We talked about them all. We passed some of the materials around. We discussed the causes we liked the most.
And guess what? At the end of the meeting, I proudly printed on the draft of our official program, “The proceeds from the Sixth-Grade Follies will be donated to the Stamford Theater for the Hearing-Impaired.”
All in all, it had been a great day.
That’s Baby-sittees Club, as opposed to Baby-sitters Club. Stacey made that up. The sittees she was talking about were Becca, Charlotte, Haley, Vanessa, and Margo. And the reason for Follies Fever was that the Sixth-Grade Follies were only two days away! Between rehearsals, baby-sitting, and ballet classes, the days had whooshed by.
Aghhhhh! I was totally psyched. Rehearsals had been going great, and I had perfected my Mr. Trout voice. I was even using the voice in BSC meetings, which drove everybody crazy.
But more about that later. Back to Stacey and the Great Mystery.
Actually, she was only supposed to sit for Charlotte that afternoon. It was pouring outside, so Stacey made sure to bring along her Kid-Kit full of puzzle books, games, and art supplies.
“Anybody home?” Stacey called through the back screen door of the Johanssen house.
“Stacey, come in!” Dr. Johanssen said, rushing to open the door. “I’ll take your wet stuff.”
As Dr. Johanssen bustled away with Stacey’s raincoat, Charlotte came into the kitchen (which is just off the back entrance).
“Hi, Stacey,” she said.
“Hi!” Stacey replied. “What a day, huh?”
“It stinks. I wish it didn’t have to rain.”
“Well, I brought a brand-new book of word games.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And Mad Libs, and a new set of markers.”
“Good.”
“ ’Bye, girls!” Mr. Johanssen called out as he and his wife flew by. They were on their way to an important town meeting. “There’s plenty of snack stuff in the fridge.”
Charlotte followed them to the front door. She kept looking out the window after they left.
And looking.
“Charlotte, are you okay?” Stacey asked.
“Yeah. Perfect.”
Something was up. Charlotte was hardly ever this quiet and distracted. And no one knows Charlotte better than Stacey. The two of them call each other “almost sisters.” Everyone says that Char used to be painfully shy until Stacey brought her out of her shell.
“Well,” Stacey said in her most cheerful voice, “I think Mad Libs are perfect for a rainy day.”
But just as Stacey reached into the Kid-Kit, Charlotte ran to the door. “Hi!” she screamed as she pulled it open.
“Hi!” squealed two voices.
Stacey looked out the window to see Margo and Vanessa running across the soggy lawn. The Pikes’ station wagon was pulling out of the driveway.
“I didn’t know you were having visitors,” Stacey said.
“Well, I am,” Charlotte replied with a big smile.
“Uh, do your parents know?”
“Hm. I guess I forgot to tell them. Please, Stacey. Please can they stay?”
“Please please please please please!” Margo squealed.
“Sure.”
Now, Stacey didn’t mind the extra kids, of course. But the secrecy was a little odd, especially from Charlotte.
It was even odder when Haley Braddock appeared at the front door in her rain slicker.
And a few minutes later, Becca Ramsey.
Yes, my family was involved in this, too. Becca had told my parents that Char had invited her, and that it was all right with the Johanssens.
Either Charlotte or Becca was being a little sneak.
Needless to say, the Mad Libs stayed in the Kid-Kit.
“We’re going into the rec room, okay?” Char said to Stacey.
“Okay.”
Stacey followed them, but when Char got to the door, she announced, “Kids only. This is top secret.”
“No problem.”
Cool. Stacey knows kids. They love stuff like that.
She went into the living room and found some magazines to read.
After a Vogue, a New York, a Ranger Rick, and a stab at Journal of the American Medical Association (zzzzz), Stacey’s mind started to wander.
Giggles were wafting in from the rec room.
And music, from a tape recorder.
And singing.
Hmmm.
Stacey put down the magazine and wandered closer to the rec room. She heard Vanessa singing the Sesame Street song, ending with the words, “Won’t you smell my Sesame Feet?”
