Almost Starring Skinnybones (9 page)

I
had the best
audition of anybody. I’m not kidding. I flowed like you wouldn’t believe. I even added a line or two to make Scrooge seem more natural.

You should have seen me. It was the scene where Scrooge first sees the ghost of his old partner, Jacob Marley, and Jacob tells him about the spirits that are going to come and haunt him during the night.

Then Scrooge is supposed to say, “I choose not to see them, Jacob.”

What a stupid thing to say! No one would be that calm! We’re talking about ghosts here!

That’s why my audition was so much better than anyone else’s. When Jacob Marley told me about the spirits, I made Scrooge let out this giant, bloodcurdling scream.

“Ghosts! Oh no! Not ghosts!” I shrieked. “Come on, Jake! I hate stuff like that!”

It was great. More convincing than anything. That’s why I could hardly believe my ears when Mr. Tilton stood on stage on Friday and announced the parts:

“People, may I have your attention please?” he began. “You all did an absolutely marvelous job, and I take great pleasure in announcing the cast of this year’s Christmas play: Ebenezer Scrooge will be played by …”

I stood up.

“Albert Ruppert.”

My knees caved in and I fell over.

Albert Ruppert? Was this a joke? That big show-off from my English class was actually going to be Scrooge? The kid who stands on his chair like a palace guard and announces the arrival of Mrs. Ballentine each day?

On stage Mr. Tilton was proceeding. “Skylar Fox will be Bob Cratchit; Cynthia Huggins will portray the Ghost of Christmas Past; Alexander Frankovitch will play Tiny Tim; Tyrone Hayes will be …”

Tiny Tim! Oh God, no! Not Tiny Tim! I
hate
Tiny Tim. I’ve
always
hated him! Ever since the first time I saw
A Christmas Carol
on television. Talk about unnatural. There he was, all pale and sick and skinny, walking around on that little crutch of his,
and instead of whining and complaining like any normal kid would do, Tiny Tim spent his days smiling and “God blessing” people. He made me want to spit up.

Besides, he had no lines! A couple of quick prayers and a “thank you sir.” What kind of acting do you call that?

I just couldn’t figure it out. Albert Ruppert’s audition had been the dumbest thing you ever saw! He was so nervous and twitchy, it made you squirmy just watching him.

Also, when he read his lines, he tried to make his voice real deep so he’d sound more grown-up. It’s the way you make your voice sound when you’re crank-calling someone and you want to sound like a man. It never works though. No matter how old you think you sound, as soon as you say, “Hello, is your toilet running?” people slam the phone down right in your ear.

After Mr. Tilton made the announcements, a lot of the cast started clapping for themselves and going crazy. It was like they had just won an Academy Award instead of a dumb part in a stupid school Christmas play. Albert Ruppert ran up on stage and started bowing. He wasn’t doing it to be funny either. That’s just how he acts. He’s always telling you how great he is.

Annabelle Posey was the most obnoxious of all.
Even though she hadn’t showed up for tryouts until Friday, she
still
got the part of Mrs. Cratchit. I don’t know how she did it, but she did. You should have seen her. She started strutting around the stage like she was Jane Fonda or somebody.

Meanwhile, I just sat there with my knees caved in, shaking my head in disbelief. I felt angry and disappointed all at the same time. I had been so sure, so sure I’d get the part, I even memorized most of Scrooge’s lines!

What had gone wrong? Hadn’t Mr. Tilton seen me flow? Hadn’t he noticed how natural I made Scrooge seem? Geez! If he’d wanted me to use my crank-call voice, he should have said so.

The more I thought about it, the sicker I got. After all, people were
counting
on me. Take the kids at the lunch table, for instance. They’d just started believing I was somebody special.

I covered my face with my hands. It wasn’t fair. I’d probably be eating my lunch sideways for the rest of my life.

After a few minutes Annabelle Posey spotted me sitting alone in the back of the auditorium. She couldn’t get there fast enough. Before I knew it, she was hovering over my seat, waiting for me to look up so she could laugh in my face.

I didn’t do it though. I just kept my head bowed
and pretended not to notice her. That didn’t stop old Annabelle, of course. She laughed right at the top of my head.

“Ha ha, Alex,” she taunted. “I bet you thought you were going to get the lead, but you didn’t. Too bad. What a shame. Guess you’re just too skinny to be anyone but Teeny Tim.”

That’s how stupid she was. She called Tiny “Teeny.”

I let her get away with it too. For the first time in my life, I didn’t even feel like defending myself. Not even to Annabelle Posey.

Just then Mr. Tilton started speaking from the stage.

“Your attention again, please.…

“First I must thank everyone who tried out for the play. You were all wonderful, and the choices were very difficult to make. If you didn’t get the part you wanted, I apologize. It doesn’t mean you weren’t good enough. It simply means there weren’t enough good parts to go around.

“Also, if you didn’t get a part and would like to work on scenery, on makeup, or on lighting, please see me and I’ll sign you up. Believe me, working behind the scenes can be just as exciting as being on stage.

“The rest of the cast is dismissed. I’ll see all of you
right here at three o’clock on Monday afternoon.”

The room continued to buzz with excitement as cast members congratulated themselves all the way out the door. A few kids who hadn’t gotten parts stayed and signed up for other committees. I guess I should have felt grateful that I’d gotten any part at all, but I didn’t. Mostly I just felt pale and weak and sick.

Also I felt tired. Not sleepy tired though. More like my brain was tired or something. Tired of trying to believe in myself. Tired of letting myself down.

Finally I stood up, lowered my head in despair, and began shuffling slowly down the aisle. I felt like I weighed a million pounds. I know this sounds dramatic, but that’s how I felt.

