Also, she should stay busy working on my outfit, and only two mornings later she calls my mom and says I need to come over for a hat fitting.
I have to admit that I’ve been waiting around for just this kind of phone call. I march over to Mrs. Chang’s carrying my Munchkin shoes (they are too good to wear outside on the sidewalk).
I can’t remember ever being this excited.
Mrs. Chang meets me at the door, and she’s holding a big box.
It is clear that my new Munchkin hat is inside.
I follow her into the kitchen. I haven’t been in this room before, and it’s as crazy as the rest of her house. Mrs. Chang seems to have something going on in here with plants. She has bunches of different things that look to me like weeds, but they must be important, because why else would she tie the stuff up with string and hang it upside down from a gold cord that crisscrosses the ceiling?
I’d ask about the plants, but I’m too interested in my costume, so I act like everyone has spidery-looking stalks and leaves drying overhead.
“Julia, I want your hat to be comfortable because you’ll be moving a lot. Let’s put it on and then you should run around the kitchen so I can see how sturdy it is.”
Inside I’m rotating in my shell. I try not to hop on one foot or get giggly.
Mrs. Chang then opens the box, and takes out . . . a potted plant.
I’m rude, because I can’t stop myself from saying, “Where’s my hat?”
Mrs. Chang laughs.
I don’t like it when people laugh at me. I’m okay if it’s with me.
I can’t tell which way this is going except that I’m not laughing.
And then she takes the flowering plant out of the box, and I see that there is an elastic band on the bottom. She hands the whole thing over to me, and as Grandma Mittens would say, You could knock me over with a feather! (This means a person is shocked.)
The plant is not actually in a clay pot, but in something fake that has an open bottom. It’s so light it feels like nothing. The flowers are made of silk or some other kind of fabric, because they look real, but they aren’t.
I still don’t totally understand what’s going on, and then Mrs. Chang shows me a photograph of a Munchkin in the movie The Wizard of Oz, and this person is wearing a flowerpot on her head.
So now it all makes sense.
I feel like Mrs. Chang’s presentation wasn’t great, because if she had started by showing me the picture, then I would have understood from the beginning. Anyway, I know now what’s happening. I put this fake flowerpot on my head, and it feels like a hat.
I run around the kitchen because she told me that was part of the testing. I then head to the wall by the back door where there’s a mirror, and I take a look. “It’s great!”
I guess Mrs. Chang knew it would work, because she’s smiling in a very confident way, not a wide-eyed, surprised way.
The next thing I do is slip on my Munchkin slippers, and Mrs. Chang takes a picture of me on her phone. We both look at it for a long time, but we’re thinking different things. Mrs. Chang is probably seeing her work and feeling good about how she can make anything.
I look at it and think about how this woman is a dream factory. And I just feel so lucky that I now know her.
After we have tea from small green cups that don’t have handles and then eat hard candy that’s made of honey and sesame seeds, Mrs. Chang puts the hat in the box and gives it to me. I stick my Munchkin slippers in there as well.
I run all the way home, because I want the hat and shoes to be safely in my room.
I don’t show anyone the hat.
I guess I’m now keeping secrets, which I decide might be a sign that I’m growing up. Adults go two ways: Either they share way too much, or they keep all kinds of stuff to themselves. I’ve always had things I don’t explain to anyone else.
The afternoon finally rolls around, and my mom comes back from work to get us over to the campus for “play practice.” I wish she’d call it rehearsal, because that’s what Shawn Barr says we’re doing.
We are “in rehearsal.”
But my mom isn’t a theater professional, so she uses the wrong words.
My mother and brother don’t even ask why I’m bringing a box with me in the car when we set out for the university. My mom is talking on the speakerphone about the different kinds of wood chips that you can put in your yard. People think you can just dump down this stuff and weeds won’t grow. They got that wrong. Mom says everyone’s looking for an easy way to do things. She’s still talking about ground cover when she pulls up to the curb at the theater and Randy and I get out.
The whole time in the car I crossed and uncrossed my fingers because I was making a wish. Of course I’m old enough to know that this doesn’t work, but I did it anyway because I don’t think it hurts a situation.
Once we are in the theater, I get a great surprise: Shawn Barr is back!
He’s lying down on what looks like a picnic table covered with cushions. I hurry down the aisle to him, and I blurt out: “My wish just came true!”
Shawn Barr looks at me in a dull way.
I think he’s taking medicine for the pain in his tailbone, because he says, “Did you bring a pastrami sandwich?” I shake my head. He looks disappointed. Maybe he thinks I’m the delivery person because I’m carrying a box.
I realize this and I say, “I brought part of a costume. It was made for me by a woman who went out with one of the Beatles.”
I have no idea why I added the last part, but Shawn Barr just blinks his eyes and says, “Which Beatle?”
I don’t have the answer, and I think it would be wrong to say “Ringo.” He’s the only Beatle I can remember because he has such an interesting name and also I know a beagle named Ringo who is always in the yard on Moss Street.
