And you know what? Ben was fabulous. So were Sarah and Ashley. When we got to the kickline, the audience was on its feet, clapping in rhythm. We couldn’t even hear the piano.
Everyone kept standing, right through the curtain call. The grown-ups were cheering and saying “Bravo!” I could hear loud screaming from the Pikes’ row. Plus a loud whistle, followed by, “Yo, Jessi!” which could only have been Kristy.
I was smiling so hard I thought my face would get stuck.
Afterward we all raced into the hallway. It was a huge hugfest. I must have said “You were great!” seven hundred times — and I meant every one.
That two Dollies told Jamie and me we were so good, they wanted us to take over their classes.
I saw Mr. Williams and Bobby doing an Elvis duo.
Mrs. Pinelli, our music teacher with the operatic voice, was laughing so much she was hooting.
The teachers were such good sports. They really seemed delighted by our imitations. I looked around for Mr. Trout, but it was so crowded I couldn’t tell if he’d come backstage.
“Jessi Jessi Jessi Jessi!”
Becca practically tackled me. Behind her, Mama and Daddy were beaming. “Did you like it?” I asked.
“You were a star,” Daddy said.
“I almost fell out of my seat,” Mama added.
Even Aunt Cecelia had something nice to say. “I was proud of my niece — except one of your teachers would not stop slapping the armrest next to me. Now, funny is funny, but he could have been a little more courteous to his neighbors!”
Leave it to Aunt Cecelia.
“Who wants ice cream?” I asked.
“Me!” Becca screamed.
We all made our way to the cafeteria. The entire BSC was waiting there. Every single one of them mobbed me.
Except one.
Claudia was mobbing the ice cream.
Boy, did I sleep well Friday night.
I woke up Saturday to the ringing of the phone. It was Jamie. We had a screaming-for-happiness contest.
Then Justine called. And Randy. And Bobby. And, of course, Mallory.
After Mal’s call, I went to the kitchen and yakked with my family. Mama said she hadn’t known I had such a “sense of comedy.” Daddy repeated his favorite parts of the show, doing imitations of our imitations. Becca looked at me all starry-eyed. And Aunt Cecelia came in and complained about her feet.
(Actually she did manage a compliment or two.)
“Who’s hungry?” Daddy boomed.
“Me!” we all replied.
He made us a humongous breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toasted bagels. I ate every last crumb. I was starving. (I don’t know why. I had stuffed myself with praline fudge ice cream the night before.)
The nicest part of that morning was a call from Ms. Bernhardt. When she told me how much money the Follies had raised, I almost fainted.
“I’d like three students to come with me to Stamford to present the check on Monday,” she said. “And I want you to be one of them. After all, the organization was your suggestion.”
Wasn’t that nice of her? My parents agreed right away.
I don’t know where the rest of the weekend went. I do know that I spent most of it going over every second of the show in my head.
From time to time I thought about Mr. Trout. No one had mentioned a word about him after the show or over the phone. I hoped he had enjoyed himself.
He must have. Every other teacher loved the show. Even if you didn’t have much of a sense of humor, you couldn’t help laughing that night.
I was sure the atmosphere had rubbed off.
Still, I was nervous as I walked to school with Mal on Monday.
The sixth-graders, I must admit, were the center of attention in the main hallway. Jamie was surrounded by kids who were jabbering about the show. Ms. Berhardt was trying to cross to the administration office, but everyone was stopping her to talk.
“Jessi!”
Jamie rushed up to me. Before long, we were joined by Justine, Bobby, and Sanjita.
Yes, Sanji had been at the show too. And she adored the Mr. Trout imitation. (Surprised?)
I think we would have chatted away the whole day if the homeroom bell hadn’t rung.
I saw Sanjita again just after first period. She had that Juicy Gossip look in her eye.
“Jessi, did you hear what happened?” she asked.
“No,” I replied.
“Trout’s out.”
“Huh?”
“He hasn’t come to school today. I heard Mr. Kingbridge talking about him with Mrs. Downey. They don’t know where he is. He didn’t even call to arrange a sub.”
