One Man Show (18 page)

“Give me lights!” the director yelled. A sunburst filled the bathroom.

“Is anybody listening?” Jeremy shouted, rattling the door.
“I’m stuck in the stall!”

“Not a problem,” one of the techies said. He pulled a power screwdriver from his canvas bag and unscrewed the hinges on the
stall door faster than Callie could take a swig from her bottled water. Jeremy was still in his street clothes, slumped on
the toilet seat with both hands shielding his eyes from the blinding light.

“Well, it’s not pretty,” the cameraman said, looking through his camera lens, “but we’ll have to make do.”

“I like it,” the director said. “It’s raw, it’s gritty - it’s real life. Ready, Cal?”

“Let’s do it!” she answered with a toss of her strawberry blond mane, and stood next to Jeremy.

“Are you guys crazy?” he said. “I’m not doing an interview on a -”

“Okay, people,” the director interrupted, “in five, four -”

“Wait, shoot me from my left,” Jeremy said. “That’s my good side.”

“- three, two -” The director pointed at Callie.

“Callie Sinclair here at Buttermilk Falls Elementary - in the boys’ bathroom of all places - with
Double Take
star Jeremy Jason Wilder.”

He flashed a smile, looking instantly cool and calm.

“Jeremy, you were suffering from a tarnished reputation after your sitcom was canceled. Now you’re doing a school fund-raiser.
Quite a transformation. Tell us a little about what led up to this night.”

The director motioned for Jeremy to stand up, but he wouldn’t. Callie lowered the microphone under his chin.

“There’s not much to tell, really,” Jeremy said. “The school needed me to raise money. They asked me to do the play as a favor,
and I was happy to do it. No big deal.”

Futterman grunted and folded his arms.

“But it
is
a big deal,” Callie said. “Now, tell us about your leg injury.”

“What? This?” Jeremy said, pulling up his pant leg to
uncover a thick bandage. “A fluke accident. I really don’t wanna get into it.”

“Please,” Callie insisted.

“Well, let’s just say there was a small child, a softball, and a speeding bus. I was there in the nick of time, yada yada
yada.”

What?

“So modest. You’re a hero!” Callie squeezed his shoulder.

“Pan in, Archie,” the director instructed the cameraman. “Tighter.”

I couldn’t stand there listening to Jeremy’s lies without saying anything.

“Pssst. Excuse me, Miss Sinclair?” I whispered, inching closer to her. “Ask the modest hero about the stolen box-office money.”

“The what?” Callie said out of the corner of her rigid smile.

“The money from the box office that he just ripped off.”

“Hey, kid, get out of the shot!” the director snarled. “Cut! Cut!”

“No, keep rolling,” Callie said. “This could be interesting.”

The director threw up his hands, but I noticed that the little light on the front of the camera never went out. It suddenly
hit me that I was on a national television program that would be aired in front of millions of people. I wasn’t even that
nervous.

“That’s quite a serious accusation,” Callie said directly into the camera. “It looks like it’s coming from one of your fellow
cast members, Jeremy.” She shifted her attention to me. “Your name?”

“Dustin Grubbs,” I said into the microphone. “With two
b’
s.”

“And who do you play?”

“The Prince. Well, I originally had the Jester role, but Jeremy stole that too.”

“He’s wacko!” Jeremy yelled. “I’ve never seen this kid before in my life.”

“Hello! I’m wearing a costume! He’s lying, like he lied about everything else.”

“What are you saying?” Callie said.

“He really
did
hurt his leg, but it was because he was showing off in gym class,” I said. “Plus, I saw him tearing down the hall just a
few minutes ago, so how bad could it be? I mean, come on.”

“And he didn’t exactly jump at the chance to take part in the play,” Futterman said, stepping forward.

“And you are?” Callie held the microphone up to Futterman, who squashed in between us.

“Dan Futterman. Am I on TV?”

“Yes.”

“I’m the principal here at Buttermilk Falls Elementary. Go, Fireballs!”

“Oh, no,” Jeremy said, covering his face with his hands.

“Principal Futterman, please continue.”

“Well, when we received Jeremy’s test scores from
California, we found out he was reading at a fourth-grade level. His teacher, Miss Honeywell, graciously agreed to provide
him with some private tutoring so he could advance to the seventh grade next year. I asked him if he wouldn’t mind returning
the favor by helping us out with the play.”