I don’t answer the Beatle question, but I open the box and take out my Munchkin shoes and slip them on my feet. I then carefully remove my flowerpot hat and put it on my head.
The other Munchkins who have arrived are watching me.
I hear someone say, “Where did she get that?”
I lean over Shawn Barr so that he can get a good look.
I’m not disappointed.
Shawn Barr rises up a few inches from the picnic table and shouts, “I LOVE IT!”
I’m super-happy because my wish has now completely come true. The first part was that our director would be at rehearsal, and the second part was that he’d like my hat and my shoes.
“Charisse! I need you!” Shawn Barr calls.
Charisse has been standing in the wings, which is the area on the side of the stage. She looks sort of mopey, maybe because she’s not in charge anymore.
“Yes, Shawn . . .”
“Look at this! I must have all of the details. Gowns by Adrian!”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, so I say, “It wasn’t by Adrian. It was by Mrs. Chang.”
Shawn Barr answers, “Adrian Greenberg did the costumes in 1939 for the Wizard of Oz movie!”
All I can manage is “Oh.”
Then Shawn Barr moves his head to see the other Munchkins. I look over, and Olive has just arrived with Quincy and Larry. He says to the room, “Everyone should know the name Adrian Greenberg.”
I say, “Well, we do now. And also, maybe everyone should know the name Mrs. Chang.”
This makes Shawn Barr laugh in a good way. So I join him.
Shawn must be feeling better, because he props himself up a little higher on the tips of his elbows. “What’s your name again?” he asks me in a low voice.
I whisper back, “Julia. Julia Marks.”
Shawn’s voice is suddenly loud. “Julia Marks is taking her role in this production very seriously. She’s becoming a Munchkin! Julia has shown initiative! She is an initiator!”
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I feel great right now because Shawn Barr is really proud of me. It’s his first day back since his fall, and it might not have started in a positive way if I hadn’t brought in my hat and shoes.
I’m also wondering if he’s taking medication that’s making him so happy.
I decide it doesn’t matter.
Then Shawn Barr says, “I want to talk about initiative, because I think it’s so important. Julia took initiative when she went further than just showing up. I’ve been around a long time, people. And I will say this: Initiative means more than talent. It means more than luck. It means more than good looks!”
I’m smiling, but Shawn Barr has said the word “initiative” so many times it’s starting to bug me.
I don’t think I took initiative.
I just went to an old lady’s house to pick some of her flowers. She’s the one who took initiative. My plan was to get pansies and flatten them, and I didn’t even follow through on that because of the ice-cream bar.
Now all of a sudden I’m being held up as a great example.
I look over at my brother Randy. He’s standing by the piano with some of the boy Munchkins. He gives me a wave. Randy seems very proud. I look again at Shawn Barr. He’s still on his back but he’s propped up as high as I’ve seen him, I guess because he’s excited.
He says, “I’ve just made a decision, and it’s based on Julia’s initiative. She is going to be the lead Munchkin dancer!”
I don’t move.
The lead Munchkin dancer?
Did I hear that right? What’s it even mean?
I can’t sing, but I really can’t dance.
My mom put me in ballet when I was six years old, and it didn’t work out. Grandma Mittens says we don’t have good balance in our family. She knows what she’s talking about, because I still can’t even do a cartwheel. I’ve accepted that I never will. I have trouble being upside down.
I don’t remember anything about ballet class because it was a long time ago, but there’s a picture of me in one of the family scrapbooks and I’m only wearing one ballet slipper. I’ve got my hand in my mouth and it looks like I’m chewing it.
There are five pictures of Tim when he took a karate class and that was for only eight weeks. I think I did a year in the pink tutu.
Suddenly I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.
If I really had initiative I would tell Shawn Barr that me being the lead dancer is a very bad idea.
Instead, my face freezes.
I’m showing my teeth and I’m not blinking.
Ramon always looked like this when he heard the words “Give the dog a bath.”
TWELVE
When my mom comes to pick us up I don’t say anything.
I just open the back door and put the box with my flowerpot hat and slippers onto the seat. I always sit up front because I’m older than Randy and also because some of Ramon’s hairs are still in the upholstery and they could get on my clothes. Even though he was the best dog in the world, having dog hair on the back of my sweater isn’t a good look.
But today I want to hide, so I climb in and scoot all the way over so that I’m behind the driver’s seat. Randy shrugs and sits up front.
My mom turns around.
“What’s going on?”
I don’t answer.
Randy pipes up: “Julia is the lead dancer. She got picked by the director.”
I keep my head down, but I can tell by her voice that my mom is excited.
“The lead dancer? Really?”
I stay quiet.
Randy is all bubbly. “Julia showed initiative. The director wants us all to do that. But she did it first without being told. What’s initiative?”
I suddenly find my voice and I say, “Can we go home now?”
My mom is just busting up with excitement about the idea of me being a lead dancer. She talks about it all the way to the house. I try not to listen. I close my eyes and work on figuring out how I can possibly be the lead dancer when I can’t dance.
