Lone Bean (8 page)

Chapter 15
No Practice Makes Not Perfect

B
efore I knew it, Thanksgiving was here. I love Thanksgiving because I love turkey and stuffing and sweet potato pie and I love, love, love that I don't have to go to school.

My finger still had the splint on, so luckily, my sweet potatoes stuck to the fork and no one yelled at me when I ate my turkey with my fingers. I left my greens and cranberries right on my plate because I knew they were gonna be slippery. Well, also because cranberries are icky and greens are yucky.

On Friday, Dad wanted me to practice, but it was too hard to hold the bow with the splint on my finger. I didn't care though, because someone was knocking at the door—and I knew just who it was.

“Carla!”

“Hey, Bean.” Carla greeted me with a big, warm best-friend kinda hug. “How was Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Delicious!” I licked my lips.

Sam was at the door too. Did you know that having lots of friends is even better than just having one best friend? When Carla can't talk on the phone because she has to finish her homework, I have a whole bunch of other friends I can call. And when I need help climbing the fence on the playground, I have more hands to give me a boost.

“Wanna go to 7-Eleven and share a Slurpee? I've got two dollars,” Sam suggested, and you know, I love Slurpees. I grabbed my jacket and we marched right out the back door and down the stairs.

We passed by Rose and Gardenia, who were playing hopscotch outside.

“Where are you guys going?” Gardenia yelled in my direction. I just ignored her, like she always does to me. I have my own friends now.

We walked past the line of garbage cans. Black is for trash, blue for things that can be recycled, like Coke cans and cardboard boxes, and green is for . . .

“What's the green garbage can for?” I asked.

“Boogers!” Carla laughed as she grabbed me with tickling fingers.

“Ha-ha!” I broke free, and we ran down the block, around the corner, and all the way to 7-Eleven.

We pushed through the door, and I said hi to Darnell, who is big and wide and shaped like an Easter egg. He smiled at us, showing his teeth that look like marshmallows, big and white against his dark skin.

“Hey, there, kids,” he said with a wave. The skin on his arm wiggled and jiggled back and forth. I had never even seen him leave that seat behind the counter. I wondered if it was hard for Darnell to move around.

“What flavor should we get?” Sam asked. We stared at all the different-color nozzles.

“Blue raspberry is our favorite,” I said quickly, but then remembered that Carla had changed her mind. “I mean it's my favorite.”

“Blue raspberry is still my favorite,” Carla said, “but I like green apple too.”

I scrunched up my nose because I h-a-t-e HATE the color green, you know.

“I have an idea,” Sam said.

“What?” Carla and I said at the very same time.

“Let's mix them together.” She smiled a big aren't-I-smart? kinda smile.

I guess it was a good idea. I mean if you mixed them together, they wouldn't be green anymore, and raspberry apple did sound yummy.

“Let's do it,” I said, and Carla agreed.

I chose a medium cup because that was the size we could afford. It was hard to hold it with my broken finger, so I passed it to Carla, who held it steady under the hole. I pulled the blue raspberry nozzle, and when the cup was half full, I moved to the side so Sam could fill the rest with green apple.

We each grabbed a straw and swizzled them around until the blue and green mixed and made a yummy greenish-bluish color, kinda like the ocean. We all leaned in and took a long slurp from our straws. Oh! Brain freeze! I gripped my head and scrunched my eyes closed.

“What's wrong with you?” a familiar voice defrosted my brain.

I peeked though one eye, hoping it wasn't who I thought it was, but sure enough, Terrible Tanisha was standing there right in front of me with a bag of Cheetos swinging from her fingers.

“Oh, hey,” I said. “Um . . . I drank too fast and froze my brain.”

“I hate when that happens,” Tanisha said. She spotted Sam and Carla, who were hiding behind the lollipops. “What're you guys doing?”

“Just hanging out.”

“Oh.” Tanisha looked sad.

I couldn't help feeling bad for her. I mean I know from experience that being lonely is no fun at all. Plus it was Thanksgiving vacation, which is a time to help others . . . at least that's what Mom said last year when she made us serve sandwiches, not soup, at the soup kitchen to people with no house to live in and no food to eat.

Since we hadn't gone to the soup kitchen this year and I hadn't helped anyone yet, I asked Tanisha, “Wanna play with us?”

First Tanisha just stared at me. It wasn't a yes or a no. It was more of a blank, I'm-thinking kinda stare. Then she barked, “I ain't some charity case, loser. Get out of my way.”

I'm not sure what she meant. I was only trying to be nice, but I guess Tanisha didn't like
nice
. She pushed past us, leaving her Cheetos behind and knocking right into Carla.