Mr. Tilton heard me shuffling. He looked up and waved.

“Ah, our Tiny Tim. You’re going to be wonderful. I knew it as soon as I saw you on stage. A perfect Tiny Tim!”

I winced. That was me. That was who I was now. Tiny Tim Frankovitch. Weak, pale, skinny Tiny Tim Frankovitch.

I looked up and gave Mr. Tilton the feeblest of smiles.

“Godblessyousir,” I mumbled pathetically. Then I plodded through the door.

My parents wouldn’t let me quit the play. I begged all weekend, but they wouldn’t even listen.

At first my father tried to shame me into it. He took me firmly by the shoulders, looked me in the eye, and said, “You’re no quitter, are you, son?”

I nodded eagerly. “Yes, I am, Dad. I’m a quitter. Accept it.”

He let go of my shoulders. “You finish what you start, Alex,” he said sternly. “It’s as simple as that.”

My mother nodded in agreement. “You’re going to see the job through to the end, Alex.”

Geez, they were making me sound like a carpenter! This wasn’t a real job. Why couldn’t some other little, weak, pale, skinny kid see it through to the end?

By Monday afternoon at three o’clock I’d hardly settled down at all. I showed up at rehearsal, but only because I had to. I guess you could say I had an attitude problem. And believe me, watching Albert and Annabelle strut around like superstars didn’t help it one bit. In English class Albert told Mrs. Ballentine she could call him Ebenezer.

Mr. Tilton spent the first half-hour getting everyone organized. He handed out rehearsal schedules and explained them very carefully.

“People, do you all understand how this is going to work?” he called from the stage. “While one group is practicing scenes on stage, other groups will be going over their lines in different areas of the auditorium. Each day we will alternate so everyone gets plenty of stage time.”

From two rows back I heard Annabelle giggle with anticipation. I turned around and stuck my finger down my throat like she was making me sick. What made me even sicker was that she and I were in all the same scenes.

Mr. Tilton walked around the auditorium and got each group started. Ours was first.

“Let’s begin rehearsing the scene where the entire Cratchit family sits down to Christmas dinner,” he suggested. “This is a very tender scene where Tiny Tim says grace. Work on it a while, and I’ll be back to see how it’s going.”

I waited until I was sure he was gone. Then I opened my script, gritted my teeth, and solemnly began to read.

“Thank you, Lord, for giving us this fine goose for our Christmas feast. Please bless us all—even Mr. Scrooge.”

“Why, thank you, Tiny Tim,” said Annabelle as Mrs. Cratchit. “That was quite a lovely thought.”

I looked up. That’s when it hit me. An idea so
great I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it before.

I smiled. “You’re welcome, Mumsy,” I said simply.

Annabelle jumped up out of her seat and whapped me in the head with her script. “It doesn’t say that!” she growled. “I’m not Mumsy. Tiny Tim never called his mother Mumsy.”

“I’m ad-libbing, Mumsy,” I explained calmly. “Please pass the goose.”

“Mr. Tilton!” screamed Annabelle. “Tell Alex that we’re not allowed to ad-lib! Tell him to just read his lines like they’re written!”

Mr. Tilton was busy with the people on stage. He waved his arms and told Annabelle to quiet down.

I just grinned. This was working out better than I could have imagined.

After that, I started ad-libbing more and more each day. Never in front of Mr. Tilton, of course. Only in our little groups. But it was especially fun to do it when Albert Ruppert was practicing with us. The kid was really beginning to get on my nerves. He acted like he was running the whole show.

“Okay, gang. Listen up,” he said one day as he sat down to read lines with us. “In this scene I’m knocking on the door with my arms full of presents. Turn to page eighty, and let’s take it from the top.”

I rolled my eyes. Take it from the top. That’s the
kind of stuff he’d say. Like he was conducting an orchestra or something.

“Knock, knock, knock,” said Albert.

Skylar Fox, who played Bob Cratchit, pretended to open the door. “Please do come in, Mr. Scrooge. What a surprise this is!”

“Surprise, yes, I’m full of surprises,” said Albert, pretending to set the packages down on the seat as he looked around. “Why, look here, Cratchit! These must be your fine children!”

“Yes, sir, they are. Let me introduce you, Mr. Scrooge. This is Tiny Tim, my youngest.”

Albert held out his hand to shake. “And how are you this glorious Christmas Day, my boy?”

I took out a Kleenex and honked into it. Then I wadded it up and put it in his hand. “Could you throw this away please?”

Albert blew up. “Tiny Tim doesn’t say that!” he yelled.

I shrugged my shoulders. “What’s he supposed to do? Throw it on the floor?”

“Knock it off, Frankovitch,” growled Albert. “If you don’t knock it off, you’re going to mess up the whole play.

“Now let’s take it from the top again,” he ordered, “and this time get it right.

“Knock, knock, knock.”

“Please do come in, Mr. Scrooge,” repeated Skylar,
trying not to laugh. “What a surprise this is!”

“Surprise, yes, I’m full of surprises,” said Albert, again. “Why, look here, Cratchit! These must be your fine children!”

“Yes, sir, they are. Let me introduce you, Mr. Scrooge. This is Tiny Tim, my youngest.”

Cautiously, Albert held out his hand again. “And how are you this glorious Christmas Day, my boy?”

This time I shook his hand. “How do I look? Do I look healthy to you? Does this look like a healthy little body?”

Albert’s face got red, but he decided to ignore me.

He turned to Annabelle. “And you, gentle lady, you must be Mrs. Cratchit?” he continued.

Annabelle curtsied. “Pleased to meet you, sir. Bob has told us a great deal about you.”