Shawn Barr didn’t stay at rehearsal for very long. Instead two guys from the university’s special events staff carried him off. They just picked up the picnic table and walked away with him on it.
After he was gone Charisse was in charge again, and we practiced our songs and worked on having high squeaky voices. At the end she told us that Dorothy and the witches will arrive on Wednesday.
I haven’t thought much about Dorothy or the witches, but Olive is very excited to meet Dorothy, and I guess other Munchkins are too.
I’m too busy worrying about being the lead dancer.
Will the witches be scary?
Who knows?
And right now who cares?
When we get home I head to my room and put the box in my closet. I can’t even look at the hat and shoes because I’m trying to forget the mess I’m in and it’s all Mrs. Chang’s fault.
I tell my mom I have a sore throat, and I go to bed early. I don’t even eat dinner, which is bad because nutrition is important for growth and I’m probably hurting my chances of getting taller any time soon.
Also, not eating gives me a terrible stomachache.
When I wake up it’s a sunny morning and I don’t feel better.
I feel worse.
Then I remember that we were given a piece of paper with everyone’s name and telephone number on the first day of rehearsal, and I decide that the one person who might be able to help me is Olive.
So I go to the kitchen and I call her.
“Olive, it’s me. It’s Julia Marks. From The Wizard of Oz. I hope you remember me.”
“Julia! Don’t be silly. Of course I know who you are.”
She sounds in a good mood. She’s not the lead dancer, so that’s probably why.
“Olive, I’m going to quit as a Munchkin, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”
I actually wrote this sentence down on a piece of paper, because I have learned from experience that sometimes I think I know what I’m going to say, but when the time comes I don’t get the words out right.
I hear Olive suck in her breath.
“What?”
I haven’t written down the next part, so I just blurt out: “I’m too busy this summer because I need to write letters to my friends Piper and Kaylee, and I also have books to get through that are on the summer reading list and I’m not a fast reader, and I think I want to try a new hairstyle before school starts and that will require research.”
“I see. What did your parents say?”
“I haven’t told them. But I think they’ll understand. At least my dad will. He’s not as interested in musical theater as my mom is. She owns a clown costume.”
“Julia, maybe we should get together and talk about this.”
All of a sudden I feel like I’m going to cry. I manage to say, “I don’t know . . .”
“Can you meet me at Dell Hoff’s?”
Dell Hoff’s is an ice-cream store, but it also sells wine and beer since it’s so close to the university. I know where Dell Hoff’s is because of the ice cream.
“I’m pretty busy. I was going to clean my room.”
I wasn’t going to clean my room. I’m hoping it sounds like a good excuse. Adults love it when kids clean.
“I’ll be at Dell Hoff’s at eleven. I’ll see you then, Julia.”
I say okay in a really small voice, and I hang up the phone.
I close my eyes, and in the silence with no vision, I decide that Olive will have answers. She’s part of the theater company. That’s what we’re called: a theater company. We aren’t a company like the electric company, but we produce plays, which is some kind of product. What matters is that in a few hours I’ll explain everything to Olive and she’ll find a way out for me.
I tell my mom that I
’m going to Mrs. Chang’s house.
I feel okay lying because she’s the one who created this problem by forcing me to audition. I’m not sure why I don’t just say I’m meeting up with Olive, because my mom would probably be fine with that. I consider riding my bicycle, but I hate getting it back up the hill, and my burden is already too great.
That’s something Grandma Mittens sometimes says about sad people: “Their burden is too great.” I don’t really have any idea what she’s talking about, but somehow it feels right.
I put on my peasant blouse and my jean shorts and my leather sandals. I realize that this is becoming my go-to outfit and at some point I’ll need a new look. Since I’m not growing much, I can form real attachments to clothing, and that probably brands me like a cartoon character. This isn’t the kind of thought I’d have on my own. My dad told me once, “Cartoon characters always wear the same outfits.” At the time he was talking about Bart Simpson’s red shirt. He then pointed out that I was the same way with my green sweater. I stopped wearing it after that.
There are times when adults act like being different is just the greatest thing, but then when you are, it feels like they’re secretly disappointed.
I don’t think my dad wants a kid who dresses the same every day.
I’m going to go the long way to Dell Hoff’s because I don’t want to walk by Mrs. Chang’s house. She’s probably inside making more amazing costumes for me to wear, and while the right thing to do would be to tell her I’m quitting the play, I’ll let her know after my meeting. Olive is a good choice to wear the flowerpot hat and the slippers and whatever else Mrs. Chang is now whipping up.
I get to Dell Hoff’s ten minutes early, but Olive is already there. She’s sitting at a small table outside the front door, and I notice that people look at her when they pass. They try to act like they aren’t giving her a stare, but I can see it.
This makes my throat close up.
I want to tell all of these people that Olive is a very talented singer and dancer and from what I know of her (which is being her partner in the musical numbers and how she handled Shawn Barr’s fall), she’s a really great person.