“Oww,” Carla moaned, and rubbed her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked.

“I'm fine, but I don't like that girl at all.”

“Why is she so mean?” Sam asked.

“I think she's just lonely,” I said. “She has no one to play with, you know.”

“Well, maybe if she wasn't so nasty, someone would want to play with her,” Carla said.

That's for sure, I thought.

We walked to the counter, where Sam paid Darnell for the Slurpee. Then we pushed the swinging door and walked down the block and around the corner, passing the Slurpee among us the whole way. Mmm . . . raspberry apple is my new favorite flavor!

When we got back home, we sat on the stoop and finished the last sips.

“What should we do now?” Carla asked.

“Wanna play hopscotch?” I suggested, since my sisters had left perfectly good boxes and numbers drawn in chalk on the driveway.

We got a pebble and hopped and skipped, till Sam made it all the way to the end. She won because me and Carla were still on 6. Next, we played hide-and-seek, and I found the best spot—under the back stairs by the garage. But then I saw a hairy, nasty spider and I screamed, so of course I got caught.

We had played for a long time and the sun was now behind the trees.

“I better head home before it gets dark,” Sam said.

“I guess I should go too,” said Carla.

Sam and Carla walked down the block and out of sight. My heart felt happy and full. Just as I was about to head into the house, Mom's car pulled up in the driveway.

“Hey, Bean,” she said, getting out of the car. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yep, I sure did.”

“Well, I know something that's going to make it even better.”

“Really! What?”

“It's time to take that splint off your finger.”

Yippee!

“I am sure it's all healed by now.”

“Oh, I hope so!”

We headed into the kitchen and Mom carefully cut the tape, just like she had been doing every couple of days. You have to change the tape, you know, or it will get dirty and stinky and infected. This time, though, she removed the metal splint too.

“Try and move your finger,” she said.

It felt a little stiff and it looked all wrinkly and skinny, but—guess what? It worked just fine.

I could hold a fork without dropping stuff and even write in cursive. Well, sort of. I mean, my
M
's sometimes had three bumps instead of two and my
J
's still looked more like
G
's, but I was getting better.

I ran right past Dad in the living room. I gave him a quick wave, but then I headed straight upstairs to get my violin. I wanted to try to play with my new fixed finger.

I brought the case to the living room, unlatched it, and grabbed the bow. My finger didn't hurt at all! Then I set the violin on my shoulder, put my fingers on the strings, placed the bow, and pulled. My finger was just fine, but you know how they say practice makes perfect . . . Well, no practice makes . . .
screech!

Dad said, “Sounds like that needs some work.”

“I'll never be good enough.”

“Yes, you will. It's time for you to start believing in yourself.”

I smiled, but I was still scared.

“Look who's here,” Dad said with a smile.

“Hey.” Stanley appeared from the kitchen.

“Hey,” I said back.

“Bean's feeling a little down about her violin. Maybe you two can play together?” Dad suggested.

I sighed and slumped over my violin.

“Sounds good,” Stanley said. “How was your holiday?”

“Good.”

“When did you get your splint off?” he asked

“Today,” I said. I knew I should answer with more than one word, but I just wasn't feeling happy, you know.

“Cool. Well, should we get started?”

“Oh, all right,” I said, and even though I didn't want to, I started to play . . .
screech!

“I'm not gonna play in the stinkin' performance.”

“Just keep trying, Bean,” Stanley said.

“No way!”

“Come on. It'll get better.”

“Okay,” I finally agreed, because I knew he was gonna keep bugging me till I tried again.

We played scales over and over again. We played and played and played until it got completely dark outside, and then we kept playing some more. Playing with Stanley was actually superfun. He plays really good and he is also pretty funny. He played his song for the performance standing on one foot with a sheet on his head, and I played mine from inside the closet wearing Gardenia's gorilla mask from Halloween. With all the playing, I was starting to get better at holding the bow, and my notes didn't sound so terrible . . . but it still was not good enough.

“Stanley, your mom's here,” Dad called.

“I gotta go, but maybe I can come over tomorrow and we can play some more,” Stanley said as he packed up his saxophone.

“Thanks, Stanley. That would be great.”

When Mom came to tuck me in that night, she had a great idea.

“I was thinking maybe it would be nice if we invited Tanya to the performance,” Mom suggested. “Would you like that?”

“Yeah. That would be great.”

“I'll call and invite her. Grand Mommy and Aunt Bobbie too.”

“Could Carla and Sam come?” I asked.

“Sure, you can invite anyone you want.”

