Grammy replies, “I’m delighted to finally be here.” She takes the drum from Travis and places it on the stage with her bag and the rain stick.
“You knew?” I ask the teacher.
“And you’ve been keeping it a secret?” I turn to Grammy.
“Of course, Sassy,” they answer almost together. Both of them chuckle.
“We’ve been working on this day for months,” the teacher tells me.
“Are you surprised?” Grammy asks, smiling.
“For real!” I tell her. “But it’s a way cool surprise!”
The students from grades three through six begin to file into the auditorium. The room is buzzing with the excitement of being out of class for something fun. Several kids from the fourth grade wave at me as they come into the room. A couple even look a little jealous that I get to be onstage.
When it’s time to begin, everyone gets quiet as Grammy turns the rain stick up and down a couple of times, then pats a soft rhythm on her drum.
She nods at me, and I walk to the center of the stage. I am not afraid, even though three hundred kids are staring at me. I’m starting to feel elegant on the inside.
“Today’s guest is a famous storyteller,” I announce proudly. “She has told her stories at the White House and in little-bitty villages in Brazil. She’s been to twenty-seven different countries, she knows a zillion stories, and she bakes the best peanut-butter cookies in the universe!” I pause while everybody laughs a little.
“I’m glad she’s here because she’s a REALLY good storyteller, because we’re getting out of class, but most important, because she’s my grandmother.” Everybody claps and cheers.
Grammy stands up and bows. I go and sit down next to Jasmine.
“Good morning, children. And thank you, Sassy. I’m so proud to be able to be here. Today we’re going to sing a couple of songs, tell a couple of tales, and bop out a little drum music while we do it. Is that all right?”
“Sounds good to me!” a kid calls out from the back of the room. Probably a sixth grader.
Grammy continues, ignoring him. She grabs her drum and begins to beat out a rhythm. Tap-a-pat-tap-a. Tap-a-pat-tap-a. Tap-a-pat-tap-a.
I breathe deeply. In my mind the school auditorium fades away as the story world comes into my head.
Grammy tells two stories to the children — one about a foolish king, and another about a beautiful Arabian princess. Both tales are full of music and surprises and mystery.
Grammy pauses to take a drink of water, then sits back down to begin another tale. But her microphone is sputtering and screeching.
“Oh, no!” I whisper to Jasmine. “This is not good.”
But Grammy doesn’t get upset. “I think we might need a new battery,” she says to the audience.
Miss Armstrong hurries to the back of the room to see if she can find either a battery or the audiovisual guy. She comes back with neither. She is wringing her hands with concern.
Grammy waits calmly on the stage. She strokes the drum with cool bops and rhythms, but the kids in the back rows start to whisper and wiggle in their seats anyway. Sixth graders, of course.
Grammy might not be worried, but I’m getting sweaty.
Then I remember! I dig down into my Sassy Sack for a second or two until my fingers find what I’m looking for. I pull it out triumphantly. It’s a brand-new nine-volt battery — the exact size needed for the microphone.
I run up the steps on the side of the stage, hurry over to Grammy, and hand her the battery. “Here, Grammy,” I say with my mouth away from her mike. “I have just what you need.”
Grammy grins at me, whispers her thanks, and quickly changes the battery in the mike.
Without a hitch, she continues her presentation and tells another story — this one about a Chinese dragon that breathes real fire. And then she tells another tale, and then another.
When she finishes, she gives her drum one final, powerful series of bops and taps, then she bows gracefully. The kids scream and holler and cheer like they’ve been to a football game.
Grammy then points to me. I bow gracefully and they clap for me, too! Way cool! Classy Sassy is in the house! I feel like a rock star!
The A-V guy shows up with the battery just as Grammy finishes her show.
I get to stay with Grammy all day long as she visits classes. I even get to eat my lunch in the teacher’s lounge. It smells like coffee and ink.
At the end of the day I float home because I’m so happy.
The next day I rule my school. Everybody is buzzing about how cool my grammy is.
