Bobby the Brave (Sometimes) (8 page)

T
he next days rushed past. The students of Room 15 practiced and practiced, and no one even complained. Not when they were asked to skip recess to rehearse, not when they had to be very quiet backstage, and not even when Mrs. Carlson announced that she wanted the boys and girls to hold hands when they took their bows.

PE had been going a lot smoother ever since Mr. Rainerhaus and Bobby had their talk. Bobby still didn't enjoy football, but at least it didn't make him want to throw up or break both wrists. However, the best thing about PE was that his teammates never got mad at him, or any other player, when they lost, which was often. The same could not be said for Jillian Zarr's team. Those girls were scary when they won, and even scarier when they lost.

 

The night of the show, Mr. Ellis-Chan ordered dinner from Pizza Wheels. Bobby was happy his father had done this instead of cooking, since he didn't want to risk getting a stomachache.

Bobby plucked a pepperoni off his pizza and popped it into his mouth. “Is my costume ready yet?” he asked his dad.

He had asked this every day since they bought the new material, but every day his father would just smile mysteriously and say, “Soon enough, soon enough.” Now panic was starting to take over.
Isn't it already soon enough?
Bobby thought.

“Dad, you promised it would be ready for the show, and we have to leave in twenty minutes.”

“The musical is tonight?” Mr. Ellis-Chan asked.

Bobby felt his stomach flip. But when his father broke into a grin, so did he. “Wait right here, son.”

Soon Mr. Ellis-Chan reappeared, holding a light brownish pile of fake fur. “Here it is!” he declared.

Bobby just stared.

“Come on, try it on,” his father said, holding it out to him.

Reluctantly, Bobby got into his Sandy costume. It was too tight in some places and too loose in others. He hoped it didn't look as bad as it felt.

“Well, it certainly is unique,” Mrs. Ellis-Chan said. “You make a very memorable Sandy.”

Casey was much less diplomatic. When she saw her brother, she started screaming, “It's a monster. A monster! A monster ate Bobby!!!”

“You don't have to wear it,” Mr. Ellis-Chan said. His massive shoulders slumped. “Maybe you can wear those pajamas you have with dogs all over them.”

It broke Bobby's heart to see his father looking so dejected. “No, I want to wear it,” he insisted. “I'm sure it doesn't look that bad.
Ah-choo!
Let me just look at myself.”

Bobby tripped over his tail twice while shuffling to the mirror. He suppressed the urge to scream. Casey was right. It looked like a monster had eaten him, and all that was left was part of his head sticking out. But Bobby had made a promise to his father and was determined to keep it — even if it was starting to make him itch.

 

Backstage at the Rancho Rosetta Elementary School auditorium, everyone was talking excitedly in hushed tones. When Bobby appeared, it was suddenly silent.

“I think you're in the wrong place, Bobby,” Jillian Zarr finally said. “The Bigfoot musical is next door.”

“Wow, you look … furry,” Holly said, trying to cheer Bobby up.

“You look like Sandy after he's been in a fight with a mountain lion,” St. James cried out. “Cool!”

Bobby tapped Chess on the shoulder. “Yikes!” Chess exclaimed when he turned around.

“Do you have it?” Bobby asked.

Chess nodded and handed over one of Wilbur's doggy biscuits. Bobby plopped the whole thing in his mouth. If he was going to be the best Sandy ever, he needed to act and think and eat like a dog.

Mrs. Carlson rushed up, and then skidded to a stop when she saw Bobby. “Oh!” was all she said. She recovered enough to add, “All right then, everyone, gather around.” Bobby sneezed. “Bless you, Sandy. Now, we have a full house, so before we start, I just want to tell everyone, ‘Break a leg!' You're all going to be great! Okay, places everyone!”

Annie and the orphans and others got into place. The music began, and then, just like in rehearsal, the curtains parted. Only this time there was a real audience of moms and dads, brothers and sisters, grandparents, neighbors, and all of Chess's relatives staring back at the kids onstage. There were bursts of light in the audience as camera flashes went off.

Backstage, Bobby tried not to sneeze. He wasn't going on for the first few numbers. When the sneezing got worse, the girls glared at him like he was doing it on purpose. Then Bobby started getting itchy — really itchy, but it was hard to scratch himself since he had thick paws. How did dogs manage? he wondered. Wilbur was always scratching himself, and in weird places too.

By the time it was Bobby's turn to go onstage, his eyes were watering and he could barely see. His nose was running and his sneezing was nonstop. When he tried his best to romp, things got worse. It was hard to move in his costume without ripping it, and he could barely bark.

Then Bobby felt an old, familiar sensation. Panic swept over him. He knew what it meant when he started wheezing, and once it started, there was no stopping it. Bobby struggled for air. With each attempt at a breath, the wheeze got bigger and more labored until it sounded like Darth Vader breathing in an echo chamber.

Unable to romp or bark, Bobby made the only sounds he could between wheezes … whimpers.