She gave me a kiss on the forehead, which usually calms my mind and helps me fall asleep, but not tonight. My brain was filled with fears about the performance. What if I couldn't make the notes? What if I tripped and fell off the stage? What if everyone laughed at me and booed?

Chapter 16
The Big Day

T
he day of the performance was finally here. I had all these twisty-turny feelings in my tummy. I wiggled my arm from under the covers and grabbed my glasses. I pushed them up on my nose and peeked around the room.

Gardenia was still fast asleep.
Shhh
. . . I slid slowly out of my bed and onto the floor. Maybe I could hide under my bed till it was too late to go to school. I needed more time to practice.

The problem was, there was not much room under there, with all the dolls and stuffed animals, dirty clothes, and old, torn-up shoes. I made myself small like a ball, so every bit of me would be hidden.

I could hear Mom walking in the hall, and then her sneakers came into the room and right up to my bed. I held my breath.

“Wake up, girls,” Mom said, as she gently shook Gardenia and moved the covers around on my bed.

“Bean, where are you?”

I couldn't hold my breath for one second longer or I would've passed out for sure. All the air in my lungs came shooting from of my mouth. It made Mom's shoelaces blow in the wind.

“Bean”—she stuck her head under the bed to see me—“what are you doing?”

“I can't go to school today. I won't go. I have to practice. There is so much to do!”

“After school you will have plenty of time to get ready,” she said as she pulled me by my foot. “The performance is not till tonight.”

I tried to hold on to the leg of the bed, but it was no use. I lost my grip, and she dragged me like a sack of potatoes to the middle of the room.

“Now get ready so you girls won't be late.”

“Mom, can I take my violin to school so that I can practice?”

“When will you have time to play?”

I thought and thought and then said, “Maybe at lunchtime or recess.”

“I don't see why not, as long as Ms. Sullivan doesn't mind.”

“And, Mom, you promise to be there tonight, right?” I asked.

“Of course, baby. I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“But what if there are triplets born at the hospital today or quadruplets?”

“Even if there are octuplets,” she said with a laugh. “Baby, I know I've gotten stuck at work before and missed important things, but I promise I'll make it tonight.”

I gave Mom a good, long hug around her middle.

“I promise,” she whispered in my ear.

A promise is like a pinky-swear that you can't break. I felt much better now. I scurried to the bathroom and got ready.

At school, I couldn't concentrate at all. My math was a mess of musical notes instead of numbers, and during cursive, instead of writing out my spelling words, I wrote the words to my song, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
.
” Then the bell rang for recess. I dragged my feet when it was time to line up with the class.

“What's going on, Bean?” Ms. Sullivan asked. “You seem a little down today.”

“I'm okay,” I said. “I'm just nervous because I'm playing my violin in the big holiday performance tonight at the college where my dad teaches.”

“Oh, that's very exciting.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said with a shrug. “I'm just scared that I'm gonna be bad, you know.”

“If you'd like, you can stay in the classroom during recess and practice.”

“Really? That would be great! Can Carla and Sam stay too?”

“Yes,” Ms. Sullivan said. “That would be fine.”

I spotted Stanley in the front of the line and asked, “Stanley, could you stay too?”

Carla and Sam stared at me wide-eyed, but I know that Stanley is a great help when you're feeling scared about playing the violin.

“Sure,” he said.

The whole class headed out to the playground except me, Carla, Sam, and Stanley. I moved to the front of the room and opened up my violin case.

Sam pretended to be the announcer and said, “And now, put your hands together for Bean playing the violin!”

Carla and Stanley clapped as I strutted to the front of the room. I put my violin on my shoulder, placed the bow on the strings and—

“Excuse me,” Gabrielle said as she pushed through the classroom door. “Is Ms. Sullivan here?”

“Nope,” Carla said.

“What are you guys doing?” Gabrielle asked.

“Practicing for my performance. I'm going to play the violin tonight at the college.”

I had a feeling Gabrielle wasn't really looking for Ms. Sullivan. She probably just wanted to come hang out with us, so I asked her if she wanted to stay and listen too.

“That would be wonderful,” Gabrielle said.

“Please take your seat,” Sam said to Gabrielle. Then she announced into an eraser from the chalkboard, like it was a microphone, “Prepare yourself for a spectacular performance by Bean Gibson!”

I stood up tall, with my head held high, in the front of the classroom. I took a deep breath and started to play, and—guess what? I played better than I ever had in my whole life! The notes were strong and loud and not even the littlest bit squeaky. My friends cheered as I took a bow, then a curtsy, and then one more bow for effect.