“Eewww!” the others screamed, giggling like crazy.
Okay. Silly songs. Maybe they were embarrassed. That’s why they didn’t want Stacey to hear.
Back to the living room. A little homework, a cup of tea, listening to children’s laughter and raindrops. What an easy job. La-dee-dah.
All of a sudden, Haley came running in, all excited.
“Stacey, is Kristy the president of the Baby-sitters Club?” she asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“And what are you?”
“Treasurer.”
“And Claudia’s vice-president?”
“Right. Haley, why do you want to know this stuff?”
“Um, we were arguing about it, that’s all.”
“Oh.”
Exit.
More screaming and laughing. Louder music. Stacey was going nuts. She could not concentrate.
Then, suddenly, the noise stopped.
A minute later, all five girls came barrelling into the room. “Were we too loud?” Charlotte asked.
“Well … no,” Stacey lied.
Haley looked worried. “Did you hear what we were saying?”
“No.”
“Oh, good,” Charlotte said. “We’re going to work on something else now. Something quiet.”
“But it’s still secret,” Margo warned.
“Fine,” Stacey said.
The girls bolted from the living room. They ran frantically around the house, giggling. Stacey could hear drawers opening and closing. Through the living room archway she saw Charlotte heading toward the rec room with glue and scissors.
“Don’t come in until we say it’s okay!” Vanessa shouted from inside.
“I won’t!” Stacey answered.
Well, she waited. And waited. Stacey finished her homework. She could hear occasional rips, snips, and giggles.
At 5:15 she began packing up. Mr. and Dr. Johanssen were due back and Stacey had to go to a BSC meeting.
At 5:17 the Johanssens arrived. Stacey explained about Charlotte’s visitors.
At 5:19, when Stacey was heading for the door, the girls came barging into the living room.
“Wait!” Charlotte said. “Take this with you!”
She handed Stacey a huge, handmade envelope that looked like this:
“Whoa. What’s this?” Stacey asked.
“It’s for the whole Baby-sitters Club,” Charlotte explained.
“But don’t open it until everybody’s there,” Vanessa insisted. “It’s important.”
For about the hundredth time, Stacey nodded seriously and said, “Okay.”
Stacey couldn’t wait to open it. But she did exactly what the kids had wanted.
As it turned out, Stacey was the last to arrive at the meeting. “Order!” Kristy boomed as Stacey walked through the door.
“Burger, medium rare!” Logan Bruno replied. (He always says stuff like that when he comes to meetings.)
“Not funny anymore, Bruno,” Kristy muttered.
“Maybe you should say something else to open meetings, Kristy,” Claudia suggested. “Like … I don’t know, ‘Yabba dabba doo!’ ”
Everybody laughed. “It’s five-thirty,” Kristy shouted. “Yabba dabba doo! I like it!”
“Wilmaaaaaa!” Logan bellowed in a horrible Fred Flintstone imitation.
“Okay, enough!” President Kristy s
napped. “Any new business?”
Stacey held out the letter. “This is for us, from Charlotte and her friends.”
She showed it around. Everyone leaned forward. “Open it,” Mary Anne urged. Stacey ripped it open and read it aloud:
“The BSC Follies?” Shannon said.
“That is sooo cute!” Mary Anne exclaimed.
I laughed. No wonder Becca had been so interested in finding out about the Follies! (I learned later that she’d thought of the idea.)
“Can I call them?” Stacey asked.
“Sure,” Claud said, handing her the phone.
Stacey tapped out Charlotte’s number. “Hi, Char, it’s your almost sister … uh-huh. … We loved it! And we accept!”
“She’s here! Line up for the finale!” Ms. Bernhardt bellowed.
Those were the first words I heard as I raced into the auditorium.
Or, I should say, the first words I could make out.
Everything else was a jumble — screaming, line practicing, laughter, arguing.
It was magic time!
Well, magic time minus one hour.
