You Will Call Me Drog (20 page)

“It’s almost midnight, Drog. Go back to sleep.”

He soon went back to snoring, and I tried the sentence again, this time in my head.

What I want most is to just be who I am and ...

Something about other people. What did I want with them? Whatever it was, it was something I almost had with Mom and Sensei and Big Boy and Mrs. Belcher and now Wren again. Almost. And I definitely needed more of it with Dad.

I want the people close to me to
... what? A word came into my head as if someone said it:
respect
. I wanted respect. What did that mean?

I tried the whole thing again.
I just want to be me. And I want the people close to me to respect me and trust me and believe me. Even if I tell them something that sounds impossible.
Yes! That sounded true. Like something I would want forever. I said it over to memorize it. Then I added something at the end.
I want us to respect and trust each other
.

I got out of bed in slow motion so I wouldn’t wake Drog up again, then I took the number Big Boy saved for me out of my jacket, leaned over to the night light, and programmed it into my phone. Maybe I’d have a call to make on Saturday.

When I tunneled back under the covers, though, I realized I was forgetting something. Most of those things I wanted depended on other people wanting them too. What if they didn’t? What if people never did quite believe or trust me again without proof, because they couldn’t? Or didn’t want to? What then? Being myself was the only thing left on my list that I could do on my own. Would I still want to be myself if it meant being ... alone?

That was way too hard to think about. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, pushing wood pieces around in my mind. Some of them were egg-shaped, like Wren’s stone, and I imagined secret swirls inside of them.

A voice said: “Don’t give up, Parker.”

I opened my eyes again. Drog was still asleep, so it wasn’t him, and there was no one else in the room.

I had said it myself.
Don’t give up
.

“Wake up, Boy. You’re going to make us late!”

“Wha—” I rolled over and looked at the clock. “Drog, it’s only five thirty.”

“But I need to rehearse! My entries, my soliloquies, my asides ...”

“How can you rehearse? We won’t even know what they want us to do until we get there.”

“Exactly why I must be prepared for anything!” He cleared his throat. “It is a far, far, better thing I do—”

He wasn’t going to quit, so I sat up in bed, pulled the blankets around me, and tried to be awake. Then I was, because I started worrying, too. If Drog got too nervous, he might mess up at the audition.
One-point one-point
.

“To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler—”

“Drog,” I said. “They probably just want you to say whatever you think of at the time. So don’t worry, just be obnoxious and you’ll be great. You’re good at that.”

“You’re right, Boy! I am!”

“So the best thing you could do right now is to save your voice for Peoria.”

“Very well then!”

He crooned to himself, “Am I bad? Oh yes!” and then he actually stopped talking. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t get back to sleep, though, so I got dressed in the dark and went downstairs. When Mom finally came down, I gulped my cereal and flopped from the chair to the couch to the chair, waiting for her to get ready in slow motion.

As soon as we backed out of the driveway, though, I started getting pebbles in my stomach. Dad always drove me crazy saying, “If something seems too good to be true, Parker, it probably is.” It sure looked like my idea of getting Drog to join a puppet troupe might be one of those too-good things, and I didn’t have another plan.

The car was still heating up, so I put my free hand into my other pocket and held Wren’s stone. A few snowflakes twirled down to the windshield and melted. Mom tried to make conversation as we drove, but I could only answer “uh-huh.”

I was hoping it would take us a while to find the theater, but Mom had good directions and we hit all the green lights. There was even a sign on the front of the theater with an arrow that said, “Parker Lockwood. Please come to the stage door.”

Mom tried the handle, then knocked on the stage door. A man in a black T-shirt opened it and smiled at us.

“You must be Parker,” he said to me. Come on in.”

“And are you Sergio?” Mom asked.

He laughed. “Oh, no, I’m Tony. Sergio’s on stage, warming up. Follow me.”

I’d never been backstage in a real theater. Everywhere I looked there were tall, tall ladders and long ropes on pulleys and panels of switches. The heavy maroon curtains gave off a wonderful dusty smell.

Except for Sergio, dressed all in black and standing in the middle, the stage was bare, and it was bigger than our whole school cafeteria. It echoed. There was no puppet stage to stand behind, like we had at school. Was I going to have to stand out there by myself?

We waited for Sergio to finish his warm-up. Suddenly the words he was booming out into the theater connected with my brain.

“Would you that spangle of Existence spend

About the Secret—Quick about it, Friend!”