“Stanley is playing in the performance too, and Carla and Sam are coming to watch. Do you want to come?” I asked Gabrielle.

“I would absolutely love to, but I will have to ask my mother,” Gabrielle said, with a tiny bit of a grimace. I know her mom is tough, so I wasn't sure she would make it.

“What are you gonna wear?” Gabrielle asked.

“Hmm . . . I don't know.”

“Well, you can't wear those holey jeans,” she said.

I looked down and she was right. I wanted to wear something special, but I hadn't really thought about what I was gonna wear. Mom had laid out my church dress, but I'd worn it so many times, it wasn't really all that special.

“Would you like to borrow one of my dresses?” Gabrielle asked.

I thought about how pretty I would look in one of her frilly dresses, standing on the stage. “I would love, love, love to!”

“I'll bring my very prettiest dress by your house after school,” she said with a smile. All of Gabrielle's dresses are so pretty, so I couldn't wait to see the prettiest one!

The rest of the day, my mind kept wandering. I was able to focus a little during reading, but only because I really like the book we're reading,
Charlotte's Web
. Then during art, instead of painting the bowl of fruit, I painted the sky with twinkly little stars.

The minute the bell rang, I ran out to the playground to find my sisters. We met up quickly. They were excited about the performance too, so we rushed right home. We busted through the door and raced up the stairs. Rose made it to the shower first and then blow-dried her hair till it was straight and long. Gardenia was next, and she took what felt like forever in the shower.

“Hurry up in there!” I yelled through the shower curtain. The steam fogged up my glasses.

“Relax!” she yelled back. “There's plenty of time.”

I sat on the toilet seat, tapping my foot and staring at the clock. Now I would never have enough time to get ready!

The minute Gardenia got out of the shower, I hopped right in and got to washing my hair. I sang under the sprinkle of warm water, “Twinkle twinkle little star, How I wonder what you are, up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky—”

“Thank God you're not singing in the performance tonight!” Gardenia yelled.

I peeked around the curtain to stick my tongue out at her. She paid me no mind as she swooped her hair into two perfect buns on the top of her head.

I got out of the shower and dried off while Rose and Gardenia put on makeup and lip gloss, and boy, did they look pretty. I, on the other hand, looked like a wet dog! The more I brushed and blow-dried my hair, the more knotted and tangled it got.

“Help!” I yelled, but of course no one answered because they were too busy fixing themselves up. I wished Mom was here to help me get ready.

I grabbed one of Gardenia's hair ties from the drawer and tried to tie it around the tangled mop on the top of my head.

It didn't work! I was n-o-t NOT going onstage looking a mess.

Rose walked into the bathroom. She looked so beautiful. Her hair was shiny, her cheeks pink, and her lips glossy. I wanted to look just like her.

“What's wrong, Bean?” she asked.

“My hair's a mess and I'm gonna look ugly for the show.”

“Let me help you.”

Rose brushed and blow-dried my hair till it was a pretty, fluffy poof. Then she tied a pretty pink bow around like a headband.

“Wanna wear some of my makeup?” she asked.

Was she kidding? Of course! I'd never really worn makeup before, except that time I played with Mom's lipstick and ended up looking like a clown. Rose softly brushed my cheeks with pink rouge and coated my lips with a sticky, sweet-smelling lip gloss. Just as she put the finishing touches on my face, Dad called from the hall, “Bean, Gabrielle and her mother are here!”

“Your hair looks great,” Gabrielle said. She spun me around to get a better look. “Here is the dress, my very favorite one.”

“I tried to talk her out of it.” Gabrielle's mom shook her head. “But she was determined. You must be a good friend, Bean Gibson.”

“Yes, we are very good friends,” I said with a smile.

Gabrielle and I went into to my room. I took off my robe and climbed right into the ruffled pink-and-purple dress. Gabrielle zipped me up and tied the white sash in a big bow. I spun around in front of the mirror.

“You look so pretty!” Gabrielle said.

The door swung open. Rose, Dad, and Gabrielle's mom all piled in to get a glimpse.

“Wow!” Dad gasped.

“Now don't spill anything on that dress. It's very expensive,” Gabrielle's mom said.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Don't worry, Ms. Davenport,” said Dad. “Bean is very responsible.”

Dad must not have remembered that time I climbed the tree behind the church in my best dress. I ripped it, got mud all over it, and got in big trouble. I'd take better care of Gabrielle's dress, though, I promised myself.

I took one more peek in the mirror before we headed out.

“Looking good,” Gardenia said as she saw my reflection.

And I felt good too . . . pretty and confident and ready to perform.