charlie had a bandage on his nose.

“From your Yellow Wing-O invention?” Gina asked.

Charlie shook his head. “From my Walk-on-a-Rope-O invention.” He looked a little sad. “The rope-o broke-o.”

Gina knew how he felt. Suppose she turned out to be a crybaby alien instead of the star?

She went into the music room.

Mr. Sarsaparilla was banging on his drums. He was banging a mile a minute. His hair was flying, his feet were jumping.

He was singing something.

Gina tapped her foot.

She began to sing. She sang loudly. Her notes got higher as she went along. It was lovely. “OOH-LA-LA.”

Mr. Sarsaparilla jumped. His drumsticks crashed. “Oh, Yolanda,” he said. “It’s you.”

Gina shook her head.

“I mean Destiny,” he said.

“I’m Gina, the opera singer,” she told him.

He pulled on his long, sweeping mustache. “Right. The loudest singer in the Afternoon Center.”

Gina looked around. No one else was in the music room. Poor Mr. Sarsaparilla was in there all by himself.

“I liked your song,” she said, “about—” She couldn’t remember what it was about.

“It’s called ‘You Can Do Almost Anything,’ ” Mr. Sarsaparilla said.

“Is that true?” Gina said.

Mr. Sarsaparilla banged his drum with his stick. “Yes indeed.”

An idea popped into her head.

She could do something!

She could be the star.

She could help Mr. Sarsaparilla, too.

The audience would be clapping. She could see them!

The meat man at Stop & Shop would give her a slice of bologna.

“The Afternoon Center is putting on a play,” she told Mr. Sarsaparilla.

“Enchanting,” he said.

Sometimes Mr. Sarsaparilla didn’t talk regular English.

“Not one singer in the whole thing,” she said. “It’s about a bunch of robots, and bad guys, and crying aliens.”

“Unfortunate,” said Mr. Sarsaparilla.

Gina pointed to herself. “We could use some opera in there.”

Mr. Sarsaparilla yanked on his mustache again. “I don’t think—” he began.

“And drums,” she said. “Lots of nice banging drums.”

Mr. Sarsaparilla yanked harder. “But I’m the only one who plays the drums.”

“Yes,” Gina said. “It’s lucky. Peter and Mitchell are my friends. They might give you a good part.”

He looked up at the ceiling. “Teaching music is not easy,” he whispered.

Gina smiled. She was so glad she’d thought of this. Mr. Sarsaparilla might never have been a star in his whole life.

She skipped out of the music room. She sang, “You can do almost anything, tra-la.”