It was from the
Rubaiyat
! And I knew the next line!

“A hair perhaps divides the False and True ...” I called out.

Without breaking rhythm, Sergio turned toward me, flashed me the greatest smile I have ever seen in my life, and said,

“Yes. And a single Alif were the clue—

Could you but find it—to the Treasure-house,

And peradventure to the Master too ...”

For a magic minute nobody moved. Sergio broke the spell.

“The
Rubaiyat
!” he said. “How do you know it, Parker?”

My face got warm, but it wasn’t like being embarrassed. I glanced at Mom. Her mouth hung open.

“From Drog, sort of.” I said. “It’s a long story.”

Sergio came over and shook my hand. “Great,” he said. “Long stories are the best, don’t you think? Glad to meet you.”

Sergio introduced himself to Mom. They chatted for a minute, then she told him she had to go do some errands, like we planned. She held up her phone. I showed her mine, and gave her a yes-I-know-Mom look. The door closed behind her with a little wheezing sound.

“So this is Drog,” Sergio said, looking him over and smiling “I’ll bet he’s a character, all right. Where’d you say you got him?”

Drog squeezed me hard, so I just shrugged.

“Well, Parker,” Sergio said, “Let’s see what you can do.”

“Um, I don’t actually do anything,” I said. “It’s Drog talking.”

Sergio winked at me. “Right. Well then, Drog, meet Jasmine, the other puppet in this scene. We haven’t been able to come up with a good match for her. She doesn’t exactly ... cooperate.”

Sergio walked over to a shelf and brought down a super-curvy girl puppet with long black hair, a red mouth, and dangly earrings. And a glittery turquoise costume. I couldn’t believe my luck. She looked like a belly dancer!

Sergio slipped the puppet onto his hand.

“Vrrrum, vrrrrum!” Drog said.

Vrrrum, vrrrrrum? Jeez, Drog.

“But Sergio,” Jasmine said, “you don’t expect me to perform with this ... creature, do you? He’s so awfully ... green.”

Drog cleared his throat. “You will call me Drog,” he said.

“Drog? Drog? Hmmm. I don’t think so,” Jasmine said. “Frog, maybe. That has a certain greenness to it.”

Oh no. PLEASE don’t make fun of his name.

“It’s Drog, I say! Show some respect! I was once the right-hand man of an emir!”

“Well that was then, wasn’t it?” Jasmine said. “I don’t see any emirs around here.”

“Fortunately for you!” Drog said. “A girl like you would last less than a day at the emir’s court. You’d be a mere momentary distraction.”

“And what would you be, a mere
toady
? You’ve never been in any emir’s court. You’re pulling my leg.”

“I would pull your leg gladly, dear girl, if only you had one.”

Amazing. Drog didn’t even sound mad. If
I
called him Frog ...

Sergio grinned. “Well, I guess that does it for introductions. Keep it up Parker, you’re doing great.”

“But I—”

“Now you and Drog come over and stand next to me, facing out. Pretend the house is full.”

I lined up next to Sergio and peered out into the dark, my stomach quivering.

“Here’s the situation. Drog and Jasmine are the last two contestants left in a special kind of talent contest. It’s an insult and aggravation competition, and this is the final round.”

“Exce
len
te!” Drog whispered to me. “How can I not win? Drog, the Master of Insult, the Avatar of Aggravation! Besides, this girl has a fatal weakness—she likes me!”

What?
One of my knees started bobbing up and down. I couldn’t hold it still.

“Excuse me,” Drog said to Sergio. “What’s the prize?”

“It’s a ticket. On the very first tourist flight to the moon!”

“Whee!” Drog said. “Start measuring me for my spacesuit.”

“This is improv,” Sergio was saying, “so let’s just take it from here.”

Drog cleared his throat. “Women and children first.”

Sergio grinned at me, snickered, and then shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he was Jasmine.

“Keep in mind, Frog,” she said, “I’m an animal trainer in my day job.”

“Ah, such a pity. Why can’t girls give up trying to compete with men and just be the charming
trinkets
they were born to be?”

Whoa, Drog.

“And why can’t frogs stay plopped in their slimy ponds, chomping at flies? You weren’t born, even, you were
hatched
.”

Drog answered right back. “Ho! I would my horse had the speed of your tongue—”

“You don’t have a horse, Sweetheart, and as a quoter of Shakespeare, you croak.”

“You see,” Drog whispered to me, “she called me sweetheart. Va-va-voom!”