“Bribed me is more like it,” Jeremy muttered.

“Fourth-grade reading level? Really?” I said, turning to him. “Spell
orangutan.”

“Shove it!”

“But what’s this about stolen money?” Callie asked me.

“From what I can tell, Jeremy must’ve borrowed some money from this evil rich kid named Travis Buttrick,” I said. “I guess
he couldn’t pay it back. I’m not sure why -”

“I’m a TV star,” Jeremy interrupted. “I don’t have to borrow money.”

“Wait!” I said, thinking back to the day we introduced ourselves in the cafeteria. “First you told us that all your money
was tied up in some special account that you can’t touch till you’re, like, eighteen. Then you started showing up at school
with a bunch of expensive new stuff.” I looked directly into the camera lens. “America, you do the math.”

“Pan in on the dorky kid in tights,” the director instructed.

“Hey, I’m the one being interviewed,” Jeremy said, grabbing the microphone away from me. I grabbed it right back.

“Travis must’ve talked him into ripping off the box office
to pay him back,” I said, piecing it together in my head. “I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but according to my calculations, the money
should be here in this stall.”

“This interview is over!” Jeremy shouted. “Cut! Cut!”

“You can’t say cut,” the director said. “Only the director says cut.”

Futterman unzipped the garment bag hanging on the stall door and searched inside. “No cash in here,” he said, looking puzzled.

Jeremy was fuming. “I’m not going to sit here and take this!”

“Then stand up,” I told him. “Show us what you’re hiding in that toilet.”

“Oh, do you really think that’s such a good idea?” Callie asked, cringing.

“Are you kidding? This is pure gold,” the director said, motioning to the cameraman. “Get a tight shot of the bowl, Archie.”

“Wilder, whatever you do, don’t flush!” Futterman warned.
“Do not flush!”

Just then there were running footsteps, and LMNOP burst into the bathroom.

“Where’s Dustin Grubbs?” she said, panting.

“Hold it down, little girl,” a techie said, grabbing her arm. “We’re rolling!”

“I don’t care, this is important,” LMNOP said, breaking
away. “Dustin Grubbs, your whole family just ran out of the auditorium!”

“Why?” I asked. “What happened?”
Maybe Dad showed up!

“I’m not sure. Something about rushing your grandma to the emergency room!”

“Omigod, I heard!” Wally said when I passed him in the hall. “You can take my bike to the hospital - it’s chained to the fence.
Come on, I’ll show you.”

That’s the thing about best friends. You snap right out of hating each other’s guts in the face of an emergency.

“Where do you think you two are going?” Futterman called after us. We didn’t answer. “You’d better be back at seven-thirty
- at the latest!”

I threw myself through the main doors and out into the night. The jolt of cool air made me feel as if I were stepping into
another world. Wally and I jogged past the crammed parking lot to the fence where his bike stood.

“Come on, come on….” Wally was talking to the lock, or the key, or himself. “Oh, crud, it broke!”

“What? The key?”

“It cracked right in half,” he said, throwing the pieces into a bush.

“This is a nightmare! What am I supposed to do now?”

“Calm down,” Wally said, looking around. “We need somebody with a car.”

“Okay, let’s jet!”

We tore down the sidewalk, back toward school. Wally was running faster than I’d ever seen him move in my life. The sight
of his fake beard blowing in the breeze would’ve cracked me up if I weren’t freaking out about Granny.

“Don’t worry,” he said, looking as worried as I was. “I’m sure she’s just fine.”

I knew right then and there what
real
friendship was. And I promised myself that I’d try my best not to screw it up again.

The tall auditorium windows were glowing orange, and I could see the silhouettes of audience members already filing in, like
eager shadow puppets. I wondered if Dad was one of them, and how upset he’d be after coming all the way from Chicago for nothing.
Futterman would eventually have to make a speech: “Ladies and gentlemen, due to unforeseen circumstances tonight’s show has
been canceled. We’d be happy to refund your money, but unfortunately, it’s gone down the toilet along with Dustin Grubbs’s
hopes and dreams. Thank you for coming, and drive safely.”