“Sandy's not supposed to cry,” Daddy Warbucks hissed. Jillian Zarr was glaring at Bobby, and Holly looked worried.

But Bobby couldn't speak. It hurt as he tried to get air in and out. When he tripped over his tail and fell, the audience applauded, thinking it was part of the show. At last the song ended, but when he didn't get up, no one, including Bobby, knew what to do. His chest was tightening and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Finally, he managed to croak, “Help.”

In a nanosecond, someone bolted from the back of the audience and shouted, “I'm coming, Bobby! Hang on!”

It was The Freezer, barreling full speed ahead. When he growled and did a flying leap onstage, Swoozie screamed and St. James fell off the edge.

In a sweeping movement, Mr. Ellis-Chan scooped his son up in his arms and then jumped off the stage over St. James. He ran right up the middle aisle of the auditorium, deposited his son in the car, handed Bobby his emergency inhaler, roared out of the parking lot, and drove straight home.

I
nvisibility. That's the superpower Bobby wished he had. It would certainly come in handy during football or school musicals. Even though he was at home now, the pain of what had just happened was so sharp that Bobby was doubled over.

Having an asthma attack was humiliating enough. But to have one onstage with an audience watching? To see your father come running up yelling, “I'm coming, Bobby! Hang on!” Then to be carried away like a baby? It was just too much.

Stupid asthma. Stupid, dumb, rotten asthma.

By now, Bobby was used to asthma attacks, but being used to something didn't necessarily mean you liked it. As he sat still on the couch with his nebulizer mask on, Bobby listened to the never-ending drone of the machine. It was a sound he hated, even though it meant that as he breathed in, the medicine was rushing into his lungs to make him better. The nebulizer reminded him of all the things he couldn't do.

It meant that he always had to be careful not to overexert himself. It meant that he couldn't have a dog, because he was allergic to fur and that could trigger an asthma attack. And, he now realized, it meant that he couldn't even
be
a dog, because he was allergic to his Sandy costume.

As wisps of mist escaped from the nebulizer, Bobby looked at his dad, who was slumped in his Laz-E-Guy recliner, gripping a football and staring off into space. Was he embarrassed that his son had stopped the musical cold by having a mega asthma attack in front of an auditorium full of people? When his father was in front of a crowd, he did amazing things like score touchdowns, not fall over and make weird noises.

Just when Mr. Ellis-Chan turned the nebulizer off and Bobby could breathe normally, the front door burst open and Mrs. Ellis-Chan and the girls rushed in.

“How are you, honey?” his mother asked. Her face was etched with worry. “We would have come home sooner, but your father took the car and Casey was scared to walk in the dark. So we got a ride home from the Harpers.”

Casey nodded. “There are scary cats in the dark. Bobby, are you going to die?” She had tears in her eyes.

“No, I'm not going to die,” Bobby assured her.

“Well, that was some drama!” Annie said, laughing. “It was the best part of the show. Oh man! To see Dad charging up on the stage like some superhero. Totally cool!”

Bobby felt his jaw tense. He could never face the kids at school again, not after his dad had embarrassed him like that.

“Where is your father?” Mrs. Ellis-Chan asked.

“Maybe Daddy's hiding,” Casey said, peeking under the couch.

Bobby looked around for his dad. He wondered if his father had any clue how hard it was to be the son of a famous ex-football player. It was bad enough being compared to The Freezer all the time, but then to be treated like a helpless little kid was almost more than he could bear. So maybe he wasn't like Annie, Miss Big Shot Football Star, but that didn't mean that he didn't matter. “He's not like me” echoed in Bobby's head.

Bobby gathered his courage. His lungs still hurt slightly, but he wasn't going to let this stop him. He would confront his father, even if it might be painful. It was time his father knew how he felt.

After searching the house, Bobby spotted a familiar silhouette in the backyard. In the moonlight he could see his dad with his head bowed, standing near the tree where Rover was buried. Bobby took a deep breath, then marched outside.

“Dad?”

Mr. Ellis-Chan looked up. “Oh, hi, Bobby.”

“Can we talk?” The cold air was bracing and Bobby was feeling brave.

“Of course, but I already know what you're going to say,” his father said.

“You do?”

“Yes … that I'm a rotten dad.”

Bobby wasn't sure he was hearing correctly. He shook his head. “What?”

“I said, ‘I'm a rotten dad,'” Mr. Ellis-Chan repeated.

“No … I … you're … what?” Bobby's brain was on overload. This was not how he thought the conversation would begin.

“The dog costume,” his father struggled to explain. “I wanted to impress you with my sewing and make you proud of me, but instead it was a disaster. Then, when it triggered your asthma attack, I realized how much I messed up.”

“Well, yeah. But, no … I mean, that wasn't your fault. Well, it was, and it was bad, and I felt …” Bobby's words deserted him. He felt like everything was upside down.

“I should have known better,” his dad lamented. “It's my job to take care of you, not to put you in danger. What kind of father does that?”