My stomach sank. “Uh-oh.”
“He couldn’t even stick out the last week of Short Takes.” Sanji giggled. “You really did it, Jessi.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“You ought to be on Saturday Night Live. See you!”
Now, Sanjita had meant all that as a compliment (I think). But I felt as if I’d been hit by a truck.
Mr. Kingbridge is our assistant principal and Mrs. Downey our school secretary. If they said Mr. Trout wasn’t here, it had to be true.
I had driven him away. I had hurt him so badly he couldn’t even call the school.
On my way to second period, I started to cry.
I was a mess in class. I couldn’t think about anything else. Afterward, Mal tried to cheer me up, but that was impossible.
Between second and third periods, the whole school seemed to be talking about Mr. Trout.
I heard someone say my skit had been the last straw. Mr. Trout had been fuming underneath, and he finally broke.
Someone else said he had resigned.
Moved out of town.
Left the state.
Left the country.
Threw his toupee in a river and became a monk.
I didn’t find any of this funny. Especially the way some kids were treating me. Their conversations would drop to a whisper as I passed by.
I was petrified of going to Short Takes. What if all the rumors were untrue? What if he was just late? What would I say when he walked into class?
Well, as it turned out, I didn’t have to worry on that score, at least. A substitute was waiting for us.
For some reason, the first thing I noticed was his hair. Definitely real. Grayish-brown, thinning on top. He was a little overweight and wore glasses and a blue blazer. He looked sort of … average.
You know what it’s like when a sub shows up. So you can imagine what my Short Takes class was like. They were already used to pranks and wisecracks.
Now it looked like April Fools’ Day.
“Hey, Kwingon!” Craig Avazian yelled as I entered.
“Yay, Jessi!” Janet O’Neal cheered. “Great job!”
John Rosen let out a whistle. A couple other kids applauded. Maria Fazio said, “Mr. Twout wan away!” and burst out laughing at her own joke.
“All right!”
A deep voice echoed through the room like a gunshot.
The sub stood up, holding the seating chart in front of him. “Obviously you are not following this plan. So I would like you all to move.” Grumbling, everyone got up and arranged themselves according to the chart. Then the sub said, “Okay. Mr. Rosen, Ms. Fazio, Mr. Avazian, Ms. O’Neal. This is Warning One. I give only one. Is that understood?”
Silence.
“Now, my name is Mr. Bellafatto, and I —”
Maria exploded with giggles. “Bellafatto?” she repeated under her breath.
The sub stopped speaking. He looked at her calmly and said, “I will be here tomorrow and the remainder of the week. I give homework assignments. And you, young woman, will have twice as much as the rest of the class.”
“But — but I —” Maria sputtered.
Mr. Bellafatto picked up some chalk and turned to the blackboard. “Now, I’m here on short notice, but I have an idea what you’ve been learning, so I’ll try to fumble my way through
—”
While his back was turned, a huge glob of spitball went flying through the air. It landed with a splat in Renee Johnson’s hair.
“Ewwwww! Mr. Bella —”
“Good shot,” Mr. Bellafatto said to Craig (I don’t know how he could have seen him).
Craig squirmed. He laughed nervously.
“So good, in fact, I think you should let the principal know how talented you are. Right now.”
Craig’s jaw hit the ground. “But — but I —”
“Hmmm. You and Ms. Fazio ought to get together. You have the same vocabulary — ‘but, but, but.’ Do you know the way to the office, or must I send an escort?”
Craig meekly stood up. His lower lip was quivering as he left the room.
Everyone sat forward.
Whoa. This guy was amazing.
What a difference.
With a smile, he said, “You’ll find I’m actually not a bad guy … for a teacher.” He shrugged. “All I ask is that you show a little courtesy. Are you all right, Ms. … ah …” He checked the seating plan again. “Johnson?”
Renee nodded quickly. “Uh-huh.”
“Good. Let’s get started.”