But Miss Armstrong is back on task after the glow of Grammy’s visit, and she gives us class time to work on our “Who Am I?” language arts assignment. Grammy’s stories swirl through my mind as I begin to work on my project.
I dig in my Sassy Sack, pull out a red sparkly pen and my favorite notebook, and try to think. I want to write something magical like Grammy’s tales.
“Can I borrow a piece of gum, Sassy?” Travis asks in a whisper.
“You’re gonna chew it and give it back?” I ask him with a giggle as I reach down into my bag to get some banana-berry-fruit bubble gum.
He laughs as he takes the gum. “I promise to take good care of it. Let me know when you want it back!”
“Please, keep it,” I tell him.
Miss Armstrong, of course, hears and sees everything, but she just gives us a look that says Get back to work.
I think I want to write a poem to tell about myself, but it’s like my ideas are floating on an ocean, not in my head. I don’t know who I am. How do I write about what I don’t understand?
Jasmine passes me a note that says we’re gonna have math for two hours today. She’s actually happy about that.
That’s like the plot of a horror movie, I write back.
When the bell rings and we go next door for math class, I think time stops. The clock in the classroom must be broken. Only five minutes have passed? I’m getting sleepy.
Our math teacher, Mr. Olsen, is completely bald on top. His head shines under the classroom lights. He looks like a lightbulb.
Even though he has no hair on his head, he has fuzzy brown hair growing out of his nose and ears. I try to concentrate on numbers, but I keep watching his nose hair wiggle as he talks.
“Should you use addition or subtraction to solve this problem, Sassy?” I hear him say.
I look down at my book. The numbers are doing the hokeypokey dance on the page. “Uh, subtraction!” I answer. It’s a guess.
“Good job, Sassy!” Mr. Olsen sounds pleased. I’m glad I’m a good guesser.
He goes to Jasmine for the answer. She gobbles numbers like slippery noodles.
“One thousand two hundred and twenty-five,” she announces. Her voice is clear and sure. I don’t think she ever feels sweaty and nervous in math like I do.
“You ready for the mall?” she whispers after Mr. Olsen calls on someone else.
“Really ready!” I whisper back. I check the clock once more.
After school Jasmine’s mom is taking us to the mall. Jasmine has to get a black skirt and a white blouse because she’s in the school choir and that’s what they wear. Pretty boring outfit, if you ask me, but I guess it’s easy to find at the store.
When the bell finally rings, I want to kiss the clock. I think it took fifty hours to get to three o’clock.
Instead of getting on the school bus, Jasmine’s mother picks us up and we head for the mall. We scramble into the backseat with book bags and purses. Jasmine has an ordinary pink plastic purse, which is cute, but nothing to call the newspaper about. I’ve got my Sassy Sack.
“How was school, girls?” Jasmine’s mother asks. Mothers always ask that question. Every single day.
“Great!” Jasmine says. “We had math for almost two hours — really awesome!”
I roll my eyes.
“Jasmine told me the assembly with your grandmother went really well, Sassy,” her mo
ther says.
“It was great, Mrs. Cooper,” I tell her proudly.
“It must be fun to have her around,” Jasmine says.
“Yeah. She’s leaving tomorrow,” I say a little sadly. “We’re going out to dinner tonight to celebrate her visit.”
“That will be fun,” Jasmine’s mom says.
“Yes, but I probably won’t get to see her again until summer when we go to Florida to visit her at the beach.”
“Sassy’s grandmother has a beach house, Mom,” Jasmine explains. “Every morning she can get up and look out at the water.”
“Maybe you can come with me next summer, Jasmine,” I offer. “That way I’d have someone to talk to instead of just fancy Miss Sadora and clunky old Sabin.”
“Ooh! Can I, Mom?” Jasmine asks with excitement.
“We’ve got several months to talk about that, Jasmine. If Sassy’s mom asks you to come, then we can decide. But for now, let’s pop into the mall and find that choir outfit.”
Mothers are so good at changing the subject. But me and Jasmine hook pinkies and wink.
I love the mall. If I had lots of money, I’d go every day. I’d buy shoes in all the colors of the rainbow. And hats with buttons and beads and sparkles. Always sparkles. I love to dream.