Friday had arrived at last. Me? I was a basket case. For days, my mind had been on nothing but the Follies. In ballet class that week, Mme Noelle said my mind was “in zee ozone.”
That evening I could barely touch dinner. My stomach growled as I walked into the auditorium, but all I could think was: Did I bring my bald head? Did I bring my dance shoes? What comes after chassé left?
I was also singing, “Yoo-ee you-ee you-ee you-ee you-ee,” up and down a scale. That’s something Shannon taught me. It’s called a vocalise, and it’s pronounced vocal-ease — but it should be called vocal-hard, because your lips start to hurt after doing it too much. (Why “you-ee” as opposed to “Me-you,” or “P.U.,” or “yabba-dabba-doo”? Don’t ask me.) Anyway, it’s supposed to make you sing better.
Am I making sense? I hope so, because I still get all worked up just thinking about that day.
“Jessi?”
I became aware of Ms. Vandela’s voice in the middle of a “you” on the way to an “ee.”
“Huh?” I said.
“Uh, the kids are lining up for the dance finale. I’d like one run-through while we have time. Will you lead them?”
“Yes.”
It was a good idea. We’d had a dress rehearsal for the finale the day before, and it had been, well, interesting.
Oh, okay, the truth. It had been horrible.
The entire cast was in the finale. And I mean everyone, including kids whose feet seem to grow roots at the sound of the word dance.
Now don’t get me wrong. This “dance” was not like something at the American Ballet Theatre. Just some loose, hip-hop stuff, followed by a kickline. Simple. Fun.
Here’s what happened at the dress rehearsal: Ben Abbott, who had worn his Top-Siders, flung them both into the seats during the kickline. Sarah Green had gotten so nervous she had to take a barf break in the girls’ room. And Ashley Bedell had stormed offstage, saying the routine was too hard.
Well, Ben, Sarah, and Ashley were all there on Friday, raring to go. (And Ben was wearing tightly tied running shoes.)
Dolly Two, who was our piano accompanist, looked at me patiently. “Okay, places for the finale!” I shouted.
Everybody scrambled into place. Dolly Two began the intro. I counted out the correct number of beats, then shouted, “Three and four and go!”
Oh, boy.
Ben looked like he was trying to kick a field goal. A couple of the other guys seemed to be involved in Ninja training. And two of the girls ended up dancing right off into the backstage area.
“Hold it!” I called out. “Stop the music.”
I was no longer nervous. It was time for some serious action. I hopped onstage and demonstrated. I answered questions. I simplified steps.
The second attempt was much better. I watched it sitting next to Ms. Vandela on the piano. “Let me do one more run-through,” I said.
“That’s all the time we have, I’m afraid,” she said to me gently. “We have to get ready.”
I looked at her. She looked at me.
“Eeeee!” we both screamed, hugging each other.
I love the Dollies. They are just like two kids.
“Okay, everybody gather round!” Ms. Bernhardt called out.
We all came to the front of the stage. The Dollies told us how wonderful we’d been. They said this was the best show they’d ever worked on. And …
They were going to treat us to ice cream in the cafeteria after the show!
“Yay!” everyone yelled.
Then we went to work. The light crew turned the lights on and off a million times. The sound crew kept repeating “Testing” over and over, even though we only had two mikes. The costume crew scrambled around backstage with needles, thread, and measuring tape.
I went back into the hallway. There, under the bright lights, the makeup people were busy fussing with everyone’s faces.
“Jessi?”
I turned to see Mallory waving to me. She was at the end of the hallway, near the lobby. I ran to her. We practically smothered each other with hugs.
“Break a leg!” she said.
“Thanks!” I replied. “Ohhhh, I wish you were in this!”
“No way! I’m going to lead your cheering section!”
We hugged again and I ran back to the makeup table.
I sat next to Jamie Sperling, who was struggling with her blonde wig. She and I were to open the show as the Folly Dollies. (Our wigs were on loan from the high school costume shop.)
I pulled my wig over my head. It fit fine. Then I slathered on the makeup.