He didn’t exactly pick up where Mr. Trout had left off. I think he went back to an earlier stage of the curriculum. It was hard to tell.
But it didn’t matter. After a few minutes, I realized that I actually understood what he was talking about. That was a change. For a sub, he was a pretty good teacher. He explained things clearly, answered questions, and he even cracked a few jokes.
And I wasn’t distracted by pranks and notes and whispers. They had stopped. Completely.
When he didn’t have to discipline anyone, Mr. Bellafatto was basically a funny, normal guy.
By the end of class, I could sense this relief in the air.
It should have felt great. I should have been happy that I was finally understanding computer gobbledygook.
But I wasn’t. All I could think about was how I had destroyed poor Mr. Trout.
* * *
After school I met the two Dollies in front of the school, along with Lisa Mannheim and Tom Block, two other kids on the Finance Committee.
Ms. Bernhardt drove us all to Stamford. In the car, I tried to gush about the show with everyone else. When Tom mentioned the Mr. Trout skit, I just smiled and nodded. I didn’t want to talk about it at all.
But everyone else did. At one point Lisa asked the two Dollies, “Has anyone heard from him?”
Mr. Vandela sighed. “Mr. Kingbridge was talking to him on the phone as we were leaving. He didn’t sound too happy.”
Oh, boy.
When we arrived at the theater office, the manager and director were delighted to see us. the two Dollies insisted that I present the check.
I did. And I have never felt so proud and so rotten at the same time.
It wasn’t just me.
That’s what I had decided by Wednesday morning. I had thought about it a million times.
I was not the only cause of Mr. Trout’s troubles. Craig was and Maria was and the whole class was. Of course he had left. Who could have put up with all of that?
But even though I wasn’t totally to blame, my skit had put him over the edge. So I felt I had to do something.
Before school, I spotted Ms. Berhardt near my locker. “Hi,” I said.
“Jessica! How’s the star?”
I shruggled. “Okay, I guess. Um, I was wondering if you’d heard anything about Mr. Trout?”
Ms. Bernhardt exhaled and shook her head. “Oh, that man. He gave Mr. Kingbridge such a hard time.”
“Really?”
“Well, he didn’t give any warning — nothing. Just didn’t show up Mr. Kingbridge tried calling him Monday morning, but his phone was disconnected. Do you know what it’s like to get a sub on two hour’s notice — when you’re not even sure if the teacher is officially absent? Goodness, after awhile Mr. Kingbridge thought something terrible might have happened, so he spent lunch period driving to Mr. Trout’s house. Nobody was home. No car in the driveway.”
“Wait,” I said. “If his phone was disconnected, how could Mr. Kingbridge have been talking with him when we all left for Stamford after school Monday?’
“Mr. Trout called him from a pay phone,” Mr. Bernhardt replied. “He’d decided he couldn’t take it anymore. Can you believe that? Vermont!”
My eyes started welling up again. “So it was the Follies!”
“Sweetheart, if it wasn’t that it would have been something else. Honestly, that fellow sure needed to lighten up a bit. I never so much as got a ‘Good morning’ out of him — none of us teachers did. Are we so … so unapproachable?”
I couldn’t speak. Mr. Bernhardt could see I was upset, and she put her arm around me. “Hey, don’t blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. If anybody should have been insulted, it should have been me! That wig of yours looked like a rat’s nest!’
I couldn’t help giggling. Mr. Bernhardt gave me a squeeze. “Don’t worry,” was the last thing she said before heading off to her class.
By the third period bell, Mr. Bellafatto hadn’t arrived for Short Takes. He walked in a few minutes late, with Mr. Kingbridge.
“Uh, kids, I have an announcement to make,” Mr. Kingbridge said. “Your regular teacher, Mr. Trout, has decided to … well, to take an unexpected leave of absence. He’s … ah, contemplating going back to graduate school, I believe. For the brief duration of this Short Takes segment, Mr. Bellafatto will be your official teacher. Please make him feel welcome.”
“Yay!” cheered a few students.