As soon as we get inside, I pull out two tubes of lemon-spice lip gloss from my bag.
“What’s that for?” Jasmine asks.
“In case a cute boy shows up!” I tell her, thinking about Sadora. We crack up.
We don’t run into any boys at all, but it’s always good to be prepared.
Jasmine is a little taller than I am. We used to be the same size, but she grew and I didn’t. So I’m left as the smallest in the class.
“Here’s the perfect black skirt,” Jasmine’s mother says in the very first store.
“But look at what’s next to it,” I tell them. A pretty pink skirt with gold and silver swirls sits there looking lonely. I touch it gently. “I wish I could wear something like this to school. What a waste of beautiful colors!”
After her mom buys the skirt and the blouse, Jasmine asks, “Can we go to some other stores, Mom? Please?”
Her mother gives that mom sigh that I think they learn in mommy school or something, but she lets us take a few minutes to run around.
“I need a new bangle bracelet!” I announce.
“And nail polish!” Jasmine cries cheerfully.
Just as we’re heading to the store that sells those cute cheap plastic bracelets, Jasmine looks down and notices her shoelace is broken.
“Mom!” she wails. “I gotta get new tennis shoes. My shoelace is broken.”
“Be for real, Jasmine,” her mom says in that practical voice that mothers use. I think that’s another thing they learn in mommy school. “I’m not buying you new shoes because you need a shoelace.”
“You know you won’t win this one,” I whisper to Jasmine.
I reach down into my Sassy Sack, and pull out one pink shoestring. I have shoestrings in every color, and Velcro, too, just in case.
She thanks me, fixes her shoe, and we head down the smooth, polished mall floor toward our favorite store. Before we get there I pull Jasmine’s arm. “Look at that!” I say excitedly. “A new store!”
“The Name Store,” Jasmine says right with me. “What a great idea!”
I read the sign underneath.
GET YOUR NAME
DECORATED, FANCIFIED, AND BEAUTIFIED!
WE WILL TAKE YOUR NAME AND SHINE IT AND
PUT IT IN A FRAME!
ALL FOR ONE LOW PRICE!
“Wow!” I say. “What a cool idea!”
“Seems way too much, if you ask me,” Jasmine says.
“I think it’s just perfect,” I whisper.
We stop in several stores. I buy a new pair of earrings, a plastic bracelet, and another disposable camera. All that gets tossed in my sack.
Jasmine’s mom pulls out her cell phone to call my mom. “We’ll be there soon,” she tells my mother.
Then she notices the back of her phone is cracked. “Oh, dear,” she says. “No wonder my calls have been fuzzy.”
I reach down into my Sassy Sack and pull out a small tube of superglue. Jasmine’s mom fixes the broken part on her cell phone and tosses the glue back to me.
“You’re a lifesaver, Sassy,” she says with a smile. “I’ll have to take my phone in for service real soon.”
We finally head back to the car with our bags of junky cool stuff.
When they drop me off at my house I say, “Thanks, Mrs. Cooper. I had a great time.”
“You’re welcome, Sassy,” she says. “Tell your mother and grandmother I said hello.”
“Okay!” I reply cheerfully.
“Have fun at the dinner with your grandmother!” Jasmine calls out as they drive away.
I wave good-bye and hurry to my house. It’s almost time for dinner with Grammy.
“Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow, Grammy?” I ask. I hate to sound like I’m whining, but I don’t want her to go back to Florida.
“Yes, Sassy,” she says as she tucks an outfit into her suitcase. “But we’ll see each other soon.”
I don’t know what to do. My tummy feels like I ate a brick. Maybe if I unpack her bag tonight, she will stay longer.
“Where are we going to have dinner?” I ask. “I hope it’s not one of those places where you get crayons and balloons.”
“No, it’s a really fancy place,” Grammy tells me. “You’ll like it.”
“Can I get dressed up?”
“Absolutely!”
“No uniform?”
“They’d kick you out if you wore something boring like that,” Grammy says with a smile.