“Dad,” Bobby tried again. He had to remind himself of what he had wanted to say. “I know you were trying to do a good thing when you made my costume, but when I had my asthma attack, you didn't think about how it would make me feel if you …”

Bobby stopped when he saw his father's face. He was used to his dad looking big and brave and having everything under control — well, except for cooking and cleaning and stuff like that. But here was a dad who looked like he needed some help. Bobby didn't know if he should confront his father or console him.

Mr. Ellis-Chan's eyes met Bobby's. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Bobby took a deep breath and said, “Dad, you're doing great.”

“I am?” Mr. Ellis-Chan said, sounding surprised and pleased. “Well, it's hard. There are no lessons on how to be a dad, unlike football, where they train you. You know, Bobby, I spent practically my whole life focused on becoming a pro football player, and I loved it. But it was scary too. I was traded a couple of times before I landed with the Earthquakes….” Bobby had sort of known about that, but had never given it any thought. His father continued. “I thought I had finally found a home, a team, where I would have been happy to stay forever. Then one day, BAM. I got my knee blown out and it was over. I felt lost.”

“You felt lost?” Bobby asked. He thought he was the only one in the Ellis-Chan family who ever felt that way.

“Sure,” his father said. “I was at the top of my game, then the game was over before I was ready. After that, I had that job, remember?”

Bobby nodded. The Freezer had been the spokesman for a chain of sporting good stores, but hadn't been very good at it and was let go.

“Well, when your mom and I decided that I would become a stay-at-home dad, I thought, ‘Now here's something I can do really well!' I knew I couldn't get fired from that job and I was determined to be the best stay-at-home dad ever. That's why when I cook, I don't just make plain pancakes, I make apple banana crunch pancakes! Instead of meat loaf, I make fish and hamburger loaf! And instead of spaghetti and meatballs, I make meatballs filled with spaghetti….”

“Um, Dad?” Bobby interrupted. “You know what? Plain is fine. We don't mind.”

“Really?” His father looked surprised. “Because, honestly, that would be easier.” He gave it some thought. “Hey, if I spend less time in the kitchen, I could spend more time with you. We could go outside and …”

Before his father could say, “play football,” Bobby cut in. Now was the time to tell him. “Dad, um, maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm not the greatest at football. I mean, I'm not like you, or even Annie. But I know you already know that. I heard you say it.”

“Say what?” his father asked, looking confused.

Bobby's throat was dry, but his eyes began to water. “That day that I took a dive to avoid getting hit by Annie's pass,” he said, gathering his courage. “Later, as I was doing an ollie and you were doing push-ups, I heard you talking about me to Annie. You told her, ‘He's not like me.' And then she said, ‘That's for sure.'”

There. Bobby had said it. It felt good to have gotten it out, but rotten at the same time. He knew his father would never fire him, but when Mr. Ellis-Chan didn't say anything, Bobby worried that his dad might want to trade him to another team.

“Son,” Mr. Ellis-Chan said gently. Bobby looked up. His father didn't look angry or disgusted; instead, he looked concerned. “What I was telling Annie was that I was proud of you. I could never skateboard as well as you. All those tricks you can do — they amaze me. I'm so big and clumsy on a skateboard…. I'm not like you.”

Bobby was speechless.
That
was what his father meant?

“But — but,” Bobby stammered, “I thought you were ashamed that I'm not big and strong like you, and that I'm horrible at football.”

Mr. Ellis-Chan mussed up Bobby's hair. “You've still got a lot of growing ahead of you. I was small when I was your age.”

“You were?” Bobby asked.

His father nodded. “Bobby,” he said, “I don't expect you to be a football player, and I wouldn't want you to be one.”

“You wouldn't?”

“Not unless you really wanted to.”

“Yes, but you're so proud that Annie's the quarterback.”

“I am proud,” Mr. Ellis-Chan said, “because that's what she wants to do. Annie has worked really hard to achieve her goal. But I'm proud of you too.”

“Why?” Bobby asked. “We're so different.”

“Well, how much time do you have?” his dad quipped. “You're a great big brother to Casey. I don't know anyone who could be as patient with her as you are.” Bobby nodded. That was true. “And you have a lot of friends.” Bobby nodded again. “Plus, your skateboarding is amazing. I am in awe of what you can do. And, I admit, I am slightly jealous of Troy Eagle.”

“You are?” This surprised Bobby.

“Sure,” his dad admitted. “I mean, you have that huge Troy Eagle poster in your room, and you talk about him all the time. I know you really look up to him and that he's your hero.” He paused. “Listen, Bobby, I love you so much. It means a lot to me to hear that you don't think I'm a failure as a dad. 'Cause you know what? I'd do anything for you. I'd fight a hundred tigers … I'd climb a thousand mountains…. I'd even eat a million bugs for you.”

“You would?” Bobby asked.

“Yup.”

Bobby nodded. “I'd do the same for you, Dad,” he said, then added, “but I might use ketchup on the bugs.”

Mr. Ellis-Chan let out a huge roar of laughter as he wrapped Bobby in a bear hug. “Well, son, you see, we're not that different after all.”