Kids were zooming back and forth. A girl carrying light bulbs almost collided with a guy carrying props. Ben was practicing the steps for the finale. Three girls were singing the words, to help him out.
It was an absolute, total zoo.
“How do ah look?” Jamie said, standing up in her full Dolly getup.
“Beautiful,” I replied. “And me?”
“Well …”
We looked soooo stupid. It was hilarious.
The hallway clock said 7:35. Twenty-five minutes to go. I had to see the audience.
I ran backstage. The noise of the crowd was coming though the curtain, all muffled. I sneaked stage right and took a peak, pulling the curtain aside.
The Pikes were negotiating their seats, making a whole row of people move over. Kristy and her family were sitting right behind them. Claudia was in the back of the auditorium, gabbing with Mary Anne and Logan.
So many people were filling in. The auditorium was almost half full. In just a little while the lights would dim, and we’d be on our way.
I started to shiver. This was nothing like a ballet performance. No routines, no music to guide me along. Just me, Jamie, and the audience. If we did well, they’d laugh. If not … well, I didn’t want to think about that.
“Pssssst! Jessi!”
I looked down at the front row. Becca was waving to me, grinning from ear to ear. I could tell Mama was trying not to screech with laughter at my outfit.
Daddy didn’t see me. He was helping Aunt Cecelia with her coat. She, of course, looked exasperated.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him.
Mr. Trout.
He was walking into the auditorium, alone. His toupee was shiny in the glare of the house lights. He took a seat way in the back, opened up a paperback, and started reading.
Suddenly my stomach felt like a pinball machine. I let the curtain fall in front of me.
All my doubts came rushing back into my brain.
What was I doing?
But I had no time to think about it. The two Dollies were rampaging around in their high heels, yelling, “Clear the stage! Fifteen minutes!”
“Full house, kids!” someone yelled from behind me. “The ticket people say we’re sold out!”
The whole cast cheered like crazy. r />
Sold out! I was thrilled. That meant a nice, big check to the Theater for the Deaf.
I went back into the hallway, where everybody was still hugging and doing last-minute practicing.
Ms. Bernhardt called, “Ten minutes.”
Then, “Five.”
Then, “Places.”
Jamie and I met at center stage. We were too nervous to hug. Finally Ms. Bernhardt yelled, “Curtain up!”
Nothing happened.
“Pull it the other way!” Ms. Bernhardt hissed.
“Oh.” The boy pulling the curtain yanked again. The two halves of the curtain parted. Jamie and I faced total darkness. I got ready to speak.
But I couldn’t say a word. The audience started howling — at our costumes!
I stalled for time, fluffing my hair.
They howled again.
When I finally got around to saying my first line: “Gee, Ms. Vandela, do you think we have enough talent in this school to have a Follies?” the whole audience answered, “Yes!”
We were off and running.
In the Folly Dollies introduction, we pretended it would be too hard to find enough kids who could sing and dance to put on a show.
In the next skit, Dolly Two (Jamie) went into a gym class, and all the kids burst into a rap song. The Wayne’s World skit followed right after that.
The teachers’ lounge skit came pretty late in the show. I froze up a little, thinking about Mr. Trout, there in the audience. As I waited for my cue line backstage, I almost chickened out.
But then I heard Bobby say, “Ah’m not dead. Ah wuz kidnapped by Mr. Trout, the Klingon.”
I stepped out, bald wig and all, and said, “Kwingon. Pwease.”
Well, I thought I was going to have to stay there all night. The laughter went on forever. I could not keep a straight face. All the kids on stage were cracking up.
I don’t know how we got through the number.
We did, though. Somehow. And before I knew it, the finale had snuck up on us.
I held my breath. We all lined up onstage, arms around each other’s shoulders. To my right was Mara Semple. She gave me a squeeze.
When I looked at her, she was beaming. “You are so talented,” she said.
Then the curtain opened. And I danced my heart out. I didn’t care if it was too easy, or not really “donce.” To me, it was just as important as any ballet.