“Are you still talking, Signior Frog? Nobody marks you.”

“Ah, so, you’ve actually heard of Shakespeare?” Drog said to Jasmine. “You’re not as shallow a creature as I thought. This may yet prove an amusing competition.”

“Ha! A
losing
competition, you mean—for you. ‘A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.’”

“Well done! Unfortunately, the bird of your tongue is a crow. You’re a lady definitely not meant to be heard. But seen, yes. After all, there’s so much
of
you to see.”

“At least
I
have hair. And what’s that you’re wearing? A lost sock?”

“Well what about you, my udderly bovine beauty? Your curvature’s like the earth’s—nearly round, that is. Your rolls roll when you rotate. Not that I mind, you understand.”

Uh-oh
. Was this working?

“I understand you’re the big
Rubaiyat
expert,” Jasmine said. “So woo me with your best lines, Frog.”

Oh no. He doesn’t know anything
. But before I had a chance to answer for him, Drog said, “Haven’t I met you somewhere before? Do you come here often? What’s a naughty girl like you doing in a place like—”

“Not that kind of line!” Jasmine screeched.

“Well,
rolling
right along ...”

Sergio broke in with an announcer voice, “Time’s up, and it looks like we have a tie. That means each of the final contestants gets half the prize.”

“Ah” Drog said, “shall we go together halfway and back? At least see some stars?”

“I’ve got a better idea. You go and I’ll come back. What a fool you are, Frog! There’s no way to split the prize.”

“If you really think I’m a frog, come give me a kiss. Who knows? You might get a prince as reward.”

Jasmine put her hands on her hips. “Sometimes a frog is just a
frog
,” she said.

“Never know till you try.”

“Me kiss you? No way!”

“So, not only a cow, now, but a cowardess! Tell you what. Kiss me and I’ll let you win the contest. One kiss, and you’ll go to the moon!”

Sergio was trying so hard not to laugh that he could barely be Jasmine.

She covered her eyes with one hand. “Oh well, then,” she groaned, “for the prize. Here goes.”

She gave Drog a long smack on the mouth. Too long. Yuck. Then she pulled back to look.

“I knew it! You tricked me! You’re every bit as green as before.”

“You were expecting the moon and a prince, too?” Drog said. “Not every prince is handsome, you know. Some just have ... beautiful character.”

Sergio chuckled.

Jasmine shook her head. “I’ll say this for you, Frog. You’re one disgustingly good kisser. I don’t
want
to like you, but... did I just win?”

“You see?” Drog said, “I’m an enchanted prince after all.”

Sergio dropped his puppet hand to his side and roared with laughter, then slapped me on the back. “Perfect!” he said.

Yes! My knee wasn’t jerking anymore, and I wanted us to go on and on.
Whoa, take it easy, Parker. Keep your intention.

After all that excitement, I had to find a bathroom. Sergio slipped Jasmine off and pointed me to a door backstage.

“Whooooeee. What fun!” Drog said. “Quite a girl, that Jasmine! No peace and harmony with her, no sireee! And wasn’t I bad? Awfully, deliciously bad?”

“Drog, you were so bad you were good.”
It’s working. It’s working.

“I was, wasn’t I?” Drog said, gazing into the bathroom mirror. “Now they’ll have to take us into their troupe!”

Us?
“Well, maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe? Have some confidence! I have to hand it to you, Boy! You’ve found us some quality people at last!”

When we came back out, Sergio said, “That was great, Parker. You’ve got real talent, and we hope you’ll join Preposterous Puppets, in spite of your age—”

“What did I tell you!” Drog said.

“—but you’re going to have to talk it over with your folks. We go on tour a lot and you’d miss some school.”

“Thanks, Sergio,” I said, “but—I know you’ll think I’m weird—it’s Drog who has the acting talent. Drog does all the talking. I’m just the hand.”

He nodded. “I’ve been doing this a long time, and I know very well what happens when you put a puppet on. Sure they talk, and you can’t always control who they are or what they say. So no, I don’t think you’re weird. Gets a little spooky sometimes though, doesn’t it?”

I nodded. He understood. I had never felt less weird in my life.

“The thing is, this guy’s so off the wall we want him in our show. And we’re not sure he’d do it without you. Maybe you’re ... the perfect team.”

“Right!” Drog said. “So what are you waiting for, Parker? Where do we sign?”

“Excuse us, Sergio, we need to talk.”

“Sure.”