I cheer. Finally a chance to be Classy Sassy on the outside!
“Can I wear my Sunday shoes?”
“I’m wearing mine!” she says as she shows me her fancy shoes.
“Do the bathrooms have perfumed lotion in glass bottles shaped like seashells?”
Grammy laughs. “I’m not sure, Sassy, but go get dressed in your fanciest outfit. It’s a night you can be elegant.”
“I like that word,” I tell her. I hurry to my room to get dressed.
I choose a dress. It’s all white, with shiny threads of silver in the cloth. It’s got a silver belt and a full skirt. When I twirl around, the skirt almost glistens. My Sassy Sack looks great with it.
“Hey, Little Sister,” Sabin says when he sees me come down the steps. “You look like a little lady tonight.”
“You do, too!” I tell him. Then we both giggle. “I mean, you look nice.”
I’m amazed he complimented me.
When I look at my family all dressed up in the living room, I can’t help it — I burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Sadora asks. She’s wearing gold jeans, a white silk shirt, and a gold belt.
“Us!” I try to explain. I can’t stop laughing.
Sabin and Daddy, who are wearing long-sleeved shirts, red ties, and freshly ironed khakis, look at me like I’m nuts.
“We look like people on TV, not real folks,” I tell them. I’m bent over with laughter.
“What do you mean?” Daddy asks, starting to laugh as well.
I wipe my eyes. “Mom’s dressed like a matched set of luggage,” I tell them. I laugh even harder.
Mom is wearing a pretty red dress that shows off her figure, red shoes, and a red velvet purse, but she looks like a picture in a catalog, not like Mom.
Mom and Sadora are giggling now.
“And Sabin looks like he’s going to choke in that tie!”
Sabin puts his hand to his neck. “She’s right!” he says. “But at least I get to wear my new boots. They feel great!”
“Nicely shined,” Grammy tells Sabin as he wipes specks of dust from the glossy toes of his boots.
“It seems we need to get out more often,” Daddy admits as he joins in the laughter.
Gram
my, dressed in a long, flowing robe of green-and-yellow kente cloth, is the only one who looks really comfortable. Her musical-sounding laugh joins in.
“Let’s get going, family,” she says. “We look too good to be sitting here in the house cracking up at each other!”
“What’s the name of the restaurant?” Sadora asks when we’re in the car.
“The Top of the Towne,” Mom replies. “It’s on the top floor of my office building.”
Mom’s office is on floor twenty-two. The restaurant is on floor thirty-five. That’s high enough to be up in the clouds, I think.
When we arrive, the only person in the lobby is a security guard sitting at a little desk.
“Evenin’, Mrs. Sanford,” he says to Mom. “Taking everybody out to dinner tonight?”
“Yes, Mr. Williams,” Mom replies. “We decided to do it up fancy tonight! How’s your family?”
“Doing real good,” he says. “Thanks for asking. Your kids are really growing. What’s up, little Sassy? How old are you now?”
“I’m fine, sir,” I tell him, “and I’m nine and a half years old.”
“Do say, now. I remember when you were just a baby. Do you still come visit your mom at the office when you have days off of school?”
“I sure do!” I tell him. “I sit in the corner, read a book, and pretend I’m a big-time executive!”
He laughs real loud and his voice echoes off the walls.
Sadora pushes the button for the express elevator that goes directly to the top floor. We crowd into the elevator, the doors slide shut, and I feel the whoosh as we go up, up, up in a hurry. My ears even pop a little.
“Wow!” I exclaim as the doors open. “It’s like a different world up here.”
Soft music plays in the distance. The carpet is thick and soft, and huge potted plants stand like soldiers around the edges of the waiting room.
“Are the flowers real or plastic?” I whisper to Sadora.
“Go check,” she whispers back. I walk over and touch one of them.
“Real leaves. Real blooms. Real dirt,” I tell her.
A lady in a slinky black silk dress comes over to us and welcomes us.
“Good evening,” she says in a voice that sounds like melted chocolate. “Welcome to The Top of the Towne.”