Truth is, I didn’t give a rat’s behind about the play anymore
- I just wanted my gran to be okay. She was the oldest person I knew. “I’m not long for this world,” she’d always say, especially
when her arthritis flared up. They were just words that everyone brushed away - until now.

“Miss Van Rye!” Wally shouted. She looked like a mountain of glitter in front of the school’s main entrance. “Could you drive
Dustin to the hospital?”

“Oh, my stars,” she said. “What happened? Dustin, are you all right?”

We filled her in, and she grabbed my hand, leading me down the sidewalk.

“My car is buried in the lot, but my date just arrived. He’s looking for a spot on Spruce.” Miss Van Rye looked up and down
the street, twisting her pearl necklace.

“Here he is!” she shouted. She flagged down a sporty red car that screeched to a stop next to the curb. “I can’t leave the
rest of the cast high and dry, Dustin. But my date’ll get you to the hospital in two shakes!”

“Thanks,” I said.

She whispered something to the man behind the wheel and ushered me into the backseat. Wally stood on the school steps, giving
me the thumbs-up.

“Don’t you worry,” Miss Van Rye said, slamming the car door. “I’m sure your grandma is just fine.”

Why is everyone saying that? People aren’t rushed to the hospital when they’re just fine.

The next ten minutes were a blur of worry and trees whooshing by. But when we got to Buttermilk Falls Memorial Hospital and
I saw Miss Van Rye’s date get out of the car, I honestly thought I was going to have to check myself in.

“Maybe I should wait here,” he said as we entered the bright lobby. “Your mom’s probably upset enough already, and it could
get sticky trying to explain… you know.”

It was Mr. Ortega. Doughnut-stuffing, toupee-wearing, mother-dumping Mr. Ortega. I hadn’t seen hide nor synthetic hair of
him since our elegant dinner for four.

“That’s probably a good idea,” I said. If Mom knew what was going on, she’d have to check herself in too. Maybe we could get
a group discount.

“The reception area is right over there,” Mr. Ortega said, pointing to a long marble desk. “That nurse’ll tell you where your
grandma is.”

The nurse gave me a plastic pass with a big red
E
on it and told me how to get to the emergency wing. She was nice enough, but she had a strange look on her face, as if she
was holding something back.
Granny Grubbs is dead and she can’t spit it out.
I nodded and said “thank you,” but I wasn’t paying attention to her directions and ended up getting lost in the endless puke
green halls.

The water balloons in my stomach were back, and sloshier than ever. The smell of disinfectant stinking up the place didn’t
help. Neither did the signs:
Hazardous Hospital Waste!
Quarantine! Airborne Infectious Disease! Morgue This Way.
I ran in the opposite direction, holding my breath.

The maze of tiled hallways was leading me right back to where I’d started. An old woman in a wheelchair rolled by and I thought
for a second that it was Granny. But her hair was too long - and too blue. I turned another corner to a strong whiff of coffee.
Vending machines. And where there was food, could the Grubbs family be far away?

“Dustin! What are you doing here?”

It was Aunt Birdie! She was sitting next to Aunt Olive, who was sitting across from -

“Mom!”

I ran to her and smothered her with a hug. The next thing I knew I was bawling - buckets! Everything came gushing out of me,
like an open fire hydrant on a ninety-degree day.

“She’s okay,” Mom said, stroking my hair. “Granny’s just fine.”

There’s that “just fine” again. I didn’t want to let go of Mom. My body started doing that weird heaving thing where you can’t
catch your breath after crying too hard.

“Are you sure?” I asked, pulling back to look into her eyes for an honest answer. “I can take the truth.” Oh, who was I kidding?
I could take the truth only if it was good news, not bad.

“That
is
the truth,” Mom said, handing me a tissue.

“Well, what happened?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

I turned to see Granny and a man in a white coat walking toward us. I rushed to her and wrapped my arms around her middle.

“Oh, look!” Granny said. “A handsome prince has come to rescue me! Where’d you park your horse?”

I looked down at myself and saw a gold tunic and white tights. No wonder people were staring. I’d forgotten that I was wearing
my costume - well, Felix’s costume.

“This is my grandson Dustin,” Granny said, introducing me to the doctor. “He doesn’t always dress like this.”

“Dr. Devon,” the man said, shaking my hand.

“What was wrong, Doctor?” I asked. Then I realized that Granny had on an eye patch under her glasses, over her left eye.