Mr. Bellafatto took a modest bow.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. Mr. Trout had been here, had gone through such torment, and now — poof! — just like that, everyone was going to forget him.
Well, not me.
After class a group had gathered in the hallway, all talking about Mr. Trout. Sanjita, Maria, and Janet were among them. I heard Sanji say, “What a spoilsport.”
“We did it to him, you know,” I blurted out. “If we’d been nice to him, he would have stayed.”
“How could we be nice to him?” Maria retorted. “He was so weird.”
Janet shook her head. She looked confused. “Why did he do that? He was going to get another bunch of kids in a few days. Besides, you don’t just leave a job like that, especially without another one lined up.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Now he’s not only humilated, but poor.”
No one knew what to say to that. I just walked away.
When school ended I went straight to Mr. Kingbridge’s office. His door was open, and he was busy at his desk. “Mr. Kingbridge?” I said, knocking on the door.
“Come in, Jessi,” he replied. “What can I do for you?”
I sat on a chair opposite him. “It’s about Mr. Trout. I heard what happened.”
He nodded. “Don’t you be concerned. He’s doing fine and I’ll send him your regards if you want. I think you’ll like Mr. Bellafatto —”
“Oh, I know I will. It’s just that — well … oh, it’s so terrible, Mr. Kingbridge. He didn’t just walk out on you. Us kids drove him out. It’s all our fault, most of all mine!”
“Why? Because of the Follies skit?”
“That and a million other things.” I described all the pranks, including the Balding. I told him what Janet had said about Mr. Trout not having a job now.
Mr. Kingbridge nodded thoughtfully.
Finally I said, “This is so unfair! I mean, I like Mr. Bellafatto and all, but can’t we do something to get Mr. Trout back? Can’t we give him a second chance? Then, after this week, he may get a nicer class.”
With a sigh, Mr. Kingbridge leaned back in his chair. “You know, before I went into education, I was a waiter.”
Huh? Had he even heard me?
“I thought the restaurant business might be interesting,” he went on. “But I kept getting fired. I’d confuse people’s foo
d orders. Customers would be mad at me for forgetting to bring ketchup, or extra lemons, whatever — and I would take it all so seriously. Lose sleep over it.”
“Well, I guess you weren’t meant to do that for a living, huh?”
“Nope. Leaving that business was the best thing I ever did.” He gave me a warm smile. “Don’t worry, Jessica. Someday Mr. Trout will find what he’s meant to do. I can guarantee you it won’t be teaching sixth grade.”
“I … I guess,” I said.
“Look,” he said gently, “Your class’s behavior was rude and inexcusable. I grant you that. But you didn’t cause Mr. Trout to leave. It’s not about you, or the other kids. Mostly it’s about Mr. Trout himself. Understand?”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
* * *
I thought about it as I got ready to leave. Mr. Kingbridge had made sense, sort of, but I still wasn’t convinced. If Mr. Trout came back, I was sure the class would be nicer to him. Maybe he was meant to be a teacher. Maybe he just needed more practice.
I sat down near my locker and drew up a petition that looked like this:
Before going home I posted it on the school bulletin board.
That night I composed a letter and typed it out:
Dear SMS students,
One of our teachers, Mr. Trout, has left school. This happened because his students were mean to him. Also because he was insulted by my portrayal in the Follies. Now he has no job. I think he should be invited back to teach. Please sign the petition if you agree.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
By Friday, seven signature followed mine on the petition. Six were the other members of the BSC. The seventh looked like this:
None of us knew what the “BSC Follies” would be like. Most of the “actors” in it — Becca, Charlotte, Buddy Barrett, the Arnold twins, and the rest — had been to the Sixth-Grade Follies the week before.
I was sincerely hoping I wouldn’t see any Klingons.
That morning, Mary Anne was getting ready to go to the Barretts’ house. She was supposed to sit for Buddy and his two sisters, Suzi and Marnie. (Buddy’s eight and mischievous, Suzi’s five and cute, and Marnie is an adorable two-year-old.)